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Surfacing Ch. 01

By: Etaski



Author's Notes: This story is erotic fantasy written by Etaski. I reserve the right to be listed as the author of this story, wherever it is posted. If found posted anywhere except Literotica.com with this note attached, this story is posted without my permission. © Etaski 2013

This chapter begins a new book and a new storyline for established characters with a lot of history. It is not recommended as a starting point for the casual reader.

The story begins with "Sisterhood" and "Subterrane" on my author page, and follows through "Sufferance."

"Surfacing" picks up right where "Sufferance" left off.

For those who've been following the story so far, welcome back. :) I hope you enjoy. 

*****

Surfacing

"Knowing ourselves is the weakest of walls. It breaks often and we rebuild often. The blind pretend it was never broken."

"So how does one know what may cross over to stay, before the wall is rebuilt?"

"Only when we face it on the other side..."

---Conversation between an Illithid and a Drow in reverie

Chapter 1

Jael's scent about drove me crazy as I waited tensely for that first sunrise on the Surface, the one I knew would happen behind the clouds.

Our Elder had just forced her to take the Feldeu against the cave wall, and Jael even in her anxiety—or perhaps because of it—had climaxed from the rough sex. I could grant that Rausery had indeed managed to calm our youngest Red Sister—she was now too tired and sore to continue pacing and fidgeting as she had been. She sat next to me to my right, and Gaelan sat next to her. To choose between witnessing what I'd heard so much about and taking Rausery's lesson and work out incredible tension and anxiety with my Sisters...well, it was too late to do both at this point.

We had already planted our heavy packs on a formed rock shelf farther back in the tunnel and high above our heads; it kept them out of reach from most creatures that would steal or do unwitting damage to the supplies.

I had placed my burden last then slipped the three guardian spiders given to me by D'Shea from my belt and into a loose pocket on the pack. I had focused hard on them as I'd practiced, giving them the simple command to "stay," and deemed it successful when they settled down and went utterly still.

The three other Red Sisters had all seen the spiders attack Wilsira in the throne room almost two weeks ago, and I'd told Rausery about them being gifted to me by D'Shea on our journey upward. Only Jael was surprised to see them in my possession, but they all agreed that the creatures had no other use now than to serve me, perhaps through the next year if they did not get crushed.

We also agreed that I would get my pack first before the others, just in case. I did have two emergency anti-venoms in reserve, though I had seen no aggressive behavior from them toward a Red Sister so far. Nonetheless, I wished them tucked and secured while I contemplated the outside.

I sat closest to the exit, to this portal where soft grey light lay in a confined spotlight and slowly gathered strength as the stone and pebbles grew stark in their contrast. My first day on the Surface would have the Sky covered in a thick layer of grey cloud; the rain had stopped and started heavy and loud again, lightened, then paused, quieted, as the grey light gradually became more intense.

My own excitement at the constant change remained high and Jael's perspiration and well-fucked scent didn't help, especially as I had to close my eyes more and more often against the heightening dawn.

Even being told that I would not see the Sun that morning, I soon had to rely on my other senses; on sound and scent, touch and taste. Tears welled and escaped to roll down my cheeks despite my attempt at endurance, and the stabbing pain of punished and overloaded nerves began to torture me behind my eyes. I'd long since closed them by the time the grey light spread far beyond the intensity of the candle chamber, but still it seeped through my eyelids and my head throbbed in regular pulses.

"Just wait, my virgins," Elder Rausery murmured from nearby with a definite smirk to her tone. "You haven't felt anything yet."

Until then we had maintained silence through the night, signing if we needed to speak as we could still see in the dark. It was obvious that we would be required to speak to communicate now, however, and Rausery had spoken in the Surface Trade tongue—an obvious sign that we were to do the same.

"What this first day?" I murmured, forgetting half my lessons then.

"'What will we do this first day, Elder,'" she corrected sternly, and I repeated the complete sentence with a nod.

"Mostly you sit and contemplate this brightness until you become tired. If you are smart, you will retreat into darkness enough to sleep until sunset. Then at night we will go out to hunt for food. I will teach you this land's resources."

Jael and Gaelan made some sound as they shifted next to me so I knew they were listening, too. I could look forward to nighttime, though I would have to wear myself out further to sleep.

I brushed Jael as I quietly gained my feet and followed the wall by feel the very short way to the open portal; I could smell when the moisture coated the rocks and felt when moving air, or rather, when a breeze moved and lifted my cloak briefly as I came out from behind that shield of stone. I paused, eyes still closed and dripping tears, and pulled up my hood to block more of the light. It helped a bit, though I had to keep my face pointed down and still failed to open my eyes for longer than an instant.

In that instant I saw only grey, damp stone at my feet.

I heard Rausery stepping out with me, keeping pace and maybe listening for more than I knew to be aware, and Jael and Gaelan shifted behind as well. I still tasted water in the air, though not in heavy drops like before but more as if suspended in mist. 

Even as I was not familiar with what had to be the spicy scent of the trees, I did not dislike it, and with another whiff I could detect the scent of decomposition underneath it—that scent of organic things breaking down and mushrooms and molds overtaking and creating a new resource, something all in the Underdark could recognize. I could even say it was more so here than down there, since the organic growth here had to be so far beyond our plantations as to seem limitless. From what Shyntre had said, the growth was mostly not tended; it was self-perpetuating and sustainable.

Someone touched my arm and I tensed, but then Jael murmured in the trade language, "Here are you."

Rausery must have decided it was safe, because she chuckled. "That is 'There you are,' Jael. Repeat it."

She did.

"Anyone wish to go farther?"

"Can you see, Elder?" Gaelan asked, and I could hear the physical discomfort thick in her voice.

"Not yet. But I know this place well. I don't need to see."

I took another step, and Rausery accepted that as volunteering; she took firm hold of my braids and pushed me forward. My heart began pounding immediately and it seemed I had lost connection with anything familiar somewhere behind me, that I had been set adrift. The ground dropped at a steep decline—something I could expect from the view I had last night, but it was still startling to take it blindly at this rate. I realized that sound did not bounce back to me or work quite the same with no ceiling over my head. I felt more than a little disoriented.

At the first stone to slip beneath my boot, I swallowed the panic and paid much more attention to my sense of balance and what my other senses were trying to tell me. I winced at the way the stones continued to fall, turning end over end and clacking against other rocks until I heard a few thumps before they came to rest.

"Noisy," Rausery commented, and kept pushing me forward.

Yes, well, we were going much faster than I would have thought wise for being sightless on this slope. She was doing it on purpose.

I evened out only as I used at least three points of contact to find my way, and I managed to keep pace with Rausery as she dragged me down that rock slide. My cloak snagged on things I couldn't see and damp rocks and pebbles slipped and bounced away from my feet. We continued to make an incredible amount of noise and I wondered that Rausery would even tolerate it—until I realized we weren't the only ones making a racket.

"What is crying?" I asked, eyes still tightly closed.

"Birds," she answered aloud. "A good sign. The storm is passing. They reclaim their territory with song every day of fair weather."

*What short memories,* I thought first.

Then thought again. 

Our sentries did the same every cycle and perhaps it would not do to let one's guard be lax here as well. If a bird left and territory came open, surely another would grab it, as happened in the Underdark all the time. Alien as this place may be, Shyntre had taught me that there were many parallels following the same rules of survival if one only kept her mind open to it.

"Birds make bursts of noise in sudden attacks, but also know if the birds fall silent you may take it as a sign they sense a storm, a quake, or are hiding from a predator," Rausery said as we skidded farther down. "Including some two-footed creatures."

"Yes, Elder," I said, feeling cool moisture begin to pass through my gloves from how often I needed to touch the stones. "They do not hide from us?"

"We make too much noise or are too visible to be a threat. They are above us and know where we are at all times."

I could sense when the ground leveled off at last and I stayed in a partial crouch as Rausery stood up straight. She still had hold of my braids and pulled me to standing and toward something; I could sense an obstruction somehow and put out my hands out to prevent running into it face first. 

As soon as I touched it, Rausery let me go and stepped back. I felt something hard, rough, and...almost round like stone but it was not. I smelled a thick, pungent life-sent coming from it, an individual source for what I had known was the smell of the wet forest as a whole.

"Tree," I identified, still speaking the Surface tongue.

"Correct. Long pine, if you note the scent. It is unique. Open your eyes."

My Elder gave me a generous amount of time to do so, but my eyes continued to water and I was gritting my teeth against the strain. I could not hold out for long, but I was able to at least to see a blurred layer of browned needles and flat, mulch leaves on a rocky outcrop partway down the mountain from our cave. 

At first Rausery seemed to be gone, though I could still sense her somehow, and I tried looking up the rockslide but didn't see her immediately, not seeing very far before the light forced me to close my eyes again.

Still no noise on her part; she was waiting for something. Again I recognized how the stone did not envelope me to help recycle the sound or the heat; all that information was quickly swept away by the endless open air. In addition, the birds made it impossible to hear my Elder's breathing. I truly did not know where she was, yet there was the certainty, the gut-instinct that she was nearby watching me. I would have to use my eyes to find her; there was no other way.

Gathering my strength, I forced open my eyes again. I finally made out her shape crouched down a few trees over from me. My sight remained blurred and my head pounded but I kept looking where I knew she was. Eventually I realized the grey light and foliage made a slightly dappled pattern beneath the forest canopy, very like the mottled pattern of her cloak and hood. The pattern broke the visual outline of her form far better than my pure black cloak did. I stared a moment but then, feeling my tears thickening again, closed my eyes tight.

If it was like this now, what would it be like when the clouds left to leave the Sun bare and gold in the Sky?

I heard Rausery stand up and approach me with a light step. "What did you see, Sirana?"

I hesitated only in that I was not sure of the word I wanted to use. "Hide in daylight, Elder."

"Yes. It is called camouflage. That, combined with stillness, does far more here than in the Underdark. Surface creatures use it the same way we use Darkness or bending energy to obscure our outline, but requires no magic. Camouflage."

I nodded my understanding. "Cam...ouflage."

"Good. One task later will be to mottle your cloak. Now, make it back to the cave on your own."

She started moving quickly above me, my ears telling me plainly which direction she had gone—but I hadn't thought that was the direction I'd come down. How could I be sure, though? I didn't sense the deep pulse of the earth here and I couldn't be certain of my direction with the Sun hidden behind clouds, never mind that I could not open my eyes.

I wasn't too far away, though, and all I had to do was climb up the incline by feel. If I was climbing down, I could be sure it was the wrong way. Rausery would remain quiet but Jael and Gaelan might move to lure me their way.

I made less noise climbing back up, trying to separate out the soft step of a Red Sister from the flap and chirp and whistle of the morning birds. Eventually I made it back to the ledge and the cave mouth, and Rausery next dragged Gaelan down the mountain as soon as I was near Jael.

The youngest Sister touched my face, startling me as she next found my mouth with her lips the moment after that. The kiss was pleasant, and it did provide a focus for the tension and sensory bombardment of standing aboveground. I responded, pressing my lips back, though I never stopped hearing the birds even as we lingered and calmed each other a bit.

"Familiar," she murmured with a smile in her voice.

She used the Surface tongue even when Rausery wasn't present to hear it. Good self-discipline, plus I knew what she meant: at least a kiss was the same both under the Sky and beneath the ground. How did that strike me....?

"Poet," I teased, and she turned to shoulder me in the chest to show her irritation. 

She thought of all "scribblers" the same way: if they couldn't stand up to her in a fight, she had no patience for finding their other strengths. If I hadn't been there studying with her, eventually she would have pushed Shyntre hard enough that he no doubt would have knocked her on her ass with a force spell. 

Maybe I should have let that happen. That same talent of his had certainly gotten my attention.

"I taste tears," she said, and it sounded like she licked her lips.

"Am... in pain."

"Yes. How long will pain...?"

"I know not."

Elder Rausery had returned about then and spoke fairly loud in answer, startling both of us more from the suddenness of it. "It will always hurt, virgins. Some twenty or thirty sunrises to learn to tolerate it, unless you are weak, then it will be months. But the pain never fades. You adapt and accept new pain."

She took Jael into the forest next, and Gaelan eventually found her way back to me. My Sister breathed quickly having finished her climb back up, though it was not due to pure physical tiredness, I thought. She felt as disoriented as Jael and me. I took Jael's idea and gave Gaelan a kiss with our eyes still closed; as it had been for me, there was a focusing effect and relief of some anxiety. It was better than nothing.

The Elder was right; it never stopped hurting that morning and we had to retreat much farther back into the cave well before midday, exhausted from enduring the light even that long. My Sisters and I had no trouble falling into reverie for the rest of the time the Sun travelled across the Sky.

******

That first morning I had forgotten for a few marks...or rather, a few hours...that I was pregnant. Neither of my Sisters knew, and Elder Rausery didn't know, so there was no underlying reminder in their own behavior as there had been with my Elder and my Lead before I'd left on this mission. Meanwhile, I had been so overwhelmed with everything else surrounding me upon finally reaching the Surface that...I'd forgotten.

Likewise, I'd forgotten my three beasties until it was time to capture a few insects from deeper within the cave with which to feed them. They remained on guard above my head, above my Sisters' heads, as we lay down.

The moment I slipped into an exhausted rest between Jael and Gaelan, however, my dreams kindly recalled or warped certain recent events for me, should I dare attempt to let my pregnancy slip from my thoughts for an entire day. For all the trouble I'd been, for all I'd cost my allies and my enemies alike, the least I could do was be ever aware of the perpetual growth inside me.

On the nature of the a dream-terror I had...it was one where I'd taken Curgia's place, not only to be bred by a fully mature and demonic Kerse on an altar, but next held in the Valsharess's dungeon to await the birthing, the results expected to be many times worse than what my late sister had done. I waited in doomed dread, knowing ahead of time that the baby was to be given as a grandson to Wilsira, and I would be given to Auranka the Drider Mistress, if I was still breathing after the birth.

I lunged out of the terror just before I saw that birth. I considered the horrifying and bloody images to be the equivalent of being struck repeatedly with a giant club carved with a message on the side: "LUCKY PAWN. BEST REGARDS, LOLTH."

Yes, it could have been a lot worse, and I'd been lucky in many ways. As many who had been using me in their plans, none had worked out quite how they wanted...except perhaps the Valsharess? How long before I could act upon others instead of always being acted upon?

I supposed, unless I wanted only to provide another piece to the big game, I must find a way to manage it within two years, though it would get harder the longer it took. If I somehow remained lucky for that bit longer, maybe it would take about the same amount of time to get in better position as it had to get so deeply into the game in the first place. 

I didn't have high hopes, though; D'Shea herself had taken two years to fall in pretty deep....and more than two hundred to climb back out, even as her position and power changed.

My breathing still seemed loud in my ears as I felt bare, dry fingers reach over to brush the sweat on my brow. I hadn't made any vocal sounds, but no doubt my breath had become very irregular prior to coming awake, my racing heart audible in the dark. Gaelan was awake and aware of me. I could see the outline of her hands and the calm energy about her.

She signed, *Bad dreams still?*

I signed an affirmative.

*Rituals, like before?*

I sighed softly and signed the affirmative again.

Kerse's ritual this time, not Lelinahdara's like before. However, like Lolth's Threshold, I knew this would be a long time fading, if it ever did. My recollection of the agony and pleasure and power trapped in that psychic loop—mindless and surging in an endless spell—would see to it that I never underestimated rituals of any sort. Not if I was smart.

The two rituals had a lot in common with each other except that, unlike the first one, Kerse's hadn't been only magic affecting me. A large part of it had also been the psionic, stubborn, dwarven side of me, trying so desperately to stay sane in the maelstrom of chaos. 

What had the Illithid called me? A "thrall fully aware"? That felt right now that I thought about it, well after the fact. Maybe Kain was the only reason my sense of self hadn't splintered into countless shards or dissolved entirely into Kerse, as close as we had been bound. Maybe Auslan had helped put me back together with his sacred healing. I felt different in some ways even if I couldn't define how or judge which events had caused the changes, but I was also willing to consider the many ways by which I could have been lost and never come back at all.


Surfacing Ch. 01



Lucky, indeed, and I wondered now that I did not credit my survival entirely to my own will and intelligence and desire. I would have, once upon a time, but now...everything had seemed so far beyond my control once Wilsira had gone insane and dragged me down into that pit. Really, how was it possible that I'd even managed to recognize my name as I'd stood naked and lethe in the Consort's room, let alone manage to function as well as I did through the crises that ultimately led me here on the Surface?

Gaelan touched my face again and signed, *Hey. You are alive. You are still with us.*

I almost reacted in defense or blithe sarcasm—I didn't want her to pity me or think me weak—but I remembered where we were, on what we were about to embark, and how both she and Jael were here because of me... I found I could respond differently.

*Thank you,* I signed. *I am glad to be alive, and with my Sisters.*

I heard Gaelan's lips draw back from her teeth before I glanced over to confirm she was smiling. She turned on her side facing me and laid her head on her arm, shifting closer.

*You're welcome. Return to reverie, Sirana,* she signed.

We each drew in a breath and let it out slowly, ready to do just that, though I spent a few more quiet moments thinking about Auslan. I believed that he had been that last one to say that to me, before now. *Return to reverie.*

My hand slid down to rest low on my abdomen. 

Now I had to go forward, but with the acceptance that my continued survival, and that of my child, truly did depend on me...up until the point that it didn't.

Life was so much fun that way.

I wished I could remember whether sex with the Consort had been different or unique at all. Perhaps it hadn't been; I could wager that I might even know more variety than him, having lived with the Sisterhood for two years. What else could he have tried that others couldn't? Just the fertility magic itself, I thought.

That magic, though...I was convinced that was what had pushed me to offer to come back for him. Otherwise it hadn't made any sense for me to say. I was a Red Sister; I could never choose a consort or a sire to be exclusive to me. I wouldn't have the time to protect and support him, and it made both of us vulnerable, both of us targets of reprisal. I wouldn't be able to keep him in any reasonable way, even if I completed my mission and returned as I promised.

Much like my pregnancy, if I somehow made it full term, I had no idea what would happen next. I had to try to plan something, though, for both sire and offspring before the time came. If the time came. And if I didn't fail, it was likely I would have to plan it alone.

******

Later the three of us received a kick in the ass as a wake-up call.

Elder Rausery then strode past us and said aloud into the tunnel, "The Sun has set."

She had tossed the words casually over her shoulder and kept walking; she wasn't stopping to wait. We scrambled to get up and quickly situate the couple of weapons which were not conducive to damage-free sleep, and I called my guardian spiders to me. They were quick and leaped down from the ledge to cling to my bracers as I moved after Gaelan and Jael; eventually they would make it into their home pouch on my belt on their own.

Passing through the Surface portal this third time and beneath a clear night Sky was stunning. The Moons had not yet arisen and I could note for certain that the Western direction was to my right as the bare smudge of reddish-purple light faded far into the horizon. The darkest part of the Sky would be East, and...the Stars provided the best kind of light thus far for our eyes.

The mountainous forest, which had been soaking wet the previous night and nothing but smells and sound during the day, was clear and in stark relief. At first I was unsure if my eyes were not in fact seeing the energy waves of dark vision to see so clearly, but no...this landscape was outlined not as if I was seeing pure energy, but instead as dark blue shades and silvery shadows highlighting every tree branch and stone. The light was far less harsh than a candle, yet there were more points of light than I could count above my head, some brighter, some faint or barely there. It was definitely the color spectrum in which I saw everything at night.

I had never seen this before. Light without fire to hand. Light without blinding flares, surges, or bursts. Just a constant, gentle trickle from above.

No. Not above. Shyntre had said it was "out." Away, not up. Those Stars were only too far out to be as punishing as the Sun was up close. I had tried to imagine a limitless cavern over my head once in the library, but knew that was wrong because something still remained over my head. To actually see this river of Stars now, to know the space between them was so vast, and somewhere out there was the Abyss, where Kerse had been trying to reach with his wings...

How could it even be? Why was it here? How could he get from here to there? Or his sire from there back to here?

...where had we come from? 

Wilsira had said to the Valsharess in the audience chamber, talking about the alliance with the Abyss: "before we came here." Before we settled in what would become the City ruled by our queen, I had assumed. 

But what about the Underdark itself? We weren't the oldest race down there, we knew that in general—but we were strong enough to have displaced things to make our own small world. Our map designs and the very fact that we were literate in our magic only in light confirmed that we had gone underground from the Surface, not the other way around. So how long had our pale cousins been up here? Where on the Surface did we come from? Was it all from the same place and we had spread out from there?

Or had some of us come from somewhere else entirely?

Watching the Sky now I was unable to fully grasp my instinctive response to it; it was like a silent song deep in my mind, deep in my chest that I knew was still there... I wondered more about our racial hatred for our Surface cousins, as I'd only begun to do. I wondered about our distrust and enjoyment in taking advantage of their weaknesses.

I recalled Jaunda's story about violating the blonde trespasser and, after finishing, throwing her back like a fish carcass. Closer to her home, with a chance to make it back to warn others. Unlike the Humans, who'd all died.

Shyntre had said there weren't many Surface elves in this area, as a whole they avoided it as a place that Drow been known to surface from time to time. They hid from us elsewhere, seceded this part of the Surface where we did not even live, and it might be decades between visits for us. They would not even try to defend it, though it looked to have resources enough.

Why were they like that? Nothing so weak could hope to prosper on this exposed, ever-changing landscape, could it?

I wished Jaunda had questioned the blonde elf, at least asked her why she had come down so far as to be on the very borders of the Underdark. What had made the risk to her worth the trying? Just like us, where we stood now: we had a reason to be here, one deemed worth the risk or not, but we were not welcome and we knew that. I would expect no better treatment being captured up here than the blonde had received at our hands.

Rausery had gone back to signing. *The Moons will rise one after another and may be in the Sky together. This will hurt your eyes as well but is easier to adjust because it is less intense. Remember, you are not looking at the source but an indirect reflection. The light is still from the Sun.*

We nodded but remained silent. I noticed only now that it seemed even a bit warmer just as the Sun had set, compared to just before the Sun was about to rise, even if the Sky was just as dark. I blinked away the distraction and focused again on Rausery's hands.

*We start with basics, putting into practice what you've learned in scrolls. How to find water, plants known to be edible in this season, and we will try to track game. We will practice building shelters and getting to know what you may have at hand to burn if you need fire. We are at the very end of Winter, and though Spring will come soon this is the most sparse time for food. We want to supplement our rations. Come full spring and summer there will be more abundance though your rations will be gone unless you make more.*

*Yes, Elder,* we signed.

*You will learn how to do this both at night and at day,* she signed, staring hard at us. *There will be no 'night-only' activity. Before I leave, we will practice combat in all lighting, dusk and dawn especially where it can get tricky for day creatures. Expect irregular rest. The weather and conditions will determine your training and I will call it as I see it best.*

*Yes, Elder,* we said again.

*Then lets us begin.*

******

Our cloaks tripped us up more than anything else during our run the first night. Every snag on tree limb or bush broke the tough pace Rausery had first set, made unwelcome noise, and earned proper excuses for the occasional signed or slapped humiliation at the hands of our demanding Elder.

Personally, I enjoyed how creative she would get in some of her lingual insults, even though my ears stung just as much as my Sisters'. It was as though the seven-century Drow was rejuvenated to a much younger year as she slipped through the Surface's night forest with astonishing silence and dexterity...held back only by her three stumbling students.

The physical bruises and sore muscles we received in equal measure were punishment for making noise. They also increased our fight responses and kept our blood high as well. It did have the advantage of easing the drastic variances in the temperature whenever the air moved.

"You think it burns now, patty-slit, wait until I sit on your shoulders."

After an hour it struck me that Rausery had said she would be finding food and water and learning our resources. Instead we were being run through an obstacle course with a distinct lack of stealth, smacked around, tearing our cloaks—which we would no doubt have to repair later—and becoming hungrier and dehydrated by the moment.

All this while also scaring away the night creatures I'd even had a chance to glimpse before they disappeared into the landscape. We weren't anywhere near catching dinner, and our larger portion of our supplies were still back at the cave.

I knew Jael and Gaelan were bewildered, too, and losing strength, but neither of them had said anything yet. They likely wanted to keep their jaws without hairline cracks and what little of the thin air would stay in their lungs.

The problem I saw was that this did not help us now; this was moving without looking. It was as though we had skipped to a much later test of endurance without the basic experience to aid us. Granted, the Sisterhood was known for such treatment in the Underdark, but that wasn't how Rausery had been handling our preparation before. This made no sense.

We had passed sign a little bit ago, a converging trail likely made by game in the area. By Rausery's own notes and under Shyntre's tutelage, I knew in theory that the convergence was possibly pointing at a source of surface water.

I was thirsty, I would not waste what I had on me, and I was now sure that Rausery was testing us.

I drifted to the back of the line after Gaelan had finished another set of push-ups and...I stopped. I began to backtrack as quietly as I could, intending to find that branching game trail again. My adrenaline still flowed and I thought reaching the water before Rausery might lessen the expected response to my insubordination. Perhaps.

Or perhaps I would just call her on her Drider shit so at least I believed that I fully deserved the punishment.

Left to my own pace, I could be much quieter and I gathered up my cloak just for simplicity and speed, keeping it close to my body so I could avoid getting hung up in the branches and shrubbery. The punishingly steep hill we had previously tackled straight-on I now took at an angle instead, keeping my eye on the point above of which I didn't want to lose track. A Star brighter than the others around it helped me keep my orientation.

I needed to breathe deep in order not to wheeze, enormous draws to get enough air to which I was not accustomed. The scents were so lush here in the thick of the vegetation, even compared to standing on the mountain's layered outcropping. The stone was drier but not the soil, which was still dark and musty with moisture. The "grasses" were short still due to the chill and the early season, but green. This soft plant layer fascinated me; it seemed like extremely aggressive moss now, as it was everywhere that the taller trees and woody stalks did not poison it away or block its Sunlight. And yet... it was not nearly as long as Shyntre had said it could grow. Given time, that would change before my eyes.

I found our own trail embarrassingly easy, further insulted by how obvious it would be to other hunters which direction we'd gone. At least I had no trouble finding the convergence again, and I started following that trail, keeping all my senses open for trouble.

Especially from my own kind.

The soft soil beneath my feet had been packed down by other creatures though grass strained at the edges to invade—and no doubt would by "Summer." The pressure of many feet before mine compressing the soil was the only reason I did not walk in mud after the rain. The air never seemed to stop as it swept past my ears and through my hair; my eyes watered easily as the wind quickly stole too much moisture from them. I found myself blinking a lot as my heart slowed and my breathing became more regular. There was still plenty of forest noise from creatures as well, just as in the daytime, though it seemed more subdued. 

I climbed and descended two more hills, still following the trail, before I heard rushing water; that noise was the same whether underground or above it. It would likely be safer to drink than some sources; different kinds of stone and sediment had a knack for filtering away odd tastes in water, and few parasites and other tiny creatures had the time or safety to fully infest water moving that fast.

Dark shapes of trees kept the water out of sight until I was nearly upon it; I could smell the wonderful refreshment and feel the vapor on my skin long before I emerged from the trees to get a good look at it. It was the loudest thing in the area, white and frothing as the rapids churned over large boulders at this exact location, but I soon noticed that the game trail lead farther upstream, along its edge to a double-waterfall and, between them, a bedrock platform just wide enough to create a relatively calmer pool. The waterfall higher up was a shorter drop than the lower one.

I headed for that pool, opting to climb the rocky wall beside the lower waterfall rather than follow the game trail that went back into the forest, no doubt so certain larger animals could find an easier place to climb. It was a funny thought to think that this trail became the path to water with a permanent detour—rather than some other animal forging a more direct path from a different direction.

Once I had crested beside the second waterfall and stood at the edge of the pool, I took a turn around me for any possible shadows or sparks of life energy aside from the trees. I could hear nothing thanks to the water and again I had to rely on my eyes. My peripheral vision drew me to a bit of light above the far side of the pool and when I focused that way, I realized the first Moon was rising, ready to shed more light on the forest. The Moon was not full, maybe half, although the wavering reflection of its light on the pool were slivers that very much reminded me of the sickle shape of platinum in my sapphire pendant, the twin to the one around my wizard's very bitable neck.

Fancifully, perhaps, I wondered if he had ever stood here? What had he known, or thought of what he was seeing? Had he been wearing this very sapphire at the time?

I could not spare too much time on that, unfortunately. My waterskin still contained pure underground water but was half-empty, and I wanted to taste this water before I mixed it. However I did not want to bring my lips directly to it, exposing all my back and head to...to what?

Well, to Rausery. I still expected her to catch up with me very soon.

Quickly tugging off a glove, I scooped into the astonishingly frigid water with my bare hand and sipped.

It was....crisp. Pure. Somehow, it was better than any water that had ever passed my lips before. What was the source? I racked my mind, trying to remember... Ah, yes.

Snowmelt.

Frozen rain drops turned to crystalline flakes...snow, falling from the Sky in Winter and waiting atop mountains until the days got longer and it melted under the intensity of the light, only to rush down from the tops of mountains, as it was now with Spring just starting. On to the very bottom of...wherever the water would flow. Some of it went to the Underdark. Eventually. But most on the Surface would become vapor again with heat and Sun, and it would become clouds and rain...or snow. And the water would start its journey over again.

There was a grand majesty to that predictable, life-sustaining loop that rivaled the reforming heat and chaotic surge of lava from the deep earth. I had to wonder why the water returned to the Surface rather than becoming lost among the Stars? Was the pull of the world's core responsible for holding it, just as it was somehow holding all of us to it? How did it come here? I knew Lolth hadn't made it...it was not part of our stories that She had ever created the world.

We had no story of who actually did. Or whether it formed on its own from the void...

A twig snapped. I gasped and tried to locate its direction. Irritatingly, I looked up first...but there was no ceiling and no trees above me; it was a wasted move. The sound had echoed in a maddeningly unfamiliar pattern and I was not sure where to look next. I was both surrounded on all sides without an easy escape...but also hard to attack from any but one direction unless something could fly. I focused on that one direction, on the forest behind me as I'd tasted the water.

I did not have to wait long; my attacker was overall an impatient one, and I saw the movement underneath new Moonlight within the trees. I recognized it and smiled, drawing my twin fighting daggers: black, non-reflective, single-edge blades elegantly curved and nearly as long as my forearms.

Jael surged out of the brush, fortunately without getting snagged, her own daggers drawn. I welcomed the engagement with a wide, white grin that certainly stood out in the night—there was far too much light for Jael not to be able to tell. In contrast she was frowning in concentration and fatigue, but I hoped to have her smiling as well soon.

Our weapons clashed and gave away our location to the others. I kept a wide stance on the potentially slick, wet stone as we circled, engaged, and broke apart again. Our immediate area was not so different from our native home: water and stone as our practicing ground. Strike, block, evade. Try to get behind... *Oh, no, you will not.*

I tumbled the very edge of the waterfall's pool, dipped my blade, and flicked a good bit of the cold snowmelt into Jael's face. She was shocked at the temperature, drawing in startled breath, and my next surge disarmed her right hand, the dagger clattering a short distance away. I saw her lick her lips, collecting some of the droplets, and I saw pleasure in her eyes. Not only that, but her body needed more. So did mine.

*I yield,* she signed and sheathed her left blade.

I nodded acceptance and sheathed both my blades as she lifted her other and secured that as well. We both kneeled to drink our fill. Somehow the cold water was even better sharing it with one of my Sisters. We soon noticed, however, that our stomachs began to cramp from drinking too much, too quickly—which was less volume than we could suck in relatively warmer underground water before suffering the same soon after a run.




Surfacing Ch. 01



The shock to the system. My teeth, throat, and tongue even ached from the cold. Shyntre had warned us...eating snow, for example, could draw too much body heat away from the core, which was dangerous to survival in cold weather. At the very least, let it melt in the mouth before swallowing.

Now here we were gulping down huge draws of water that had only just melted from higher up. No wonder our stomachs hurt.

*Where are Rausery and Gaelan?* I signed.

*Watching, probably.*

*And you attacked because...?*

*Because you are such a cunt sometimes.* She glared at me, though I knew the subtleties of her face well enough; she wasn't truly angry, only angry at herself for not thinking of the idea first. *When you broke away, Rausery set us to tracking you, but only to watch you. And to learn. Then she disappeared as well.*

We heard a chuckle then and I realized that something I'd taken for a boulder atop the first waterfall when I first arrived was actually a crouching Drow...

Rausery.

She had anticipated my location and could have pounced on me the very first time I tasted the pool. Damn!

Our Elder dropped the two body-lengths down to our level, landing on both feet and bending her knees well, absorbing the impact with no apparent discomfort for the height or unevenness of the rock. At that same moment, Gaelan walked more calmly out of the forest following the game trail.

"Fill your skins, ladies," Rausery said aloud, her grin visible beneath the ever-rising Moon. "Keep it close to your body beneath your cloak to warm."

Jael's stomach growled as the three of us did exactly that, Gaelan drinking what she had first before refilling, and the Elder chuckled again.

"So you've wasted a lot of energy finding this place," she continued as if she hadn't been herding us like so many guarro for a solid hour before I'd actually started tracking a water source, which had taken that amount of time again. "Now. Do you take from your stores or do you forage something edible?"

I reached on my belt for one of my travel bars. Sadly, I was going to need energy to forage for more energy, and I knew it. My mind flicked yet again to the second body growing inside mine, and the choice seemed plain enough to me. The wasted run was a mistake that would cost, but that was why I had the stores in the first place. I bit in.

My Sisters blinked at me as I chewed and Rausery cocked her head a bit.

"Tell us what you're thinking, Sirana," the Elder said, and interestingly spoke in Drow, not the Surface Trade language.

I swallowed and delayed my next bite, answering in Drow. "It took me too long to decide not to follow you at all, and it cost me too much. I have to use my stores, though I know better next time."

Gaelan and Jael both looked confused and a little stunned. Rausery was just grinning, though granted it was in a fashion that implied I just might get that broken jaw.

"So, you say, don't trust me or anything I say from now on?"

"No, Elder," I replied immediately. "Only do what I need to do, use my training. Think for myself. You aren't going to be here long, so I should not rely on you blindly even this first night."

To my relief, she nodded. "Glad to see one of you got it. If you're curious, Shyntre got it in under half an hour."

I know all three of us flushed at that, but I still said, "And the only endurance tests he faced were sexual and he has not likely been under your direct leadership in battle."

Rausery smirked. "So you had more conditioning to overcome, is that it? Nice excuse, Blue Eyes."

I shrugged. "Excuses. Reasoning. Perception. Has it been so different for any before us, Elder?"

The Elder didn't answer that; she moved to punch me in the stomach. My reaction in that mere eye-blink of time startled me: I hunched over and twisted and willingly took the blow to my right breast instead. Granted, I was wearing leather armor and a hit to either location wouldn't have been as bad as fighting nude...but I still couldn't override that base instinct to protect my gut at the expense of some other part of my body. The best I could do to undo my giveaway to my condition was let my arm drop from my abdomen rather than leave it there as I wanted.

I staggered back, gaining distance and watching her, my breast throbbing from the hard strike; I stubbornly kept both fisted hands at my sides. Rausery quirked a brow and shook her head.

"Sloppy," she said, switching back to Surface Trade. Then she gestured for the three of us to follow. "We'll be walking. And foraging. If we pick up a trail, we go stalking, but unfortunately only until midnight, as we must make it back to the cave before sunrise. Conserve energy and be silent as you can."

She turned back to us with a grin. "How does that sound, virgins?"

We all signed an affirmative and continued learning.

******

I noticed quickly that Rausery was more helpful in her advice when I began to do some things on my own over the next few nights: to mend my cloak, try to find a suitable substitute for the fiberstalk bolts used in my hand crossbow from among the twigs and branches, and even pondering a way to either collect more rainwater at our cave site or find a larger storage for what I could carry so we could build a reserve.

That was one of the larger disadvantages of the site: the nearest water was a slough at the mountain's base that was not safe to drink even if it could be used to wash, and the rushing snowmelt was an hour's jog away.

"Are there caves closer to water?" I asked her, speaking Trade as we had been most times we weren't signing. It was getting easier.

She shook her head once. "I've looked before. Unless something opened up in the last twenty years, there is nothing that protects well enough from the day for virgins like you. Which reminds me, we're staying up past daybreak. You'll get your first look at the Sun in the clear, blue Sky...Blue Eyes." She smirked at me.

I felt a thrill both of excitement and fear at that. 

Through this night, though, we hunted for food that would sustain us. Rausery focused on the smallest and most ubiquitous: ground and tree rodents, birds, rabbit, eggs, fish, grubs, insects, roots, mushrooms, greens, and in time would come reptiles of both land and water and plant fruits, pods, and nuts. We would use almost anything that came within our senses, and I had no reservation about using Callitro's ring to assure that I hit something moving.

The young mage's ring I knew would prove extremely practical on a daily basis; I could not have known before how much it would help, but I had chosen my "gift" well. I was impressed how much the magical boost in perception and timing improved my overall instincts for this new land, accelerating my adaptation ahead of my Sisters.

I could use the small surge of magic a handful of times during a cycle, though not in quick succession. Callitro had been perfectly truthful when he said it only granted me one strike at the time, so make it count. That strike could be by blade or fist, bolt or even as simple as a slung stone. 

Some of the magic bled off into my sapphire, of course, but I had learned to account for it. Ever since the first time that necklace had interfered with the potency of one of Shyntre's spells—shocking the Abyss out of me as we'd wrestled on the floor—it had since then seemed to take only a consistent, small percentage of a spell rather than disrupting the magic entirely.

Shyntre's best guess why that was had been two-fold: first, the stone had only become active at that point, like a catalyst finally introduced to a latent potion, and second, that it had been worn by a magic-user at the time so had that massively reduced effect.

The stone obviously preferred the owner be something else. My academic Drow had not given up until I'd finally told him more of what that "something else" was. He'd heard his mother's oblique references to Rausery about the stone being "useless" to anyone but me, and also that it had to do something with my trials. I had to admire his tenacity, though I only told him in private so that I could extract a trade for that information.

The stone had not just struck by a psionic fist but...possibly interacted with a psionic "ghost" in the wearer as well... What followed was my trying to convince the paranoid wizard that, no, I couldn't read minds, but I had one strong defense against the queen doing such to me.

I sighed at the memory and refocused on the night hunting.

My Sisters and I had our first taste of five of the earliest rodents and small mammals that had come out to forage. They were...alright. Perhaps they would be better if cooked.

"Humans from established villages or towns will focus on the deer and larger creatures," Rausery said as we ate afterward back at the cave. "They are often hunting for more than themselves. They do not place much value on these smallest creatures to sustain their families, but they will sustain you. You will not have a store of travel food after a while; never spurn even a six-legged insect that will give you energy in favor of something much more costly to bring down by yourself. Eat any time you are awake and find something small or large. Your body will do best eating fresh, do not scavenge dead or old or sick, leave it to the native molds, mushrooms, or predators intended for such."

Jael's eyes were narrowed as she listened, concentrating on something as she twisted a skinned rabbit leg to free it from the joint. "What of raiding?"

Rausery smirked. "Stealing a fresh kill from an animal hunter...yes, if you can without injury. Kill it, too, for the added prize. Any furred or feathered creature is good to eat. Consider carefully before you raid a sentient race's stores, especially Human. I've seen a village lie down, allow everything to be taken, and do nothing afterward...and I've seen the most dogged hunts for revenge you could not believe. They vary much and are unpredictable at times. You may be borrowing more trouble than you are capable of handling alone."

"Why, Elder?" Jael asked. "Why would they be hard to predict if they're so primitive?"

"Because they age quickly," Rausery said pointedly, staring hard at her youngest virgin. "It's not them, Jael, it's you. You and the fact that you have already lived longer than most Humans can, yet you are among the youngest of those capable. Humans will be unpredictable to you because you do not have the same understanding of time as they do, and therefore it is harder to tell what any one Human will choose to do with their remaining time when confronted with a threat.

"You won't be able to tell what age a Human actually is unless you find one that will talk with you for days or weeks, and even then that specific Human may be uneducated, or you don't pay good enough attention to subtleties. You likely will never interact with a group of Humans who range from infant to elder. So...they are unpredictable. Do not toss that bit aside."

I stared at our Elder with a bit of wonderment there; her centuries were showing in a way that they usually did not, as the martial expert was much more one for living in the current moment. This was fascinating, though...like a conversation I'd have with Shyntre or D'Shea...

"So comparing that to what we know of the Duergar and Illithids and other races in the Underdark..." I began.

Rausery nodded smartly. "More like us, even if perhaps a bit shorter. The more like us, the more predictable the perception. Most Humans do not live past half a century and those that do depend on the young to sustain them."

We gaped at her and our Elder smirked. We knew about the short lifespan but not that the young worked to feed the old.

She finished off by saying to us, "If you can sustain yourself on the land and remain independent of the settlements, you will be the better for it and your mission less at risk."

I thought next about my run-in with the Duergar, with Kain, trying to steal food and water from him...yes, quite a bit of trouble followed, and that was only one sentient being, not a whole tribe with a much shorter time to make choices.

"So there is magic here and there. Are there any mind-talents up here, like the Illithids?" I asked. "Shyntre did not say."

Rausery's deep crimson eyes slid to me and she pushed a raw muscle sliced from a squirrel's haunch between her lips and chewed slowly, swallowing before she replied. "Stories so far. If they exist, they are far from here, though it is hard to tell when the locals use words like 'witch' and 'demon' to describe anything walking on two legs that is not Human. But yes, I've heard a few stories of mind-talent Humans. I even got a name once: Varasa."

I blinked at the familiar sound. "D'Shea's name? Varessa?"

Rausery shrugged. "Close. Lose the slight roll of the tongue and the stronger hiss. It's choppy. Var. Ah. Sah. Coincidence, I think. Sounds made with tongues are finite, after all."

"What of dwarves?" Gaelan asked. "Those exist for certain in this area."

Rausery nodded. "They guard mountain passes and have trade caravans with Humans, but beyond that, most live beneath their chosen mountain. They do not have a great advantage over the Humans on the Surface for travelling distances and if you find some living in a permanent settlement, they are nowhere near Human settlements."

"Underground but not in the Underdark," Jael murmured just before another bite of rabbit. Some of its juice dripped off her chin.

Rausery nodded. "Better suited for it even than us, were we without our magic."

Which reminded me... I looked at Gaelan. "Have you sensed any ley lines in our hunts?"

She hesitated. "I am not sure..."

"Which direction, even if you're not sure?" I asked.

She pointed out toward the double-waterfall. "Beyond it, I think."

Rausery smiled in approval. "That would be the direction of the Necromancer. Very good."

"Elder...wouldn't it make more sense for Gaelan to go seek the Necromancer if she can sense the ley lines?" Jael asked.

"You suggesting trading missions?" the Elder asked casually.

"Well...."

"Which would you take, young one?"

"Um..." Jael bit her lower lip then blurted, "I don't know, they are magical! They're the strongest of magic in this area and that is why the queen wants them gone. But we need...the others' talents to combat them."

The Elder waited in silence, watching her. We all waited, and eventually the youngest continued.

"Gaelan to sense the ley lines and use magic, me for reconnaissance, Sirana to plan ahead and lead us, all of us to fight..." 

Jael swallowed, and I supposed it did not surprise me that Jael would defer to me to lead a small unit...and Gaelan wouldn't challenge it. I'd been doing as much before directing them on how to have sex...

Rausery nodded thoughtfully. "Say you succeed that way. All three missions with all three of you together. Now what? Would you return?"

"We have to," Gaelan said quietly. "We have no place up here, we could not survive Winter in the mountains...and we belong with the Sisterhood."

"Alright. And now you face the Prime and the Valsharess with your report. Know that the Valsharess uses spells to see your memories or thoughts. What now?"

We were all silent at that one. We had already heard the queen's writ on that.

"You abandon the Sisterhood and live elsewhere, or you do your mission alone, just as you did before in your wilderness trial," Rausery said, though from her tone, she wasn't any happier about this particular situation than any of us.

I felt something in my chest, then, a burning. I knew it was because I resented the word of one Drow wasting resources and pressing a stupid, impossible task on some of Her most promising servants...all for Sanctuary politics. Weren't we worth more than that?

Apparently no more than those expendable in the regular army...

"There must be a way," I murmured. I had already finished my double-handful of shrews and picked tiny pieces of bone from my teeth.

"She never said you couldn't attempt to make temporary allies to help you," our Elder said solemnly. "Only no Sisters to help you. That is why we practice the Surface tongue, isn't it? To be able to bargain or interrogate."

"Bargain with magicless, ignorant Humans who squat in villages and hurl 'witch' and 'demon' to all outsiders?" Jael said skeptically.

Elder Rausery smiled. "There are capable mercenaries and some magicians even among Humans, Jael, and they know their land better than you ever will. They are like dragons and dwarves; they like shiny jewels and coins of gold and silver. The value changes with time but that fact has remained for centuries."

"Mostly male mercenaries, isn't it?" I confirmed, unwillingly recalling the half-Drow about whom the queen wanted me to discover more information. The very word "mercenary" had triggered the thought in my mind. "They are larger and more aggressive than the females. We are at a disadvantage bargaining in their land."

"They respect skill and speed the same as any of us. If something can kill them and they know it, the smart ones are wary and will bargain. The stupid ones who do not know it get injured or killed and good riddance."

"And sex?" I asked curiously. "Shyntre said we would be considered very beautiful to most males, even looking so different, and it might trigger interest."

Rausery laughed low. "Persuasion and distraction, perhaps. Interact and you will notice many of them easily distracted by female forms, and their self-control becomes worse the less they think of females as equals, or the more frightened they are by them. The ones you seek as allies are the ones who are not so easily distracted, or even are indifferent. Those are also the ones with whom you want to drive the hardest bargain."

Jael scratched her head. "But we...notice males...and they aren't equal...yet we are skilled and feared and not distracted."

I knew I could make an argument against that one, certainly for me...but held my tongue to hear the Elder continue.

Rausery nodded. "I know. It's a lesson in culture. You want to be careful indulging here even if they are not afraid. Sex has as much value as coins."

Gaelan and I shared a smile and I said, "But they trade sex for coins all the time. A moment's pleasure for an object of value."

Rausery shook her head. "Give too many 'moments' away and they assume you have more to give. They will try to take it for free or extremely cheap. If they succeed, they lose respect because it was too easy, as you have no skill in barter or in protecting what's yours."

Jael chuffed in arrogance, and the Elder looked at her. 

"You feel the same about some of your past lovers, don't you, Jael? You sneer when you're given no challenge? Well, imagine your pussy in any bargain as a diamond to a dwarf and use it accordingly—including never reveal that you have such a valuable thing for trade in the first place."

I thought about that. "Or ask a very high price. I have seen before when I can control someone with lust. Why not use that?"

Again Rausery shook her head. "Until or unless you gain experience with the current human population, don't try. Their lives are short, and their society changes too quickly. Just turn it around, Blue Eyes, you'll see what I mean. Say there was an attractive, foreign male certain he could control you with your own desire in the Underdark. His reasoning is simply because he is used to being the one in control in his own homeland. What would you do to him to teach him otherwise?"

I blinked, several graphic methods passing through my mind. "Ah. I see, Elder."

"Yes. This is among the best advice I can give you. Don't discard this, either."

The three of us nodded.

"Where does that male thinking on females come from?" Jael asked. "It seems so strange..."




Surfacing Ch. 01



Rausery was quiet, seeming to consider how to answer. It was me that spoke up.

"Children," I said. "The Duergar do it this way, try to follow a bloodline through the male. The female can subvert that bloodline any time with her actions, and he knows it. He tries to control her behavior, and control what other males get near her. It's more work, and it takes more of his energy and thoughts."

"With varying success," Rausery agreed with a nod. "It doesn't matter to us as much; the child is ours no matter what. If we care about knowing the sire for certain, we control our own actions."

"What does she get in return for that?" Gaelan asked with a wrinkle to her nose. "Lack of pain, or only less pain like the Duergar?"

"Sometimes. Also resources. Protection. Status or power," Rausery answered, ticking off her fingers. "Same as we provide for our males, for their own benefit. Except she accepts it more for her children, which she knows are hers. Our own kept males don't even get that satisfaction."

Jael grunted, her lips pursing more tightly. "And we are to deal with these Humans?"

"Or you can work alone, Jael, it's your choice," said her Elder. "They are as likely to try to kill or capture you for being a demon as they are to try to communicate with you."

"They are idiots! I'm not a demon!" the youngest blurted hotly, and it was painfully obvious she was thinking about Draegloth. "They have not seen a real one!"

"Or maybe they have," Rausery smirked at Jael. "They had to get the idea from somewhere."

"From us, long ago," Gaelan smiled at the thought.

I looked up at the Stars again and considered that. What about our pale cousins? Would they be considered demons as well? It was odd to think that I knew more about what to expect from Humans than I did the elves of the Surface. That hadn't been part of our lessons; there hadn't seemed to be any material on it at Shyntre's fingertips. I knew of an old, old war, and that we hated them, and they us...and that was about it.

That was when I noticed the barest lightening of the black Sky to deepest indigo in the East. The first Moon had set and the smaller, second Moon hovered just above the Western horizon as a bare sliver of light.

"Sunrise," I muttered, and my Sisters followed my gaze and trepidation.

"Will we sit out for long?" Gaelan asked Rausery.

"Long enough to know what Sunburned eyes feel like," she grinned. "We'll get to the Sunburned skin later."

The birds had begun singing very soon before the colors began to change. It was a tense and wordless wait on our remote outcropping as the Eastern horizon shifted in shade with alarming speed: indigo to the queen's own purple before it seemed to move straight to a strange mix of orange and...pink? The Stars faded and disappeared before the relentless march of daylight and—high above the smear of strange, fiery shades—I could finally see blue...Sky blue, though it was paler and did yet not seem to be as rich as my eye color.

I believed Rausery that it would become so, though; she'd seen it on calm days closer to midday. It may be many more days before I could stand the light long enough to do the same.

The Sun crested not as gold but as blood red, and the three of us had been looking right at it when it did. We quickly averted our gazes and as I blinked, I noticed a moving blind spot in the shape of a partial disc that blocked some of the detail of my sight.

It took a long time to fade; I wasn't even sure if it had by the time my head began to pound as I watched the full green of the evergreens and new grasses coming into view, seeing that the bark covering each sentinel was...brown. Like the old needles and mulched, dropped leaves and pods.

Gaelan whimpered.

"Keep them open, novice," Rausery growled. "It hasn't even gone to gold, yet."

And yet it was brighter than anything in existence.

The red tint changed to orange before too long, and my instinct knew that the bright gold from my dreams was next. My dreams? Or rather... from Auslan's dreams. His visions of the female figure in white standing before a Drow—that Drow changing from "anyone" to me, with my face. This golden sunlight he'd known I would see for real somehow.

Someday.

Jael keened a high sound of discomfort next, and Rausery kicked her with the toe of her boot. She went silent.

We were all leaking constant tears long before the Sun finally turned gold, swelling full and two finger widths above the horizon. By then I suspected it was the same for my Sisters as it was for me: I was blind whether my eyes were opened or closed, and the pain wouldn't stop.

"Elder..." I whispered.

"You're not intended to see today. Tell me when something changes."

What was that supposed to mean?

We remained either seated or lying down for perhaps another hour in full daylight on the rocks. The birds' singing now seemed incredibly loud; blood pounded in my ears and behind my eyes and it seemed I would get no peace and no relief. I could feel the heat of the Sun even this early in the day as it touched me or the black of my clothing. It warmed me and felt pleasant now, especially compared to the chill of night, but I knew it would be dangerous to stay exposed to it for long periods at a time.

I blinked sightlessly once again, and it felt like ground glass had been dusted beneath my eyelids. Frayed nerves scraped themselves raw against my own flesh.

I cried out.

"Sirana?"

"Something...changed, Elder," I said, gritting my teeth.

"How so?"

"My eyes..."

"Tell me what you feel."

"Ground glass."

"That's it. They're burned. Go inside and bandage your eyes. Keep them closed."

When I staggered to my feet, I had no idea which direction I was going. I felt Rausery's hands take firm hold of my shoulders and point me in a different direction than I'd been headed.

"This way. Straight ahead."

"Y-you can't see...?" I began to ask.

"No, I still can't. I know this place. Don't ask stupid questions and get into the dark."

I wasted no more time doing so. In mere moments, my Sisters joined me, though the Elder remained outside for somewhat longer.

It occurred to me as I felt blind in my pack for something with which to wrap my eyes that my spiders were anxious, crawling quickly over my arms and making little hops from place to place.

"I'll be okay," I whispered, thinking it at them as I worked to calm myself so they could sense it, too. "Will have to see how you little ones do in the light as well."

"A good idea," Rausery said as the three of us began binding our eyes. "I doubt D'Shea created them for this world. They may die, Sirana."

"Or they might just hide," I replied. "I have plenty of pouches and crevices."

"If you think so. They're your brood." She clapped her gloved hands and we jumped. She had our attention. "Don't take those blindfolds off. It will take several days for your eyes to heal to where you can even see in the night without pain."

"Wh—how will we hunt and get water?" Gaelan asked.

"Why do you think we gathered extra? And we're ready for another test: moving through the night forest without eyes at all. You should be able to do that by now, and if you can't, you deserve to smack into a tree. Meantime, I'd get some sleep if I were you."

It took a while to ignore the pain long enough to drift into reverie, but eventually we managed it.

*****

Our cycles took on a certain torturous, reliable pattern from that point: blind foraging, blind running, blind fighting, followed by a cold night of hard hunting for meat and all edibles before we endured another warming morning and usually burned our eyes again in hot afternoon—though not nearly as bad as the first time—and started over again. We were given more tricks to ease the pain or lessen the damage, making a "sunblindness mask" from flexible bark, for example. 

"Extra good for snowblindness, too," Rausery had said. "Snow reflects Sunlight the same as liquid water. A pale yellow soil or quartz rock is nothing compared to the shock of glittering snow."

The masks blocked the worst glare and protected our eyes against burning, though it played hard against my peripheral vision and I looked forward to acclimating enough not to need it anymore. Even blind, I could not always hear as well as I always had in the Underdark, and it was because of more than birds and insects.

It was because of the wind.

Gusts of moving air whipping past our ears were its own kind of sensory overload; it varied day to day and throughout each hour with no discernible pattern. I had begun to understand why the Surface creatures had to be inured to a certain level of constant noise. The roaring of air across our sensitive ears—often worse the higher we climbed in those mountains, and especially so on the peaks and crests—could make it to where I lost both sight and sound.

That was when I began to pay more attention than ever to smell and taste and touch. The "acclimation" I had thought would be mostly sight turned out to be my entire body, and how well my mind could process new detail and discern new patterns.

We soon experienced Sunburn on our skin as well. By all evidence, Rausery had been looking forward to this particular lesson, as it was the only time she used her Feldeu while training us. Simply put: she wanted to fuck us, one each day, on a high and fully Sun-exposed piece of mountain.

"It's tradition," she chuckled, holding on to the back of my neck as we looked out over the vast, quickly greening landscape through our masks.

"Tradition, Elder?" I asked.

"Initiations in culture, passed from elder to younger."

"Oh. I thought that was 'sludge slides downhill.'"

Rausery laughed out loud, her deeper voice whipped quickly away by the wind. She massaged my neck. "Strip down and present for me, virgin. Keep looking out at the Surface as I use your twat."

"Yes, Elder," I said as I removed my newly-mottled cloak and laid the many pieces of my uniform upon it on the flat stone promontory.

The air felt chilly as it sloughed heat directly from my skin and hardened my dark purple nipples to tight points. The wind ruffled my hair and my mons fur alike and the way it caressed me around shoulders and waist, hips and thighs felt like the current of a stream. At the same time, I could feel exactly where the Sun struck my skin, its energy punching through the air without weight, without effort, and seeping into me. If I faced one way or the other, I knew exactly where my skin was exposed.

"Keep your mask on, Blue Eyes. Good, now. Kneel down, that's good. Spread your legs a little more. Keep looking out."

My Elder reached between my thighs to rub my sex with her gloved hand, leaning to pinch my nipples and stroking my skin, blocking part of the Sun until I was moist enough for her. Then I felt her take tight hold of my hips and slide her hot and hard Feldeu along my crack. I moved my hips around, pleasuring myself and her, slickening her weapon before she would plunge it inside. Eventually Rausery released my breasts and leaned back a bit and I knew without looking that the Sunlight was nearly straight above me; its seeping heat coated my bare back like a blanket.

I counted perhaps eleven different shades of green as I waited to be taken—all somewhat smudged as I had trouble seeing distances in this light—but I could grant that I had never felt such a vastness as this with my entire body as I kneeled naked on all fours on the edge of a high, flat rock.

My hands gripped the gritty ledge as my Elder sank swiftly to fill my sex and plow it for a while, stopping before one of us came, then starting again...stopping...then starting...then changing to a different orifice as I mewled, wishing she would let me climax as the Sun burned my naked back.

The experience was fun and new, and between the fits and starts, I tested how far I could see out and below without getting dizzy, gasping the thin air as Rausery fucked my netherhole. She did at last allow me to peak.

The aftermath of the experience, however, was miserable. The Sunburn darkened the grey-black tone of my skin to a purple-black and it radiated heat as if Sunlight itself was leaking out of my pores, but only after being locked within my skin doing its damage. Clothing felt hot and scratchy and was nearly impossible to ignore. It was a surprise and disturbing the way our skin peeled in small, grey strips after a few days and my Sisters and I needed to groom each other... but at least that part was painless. Rausery said it wasn't so bad; we could have had blisters, as though we'd put our skin over a candle for too long. And after longer exposure than that? I would only imagine.

It was an excellent lesson reinforcing both the power of the Sun and the careless exposure of our skin. Extreme exposure was possible in good weather just as it was in cold and wet.

By the twenty-fifth day, our endurance had increased enough to be able to go out at midday wearing the masks and keeping our hoods up. Some rainy days gave our eyes much-needed relief. On the Sunny days, though, I could catch glimpses of that Sky blue that I'd wanted to see, though I could not believe how much heat pounded down on me from above when I went out into direct Sunlight. I was not used to sweating so easily and was grateful for those ever-shifting breezes and winds even in the Spring chill.

My spiders had begun to travel with me inside their pouch rather than stay in the cave, and as expected they did not like the light at all, though they would come out at night, even under Moonlight. If I tried to force them into Sun, they would just crawl deep into my glove or bracer and they were impossible to extract without crushing them until I went back into darkness and called them out on their own. They would obey, but not at the expense of their own survivability if there was no threat to me. I had to accept that weakness to this weapon and consider it in my near future.

My Sisters and I had innumerable opportunities to see so many of the creatures that lived in the forest, in both day and night. There were so many and none edible that I would refuse to eat. I had high confidence I would not starve with this abundance, even on my own, even as I began to notice an increased hunger that had to be related to my pregnancy. This was even before more plants began to grow with the warming and lengthening of each day. The Underdark would never produce this much food simply by existing.

Gathering food became our only focus for several weeks once we were in competition with the birds and rodents for certain mushrooms, berries, nuts, and blossoms. I knew why we were grinding and pressing these energy bars now: we were not only making some for us, but also gathering enough food for Rausery to make the return trip back down below.

It took another fifteen days to be able to go out in daylight without the mask with my hood up, and by then I knew the Trade names for nearly everything I could see and my mind worked constantly taking in my resources, the angles of ever-changing shadow, and the obstacles of ground and plant. Confidence aligned our shoulders as I glimpsed my Sisters stalk the forest with me, and I began to look forward to seeing more beyond this mountain where we'd been living well into this season of renewal.

My only regret would be that we would not see it together, and I had to hope that Rausery's and Shyntre's gifts of knowledge would be enough for each of us to return. In this quiet landscape devoid of racial threats, it seemed like a foolish hope. We hadn't truly been tested yet. When we were, we would be alone. This Surface place, warmed from above by the brightest Star in the Sky, would be as unforgiving of mistakes as both the Underdark and the Abyss.

When I thought about it, I worried more for my Sisters than I did myself. Gaelan was far more cautious and less used to solitary, self-directed assignments than I was, and Jael...she was just so young still. She had not had the opportunity to mature too much beyond when I'd first met her in battle. True, I was only fifteen or twenty years her senior, not much considering, far less even than the years that separated Shyntre and Auslan, but...

....but I had been pressured to change from challenges well beyond the Sisterhood, which was significant on its own. Kain. Lana. Kerse and Wilsira. D'Shea's own compulsion, her drive and her rivalries, and Auslan's healing and visions. I'd survived it all. I could do so again, and I'd carry my child along for the ride for as long as I could. That was the biggest pressure for change. 

"The eldest of you will be heading out first," Rausery informed us after one last night of preparation, eleven days past the Spring equinox. She was looking at Gaelan.

To her credit, my Sister just nodded. She had been expecting this just as Jael and I had been; we only waited for Rausery to make the call.

The Elder said, "Tell me again where you are going."

"East, to the forest on the far side of that mountain range," Gaelan pointed to our right, in the opposite direction of where she'd told me she felt the ley lines leading to the Necromancer. "There are more Human patrols and lodgings, and the Warpstone cult lies deep within. I must destroy their 'home stone' to severe the connection with their matron power."

"Remember you also have to go through two mountain passes."

Gaelan nodded. "Possibly guarded by dwarves, yes. Or find a way around them."

Rausery nodded, shifting her gaze to Jael instead of me. "And you?"

"East, also," Jael answered without much inflection, "but farther South through a different pass. I search for a larger city, built higher up but not far from a large cliff. The cliff castle, Manalar."

Rausery nodded. "You will have to confirm its name in case it has changed. Whom do you seek?"

"A healer-warrior called the Godblood. He likely has other names."

My eyes narrowed a bit as I thought about that. "Does he reside there?"

Rausery tilted her head. "I thought so. We are going off only the queen's vision on this one."

"What did She say exactly, Elder?"

"She says we will find him at Manalar in the warm seasons of this year, and She would be right because it would take that long for Jael to reach him."

I felt an odd trickle roll down my spine despite my Elder's logic; it wasn't sweat but it did feel somehow cold. "Yes, but...if it is not his home, then there might be an event to call him there at that time instead."

"Such as?" Gaelan asked.

I shrugged. "A need for a healer or a warrior. Both together imply unrest and death."

Rausery started to smile, her dark crimson eyes watching me intently. "A war. Interesting. I forget how you draw out the unspoken the same way D'Shea does at times. You could be right, most organized conflicts between groups of Humans happen in the warm seasons." 

She shifted her gaze over. "Jael, you're going to have to watch for patrols much farther out from the city than we told you, another day at least. Use any method of disguise at your disposal. You memorized where the Undercroft is? That will be your best point of entry, but do not go in without having an alternate exit as well. You will have to study it."

Jael nodded stiffly. "Yes, Elder."

Finally Rausery turned to me. I spoke merely at the look.

"I'm heading North and West to the ley line intersection and an old Tower where a Necromancer resides. I'm to destroy him...somehow."

"He is still living flesh despite his magic, you can strike him down if you get close enough," Rausery said with odd familiarity. "Surprising him will be the hardest part. Just burn him and scatter the ashes to make sure he does not somehow rise again."

I tilted my head. "Have you seen him before, Elder?"

"He was here twenty years ago, yes," she said placidly.




Surfacing Ch. 01



"And...have you met him, Elder?"

Rausery smiled crookedly; apparently I'd asked the right question. "He was a temporary ally the last time I was up here. Death mages are usually preoccupied with the opposite side of life and thus are not easily distracted by the act of creating it. He is crafty with a cruel streak that rivals many Underdark races. Do not underestimate him. As for his quirks...his lack of a sex drive does not prevent him from making innuendo merely for the reaction in others. I found it's best to ignore the slurs."

"Hm. Under what circumstances did you leave his company?" I wanted to know.

"Neutral. I decided not to kill him as he could prove useful again. The Valsharess seems to disagree on that now, so you are being sent to kill an elderly Human with notable magic."

Gaelan shuddered subtly. "How many Necromancers have you heard of in your lifetime, Elder?"

Rausery looked at her with almost no expression. "Few. More on the Surface than below it, I think because overall there is more life energy. The release of that from a dying body is what they use in their spells."

"That, and pieces from the dead," my elder Sister added in plain disgust.

"Well..." Rausery looked at me. "Maybe that will be extra motivation for you, Sirana. If he catches wind of your intent and wins a conflict between you, he will use your body for spare parts and spell components."

The sudden wave of nausea did surprise me. My first mental image was of my dissected my womb and I pressed a hand to my head in a vain attempt to smother it. I did not want to know what a death mage could do with a relatively rare "component" like a Drow embryo or fetus.

"Got it, Elder," I said with a genuine desire to turn the conversation away from my mission. "So why is it called 'Warpstone' again?"

"Because it sounds better than fuck-a-slug-crazy stone," Jael grinned and Rausery snorted a laugh, surprised as I was by the youngest's comment.

"Close enough. It's a Chaos element that I'm not even sure how it got here. If you think Lolth is a fickle goddess, you haven't seen the followers...or perhaps the possessed...of Warpstone. They make little sense, cannot be bargained with or interrogated, and do not survive longer than a few years each before their body breaks down under the stress of entropy."

"Only a few years?" Jael asked incredulously. "Well, then, why not just wait for them to snuff themselves out?"

"The element sends those with limited spans for replacements. Abducting, mostly. It was something the Necromancer was helping me with last time, because they were trying to move in to this valley. Neither he nor I wanted that. I thought we had destroyed the home stone, but...apparently they just move several valleys over."

We all watched our Elder intently.

"Do you have any ties to Manalar Castle and the Godblood?" Jael asked.

"The Godblood, no," she answered forthrightly. "If he's Human and in his prime, he would have been a mere boy the last I was up here, and we've realized that we do not know for certain where his home is. Ties to the cliff castle, yes. The Valsharess believed the rulers there possessed something...."

Rausery stopped then, seeming to struggle against a mere tick of her cheek. I knew both Gaelan and I had caught it; we recognized it.

Then she shook her head. "That is all I will say on that. That mission was not a complete success but I found something to satisfy her."

Certainly it was all she was even able to say. The Valsharess and her compulsions again...even Rausery possessed at least one. No wonder she did not give D'Shea public ridicule when hers was discovered...and broken in the same instant. Now the Elder's peer was one step ahead of her.

The apparent prevalence of compulsions did not comfort me, but it did somehow make me more grateful for what information I was given by my Elders, as neither D'Shea nor Rausery had thus far outright lied to me as far as I knew. Omitted, oh my yes. Much omission. And did they let me make my own assumptions without correcting me? Absolutely, yes. But what information they have given directly to their Red Sisters, we found we could always use it.

"It is time to rest, virgins."

Gaelan reached out to touch me later on as we settled for reverie. She was to leave in another four or five hours, when the Sun had risen and her direction was clear once she got out of our remote valley. Rausery was wherever she usually went as we rested; it was never in the tunnel but somewhere outside. Jael had just fallen asleep, and that was no doubt part of the timing as Gaelan kissed me. The two had gotten used to each other, but each still preferred some privacy with me if they could get it.

I responded fully, wanting her taste and scent one more time before she left. I helped strip her leathers over and down her hips and legs, bunched at her ankles, and she did not even have to ask or encourage me to go down on her first. 

She kept her gasps and her shudders quiet and restrained; I probed and mouthed her almost delicately, drawing my tongue slowly across her folds, inhaling deeply the fragrance in the tuft of her mons. Her hand stroked my ears gently and toyed with the single braid I'd taken to weaving with my hair while on the Surface, which took less time than the complex patterns expected when moving about the City where the public may see.

When Gaelan's hips began to move a little too much, just as I was adding more urgency to my strokes and sucks, I gripped them hard with both hands, digging my fingers in to where she would feel it, and forced them still. I used my forearms and elbows to splay her thighs wider, accentuating just how little use her feet were, tangled so in her leathers.

The Red Sister who had first claimed me for D'Shea actually made a peep now at being held so open and vulnerable. She quickly bit her lip to keep from making more noise and waking Jael. Her pussy became wetter and her scent strengthened as she held herself still for me, trembling with effort. I attacked her sex then, lapping and sucking aggressively, thrusting my tongue inside her before flicking and swirling the tip around her clit. I could feel every muscle in her body straining as she ached to reach her peak.

Gaelan kept her mouth tightly closed, lips pressed together when she finally came, and the unique sound reminded me of our furtive coupling when I still dominated her in secret, though she topped me in public. I remembered her biting her fist to keep quiet as I stroked her netherhole with her own Feldeu. She had been just as beautiful then.

I kissed her netherlips more gently as she came down breathing deeply and heat radiating from her skin. I rose up to kiss her mouth next and she eagerly accepted the shared, heady whiff of the moisture on my lips.

Then we worked on lowering my own leathers and she gladly returned the favor.

I became aware of Jael watching me shortly after I'd made an unintended sound and looked over to find she was already awake, and probably had been for a while. I hadn't counted on the spike of sensation that swelled in my gut being caught like that, but I liked it. I smiled and quirked an eyebrow in question. Jael hadn't moved or given any sign to Gaelan, nor did it look as though she intended it.

Jael signed subtly, *I want better before we part.*

I nodded slightly, still breathing shallow and uneven as Gaelan brought me closer. *If you... stay out now.*

She signed the affirmative and let out a soft breath, closing her eyes again. She wasn't asleep when I grunted in climax against Gaelan's mouth, but she was very convincing. My elder Sister rose up to lie on top of me, kiss me again, and we waited for our breaths and heartbeats to slow before we parted for true reverie.

Honestly, a healthy orgasm was probably the only reason either of us slept before we saw her off in the morning. My Sister looked back only once.

"Jael goes tomorrow," Rausery said quietly as we watched Gaelan climbing down the mountain. "South and East."

Fetching water and repairing any and all weaknesses that we could find about our equipment filled the day for us. Jael wanted to get me alone and tried several times, but Rausery kept us working and being useful. I figured only when we were released to sleep would we have the opportunity.

My mind drifted often to Gaelan moving farther away beneath the same Sun over our heads. It was the same Sky, and soon, it would be the same Moons. Even after another forty days of travel, she would still be under the same Sky as each of us.

I wanted us to meet again beneath it; I wanted the queen to be wrong in her vision. I wanted Rausery's detailed and intense training to be the balance-breaker, the game-changer.

But I still remembered what Gaelan had said the first time she'd looked out at the rain falling onto the forest: *I'm still not ready for this.*

Damn. 

....Damn. Why did she have to say that?

I wasn't sure who grabbed who first when Jael and I finally had the final four hours, the time to rest deep in the tunnel, but our stripping was desperate and aggressive, and Jael bit my lip when we kissed. I grabbed her hair at the base of her neck and yanked it back, forcing her to look at me as I held her so tightly she had trouble breathing.

"You're going to survive, right, Jael?" I whispered in Drow. "This isn't you wanting just one last time, is it?"

She gritted her teeth and loosed a hand to slap me; I was shocked enough to let her hair go. Then she threw both arms around my neck and buried her face against me, kissing shoulder and neck and hooking a leg around my bare hip so we were pressed close as possible standing up.

"Fuck, no," she growled. "Fuck you for saying that, you slit!"

I felt myself beginning to smile as we kept fighting against the inevitable.

Naked we entwined our legs as we had several times before, like our first time, our chests pressed together and lips locked once we were on the ground. We struggled to find a rhythm with both of us trying to show just how much we wanted to promise the other that there would be a next time. Finally, I let Jael lead—she just needed it so much more— and gasped as she ground my sex hard with her thigh. Soon I was moving with her.

"Yes," I whispered, pressing more firmly between her legs as I squeezed her bottom in both hands. I didn't care that the stone scraped my knees and knuckles and hips; it even seemed to enhance the youngest Sister's teeth on my breast and neck... 

Jael whimpered a lot in primal pleasure and actually climaxed just before I did. As with Gaelan, I held on as our heartbeats returned to normal; Jael didn't seem to want to move.

"Sisters don't leave Sisters to die," she breathed.

It sounded as if she was testing the phrase on her tongue. I did not think she had ever said it before, though she'd heard it.

I did not answer, uncertain why she'd say it now. Surely, we had each acted on those words for each other. However, while I might consider it a truth for me—even benefiting Panagan or Qivni—Jael likely did not feel the same way for every Sister...or even many Sisters. Her habit of loyalty was fresh, cured with time even less than mine, and far from reliable. Rausery knew that.

Would Jael simply disobey to live or to find one of us?

...Would I?

"Meet me on the way back?" she asked quietly, her mouth nearly pressed to my shoulder.

Jael had the most distance to travel, and I had the shortest. She was assuming I'd finish first. It was a plausible assumption.

I nodded almost without realizing it. Then I said, "Yes. If I know where to look."

Neither of us cared so much about being named "Sola" by the queen, to want to be the one to make it back first. The queen wasn't here in the trench with us, and that promise, that "reward," was a root held out on a stick which meant very little if we'd been sent to die anyway. If I finished first...why wouldn't I start out after my Sisters instead of going after that root? Maybe I could find Gaelan, too.

Gaelan would follow her given path; I knew she would. I would know where to look. If Jael did not follow her mission, however, I would not know where to meet.

Her voice quavered slightly and she trembled for a second. "Just meet me on the way back. Stay alive. I'll be there."

And that was her answer. She wouldn't abandon us; she wanted to return to the Sisterhood...but not without me.

"Deal," I whispered.

Jael breathed out, her hand running down my back, and we fell asleep like that, naked and wrapped up in a tunnel leading back to the Underdark.

******

Tracers remained in my vision as I stood in Sunlight again the next day, wearing my mottled, grey-black cloak with my hood up and watching Jael leave. She did not look back after giving us both a hard, determined stare and turning away to begin her descent.

*Tracers...* I thought absently, my mind in a bit of a fog as she left.

Tracers were what Rausery called those spots and bending colors that impaired precise vision at long distances. It was part of the reason none of us bothered with making a long bow. We'd have to get by with stalking and ambush, using our strengths in shadow, to listen and be able to fight blind if necessary. We had to be able to tolerate Sunlight, but we would not be able to counter long shots or anyone with the eyes of a hawk. We would have to hide.

"Never leave your back open," Rausery had said then. "You move carefully and quietly, you use shadow where you can, you always stop with something at your back."

"You wait until tomorrow," was what she said now.

"I'm going in the opposite direction, Elder," I replied. "I could leave today."

She frowned at me in definite warning. "You wait until tomorrow. If anyone's going to circle back, it's you, Sirana."

I stiffened. "Elder—"

"Tomorrow," she said sternly and allowed no further discussion.

The rest of that day, I focused hard on making a few more bolts, mixing more poison paste and more food—separately—and strengthening my belt and pouches with spare strands of darkened hide leftover from hunting. I applied a fresh coat of waterproofing solution on cloak and boots and gloves —mixed as Rausery had shown me using Surface reagents, knowing from recent experience that it would also help against elemental wear in general and control odor as well.

I didn't see Rausery though I figured she was watching to see if I would sneak away. I used my time more wisely than that. When the Sun set and I still hadn't seen her, however, I went to seek her out.

I did not find a trail or sign of passing, nor did I expect to; I found her just on the hunch that, were I her...were I somewhere I felt in my element, released from all duties, far from the immediate concerns of other Drow plots... though soon to return...

...then I might be spending my time watching the Stars and Moons a little longer. But I would choose somewhere I could still see the mouth of the cave and any figure moving down toward the treeline.

"Need something?" she asked and I jerked in surprise, having just finished climbing to the second ledge above our cave. She was there, reclined on a cradle of rock, lounging with her hands folded just above her belt.

I nodded and took a seat on a second rock within easy talking distance.

Rausery didn't comment at first, staring out at the view, then up. I followed her gaze, temporarily entranced by the Stars. The Moons hadn't risen yet and the Stars were radiant against the black Sky.

"So tell me," she began. "Is there something else you will be doing, Sirana? Something She told you to do, perhaps?"

I gritted my teeth behind closed lips, feeling the wave of nausea as I would have liked to say, "Yes." I turned my head to look at her profile, eventually drawing the Elder's considering gaze. We stared full on for several long seconds, and I could read when she at last confirmed that I couldn't answer.

Her mouth twitched and tensed at the same time. "I thought so." 

She looked away and was quiet again as a breeze passed over our ears in a low whoosh. She spoke again with her eyes on the night horizon. 

"It's lives or objects, usually. Always wants something of this place, wants to keep this portal open and information on the area, yet pretends no long-term interest. She blocks and punishes curiosity or ideas of expansion. How it serves Lolth for the Valsharess to have the visions and the choice to affect this world above, yet we remain closed up down below... is a mystery to me."

Rausery had my complete attention; my ears eagerly drank in the words. The Elder wanted to "talk." She wanted to speak her mind as she could with a compulsion on her.

I knew now that a compulsion spell could be much broader in its effect—as Wilsira's had been on D'Shea. However, as I understood now that Wilsira's curse had been fuelled and enhanced by an Abyssal ritual, I no longer feared that every Drow suffered something so broad, even beset by the queen.

Fortunate for both of us that Rausery's compulsion must be as specific as mine, to be able to talk around it even as much as she had just now. Most compulsions had to be specific—the two on me had been so, as were Gaelan's and Rausery's. If one wanted more, one could only attempt to turn the unfortunate target into a thrall and take the will away entirely, as the Illithids did. But even that had risks.

Auslan had even said it himself: "Magic wears differently on us all over time...there is always change..."

Even for a queen that aims for stagnation.

Rausery's statement would damn her if she'd said it so that it got back to the Valsharess...but she didn't seem to care up here. I wasn't going back with her, and I understood chaffing against restraint.

I looked out over the Surface. Just watching the Winter become Spring, seeing not only the green arrive seemingly from nowhere, but the white and pink blossoms and yellow ground flowers, showed that this place was anything but stagnant or restrained.

"Where did you hear most of your stories of the Surface, Elder?" I asked. "Not at the Necromancer's Tower?"

A quick glance showed she was smiling. "Quite a few of the recent ones through Sarilis, actually. You know scholars. They must talk, and they must keep records to 'prove' their talk."

I blinked. Sarilis. So now I had a name. She'd taken her time on that. Why hadn't Shyntre mentioned it? "Records? Can you read the scrolls up here?"

I had been immersed in the Common language and had confidence getting my meaning across...but I was illiterate in any written Surface language, as far as I knew. I had even been told to expect variable, local differences in the speech itself. Script was an entirely different matter.

Elder Rausery shrugged. "I can read a bit of the Wizards' scrolls. I've learned a few things this last century, taking on D'Shea's boy when she wouldn't...or, rather, couldn't. The mages' script has surprising overlap no matter where you are. Do you know what the root language is?"

I shook my head. "No, Elder."

"Draconic. Very few Great Wyrms around, as I understand it, but both Sarilis and Shyntre read similar symbols in their own dens, I know that much."

That alone explained one of the core differences between the arcane magic and the divine for the Drow...I already knew just from exposure that many of the words of divine power for the Priestesses came from the Abyssal language. How was there any overlap between arcane and necromancy?

"Does he know that?" I asked. "Shyntre, I mean."

"He wasn't around Sarilis, if that's what you're really asking. I took the wizard topside earlier than that, general reconnaissance, not a focused mission. He may suspect, but he hasn't met a Surface mage to compare notes."

"And you haven't told him."

Rausery shrugged. "It's only been twenty years since I figured that out. When it's worth mentioning it, I will."




Surfacing Ch. 02



Author's Notes: This story is erotic fantasy written by Etaski. I reserve the right to be listed as the author of this story, wherever it is posted. If found posted anywhere except Literotica.com with this note attached, this story is posted without my permission. © Etaski 2013

This chapter is written to be a "companion chapter" to the first. These "Underdark" chapters will appear as needed, though the greater number of chapters planned are set on the Surface. Nonetheless, they will share the same name. ;) Chapter 3 will return to Sirana.

Warning: As my Drow are still as evil as they can be entertaining, please note that this chapter describes more gender-based violence than is typical. 

*****

Chapter 2: Underneath

ALLIES

A green-eyed Drow sat on a saddled lizard just outside of the ward boundary surrounding the Wizard's Tower. Her normal Priestess garb, headdress, and jewelry were all missing as she borrowed more nondescript forms of dress. While her face was placid, the subtle set to her shoulders revealed an unusual tension for what was thus far a long-time and rewarding game.

"It's clear," she said so lowly that even a whisper would have carried farther and seemed more harsh amid the barren stone. "I can't be gone long, Varessa. I am beneath several daggers right now, you know this."

The Elder Red Sister nodded, sitting on her own lizard and passing her a small, leather pouch. The Priestess accepted and tucked it efficiently away. All their actions were probably—hopefully, tauntingly—visible to Phaelous from the Tower. As always they chose not to sign their communication even as they were within sight. It was part of the game, always at a different view from inside the Tower.

D'Shea murmured now almost without moving her lips. "I need his name, Tarra."

Lelinahdara sighed. "Easier said than done. No Priestess knew all the names of the Consorts. Only Juliran and Wilsira knew that one's name, and Wilsira didn't have the chance to pass it on before you killed her, otherwise Auranka would have extracted it. The queen didn't notice, though, he's supposed to be dead with all her others."

The Elder stared at her. "Not while he's still of use to us."

The Priestess nodded slowly. "Then I will research it as I can. If I discover something, I will tell you."

"Will you be looking in the Abyss?" D'Shea asked.

Lelinahdara shook her head slightly. "It's difficult to explain, Varessa, and you know I would not spill all our secrets like that. I will tell you that they had been fully Drow up until when the taint from Kerse's sire entered the ritual. I assure you that the Consort now residing in your dungeon is not demonic, even having a name of power."

D'Shea nodded acceptance, burying that particular concern for now. "He is not likely persuaded to tell me?"

"He can't," the Priestess said flatly. "He is not able. Not without a ritual that we would have a very difficult time performing with none the wiser right now and so many watching."

D'Shea grunted softly. "What kind of ritual?"

"It is like what Wilsira was trying with that young Noble's unborn at Itlaun. Perhaps later we can try, if it is the only way. I wish to know his true name as well... We should be wary of a Consort who survives his Priestesses, Varessa. He is linked to no one now. That has never happened to my knowledge. It will not help his stability; they are not used to being truly alone."

"It has never happened," the Red Sister repeated. "Do you have any idea what to expect?"

The Priestess turned her head slightly away from the Tower. "No. He may wither away, or he may grow volatile...or perhaps something else. He was one of the stronger Consorts I noticed, the reason for which I think is obvious."

D'Shea nodded. "The same reason he still breathes."

"You'll no doubt discover just how strong or weak is that connection with your son. They have not been in the same room for well over a century."

"You forget House Itlaun," D'Shea commented. "There's been recent contact well before Kerse abducted Sirana. Shyntre was the one to push the idea of taking her to the Consort for healing."

"If there was contact, then Sirana didn't report fully to you," the other observed. "Or she didn't know of the contact at all."

The Elder's face hardened. "If she did not know of any connection at all, then she would not be watching for it. But truly, do you think the Consort would have stayed away, with Shyntre and Sirana both in the same place?"

"If he knew what was good for him, he would," Lelinahdara smiled. "But they often don't when they become distracted. You know males."

The Elder slowly let out a breath. "So obvious in hindsight, Tarra. I can only blame my tight focus on Wilsira."

The Priestess nodded in understanding. "You were as close as you'd ever been to being free. Those two boys haven't so much as acknowledged the other's existence in decades. It does not surprise me that we missed that."

The inclusion as a pair softened the Elder's face. "Perhaps Sirana could have reached his name now."

Her long-time ally tilted her head. "That psychic bruise left by the dwarf, you mean? Which we failed to extricate. Has she gained more control since raping the unwitting tutor, the female Duergar?"

D'Shea nodded. "It would seem. Sirana has also had direct contact with an Illithid since then. She used that sapphire a second time to give Jaunda a suggestion that would wear off some time after the second audience with the queen." Her copper eyes locked intently with the Priestess's green ones. "It worked, Tarra."

White brows rose up very high. "What had Jaunda forgotten, but now remembers?"

D'Shea shook her head. "Not now, Tarra. Know only that it worked. It actually worked...I thought perhaps it had been as much my power as hers when I found a way to break my silence through her. It was so much like the rituals you and I had been performing to purge the imprint from her. But...what she did to Jaunda, she did on her own."

Lelinahdara released a slow breath with a shake of her head. "And we lost her, thanks to the queen. That must be eating away your guts, Varessa."

D'Shea grunted. "Better that than to have the queen know. You can well imagine the ways She may respond to such...potential."

Lelinahdara's green eyes glinted with excitement at the statement before she blinked and looked at the ground. "A pity. Perhaps it is best to forget about her? She won't survive her task."

Even muttering, the Elder's tone had conviction. "The Valsharess thinks she will return."

The other blinked in surprise. "Oh?"

"She set a compulsion on her," D'Shea elaborated with a touch of bitterness. "Sirana tried to tell me something about her dreams but could not. Why do that to her unless it may come into play? Unless the queen had a vision about it?"

Tarra rubbed her chin thoughtfully. "Hm. Or She simply didn't want the young one babbling to you prior to leaving."

D'Shea shook her head slightly. "That, certainly, but...no, my instinct tells me it was something else."

"I'll defer to your instinct, then. It certainly has its track record. If you can provide a strong link to Sirana, I may be able to divine something of use to you. Something more specific than indirect hints on the queen's motives."

D'Shea held her thoughts for another moment before nodding. "Let me consider. For now, I wish to learn that Consort's name."

"As do I," the Priestess repeated with a smirk. "Given time, after I deal with a few rivals—" Sharp, green eyes locked onto her associate's expression as it changed in a very familiar manner. "Varessa? What has happened?"

"I must return to the cloister," Elder D'Shea said. "Someone has entered solitary confinement."

SHYNTRE

His heart had begun thumping loudly in his ears, seemingly out of a void, and he trembled uncontrollably for a few moments. The Drow managed to grip the edges of his desk and shove his chair backwards to get his feet, using the ornate, polished furniture for support as he breathed heavily and blinked until he could again see the candlelit chamber the queen had assigned to him and the book in front of him.

"What was that...?" Shyntre whispered to himself, lifting his hands to make sure there was no blood, no raked skin beneath his fingernails. They were clean as any queen would expect.

During just those few heartbeats, just those few breaths, he'd felt like he was being attacked. He had had dreams before, memories of the Red Sisters and Wilsira and her demonic son revisited on him, and he knew how to handle them while trying to rest. Never before had it happened while he'd simply been sitting, reading, completely awake...to experience a complete blackout where all he knew was the overwhelming surge of fear yet was unable to see the threat.

Now he looked around, and everything was as it had been at the beginning of the eve, the same even as when he'd first awoke that cycle. He's been in this bedchamber without leaving for several cycles now, regular meals brought to him by silent servants, and by all appearances the Valsharess was not in any hurry to interview Her new resident, to tell him what his purpose was. If he hadn't had his books transferred with the rest of his Tower belongings, he'd be going mad with boredom. 

He couldn't be so weak as to be having waking flashbacks of something he'd not only accepted but learned to turn around and wield himself, could he?

"Can't accept that," he murmured, moving slowly to sit on the ridiculously soft bed not too far from the desk, leaving his book open where it was.

The queen and the Priestesses, the Red Sisters...even those backstabbing gossips at the Tower would only use fits like this to dig farther into him, and he wouldn't let them in. He only wished pain and failure for all of them, in all they ever tried to do. The City could collapse and dissolve into Chaos, he didn't care.

He only wished for a way to escape.

He wished he could have gone with Rausery and Sirana...he need not even come back down here. Ever. He had seen such teasing glimpses of the Surface before...he could find a place to live there, he knew it.

Shyntre swallowed as this led his thoughts directly to the Consort, the one Drow that remained the single reason, the chain and the weight, of why he hadn't made the attempt to exile himself.

The wizard resented the ritual magic that bound them, yet he had no one to blame for it but himself. He blamed others for every part of his existence, except for that one. He could probably think of a reason to hold to, to explain it away or place the pretty breeder in the wrong... yet he didn't. 

The Consort hadn't done anything wrong, hadn't planned it...Shynre had done it, without fully understanding what he'd been doing. He'd told Sirana that he had "tricked" the Consort into telling his true name. That was more or less the truth...but it was worthwhile to note that the Consort's name had never passed his own lips. Yet Shyntre had heard it somewhere so deep it would never go away while he lived.

If there was one possible, tiny quality that set him apart from those females he hated, it was that he could still recognize and leave true innocence unsullied.

It was rare enough in their City.

If Shyntre thought that the Consort...if he thought that "Auslan" could survive outside the City, he might try to steal him away. The females who kept him didn't deserve him.

His best chance of that, however, may have just left... never to return from the mission the Valsharess had given her. The pellets he'd made and hoped Rausery had passed to Sirana seemed so paltry compared to the aid he really wanted to provide. 

He'd given her all he knew in their studies, as relatively little as it was compared to Rausery's experience. Even with Jael and Gaelan being such horrid distractions in that small room in the cloister, he had tried to impress on her all the wonder of the above and he thought that she had the curiosity to grow to appreciate it once she got up there.

She was pregnant, too. By Lolth's cold, left tit, how had that happened? He had thought...he had believed that he had broken the link with the Abyss. It had taken almost all he had at the time to do it, with added help. Yet a normal healing potion wouldn't work, and Auslan had needed to choose something else. He had needed to cleanse her.

Shyntre hadn't intended to put that decision in his hands. He only knew that in sending her broken body to Auslan, he could trust the purity of the potion and the competency of the healer. It had been necessary; Sirana had been so far gone and he trusted no one else. 

He'd missed something, though, and in forcing the healer to take desperate measures, Shyntre had put the Consort right where he was now: surrounded by Red Sisters whose tastes he knew only too well, and directly in the hands of his ruthless, powerful mother.

The wizard weaved slightly, glad he was sitting on the bed as his head became light again and he rubbed his temple. He blinked and was amazed at how much time had passed, how far down the candle had burned.

It finally surfaced in his thoughts that how he was feeling now might be related to the very subject of his thoughts.

The last few eves that Shyntre had willingly stayed in solitary confinement with Auslan, before relocating to the Palace, he'd been able to communicate some, though his own tension at being spied upon had prevented as much true sharing as he'd wanted. He simply could not believe there was anywhere in the cloister that was blind and deaf to the doings of any prisoner. Or any male.

Qivni had laughed at the notion of putting them directly across from each other, but Sirana had helped at least to make sure his cell had an angled to view Auslan, barely, if they both pressed to the bars. They could hear each other with no trouble, but neither of them was much for projecting his voice openly, and it was more efficient to sign than to whisper.

*My second Priestess is dead,* Auslan had chosen to say first, the motions minimized as much as they could be inside the drab, grey cloak he'd been given to cover and warm himself.

Shyntre had nodded his head but refrained from commenting since it would only be vitriol. Wilsirathon had been nearly as bad as his own mother.

Seeing that the wizard wasn't following his train of thought, the Consort had added, *Only you remember now.*

The wizard had caught up quickly, then, blinking and feeling something cold, tight, and not at all pleasant clutch at his chest. The Consort meant that he was the only one alive who knew his divine name. Shyntre forced himself to sign slowly despite his fear. 

*What does that mean?*

Auslan had looked around as if trying to see or sense if anyone was watching, listening, before he answered. *Your magic may grow stronger, or it may shift its nature. Or both. Be aware. Be careful.*

Be careful, indeed. So many ways to draw unwanted attention in the Palace...

*What of your magic?* he asked the Consort.

*It is stronger. I can already feel it when I sleep. It comes from you.*

A pause.

*What if...one of us dies?* Shyntre signed next.

Auslan had shrugged slightly. *More change.*

He hadn't liked the sound of that, recalling the Priestess's withered face and body in that tiny audience room, such a short time after Kerse's death. *Loss of power, like Wilsira?*

*Possible. May gain instead.*

Shyntre had hardly had time to reflect on that—whether becoming more powerful with the Consort's death would in any way make up for it—when he noticed a strong somatic response in his childhood companion. The Consort's throat had flashed as he swallowed, seeming to recall something, and he looked down even as he signed close to his chest. 

*Also, you must know, it is important...Sirana may remember.*

Shyntre had been slouching in his pondering but jerked his back straight now. His hands did the equivalent of shouting. *You told her your name?!*

Auslan was immediately defensive. *I cannot, you know that! And you told her of my visions, Shyntre, you have no ground to stand! We can only hope she is sent away from here before she tells D'Shea!*

The wizard stilled his hands and scowled; they had been silent for a long while as they both stewed.

*Two questions,* he had finally signed.

After a moment, Auslan signed that he'd hear and answer them.

*How is it Sirana might 'remember' at all?*

*During the healing,* the Consort signed almost curtly. *Somehow we bonded, like you and I did. But she does not remember.*

Shyntre pursed his lips. *Can you feel the bond now?*

Auslan shook his head. *No. I feel only you. I am not certain it held, but it was there briefly. She drew me out, I knew her, but then she vanished.*

If the scholar wasn't already used to some of the abstract ways the Consort chose to describe things he saw or felt, he'd be asking what in the Abyss that was supposed to mean?

*And if she remembers your name?*

Auslan shrugged again, this time belying high tension. *The balance will change again. We will feel it.*

*She is not a mage or Priestess.*

*That is not a requirement. She is Drow; she has enough inherent magic.*

Letting out a breath, Shyntre preluded his second question. *I assume Sirana told you what I said to her?*

*Yes. You wanted her help to protect me.*

Shyntre did not remember any other time in his life being so shocked, so powerless, and so afraid for anyone besides himself as when Auslan was being dragged to a prison cell within the cloister at his own mother's order. In hindsight it hadn't been the best move to tell Sirana about the visions, but at least he had known she owed the Consort a debt of gratitude that she was likely to acknowledge.

Of course, if he'd known Auslan had gotten her pregnant at the same time, he would have thought twice about divulging that information. He had been amazed how well she'd hidden all of it...or maybe he'd just been blind at the time.

*How did that subject arise? Please, tell me. She must have asked you about the visions themselves. What did you say?*

Haltingly, both Drow more careful with their hands, Auslan had described to him Sirana's visit, relayed her own questions...and that she had had the same two dreams as Auslan. Shyntre had latched on to it, thinking finally, finally this was the vision that would be clear in its reasons, the answer to that first, brief warning about a sacrifice and a door to the Abyss being opened now or a thousand years from now under the Sun...

However the Consort had suppressed that optimism quickly with experience, and almost as if he'd known it would shock the wizard down to his core.

Auslan had told him: *Those were two of several variations, Shyntre, and they could be wrong. Events are still changing even if we may be moving toward the Sun somehow. The telling of this for me is that while I knew she would become pregnant, I thought you would be the sire, not me.*

Shyntre had not liked one bit how tightly those words, and that mental image, had seized his mind sitting in that cell. He had so enjoyed the last several times when Sirana and he had coupled, in his Tower room as they'd struggled and shared secrets before the second trial, again in the study room in front of the other two Sisters, knowing for a fact that, of all possible Drow, his brother in all but blood had already seeded her womb. He had no worries for filling her twat with his cream the way he'd always wanted. 

At her trials, he'd been restricted to her mouth and netherhole—which had its reward at the time but, truthfully, playing that pregnancy game with Sirana against Wilsira and Kerse had only caused more fantasies to float through his mind. He entertained himself with thoughts of just who might eventually breed the lusty, careless, and very young Red Sister.




Surfacing Ch. 02



He just hadn't ever imagined it to be Auslan. He'd never even known the two knew each other, hadn't been told until Shyntre finally allowed the young Sister to lay him in his own quarters at the Tower.

There was a time when he would have loved to see her fall pregnant just to suffer inside the Sanctuary. He had thought she would deserve it and he would have laughed long and loud. Both at her, and at D'Shea.

It was different now. Her odd growth of respect for him over the last year had bloomed the more they'd clashed. She'd proven a desire to protect the Consort, to keep some secrets despite her having the power to cause Shyntre a lot of grief. She had her own personal potential, and there was the unshakable fact that he had looked forward to their sparring of wits in the Tower library, to the rough and passionate mountings in between her thighs, while in between lessons... 

With her he'd gotten away with seeing to his own desires first because she let him; nothing seemed too much for her not to laugh off and return on him as soon as she took back the upper hand. They'd even started cursing each other in the Surface Common tongue. It was all a game to her, but not one she used to dismiss him, as he was accustomed. He was often in her thoughts, he knew it; it was the game she lived for, and he had proven an interesting...and worthy... opponent for her.

In the end, he'd answered the call to help preserve her life. More, he had had the ability to do so...unlike probably any other Auslan could have called, except perhaps his mother, the Elder Sister.

The hatred he'd had for Sirana at the beginning, solely on account that D'Shea had stated that she wanted her as a daughter more than him as a son, had fallen to the side as he found himself instead hoping the young Red Sister might yet live to reach a much higher rank.

In solitary confinement, hearing from this particular Consort—who had a way of knowing some things—that Sirana could have caught as easily from Shyntre as from Auslan... He had shuddered involuntarily. It sent far too many pleasurable scenes performing in his head. If the queen wanted to breed him now like some caged boar, then yes, please, let him breed with Sirana first. He could feel pride in any child of hers that she conceived by him.

Yet now she had gone away, sent like some expendable foot soldier, while he was placed in this lavish room to await service rather than study.

Damn the Valsharess and her schemes in Lolth's name...damn Her.

What he had left now was an inevitably strengthening bond with the Consort, the most direct attention and interference from his mother at exactly the time when he had stopped wanting it, and the slim possibility that his preferred Red Sister would return from her mission to the Surface... coupled with the inconvenience of wanting that same Sister who was no longer here.

This only made for greater danger for him the longer he remained in the Palace. Rausery would be back in a couple of months, maybe she could help him. Maybe she could help Auslan. What would they do with him anyway, now that the Bred Consorts had been all but destroyed? 

What had Auslan meant by saying, "if we may be moving toward the Sun somehow"?

Shyntre rubbed the back of his neck, trying to ease the stiffness and tension as he sat on the soft bedding of his Palace suite. He recalled the panicked, sensory attack from earlier and had to wonder again where that had come from? From him and his own memories? Or from...his name-bond? Was the Consort alright, or had the Red Sisters finally gotten to him? 

Shyntre swallowed a surge of nausea at the thought, but he ultimately put his face in his hands, closing his eyes and willing his mind to be silent for once. He couldn't do anything to help Auslan this eve. The too-beautiful male was on his own for now. 

...yet as much as he had endured it over his life, the wizard still hated feeling so helpless.

"What troubles you so, young mage? Do you miss your fellows?"

Shyntre started badly, barely identifying the gold-and-purple robes of She standing at the entrance to his chambers. Either his door had opened and closed again, yet he was so inwardly focused that he failed to notice...or the Valsharess had simply bypassed the crude, material portal. He was horrified with either possibility.

He stood up quickly then fell to one knee, lowering his head and touching the fingers of one hand to the polished floor. He was currently without the strength to withstand Her gaze on his feet, without the balance to bow with grace, so he did not even try.

He let Her see the remainder of his fright as he shored up his mental defenses with a thrice-repeated rhyme. He would have wished for some warning, would have wished to be better rested or mentally stronger.

Nonetheless the long-practiced technique eased his thoughts and troubles and sharpened his focus to a surer edge. Memories of Auslan and Sirana disappeared and Shyntre brought himself to live in "the now," only in the moment of danger. It was a skill he could grudgingly attribute to the Red Sisters, and especially to Rausery, the Drow who'd acted more his sponsor and matron than any other cared to.

He feared that the Valsharess meant to challenge Rausery's place in his mind, and that eventually he would be forced to do the unthinkable...to reject or refuse Her...somehow. The Elder Red Sister's earned place to him was the base test against which he might judge how well he was protecting his secrets.

"Valsharess," he whispered. "You come at last. I thought I had displeased you to be so long unvisited in the Palace."

Her soft chuckle almost felt like a hand stroking his cheek. He hated that, did not know how She did it.

"You are nervous," She said.

"Yes, my queen."

"Phaelous was always patient."

"Am I to emulate him to please you, High One? I shall."

She paused briefly, and he heard Her step forward on finely-wrapped feet, her queen's skirt brushing so lightly along the sleek ground.

"No. You are not."

Shyntre murmured an acknowledgement by way of Her Title again but otherwise waited.

"You have much of your dam in you, even favoring your sire so closely in appearance," the queen commented, Her rich voice sounding farther away as She continued. "Often it is our own offspring best able to challenge or replace us."

The mage first took that as another remark on how it was such a pity that he hadn't been born female... How often Wilsira and other Sanctuary Priestesses had said it, how often it had been observed or implied by the Red Sisters, even Rausery and Sirana as they learned of his strengths? Those at the Tower hadn't focused on his gender quite so much though he could not escape the physical comparison to Phaelous and his upbringing in the Sanctuary. He felt heat enter his ears and had to focus on his breathing again to remain calm.

"Rise up, Shyntre. You may look at Us."

Slowly he did so, though he dreaded it. The wizard fought lightheadedness that he attributed to Her oppressive aura as he unfolded his bowing form and straightened his back, tentatively lifting his chin. If he looked straight ahead, his eyes landed on the hollow of Her throat, and he had to tilt his head up to follow the elegant, long neck up to Her classical features.

He saw a softened jaw and chin despite its strong set, complimented by equally strong cheekbones, and very full lips beneath a straight nose framed with wider, perfect crescent nostrils. His gaze slid to a sloping forehead and perfect blonde brows arched over wide-set and slanted, piercing eyes... Those tawny eyes still frightened him, no matter that he was one of the few favored males. She always seemed to be trying to reach inside him, to co-opt his will and simply keep it like a bauble to roll around in Her palm.

He saw by way of comparison only the way the last three generations' features had changed to have higher foreheads, more pointed chins and a more angular facial bones, and how their ears were a little thinner and a little shorter than the gracious flare and rise of the queen's.

It struck him that the only young Drow he'd seen who looked more like the Valsharess's brand of beauty was Jael, the fiery and impatient novice Red Sister with an obvious infatuation for Sirana. She was from one of the lowest Houses, their line being without the benefit of a Consort for the past eight or ten centuries. Or more. He hadn't been able to check facts beyond what Wilsira had taught him long ago about the Noble Houses, but he had seen the likeness the longer he'd stared at the young one across the study table. It certainly wasn't exact...but it did draw a note.

But only a note. Shyntre still had no thoughts why the Valsharess would encourage the faster trait selections with the Bred Consorts, and why she might want the faces of all Her children to begin to look so different from Her own.

"You are so beautiful, my queen," he said quietly before lowering his eyes to the hollow of her throat again, the bands of purple and gold waving in candlelight at the edge of his vision.

She sounded lightly amused. "We are beyond simple compliments. Tell Us instead what you have thought of Elder D'Shea's acknowledgment of you in Our audience chamber? She now claims you as her son. She may want more contact. You understand now that she was beneath a compulsion she was motivated to break."

Shyntre noticed how tacky his tongue seemed in his mouth. "I have thought...that it explains much, my queen."

She waited. "And?"

And. And...what?

The queen said, "Once you said you would help Wilsira against her. You seemed to change your mind, as I believe the Priestess turned you against her herself once you met Elder Rausery. Once you said you would spy for Rausery, were you ever able to get near your mother, though you could not. You wanted her to fall then. She came out above where many would have faltered. How do you see it now?"

"As an opportunity, Valsharess," he answered softly.

"Indeed?" He could not tell if She was pleased or intrigued or merely curious. "What kind?"

"Only to learn what I might do next, Valsharess."

"You doubt your hatred, perhaps?"

Shyntre shook his head in the negative. "I still hate her. She has earned nothing new from me. But I will wait, my queen. I chose too quickly before and each time I was only used in my ignorance. I can be more like my sire in this one trait."

He sensed Her smile and again it almost seemed She caressed his cheek with a breath. "And if We desired something specific of you regarding your mother, Shyntre?"

He shivered just slightly. "You have but to ask, my queen."

Though not looking directly at Her, he could sense Her nod. "When D'Shea next requests your presence at the cloister, We will deny her. You shall give Us a reason to grant it instead, and in her presence."

Shyntre felt a chill spread through his middle; he briefly closed his eyes. "Yes, Valsharess. Does Your Grace wish to know the reason ahead of time?"

"No."

No? He swallowed. "How will I best serve, my queen? Do I listen for something specific as well?"

"You assume We send you to spy, Shyntre?"

The chill remained even as his face grew hot. "It is a reasonable assumption, my queen."

She chuckled. "But an assumption nonetheless."

His brow creased in confusion, and that was when the ancient elf reached out to barely touch him with the tips of her fingers, smoothing out his forehead with a brush. He shuddered and struggled to suck in a breath as Her aura became thicker around them. 

"You have a long arc ahead of you," She said. "So much to learn. Meanwhile, it is time that you breed. We will see which House earns the privilege first. Trust that We will not make the selection lightly, and you will show gratitude and perform your best. We have heard the comments about the fickleness of wizards, but you will not embarrass Us. Your sire never has."

Shyntre felt for a moment as if he might faint, that he might be ill. Still, he nodded. "Yes, my queen...however—"

"However?"

He swallowed and hurried to explain. "My specific... education... since Your Grace last bestowed Her... attentions..."

He could sense Her radiant smile and only felt weaker when She chuckled. 

"You mean the trials. The fights? That is why you are different, young mage. And it shall be different going forward. The Nobility will catch on soon. Only imagine how they must thank you after you seed them, no matter if they are...unaccustomed to your new tastes."

Meaning that She would allow him to return their slights and arrogance with punishment that they normally feared from the Red Sisters... Not only would he be immune to repercussions doing perhaps more to other Nobles what he had done to Sirana during her trials, but he would be expected to finish inside their cunts. That imagery was intriguing and so very arousing in spite of his wariness of Her plans for him. The fact that it was both also frightened him on a deep level.

He may forget some things if he spent too long here, things he did not want to forget. It was too dangerous, he did not want to be here...

...but as always before, he could not think of a place where he would fit better down here. Even if he had the choice. He would rather have left with the others.

"As Your Grace wishes."

The Valsharess lifted Her hand and lightly traced the edge of Her robe leading to the point between Her breasts. "Show Us you are healthy, Shyntre."

Heat entered his face in a hot rush, and She could sense it as he showed Her that he understood Her command. Shyntre unknotted his sash and opened his robe, sliding it off his shoulders. He made sure the sash holding a few pouches for his spell components remained in their belt loops and placed the garment wholesale across the foot of the bed next to him. He stepped out of his chamber shoes so that he was nude except for the emerald pendant hanging from his neck.

The wizard more felt the Valsharess's disapproval than saw or heard it and slowly lifted the pendant off as well, setting it gently on his robe. He hated leaving it within Her easy reach if She wanted to take it, but trying to hide or keep it from Her would all but guarantee that She would.

The Valsharess stepped closer so She could run Her hand first across his chest, pinching one nipple before continuing down his stomach, combing his neat, white thatch. Her fingers deftly inspected his genitals, encouraging a bit of blood to gather though just as with the first time, he was too nervous and afraid to respond quickly.

He hadn't known the first time that She did not expect instant erections from him, and certainly not from just a few brushes of his member. Knowing this forgiveness of flaccidity for this second time, however, was even worse than his ignorance of before, because he knew what She *did* want.

Her hand cradled each of his buttocks, one at a time, then trailed up his spine to caress his right shoulder and upper arm before tugging the tie at the base of his neck to let his hair free. The tie dropped onto the otherwise immaculate floor. He failed to keep his heart from being heard.

"Do you know, young wizard, that the pattern of a heartbeat can betray whether one wishes to fight or to flee?" She asked quietly, remaining behind him.

Whether that was true or not—and even the queen lied when it suited Her—Shyntre knew She wanted to make a point. She invited curiosity, and if it was not natural then it must be manufactured.

"No, Valsharess," he answered, hearing that same beat thudding in his ears along with his strained voice. "What does my pattern tell you, High One?"

"At your first submersion, you wished to flee, as expected," She answered in a deep thrum that seemed to penetrate his chest and spread heat over his already-pounding organ. "Now...We daresay the Sisterhood has made you...stronger. You wish to fight."

"I will not fight you, my queen."

"We know this. But your heart is changed nonetheless."

"Is Your Grace displeased?"

"Perhaps. We have not decided."

She continued to trace his bare skin with fingertips now, and he became aware of a pattern in Her own movements, an invisible string tugging gently but insistently at all the places inside where he tended to feel his magic gather just before he used it: forehead, throat, heart and lungs, his stomach, gut, his crotch...flooding his limbs and making his hands burn and swell for release just as his cock did right before climax. The energy building in all those centers weren't of his doing but his whole body tensed as he fought to contain it.

He felt Her brush his hair to the side, then, baring his neck. Just after his mind registered the soft touch of Her lips as She pressed them to his skin, a bright light exploded behind his eyes; it felt like a concussive blast inside his skull and he staggered. The Valsharess guided his fall to where he collapsed to the side and landed on the bed. Now She did cup his male parts again and he knew he had a full erection; the touch seemed to sizzle and he moaned loud enough for him to actually hear it over the roar of energy rushing up through his core and collecting in his head.

His heart pounded so hard, so painfully, he hoped that it simply did not fail under the stress. He could not see anything in the room; his eyes were utterly useless. He could barely scent Her, heard little else besides his heart and his lungs...but he felt far too much. He wished he could be numb. His queen said nothing more aloud; he may not have heard Her in any regard as She manipulated his energy with deft and sinister skill.

Shyntre somehow felt that he was being cradled, naked against a warm, robed chest as if he was again a babe, and he writhed and twitched as magical surges were drawn out of him, a portion of them returned, transformed, made of new colors he hadn't known existed. They were chaotic and battering, made him feel constantly while offering no relief, no release of the energy that built up.

At least, not until the queen chose to lift it from him.

Each time She did, it felt like a warm and soft mouth wrapped around his aching cock and bringing him to his peak. Sometimes sooner, sometimes drawing it out in an agonizing denial. Each time She did, he was more and more grateful to Her.

The mage might have accepted being lost in an exquisitely pleasured amnesia as the energy, the release, built once again, had he not also seen the silver threads of a spider's web being laid gently over a bloodstone. More were being added every few moments, so soft and light that he almost hadn't realized it would soon be enough to hold living prey.

It was the first clear image behind his eyes but it was enough. 

His heart surged in his ears, as did the raggedness of his breath, and he gathered any energy he could, whatever remained to him. He imagined, remembered, fantasized about taking a young Noble's mouth, thrusting harder between her lips as her blue eyes stared up, unable to see him. He remembered how she'd penetrated his backside when he least expected, forcing him to come, to spill his essence across her tongue and down her throat...

*Oh goddess...goddess...!*

The delicate balance of magic shifted just enough, and he gathered it himself, gave it to Her, all he had in that moment. His gift, and his freedom. His eyes may have rolled back in his head, he may have shot his seed in truth, his breath may have stopped, or his heart, he didn't know at first. He only knew the release of incredible pressure and power, the unraveling of all tension, and the second explosion inside his head. The light.

Then the darkness.

Shyntre became aware still lying on incredibly soft bedding; he felt nothing at first. Numb or empty, he wasn't sure. He could see again, and candlelight flickered so low that the candle on his desk had to be nearly burned out by now. He could make out the silhouette still, sitting to his right at the edge of the bed. Her regal back was to him, and he glimpsed gold and purple colors. He could see Her distinctive profile as She looked toward his door to the left. One bejeweled finger tenderly rubbed Her full lower lip.




Surfacing Ch. 02



"Interesting. What you have learned from the Sisterhood," She murmured. "Do they suit you better than the Tower?"

The mage hesitated, trying to fight through a fog of exhaustion in his mind. He lay naked with a chill and tiny bumps spreading over his skin as his skin of his balls tightened up in unconscious response. He realized that his member was indeed wet, and his nose suggested the moisture was from a mouth, not a pussy. Yet the Valsharess seemed as perfect as ever, not a strand out of place or neckline askew.

If She basked in any afterglow, She hid it well. It was hard to imagine that She might have swallowed his cum just now. Perhaps She had not.

"I-I..." he croaked and cleared the thickness in his throat with a cough. He rolled to his side and curled his legs up, propping himself on one arm so that he could bow his head in Her direction. 

"I was given my education at the Sanctuary, and my arcane study at the Tower, Your Grace. The Sisterhood taught different skills...and I would have been a poor student without having the Sanctuary and Tower both, and first. I cannot say any suit me over the others, but...they complement each other."

The Valsharess seemed to offer a tiny smile in profile, still sitting with Her back straight on his bed. "That has always been Our desire. Perhaps you are the first child able to judge true from experience. You are not of any single branch, but you have been known by each about equally in your young life. Are We accurate in our perception, Shyntre?"

"Yes, Valsharess," he responded, a bit reluctantly. "But I have much more to learn from any of them..."

"Not likely in two, as you are not their daughter," She said. "But We appreciate the view from the underside, Shyntre. We value it, and We shall value your service in the path of your sire, but more broad. We intend to breed you so as not to miss the opportunity, but there will be more for you to do." She looked over her shoulder at him, and in the dying candlelight Her eyes looked almost gold. "You surely are intrigued by that?"

The wizard's heart had picked up its pace again; he was almost relieved that it seemed a normal response. "Yes, Valsharess. Whatever service you require."

Another smile quirked at Her lips and she handed out a plain silver ring. "Should you scry another such danger as you did with Kerse breaking his bond, you shall inform Us before any other. Speak it through this, We will hear it."

He nodded, accepting the ring but not slipping it on quite yet. "Of course, Valsharess."

She noticed it remained in his palm. "Research it, if you must. You will find no curse or compulsion."

But would he be able to remove it once he donned it? He guessed not, and that he would be as traceable from that point on as Auslan had been before D'Shea cut his skin open to draw the magic out. The Valsharess could not leave everything to chance, much as She seemed to want to court his cooperation and his temptation over using force.

For now.

"Thank you, my queen."

"Rest well, wizard."

AUSLAN

"...Know why he is down here still?"

Auslan was already sitting up on his cot, having heard the conversation the moment the upper door leading down to solitary confinement had been opened. These Red Sisters did not have to speak aloud at all, he knew; they were doing it intentionally to frighten him.

"Who knows? You'd think he'd served his purpose. Best check on him."

His eyes swept the solid, smooth stone of his prison cell. Nowhere to go, no option to hide or to summon help. The former Consort gripped his cloak shut from the inside, unable to prevent huddling in it as a shiver went through him.

Their intent was working.

Auslan's mind flipped back and forth between greeting them first and acting confident, or staying silent until spoken to. He didn't have much time to decide. He ultimately did what he thought Shyntre would do, and stood up to face the bars prior to the shapes of the four Sisters coming into view on the other side. They did not bother with any light source; they could all see each other well enough though he was nowhere close to them. 

His back was straight and his bow impeccable and graceful as he signed, *In Lolth's Favor* as a generic greeting with one hand extended from his cloak. He did not show any more of his body or change his expression. He focused on keeping his body's energy steady, which was difficult.

One of the Red Sisters was staring at him especially hard. She looked younger and astonished, though nothing else about her was memorable beyond her uniform.

"Fuck, he's beautiful..." she murmured.

An elder Sister snorted softly. "Indeed. You didn't come from Nobility, did you, Moria? Never saw a Consort before?"

The younger Sister scowled. "Not up close."

"Elder Rausery doesn't tend to use her for spying on Nobles because she doesn't have the background," another Sister explained to the elder without derision, just a statement of fact.

Moria shrugged and her eyes were quickly drawn to him again. "Does he speak?"

The elder, and clearly the most confident one, chuckled and nodded. "I'm sure he can even scream, if he's inspired to do so."

The fourth present was smiling slightly and darting glances at the others. None of them had addressed him directly and Auslan's stomach felt tight and nauseous over the short conversation, ready to eject his last few mouthfuls of the travel mix he had been subsisting on for the time he'd been jailed thus far—though he was uncertain of the exact time. A few cycles since Shyntre and Sirana had both left? A week? It likely hadn't been as long as it felt.

The elder doing most of the talking moved to the side, and Auslan knew that she was going to open his cell. They would come in.

What would he do? He could not physically resist even one Red Sister, much less four. He had no protection from his social standing anymore; the Valsharess and Priestesses believed him dead. Shyntre had recommended against using his high fertility as a verbal threat against being forced to couple—there were many other things they could do to him that did not carry that risk. So what else?

He was alone. Much as he had practiced in the past, this time he could not prevent his racing heart and quickened breath from being audible in the dark as the door opened. No doubt they could see his fear response whirling in energy waves over his skin; no doubt they could smell his scent as he perspired just a little bit in the cool air.

When Sirana had arrived to disrupt his solitude from House D'Verin two years ago, he'd been afraid of her and what she would do, but he had not been without recourse. He knew his value to others; it had given him courage even as she'd so roughly handled him. More importantly, he truly did not believe she would kill him. Her overbearing lust had even been...challenging. In hindsight, it had been thrilling. 

Sirana had spoken to him, given him direct orders, told him how she'd have him, how much she wanted him... Sirana had looked in his eyes and saw him as something other than a Consort; she'd seen a desirable male able to act on his own. She hadn't known what he was at the time, but even later she still saw him as a live, thinking Drow. She had kissed him on multiple occasions without taking more.

Now Auslan was not so certain about his value to any female besides her, and he was for certain still a possession and a toy to these Red Sisters. Shyntre had told him in one of their recent conversations that Sirana was not a good mark by which to judge most of the other Red Sisters. She actually sought and enjoyed the company of males, the wizard had said, and even listened to their thoughts on occasion. It was not typical behavior.

The only two remaining to whom Auslan might appeal with reason were Sirana's allies, Jaunda and D'Shea. The others? By Shyntre's memory, the others were much more brutal and deaf to the cries of reluctant partners. The other two weren't here and had yet even to see him.

Should he just submit and hope to keep breathing? Would it come to that? What else would they want from him? How much would they hurt him? What about when Shyntre eventually found out, what would he tell him, could he even hold his head up...? 

The stone shifted in and slid to the side in a soft grating sound that seemed especially loud to Auslan. Three of the Sisters entered and one remained just outside. The admittedly spacious holding cell seemed very small all of a sudden.

"Hurry up, Thena," said the Sister standing guard outside.

"In time, Panagan," the elder growled over her shoulder, then turned back to look at the prisoner. "Looks like his hair has been chopped off. That's a pity. I remember it being really long on the altar last worship ball, except without that blonde streak."

"You even know which one this is?" Moria asked, amazed.

"House Itlaun had him last." Thena rubbed her chin. "Before the Purge. I'm thinking D'Shea used it as a cover to keep him here."

The fourth Sister who had been silent nodded in agreement and finally spoke. "Yes, D'Shea took care of that House herself. It makes sense. And...this is also the one Sirana attacked during her initiation, isn't he?"

Thena nodded. "I think you're right, Suna. Interesting. What did they say about him at the trial?"

Suna shrugged and shook her head. "He was never mentioned in my hearing. I don't know his role in what happened between her and the Draegloth."

"Except he showed up a captive the same time they brought Sirana back alive." Thena smiled nastily at Auslan, who managed not to take a step back as she closed the distance, reaching forward to part his cloak in front. 

He resisted, trying to keep it closed, but the Sister jerked the material hard and Auslan allowed it to slip from his grasp rather than rip it; he had no other clothes and it had been a token gesture of protest for him anyway. That they kept speaking aloud in front of him without acknowledging him did not bode well for the comfort of his body. He may consider retreating into his mind...although being unresponsive may only invite more abuse when he became aware again.

Still. It was better than ensnaring them with his magic, wasn't it? He couldn't fully participate in this; the consequences of doing so extended further than torn flesh or broken bones. Auslan was truly afraid to find out what might happen later if Red Sisters rather than the Nobles started fighting each other over him...

"Damn it, he's wearing a wrap," Moria said, her intense, copper eyes on him.

"Nice what we can see, though," Suna commented as Thena flipped to cloak atop his shoulders to offer a clearer view, her gloved fingers sliding down to caress his nipples before she stood back to stare at him with the others.

"I've never had a Consort before," the lead Sister murmured softly, her smile sending another trill of fear straight up his spine. 

She said, "Take it off."

Auslan did not pretend that he did not know what she meant this first time she spoke to him directly. He loosened and let his cloak drop to the floor, nudging it underneath his cot with his foot so, hopefully, it would be out of the way where it wouldn't be soiled or damaged.

"All of it."

His hands went to his waist to release the hook-and-eye fastenings that kept his wrap snug; the material was warm and only made the air seem that much more chilled as he let it slide down his legs. He stepped out of his sandals at the same time and nudged those to the side as well.

"Shriveled as a dry 'shroom," Panagan commented from the door with a smirk. "I thought these Consorts sprang to attention at first glance."

"Bah. Never met a male that didn't need some encouragement first," Thena replied.

She reached to take firm hold of his bare shoulders and spin him around so that he was facing the wall and she could clasp him to the leather armor of her chest. Her muscular arms crossed in front of him and she dragged him around again to face the other Sisters, chuckling greedily. Her body heat was high, as was her musky scent; under other circumstances, he could have found it arousing, but not now.

"No," he spoke aloud, trying at least once to be completely honest. "Red Sisters, please, this is not a good idea. You may trigger magic I can neither control nor choose how it will affect you."

The Sisters perked up, both at the sound of his voice and the sure sign of reluctance. They were delighted with both, but ignored the warning. He couldn't be surprised; he only wished he knew how to be persuasive with Red Sisters besides Sirana. How could he convince he they wouldn't listen?

"He strips and flaunts in front of us, but waits only until you grab him to mention that?" Panagan said skeptically from the door.

"Yeah. He's lying. He just doesn't want his pretty body violated," Suna said, her face twisting at him. "Think you're too good for us? No one is."

Thena purred, "Moria? Care to prime his wand a bit?"

The youngest of them eagerly kneeled to take is flaccid member into her mouth; she certainly had a fair amount of practice and Auslan tensed further in Thena's grip, feeling himself respond unfortunately quick. Moria moaned around him as he swelled in her mouth, using her tongue and stroking her wet mouth over him.

He shook his head, grimacing. "No, please, do not..."

"Heads up, Moria," Thena said, then jerked him downward. He'd been unprepared and his knees buckled as Moria mouth slurped off him. "On all fours, whore. Show me that perfect ass."

It hurt when his knees contacted the bare stone; the dominant Sister had used more force than necessary and he was scraped and bruised. He put more weight on his hands to try to relieve some of the pain, but Moria lay down on her back on the stone, perpendicular to his groin, and dove in head first to reattach herself. She continued to suck him; a groan slipped from his mouth despite his terror of watching Suna in front of him.

Suna had loosened and pulled down her pants and was in the process of donning the magical phallus he had only heard about before now. He watched as she pushed the short, bulb end into her sex and whispered a magic word. He could feel the energy prick at his senses and real life energy flared up in the appendage when it was truly attached.

It looked very real, and she smiled in honest pleasure at having it there, stroking it affectionately. Unfortunately Moria's mouth created a surge of pleasure in tandem with the Red Sister in front of him and Auslan shuddered.

Suna wasted no time and kneeled in front of him, fisting the hair at his nape and holding her cock with her other hand. She nudged and rubbed the head of her phallus against his lips, and despite his reluctance and slow absorption of this new, unusual role, she soon forced the phallus into his mouth and touched the back of his throat with the tip.

"Don't you dare bite," she growled. "Moria will do the same, won't you, Sister?"

Moria hummed in agreement and kept sucking him, though she had slowed down so as not to bring him to climax too soon. 

He felt a flare of resentment as he struggled to service the cock in his mouth, as she thrust roughly and tried to choke him intentionally. She was confusing him, forcing something that he'd done before only in secret, with gentleness and reverence, turning it into something...crass and profane.

He'd understood for decades the theory of how the Sisters turned the expected gender roles into chaos; no matter what the act was, no matter the social context, they could make it humiliating for their target and somehow they remained dominant when another would think the same act was below their station. He had long understood why the Nobles feared it.

Now he was experiencing it firsthand.

Auslan next felt Thena's bare hands running greedily over his back and haunches, squeezing his buttocks, then she ran one hand up his back to place a finger over the peeling scab on his shoulder blade. He flinched.

"Someone cut him. He's not perfect all the time, he can bleed."

"Uh...huh..." Suna managed in a choked voice as she kept thrusting her hips, violating his mouth with her magical phallus.

Thena's hands returned to squeezing his bottom and they fortunately did not discuss cutting his skin any further. Auslan wondered if that was to be an insult or blow to his pride? He focused only on their ignorance of what that cut actually meant as he waited for the inevitable. When it came, Thena complimented the apparent light usage of his pucker and swirled the pad of her digit in circles around it, adding to the overload of sensation he already felt with his cock in one Sister's mouth, and another's cock in his own.

He was no novice to anal play, some of his Mistresses had desired it now and then, but none deigned to ever wear a fake phallus for any reason. It would have demoted them to the servant in the act. Fingers, tongue, a dainty, rod-shaped toy perhaps to stimulate his nut gland...but not this, not like this.

"You must be near virginal for how tense you are, Consort. Here, I'll be nice," Thena said as she seemed to detach an item from her belt setting beside her on the floor. "I'll grease you up, sweet meat."

A cool, slick goop soon landed on his netherhole and her thumb pushed some of it inside as she worked the rest around the outside. Moria's mouth increased her tempo on his member and Suna smothered his protests as they used him. Thena lined up her phallus without ceremony and bore down, forcing him open and inexorably pushing deeper into his body. The girth of her cock caused his rectum to sting then start to burn, and the former Consort struggled more as three pairs of hands gripped him hard to keep him in place.

"Stop fighting, slut," Suna said over another of his muffled shrieks. "It's going to happen...no matter how you take it."

"Plenty tight anyway," Thena grunted as she leaned in. "Ahh...goddess, yes..."

The pressure inside increased as the Red Sister finally lunged in fully, but she then paused for a reason he couldn't fathom, having fully taken him but not thrusting as he expected. It was only when Moria sped up her pace with her mouth and Auslan felt the rapid rise of climax that he thought he understood; the pressure on his nut gland amplified the sensation well beyond what he knew with females. He was going to come in spite of the fact that he did not want it.

His breath sped up desperately through his nose as he tried to breathe around Suna's cock and he squealed once as Thena withdrew halfway and thrust back inside his overstretched netherhole. The intense sensation and unrelenting pressure on his gland pushed him over the edge. He shivered as he spurted into Moria's waiting mouth with a surge of glorious energy, feeling with deep humiliation the way his anus clutched and flexed around his rapist, pleasuring her as he loosed his seed between the lips of another.

The three Red Sisters cheered Moria's skills, called him lurid names, and Thena spanked his buttocks hard and began truly fucking him as she growled, "So the little Palace Whore likes it, does he?"

Moria pulled off him to swallow his fluid then went back to mouthing him and he squirmed, not wanting her to touch him anymore, it was too sensitive! He couldn't breathe well and the mounted, fully seated Sister was throwing him off balance as she rode him; he could barely hold himself up.

He had no control, he couldn't stop them, couldn't reason with them...he couldn't think beyond his fear and the way they used his body without acknowledging his existence. Truly a toy and nothing more, their use becoming rougher at both ends now that he'd had his climax. 

How was it different with Sirana when she'd done the same to him, forced him and hurt him? Maybe only in that he'd recognized, had known intimately the magic that had been overwhelming her...he could forgive her, she hadn't been in full control of herself and she had even shown a desire for better restraint later on.




Surfacing Ch. 02



There was no such understanding with these Sisters.

Suna came first in his mouth, and while no spunk touched his tongue, she behaved as if she were drowning him, pushing the tip far down as she could though he fought her still for the right to draw air. Fortunately for him, Thena wasn't far behind as Suna withdrew from between his swollen, sopping lips; the elder Sister made the same aggressive growl as she slammed her phallus all the way into him and he endured her climax as well, grimacing as Moria still wouldn't leave his scrotum and flaccid penis alone.

Auslan's sore netherhole throbbed after Thena pulled out quickly and gave his ass one final slap. He couldn't imagine enduring it again, yet knew two more Sisters waited now, and then after that...?

Moria's invasive fondling drew his attention then and he tried to crawl away from her, but she wasn't having any of that.

"Goddess, his taste," the youngest Sister murmured, her eyes glazed over. "So wonderful..."

"Yeah, well, it's your turn, so get humping," Thena said as she caught her breath and chuckled in satisfaction while removing her phallus from her body. She turned toward the door and began to speak, "Panagan, you want his ass or his m—"

Then everyone paused.

Panagan wasn't able answer her leader; she wasn't even able to speak. In the dark, it was apparent that she was suffocating as her heart rate became audible and her life energy surged through her in a fight response, but with an odd disconnect at her neck and head. She stood stiff and trembling and holding her throat.

Auslan saw from the floor a fifth Red Sister in full uniform; her arrival had been unbelievably silent, even with the noise of the struggle. He knew this one, but he did not know how relieved he should be.

"Elder D'Shea." 

Suna had spoken first, sounding just that little bit nervous as she hurried to remove her phallus and close up her leathers. Thena made a gesture at her to warn her to silence. Moria rolled slightly on the ground and moaned softly as she reluctantly dragged her attention away from Auslan, far too slowly for an elite warrior. She acted sluggish and confused, and the former Consort knew she had been affected by his sexual magic as he'd feared.

D'Shea's face appeared impassive though she held a hand out as if she was pinching dead air. Panagan was holding her throat still and her eyes were wide open in fear.

"Corpora," the Elder said flatly with a single eyebrow arched in disapproval. She was looking at Thena. "Care to explain, since you're hushing the others?"

Thena took her time seating her own clothing properly and gave a very slight bow. "Explain what, Elder? We are awaiting other duties from the Prime or you, if you even care to give us any. Our time is our own until then, yes?"

Panagan's eyes had finally rolled back in her head and she collapsed onto the floor; D'Shea lowered her hand and stopped pinching the air at the same time. The tension was palpable as Auslan shifted partly beneath the cot and curled up on his side, trying to be small as possible. He wasn't even sure what he might wish would happen next. No good options came to his numbed mind, and his body was falling numb as well as he fought against shock. Every survival instinct screamed that he had to stay awake and aware.

"Beware your tone, Corpora Thena," D'Shea said softly and in a way that sent a shiver through Auslan. "Why are you here?"

"Forgive me, Elder," the ringleader responded, seeming not to adjust her tone very much as she thrust a hip out and crossed her arms. "We were bored. Perhaps you have too many of us to manage. Perhaps you might let Qivni take some of the burden until Elder Rausery returns."

D'Shea's eyes narrowed a bit and she did not speak.

Instead, she reached into a pouch and brought out what—by Auslan's best guess—was a small piece of brass and a...feather? Both disappeared into the Elder's fists and she murmured a few words, and the Consort could not breathe for a split-moment as pure, arcane power swelled inside the cell. His attackers did not have time to move.

With one gesture of D'Shea's left hand, Suna and Moria were both flung from their spots and against the far wall of the cell by an invisible force, their bodies slamming into it face first with their backs exposed. They were held there as if by some giant, unseen hand. Thena had actually begun to reach for something on her belt as she took a defensive stance, but D'Shea next moved her right hand.

Thena's head snapped back as if she'd been punched in the nose and, stunned, she dropped the pinch of powder at her own feet. Auslan was aware enough to grab his cloak to filter his nose and mouth and slow his breathing. Thena coughed once but then the air was knocked out of her as magical force struck her square in the gut, then on the back of her head and she collapsed facedown into the powder. The Corpora struggled to breathe and, with one more sweeping gesture on D'Shea's part, his attacker was lifted up and thrown against the wall next to her Sisters, but face forward. Thena continued to cough and blinked rapidly, wildly trying to focus on the Elder and failing.

"Even Elder Rausery would not be able to hold all three of you helpless like this without some charm from me," D'Shea said lowly, her magic swirling around her. "If you are so stupid you must be beaten soundly to show your respect, I will gladly oblige." 

With a downward thrust of the Elder's hand, Thena's body was slammed again to the floor, then a coordinating upswing of sorceress's arm saw the Corpora's back next pinned to the ceiling; every strike sounded painful as it looked and drops of blood were spilling from Thena's mouth onto the stone directly below her.

"Please, Elder," she wheezed, choking still, "my ribs..."

"I'll break more without touching you."

Thena could barely shake her head. "N-no, Elder...forgive m—"

The invisible hand holding her to the ceiling suddenly let go and she fell free, landing hard and groaning in added agony. D'Shea moved her left arm again and both the other conscious Sisters hit the iron bars and collapsed on top of each other. The Elder reached out into the air and plucked an invisible throat again, and Suna jerked up to her feet in answer, clawing at her neck and was henceforth flung into Thena with battering force. Both screamed in pain, but D'Shea showed no signs of being finished with them.

Auslan, still tucked beneath his cot, could take a little satisfaction in the punishment being meted out. His gut told him it was not on account of their raping him in his cell, it was due to insubordination, and D'Shea's actions were well beyond that slight, he thought, unless the Elder intended to kill them.

He was uncomfortable with the escalating injuries that his attackers were suffering and didn't want to have to watch all this. In his past, he often had the opportunity whether to watch punishments or not. Frequently he had chosen not.

Maybe there was something wrong with him, but he didn't like to watch torture.

D'Shea focused on Moria again and Auslan found himself speaking aloud.

"She is already suffering for her sins, Elder," he croaked out loud as he dared. "She will suffer for a time yet if she lives."

The Elder Sister did not look away from her subordinates, did not look at him, but the way her shoulders stiffened meant she had heard him.

"Why is that, Consort?" she asked, her tone brooking no lies or hesitation.

"She drank my seed, Elder," he said.

D'Shea seemed to hesitate, and of the half of her face that he could see, she seemed to be smiling. Her tone was sarcastic. "Some sort of elixir, is it?"

"Not always, but I lost control," he said, his voice wavering. He'd been too afraid at the time and hardly remembered even now how it had happened so easily. It had never been so before.

"So she is compromised as well?" she asked with a twinge of bitterness directed at him and he understood the reference to Sirana. Moria herself did not even seem aware that she was being talked about. "For how long?"

"A few cycles at most, if she is not allowed near me again."

"And the others?"

"They suffer only what you have done to them, Elder."

There was a pause, and Auslan could feel when D'Shea released her spell entirely. The upsweep in violence had been broken by his speaking out, and all four younger Sisters yet remained on the ground, unconscious and unable to begin it anew.

D'Shea removed a pellet from her belt and broke it between her thumb and middle finger, whispering something he could not hear. Then she turned to him.

"Do cover up and stop hiding underneath that cot, Consort."

Only when Auslan moved and got to his feet did he feel the sore places in full; his throat, his neck, his knees, his buttocks and rectum. He gingerly pulled the cloak back out and put it around him about the time he heard the upper door open and yet more Sisters trooping down.

He did not recognize any of them and he tried to remain unobtrusive as they surveyed the damage and their softly moaning Sisters. One who had the bearing of a leader looked expectantly at D'Shea.

"Agalia, sequester these four in their quarters until I have time for them. They are to be given no healing draughts before I've seen them, and they are not to leave their quarters by any means. Collect their Feldeus and give them to Jaunda when you next see her. You may assign others to guard them, you need not do it yourself though you are held responsible for my orders. Understood?"

The rather comely Drow nodded and bowed in response, her face placid. "Yes, Elder D'Shea. I will see it done."

She gestured for her Sisters to gather and collect their casualties and they had the cell cleaned out in the span of a handful of heartbeats. The cell door remained open and D'Shea on the outside, and after the last Sister had exited solitary, the Elder turned to peer at the Consort.

"You can walk?" she asked, arms crossed over her chest and that eyebrow arched again.

He nodded. "Yes, Elder."

"Come with me."

She walked out of sight down the hall and left the cell door wide open. His heart began to beat wildly as he did not understand or know what to expect, but he gathered his sandals and wrap, tucked them inside his cloak and padded after her barefoot. He met her at the top of the stairs, climbing out of a pit that he had descended into first in the company of two of the only Drow he felt he truly knew, and who truly knew him.

Sirana's Elder then clasped her gloved fist into his shorn hair again and used it to push him forward and guide him where she wanted him to go. He kept tight hold of his clothes beneath the cloak and kept it closed, and accepted the plain behavior of ownership as D'Shea displayed him in front of several passing Red Sisters. He focused on avoiding a stumble.

Sirana had told him before she left that he could bargain with her Elder and that he should not reject her protection. She had seemed to assume that D'Shea would give it, but he'd been several cycles alone even after Shyntre returned to the Palace. Perhaps now he might bargain; he just hoped the price for that protection wasn't worse than the tastes of his visitors.

They came to a set of warded, stone doors not unlike many he'd seen in the cloister, except that he could feel the magic permeating the place long before the door slid open. Auslan was not surprised that she had brought him to her personal chambers, and he noted the relative comforts compared to the sparseness of most of the other rooms to which he'd been privy—granted, only an interrogation room and a holding cell, but these barracks had the feel of being very light on the decoration and luxuries. He knew opulence well, and this place had none of it. The cloister could be situated well out on the fringe of the City or into the wilderness, for all he knew.

"Draw a bath, if you like," D'Shea said, releasing the hold on his hair and stepping away to remove some of the more cumbersome items on her uniform. She lit a candle, and set about to making herself more comfortable.

Auslan did not hesitate long before doing the same; he very much wanted to wash the smell and stickiness from his defiled body. Only rarely did he let the scent of sex remain on him for long anyway; it was too distracting and sometimes he just wanted peace from his primary function.

It was not likely he would know peace again, if he remained alive.

D'Shea more or less ignored him as he drew a bath hot enough for steam to drift along the water's surface. He eagerly but slowly lowered himself in, the raw parts stinging in protest though he welcomed the cauterizing effect of the heat on his injured flesh. He was allowed to bath himself fully, to wash his hair and even soften the hard scabs on his shoulder, made from D'Shea's magical extraction of his Priestess's finding spell.

Former Priestess, he recalled yet again. Sirana had said Wilsirathon had been executed, and he'd known it to be true. He wasn't sorry; in fact, he felt far more satisfaction at that news than anything else. His first Priestess had been avenged at last. 

Ironically, avenged by the Elder who now held him captive for reasons he feared to know.

Now the Bred Consorts had mostly been purged, but for the older ones like himself. There couldn't be many left, and their value had diminished significantly to the general population. Auslan could imagine whatever Consorts were still alive would start seeing more abuse such as he'd suffered in his cell. A mix of fear and reverence had kept them safe before; now they didn't have that unseen support, and more of the twisted lusts no longer being restrained would be visited upon them. The Consorts were so strangely beautiful, even for Drow... sometimes what one coveted, one also wanted to destroy if they could not fully possess it.

It may not have made much difference whether he had remained on the outside instead of being held in the Red Sister's cloister. Curgia had refused to leave him alone, after all, and her behavior had been getting more irrational and violent; she had choked him on more than one occasion as she rode him on his bed. Sooner or later, she might have gone too far.

Now his value would be only what he could earn for himself dealing with an Elder Red Sister almost three times his age. He had few ideas of what she really wanted, although fortunately he did know of two: Shyntre and Sirana.

It would be enough with which to start.

D'Shea sat at her desk next to her candle, a glass of wine next to her as she scribbled down a few things with a fine grain stylus and invisible ink. Her back was not fully to him but she played at ignoring him, even when he got to the point where he simply soaked in her bath and tried not to think about the gang rape.

The Elder Sister did not seem inclined to help him on that score. Soon enough she set down her pen, turned in her seat, and observed him for a few moments before speaking. 

"I hope you do not pity yourself, Auslan. You did not suffer anything that both Sirana and Shyntre have not withstood themselves for much, much longer, to the very edge of their endurance."

He felt part of his mouth twist as an unnamed flood of heat entered his chest. "I am honored by the distinction, Elder Sister. You are correct, I only served two of the four Sisters. Certainly more visits were planned for later, until you showed your displeasure in no uncertain terms. If I may ask, how you came to intervene, Elder Sister?"

Elder D'Shea's smile had a twist similar to his own. "I keep tabs on you. I knew when they'd arrived. Unfortunately I was a little too far away to prevent it entirely, but you may be grateful for the interruption."

Auslan felt that strange heat tightening further in his chest, becoming more potent as it affected his ability to draw a full breath. He ground his teeth. D'Shea tilted her head at him.

"Anger? Not a typical show of gratitude, Consort," she commented with cool derision.

"Because you are lying, Elder Sister," he said before he lost the nerve. "You may have sensed their arrival, but you did not need to be close enough to stop them. You simply never issued an order regarding my treatment, one way or the other. Lacking any direction, what happened was inevitable and you knew it. I daresay you were waiting for it. You wanted me to be attacked so you could step in as you did."

His heart pounded in his ears and he trembled from both fear and anger in the warm water, somehow managing to look at her with his jaw clenched tight so his teeth wouldn't chatter.

The Elder was silent for several moments watching him; he could not read her expression as it changed very little, but he trusted his instinct that she was reworking her plan for their conversation.

"Why would I want that?" she said softly in a low, threatening tone.

He was willing to be honest enough to shudder visibly—she frightened to him, but he also knew he had more value to her than anyone else in this cloister, if only because of Shyntre who was not yet lost to D'Shea the way Sirana was. 

He kept looking at the Elder though it took much effort to do so. He also kept going as she ordered. 

"I see two benefits for you, Elder Sister. A demonstration of power over some of Elder Rausery's more impudent Sisters while she is gone, and...also giving me a taste what it will be like to be without your protection."

The Elder tilted her head slightly.

Auslan hurried to add, "If I may give you this, Elder Sister: letting them attack me was unnecessary to convince me, because Sirana simply asked me to seek your protection. I would have, had you even come to speak with me. I trust her judgment, even if you would blame me for how I healed her and would see me further punished for it." He paused slightly. "Which may be another reason for the events this eve."

D'Shea frowned at him and he could not hold the oppressive gaze any longer; he looked down at the water and twisted the washcloth beneath the surface. So much adrenalin coursed through him once again that he did not know what to do or say next.

"Such spirit, Auslan," she said quietly, still with that undertone of threat. "I hadn't known any Consort had it in him."

"You may thank your own son for that, Elder," he blurted, and instantly regretted it. He just felt so angry that she had let that happen, had practically planned it.

There may have been an air of surprise about her, unless he was mistaken, but the next moment D'Shea actually chuckled and the swell of threat in the room had diminished a little. When she next spoke, she sounded... amused? Rueful?

"Lelinahdara did suggest something like that, yes," the Elder said, leaning back in her chair and relaxing some. "He had some influence on you early in your life. Perhaps you care to tell me the whole of it?"

Auslan shook his head, still looking at the water. "He was more my brother than any of the other Consorts our age, you already know that. Ask Shyntre if you wish to know more." 

He glanced up and saw the Elder was lightly annoyed. 

"I gather you will allow more Sisters to visit my cell now?" he asked with a defiant air not unlike a certain wizard they both knew.

Her eyes narrowed and she shook her head. "Not as of yet. I rarely respond with short-sighted, overbearing methods, Auslan, you may know this about me. It leaves a broken and imperfect tool."

"And Shyntre would have more reason to hate you, Elder," he said. "What of his eventual knowledge of this particular event?"

"I knew it wouldn't break you," she said stonily. "Not after Sirana."

"But you were gambling that I would not connect your intentions, Elder."

"Granted. You are much more intelligent than even my subordinate reported to me. Such an underestimation won't happen again."




Surfacing Ch. 02



"What would you have of me in exchange for your protection, Elder Sister?" he asked bluntly, seizing the moment to bargain as close to equals as he could ever hope with an Elder Red Sister.

She didn't miss a beat.

"Firstly, a continuation of your understanding with the Sisterhood," she answered, "but more specifically to me, and only me. You will answer questions I ask truthfully as you know it and without omissions. With all others, you will be vague or misleading."

"My knowledge of the Priestesses will become more distant and irrelevant the longer I am kept here, Elder Sister," Auslan said.

"It is not your future or your present I would ask about. You have more than two centuries for me to probe."

Auslan swallowed at the word choice. "What might I expect of physical treatment from you?"

"Minimal discomfort and no injury, unless you are discovered to have betrayed my confidence. If you do, you will know both discomfort and injury on intimate levels."

She did not add more, so he decided to ask it outright. "And sex?"

D'Shea shook her head, her copper eyes closing for a moment. "You are not to my taste, Auslan. I grew to dislike the Consorts during my time with the Priestesses. If your beauty to others could be of use to me, I would consider it and let you come to no harm. I trust your resiliency in such matters, if your boldness now after being ridden by Red Sisters is any indication."

He wanted to deny that aspect of the proposition this instant. He shook his head firmly. "No. We may be back to discussing your son's resiliency instead, Elder Sister. Shyntre made it plain he does not wish me to become the Sisterhood's plaything."

"That lava flow is going to be hard to hold back the longer you remain here," D'Shea said flatly. "No one is untouchable, and status determines how often you submit to another. In this cloister, yours is the lowest possible status simply being male."

"But your status is second only to the Prime while Elder Rausery is gone," he said, a line of stubbornness coming into his back. "You can make the call on my behalf."

She huffed wryly. "I am not known for keeping male pets, Consort."

"You may have begun doing so, what with crushing four Sisters with your magic and taking me by the hair down the hallway."

D'Shea's mouth twitched, possibly in humor. "You want to refuse any possibility of couling with anyone, Auslan? You are... abstaining? Is that what you're saying to me?"

"I would not have you as my new Priestess selling my wares for favors, Elder Sister," he said, and got that touch of reaction he had been banking on. She disliked the comparison. He pushed farther. 

"You are the one who severed my connection to the Sanctuary and covered up my location. You are the one who killed my Priestess and took responsibility for me in that cell. So you must know just as I do that I am no longer a Consort, Elder. If I had my own choice for the first time of my life, then I would choose to lie with Sirana and Shyntre, and no one else."

D'Shea's face finally cracked, astonishment betraying her calm as she sat up in her chair. "What?"

He didn't repeat himself; he looked at how his fingers were beginning to wrinkle in the water, which was now getting cool. It was a good excuse to look and reach for a towel. He covered himself with it and stepped out of the tub without her leave and slowly dried himself, keeping his eyes on the floor.

"You've taken pleasure with my son?" she asked, sounding recovered but not pleased.

His own voice grew a bit quieter. "Yes. Though it was a long time ago." Then he shrugged. "What? None bat an eye when two females lay together. Those who like it are very plain about it."

"The males are more secretive in their pairings, I'll grant you," the Elder Sister said, her eyes never leaving him as he dried his shorn hair. "More mothers and mistresses are jealous or see it as a waste of seed since it is not possible to reproduce." 

"Hypocritical," he said, "when females use it for alliances and dominance, strengthening magic and ritual, pure recreation and bearing children. I can understand more control and jealousy if we were impregnating others without their leave, but that's impossible with another male. Why not just say they want to stay comfortable and make the decisions for us and be done with it?"

There was a pause and he chanced to look up. D'Shea was smiling a bit.

"There is the obvious, boy. You think many Matrons enjoy the thought that some of our best might choose to forsake their primary purpose and prefer the exclusive company of their own gender, if we gave them that choice?"

Auslan pulled the towel tighter around him and bowed slightly. "Perhaps, Elder, it is not as much to fear as they think. Our race would adapt, we're good at it. You see it among the Sisterhood, don't you? How many have borne children before you?"

D'Shea chuckled, and it had a dark slant to it. "More than after me."

"So you've been encouraging—"

"You can't compare the Sisterhood to the general population, Auslan," she interrupted. "Our primary function is not breeding, though the possibility remains open. Having said that, I'm not altogether in disagreement with your reasoning, though I would hold that any female invests much more in a pregnancy and therefore should have the say whether to breed or not, and who to breed with."

"Dare I suggest that females being able to abstain at times withholds 'the best' from our hereditary pool as well?" he challenged in a level voice. "Regardless of the motivation or individual preferences?"

The Elder Sister kept her eyes on him; her mind had been fully engaged by this and she could not really help herself in debating. Auslan was fully aware that he had begun to prod a deeply personal subject for her several moments ago, yet he was amazed how intellectual and agile the Elder remained despite the emotion involved.

D'Shea continued to ponder. "If it's required of her, she gets pressure from her elders just as the males do. Consider next that same female choosing to breed, and next choosing a male for his line, only to discover him 'out of practice' with females."

"Hence the overt control and the inevitable secrecy and discoveries, punishments and occasional sacrifices," he replied, already anticipating that angle. "And it'll remain this way as long as we fear shadows of the future and lack faith in our own ability to adapt."

"'Fearing shadows'? 'Faith'? Do you fancy yourself a Priest of coming times, then, Auslan?" She was clearly making fun of him.

"There is no such thing as a Priest," he retorted, realizing the possibility that she may come to know anything of his visions—or his name—was a very high risk.

He had admitted to her just how close his physical bond with Shyntre had been to force a negotiation...but now he had to hope she did not make the connection that Shyntre might know his true name. If she had that power over him, she would be even more ruthless in using it than Wilsira—who had not known of the visions and had lost a lot of interest in the Red Sister's child as time went on.

By some strange turn in events, Auslan no longer shared a name-bond with any Priestess... though he still felt it strongly with one wizard.

D'Shea grinned widely without reply, and in the following silence they were at something of an impasse, each unwilling to say more on the subject, wary of where it would take them... though he did not know D'Shea's reasons for holding back now.

The next moment her grin became a smaller smile. He thought it looked something like a Drider contemplating a something tasty in her web trap.

She said, "As you've chosen to give me a far better understanding of your value to my son, Auslan, I'll alter my proposition. You will be truthful with me, and I will keep and protect you as my pet though you will be free of compulsions for now. I won't touch you for pleasure as I genuinely have no interest in you, but we may negotiate visits with my son. He need not fear your continued abuse here, though you must remain here and your presence must be kept secret from the outside. You will not misspeak of my generosity now or hold my miscalculation this eve against me."

He frowned a bit, thinking how it would take until his netherhole stopped burning to let that go. "I will not praise you falsely to him, Elder Sister. He would see through that."

She waved her hand. "Of course. Only don't misrepresent me."

The former Consort thought it over. "How long does this agreement go?"

"Either until Sirana returns, or..." D'Shea shrugged. "Or until circumstances otherwise change to make it impossible to keep. Isn't that always as agreements go?"

Auslan understood that he would have to keep working for circumstances in his favor; it would never be set but he had a foundation from which to start. He nodded. "Agreed, Elder Sister."

She nodded once, watching him as he hung her towel to dry, donned his wrap, and covered himself again with his cloak. He left his feet bare.

"Now answer me one thing," she said.

He stayed standing and turned to face her. "Yes, Elder?"

"You said you would choose Sirana as a bedmate as well. Why? It cannot be just that she caught a child by you. I wager you've lost count of that occurrence since it's your function to breed more than most males."

Auslan snorted softly and nodded in agreement. "She sees me."

D'Shea rested her chin in her hand, a finger pressed to her temple. She looked skeptical. "She...'sees' you. How fanciful."

"She was only the second female to do so. It has happened only a handful of times in my life, Elder, I do not find it fanciful. Everyone you have met sees you for who you are, even if they are against you. I'll wager you have lost count of the occurrence since it is your function to be known more than most females."

Her eyebrows rose together, just a bit. Some small perception blossomed in her eyes. "Hm. At least if Sirana does give birth, we can assume the child won't be a pretty idiot."

"It was your assumption that I was an idiot at all, Elder Sister." 

She smirked a bit. "Not wholly, but I did wonder how much Sirana may have exaggerated your wit. She's always noticed you more than she should. However, I can say now that I look forward to our future conversations."

He acknowledged her in a small bow but did not feel the same. He began to notice the growing his fuzziness in his head as well; he felt exhausted to a level he rarely reached without expending most of his magic at once, as when he healed another. The constant stress these past cycles had weighed on him, and only now did he feel even partly safe here, despite the power of the chamber's owner. His remaining strength would soon abandon him.

"If we are at a point, Elder...may I rest?"

She gestured farther past the desk and the bath. "Use my bed. I will be up for a while yet. If I must leave you in here, do not touch anything. I will not apologize for what happens to you."

Auslan nodded. "I will not snoop. I report to no one but you and could not reach the only ally I have remaining outside this room anyway. Further, you have agreed to help me reach him when I have earned it."

She smiled more relaxed and appeared satisfied. "I am glad that we understand each other. Rest well."

Elder D'Shea turned then to switch out her candle burning too low with a new one and continued working as Auslan tentatively crawled onto the spider-spun silk covering the mattress, much softer than his cot down below, and soon fell into deep reverie.



Surfacing Ch. 03



Author's Notes: This story is erotic fantasy written by Etaski. I reserve the right to be listed as the author of this story, wherever it is posted. If found posted anywhere except Literotica.com with this note attached, this story is posted without my permission. © Etaski 2013

The journey continues. All I would want say here is this is a very "talky" chapter...and I couldn't reasonably fit in any sex. Damnit. ;) 

******

It was true that I had the least distance to travel to reach my target than did my Sisters. It did not mean that I would reach it the same day, or anywhere close. We could not choose where our portal broke the Surface of the land, though the fact that it remained a remote location was good for all who had to take time to adapt to the Sun.

I hiked steadily, stopping rarely but doing my best to refrain from hurrying as it would cost me too much energy in the long run for how much food I could carry at once or find along the way.

It was, indeed, a long run.

I spent my first night alone inside a larger tree hollow, as there were no conveniently-placed caves on my stroll. It kept the wind and the dew off of me and that was good enough, if a bit cramped and cold. I did not worry about being seated on the ground or cornered because of my three spiders, who held their vigil on my bracers as I slowed my breathing and closed my eyes in that meditative state prior to reverie.

I heard only one warning in my head that brought me quickly awake later on. My small passengers were agitated, crawling and preparing to leap. Whatever had caused them to wake me was not in view yet, though I could hear the padded, plodding steps.

Soon a skinny, black bear walked in front of me, not much larger than I was and outside of my spider's jumping distance, fortunate for the bear. I stared at the hairy beast, studying the fascinating details as the bear swung its head my way, considering my presence with dull surprise. After a moment it kept moving, rustling and snapping its way through the forest. The spiders slowly came back to a resting, if watchful, stance.

I considered hunting the bear—it was a large opportunity and Rausery had said not to pass anything up. I would be stupid to let it go, wouldn't I? 

Except that I did not need more food right now and was weighed down already as we had been properly prepared leaving the cave. Not to mention the extra day or two it might take to clean, butcher, smoke, and otherwise do much more with the corpse only a day into my journey. What would I do with the hide? Stretching it and treating it to prevent rot would take as long as drying the meat, and then I'd have to carry it... 

I'd never get anywhere stopping several days for every day spent hiking. Plus, the thing had not yet fattened up after hibernating through the Winter.

Perhaps that was all justification and some impatience on my part, exactly what Rausery had warned about in passing up opportunities, but it was also highly practical. I just did not need the kill. Gaelan and Jael were waiting for me to catch up and I would not do so getting distracted by every piece of meat to waddle by. I nearly preferred the small creatures, just for their convenience of size.

I let the bear go unmolested and closed my eyes again before rising at daybreak. It may have been easier and more comfortable to time my travel with the Moons instead of the Sun...but I did not want to get complacent or lose what endurance I had built up to the harsher light. The weather would only become warmer for months yet, and it was better for the next season that I not do things the easiest way now.

I found myself using every bit of lore Rausery had taught me to find water, and I got used to being the only two-footed creature in the mountains. I heard the cry of wolves far away—amazing how their song traveled such distances—and could not count the number of seed-seeking and insect-eating birds fluttering overhead or tree rodents scampering from limb to trunk to limb.

As often as the noise they made startled me, though, they also led me to many hidden sources of new seeds—bits that Rausery had called it 'plant meat' for the good it did to brain and body—and non-poisonous insects, both for me and for my spiders. Honestly, it was quicker and much less work than hauling a slaughtered bear carcass around would have been.

I quickly grew delighted with the variety of mushrooms to collect early each dawn as well; this was an area of harvest in which I had practical knowledge even before Rausery. I could draw knowledge from the Underdark, there were many similarities, and even the toxic ones had their uses to me. 

I could tell the difference whether or not I had ever seen the specific fruiting body before. If I held on up and inhaled gently, slowly through my mouth, then a particular tingle along the roof of my mouth would separate the poisonous from the nonpoisonous. The likenesses were comforting, and I looked forward to testing some of the poisonous aspects of the unknown ones on a few creatures. Maybe there was something new I could bring back to cultivate.

By the third day, heavy clouds rolled in over me and I had more trouble knowing my direction by which side the Sun struck me. Even using general landmarks and memorizing the shape of some of the farther slopes, I had to climb several trees to get a higher view to make sure I was staying on track. 

Sometimes I would have no choice but to follow a deep, rock-strewn ravine up it or down rather than scale the dangerous, sheer vertices on either side. This worked against my keeping direction as well, slowing me down. I was irritated with myself that I could not sense the ley lines as well as another Drow might have; it would have helped overcome the challenge of the clouds. I still pressed on.

I did not remember my dreams that night, but I woke to find my cheeks wet and chilled. As I wiped them with a gloved hand, I considered numbly that the only reasonable source for the moisture would have been... tears.

Had my eyes been weeping? Why? Something irritating in the air, perhaps...or a mind-body response to a dream? If that latter was the case, I was glad that I did not remember any dreams. I did not need the distraction or burden on my mind while navigating the Surface wilderness.

On the fourth day, I followed the crest of a mountain beside yet another valley; this one held a visible length of silvery, weaving water. By midmorning I felt something maddening on the very edge of my senses, like the high whine of those tiny, blood-sucking insects that caused itchy welts, which my spiders worked hard to keep off me during a warm evening. 

This noise went much deeper, however, seeming to trill at the base of my skull. Inside my skull.

I wondered if I had found a ley line? Magic was not my strong suit, but I was still of a magical race and capable of the Noble abilities. If Gaelan had been here, she would have probably been certain of its location yesterday. Presumably, I could follow it now straight to the Necromancer.

Easier thought than executed.

I had more luck keeping my direction using the physical signs than trying to follow that low, buzzing whine, even as the Sun was still blocked by clouds. I did my best to keep patience and balance the physical and the metaphysical as I noted changes in the landscape. There were fewer evergreens and pines and more newly-budding deciduous trees and bushes. It felt as if I was going down in elevation as well; the air did not seem quite as thin at times.

The underbrush presented more obstacles amongst the younger trees, though there were copses of taller tress also that covered the forest floor with deeper shadow, spreading their branches wide overhead and blocking the Sunlight to the smaller plants. New leaves were forming en mass. The shade was something of a relief to my eyes and I moved from group to group of taller trees, still zigzagging back and forth over the ley line by "feel."

It was my nose that warned me first; I stood downwind of it, and I smelled a combination and unusual richness of plants, flowers, and herbage that, so far, had not shown themselves to grow naturally together. It implied cultivation, which led directly to the presence of another sentient.

There was no obvious Tower jutting out of a mountainside within sight, so I could safely assume the "green-thumb" was not my death mage target.

Avoid entirely, or observe? What benefit might there be to approaching? The obvious answer was the safe drinking water. There was a garden; it followed there would be a well or a pond or access to a stream or river.

Would it be worth it? It would depend on who lived here, and how many.

I stalked forward slowly, taking my time and sometimes staying put in mottled shade where the birds even forgot I was there at times. More grasses seemed to be growing here in green, yellow...even orange and red. I saw far more colors amongst the flowers as I realized there was a discernible—if subtle—pattern to the placement of the bushes. I would not say it had any rigid design, but there was a visual appeal and a balance to it that simply didn't appear in the natural state that I had been studying for weeks.

The loose garden also had a well. I saw the raw, flat stones laid in a rough, circular form atop each other, defining its boundary so one would not fall in amongst the grass. I saw a bucket and rope as well.

It was the most dangerous source of water I'd found yet. Unfortunately by my estimate from atop the last crest, that silver, winding river was still half a day's journey away and in the wrong direction from what the ley line was telling me to go.

Right here, on the other hand, I believed that I was standing directly *on* the ley line. What were the chances that a non-magical sentient would build a well right on a ley line?

I stepped laterally over a strand of woody vine twining up a massive tree and felt it suddenly twist tight around my ankle like a snare trap.

*Dung.*

The chances were very good then.

Even as some unseen force caused the vine to move like a snake and yank me off my feet, I still drew and held tight to one of my long fighting daggers. I aimed an angled strike just above my foot—which was now held above my head—and severed the vine, dropping a short distance but landing with a groan onto several knobby tree roots. I loosened my spiders' pouch before I did anything else and they scrambled out and took up position about my neck as I replaced my hood over my head; they were at perfect jumping level if needed.

Even as the vine shrank back against the tree, I did not doubt that I had set off some magical alarm elsewhere. Flee or fight?

Only one body came within my immediate view but I still dodged behind a tree because this one had a bow.

"Cian loesdra?" a female voice cried, projecting well for the distance. "Siene il-soan!"

I did not know the words, I knew that immediately, but...it almost sounded as though I should know the language. Some of the inflections were familiar. Certainly I understood the demands: "Who goes there? Show yourself!" It was the same tone the Duergar had taken when he sensed me.

So now what? A bow was trained on me should I try to bolt. If I could bargain for water, that would be ideal. I was not burning for a fight, though I might have to anyway. My physical appearance would not help me no matter who stood with arrow nocked. 

"Do you speak Common?" I asked, not sure if she could hear as I was not used to shouting so loud in open space.

There was a pause and I was almost certain she had not understood me, if she knew I'd spoken at all.

Then she said, "Yes. Who are you?"

"I seek only water." I ignored the question in favor of my purpose. That was more important anyway. If the other was smart, she would realize that.

"Only?" she asked. Her voice was tense, fairly young, but not without experience.

"Yes. Only. Will you bargain?"

"Not with one who hides and will not tell her name! Show yourself! Are there more?"

Those were fairly pointless demands, I thought. She wouldn't know if I told the truth, I did not know if she was alone, and she was the one ready to strike first.

My own voice seemed to echo in my ears as I kept projecting as she did. "No more, but you aim a weapon, as others may. Why expose myself?" 

A long stretch of quiet followed as I considered what to offer next. The longer that nothing changed, the more I wondered whether reinforcements could be flanking me...except I truly did not hear anything out of the usual.

They would have to be much better at stealth than she who was standing in plain view in the greyish daylight; they would have to be on the same level with me. I sensed no one else.

If no reinforcements were coming, she had to be getting more and more nervous as the impasse continued. I myself was content to wait until something came to mind. Here, I would not get impatient. I would be able to hear if she took a step, but I also had to peek carefully on the shadowed side of the tree to confirm her presence.

I saw blonde hair and a slender form, of a height to my own perhaps. The tracers in my vision were bad at this distance as she stood outside of any shadow; it blurred the detail for me, but I could tell that she wore daytime forest colors and I believed from her stance that she knew how to use that bow. I reminded myself that blonde hair did not mean old; it was silver and grey up here that indicated advanced age. She would be younger and much more able-bodied; two or three decades old in a Human.

From lifelong-habit, I checked the tree limbs above me and perhaps it was both good and bad that I did. A bird of prey—a falcon, I believed—was watching me with eerie intensity in its yellow gaze. Our eyes met for some heavy seconds then it emitted a piercing screech and launched itself back out of the trees and into the garden, flying straight for the blonde figure. It landed on a stump near her and cried again.

"Drow!" she cried in return, and I could hear the anger and fear in her voice.

Not demon. So I'd been made for what I am, and immediately. How would she know?

*Do not jump, little ones, the bird will eat you,* I thought as I quickly dropped my heavy pack and pulled out two web pellets in one hand, still gripping one long dagger in the other.

As my eyes closed, I felt the tiny brush of my beasties' legs as they settled back farther out of view, and I Called Darkness on myself, sprinting out low and to the same side the bird had been perched. The arrow struck a tree near my head—a very good blind shot, but not good enough—and I kept moving out in an erratic pattern, tumbling inside the Darkness to where it would take sheer luck for the bird or the arrow to hit their mark.

I had plenty of space to move and as the familiar flutter of wings came over my head again, I pitched the web pellet just ahead of where the falcon actually was. Its angry shriek was painful to my ears as it ran into the pellet, which then broke and splattered magical web around it. I heard when it crashed into the ground, squawking piteously about the same time another arrow sank into the dirt near my feet.

"Pilla!" my target cried, dropping her bow and drawing a flint blade far too late, unprepared for how fast I'd closed the distance.

"Worry for yourself," I cooed in Drow as the Darkness followed with me and enveloped the terrified, blonde archer.

She could not fight blind as I could and her aim was laughable as I simply disarmed and disabled her, sending the flint knife into the tall grass and sweeping her legs out from under her. She grunted as she landed.

"Nae!" she screamed from the ground as I pitched my second web pellet at her and immobilized her next.

Before I could do anything else, however, I heard a sound almost like a branch snapping. Something also flung soil and dirt into my face. Suddenly a thing here in the dark was trying doggedly to trip me up.

"Li'shentinae!" my target cried, and I finally recognized an elven magical command.

That was why she knew my race on sight. She was my cousin.

I felt something wrap tight around my thigh and realized it had a set of spikes that quickly punctured my leathers and then me, and I grunted in pain. Another three such torture-ropes wrapped around my upper arms and around my throat, pulling me to the ground the same moment the spikes started tearing into my skin. I had barely hooked two fingers into the rope around my throat, able to breathe for now. Whether the vines had missed my wrists or not, it was fortunate that they were free now or I would be choking now with a spike in my neck.

By the scent I realized they were more of the woody vines like the one I'd severed first from my ankle, but with thorns. They were constricting like snakes to cut off all circulation from my limbs and choke me at the same time.

What a creatively vicious way to kill someone. I was impressed because I saw only one way out: poison the spellcaster. *Bite her!*

My guardians eagerly jumped out and down the vine wrapped around my throat. In the dark I heard the blonde elf yelp in pure surprise as she was spider-bitten, unable to defend against the surprise attack.

"You have very short time," I grunted in Common as one of the thorns pressed into the hollow of my throat, scraping my skin and seeking to silence me as my hand trembled to keep my windpipe open. "Release me...I will give you antidote."

"You lie!" she screamed; her tongue and lips had started to swell from the sound it. "You have no time....you die, your bird dies, if you wait."

A single moment passed before the constriction stopped and the thorns came back out, the vines unwinding quickly, withdrawing back into the earth. I wasn't sure if she'd released me because she wanted to live or because she could no longer concentrate on her spell, but I heard her choking and moved forward quickly, sightlessly cutting enough webbing away from her body before dropping my dagger and reaching for small, fiberstalk cylinder at my belt.

A quick, sharp twist shed the casing from one, pre-scored end of the cylinder and exposed the finest glass needlepoint that our crafters could manage. It was clear and hollow, and contained what the elf needed to neutralize the venom and prevent the oncoming seizures. I still needed the largest muscle possible in which to inject it, though.

Knowing she'd have even more trouble breathing, I flipped her over and put a knee on her back to hold her down as I yanked down the loose trousers she wore, my gloved hand still able to confirm one naked buttock. I jammed the glass needle in near the top and her whole body jerked in pain; I snapped the tip inside and pressed the rubber plunger, letting the anti-venom loose into her system. It would be a much faster effect than trying to swallow something, of which I doubted she was capable anyway.

I pulled her pants back up and rolled her over again so her lungs wouldn't be working against the ground to draw air. Meanwhile, my spiders had returned to me and retreated back into their pouch.

I mentally prepared myself before I released the Darkness and stood beneath the clouded Sky once again. I had to blink for several moments before I could see anything at all, wincing at the pain, but I knew that the blonde archer was not moving and was not a threat anymore.

She managed, laboriously, to breathe on her own, but that was all. The rest of her body was taken in small, shivering tremors. I could get close enough to study her.

Her eyes were open and animal-like in their fear as they moved everywhere around, unable to focus on me. They were bloodshot from the venom, but her irises were the same green color as the leaves on the trees. I saw only three sets of fang-bites around her collar and none on her face. Everything else was covered up. My guardians could each bite twice before they ran dry of venom for most of the day; it was good to know they could still bite again, if needed.




Surfacing Ch. 03



If it *was* needed a second time, I wouldn't be using my last anti-venom on someone who was too stupid to cooperate after surviving such lethal poison the first time.

The blonde elf's features were strange to me—still recognizable as an elf, still possessing the pointed ears and large eyes and attractive, symmetrical features, but they seemed both more angular and more delicate. I had been wrong about her being of a height to me; another trick of the light, and of her clothes, I realized. Even beneath the webbing I could tell she was notably taller and easily had a longer stride with those legs of hers, yet she wore loose-fitting, practical clothes that only hinted at her curves.

I saw tears start to drip from her eyes and roll across her temple and into her hair as she finally settled her gaze on me, as she watched me watching her.

Was she crying?

I smiled, which did not seem to calm her, as I reached for the first of the wellness pellets that Rausery had given me on Shyntre's behalf. I placed the small, brown thing beneath my tongue and allowed the bitter thing to slowly dissolve as I retrieved my dagger from the ground and checked myself over. 

If these pellets did what Rausery claimed, then I was grateful to Shyntre. I had no fewer than ten puncture wounds that needed cleaning; I would need all the help I could get against infection. Perhaps it was lucky that none of those thorns had been poison-tipped, but if I did not have to use any of my stronger healing draughts, I would prefer not to. Not unless I somehow found a source for more...

...the elf's place, maybe?

"We go to your dwelling," I said in Common. "It is bright out here."

She barely shook her head and started trembling as she tried and failed miserably to sit up. She was still far too weak. "N-no...no, just k-kill me... if you intend to play with m-me...."

"I must clean my wounds," I told her directly as the bleeding holes in my arms and thigh and around my neck begin to throb. "Your thorns went deep."

"Y-you deserve it," she replied with trembling chin. "Evil D-Drow."

I sighed. I'd heard this word because Rausery and Shyntre had, but still I did not understand it. The closest understanding I possessed was that it described one who used one's strength to overpower or enslave those weaker or without resources, because one can, whether they need it to survive or not. I supposed in her current position, the elf could think I'd done exactly that—so was the evil one whoever won the fight?—but if intent counted for anything...

"I bargained for water, elf. Nothing more."

"You l-lie," she repeated stubbornly.

"Because I am 'evil'?"

"Y-yes."

I wanted to sneer. "Stupid and unbending are greater sins to me, elf."

The struggling falcon inside its webs finally drew my attention; its caws and screeches had been so constant since I'd ensnared it that I'd almost forgotten about it. I stepped over to pick it up by the tail; it really hated that. I was grateful the talons and beak were still stuck together, judging from the way it tried to get at me. Quite the determined little guardian. Wasn't that familiar?

"Oh, g-goddess, please, don't h-hurt her," the elf whined, managing to roll herself over in a surge of panic.

"Ah, you are a little better," I grinned, still holding the bird trapped in my webbing. "We go to your dwelling and clean wounds?"

She nodded in temporary defeat, and it was interesting to see the hatred on her face. It was so familiar, even in a pale, exotic face. I'd certainly seen the expression many times in my life.

We were not so different, perhaps. Had she won, she would be "evil."

*****

I had retrieved my pack first. Even wounded and of a definite shorter stature, I could support the web-touched elf by holding one of her upper arms. She needed the help; she was very disoriented, unsteady on her own feet. Sweat poured down her face as she trembled, and I could sense the weakness in her body as it struggled to recover from what the venom had done to her internal organs. We walked slowly as I lightly swung the protesting bundle of feathers back and forth in my other grip.

Believe it or not, I looked forward to talking with her.

We eventually made it to her dwelling, which was a shelter constructed of rock, soil, wood, and grasses; not only was it well camouflaged but it also seemed quite sturdy. It was blessedly dim inside with the windows covered by mats of tightly-woven grasses.

The elf had admitted that she had a store of clean water inside as well, and I let her lay down on her grass pallet only after checking for hidden weapons and finding a second flint dagger there. I took it and set her bird down on the soft, earthen floor where it continued to struggle, and I scoured the place for more surprises and useful items. I found a few more weapons, all of less refined origin rather like the bow and flint knives: a staff, a well-balanced club, several ingenious pricker-balls that she probably should have had with her during our fight....

I set them all outside, more within my reach than hers, although my own various blades of forged metal and obsidian, my hand crossbow and stout little bolts with their poisoned tips, never mind all the powders and pellets and other resources at my belt....all these were certainly the superior offensive and defensive selection.

I also found the clean water and soft cloths that I could use for tending and bandaging. The elf did the smart thing and conserved her strength as I removed my cloak, gloves, bracers, and belt, setting them on the work table, and finally stripped off my black leather armor from my torso, noting with some satisfaction that there were no holes in it. The holes from the thorns were all in my cloak, shirt, pants, and skin. All which needed to be mended.

The Surface elf emitted a soft moan of dread when I stripped off my shirt and I looked over at her, already dipping clean cloth in water to put on the back of my scored neck.

"What?" I asked. "You are proud of the damage, are you not?"

She said nothing, turning her gaze to the ceiling and again conserving her energy. I noticed she was slightly shifted to favor her left buttock, the one with the glass still in it. I would see if she understood later that it needed to come back out... and that she likely needed assistance to do it. But for now I just mentally shrugged and dabbed a topical oil from my pouches over each thorn hole in my arms before bandaging them, then did the same for my neck, wrapping it like a comfortable scarf before I could don Shyntre's sapphire again.

I was going to be really sore after my next reverie. Depending on how things went with my captive, I might stay here another day or two.

I took the time to lightly clean and sew up the holes in my shirt and cloak while sitting shirtless at the work bench. I had a spare shirt in my pack but it was not time to pull it out yet; I was comfortable enough with the temperature in this shelter.

"You live alone," I said as I worked.

"Why so sure?" she asked, her chin stiffening.

"Nothing here implies another. You have also not looked outside. Not even a flicker. You watch me or watch the ceiling."

"That means nothing."

"Have you trained to be captive?" I asked curiously. I knew the tricks on how to mask truth in my reactions under duress, thanks to the Sisterhood training me.

"What?" She sounded confused and...disgusted? Astonished? Definitely truthful. "No training? Have you been captive before?"

I saw her stomach tremble and heard another stifled sob. She was truly afraid of what I would do. Was that a yes?

I kept watching for longer, highly aware of the rustling of the bird and her suppressed weeping, both of which would soon become irritating, I knew, and hurried to finish my sewing so I could put my shirt back on. Once I'd done that, I replaced everything else but my cloak and gloves.

I next removed my boots and then my leather pants—and that was when the blonde elf made a clear sound of denial. I stopped to stare at her again, and she was staring at me, wide-eyed at first, though next she seemed confused. She was looking at my crotch...and she was perplexed by something.

Several things fell into place.

"What? Is it missing?" I half-smiled, straightening to let her see my white-furred and clearly female sex.

She looked down then up to my face then, giving me a very ugly look. I felt my stomach contract in excitement. She had been expecting something else. 

A phallus, perhaps.

It couldn't be, could it? Jaunda's trespasser...the blonde elf leading the group of Humans? The only survivor of an attack because my Lead willed that she would have a chance, however small, to return.

Then again, why would it not be her? She lived alone on a ley line four days' travel from our portal to the Underdark...was she a scout? A watcher?

I kept quiet and focused on cleaning my thigh wounds and repairing my pants before saying anything else while the elf tortured herself in silence with my presence. I doubted I would get much useful information sitting half-naked, so in good time I was soon put together again completely, everything righted to a point that would have made Rausery proud.

"You trespassed into the Underdark recently," I said.

"You trespass into the Silverin," she ground out.

"Why were you down there?"

"You did not care to ask m-...more than a year ago."

"I was not there, or I would ask."

"Too late," she spat bitterly.

I drew one of my daggers and prodded gently at her bird still flopping on the ground. 

"Webs will wear off by tomorrow," I exaggerated a bit. "Do birds require water as well? Will it parch by then?"

Her big, green eyes filled completely with tears and soon wetted her cheeks. "Lutani...I was l-looking for...the genetha myocete to cure a sickness. I failed, and the one I wished to save died. It is too late, so...leave me be. Do not remind me."

I considered that. I partially recognized the name...we called it "jynitha mytocee." And the elf was right, it was very useful. It had been among the primary spell components used to strengthen my overall health and resistance to disease in the Underdark. I even had some in powdered form on my belt; it had multiple uses, some as an ingredient mixing into different poisons but also as an antibiotic.

"Lutani, is that a healer?" I asked. "Is that what you are?"

She let out a guffaw and shook her head. "Lutani jesi'il drow."

Ah. I got it.

"If insults are the only remains of your will, you use the ones I do not understand. So effective, yes?"

She did not reply or look at me, returning to her dull stare at the ceiling. I stood up to the open door, judging the time of day to be heading into late afternoon. Fortunately the Sun would not penetrate the camouflage fully, no matter which location it took in the Sky. It would remain dim. I liked this place, present company included.

I rummaged around for something to eat when my stomach grumbled and I found plenty of seeds, roots, and preserved, crunchy, toasted insects, likely from the previous season. Another thing we had in common—the things we searched for to eat on the run.

"You cannot eat yet," I said with a glance in her direction. 

Any poison tended to steal the appetite for hours at least. Indeed she seemed to turn almost green with the thought.

"But I must eat. You will share?"

She glared at me. "Do not pretend hospitality. Take what you will. It is your nature."

I tilted my head a bit. "Any creature learns to take to live, elf."

"And I learned to give, Drow."

"And this is superior, to be taken from and pretend you willed it?"

She shook her head. "Stop talking...please...stop. Do what you will."

I watched her curiously as I ate. She gave up so easily after challenging me outright to debate. It was disappointing. "You have not asked me one question, elf. Ask. I feel generous."

She shook her head. "I do not care anything...to know more than I do."

"Foolish," I commented. "You roll and sag like a pig in a mud sink."

Those green eyes, slightly less bloodshot now, shot to stare at me again. She looked very insulted, and I was glad. She was more interesting when she had an actual expression.

"You impressed with your spell, the thorned vine," I said. "Vicious manner of torture."

She looked distressed at that. "I was desperate. I could not see."

I paused, tilting my head. "Excuses? Why?"

"I am not like you. I only defended."

"As did I," I said. "I tried to bargain. You shot first."

"You moved first!"

"You yelled first. And sent your bird. I was in retreat."

"You were not."

"How would you know in the dark?" I asked. "I changed direction because your arrow near struck me." Not quite true, but it fascinated me that she was arguing against her own actions. "I knew you would shoot again."

"You are Drow. I am Silven. You would not retreat from a conflict between us."

"I did not know you were 'Silven.' I thought you were Human," I said, plainly truthful.

She laughed outright. "You did not know!" She tried to spit at me but only managed to get some on her own chin.

"I did not know," I repeated. "I cannot see very far in light."

The blonde quieted bit as this thought seemed surprisingly reasonable to her, though she was still hesitant to believe it; I could sense the first touch of uncertainty.

She said, "You followed a ley line to find me."

"I attempt to follow a ley line to find another," I said flatly. "I am not that good."

"You lie! You know who I am!" she cried in frustration.

"Just from talk. You match a description. You expect something when I removed my leathers, but you did not find it," I answered. "I was not sent to kill you."

"Even if not sent, the opportunity is there. Why not?"

Why not, indeed?

As I considered that, the elf's lovely face twisted again. 

"You must kill me. I will tell others. They will hunt you."

I sighed. Yes, that was certainly a good reason. I could not argue with that, though it had been her idea. I let the relative quiet—but for the rustling bird—settle for a while. She had been the aggressor between us, and I would have talked had she given the chance...but... I also knew what had happened to her at the hands of my Sisters, and really, her actions were smart for being confronted at her own dwelling. I would have done the same. Defend with lethal force; do not hesitate. Her mistake was not making those thorns poisonous or at least tranquilizing.

Her reasoning was strange, though, her insistence that she knew what I would do before I did it and why—especially considering she was consistently wrong—but nonetheless her actions in and of themselves had been sensible in the context of what little I knew about her. By contrast, she knew not even one event in my life. She was blind in the hatred of her own trauma...rather as what I knew of many in the Underdark. Including myself, as a child.

Eventually the elf finally asked her question, her mouth pursed before and after, staring at the ceiling.

"Why are you in the Silverin?"

I considered telling the truth. If she expected me to kill her before she tells others—and I may very well have to—then speaking truth first might be the only way to get the same out of her. Unless her kind was even better at lying than we were.

Then again, she had assumed I was lying when I had not been. Certainly she couldn't tell one way or the other. If she could not discern lies due to her own bias and certainty, then she likely could not pass them by me very easily. The two skills went together. It would also make her choices more predictable.

I answered truthfully. "To kill someone."

"Of course," she murmured disdainfully. "Who, if not me?"

"A Necromancer."

Something extraordinary changed in her face then; she still possessed a sweaty, pale pallor, but her eyes seemed to glimmer as she turned her had to look at me again. "A Necromancer?"

"Called Sarilis," I offered. "Lives in a tower near here."

The elf licked her lips. "Or you wish to make a deal again. You think we do not know?"

"Know what?"

"Twenty years ago. You were allies."

I prevented the smile from reaching my face since I had learned that only made her think the worst of me. I nodded confirmation. "Allies against what?"

Her face was quickly becoming easy for me to read. She did not know the answer. I thought so. She likely had only heard this tale, just as I had. Neither of us had been there. So now I could assume she had not been living here for any more than two decades.

"It was against the Chaos element," I said. "Against the Cult of the Warpstone. You may thank us that they do not live outside your door this day."

She stared at me, and swallowed. "It was self-interest only, on both your parts."

I shrugged. "Yes. It benefits you still."

"The enemy of my enemy?" she asked with a sneer, and I stared at her. When she realized I did not understand, she finished, "The enemy of my enemy is my friend. Not always true."

"Friend," I repeated, stretching stiffened muscles and wincing at the pain of my wounds. "An ally?"

"More than an ally," she said with what I would call an arrogant smile. "Someone who will not betray you if made a better offer. Someone who cares if you live or die, even if it does not harm or benefit them otherwise. Someone who will help you without payment. Someone you trust. You cannot trust, so you have no friends. You are the poorer for it."

I quirked an eyebrow at her flushed face as she finished her speech. "Is this more of you saying you are not like me?"

She weakly flipped a hand. "You have no friends."

I thought about the qualifications. Someone who will help you without payment. True, I had not run into that much, unless it meant someone wanted to avoid punishment. Someone who cares if I lived or died even if... No, every life or death benefited someone. There was no escaping that.

Someone who would not betray if made a better offer...

I thought of Jael, then. I had betrayed Gaelan for a better status in stealing her Feldeu, but Jael, I had not. That illusion between us, the one that Jaunda had mentioned, was still in place; the belief that I was safe to the youngest Sister, not a rival, not an enemy, not loyal only because we both wore the uniform. She had helped me without payment; she caught up to Jaunda and the others to find me because....she "owed" me that. Because I had done the same. Because I wanted her to live. And she, me.

We had made our deal on the Surface, entwined in the cave just before she left. The only reason I could think was because we cared if the other lived or died. There was no benefit beyond simply continuing to live and meet up together, and to spite the queen in succeeding.

Could I call Jael a "friend" in the Common language, then? It seemed so. She met the description.

I smiled at the blonde elf. "I have one friend."

She scoffed. "You cannot. You do not understand friendship or love."

I wanted to ask what "love" was, but that would probably prove her point. Shrugging, I said, "So tell me of friendship and love. What am I without?"

"I cannot explain to someone like you, who gets such pleasure in killing and raping," she said, tears forming in her eyes as she again looked at me with such hatred, it would have suited Wilsira's expression in the audience chamber after we'd killed Kerse.

I did not reply because I could certainly remember a lot of pleasure in both those acts. So love and friendship were mutually exclusive from killing and raping? Or should I consider the source?

"You are without goodness, without empathy," she murmured in a voice both mournful and arrogant. "You can serve pain to others but cannot take it yourself."

Now I laughed, the shaking hurting my wounds but I didn't care. "Ah! But I can, and I do not get so...brooding afterward, as you are. Not for so long. I stand again. You were the only survivor of the underground group, yes?"




Surfacing Ch. 03



She glared at me and nodded once.

"I know the Drow who attacked you," I said, crossing my arms gently as I sat back in the wooden chair. "And what she did to you only once...she has done to me many more. I am familiar with her mountings, you and I have both felt her thrusts. She is rough but not the worse I have had. You are lucky."

The blonde's face turned even paler and she looked ill.

"She spared you," I insisted with a touch of frustration. "And you mope now that another Drow sits before you, talking, and has not touched you. Where is the will to survive in that? You wait for what? For me to do the same as the other Drow? Do you pity yourself?"

"I lie here because you poisoned me!" she blurted, truly angry and her face flushing a deep, dark pink in a flood that fascinated me. She started to sit up though she did not seem to realize it.

"And you are the first I have seen to survive that poison!" I pitched back with force. "I gave you antidote when you released me! You are twice spared!"

The elf's chest heaved beneath her loose buckskin shirt and she trembled as further words seemed to stick in her throat. She had managed to sit up nonetheless, her anger giving her a surge of energy, though by her face I could tell the glass still in her backside caused a stab of pain.

I clapped my hands together in mock applause and gestured to her. "There. You sit up. You want to live. Do not complicate it."

Tears began to stream down her face just before she burst into some very noisy sobbing. Her golden hair fell in front of her face, twigs interwoven in it just as Jaunda had described, and she crossed her arms over her chest, holding her shoulders as she gasped for air and trembled in full-body quakes, her face becoming blotchy and wet.

I had no idea what to do next. I sat and watched.

"I-I...did not r-release you..." she garbled. "I l-lost—lost—"

"Lost control of the spell," I said with a shrug. "I knew, one or the other. Dark or pale, we act the same under threat. I kept my bargain still."

"Why?" she demanded, the whites of her eyes reddened and swollen as if she still suffered the poison. "You were f-free, why n-not just l-let me die?"

"I wished to talk," I said. "And I will get value for my potion, elf."

She fell silent for a few moments, even her sobs, before she began weeping again. I sighed in exasperation and decided I would wait her out. I was not leaving yet, my wounds still needed rest, and I had waited out plenty of other Drow much tougher to crack than this one.

Not that she was exactly a Drow...but she had some of our arrogance in her superiority and all of our ruthlessness when she felt threatened. Only when her sobbing was brought under more of her control did I speak. 

"Was I to continue as you are now, back home, do you know what would happen to me?"

She shook her head. "I do not wish to—"

"Tough hide. I would be beaten until I fought back. If I failed to fight back, I would be killed."

"That is why your kind is wicked!" she said with conviction.

"What do you expect when you weep so, goldie?" I asked with plenty of derision of my own.

"Compassion! Comfort!" she said, trying to raise her chin up. "A gentle hand to calm fear. But you do not know what those are!"

Gentle hand. Gaelen came to my mind immediately. Not too long ago, in the cave when I'd woken from my terror-dreams. Her hand on my forehead. And before that...Auslan. Holding me close as I shook after collapsing on his floor, overwhelmed by so many memories of pain and fear after what Kerse had done...

...perhaps as this elf felt so overwhelmed now. She was shaking again.

"I do not know you," I said. "You would not accept comfort from me. You cannot expect it now."

She blinked her raw, pinkened eyes and she looked insulted. "You pretend to know of what I speak?"

"I do know, elf. Stop assuming you have unique feeling. Survival is first in the Underdark, then...if one has time...then reflection and healing, strengthening for the next injury. I am lucky. I have two who have comforted me because they saw pain when none other would. If others do, it is secret between them so as not to be abused by enemies."

My cousin closed her mouth and stared at me, her cheeks wet still and flushed deep as if the blood in her veins pushed to the surface and bloomed just under the skin. She seemed to reflect then, and I let her. Perhaps the walls in her mind would rearrange themselves in a new pattern. Her stubborn repetition was getting tiresome.

Given enough time, the golden-haired elf did manage an intelligent response at last.

"Pilla can give me comfort," she said. "Please...release her. I will instruct her not to attack you, and we will talk."

I looked at the falcon, well-covered in dust and webs on the ground, and back at the elf. "Tell me your name first."

She swallowed. "Tamuril. Pilla is my...my friend." She licked her lips and I could tell her stomach trembled. She did not want to ask the next question. "And you are?"

I stared at her. "Sirana. Your falcon will not attack or endanger me, Tamuril, even once. If she does, I will kill her, and I will poison you again. Both of you do not attack and do not put me in danger in any way, and I will not kill. Agreed?"

Tamuril blinked slowly and nodded even more so. "A...agreed."

I leaned to reach from my chair, able to snatch the bundle of feathers off the ground and place it on the ground between us. I slipped a very thin, short dagger from my boot and watched as the falcon continued to caw and struggle. I looked at my hostess.

"Well? I will not cut it free struggling like this."

The Surface elf whispered something in her native language and almost immediately the bird began to calm itself. The falcon was not limp but waiting, one tawny, lizard-like eye looking up at me through the webs. Leery still of being pecked or clawed by its feet, I made one good swipe through the sticky stuff and pulled enough of it off that the bird could eventually free itself on its own as I sat back with blade and tool belt to hand.

Pilla rolled and fluttered and eventually gained her feet, moving in hobbled fashion toward Tamuril, who gathered the bird up and cooed softly, pulling off trails of web and brushing her head just before the falcon puffed up her feathers and shook herself. Tamuril coughed and clenched her eyes against the flying dirt and I grinned in mirth, suppressing it once the elf could see me again.

Tamuril spent a great deal of time getting her "comfort." I did not know what was being said to the bird, but I did stand up slowly and close the door. When Tamuril blinked at the sudden darkness and I heard her breath quicken, I spoke.

"For my protection, Tamuril," I said, though soon I could still see her just fine. "You agreed, you will not put me in danger in any way. She speak with you somehow. Pilla will not fly away to tell others I am here."

"S-she must hunt and drink, it is her nature," the blonde said. "It is a long flight to tell the nearest Silven able to understand her, and longer still to travel back over land. You are safe for the moment, Drow."

"Sirana. You ask my name, use it."

"Sirana," she repeated, clearly uncomfortable doing so and her voice shook as she continued. "Give me some light and we may talk more. Open that window just a crack, not wide enough for Pilla to fly out."

My own eyes had stopped hurting for that moment in the dark—Rausery was right, it never truly stopped hurting, even if I could walk in the daylight—and I was at first not eager to acquiesce to her request. However, I heard her heart and her breath quite clearly then; I heard the movement of the bird as tension increased exponentially as each second passed in quiet. They were both going to panic, which would do me no good. I opted for opening the shutter a crack so she could see me.

As the elf was again able to place herself in her familiar home, she breathed slower, and she stared at me. "Do you hold bargains, then?"

"If well considered, and of an ally," I replied.

"You do not hold them when it suits?" she asked, the muscles in her neck tensing.

"If I accept the one I cross as enemy, yes." I smiled a bit. "What is the word...consequence? Consequence should be no surprise if you cross a bargain."

"If you know of consequence, why betray at all?" she asked with that arrogant slant.

I tilted my head, thinking it a child's question. "Because anyone may be challenged for what they have. Someone always wants what you have. No one is beyond that."

The pale elf's green eyes deepened in some emotion and her back sagged a bit as she turned away from me for a moment, as if she knew I spoke the truth but still did not accept it. That was her denial—I could not be more plain in my motive— and this only made it more likely that I would come out the better for our meeting. She would waste her opportunity...

Or so I thought.

"What do you want?" she asked me. 

Huh. She might be learning at last.

I considered. "Do you know of the Necromancer and his Tower?"

She hesitated, shifting while Pilla balanced on her leather-protected forearm. "Some."

"Can you sense ley lines?"

She nodded. "Yes."

"What kind of mage are you?"

She tilted her head a bit but answered, "I am a druid."

"And that is...what? A plant and animal mage?"

"Nature, yes," she murmured. "Worship of balance in the natural world, the cycle of birth and death."

"That is why you warp and twist thorned vines?" I asked with a smirk.

Tamuril frowned. "Those exist in natural form. I do not warp them just give them purpose."

I shrugged a bit lightly. "So I guess you likely do not kill females with young, or pregnant ones?"

"No," she answered immediately, even though she looked confused by the question.

"What about the sick or old?"

"If the sick can be mended, yes. If it is time for the old to die, then it is time."

I nodded.

The Surface elf surprised me again by asking, "What do you worship?"

"You do not assume to know?" I asked.

She pursed her lips. "I...am asking. I want to hear you describe it."

"You learn something. I worship the Game, Tamuril. Interlinking threads and the web traps within."

"Not a spider goddess?"

"You did not mention deities. You worship balance."

"I..." She stopped herself and thought again, seemingly confused. "Drow worship...a game?"

I chuckled. "Thick, Tamuril. Unless you mean to sound simple. A game is balance, even as it ever changes. It is our nature. It is nature as you worship it. A web is balanced and birthed, renewed each day by its maker."

"It is not the same," she said stubbornly.

"And your world does not change? Creatures do not compete to live, to keep what they want and need, as in a game?"

"It is. NOT. The same," she hissed, her green eyes narrowing as Pilla fluttered her wings in agitation. "You will not twist my morals into yours."

I smiled, a bit impressed at her holding fast against my prodding. I understood the line being drawn even if I did not side with her view. If one considered too many sides at once, was too accommodating to the demands and arguments of others...there was no boundary that would not be crossed and invaded. Given enough information or time, I could present persuasions why anyone should see it my way, or why it was better for them to consider it. Those without strong boundaries possessed wills that were quickly dominated.

She seemed to be able to understand that. With practice she could even become a better liar.

"Then what I want, Tamuril, is for you to guide me to the Necromancer, and for you and your bird to tell no one of my presence."

"I cannot," she said immediately.

"Which?" I asked.

"Both! Necromancy is unnatural, those who practice it my enemy. I will not empower him with contacts such as you, and I must speak of you if I live."

"Why must you speak of me?" I asked.

"The simplest of reasons: that is why I am here. If Drow surface, I must inform."

My brow arched. "You lie poorly. You are four days away from a known portal, you have no watcher's nest, you were not aware of my surfacing though I have adjusted to the light with time, and you have no contact for back-up, you said yourself. Be realistic if you must lie. I wager instead you live alone here, perhaps exile."

Her face flushed and she looked humiliated. I was not far from the truth, but her coloring again warned me I would not likely cross that boundary right now.

I chose to sit again. "So. You will not betray a function to be silent. Why not let one enemy destroy another, as with the Warpstone cult?"

She shook her head. "You may speak some truth, but you must plan more than you say. One Drow who cannot sense ley lines in Silverin cannot defeat him, he is too far in his magic. You omit something."

I smiled. "Very good. I search for his weakness first. What I find forms my next step. Now I've found you...you have some effect on what I do on the Surface before I return, Tamuril. Have you thought of that?"

She blinked then looked away. The blonde elf became distracted again by the wound in her ass as she winced and shifted again, upsetting Pilla's balance a bit.

"The shard must come out," I said blandly, figuring if she would not ask, I would save us some time.

She glared at me. "What is it? What did you do?"

"Glass needle. Antidote forced into muscle is faster than through the stomach, and you could not swallow anyway."

Understandably, she blanched at being reminded. "You broke it off inside?"

"The way it works. A trade for speed."

"All is a trade for you," she muttered.

"As for you, Tamuril, do not fool yourself." I grinned slowly. "I will pull it out."

She huffed a strange laugh that sounded almost horrified. "No! Pilla will help."

"It is deep. She will not be able to reach it without tearing you open further," I said. "Her beak and talons have no doubt dug into dead flesh. They are dirty."

"And...*you* can offer better?" she sneered. 

I slowly reached into one of the smallest tool pouches and pulled out a precision pair of tiny, delicate, metal tongs. Useful for so many things. "I can, with minimum damage or infection."

I saw her jaw flex and her teeth remained gritted when she spoke. "In exchange for what?"

"The pleasure of practicing the skill. Nothing more."

Tamuril's eyes became glassy but she blinked away her tears before they could seep out. "You will do it because it is fun?"

"Yes. That is believable to you, is it not?"

I could ask more in exchange but I'd found a few limits already and knew that would be pushing them. It was far from my main purpose anyway; this was just consequence of our first meeting. Kind of like when I'd gotten Panagan to bend over for the reward of capturing Jael; the hunt was going to happen that way anyway, so the extra was just a perk.

After further hesitation on the elf's part, I added, "We may use your medicines, anything to numb the skin and thwart festering. You need not trust mine."

I didn't want to use my limited store on her anyway. I would no doubt need it later.

"You have some, yes?"

I saw her green eyes—nearly the color of Shyntre's emerald—flick toward a wall with a small shelf. The only items on it were a few simple, wooden boxes. 

I nodded. By contrast, she shook her head and I tilted mine in question.

"No. You will not touch me."

I rolled my eyes. "Even at the price of poisoned blood? Such pride or fear or whichever this is... not often useful. I want you alive and able to guide me, remember?" "I have not agreed to that, either. There is no benefit to me."

I stared at her for a moment and then laughed out loud. The sound seemed to disconcert her and her bird companion. I leaned back then, considering the blushing pink of her cheeks. It was true that I didn't yet know what might tempt her; she was difficult to understand, holding to ideals that seemed to have little practical use and only provided points of exploitation for others. She wouldn't believe that I understood any of those ideals, either. And many of them, I didn't.

We had tried discussing perception and world view, but we knew too little about the other, just the basics of what we didn't like, didn't respect in the other, despite the fact that each of us seemed to consider those very same points to be our strengths. 

The vagaries of worship and friendship weren't useful to me here; neither was merely saying that I'd kill the Necromancer for her, as one who diametrically opposed to her own magic...variations of life and death, divine and arcane. It seemed reasonable to me that both would exist, just as the stark contrast in skin tone between us implied that we'd each adapted to our respective environments to survive. There held equilibrium.

It was an interesting thought that some of her ideals may have been practical to her survival...wherever she had grown up before staying here for an unknown reason.

So why was Tamuril alone and out here and relatively close to an Underdark portal? Could it have something to do with her reason for going down there...?

I knew that had been very important to her, if nothing else.

"Jynitha myotcee," I said bluntly.

She blinked and slowly shook her head to say she did not understand.

"What did you call it, the Underdark mushroom you sought? Jena—?"

I saw a glimpse of actual dread on Tamuril's face. Dread. She feared what I would say about it. Excellent.

"Genetha myocete," she murmured.

"I have some. In powdered form, not fresh, but still useful. Potent."

Her lips pursed. Her resolve seemed weakened. I continued.

"I will trade for your willing guidance to the Tower, your silence, and your true knowledge of Necromancer. For that, you must be healthy. You must allow me to remove the glass from your body."

Tamuril began to shake her head; I kept pushing, removing the correct pouch from my belt and holding it up to her. Three or four such pouches could have fit in my palm; it was tiny but it was turgid. There was a lot there to use, despite the small weight. I would be giving up a surer recipe to make more poison paste for my bolts and daggers, as well as possible medicine, but...I had Shyntre's pellets and I'd recognized a few possible substitutes in the forest.

"You will be prepared should you need to cure another such illness," I said. "You need not visit the borders of the Underdark to do so."

Golden brows drew down; she looked both angry and saddened. "I cannot count on its purity."

"I select it for my use," I said. "It is pure. Why would I have stale or tainted myocete among my tools? As a 'druid,' you must have knowledge of that which you use to heal."

"May I see it?" she asked, watching me with distrust, as if she expected me to refuse.

I hefted its slight weight in my palm. "Do you agree?"

"No," she said stoutly. "You will let me judge your powder prior to any agreement."

I smiled, which was more drawing my lips back from my teeth to bare them. "Spoil it only to spite and refuse me, and we fight once again, elf."

She nodded once, somehow relaxing as if I made the most sense to her when I threatened violence. "Understood. Yes or no, Drow?"

I tossed the small pouch to her. Pilla screeched and fluttered, jumping to a perch dug into the all at the foot of Tamuril's bed, blinking balefully at me in the dim light. The blonde elf did not make the catch, but I'd aimed it for her lap and she was able to lift it quickly. I watched as she inspected the make of the dark leather, seemingly interested in how it was made, before she tugged at the tight strings to check the contents.

To her credit, she did not stick her nose in it to inhale, but gently waved her hand above the opening to direct any scent toward her as she sniffed gently. She took out a tiny pinch and set it in her palm, touching and studying it, its color, its texture. Most mushroom powders were some form of grey, but this one had distinct blue flecks that helped with its identification.




Surfacing Ch. 03



Finally, the druid licked a finger, barely touched the tiny bit of powder in her palm, and gently transferred some of it to the tip of her tongue. She stared at nothing for a time as she determined its usefulness; I figured she had to be pretty sure of its identity to actually put some in her mouth. More than that, it meant she had believed what I'd said about it being for me, and therefore being of quality, and therefore must believe that I wanted her alive more than I wanted to poison her right now. That was what counted.

By itself, this myotcee neither harmed nor helped, though it could relax; it was a fairly bland but for a recognizable tang. Only when it was mixed properly with something else did it become toxic to either the tiny, necrotic flesh infectors, or a large, living animal...all depending on its combination.

I watched in silence as she considered the pouch and the proposal for a long, long time. Several complex emotions seemed to pass her face or behind her eyes, but I was not sure I could read them beyond...something between fear and hope.

I heard her heartbeat pick up just before she spoke; just saying her next words scared her.

"Give me this entire amount, let me live when we've completed our bargain...and I will do as you ask. My guidance to the Tower, my silence, and my knowledge of the Necromancer."

I smiled in satisfaction. "Give me those three, and you will live to make use of that powder. What of the glass in your flesh?"

She grimaced and turned away, her face turning a darker shade as more blood rushed to her face. I loved such a telltale sign of emotion; she wouldn't have that advantage with me, as my skin obscured obvious blood flow and she likely was not used to listening for heart and breath as keenly as me.

"Yes. I need your help. But you will not touch me except to remove what you stabbed into me."

"Careful with such words," I teased with a chuckle.

She ground her teeth, her composure cracking a bit. "Remove the glass. That is all!"

I nodded at the amendment. "Agreed. Let us extract it now."

There were many more tense moments of circling around each other, figurative and literal, as Pilla squawked her protests and I retrieved the druids own medicines and two bowls of water, a few cloths, and placed all of them on the small work table within reach. I set out only the items she indicated she wanted to use. She had a small, stout candle as well, and I lit that so that I would be able to purify my own tools before digging into her. I also pulled out a leather strap she had that already had teeth marks in it.

"Best you lay across my thighs," I said.

"No!" she blurted. "I will stand."

"Ridiculous. You will jerk and collapse and make it worse."

"Then I will remain on my bed."

I shook my head. "Not comfortable for me."

"So what? I am the one injured!"

"I count twelve punctures from your thorns. I am sore, or have you forgotten?"

It was obvious that she had. How nice that she believed I healed so quickly.

"But then I will be lying on your wounds," she said almost triumphantly.

"Not directly. It is still better than crouching over your backside." I arranged myself in the chair by the table, all tools to hand, and patted my lap. "Here. The longer you delay, the sooner you may sleep from the powder. Then I will arrange you how I want you."

Tamuril did a double take. "What?!"

"Side effect of Jynitha, or did you not know?" I said. "You put some on your tongue. You will become relaxed." I couldn't help but smile at her expression of betrayal. "What? It is good. This will hurt less, and we may both rest."

Her breathing became ragged as she struggled with her reaction. "You will not touch me if I sleep!"

I nodded and sighed. "I told you, I will rest as well. I know my Sister hurt you, I do not look to do the same for no reason."

Wide, exotic eyes stared as if to pierce me, trying to judge my words. She was missing the obvious in that I was wary of what she might try as well, should she be awake as I slept. And it was not like I had forced the powder into her mouth.

"Sister?" she asked.

I nodded. "Not in blood. Warrior-bond."

Tamuril looked surprised that such a bond could exist amongst us.

"And it was...a she?"

I nodded.

"Th-the...appendage...?"

"Not born with it."

The Surface elf tried to absorb that; she was trembling. Her voice was reedy when she spoken next. "You will not touch me for no reason...? Wh-what was *her* reason?"

"Punishment for trespass," I replied simply. "She is a guardian and fighter."

Another pause as I listened to her throbbing heart.

"She did not kill you," I repeated.

"Why not...?" she asked as tears formed in her eyes again.

I shrugged. "To spread tales of warning back, so more would not come."

For once, my explanation did not cause any confusion, even if she clearly did not agree with the method or perhaps the need.

"What...reasons...do you have to do the same to another?" she asked.

"Many," I said, "depending on situation and target."

Again she looked disgusted but she hid it more quickly this time. "And...me? In this situation? What would tempt you?"

I tilted my head. It was an odd question to me, and it almost sounded like she was flirting, but I knew she wasn't. Why would she want to imagine such in graphic detail if she was so horrified by us?

"Set any trap, by design or omission, and let me find out about it. Fail, let me survive it, and you will be sorry."

"In other words..." she said, "it depends on me?"

I smiled. "Correct. I have goals best served with you alive, but I can do without if you attack first. Peace depends on you, Silven."

"On accepting a bargain with a Drow. On not challenging your presence here." She made a face I did not think suited the discussion; again, it would have looked better on a child.

I snorted and shook my head. "You have already accepted by negotiating fine points with me. You need to accept all points. You are no match and you are vulnerable. You know it."

I dare say that both she and her bird gave me the same murderous look. But then, being called out on having multiple faces, and what exactly they were, was always annoying. I could agree with that much from experience.

Some of the fire in her eyes retreated as she blinked and seemed to feel the first touch of drowsiness from the Jynitha.

"Come," I pressed. "Time grows short. Across my lap. Yes, or no?"

"Yes," she hissed softly, with clear regret.

"Then come here."

Especially for being elven, it was almost amusing how clumsy we were getting the taller elf into position, belly down and across my lap. Though I thought she might wish to undo her own leathers and pull them down, as it turned out, she could not seem to bear to do it herself. She hid her face in her hair and placed the impetus in my hands. I would not have done the same in her place.

Still, I enjoyed reaching around to her belly to tug on the loose knot at her waist, spreading my sore thighs just a bit for better access and balance. I had removed my gloves for this delicate surgery, and I could feel the softness of her skin, even as I felt the tension of the muscles beneath.

Tamuril winced and swallowed a pained sound as I tugged her clothing down, doing my best to avoid the puncture wound in her right buttock, but just the movement heightened her awareness of the foreign object inside. I took my time bunching the unflattering material down, slowly exposing her rear end and the top part of her thighs.

"It need not be that low!" she protested.

"I do not know how much you may bleed," I said. "Unless you want stains."

The admittedly attractive shape of her body had been obscured before, but now I had the opportunity to admire her backside...and how stark the contrast was between the darkness of my hand and the whiteness of her skin. Another bit of color drew my eye and I tilted my head somewhat for a better view.

The Silven elf was keeping her thighs closed, and exerting conscious effort to do so, but at this angle, I could still see a peek of...soft pink flesh. Kind of like the new spring blossoms on some of the trees, her sex was shaped like mine from what I could see but it was truly pink, unlike the rest of her. The darker blush compared to the pale frame was almost welcoming, the same way a flower's bright petals invited a bee closer to land...and to drink.

The lips of my sex, and my nipples, were a more purple color in candlelight; in utter darkness, it was simply warmer and more strongly scented when aroused. The purple color of feminine parts was part of the reason the Valsharess dressed in purple.

How fascinating to see a purely primal way the Surface elves had become one with their environment as well... Jaunda would not have been able to see this in the dark, even if she had fucked this pussy. Perhaps my Lead would not have been able to appreciate it in context, either. Not without having seen flowers and bees before.

I wondered if Tamuril's nipples matched in color? It was likely, however I'd not be invited to confirm that. What about any mound fur? Mine matched my head hair; did hers? Was it a patch of gold? While that normally implied advanced age to my culture and could be a mood-killer...against the pale flesh and blushing pink, it might not strike me as elderly.

"Well?" Tamuril said suddenly, her voice loaded with anxiety even as she sounded mildly drugged, and I blinked out of my staring at that hint of her pussy.

"Shh," I hushed, putting the tips of my fingers gently around her wound. "I use my ears more when concentrating. You are too loud."

The shard had caused a hard, swelling knot and her flesh had completely closed around my glass needle. It was going to hurt even if I numbed the skin with her own potion; a topical herb simply couldn't penetrate deeply enough. I thought it would be better if Tamuril was unconscious for this; certainly her bird would be less anxious as Pilla was now, clacking her beak and clenching and unclenching her taloned feet around her perch, never taking her predator's eyes off of me.

I asked, "Which of your bottles numbs your skin?"

"The one with the blue cork."

"Topical, or does it go muscle-deep?"

She paused. "Midway. Not very deep, but below skin."

"And any healing potion for after?"

She had to think about that, turning her head best she could toward the table. "Something to reduce swelling, with the blue cork. I do not have all components for a magical potion."

"Harsh winter?"

She answered grudgingly. "Recent injury, used what I had."

"Ah."

Unlucky timing like that certainly could come back to bite later on. Or she could be concealing what she had—rightly so, as I would take them for my mission. I could say that I needed them more than she did. I'd watch her later for any stealth healing. 

Meanwhile, I used what she had to cleanse and numb the wound, used the candle to heat my smaller tools and burn off any impurities, and finally began probing for the shard. Tamuril quickly put the leather strap in her mouth; I listened to her breathing and soft groans while I kept my eyes and all attention to my fingers on her injection site. She was doing pretty well, better than I might have guessed, though she still made more noise than the typical Drow really dared to when there was the scent of blood in the air.

When I finally found and got a firm hold on the shard, it was resistant to coming out, but I kept steady pressure on it. The needle was not barbed as some of our weapons and tools could be—if it had been, I would not be able to get it out without taking most of the flesh around it. My skill at field dressing as competent enough, but there was a reason I was not a healer by trade.

Tamuril squirmed then forced herself to hold still, trembling in constant pain, and she whined as I slowly drew the shard out. She went slack immediately upon my tongs leaving her body, gasping around the leather strap between her teeth. I held what I'd extracted up to my eyes and studied it carefully. Was it whole or had it splintered? Would I need to go in for another piece?

Best that I could tell, all that was missing was the tiniest tip—which likely wasn't even whole inside her anymore. That miniscule amount of glass would simply have to be rejected by her own body over time as she healed—my tools were small, but not that small.

"Got it," I said.

"Thank the goddess..." she breathed, sounding quite worn down, disoriented by pain, exhaustion, and mushroom powder.

"How do I fill the hole?"

"The pouch with three knots... one stained yellow... has a powder. Mix with water into a paste, and press in...as much as you can."

I did as directed and did not need further direction to place a pad over the treated wound and wrap a bandage, even if it was a bit awkward to get it into place. I noticed the elf's head was drooping low by then. Assisted by the taste of Jynitha, Tamuril was at last overcome by exhaustion caused by surviving the harsh venom, the stress of my presence and my interrogation, and a painful shard extraction. Pilla made more sounds and motions of threat toward me as her mistress finally fell unable to defend herself.

Damn bird. I'd have satisfied my curiosity about the color of the elf's nipples in a moment, had we been alone. As it was, I fidgeted some with the leathers, preparing to cover her up, but not before parting her legs a bit more and getting a better look.

I did see golden fur... blonde curls crowning a flushed pink sex, even darker now, reddened after all the physical strain the Silven had just suffered. She looked like an exotic flower.

I grinned to myself in spite of Pilla's admonishing squawks of protest off to the side, and still I pulled Tamuril's pants back up over her haunches before bracing to lift her up and return her to her bed. My own wounds and the difference in our height made themselves well known as I struggled to place the blonde elf back down on her belly, head turned so she could breathe. If the falcon had been able to spit at me, she likely would have.

I returned to my chair and breathed out, very tired myself by this point, loosening a particular pouch.

*Come, my beauties. Keep watch for me. Wake me if the bird leaves her perch or the elf threatens.*

The three magical spiders crawled out carefully—I noticed that they kept to the side of my arm and body away from Pilla as they rose toward my neck. I would let them nestle in their usual place as I went into reverie: beneath my braid at the nape of my neck, the tiny little hooks on six of their legs holding to the bandage the same way normally they held to my skin.

I didn't think falcons like the druid's companion actually ate spiders on a regular basis, but certainly she would kill them with a quick snap of her hooked beak if given the chance. If they didn't jump and bite her first.

They'd have to get through that overlay of feathers that almost acted like a shield, or through the tough-looking, ridged legs that sported her talons. I thought instead that the most vulnerable point might be the upper legs, beneath the wings, where the feathers appeared softer and there was more meat to bite into. I focused on it, and "heard" an acknowledgement from my pets as they were essentially ordered to go for that location first if necessary to survive or to protect me.

The spiders would stay on watch. They could see fairly well, though they did not hear anything in the way I did; they could sense vibrations and air movement even better than most serpents. I'd grown attached to them in a way I hadn't expected as I took care of them, and they me—as they had been the deciding factor that won the fight between me and the elf. 

The natural, clueless spider that I had once crushed out of spite of Lolth...I actually felt a bit of regret for the spider. Not for cursing my goddess, but for killing the useful creature; no need, no plan, no reason. Just spite and frustration.

Isn't that what so many of us did even with sentient beings? Hadn't I always thought it wasteful and petty? A display of lacking self-control and a practical mind, as my blood sister had often beat at me when she would have to admit that her false rituals had failed—I'd been so much smaller than her at first, so she could.

Never again for me. Not the pincer worms who'd killed her for me. Not spiders or frogs or snakes.

And not a pale cousin who I was supposed to hate.

It seemed a waste. Like forbidding Red Sisters to help each other, in spite of our creed.

All of it, a waste.

*****

My spiders did wake me once, sometime after Sunset, when Pilla flew over to the sill and I watched as she quickly nudged open the window enough to fly out, leaving her mistress behind unguarded. Food and water was most likely the reason, and from the feel of the night and the soreness in my wounds, I'd been in reverie for a long time and made no move.

Part of me wondered if the bird was following a previous order the elf had given her, going to call back-up. It would be in direct conflict with our agreement; it would remove any conflict I might feel about killing the forest elf. I supposed that I would have to just wait and see, after everything that happened in the day, if Tamuril was still that stupid.

If nothing else, she was still sleeping, and still on her stomach. I could wait.

I did not have time to fall back into reverie when my stomach rumbled, the pains—surprisingly sharp and almost exaggerated—biting insistently at my middle. My hunger, and my unborn's, was hard to ignore. I used Tamuril's stores again to sate myself, still not wanting to dig into my own carrying rations. I had the thought that Tamuril would be very hungry upon waking as well, and collected a small bag of her own food for her at the edge of the grass pallet. To my surprise, I found myself drifting toward reverie again after I sat down.

Whether it was the fight, the wounds, or the demands of my changing womb...I accepted the call and fell asleep in the elf's wooden chair with a shaft of Moonlight touching the earthen floor.

*****

I dreamed of the elf. Or...I dreamed of a pale-skinned, golden-haired Surface elf who was fairly tall. It may or may not have been Tamuril; I could not tell from this distance. I could tell only that the clothing she wore was paler and flowing. Not green or brown.

I saw no ever-present falcon, but I did see my first horse.

The elf was clinging to the back of the riding beast, fists balled tight in the tangled, white-blond mane that decorated the ridge of the long neck; there was no bridle, no saddle, no apparent direction.

The horse's coat was a shining sorrel red, and he charging hard across the red sand, somehow now down and out below me as if I stood atop a dune. Even at the distance I could see how hard it was for the beast to fight the sand, how wide the nostrils were spread so he could breathe enough air, and how his single-toed hooves sank into the loose particles, kicking up clouds of red dust behind him as he held his pale blond tale high in the air. Even then, the speed was incredible.

"She will never reach the other side without me."

I started at the voice and looked to my left.

I stared.

"...Auslan?"

He smiled, but only just a bit. His copper-red eyes looked sorrowful, and somehow much older than the rest of his face, even with the gold streak growing from his right temple.

"For now," he said.

I did not want to look away from his beautiful, familiar face, even as I wondered whether this may be an illusion.

"I have a question for you." He waited until I acknowledged him.

"Yes?"

"Can a lizard outrun a horse?"

I nearly laughed; my mouth tugged into a smile instead. I looked back out at the tireless mount now carrying his rider into that clear, eternal horizon. "They are too different to race together, it is no match. You tease me."




Surfacing Ch. 03



Auslan blinked and tilted his head as if in confusion. Then he smiled. "Perhaps someday."

All the colors were so vibrant—a deep blue Sky complimenting the dark red sand, the fiery colors of the horse and the pure gold of the elf's hair, the Sun, and Auslan's streak...even the black and white of our own coloring seemed to fit into the stark, brilliant scene. I realized that the tracers to which I'd grown accustomed on the Surface weren't present as I viewed this place.

What was out of place, I finally noticed, was the grey spot far in the other direction of the horse and rider. A cloud? Even without tracers, it was too fuzzy to make it out, the only mass that broke the clear line of where the Sky met the land.

"They will know we are here before long," the Consort said solemnly, following my gaze, standing almost perfectly still with only the hot wind tousling his long hair. "They are reaching out the same as we are, testing the boundary. Do not fear them, they belong as we do, but do help choose the boundary."

"Who are 'they,'" I asked, somehow not expecting a direct answer to that question.

"The other side."

Far too simple, especially for words vague as the outline of that grey cloud.

"There are always multiple sides," I commented.

Auslan smiled slowly and wider than before. Was he pleased? "Do keep count, and forget none of them."

*****

Tamuril was awake before me, something I didn't care for at all, but at least she was only huddled on her nest with her back against the wall, nibbling tiny amounts of her stores which I'd left as she watched me with those hateful, leaf-green eyes. Pilla had not returned yet, and my spiders remained at the nape of my neck. The fact that I had risen out of reverie naturally meant that the elf had never moved from her spot. She also sat with her weight shifted off of her injured buttock, so she still felt that.

When I tried to move, my breath hitched as soreness assailed my entire body. The Silven watched as I slowly stood up out of my chair and stretched gingerly. I would not be stiff for long, though the holes in my skin would need cleaning and redressing again.

"When do we leave?" the blonde elf asked quietly, though I barely heard her over the noise of the birds claiming their territory again as the Sun rose.

I shrugged. "Do you have a preference?"

"Today."

I tilted my head. "Do you feel strong enough?"

"Do you?"

My lip curled. "A few surface pokes aren't enough to down me. Your insides, however, will be healing for weeks."

The blonde looked as though she may purge her meager breakfast; it was clear she wished I hadn't said that.

"Unless you have a beast to carry you," I said, "we stay and heal another two days. More if you cannot eat and drink more than you have."

One might think, by the way her face contorted, that I had suggested we spend the next few days plucking all her falcon's feathers and fletching her arrows with them.

"It is not a threat," I said gruffly. "It is necessity. You collapse near the Tower, I will not endanger myself to help you. I will not thank you if you spoil my approach. Do not leave until you are certain you have reserves to call upon."

The druid did seem to agree with that argument, though she made a face when I said I would not help her if she fell. It was conceited to judge me, I thought, when it would be from her own short-sightedness.

She brooded for a long time, unwilling to talk or look at me and I realized that my own time of rest here would seem....very long, as we just sat in reticent wariness. I took my time cleaning and redressing my own wounds—using some of the leftover paste from last night's surgery—and dressing before moving next to inspecting and cleaning my weapons. 

Sadly, this showed her most of what I had for weaponry as she did start to look over more often, but it needed to be done and I wasn't going to leave her alone for any long stretch. Even fetching water from the well would require the both of us. I could hold to the sure knowledge that she did not know what was in my pouches, and she still hadn't seen the spiders beneath my hair, though she may suspect it had been a bite that downed her.

"That necklace beneath your armor...what is it?" she asked me.

I realized she had to have seen the sapphire not just this time but the time before, both times I had stripped off my shirt, as it lay between my breasts.

"Decoration," I said.

"Lie," she said. "Everything on you has a use. You would not carry useless weight on a long journey. And more, I could not think it would have spiritual value."

I found myself grinning. Both right and wrong; it was far from useless, yes...but it also held a powerful memory associated with it. Or at least a powerful Drow.

"The weight is slight."

"Meaning it is useless?" She did not believe that.

"Meaning it is mine, and I keep what's mine," I said. "What more do you need to know?"

"If that metal is meant to be a new Moon shining, and the blue stone is perhaps the rest of the Moon in shadow?"

I was careful about looking down, that would be a perfect distraction. I kept my gaze on her and fished the cord to lift the pendant up to my face instead, taking another look at it. I hadn't seen it before, but she was right. Now that I had had a comparison, the platinum and stone made a near-perfect circle, and the whole together did look like a Moon at the beginning of its phases, with the bare outline of the rest of the celestial body visible in darker, bluish shade.

"Huh," I said in consideration. "We see what we see."

She took a moment to interpret that, and followed up with a rather perceptive question. "What did you see upon first looking at it?"

I smiled. "A sickle. I saw the sapphire as just a stone."

"A sickle? Your kind farm?" Her eyes had gotten very wide.

"More slaves do," I said. "We manage cultivation."

"You have slaves," she said.

"And you do not." I returned the sapphire to its hiding place, watching and waiting. When she didn't say it, I supplied it for her. "Evil, as I understand the word."

"It's shameful to sell and imprison other beings."

I didn't even know where to start with that one. Slaves and thralls were so widespread among the dominant races, the Duergar, the Illithids, us...more. Even the gnomes kept servants, I thought. It became the way of survival and power, because if the most gifted of every race had to spend their days doing the mundane, raking in the raw resources, there would be no progress, no defense against the others, no strong force supported by those mundane workers—who were in turn kept, fed, and protected from unfamiliar outsiders by the gifted. It provided stability, concentrated and focused the wealth, when we could instead be scuffling in the damp and the dark, fighting over a fish corpse, cycle-by-cycle, and hand-to-mouth.

But I did not even know when it had all begun, or whether it had always been like that. There seemed the space and resources up here on the Surface to allow for another way...

"Not much knowledge of the Underdark, I take it? And what are you, if not evil?"

"Good," she said. "Compassionate. In harming none, do as one will."

"Impossible," I commented. "You kill and steal to eat, just as I do."

"I do not!" she nearly shouted.

"Let us start small. You harm the body of grass by walking on it. And those dried insects in your pantry expired on their own? The seeds that will never grow into a plant were not stolen from a place in the earth to sprout? What about eggs in a mother's nest, or—"

Tamuril made an incredibly frustrated gesture, ending with a swipe to one side as if trying to clear what obscured her sight before her, and I actually felt a pulse of magic against my chest and tingling along my ears, though nothing seemed to happen. Interesting.

"You do not take insects as slaves," she hissed.

At last, a marvelous counterpoint that cut through to her actual point. I was finally starting to enjoy my morning as the debate passed the time and the constantly shifting energy kept my body warm as it healed.

I chuckled. "Granted. But I challenge that you cannot always know when you harm another with your actions. If you had ever played our Game, Tamuril, you would know the ripples are felt far beyond a choice made. You must accept some harm done, beyond what you intend, or it is not a balance. It is not the world."

Tamuril gave me a level look then. She seemed to think of something particular regarding what I'd just said. "Then tell me if you have ever chosen penance, if you know you have done harm...then heal next to regain that balance. Do you regret anything?" 

I frowned and was silent at first as my mind chewed on something new. If I knew I'd done harm, wouldn't I have intended it from the start? I would have planned it, or taken the opportunity. Or, if I had not intended it, I would still make the best of it and accept it. And yet...there were exceptions to everything...

Jael again. The Elders had not intended the Duergar to be so close to her test. Neither had I meant to fail as she'd been too injured to live...I had not done the harm, but I had healed her because...I felt. Something.

So had Auslan. And Gaelan, too, playing both sides as I underwent my initiation, healing as I was hurt, to keep balance, to help me survive by giving me an outlet for my anger. Then I had done the same with Jael; given her rest and contrast to what the others were doing. Why? Because we wanted something beneficial to us, or we wanted to avoid something worse. Did that constitute "penance" or "regret"? Maybe not.

Nonetheless, I tried a nod. "Perhaps. My one friend...I 'regretted' when she was dying, part of my own doing. I gave her my potion, though it put me at risk."

Tamuril did not scoff immediately as she had the previous day, possibly because I did not sound sure about this one. Instead, she watched me as if considering...and as if leaning toward believing that I spoke some truth. Her face almost had the appearance of becoming softer as her gaze deepened and she blinked away a new set of tears.

"I regret the death of a young, Human boy when I could not return with what I needed heal him, and was captured instead," the elf said, clenching her jaw before enunciating her next words carefully. "Your 'guardian' did not know what harm she had done beyond raping me."

"True," I said. Jaunda would have no way of knowing that, nor was she—or anyone—expected to know all that happened beyond their own home. "But she would not care if you told her, especially knowing how short a Human's life is anyway."

"What if...you told her?" the druid asked, suppressing an apparent response to my comment in favor of her question.

I smiled. "It would depend how I told her."

"Meaning...you could make her feel something, if you cared enough to be persuasive," Tamuril clarified.

Nice leap. I thought we'd skipped a few questions. It was true, too.

I shrugged. "Perhaps. She is her own body and mind. Though yes, when it mattered to me, I could persuade her."

She nodded, and fell silent. I wondered, could she actually be scheming?

"So is the necklace a Moon?" she asked.

I laughed aloud. I thought I had successfully distracted her from that, but she had come back around, just as I had from talking with Jael about her trial with the Draegloth. Tamuril was learning as much from me as I from her...and she had the same potential as any Drow. She was just perhaps out of practice in using it.

"That is as told to me, but I do not know more," I said. "So do not ask."

And for whatever reason, she accepted that. Soon after, Pilla returned, and we focused on more mundane things like collecting water and gathering more food for a new journey.

I did not know where this game would end, but I believed I would enjoy it.

******

Tamuril and I set out on foot two days later. The elf truly had not seemed to have any healing potions in reserve, and the pellets I placed beneath my tongue—out of either her or her falcon's view after that first time—did what they were supposed to do. I noticed the soreness and swelling receding at a much more rapid pace than normal—as if the wounds had no obstacles to overcome and had simply begun knitting flesh back together from the very first day.

The druid was far weaker than I was, though I did not give away much as to make that clear to her, and her long stride at a sustainable pace for her was more than comfortable for me. I may have had more trouble with a double-time march, though. 

Pilla flew above us, keeping watch and scouting ahead and periodically coming back to squawk at her druid before flying off again. She never went far, though, as long as I walked beside her mistress.

The blonde elf looked down at me periodically at first as we walked through the forest mountains in the direction of the Tower. I could still feel the whine at the back of my head that told me we had not deviated far from the ley line, but every time the landscape forced us to go another direction, the druid always took us unerringly back to it. Only the first three times did I fully expect her to keep moving away until I couldn't feel it for hours and I would have to challenge her betrayal of our deal...but then, before it came to that, we'd return within one hour and we moved at a good pace.

"Are all Drow your height?" Tamuril asked.

My eyes came up only to the level of her throat.

"I am average. There are taller and shorter females. The males are all shorter, though not by too much."

"Hm," she said. "A result of your environment and culture?"

"Why not? That is why you are tall, yes? More food, no ceiling, no crawling. You would bump your head on most of our doors and have trouble with most crevices and tunnels."

She smiled, just slightly, imagining that. I grinned a bit wider.

She said, "It's strange to think I remember your guardian as being so much larger than me..."

Tamuril had been talking more about her attack, off and on, and I was letting her. She referred to Jaunda as my "guardian" as it seemed to keep a certain distance between her words and her memories that she wanted to maintain. I had long considered that such a tactic might work if I ever needed to talk about Kerse...though I may never need to. The Silven needed it; I could sense some change in her as she did so and I recognized a recovering beast when I saw one. I had learned far different lessons on how to manage injuries, but healing was healing.

"She is taller than me," I said. "My lips would touch her chin, facing each other."

Which made Jaunda mid-height between us. My Lead was, of course, much stronger than either of us, her mass more dense. The Silven was reedy and thin, even possessing her female curves. Her breasts were smaller, arms and legs and torso all longer and more slender as if her bones could snap like those twigs in her hair. I had seen lounging Nobles at Court engaged far less physical activity adopt such a shape but...the druid was quite active in the forest, so it was a different kind of thin. Her muscles were ropey and longer; they moved differently.

"I would wager she may be able to toss a wolf if necessary," I commented. "She is as fierce, and she is wider in places compared to you. Your mind has not exaggerated much with time. Without the height, she still may seem larger."

Perhaps that wasn't so comforting to her, but Tamuril was getting used to me saying such things and was starting to see the information if them rather than assuming insult or closing her mind against me or something unpleasant. She was facing it.

She had not dropped her guard and was still fully aware of the risks, as was I, but she could function around me and make her own situation better with effort. I was applauding her, in my own way. I wasn't certain she saw it that way, but she was fighting it less.

"Still her shade seems...less demonic now," the druid commented, "talking to you. You do not fear her."

"She likes me. I am a lucky one. Plenty still fear her."

"She does not come to the surface?"

"She has before, may again, but that is all I know."

"So many secrets for such a close band of warriors mounting each other."

I smiled at my guide's rising ability to toe the line between crass and flirt, and winked at her; Tamuril made a face and harrumphed in response and continued looking forward. Many topics came and went, and we bedded down on opposite sides in a cave the first night. I could even say she seemed stronger the next morning.

Rather far into the second day, I noticed the foliage changing again, seeming stunted and a little less robust, as if the soil was of poorer quality. There were more evergreens as there had been up in the rocky mountain slopes, their spice making me wonder if their berries might distill an interesting spirit? Leafy trees were still here, but more scraggly, and the shrubs were woody and twisted, the grasses tougher, with less moss and mushrooms overall.

There were a few concentrated patches of toadstools that seemed odd to me, though. The soil was black and very little else grew around it. I had barely raised my arm to point them out when Tamuril answered.

"Spoiled ground," she said. "Evidence we are entering the Necromancer's realm. Tomorrow we should be able to see the tower. Then I will leave you to your mission, if you will let me leave, and do not try to take back the pouch you gave me."

I smiled. "Of course. You could have left it back at your dwelling if you feared that."

The odd pause on her part caught my attention, and my mind started working on alternatives immediately.

"Unless you don't mean to return, at least not soon," I added, keeping my gaze steady. Now that I thought back, she had prepared her dwelling to withstand a fairly long absence.

She wouldn't match my eyes. "I have penance to see to with the pouch. Perhaps I can restore my own balance."

I tilted my chin down; I hadn't blinked. "But the boy is dead."

"His father is not."

"Oh? Tell me that story. For what I've told you of my Sister."

Tamuril tried to look surprised, but it did not come across as genuine as she may have liked.

"You've been waiting for me to ask," I commented.

She blushed a bit and shrugged. "You said yourself...you did not care."

"You did well to make me curious instead. You are likely the only Silven who may understand anything of Drow."

That did not look like the compliment or asset to her that I had meant it to be, but Tamuril still thought for a few moments before telling me what she wanted me to know.

"I do not have constant contact with Humans," she murmured as we each stepped lightly, keeping our ears open for birdsong stopping or other warnings. "I visit a few isolated families, watch their children grow. They view me as a spirit of the woods made flesh, and I have granted them aid when I can. One boy in particular has stood out, gifted by the hand of his god, we believe, and has grown strong among men. He left to answer a call to help lead forming armies against the aggressive movements of the Ma'ab."

The druid glanced at me, and I nodded that I was following her story. Her eyes narrowed a bit that I did not need an explanation of that particular force, but continued.

"Soon after he left the last time, his young son contracted a lung disease that could not be purged through what means we had. He was wasting away. There was a magical elixir I could make that had the best chance of working, but one component is the genetha myocete I sought underground. The mushroom that your kind prevented me from finding."

She may have overcome some of her trauma talking with me, but the bitterness was definitely still there. I was not surprised that she had flung that barb in the tone that she had. It did not affect me either way; I nodded again. It was fact, after all. 




Surfacing Ch. 04



Author's Notes: This story is erotic fantasy written by Etaski. I reserve the right to be listed as the author of this story, wherever it is posted. If found posted anywhere except Literotica.com with this note attached, this story is posted without my permission. (c) Etaski 2013

Author's Note: For those of you who may have been missing the intrigue from "Sufferance"...I think it's back in full force with this chapter.

Please forgive me if there seem to be a few more typos than usual; I know I missed some as this was delayed enough by real life eating my time that I could not be quite as thorough over 79 pages (when I thought it would be 50-60). I hope you enjoy. :)

*****



Chapter 4

I complimented Sarilis on the stew after I'd observed the dwarf eating away at what he'd taken from the pot; only then had I followed suit. It was the first warm meal I had had in weeks, rich in some animal fat and plenty of mushy root vegetables, the meat tender and melting in my mouth. I seemed to cause a bit of a ripple among the men when I helped myself to a second full serving, the bowls already sized to feed Humans such as the fighter in the spiked armor.

Sarilis chuckled. "Oh, I do love a woman with a hearty appetite. And I'll grant the stew is decent. Gavin made it before he left yesterday. I just kept it warm with a spell."

I looked toward where the apprentice was deep into his second bowl as well, leaning up against the wall by the fire. He had not joined us at the heavy wooden table, had said nothing, and looked up only rarely. I figured he had to be listening, though. 

Meanwhile, the big warrior was staring at me from across the table without blinking. He wasn't the only one, of course, but the others I was pretty sure had blinked by now and he was the one who seemed to be trying to engage me in...what? A hypnotic cantrip? A contest?

I finally looked over at him, took a mouthful of stew, pulled the wooden spoon slowly from between my lips, chewed deliberately and swallowed. His dark eyes flicked down to my throat and lips as they moved but then back up to my eyes. I winked, and he finally blinked, which drew a smile from me.

He scowled blackly at me, lifting a nostril in a snarl. "So what is a 'Red Sister'?"

"On to business already, Kurn?" Sarilis sighed before looking over at me. "Shall I, my dear?"

I nodded once. "You shall."

I wanted to hear what he had to say about the Red Sisters. What exactly had Rausery told him?

"Start with what she is," Mathias interrupted, sitting two chairs over, on my side of the table.

"She's en elf, ya idiot," the dwarf, Rithal, grumbled, squinting at me from the far end. "Just never seen the colorin' before."

"An elf," Castis repeated, who I'd since realized was not only a mage, but possibly of the same origin as Kurn, as there were little hints in the symbols within their dress that suggested it. He glanced at his big brother, looking doubtful, but interestingly, Kurn nodded once in confirmation.

"Like in the stories," the large man rumbled. "We just didn't call it that."

"What did we call it?"

Kurn leaned over and whispered something in their native tongue.

Castis's brows rose up high and he looked at me again. Meanwhile, I kept my breath even, face placid, and my body relaxed. What was that supposed to mean? Not only that, but it was strange. How was it that the warrior actually knew more than the mage, especially on the topic of the legends of their own people?

"Elves. The long-lived ones in hidin'," Rithal continued, looking at Mathias. "Don't see 'em very often but they don't age, if ya even chance to see the same one twice in yer life."

The fire-haired dwarf made it sound as though that pertained to the elves he knew of—the pale ones of the Surface. It happened to suit the Drow, too, but...

"It's like they're waitin' for something," Rithal smiled at me. "Are ya? Waitin'?"

I lifted a brow and said in my best Court voice, "Only if there are after-dinner sweets."

I was almost certain that I heard Gavin stifle a snort over by the wall, though no one looked at him.

Sarilis was leaning back in his chair and looking rather bored. Eventually, Kurn remembered to ask him again, "So what's a Red Sister?"

The Necromancer seemed very happy at last to be remembered and straightened up as much as his decrepit frame allowed. "Why, a lady warrior, Kurn. I daresay a match for you. What she lacks in size and brute force, she surpasses in wit and speed. They are trained by their own kind—the dark elves—to carry out any task, at any cost. We are very fortunate that she has answered my summons."

"I don't want an unknown like this in my group," the big man growled, already looking insulted the moment Sarilis suggested I could match him. "I wager you don't even know her real motive for being here."

I noted that both the dwarf and Mathias each seemed surprised—maybe annoyed—that Kurn had claimed ownership of "the group."

"I had planned to ask in due time, my suspicious Hellhound. Timing is everything." Sarilis chortled, turning to me. "Second things second, my dear, now that our bellies are full. How is my old flame, Rausery? It has been so long since she graced my humble dwelling. Does she still make five corpses for every one of any other mercenary?"

The old mage was verbally agile, I had to grant him that. In two exchanges, he had confirmed he knew my Elder's name, implied an intimacy that was likely fabricated, had claimed credit for my being here, indirectly insulted the "Hellhound's" martial prowess, set me up as a rival leader for an already motley band, and laid the expectation for how many I would kill in a battle to be akin to his boasts about Red Sisters in general.

Pretty damned efficient. No wonder Rausery had seen fit to bargain with him; he thought like a Drow Noble sitting at Court. Yet... he would die so soon, even if he didn't meet a blade in the throat as he was supposed to do. It implied a speed of learning each year that almost seemed impossible for a race so short-lived.

Or maybe we learned at similar rates with similar experience...but the "dark elves" just spent more time waiting for the opportune moment. As did the pale elves, if I took the dwarf's words at face value. By contrast, if one did not expect to live long, there would seem little advantage to waiting to act, wouldn't there?

Maybe impatience was the major force that pushed the Human race. As Rausery had implied, they feel passing each year much more acutely, more urgent, in a way I would never fully understand.

"She speaks well of your wit, Sarilis," I said with Noble grace that came naturally after spending my young breeding years at Court. "She regrets not being able to answer the summons herself."

Sarilis's eyes glinted in amusement and intrigue. My granting credit to both his claims in front of the others pleased him very much and it sent a clear message: I was willing to play the game. I could expect a much more revealing discussion at a later point. His gaze all but promised it.

"And are you as...accommodating?" he asked, leaning toward me with a wave of one blue-veined hand. "I knew her to use the power of her unparalleled beauty well to her advantage...especially under moonlight. The... release... being part of the magic and mystique of the Red Sisters, as I understood it. Ahh, to be even twenty years younger!"

Had Rausery not warned me about the impotent sorcerer's penchant for making innuendo, or about the dangers of attempting to control other races through lust, I may have been surprised enough to doubt their previous relationship. As it was, I took it as a sleight-of-hand probing of boundaries, and figured he likely had once spied on Rausery pleasuring herself in that self-same Moonlight, based on what I already knew.

I caught the look on the faces of each man there, however, and I recognized it. It was the same as when many Noble Matrons gazed at a Consort, or even just a possibly available, handsome courtesan. Intentionally or not, thanks to Sarilis, all males at the table had just imagined me to have a real pussy between my thighs. Like it or not—and I didn't, really—the Necromancer was well versed in manipulating his current crowd of mercs. He was playing both sides.

But playing his cards a bit too quickly, in my opinion. That impatience again, I supposed.

I took another bite of stew; the men were too quiet, a few pairs of lips twitching in half-drawn smiles or sneers, for me not to think they were taking Sarilis seriously in his suggestion. There was no answer I could give that would not seem like either a challenge to play harder, or a promise of future "accommodation." What had Rausery said? Best to ignore the words, certainly if there were no actions to go with it.

"Rausery led you before, as I understand it," I said. "I trust I shall do the same on this task? Of course I am trained and capable."

That got Kurn's attention fast. He leaned forward, his gauntleted hand tightening into a fist atop the table. "You shan't. Castis and I will not take orders from a short, black witch that slinks in expecting us to fall to our knees at a flick of her wrist."

As far as I knew, I had set no such expectation. I had always loved assumptions, but as D'Shea had proven, I had to be careful about which ones I revealed. They could tell one so much about what another knew...or *thought* they knew.

I smiled. "And what are your strengths? Further, what was a 'Hellhound'?"

Sarilis cackled in delight, bringing his fingertips together. "An elite fighting unit of the Ma'ab. I believe they may have similar function to the Red Sisters, my dear."

The Necromancer was watching me far too intently for me to dare to give an honest reaction. That was a certain surprise and revealed more of the danger to me. I would not know whether this specific, Human man would know anything true of the Drow Priestess his kind had captured a hundred years ago, but somehow based on his responses to me so far, he likely knew rumors at least.

What was it he had just said? *Like in the stories. We just didn't call it that.* What did he call it, then? The "dark sorceress"? Or maybe the Common equivalent...black witch.

Just as important as what they might already know—or believed they knew—of Drow, there was the question of what two Ma'ab were doing here in the first place?

I turned back to Kurn and Castis, noting more about their features in case something might prove distinctive should I lay eyes on any more of their race. I smiled a bit and nodded. "I see."

"You likely do not," Castis spoke up. It was a little harder for me to tell, but I thought perhaps he might be considered the more handsome among his own, or even compared to those others here. There was a lighter balance to his bone structure, more symmetry to his face, and his skin was smoother with fewer blemishes.

"Even whispers of the Hellhounds being sent in ahead of our main forces makes any army of this land quiver," the Ma'ab magician continued as Kurn lifted his chin a bit and straightened his back.

I shrugged. "As you like. Trusted by your high priestess, then. Did she send you here?"

At the risk of displaying my own ignorance, I decided to play that bit hoping for another reaction from the Hellhound, if it was even partly true. What Rausery had said before about the Ma'ab being a bit like us in social structure clashed with his apparent attitude toward female leaders. I wanted to know more why.

Kurn's face tightened up and muscles stood out on his neck as he glared hard at me; it did feel like he was preparing to attack and I was ready to move fast if necessary. "That cunt can dissolve back into the Greylands."

Castis elbowed his big brother to gain his attention, though the tap to the armor did little more than make a noise, but they still exchanged a look, then the mage looked at me instead.

"Winds change, Red Sister," Castis said. "Once that may have been true, but now we have a different mission to restore balance to our race."

I smiled at the smaller man. "Interesting. What would you consider 'restored balance'?"

Ten to one it was simple swapping of the current power roles. Or vengeance without a long-term plan. One of the two.

"The generals will cease being puppets and take their rightful place determining the course of our history," Kurn growled.

I tilted my head. "Not 'contributing' to that course? Generals often know little of trade or agriculture or crafting beyond weapons and temporary structures."

"We need not debate the particulars," Castis said with finality, giving another warning look to the Hellhound, who had to restrain himself before he continued the debate.

I let it go for now, even though I could have pushed farther. The Hellhound would only keep his temper so long. Patience. If such a "unit" did serve a similar function as me and my Sisters...they hadn't learned to keep their mouths shut yet.

Or maybe most of them do, and this one Hellhound was simply tossed out for being too difficult to work with. Of course, my kind would have killed such an errant Sister, not exiled her...or ideally, she would not have made it that far into the elite anyway. We chose and trained accordingly.

The Hellhounds might be a better-than-average fighting force, but I doubted they had even half our qualities as Red Sisters. Sarilis had told me the difference almost immediately, I recalled, in so many words: size and brute force versus wit and speed.

Or, again...that was the difference between Kurn and me in particular, if not for the Hellhounds as a group.

I spent the time finishing up my stew and considering why Sarilis would set us up in opposing challenge so blatantly? If I didn't know better, the Necromancer seemed a little disappointed as the talking stopped. Or maybe he was disappointed that nothing of real interest had happened at his table, just a little posturing largely because I would only play along so much.

Maybe if he was thinking of Rausery...yes, the Elder may have done something physical by now to establish a proper hierarchy when confronted with someone like the Hellhound. But I wasn't Rausery, and I wasn't going to get into unnecessary fights for dominance with a snarling dog letting slip plenty of information on his own. I had my pregnancy to consider, and that wasn't how I worked anyway.

I could almost hear Sarilis taking mental notes of the differences between us; he would want to talk later. I need not do or say anything else to guarantee that.

"So when do we go over the plans?" Mathias asked after a time.

"Tomorrow, sir Mathias," our host answered cordially. "No doubt you are all very tired after your journeys here and you will be leaving again soon enough. Tomorrow."

*****

Understandably, there was some squabbling over sleeping quarters; no fighter wanted to be on anything but the ground floor—or as close to it as possible—and the Necromancer's joke about the wonderful view up the narrow, winding staircase didn't help much. 

With a full belly and a fuller day behind me, I would need some rest if I was going to discover more about what was happening here; the earlier, the better, and the fresher I'd be. I took the room my host suggested—fourth floor overlooking the valley—and left the others to pitch the rest. They certainly had a tendency to raise their voices to unnecessary levels.

Sarilis hadn't known I was coming, I was nearly certain, and since no one present had said, "Hey! That's my room!" I figured my chances that the room was free of Drow-specific dangers or traps were pretty good. True, all here knew where I would be, but...that was their risk if they tried to interrupt. I was comfortable with the idea of slipping into reverie before talking with the Necromancer; after all, if he tried something or let something happen as I rested, then he wouldn't get to talk.

And I knew he wanted to. Very much, he did.

While such a scenario was tempting to simply kill him in his own room this night and take off after Tamuril only a half a day ahead of me...I'd been told time and again that Sarilis was crafty and paranoid. His Court-like confidence playing the host playing off his guests was interesting for one living mostly alone as a recluse, with only silent undead and a skulking apprentice for company. I wouldn't have predicted it; I could make no assumptions. I did not think it would be so easy to simply walk up to him and stab him.

I would wait, and I would focus. Forget about catching up to the elf.

The build of the place did feel familiar and...comforting, even though it did not resemble Drow structure at all. Pieces fit well together as a puzzle, but without the obvious magic-forming done to the rock in our own buildings. Each floor made good use of its space even though it would probably take only two handfuls of moments to run across the diameter and the ceilings—while a little low for Humans—were generous for dwarves. The place was dwarven masonry, through and through, but I could note the quality and...admire it?

I shook my head. Kain again. I counted myself lucky that no racial hatred had boiled up out of my control when I had seen the red-blonde Surface dwarf. Instead, I felt only mild curiosity as to why he, like the two Ma'ab, was apart from his own people. 

They were no doubt wondering the same about me.

On the second floor, there was a candle burning behind a door a short way down the curved hall. Its light was glaring to my sensitive eyes, though probably more subtle to most Surface dwellers. 

Deviating from a path uninvited was certain to draw attention in places like the Drow Wizards' Tower; this place was probably no different, but the fact that I did feel my first ward here drew my curiosity.

I could not remember confronting any ward since Kerse had commanded me to break the one guarding the Illithid's prison. The pain had been intense, and it came back to me now. Considering the high, physical strain that this particular skill put on my body in order to find the dissonant song to break the spell, I knew it wasn't safe to go against a strong ward while I was pregnant. Yet another reason why Red Sisters were sent away to wait it out when a pregnancy happened.

Not that I had chosen that non-luxury at the time.

This one was very weak, though, very simple. I did start down the path toward the candlelight, and I felt right where and what the ward was—it just a suggestion: "You're tired, you want to sleep, go to your room," and it had been erected very recently. Next I heard someone shifting behind the closed door. I focused, unafraid of this particular ward. Yes, I was tired, but I wanted to prove to myself that I could still do it, even on such a light one as this with no real punishment if I failed to follow the suggestion.

I let the ward affect me, resisting the temptation to leave and go to my room to sleep, and I let my body and mind listen to the ward, seeing the arcane runes in my mind that would unravel the protection....

I felt when it broke then stepped forward, and I heard the man inside curse softly as he realized it. I grinned as I wasn't wearing the magical bracers from down below, but just standard ones. I'd done it just one my own. Granted, if even the paranoid Necromancer's wards hadn't been tested better than the Drow tested each other's...then that was one aspect of magical knowledge that might be very weak on the Surface.

"What do you want?" Gavin's voice asked before I had even touched the closed door.

Orrr.... it could be an apprentice still learning his craft.

*Want?* I hadn't thought of a want yet. I mentally shrugged and fell back on my usual. "To ask you a question. Open your door, apprentice. Surely privacy is better."

I'd think of a question by the time I got inside.




Surfacing Ch. 04



There was a frustrated exhale of air and I heard a few metal locks and chains being undone before Gavin opened his door just wide enough for his face, an odd piece of chain allowing only that width. He peered down at me with small, black eyes above sunken cheeks and pronounced cheekbones. I realized he was taller than he made himself out to be around the others; he had been slouching, but now had to stand straighter to keep the door secure against me. He was frowning, of course, though without his hood covering his head, his dark hair looked both longer and more unkempt than I'd first thought. He waited for me to speak.

Apparently I wasn't being invited inside.

"How many years aged are you?" I asked.

His expression hardly changed, though I heard the touch of disbelieve in his tone. "That's what you came to ask?"

"As good as any other, is it not?"

Gavin stared at me; I was not sure what he may have been thinking, but he answered the question. "Twenty-six."

"And your Master?"

The apprentice shrugged. "Perhaps around seventy. How old are you?"

I smiled a bit. "One hundred years."

He blinked slowly, taking a moment to absorb that. "About one hundred, or—?"

"No, exactly."

The tall but ugly Human grunted softly. "Interesting you keep track after so many."

So many? Only my first century alive? That put Rausery's words in perspective.

"How much time have you been here?" I asked.

"How many questions do you have planned?" he replied deadpan. "Shall I get a stool?"

My smile grew a bit. "You are not curious enough to talk?"

"Not really. Two days on the road tends to sap my enthusiasm for conversation."

I had the oddest feeling that I would prefer Gavin's company to Sarilis. I thought I knew why, too, and it had to do with what Rausery had said about the neutral ones being the ones to bargain with.

I may have just found my first truly neutral Human. Dare I hope he was educated as his Master in the history of this world, if not as practiced in his magic?

I tried to peek behind him to see inside his quarters, looking for a hint how he spent his time, but I had to rise on my toes a bit and he eased the door to a bare slit in response, leaving me looking at only one eye and a corner of his mouth as the chain slackened.

"Are you done?"

"For now," I said. "Thank you for the stew, apprentice, it was tasty."

He nodded once and closed the door with a jangle of iron. I heard the other locks thrown on the other side.

I left then to return to the stairs and continue up. I did not hear any voices downstairs and figured they had sorted out their disagreements. Fortunately, I crossed paths with none of them as I found my room: small, round, and a bit drafty with a ragged tapestry trying courageously to block the air outside. I tested the two locks on my own door before securing them and sighed at the relative quiet.

There was a chair next to a wobbly table that I'd probably sit in rather than use the stained cot on one side. This wasn't bad, as I'd been sleeping outdoors for most of the past ten days since I'd left Rausery at the cave, and on hard stone for weeks before that. Not quite as cozy as Tamuril's place, but one took what one could get.

I gave the room a thorough search first, but I found nothing and did not sense anything beyond the ley lines intersecting—a louder whine which I had to work to block out or I'd never sleep—and soon I settled in the chair with spine straight and head balanced as I closed my eyes and began to meditate. My spiders were still in place beneath my loose braid.

I'd wake before the night was through and invite the Necromancer's company, if he did not do the same first.

******

The invitation came from him first, and the old goat was trying to impress me. Or intimidate me. I wasn't quite sure which, but I was sure that my messenger was one of the better examples of necromancy that Sarilis might have sent to my door.

Why? It knocked quietly and grunted softly as if inquiring of my state of readiness. The scent alone told me what to expect even as I'd been awake the moment my spiders and I both heard the shuffle and felt the presence that was...

...wrong?

Maybe. Or maybe just..."other." Something definitely not alive as I understood living to be.

I would have been foolish to swing wide the door when I couldn't truly assume the messenger meant me no harm. One of the locks on the door was a chain with a bolt at one end that caught in an iron loop secured to the frame. It allowed the door to be opened while not "unlocked" and required no key or command word. 

I thought the mechanism rather simply ingenious. I'd seen one at Gavin's door, too, and realized now that, if I had truly wanted inside Gavin's room, I would not have been able to force my way in simply by shoving at the door and knocking him back. A good thing I did not typically operate that way.

The locks had also been more recently installed, and the height was certainly not dwarf-height. It did imply things could come wandering in uninvited as one worked or slept. I opened it now similar to how Gavin had, ready to jump back or slam the door closed at a wrong move.

What looked back at me didn't move, only stared down at me.

My messenger had once been Human male and had the general appearance of a guard, its hair a rather dirty-looking blonde while the eyes, once blue perhaps but now blood-shot and eerily pale. It wore a moderately well-preserved outfit of leather armor and a stout sword, naked and somehow otherwise held to his belt without a scabbard... Perhaps drawing and sheathing was too much for the thrall to handle?

The guard wore gloves and clothing and I was glad for that, as I noted switches across its windpipe and voice box—likely why it was mute—and blots on the pale, waxy neck and face, like the blood had stopped and settled in the flesh, the skin having lost a degree of resiliency as it sagged lethargically in places, especially beneath the eyes.

I did not really wish to see more of the thrall beneath the trappings of imitated life, as the aura around it was cold and sent a mild nausea through me. And yet...if the raptors and skeletons and unloading servants were any indication...this messenger was one of the better looking and more refined that Sarilis could have sent. Perhaps it was even one of the...newer undead.

It was an odd thought, but I still believed I understood both intended messages as it bowed slightly to me, its spine cracking subtly, and gestured for me to follow with another soft moan in its altered throat.

*Alright, Sarilis, I got it. Impressive.*

I walked behind the guard, trying not to inhale too deeply, returning to the ground floor of the tower and moving across toward the kitchen, which was large but not heavily used. If Gavin normally prepared real food for only two bodies that were still required to eat, then that made sense. The fire at the hearth was banked and all the bowls from dinner still needed washing.

There was a hall beyond the kitchen that seemed to be heading farther back into the mountain than the Tower's width implied; there were no windows and it was only sparingly lit. I would have preferred no light at all, as my inborn senses quickly came alive as I sensed the weight of the earth above me once again, but while Sarilis did not keep a bright and cheery home, he still required light by which to see.

There were small doors on each side—dwarf-sized and probably not used much by the dust collected at the bases—likely the servants quarters once upon a time. The guard placed its hand upon the slightly larger door at the end of the hall—eighth down on the right—waiting a few moments before I felt a pulse of something, an acknowledgement perhaps, and then it opened the door, revealing a stone staircase with perfectly level steps. Something that seemed a much newer addition was the hand rail along the left side.

I did not have a way out other than how I came in, should I go down there...but there had been many such similar times in the Underdark with stone all around, where it came down to who acted first. I was curious and willing to bet Sarilis wasn't looking to kill me right off—though I had to be prepared for the attempt all the same. I felt a deep-seated surety that I could discover the alternate exit as well, because there had to be one for the paranoid, which prodded me to follow the thrall belowground.

Sarilis's workshop had the traits of nearly every mage I'd ever known—scrolls, powders, vials, and books on every level surface—but the tools of his particular trade weren't typical of those in the Wizard's Tower back home. I noted saws, blades, surgical tools, vices, shovels, pickaxes, and...was that dried sinew and tanned patches of skin hanging side-by-side with the bouquets of herbs? This was in addition to the glass jars tucked in rows on a large set of shelves way in the back...from where I stood, I guessed they contained suspension fluids with various pieces of flesh and anatomy. Spell components and...spare parts, just as Rausery had said.

The physical details did not even cover the foreign and unsettling energy that abounded in this place. I sensed no wards per se, but there was more in here than a mere Human's dawdling hobby. I trusted my instincts and my observance of Sarilis's body language as he had his back to me—he felt safe here.

Yes, I was motivated to play this well and not make any brash moves. The consequences of failure would be particularly gruesome and damning. My last thought of catching up to Tamuril vanished while standing on the Necromancer's threshold. I stepped through the doorway, standing on the landing with three steps yet to go.

"Welcome, my lovely," he said before turning around on one of three or four stools. He grinned to show the gap in the yellow teeth on his left side again. "Care to close the door behind you, dark angel? There are more guests than usual in this place tonight and voices carry."

"Fond of your endearments, I see," I said with a small smile and calm air as I closed the door, noticing that it did not physically lock. I looked about as I came off the steps, as I did not enjoy being such a high, clear target.

"Very nice lab, death mage. I've never seen the like."

"Why, thank you!" he said with an enthusiasm that belied his apparent advanced age. He laughed. "Your...ahm, what was it you said, 'Elder'...which I take to be my dear Rausery?"

I nodded.

"And to which dark messenger do I have the honor of speaking this night?" he said, a bit grander than it needed to be. "Come, you know my name. It is only polite."

That is was. "My name is Sirana."

He looked quite happy. "Ahhh, I love it. Well, Sirrannna, back to you Elder... Yes, she first commented on the smell."

Oh, there was the smell, alright. Old blood and mold, rust, iron, some kind of bitter chemical solution I couldn't identify but would bet one of my daggers that it was for preserving flesh to keep it from rotting...

"I understand your delicate ears and cute little noses have been bred to be so sensitive deep down below without your sight, hm?"

I didn't comment on my sight as Sarilis gestured for the guard to come fully off the stairs and toward him. He twirled his finger and the thrall turned in place as if to give the old man a view of every side. "Mmm, no misunderstandings, I see. I take it Sir Cullen behaved himself?"

I smiled. "Stared and bowed and led. I am not the jittery sort."

He stroked his scruffy, grayish jaw. "You have familiarity with my 'sort,' perhaps?"

"I know that which I need."

"Ah! Preparation. Excellent. Then you were sent here."

"I was."

"Most curious timing. I must assume your queen has been watching somehow. What is her interest in all this?"

How tacitly vague.

"I could not claim to know all Her interests, but one is your knowledge, Sarilis. She sent me to learn from you."

He cocked one gray, bushy eyebrow. "Learn what, precisely?" Then he gave me a teasing smile. "I already have an apprentice, useless as he is and tempting as you may be in his place. It would certainly improve the charm around here."

I huffed a breathy laugh and shook my head once. "You know that would not be the case. But you have news and plans of your own, just as before. Even remote as you are, your knowledge of the conflicts is more recent than my Elder's."

Were his baggy, icy eyes not so small, relatively speaking, I would not think his narrowing them could change so much of his gaze. He looked like an overly-hairy, blind cave golem for a second.

"The conflicts," he enunciated.

"Twenty years ago the Ma'ab were not in this area. Now two at your table discuss 'changing winds' and armies of terror. That confirms the nearby war for me. How are you involved?"

Sarilis grinned again. "Meaning...you did not come up here with specific plans for it, Sirana?"

"If you wish to believe that," I smiled back, and it seemed he believed otherwise at my expression.

"Eight legs spinning webs, but who knows where the other seven are, hm?" Sarilis murmured with a smirk, wiping a palm on the dark blue fabric of his robe.

Even was I not bluffing as much as he was, that was the essence of our race and I could not help but agree.

"Were you genuine in wanting my help with your task?" I asked.

"You are here. I know you increase the chance of success," he said. "Were you here for something else, my dear?"

"Information on several things," I said.

"Name them. We may bargain, and I expect nothing less."

"The new location of the Warpstone Cult you helped oust twenty years ago?" I tried.

His brows rose up. "Hm. I was not aware they had swelled up again. Quite the annoying pustule. Is it ready to burst once again?"

I shrugged. "If I knew where, I would know that. The homestone was not destroyed, however."

Sarilis grunted and shifted his eyes a bit. "Odd. Your Elder took care of that herself."

"How so?"

"She could handle the blessed water." The Necromancer chuckled. "I do not care for the stuff myself."

I decided to move on; I would not be able to differentiate fact from fiction if he started telling me a tale and it would be a waste of time. "If not that, then what of the mercenary guild you tend to hire from? How would one get in contact with them?"

"Ah...I do not tend to find men from a guild," Sarilis said, both amused and oddly nervous. "If you mean the eastern taskers for hire... they do not deal with the likes of me."

"Because you tend to 'adopt' them rather than paying them?" I looked over at "Sir Cullen" standing still and not so much as breathing at a right angle to me, closer than I would have liked but reasonable to perform its function.

Sarilis grinned widely. "Is it that obvious, or did Rausery tell you?"

"So this 'eastern' guild does not like you."

"Let us say I would avoid crossing them for a few fresh bodies. Better that they ignore me. In any case, I weed out some of their non-guild competition." He took a moment to catch his breath and chuckled. "So, you wish to contact them for some reason?"

"One of many possibilities," I said. "If you do not know how—"

Sarilis grunted. "Not directly, but it is usually someone who knows another in such things."

"Do you know one who knows another?"

"Perhaps, perhaps not. People die, after all. I'm disappointed that none of this has to do with me—"

"What of the Ma'ab going to Manalar?" I asked. 

This was crossing the queen's vague vision with Tamuril's story, and with the presence of Kurn and Castis. I watched Sarilis's face as closely as before. I was more glad than I would show when I saw recognition at last, even appeasement of his complaint.

"Mm. Well, yes, I have some interest in that, but you already know this if you were sent to help." He narrowed his eyes again. "Which makes me think that wasn't what it was at all. A pity. Care to give a little more back, my dark angel? I have been generous thus far."

"We see a convergence at that point, Sarilis, but many ways it could yet go," I answered, pulling inspiration from Auslan of all others right now.

"Interesting. How would your kind like it to go, Sirana?"

"For me, myself alone," I smiled. "I'd wish the Ma'ab to fail."

"Unusually straightforward."

"Better than my queen's answer."

Sarilis laughed aloud, similarly to how he had when he first saw me. At last, the old man braced himself against his work bench—his palm perilously close to a black-stained cleaver—and pushed himself to his feet. He came toward me on soft-wrapped feet. 

This whole time, he had allowed me to stand near the door, not asking me to sit, not suggesting I move farther into the room. He came around his several restraining tablets and closed the distance. I remained where I stood, checking around me briefly that I wasn't too close to things that could fall on me or be flung at me, nothing below me. The guard stood dead silent as ever.

"My dear Sirana," he said in his reedy voice, softer now that he didn't have to project across the lab. 

I could count the liver spots and smell his breath, which wasn't pleasant.

He watched me for a few moments, and when I said nothing more, "You are a young one, aren't you? Younger than Rausery, certainly."

"But older than you, Sarilis."

He grinned. "In total sunsets, I grant you. You've not felt your mortality the way I have, though. Different from surviving battle, different from recovering from a mortal wound. You feel your body breaking down, changing how it creates and shifts its energy, not under your direct control but like it is beneath the control of the sun every time it passes. You wonder how bad it will get every time you feel a new ache or see a new bump in your skin, or cannot lift the same box from even ten years earlier. You do not know this."

I shook my head slowly, willing to hear out his point. If he had one.

"Rausery did not feel it so acutely, but she at least knew. She had a few individual, gold strands in her hair...were those indicative of her age, Sirana? How long had she lived when I knew her?"

I shrugged. "About seven centuries."

His eyebrows rose up. "Astonishing. And... how long can your race live?"

I realized something then that I didn't know. We usually died of conflict, poison, or sacrifice. No one I knew ever thought about death coming in any other way. None I knew would want to wither away like a shrinking, brittle mushroom exposed to direct sunlight.

"Have none of you died, then?" he asked, and I read that he did not believe that so I shouldn't try to bluff him. "I know you bleed."

"We can die. We are usually killed."

"And the eldest of you?"

"The queen. I do not know Her age."

"Fascinating," he said. "Then do tell me, young one, why you want the Ma'ab to fail, should they attack Manalar?"

Because they stole one of us, and may still possess a half-blood that does not belong to them. It was a pretty simple reason, but not one I wanted to share.

"Because Kurn has poor manners," I smiled.

I dared to think Sarilis looked surprised for an instant before he cackled happily. "Oh...oh my dear, dark elf...I think I like your whimsy. Keep your secret, then, but know our little group shares a goal."

I frowned. "Kurn and Castis wish the Ma'ab to fail? Their own race?"

Sarilis flipped a hand, "That posh about 'winds of change'...hahaha! Oh, those two were exiled, I dare say for having 'poor manners,' and have a burr beneath their saddle. Kurn has some plan of recruiting deserters once the army breaks, but that is less my concern than the aim that neither side holds that castle at the end of the day."

"Why?"

Sarilis had a perfectly ghoulish expression. "Secrets, my dear, secrets. I've given you a free one. I'm always open for business on more."




Surfacing Ch. 04



"Perhaps later."

Like me, he could select any "why" he wanted and I did not know enough right now to be sure. Of course, if we were "planning" tomorrow and leaving soon, then I may not have the opportunity to know. Nonetheless, I still felt the planning tomorrow would reveal more than Sarilis would say just now, trade or not.

"But do you intend to take on this task?"

"I do not yet fully understand your task, Necromancer."

"It is simple, Red Sister. Sever the power given to the clergy, and make sure the Ma'ab do not take over the area in the immediate void. It can be done by just one person who gets close enough to their holy source."

I blinked at him. "Perhaps you should start at the beginning?"

"Of course, of course!" he said excitedly, as if he had been waiting for me to say that. "I have gathered four with motivation to see it through, but I have witnessed your Elder's determination and capability. If you have been an apprentice to her—?"

I nodded an affirmative.

"Excellent. Then they may yet succeed having you with them. Likewise, they could all die, and you may still succeed on your own."

"In what?"

"Primarily, despoil their holy pool. Desecrate it and their temple. If you can kill any of the upper Priests and Bishops, that is all for the better. Their defenses will weaken quickly and the Ma'ab will overrun their castle."

I quirked my brow. "And...one person can make that army break so as not to fill the void?"

"Polluting the pool in the manner I say will turn the Manalara Templars and most others in the temple into savages uncaring of their personal survival, and the Ma'ab will suffer heavy losses against such madness. I will be able to access that pool from afar and I will send my undead support to keep them all out."

"And then after? Do you want the castle?"

Sarilis shook his head. "I've not the population under my command to hold it, and I prefer this place. It is much quieter without nosey neighbors. Manalar falling accursed and abandoned is ideal for me."

I held his icy, gleeful gaze for several moments. "And you have this much magic, to overwhelm the will of an entire force?"

"Not without the holy pool becoming unholy," Sarilis said with force. "How do you think the Priesthood rule the wide area surrounding it? Their collective magic is strongest of any within two months' journey of here. The Templars and Witch Hunters of Manalar are culling all other sources of magic as they find them, in the name of their 'Sun god' and their new religion. Unfortunately they are gaining knowledge of how to better ferret us out, and it is only a matter of time before they overtake the smaller forces and integrate them. That is, of course, unless the Ma'ab enslave them first. Then we can all look forward to the same fate."

I considered. "The Ma'ab are going after the largest threat. These are the rabid two wolves needing to be arrow-struck as they bite each other's throat."

Sarilis cackled again, smoothing his hands against his robe. "I love the parallel, my dear. Yes. If one is not Ma'ab or Manalarian, it is no benefit to those still living should either win to dominate the region."

I felt my mouth twitch. The Necromancer wanted to break the back of two armies at once, and he seemed to believe he had the magic to accomplish it. I liked the image of a single, disassociated third party creeping in from the side to ruin the plans of two powerful opponents. It would also, however, leave room for further plans which would not be said.

If he were Drow, anyway.

"Are there any others interested in the outcome of that battle? If you see it coming from afar, surely others do, too."

The Valsharess and the Godblood being only two of which I knew.

Sarilis looked plainly delighted. "You dazzle me, Sirana. Do you like younger men?"

Unfortunately, that was almost funny. I coughed. "Who else, Necromancer?"

He chuckled, happy with my reaction yet staying on topic. "My scrying and my connections aren't *that* good, my dear. But I'll wager your eastern taskers have a few fingers upon the pulse of the drums, though I could not begin to guess their goals. It is also possible, if you have surfaced at this time, that your pale counterparts may be interested as well. I am not aware of the dwarves doing such but digging in deeper where they are, but that is only experience talking."

"You have a dwarf here."

"He's special."

"In what way?"

"I'll let him tell you. Be assured, he is stubborn as most of his kind and has turned his eye on bringing down Manalar."

I nodded. "Any others?"

"Oh...well," the old man eyeballed me. "Who are you hinting at?"

I sighed inwardly. "I have heard tales...of an army and a demon who may be involved. There is a third army, isn't there? Along with the tasker guild."

I was forcing this one a bit, but I would only have so much time. At least the discomfort was minimal as I spoke; I continued to learn the limits of the compulsion.

Sarilis pondered, pale eyes almost glittering with interest. "There is a third army, yes. And a demon in the guild? Yes, I've heard something about such a one."

I watched him.

"Are they...targets?" he asked shrewdly.

I shook my head. "Persons of interest, no more."

"I see. Well, the northern army has various leaders, more an alliance of many smaller cities and their surrounding lands. Their peoples have been here longer than the Manalara to the south."

"Who are some of note?"

"Beutrick of Hagan is decently competent as a twenty-year ruler," Sarilis sighed, "Keit of Crular has made a name for himself with his cavalry, and then there is...."

I did listen to all Necromancer told me of the many small castles that tended their lands and traded amongst each other and squabbled much the same as any Drow House over resources. I could quickly tell that either Sarilis had not yet become aware of the Godblood, or he was intentionally diverting from talking about him. 

How could he not know if Tamuril had said her chosen Human had "become strong among men" over the last year? At the same time, I did not want to direct the old man on this. Perhaps it may come up later in the planning.

"And the guild?" I asked.

"Ohhh, often hired by any and all, Sirana, they have no loyalty to any but their own organization. They are the scalpel and the siphon when the broadsword and hammer is not practical. Thievery and assassination, information trade, blackmail, whatever might be sold for gold, they are quite competent. Have quite the mystery surrounding them, said to walk through walls, disappear in plain view...I almost admire them. You don't mind if I sit again, do you? These old bones..."

I watched as Sarilis leaned up against a blood-stained operating table and braced his palms, hopping his rear onto the edge with a grunt. His swinging feet appeared to have two sets of socks covered by a pair of soft, house shoes. He noticed my looking them and shrugged.

"Poor circulation. Anyway, as for the demon, I've heard speculation over the years that this is a patron from the planes honing a material force for just the right time. I have also heard this is a pet killer set loose only on the deserving. I have not been able to determine any truth, but somehow I am not surprised that the dark elves have interest."

"Oh?"

He showed yellowed, twisted teeth again. "His being the color of the shadows is a constant in the stories, and those stories span more than a century, as old as the guild, older than me! Few would make the connection unless they had seen your kind. It only struck me as possible after meeting your Elder two decades ago. We even discussed the likelihood after stumbling on the topic. She seemed convinced."

And Rausery would have reported to the Valsharess twenty years ago...

Sarilis considered me with sharp eyes that belied his tired body. "Are you looking for a lost relative, perhaps, Sirana? Is the master assassin not a demon but an elf from the Underdark?"

I could only stare at him at first, whether that was my intent or not. Oddly, I could not even lie as a direct answer. I couldn't say no. I couldn't say yes. I felt sick, but I dared not show it.

The silence stretched and he sighed. "Very well. Answer me, at least, if your goals overlap some mine? Are we allies, my dark angel?"

This group was going to Manalar to desecrate a sacred pool. They were going where the Godblood would be, where Jael was heading right now. Tamuril might even catch up as well.

And the eastern taskers might even be involved somewhere along the line. Sarilis was right, how could such an old and feared organization keep their gloved fingers out of such ripe confrontation...?

They wouldn't if they were being led by, or at least influenced by, a half-Drow.

I would not be "helping" either of my Sisters directly by being involved in this, though I may easily prevent another Drow from falling into Ma'ab hands by following my own leads, my own missions, my own compulsion...and Gaelan was somewhere generally between these two points. It was not a direct line, but...

I could always come back to Sarilis later; he would be easy to find, he said he wanted to stay here. And if he spoke the truth about his plan, then I might need him alive to fulfill the strike against the Ma'ab and Manalara anyway...assuming that was what I wanted to have happen. It could always change, and there had never been a time limit placed on this "penance"...only what was possible to survive.

I nodded. "They do, Sarilis. We are allies."

*****



The old mage assured me that more details would be forthcoming when the others awoke from their sleep and the real plans began. He suggested I follow his lead in the discussion as he was assured that any century-old apprentice of Rausery's knew enough tactics and subterfuge to test the others. I acquiesced.

Eventually Sir Cullen was given to lead me back upstairs, thought I had declined to return to my given quarters and asked if I could look around? Just for curiosity.

"As long as your escort remains nearby," Sarilis chortled. "For your protection, my dear, so my other shades do not draw too close or get too curious about a beating heart."

I nodded and accepted, though I figured the thrall was also to observe all that I did in the Tower, either to report later or—possibly—so Sarilis could scry through him at any point in time. It did not matter to me as I intended to sit in on planning the mission to Manalar, to support Sarilis's plan for the most part, and to travel with them leaving my target still breathing for now.

If I could not track Tamuril, then I could pass through hostile territory with a contingent of locals who would have something to lose if they did not assist with my journey.

Or at least, I would do my best to see to it that they had something to lose.

This was better than following the blonde, anyway; I was among the kind of humans that was more like me than not in motivation and choice: Exiled fringe with a grudge, interested in sabotage of those established and in power, either for pay or for pleasure or for pride. I understood this very well, and I was sure I could navigate it with an easier and more sure step than I had the five days I'd spent with the Silven which, upon reflection, had been very draining.

Not only that, but this element of plotters—or their contacts we may yet meet on the way across the land—may know more about the eastern taskers that I sought than a regiment of "good" (whatever that was supposed to mean) Humans and their watching spirits of the woods might.

I topped the stairs with Sir Cullen in front, his face pale and wooden and icy eyes empty, still silent, the stitches in his throat straining when he turned his head to look back at me.

"Move on," I said. "Back to the great room."

I did not want the thrall behind me so I had to be content talking to it, directing it. Sarilis said that I could do as much, that Cullen would obey simple directions from me where to go...but that was all the thing would obey. I thought it was telling that the Necromancer never suggested the guard might actually be a protector, too, as any Drow Noble might have offered. I would not be surprised if the undead messenger simply watched should I fall into trouble.

It was alright; I wouldn't trust that kind of protection anyway.

I came back into the great room—the room with the hearth and nearly-empty cauldron of stew and large table and chairs where I had sat the last evening—and stepped around carefully, noting the placement of everything in the dark. The embers glowed low, preventing me from seeing all the energy waves I was used to seeing in pitch black, but my eyes were more than sensitive enough to still navigate the obstacles and see the outlines of every shape.

Sir Cullen stopped and stayed by the door; I wondered whether the undead could see more than a life aura? His eyes were human; this room would be so black but for a few red coals off to the side as to make his eyes utterly useless. Unless something about becoming what he was changed that...

I shook off the thought for now and checked around each chair where Rithal, Mathias, Castis, and Kurn had all sat. I did want to see if they had dropped anything, but wasn't disappointed to find they had not; it was just part of my training being the first in any room. I was well rested, but I figured the men would be asleep for some time yet.

I could distinctly hear three different, loud resting patterns—snoring, huh, so that's what it sounded like—down the hall on the ground floor, where I figured Kurn and Rithal at least had insisted on the ground floor. Whether it was Castis or Mathias who remained and the last moved up a floor or two, I would note later if I could. It would say something about the pecking order.

It was obvious that Gavin the apprentice was at the bottom of that pecking order. I still remembered him eating his two bowls of stew leaning against the wall, watching and listening but saying nothing. Except for the scoff about my off-hand mention of dessert. 

Knowing now that he was the cook as well as the apprentice put that in context and it made sense he'd react to that. Interesting that the reaction was a sneer; one could assume he was not content with his place and did not feel suitably appreciated. It was something I might be able to use.

Sarilis certainly did not think much of him, teasing me about gladly taking me instead of him, and barely willing to acknowledge the stew as edible. I had yet to see master and apprentice speak directly to each other, except for that first comment about Gavin being late and a threat of punishment if he lost any supplies.

And yet...the young Human man had been so flatly direct with me about his tiredness and his impatience at my coming to his door; I'd seen intelligence in his eyes on the level with Sarilis, if not the experience. He seemed so oddly indifferent to my appearance, my race, and why I was here; he'd been the least surprised when I'd lowered my hood to first reveal my face. His reaction had been so muted compared to the rest that I could not clearly remember whether he had even had one.

Rausery had said the neutral ones were those with which to drive the hardest bargain. Gavin could perhaps be my key to defeating the Necromancer when I returned...if, for reward, he wanted to take his dismissive master's place. Otherwise....why would he be here, or tolerate being worked so much yet so ignored and dismissed? I'd have to find out more of what drove him, I could not assume, but—

A glow from the staircase distracted me from my thoughts and I automatically lifted my hood to cover my white hair and stepped silently into a point of deeper blackness, in the shadow of a large wooden cabinet against the wall. I watched as the very subject of my thoughts entered the room with a candle lit. The apprentice set it down on a smaller table in the corner and moved toward the hearth to remove the cauldron. A few insects—roaches?—scattered from inside the pot as he did so.

"What are you doing here, Cullen?" Gavin grumbled, barely looking at the thrall as he worked to add tinder and smaller pieces of wood from the metal cache on his right, stirring the embers to liven the fire once again. "Mourning that your sweetheart ran off with a hairy brute and not you? Pah."

Cullen made no response whatsoever, not that Gavin looked to expect one.

The flare from a strengthening fire pained my eyes a little before they adjusted, but I could tell Gavin was moving through a waking routine with which he was well familiar. He had begun his chores, as a servant would, prior to his superiors rising from their rest.

I weighed letting him know I was here, trying to engage him again...but decided against it. Cullen was watching, I could hardly probe how Gavin really felt about his master, and something told me the skulking apprentice would be cranky and uncooperative being surprised and interrupted from his usual pattern. I also wanted food; it would not be long before my body required it, and I hoped part of Gavin's chores in the dark before the dawn would be to prepare a meal for the "guests."

I stayed where I was and allowed Gain to work unhindered; he never looked for long behind him and seemed not to sense anything unusual. Eventually he lugged the cauldron toward the kitchen and I heard some clattering and the sound of water being poured. Hopefully he was cleaning the old stew and roaches out before starting again.

I was about to step forward to spy on the apprentice in the kitchen when I heard much heavier noises coming from down the hall—rustling, steps, a low grunt here and there. I waited. Soon enough someone opened a door and was coming down toward the great room, also quite early for the day. The breathing patterns of the other two continued unabated; I supposed overall the one awake had not been terribly loud, it had only seemed that way to me.

Listening to the step, I knew it had to be the Hellhound. No other had his height and size, the length of stride and mass to make his boots sound like those of a lumbering giant.

*Great. His cheery demeanor is even better than Gavin's first thing pre-dawn.*

I waited longer, definitely wanting to observe what I could of the "elite" warrior before he realized he was being watched. It would be telling how long that took, but I had to expect a bad reaction to that if he discovered me, when or if I revealed myself. No domineering, self-sought leader liked being surprised.

Kurn stopped at the threshold and looked around, his face lit by the duller red glow of the hearth fire. He was scowling, as expected, and I thought he was taking a moment to let his own eyes adjust. I relaxed and breathed slow and steady. Interestingly, he did the same thing I had done: he checked out the table and chairs where the group had been sitting the evening before.

However, he failed completely to notice Cullen until he got closer to the thrall, who then turned his head, his pale, dead face mostly in shadows. The big man reacted quickly, drawing his sword in a loud, metallic *shing* as he simultaneously gained distance, deftly avoiding backing into the table. He was pretty quick for one so big, but I wasn't impressed he did not see the standing dead man in his first sweep of the room. I did not expect him to see me, but surely another human-sized creature right across from him.

At least that told me Kurn couldn't see in the dark.

"Damned soul," the Hellhound snarled quietly, his stance that of a barking canine threatening an intruder. "Suppose your master can't let us go wandering around alone, eh?"

Decent intelligence. At least he hadn't stated the painfully obvious such as, "By the gods, you're dead!"

I kept watching as Kurn moved to one of the tapestry-covered windows, lifting the edge of the heavy thing to look outside. I saw only the strength of Moonless Starlight seep in, so knew it had to be dark, and Kurn almost immediately stopped peering into blackness.




Surfacing Ch. 04



He was taking a slow turn about the room; unfortunately if he stayed closer to the walls as he was doing now, he would probably come upon me as he headed back toward the hearth and the thrall. The shadows weren't that deep, and it was only his lack of sensitivity that he hadn't seen me already.

Worse, I would be cornered as he got close, more or less; the cabinet to one side, the wall to another, Kurn in the most open area, and the table and a chair constricting my last option. It would be hard to shift if the Hellhound decided he wanted to block me with his size; he certainly had the reach and his sword was still out.

Since it was inevitable, I moved to reveal myself in my way.

I waited until something on the tapestry caught his attention for a few seconds and moved low and quiet as I would on any mission in the Underdark, pulling out a web pellet—just in case—and reaching the head of the table where Sarilis had once sat with his back to the hearth. I eased myself onto the table in one fluid motion, only my cloak whispering, and stayed crouched with my hood up and my elbows resting on my thighs, my gloved hands folded before me. 

I would be a backlit shadow with the fire behind me, and I could see Kurn and all of the room very well, however my back was not only to the fire but also mostly to Cullen and the hallway—not ideal—but I wouldn't be staying here long.

The Hellhound had turned toward the cabinet and my former hiding place, eyeballing it as if he considered looking inside, but then saw me. Or rather, he saw my crouched form.

"Ku's ummat!" he blurted, and immediately reached for something as I tensed to move, my spiders trilling in my head as they prepared to jump.

"Throw and you purge your guts before you see it miss!" I growled.

He paused hearing my voice, quickly realized who I was, and eased down, blinking twice and, of course, scowling. "Garbuua. Where do you come from?"

"My room. And pleasant morn to you, Hellhound."

Kurn snorted and shook his head. "Demoness..."

I heard a soft step from toward the kitchen and immediately figured Gavin had heard the exchange and was peeking in on us. Given that Kurn did not look behind me toward the servant's door, I assumed the Hellhound was unaware of our audience.

"What know you of demons?" I asked with a small smile he likely couldn't see but could certainly hear.

"Plenty," he said brusquely. "My people have long harnessed their power to defend our right to live!"

"And dominate," I said. "Do not forget that basic desire. But you would know one if you have seen one before?"

"I already have, many times," he said proudly.

"More than one?"

He nodded.

"Not including me?"

Kurn expelled a hot, noisy breath as his frown intensified. "Yes, witch. I know of what I speak."

*So you believe.* "Really? You don't believe Rithal's word that I am an 'elf'?"

"An 'elf' is a demon."

Given the relevant part of Ma'ab history that I knew of the last century, that was a logical connection. Some would have even seen one who was both.

"Of course, all demons are the same," I teased. "What of the pale ones?"

"All demons are tricksters and carnal gluttons," he spat back.

At first I wondered that I felt no insult, but then it did fit a large portion of the Drow.  Demons shared those traits as well, in general. I had to suppose that was why the Valsharess and Priestesses were overall successful in bargaining with them without being overwhelmed by them for so long; it took one trickster to know another.

"Frightens you, does it?"

"Not at all," he blustered. "Demons are easily distracted."

"Good. Then you do not mind me in the group." I smiled, and thought it possible he could see it by the small shift of discomfort in his expression. "Come, you'd want to 'harness' my advantages for your quest, would you not?"

"I might accept your service," he said pompously. "If you swear it before the others."

"Swear?" I grinned wider. "Oaths mean little to me, Hellhound."

"Unless I discover the means to control you, demoness, then you will have no choice."

I chuckled. Was he diving down the wrong burrow...

"You have a name, do you not?" he said, perhaps reading something in my silence and body language.

"No name of power, if that is your meaning," I said. "My will is my own, and I cannot be summoned. I could let you believe otherwise, of course, and I while I may find your efforts amusing, it would also be troublesome and interfere in our quest and get you nowhere."

Kurn studied me a moment, plainly uncertain whether I was bluffing or not. "And what purpose do you have? You were sent by one 'Rausery' to assist the Necromancer. Seems a summons to me."

"Unsurprising that a sword-wielder could not tell between a message and a magical compulsion."

He glowered at me. "Unsurprising that a 'Red Sister' would only gain power from spreading her legs!"

I chuckled again; sometimes sex really felt like magic, but it was far from the only way. "Is it comforting for you to believe we are dependent upon a cock plunging into our tight holes?"

Kurn paused with that image in his head for a moment, then he shook it out. "So it is true?"

I threaded my fingers together, elbows still resting on my knees. "You have already decided what you like best, I think."

Unlike with Tamuril, where my gut had told me there was some benefit to "normalizing" my image, I saw no such advantage to unveiling the limitations of the Red Sisters and the Drow to this brash fool. In addition, I saw that it was just as Rausery and Shyntre had told us: a female enjoying sex freely was also used as a means to discredit or demean her among other males.

I had reflected whether we had done the same with our males...and I realized the answer was yes, but mostly in that we generally thought males had weaker wills. While I enjoyed some natural submissives like Callitro, I personally had a tendency to demean any partner who failed to win a contest of wills once engaged...and most males who tried had failed. Except Shyntre. Further, I thought of Panagan and Moria that way, too, even being fellow females and Red Sisters. I'd even consider Shyntre the greater challenge between them

Weakness was relative, and there were always exceptions regardless of gender.

It would be telling if Kurn clung to this notion to convince himself I was not a threat because I was a weak-willed, cock-hungry slit—and if he did, oh, the advantage I would have!—or, instead, if he had the perception to learn otherwise. Then he could be a real threat. 

Surely until he decided which it was, he would use it to convince the others he would be the better leader over myself, and that very well might work in the short term if the other males agreed...but time would tell if it held.

Regardless, I already knew I did not have to go toe-to-toe with a giant to beat him.

I waited to see what the Ma'ab would say next. He just watched me suspiciously, trying to see farther inside my hood. I decided to oblige him and lowered it again. Even after a whole meal of staring, Kurn continued to gorge himself on my appearance.

Unlike Gavin, the Hellhound was so far from neutral that no deal could ever be made. I would have to kill him, sooner or later.

"Do you like what you see?" I asked, holding his gaze.

His nose twitched in a sneer. "Glamor. Your real form is not so comely, though your demonic coloring would be the same."

That was a "yes."

"Ah. Now I am a shapeshifter?"

"Do you deny it, witch?"

I sighed. "I have taken your measure, and I am bored. Excuse me. I will check on our breakfast."

I stood up on the table, temporarily taller than him and he straightened in response, holding his sword with no doubt that he knew how to use it. I hopped off and landed well, quiet enough for my professional pride, and walked toward the thrall and the hall leading to the kitchen, slipping the web pellet back in its pouch. As expected, Gavin had withdrawn already and was sneaking back toward his post. A good thing, as my stomach had started to ache.

I snapped my fingers—softly in the glove—and made a gesture for Cullen to move ahead of me. Of course the reanimated man was not obeying me but doing as commanded by his master, but I liked that Kurn was fuming and watching the theatrics, building the stories in his head.

There was a swinging door that I thought was suspiciously well-oiled that led into the kitchen. Gavin was focused on his tasks as I entered with Cullen holding the door. The young death mage still wore thick, woolen robes that covered pretty much all his gaunt frame except his head and hands. He hadn't washed his hair in a while as it hung flat from his skull in dark, glossy strands—though it did occur to me that I did not know the rate of build-up for something like that in humans. It seemed like it should be faster than I was used to, just in that they grow and age so quickly. So...not having washed in a while could be anywhere from a single day to a month to look like that? I'd have to ask later.

The tension in his shoulders and the fact that he did not look toward the door immediately said all too clearly that he knew I was there.

"Good morning, Gavin."

He grunted an acknowledgement before looking at me. The apprentice blinked his near-black eyes once and considered Cullen behind me as I came down the three dwarf-sized steps into the stone work area.

"Your escort, I take it," he said.

"Your master is gracious."

Gavin snorted, his mouth twisting. "Explains why he was standing there when I came in."

"You're an early riser."

He scowled. "More mouths to feed, more work for me. I can imagine you'd prefer I not have animates like Cullen here help prepare the bread. You might find a fingernail inside."

I smiled and felt my mood lift... though why did this strike me as funny? It was entirely plausible to have happen if the undead were kneading bread. Something about the delivery and that straight expression on his face.

"I'm sure it would add spice, rather like the roaches," I quipped.

Gavin quirked a black eyebrow at me with a brief glance at his recently-scoured pot. "A comment on the housekeeping?"

I shrugged, adopting a touch of his attitude from the night before. "Not really. I understand they are quite edible, even tasty when roasted."

The lanky young man stared at me for quite some time. It eventually occurred to me that he might be wondering if I was jesting, the same as I'd wondered if he was...

"All this talk of food," I said. "I am hungry, apprentice. Is there anything I might have now before the others finally wake? Even roasted roaches."

"How long have you been up?"

"Several hours. You Humans sleep a long time."

With a soft sigh, Gavin turned and rummaged in a few built-in cabinets, the hinges not nearly as well-oiled as the door had been. He found and grabbed a lidded, clay jar and placed it on the counter about midway between us.

"Take it with you. I have work to do."

I lifted the greyish jar and opened the lid to sniff gently. A collection of dried berries and strips of preserved meat...with a pleasant mix of herb and spice that was completely new to me. It actually made my mouth water.

"Thank you, apprentice. I'll take my leave. I do hope you enjoyed the show."

Gavin paused to watch me without saying anything as Cullen shuffled before me through the swinging door and back to the great room. Kurn wasn't there when I entered, but a pause told me he was back in the hallway, talking low with someone, likely Castis.

I picked the chair that gave me a straight hearing path into the hall, sat down with Cullen staring dully at me, and broken into the jar of preserves. I chewed slowly as I focused on listening to the voices bouncing off the stone. It was too far and too low to hear every word clearly, but I could gather exactly what I could guess: they were talking about the dark witch and how to journey with her.

It seemed Kurn expected more than Castis could perform, and the smaller man was trying to explain that. This was good. One stupid attempt to cast a spell on me, and the mage was dead. And if Castis hadn't recognized me for what I was, then he likely knew of no special weaknesses.

Somehow even listening to the plotting against me, I felt more at ease here than I had in Tamuril's dwelling. It was like back at Court and how I'd spent a decade and a half of sheer boredom before the Red Sisters collected me.

It was interesting that these were all males behaving in such a familiar way. If I imagined them to have breasts instead and remove the bulges at their crotch, I could see those two Ma'ab being a fair bit like several Nobles I'd "played" with over the years.

Like Court...minus the fucking, of course. I had probably missed a lot of spying time being in bed with a Noble's brother playing with said crotch bulge instead.

I smiled a bit to myself, put my boots up on the table, and continued eating.

Eventually everyone reconvened in the great room, but not until the Sun had risen outside and Gavin came in briefly only to put three dense loaves of something that looked kind of like dark mushroom bread on the table alongside three pitchers of water, bowls and spoons, and a larger dish of shredded greens tossed with some kind of oil. He left before the others had entered and ignored my nod to him.

It was still pleasantly dark inside the Necromancer's Tower, but I could detect the line of light around the tapestries well enough to know that the clouds had taken their leave of this part of the Sky. I wasn't looking forward to the headaches again when I needed to be back out there, but I would do what I needed to do.

Answering an earlier thought of mine, it was Mathais who came down from the second floor, and Rithal was the third who came out of the hallway with Kurn and Castis. They all noticed Cullen, considered him a moment, then eyed my casual lean as I chewed the berries and jerky to the point where I started chuckling.

"Lose something?"

The Ma'ab brothers didn't answer but came to sit at the table anyway, Kurn quickly breaking one loaf in half and handing one to Castis. Castis broke that in half and handed it to Mathias. Rithal took one for himself.

The brunette bounty hunter cleared his throat and said, "Red Sister?"

I looked at him as the others began chowing down.

"Please pass the greens."

I smiled, put my feet down, and leaned forward to place the bowl closer to him. He stared at my smile for a moment, looking hesitant all of a sudden, and I said, "It's safe as Gavin made it. I haven't touched anything here."

All three of the others stopped chewing their bread abruptly to look at me.

"What?" I asked. "You all expect to go first, right?"

"An' ye want us to know ye coulda done something, hey?" Rithal asked, one cheek bulging with bread.

"Typical woman," Mathias grumbled.

"Demoness," Kurn corrected, watching me from beneath the shadow of his brow.

"Elf," the dwarf grunted, taking another bite.

"Drow, gentleman," Sarilis said as he stepped carefully out of his own hallway with the help of a bone staff made of at least three femurs fused together. "Sirana is a Drow of the Underdark. As you gathered last night, she has come to the surface world to assist us in our quest." The old mage looked over all out expressions and gave a little bow to me. "I hope you don't mind, my dear, I thought it best to get some of this silly miscommunication out of the way. Unlike you, I do not have a lot of time left."

"Then start explaining, old man," Kurn grumbled.

"Well, let your host get a little bread into his belly at least!" Sarilis laughed and settled himself at the end of the table with a crack or two of his own bones. He broke off a piece for himself and offered me some, which I took. "I love that you waited for me, my dark angel."

"If she is from below, she is no angel," Mathias observed.

"Do you have any real idea what *is* below, my young lord?" Sarilis asked. "Enough to put even your favorite hobby to the test, I'd wager, but it has little to do with celestials of other planes, or even their tri-polar opposites." He sighed almost wistfully. "And in the middle of all that...." He looked at Kurn and Castis. "The Greylands. Downright peaceful by comparison, when you think about it."

"What in Ghabra's name are you talking about?" Castis asked, and Sarilis seemed that bit less impressed as I'd been, when most mages I knew were scholars. This magician seemed more...a dabbler.

Gavin came in then with a wide, steaming platter of some well-spiced hash mixture, placing it down and retreating back toward the fire to listen and watch. I had to assume that he had already eaten given that he made no move to serve himself. I did, though, taking two bowls, placing some of the hash in each and setting one by Sarilis while digging into the other myself.

The old Necromancer chuckled and bowed his head. "Thank you, my dear. Yes, let us eat first."

All of the food disappeared very quickly, but I got enough and that was all I cared about. I even still had half of the preserve jar left down by my feet. Gavin wasn't acknowledged as being in the room by anyone, though I kept him in my periphery along with everyone else.

"So...if we are taking the elf from below in our group, what may we expect of her?" Mathais asked first.

"The skills of some of the best assassins, my young lord," Sarilis said proudly. "Some clever tricks, some magic, and much competence. Always competence!"

"And...why would they send us a female?"

The Necromancer's mouth got impossibly wide. "Is it distracting, Mathais?"

The man shifted a bit. "Well...she is...smaller."

"Where you are going, and what you are, smaller and female does not mean more vulnerable than any of you, gentleman."

Kurn finally said something, and it started with a snort of disbelief. "Unless she has an invisible shield around her, death mage, she will be vulnerable and a liability just on her appearance! How are we to move unnoticed through townships with a knife-eared, black-skinned demoness standing next to us?"

I looked at the Ma'ab up and down, even if the table was blocking the lower view. "How are we to move unnoticed with a spike-armored, black-chromed Ma'ab Hellhound towering over us?"

Sarilis laughed aloud. "Oh, it is not recommended that anyone simply walk through a township! You are all memorable and the Witch Hunters won't like a one of you! Truly, what is adding one little assassin who can disappear in shadows?"

"Ahright, ahright!" Rithal groused. "Ye bicker like a bunch of hens! I'm here t'get on the foockin' road sometime before the Manalara cull the rest of the free! I'll take the elf and any with th'same goal."

I bowed my head toward Rithal. "Something we share, master Rithal."

"Jus' Rithal," he grumped. "What was it? Sirana?"

"Yes."

"Sounds vaguely elvish."

"If you say."

"So she's not a demon?" Mathais asked.

"No," I said.

"Yes," Kurn said.

Rithal threw up his hands and let the heavy fist slam down, rattling most of the empty dishes on the sturdy table. "What's got yer goat, Hellhound?"

"We need a guarantee to work with her."

"Sarilis isn't enough?"

Kurn glared at his host. "He has no control of her."

The Necromancer looked very entertained to me, his sagging, pale face creasing with every smile and word, his ice blue eyes seeming less cloudy. "Ohhh, but she wants something I can give her, just as I do you. That is enough, is it not, to have the same goals? Or is it that she is not a man?"

"Women never want what you think," the Ma'ab hissed. "And deals with demons are always three-fold."

I sighed; like Rithal, I was getting bored. "What guarantee, Hellhound?"

For a moment, Kurn looked surprised that I'd spoken—or more that I'd spoken that—but took full advantage. "Give to me the necklace you hide around your neck. You will receive it back when we have finished our mission."




Surfacing Ch. 04



I had to admit, I was surprised and that was more than I had expected from the muscular brute. That he had even noticed, or was guessing...or perhaps had sensed something?

It wasn't much of a guarantee; I could steal it back any time, certainly pluck it off his corpse when he fell. He must have some thought that he can keep it, or keep me from it, but...

Kurn smiled at my hesitation. "Yes, that will do. It is something for you to lose, like the rest of us."

I tilted my head. "You have some magic on you, do you not?"

"Perhaps."

I slowly pulled the necklace up and out to let it lie on my unevenly black leather; they stared at my chest.

"It affects negatively those who use magic, but are not Drow," I said, which was only half-true and left it open how much magic I could use. 

Everyone looked interested as I removed the sapphire pendant, feeling my spiders press farther up into my hair as I let my white braid fall through. I held it up. 

"In the interest of cooperation, I will give it up as a guarantee, but...I recommend one who does not use magic be the bearer."

Rithal jerked his head toward Mathais. "My vote."

Kurn glowered but Castis peered at the swinging pendant and looked at him, whispered something in his native tongue. The Hellhound answered back, then almost barked, "Show me."

Sarilis steepled his fingers, leaning back to watch and looking far more pleased than last night at the table conversation.

"Cast something, Castis," I suggested. "It will glow."

The mage considered the dirty dishes in front of him then murmured something with a few small, graceful gestures. My sapphire lit up an eerie blue in the darkened room and, though the dishes seemed to spontaneously clean themselves—bits of food and moisture evaporating into the air but not disappearing, instead falling as crumbs—Castis got a pinched look on his face. I smiled.

"Care to hold it and cast something else?" I asked with a decidedly seductive expression. "Something...stronger?"

The Ma'ab magician shook his head and looked at Kurn. "We should not hold it. It drained some of my power. I could feel it. Small...but a larger spell, it may take more."

I nodded. "Enough to damage, especially if you are touching it. It could even be permanent."

Castis was suitably horrified at that possibility and the Hellhound did not look happy, but to everyone's relief he believed his brother's council.

"To Mathais, then. You will hold it in trust for our 'Drow' and if she steals it back, I will take it as intent to betray us and I will kill her."

I shrugged and smiled pleasantly at Mathias. "Lose or trade it away, bounty hunter, and I shall drag you back down into the Underdark with me."

The Human shook his head in denial. "Uh-uh—"

"Yer the only one who doesn't use magic, twit," Rithal grumbled. "Jess keep the stone for the elf! That's all!"

Well. If I had to give up something of mine temporarily—and I did not like the feeling in my chest as I considered that I would have to now just to keep this negotiation moving—then at least I had just received some very good information about my fellow travelers.

I tossed it toward the bounty hunter before I could hesitate again or he could refuse, and to everyone's surprise, he caught it. He stared at it, feeling the weight of the platinum, and I could see some awareness of its value beyond the glow. He pursed his lips, not happy to have it foisted upon him. That was good enough for me. For now.

I also understood that Kurn wanted to test my patience and likely thought he could use this to cause a misstep on my part, and any attack from him would be justified. If I were more like him, he would be right.

Mathais tucked it into a pouch and looked back up at us expectantly.

"Alrighty, then!" Sarilis broke the silence happily. "Shall we discuss the plan, my fellow fiends?"

Overall, the plan was as the death mage had told me the night before, the goal of polluting the sacred pool the same, the end point where the Manalara would be turned against the Ma'ab with brute force instead of tactics, both suffering heavy losses before Sarilis would raise the dead bodies through the pool's power to finish off the rest of them.

"I will know when you have succeeded," the death mage said. "Of the three vials you shall carry, even one being introduced to the pool will allow it to sing to me through the ether. Of course, it will be up to you to escape well before the first wave of bodies rises up, as I will not be able to keep them from attacking you should you come face to face..."

There were loud protests, of course, but essentially Sarilis said that he only had so much power, including the vials he was giving us and the special illusion potion he had worked on "all night" and would give to me later, as the only one who could not pass for Human or dwarf.

"Only take it once outside Manalar," he told me, "it will only last for perhaps eight hours before it fades to reveal your true form."

"What kind of aura will that cast?" Castis asked. The Ma'ab mage finally seemed to be useful.

"Passively? None," Sarilis said proudly. "A Templar would have to cast an equally powerful spell to suggest all was not as it seemed."

Which made it possible, even likely, in their magical stronghold. I nodded, though, and mostly listened as I already knew these details were highly suspect—if not from a plotting standpoint then from the simple fact that there were far too many variables to account for it all here at this table. That was why Rausery hadn't gone over more than the broad goal and a "get it done" order. 

There was the high likelihood that, if I found Jael prior to that coming siege, I would grab her and we'd run off to watch from afar how things went at Manalar, maybe go after the Godblood later if he survived the attack, or get that proof he was dead after the war did our work for us.

There was nothing that said Jael had to complete her mission at that location, and again, there was no time limit. Well...except for me as my belly started to swell to become visible...but winter would be coming and we would have had to figure something else out by then.

All this planning and debating specifics around a table as a group...it simply seemed a waste of time to me. There was no way this was how it was going to go. If I had alternate plans, it was a given that everyone else here did, too. Knowing the details of what everyone *said* they wanted and planned to do was good for me to hear but a far cry from believing it and actually being surprised if they did something different instead.

This wasn't a mentally interlinked contingent of Red Sisters all charging into battle to take down our enemies...this was a splintered group of general Surface guides at best, each with his own desire.

"Gavin will guide you there," Sarilis told us.

Everyone, most importantly Gavin, looked surprised to hear this.

"No, no, you do not need to give us your apprentice, Sarilis," Mathais said first. "I'm sure you have more need for him here."

"Gavin is an orphan from that area, he knows the way," the old man insisted.

"We have studied your maps, Necromancer," Kurn said firmly.

"They are old, and even I can hardly read my notes, I'm sure you agree. Besides, you will not be taking them with you. You will need him."

"He'll glow like a bonfire to the Templars!" Castis blurted.

"Only if he uses his magic," Sarilis countered. "He knows how to suppress his aura as you do."

"Don' want someone not wishing ta go," Rithal said, jerking his head where the apprentice had shrunk somewhat against the wall. Indeed, he did not look eager at all.

"Imagine his usefulness cooking and whatnot on the way. Send him back once you've set eyes on your final horizon if you must, but I won't have you getting lost and missing this small window of opportunity."

"He could get us lost on purpose," Kurn grunted.

"He would prefer to keep his head on his shoulders, I'm sure," Sarilis said.

I was listening to the argument but was watching Gavin. I did not think I was mistaken when his eyes brightened with just the barest, magical flash as he stared at the back of his master's head. I could see the hatred there, even as he was trying to remain inconspicuous. It was the look that often told the Nobles that it was time for a servant to die, or one might find herself poisoned before long.

"I will take him," I said.

"No, we won't!" Kurn thundered.

I met the Hellhound's eyes. "You did not hear me. *I* will take him. You can ignore him."

"You are with us," he ground out, "so you cannot take him separately."

"Then he goes with us to go with me. You can still ignore him."

The Ma'ab warrior narrowed his dark eyes. "Why do you want him?"

"The Surface is not my world. I want a guide who has been to where we are going," I said, then smiled. "I also like his cooking."

The Necromancer chuckled and looked at me appreciatively. "Alas, you must have an iron stomach, my dear, but whatever ways he may be of use to you. I have certainly met more gifted apprentices in my day."

Gavin's stance had tensed a bit more as it seemed he was considering leaving but yet hesitating while we discussed his immediate fate. He finally spoke up, resenting the first word. "Master, it has been years since I—"

Sarilis clutched his bone staff and shifted in his seat, his expression and eyes a startling black after our being used to his generally jovial demeanor. He hissed a command word and Cullen charged forward to strike Gavin across the face with an unrestrained fist. I heard the sound of meat smacking against meat and a bone snapping in Cullen's hand just before the apprentice fell to the floor, his robes coming perilously close to the fire in the hearth. He was aware of it and rolled away, though Cullen stomped on his ribs with a booted heel and I heard the young man cry out in pain.

"Sarilis, I need him able to walk when we leave," I said.

The old man seemed to sneer at me before he quickly smoothed his face and said, "Of course, my dear."

He gestured with his staff for Cullen to step back and the thrall obeyed, his face blank through the entire conflict. I could hear Gavin gasping as he hauled himself to his feet; I saw blood dripping from his nose and a swelling lip as he moved toward the Tower's stairs.

"You will go, Gavin!" Sarilis shouted after him. "You will guide them back to the festering source of that fucking god and his fanatics!"

Silence around the table as everyone absorbed the abrupt shift in plans and the impression we'd all gotten of our host. I considered those last words especially but kept my peace until the last of the plans were laid out and we agreed to leave on the morrow.

As Sarilis got up, begging the need for a break and checking on his vials one more time, I removed myself to my room as well and waited for the others to disperse before sneaking back down through the kitchen and hallway to knock on the Necromancer's door. Cullen opened it for me and I stepped down the stairs to the bottom once again.

Sarilis was hunched over his work bench and had his back to me. "A question, dark angel?"

"Yes. What link does Gavin have to Manalar?" I asked bluntly. "Did he grow up there?"

Sarilis shook his head and looked over his shoulder before turning slowly on his stool. "No, but his father was a cleric of a fundamental sect of Manalara, though I do not know exactly where. He is a bastard child of theirs and would love to see their jewel city fall, I'm sure. Trust me, he will accept this."

I tilted my head. "Bastard child. What is that?"

Sarilis's eyebrows rose up a bit. "Well, my dear...that would depend. Do you have pair bonds where you come from?"

"How do you mean?"

The old man chuckled softly. "Generally it takes one male and one female to produce a child, yes?"

"Yes," I replied without taking the bait; I showed no reaction for his starting with such basics.

"Alright." He moved on with a twitch of a grin. "And those two may raise their child together to better protect and provide for it, with the legal understanding that this child inherits whatever the parents have earned in their life, correct?"

I shook my head. "What? Legal?"

"My, my," Sarilis commented.  "This is a bit different, isn't it? How is it for children in your womanly society, Sirana? Rausery and I never discussed this; I only gained the knowledge that your elder was fully accustomed to being in charge."

It certainly didn't take long much to gain such knowledge...

I considered those differences; I remembered my Elder and Sisters debating some of them with me on the night before I saw the Sun for the first time. "The matron claims all her living children, protects and provides for them or loses them to death. Inheriting is partly based on birth order, but...it can vary if a younger one is better suited to the task. The sire may or may not help educate and train them, depending on his loyalty and the matron's tolerance to keep him as well."

The Necromancer was listening with rapt attention. "Fascinating. So...there are no 'bastards' in your society. A pregnancy is a pregnancy. And the mother chooses her favorites to follow after her..."

Unless one of her children got her first, but I didn't interrupt his pondering to add that.

"I gather it is freely sexual with the females holding all choice, then? Sounds like fun if you are female, though the males surely have their ways to woo their own preferences." He chuckled happily. "You never fail to intrigue me, Sirana, with these little tidbits you hand out." 

"So what is a bastard child to you, Sarilis?" I asked again, trying to stay on track. Gavin's status as one may very well affect me in this Human-dominated world.

The old mage tapped his scruffy chin some in contemplation. "Very well. Let us stay simple. Say the 'sire' is dominant and must keep track of his children. Say the mother instead conceives by a different sire...why would the first wish to raise the offspring of the second? It is expensive enough as it is! The sire does not want that child. That child is a 'bastard,' unwanted."

I nodded to show that I followed and he continued. 

"It works the other way, too. Say the dominant male chooses one female to bear his children specifically to inherit his wealth after he dies...but then he impregnates another one or two or however many other females. To keep things orderly and less bloody in the more privileged Human society, it is decided that only the first female's children may inherit that wealth, and in strict birth order. The others born outside of wedlock are 'bastards' and must make their own way as lowly commoners."

I listened intently, trying to understand this thinking with the male having more power over the children than the female—which in turn meant he had to maintain control over her and her body as well. It almost made her a slave, or a servant, even being the "legal" mate.

I could see the link to what Jael had asked, why do the women tolerate being treated so? Certainly they would if they were not only the smaller of the race as a whole, but also if a particular woman was the "legal" female protecting her territory and her resources for her offspring, driving away those leeches from other females who had mated her same male. I could understand that quite well; it was only natural in such circumstances. One did what one had to do with what was available.

I could also grasp that in such a rigid and limiting social structure, there were accidental pregnancies where the child had no easy place, even as they were inevitable, results of passion and impulse. I had never thought that a child necessarily required both parents, and among the common Drow especially there were families of females who worked together to run their business and modest holdings, some males kept and others not. If strict "legal" pairing was how powerful Humans reared their young, then I could see how it made for some complex interactions and the unpaired matrons and sires producing unplanned bastards.

Oddly, I thought of the Red Sisters, of the circumstances where one of us conceived. We were more restricted; we not allowed to end it, and yet in our very function we could never provide for the child. We had to give it to the Priestesses, who found a use for it over letting it "make its own way." In a strange way, it made Shyntre and my own unborn the closest thing we had to "bastards."

And yet someone always wanted a Drow child successfully birthed. It took so long to complete the pregnancy compared to Humans who took less than a year...it required enough focus and resources that there was always somewhere to place a living Drow child, some use once the umbilical cord was severed, even if only to be sacrificed for power later.

Ultimately the Valsharess was the one determining the future of the children of the Red Sisters. She was the one claiming and providing for them, if indirectly. Rausery had even suggested some of it could be intentional; Phaelous and D'Shea, most recently...

I nodded. "I see. And Gavin is a bastard?"

"Worse, actually. He is a bastard brought by impurity. His father was a holy man, a spiritual leader. That particular faith requires their spiritual leaders to remain pure and not fornicate with women."

I squinted. "'Fornicate'?"

Sarilis's pale face actually darkened in color as he laughed harder this time. "Oh...let me see... those pair bonds I mentioned? Yes, they are very important. If you mate with your bonded other, that is alright. If you mate with anyone else, whether you are bonded or not, that is fornicating."

I felt only disbelief and knew that it showed on my face. Only one to fuck? ONE? The Drow lived far too long to even consider that possible!

Oh, but of course, that is the only way a short-lived male can be sure he is the sire of a child... I knew that, but somehow all the talk of bastards and placing children had me imagining the multiple partners as I was used to. Now Sarilis was saying there was a clear delineation between "approved" mating and "unapproved" mating.

Surely the Humans knew that only made the forbidden behavior that much more delicious? I did not understand how this was supposed to work. Why not just give in to their natures?

"I seem to have stumbled into a riddle for you, my dear," the Necromancer said. "You look most confused. Yes, I do wonder about the circumstances where Gavin's poor father and priest had to confront his own weakness within his self-chosen beliefs!" 

The old man cackled and Gavin's name brought me back to our discussion. 

"But...if spiritual leaders cannot 'fornicate' at all... then they have no children to pass on the leadership."

"I know, I know," Sarilis said, waving a hand. "I never said it made sense, and keep in mind other Human groups do not do it this way. Thank all that is unholy that there is some variety! But this cleric, whoever he was, rutted with a woman...and...I dare wonder if it was a Ma'ab woman at that? The boy has the black eyes and hair that Kurn and Castis both have, perhaps you've noticed?"

Certainly I'd noted the coloring of every sentient here, yes, but it would not have struck me as significant. "That coloring is not as common in this area?"

"Well, plenty of brown hair and eyes, but all lighter, with healthy swaths of blond and red like the dwarf...and light eyes like mine and...yours." The Necromancer grinned. "Rausery had dark red eyes. Tell me, which is more common, the red or the blue?"

"The red," I answered.

"I see. So you are notable amongst your own. Fascinating! Well, as I said, the black eyes and hair are how the Ma'ab forces are described, those are the dominant traits. So...if that is his lineage, perhaps you can imagine why my pitiful apprentice cowers so. He has probably been beaten for all his life being half-Ma'ab among our mutual enemy. You may have to do the same if he gets stubborn. He responds best to it sometimes."




Surfacing Ch. 05



Author's Notes: This story is erotic fantasy written by Etaski. I reserve the right to be listed as the author of this story, wherever it is posted. If found posted anywhere except Literotica.com with this note attached, this story is posted without my permission. (c) Etaski 2013

Further Note: As I noted recently in the comments on Sufferance Ch 15, the brain-slip of the definition of "cycle" continues to dog me and is a necessary use as we're back in the Underdark. It's short for "sleep-wake cycle," i.e. 1 day.

This chapter took a while to complete because it is very "dense." Nearly everything that happened before affected this chapter as the survivors take stock to determine their best options; as is the bread-and-butter for the Drow, it's complicated. It required a lot of rereading on my part, just so (hopefully) the reader wouldn't be required to do the same. I hope you enjoy.

*******

Chapter 5

There were rare times such as this where she didn't mind being alone. 

It didn't happen much anymore and she wouldn't want to go back to where she'd come from, knowing what she knew now. But... to not have any novices to train, Leads to direct, or any of those middling, competent girls to check on, for just as long as it took to stride from point first to point next, as she did now returning to the City...? These moments contained an echo of her earliest self-reliance and independence, when she was beholden to no one no matter that she heard again and again that she must feel fear to survive.

That was a load of lizard shit. Becoming too accustomed to fear, believing it necessary to be wary and respectful only led to blindness, a seized mind and stiff muscles. How did one even see incoming danger that way, much less avoid or confront it as necessary?

Rausery had been one of the few Red Sisters first approached by the Prime herself, sponsored by her, though it did not make her climb up through the Red Sisters any easier. In fact, it had made it harder, especially when it came time to take her "Elder's" place—Shana, a Drow just about the same age as she was. The calm under stress, the fact that she did not think about anything but the moment was what made the difference in the end.

There was a middle ground between aiming to win and fearing to lose, a center where one felt neither. The still-point. Inviting that moment, that meditation, took practice. By the time the Prime had shown her sharp blade and then-younger face to an orphaned, unanchored, very common Drow in the dank alleys of the City, the still-point had already become a trusted companion to a young Rausery.

If Elder Rausery had to rely on any besides herself—and the centuries had proven that she had to in order to grow—then the foundation for that reliance, that "trust," had to be in the only way she knew: the other had to have self-trust, had to be able to experience their own still-points. They must have the ability to let the future crystallize in the moment and not fear it happening.

There were very few, but she had hand-selected them over time, and they all still lived.

Rausery did not think Sirana had truly found that point yet, and thanks to Kerse she may never reach it now. Nonetheless, she kept her balance and agility her own way, in a manner that Elder D'Shea never could; she had the same foresight and intuitive deduction, yet was not blinded by the study of strong magic. 

If nothing else, the novice—returned and with the experience on the Surface to back her—could grow into quite the "political face" when the Red Sisters needed to show themselves. She would be the wit and focus of Jaunda but the inspirations of D'Shea, adding to that her own charm and levity in the face of intimidation, her own flexibility in her own games.

Rausery sincerely hoped that it would happen. D'Shea would need someone to take Jaunda's place, after all, and then someone to replace herself. Whether she wanted either or not.

The Elder also reflected that she had not really had any time to watch Jael. That novice was barely a drip into the pool, and most of her real potential only showed itself when Sirana was involved. Beyond that, she could have been one of those middling, competent Red Sisters as stubborn and firm-jawed as Thena or Panagan...before meeting Sirana.

There had been the hard piece for the Elder to chew on while she was training the girls up top. Several competent Sisters had slipped against one clever novice on whom they had taken their one moment to abuse very roughly....and then that novice refused to cower. Next, their new feisty novice, Jael, bloomed for several moments next to that same young Sister—despite having vastly different temperaments and opposite Elders. 

Jael's actions against Kerse, while certainly far too driven and impulsive for her own good and sealing her young fate with the queen, had still impressed Rausery on some warrior's martial level. Jael was a rare case where instead of calm, it was the force of passion brought about that coveted still-point almost at will, where there was no fear and pure action; a berserk dancer that the Elder would have wanted to nurture farther, to see how far she could go.

So why had Sirana inspired that kind of response in Jael? Was it the nearness in age and new status, the temporary alliance made on the battlefield against the illithids, or the spying Sirana had done on Jael? The defense against Thena? Some really good sex, despite Jael fighting against everyone else?

Alas, Rausery would likely never learn; it did not matter now because Jael would not return. She was too young and too underdeveloped to survive her task; she was lost, whatever potential that the Elder had not yet seen evaporating beneath the Sunlight. 

Sirana might try something, might figure out a way to work her compulsion and her assignments in favor of, at best, discovering what happened to her Sisters. The loss might actually be good for her to understand at last. After all that Sirana had done before to cheat the trials and help Jael survive, it had not done the younger Drow a true service in the end.

Rausery could have worked with Jael's survival of her trials, but her loss now was more likely and always had been. Sirana was naïve enough that she had not wanted to believe or accept that she could not choose who would pass their tests of will, those tests that depended solely on the candidate. Not her. Rausery had long ago learned to accept it.

Which was why, after she returned to the City, she would forget about the three on the Surface. And she would wait.

******

Rausery eventually stepped outside the transport circle, scanned her surroundings with all her senses, found herself to be alone. The circle was warded and hidden in in a comfortably small cave that had only three spokes of tunnels; one too small for anything larger than a crawling infant, another only enough for individuals going single-file, and the main one just large enough for lizard and rider.

The Elder Drow listened to the pulse deep inside her chest and head, much stronger now and pulling her home. The two larger tunnels eventually met to lead to the same portal outside one of the main trade routes to and from the City, but it was located very high up on a sheer wall, camouflaged with magic, and required a climbing lizard or some other gear to enter or exit it.

The infant-sized tunnel in the hollow of stone was usually ignored or unseen. Now, though, Rausery drew out a message pellet and broke it, whispering into the air as the words disappeared down the burrow hole, and she waited patiently, leaning against the stone.

In good time, she heard a response back. She frowned in consideration.

She drew a matte blade and used the hilt to tap a brief tattoo against the stone near the small hole and waited only for the distant sound of a single tap back before leaving the cave through the single-file tunnel.

She would keep a good pace all the way back and return by the end of the cycle, evading the sentries simply because she could.

It would seem she had been gone long enough.

******

Rausery maintained all patience, almost meditating as she reported to the Prime first, even though it was D'Shea she most wanted to see. None had sensed her slip into the cloister and the Prime had her own entrances and exits from her quarters anyway, ones she would share with her Elders but no one else. The Prime would be updated and advised well before any of the other Red Sisters knew that their Elder had returned from the Surface.

"Full training, I see," the Prime commented, stepping to pour two glasses of water from a pitcher at her desk and handing one to Rausery. She sipped first as was customary. "You did not skimp on the time."

"As the Valsharess bid us," the Elder responded, her back straight and gloved hand holding the metal cup before she gratefully drank the entire glass but did not expect a refill. 

The Prime nodded and approached her subordinate, light copper eyes scanning the mottled, black-and-grey uniform and cloak, her delicate nostrils lifting a bit as she inhaled. Rausery knew that her Surface garb still smelled "exotic" even after traveling the Underdark for quite a long time before reaching this point. The Prime had mentioned it before after the first few missions up top, before she had quite so much gold as streaking her hair as she did now, but had since stopped bringing it up. Rausery knew that the Prime still did not like the smell, though.

"Did you favor any of them?"

"Not in knowledge, Red Sister Prime. They trained together."

"What about resources? What's your evaluation for survival?"

Rausery shook her head once. "Sirana, perhaps, Prime. She still has D'Shea's enchanted spiders and the wizard's anti-infectives. She also took best to the acclimation."

"Why do you say?"

"She was curious, more than anything."

The Prime sipped on her water; even for one with centuries of martial experience, she seemed more inclined to practice the Court mannerisms in her own quarters. "One would think too much curiosity would be a hindrance up there."

Rausery's lips drew into a closed smile. "Not too much, Prime. Just right. Rather like down here, you know when not to stick your nose to close to the teeth but still find more than the others."

The much-older Drow allowed a small smile of her own and huffed a single breath for a laugh. "I wager you would know, Rausery. I shall report to the Valsharess on your behalf. Thank you. Your Red Sisters are waiting for you."

The Elder bowed and turned with purpose to take her leave of the Prime's quarters and into the main body of pathways within the cloister. She could stop by her own room to change uniforms...she weighed the benefit of being seen in her reds in the dark, or smell as she did now.

One was definitely different enough to gain one's attention.

Rausery passed the hall leading to her own quarters and went instead toward the strategy room on a gut feeling. A moment later the reason surfaced: in her absence, either Qivni or D'Shea was probably there at this time of the cycle.

That logical leap was supported the moment she felt the ward that had been placed there. The Elder had no patience for it and keyed herself up, hyper-focusing and calling a very familiar force of will forward. The magic strained and seemed to shriek in her ears for a moment before Rausery unraveled it within a few seconds and nearly shoved the door open as it shuddered and hesitated to open fast enough. Candlelight spilled out into the dark hallway and she squinted hard to look inside.

Qivni was there and had already whipped her head around, wide-eyed and braced for attack...until the moment she recognized her Elder. Her tight bun was as severe as ever, sharp features and full uniform complete and familiar. She bowed immediately.

"Elder, you've returned!"

"Hello, Qivni."

Rausery strolled in, allowing the door to close behind her and walked over the open space leading to the clustered area on the other side leading to the altar, magic circle, and tactics table. She could see a few maps open now and some hand-written notes. The fiberstalk quill was still in her Lead's red-gloved hand.

Qivni's eyes seemed to deepen with a surge of emotion looking at her, even though her face remained like stone. Rausery knew how loyal Qivni was, how good of an enforcer she was, but she wondered how she had faired needing to call some shots of her own? She had the practical skills that D'Shea tended to overlook in her far-seeing; the Lead had been told before Rausery had ever left that she would have to step up.

"I...am glad you're back, Elder," the Lead said in her familiar low timber.

Rausery smirked. "In a word: how has it been?"

Qivni promptly considered one word over any others. "Frustrating."

The Elder chuckled and nodded stepped closer to the maps and the notes Qivni had out beneath the two candles on the table. She noted the location. "Interesting. Haven't been to that area in a while."

"Jaunda traced some of the Illithid's trail there. It's gone cold, though."

"How is she doing?"

Qivni squinted her eyes briefly but answered, "Well. Non-stop. Researching. Exactly as I would do in her boots."

"But probably with more fuck breaks," Rausery winked at her Lead and Qivni pursed her lips.

"Speaking of which, Elder," she began.

"Yes, Qivni?"

"D'Shea caught Thena, Panagan, Moria, and Suna with the Consort, about seven cycles after you left."

Rausery attempted to appear austere, despite the temptation to grin. That would have been quite a while ago and Qivni looked so serious as to almost look cute. 

"And?"

"She threw them around solitary. Broke bones. She let them wait four cycles before healing them, and...she did something to them. They won't talk to me about it, Elder."

The urge to smile vanished. That was not what she had expected to hear. What in the Abyss was Varessa thinking? Had the sorceress gone insane after her compulsion was lifted?

"More likely they can't," Rausery heard herself growl, forcing herself to focus past the initial wave of anger. "Where is the Consort?"

"Her quarters. No one has seen him in months."

And the Prime hadn't seen fit to give her even a hint of this before dismissing her?

"Hm. To your knowledge, Qivni, did the Prime take notice of the situation?"

"I cannot see that she does not know, Elder," her Lead said. "But either she spoke with D'Shea in private about it or...said nothing."

Rausery realized that her Lead had yet to call D'Shea by her title, or refer to the Prime as such. Not good.

"What have you been doing?"

"Maintaining your records, adding to them, collecting reports," Qivni said. "You...have a lot to read, Elder."

She quirked one snowy eyebrow. "Anything in particular stand out?"

"Most of the Consorts not killed in the Purge are now dead from abuse by the Nobles, Elder. There are still two, but the Sisters in the field say it is only a matter of time."

"Also something the Valsharess and Prime do nothing about?"

"They've abandoned them. The Nobles were in unrest but have settled some since the worship ball four weeks ago."

"The what?" Rausery blinked at it being that soon. "With what bait?"

"Five wizards, actually. They put on quite a color show and the Nobles enjoyed being given royal quarters for an eve with a Red Sister standing guard. They were not allowed to take the wizards with them, there will be no in-home residencies with our magic-users, but the chosen and only the chosen are invited back to the Palace to enjoy the same luxuries every fifteen cycles until conception. I've been helping to organize the guard."

Alright. Rausery had known something had to fill the void, and so something did. It was rudimentary compared to what they had had before, but it would evolve from there.

"And one of those wizards is Elder D'Shea's son, right?"

Qivni nodded, her expression somehow turning more severe. "He distracted D'Shea during the ball. On purpose."

"Of course it's on purpose," Rausery sighed.

"You have to talk to him, Elder. He'll listen to you."

"He's probably acting under the Valsharess's order, Qivni, have you thought of that? Otherwise the Prime would have done something by now."

There was a long pause, then Qivni said carefully, "Are they targeting D'Shea, Elder?"

"Obviously. Though I'm not assuming it's to see her dead."

"What else, if not death?"

Rausery shook her head. "Hold that thought, Qivni. Can't say yet, I need to catch up more."

Her Lead pressed her lips together so tightly the blood left them for a moment, her flesh a lighter purple until she spoke again. "Elder...D'Shea doesn't have anyone to balance her anymore. She didn't have you, Jaunda's gone most of the time, Gaelan was sent to die, she doesn't even have Sirana anymore. I...tried, Elder, but I...we..."

"I know. Let's clean this up and see the girls first."

Qivni knew exactly which "girls" she meant and took to the order to clean up here and leave efficiently as always. It was one reason why Rausery liked having her at her side.

******

Thena and her main three were glad to see their Elder returned again as well. They looked hail, they moved normally, and claimed to be in top fighting form. Qivni could back that up as having seen them practice and also sending them out on several tasks since the incident in solitary confinement.

As expected, they could not tell her what had happened. They remembered, and they wanted to tell her, but they couldn't move their tongues in a useful way.

*Damn you, D'Shea, damn you.*

Rausery spent the required time reassuring them of her calm, her ability, and her basic support before she gestured for Qivni to follow her into D'Shea's half of the Sisterhood's cloister.

*Where was Elder D'Shea, last you knew?* Rausery signed to her Lead.

*Out,* was all Qivni could say, and all she needed to say.

*Prepare for a headache.* Rausery smirked.

Her Lead nodded, accepting.

D'Shea's ward was among the toughest to break, and it took both Rausery and Qivni to do it, taking turns tagging the resonant song and pulling out the threads they needed. Sweat had broken out on their foreheads and Rausery was pretty sure that she smelled copper in her nose by the time it finally released its hold on the other Elder's door.

*Limited time now,* Rausery signed and Qivni nodded, then winced as her head must have been throbbing as much as the Elder's.

D'Shea would have felt it, and depending on how far away she was, the two had to get whatever they could while they could get it. Still...her Lead didn't look good, and she even looked blurry for a second.

*Catch your breath,* Rausery added, needing a moment as much as her accomplice, though she did well to hide it.

Qivni breathed in slowly and out again, rubbing her temples and closing her eyes. The Consort would be sensitive enough to magic to know they were out here and would be preparing to meet them. Rausery had a few guesses how he might react, but most of them were harmless.

Soon enough Qivni opened her eyes and nodded once, slowly, with a determined look on her face. Rausery pushed open the door.

Her peer's quarters smelled good, and the colors of red, blue, and soft orange jumped out at her, giving her pause. A shaded, heatless glow that mimicked candlelight shone at the back, letting her see the relatively generous quarters clearly without the light whiting out her sight. It still made her head ache behind her eyes.

Rausery noticed quickly how clean and how very organized, balanced, symmetrical it all was. This was a bit of a turn from what Rausery knew of D'Shea's quarters before. Both Elders tended to kept their rooms at the basic level of order to maintain the respect of disciplined Red Sisters, but what she saw went more than a little beyond that.




Surfacing Ch. 05



It looked like a servant was tending it. Frequently. And he liked straight lines.

Rausery had her answer why this was when she spotted the Consort that they'd abducted from House Itlaun crouched behind the tub with a small pouch gripped in his right hand. She was about to laugh when she noticed how he was holding it—as a Red Sister might, ready for a controlled flick at an opponent's face and eyes while minimizing the back-blow onto himself.

Novices and any who had never done it before tended to either lose control of how much of the powder came out of the pouch—thus enveloping themselves as well as their target in whatever it was—or allowed a trail to follow them back with their retreat. The Consort was holding it correctly, and Rausery knew damned well they weren't taught that in the Sanctuary.

Someone had taught him the basics, even though his hand trembled as she watched.

*What were you thinking, D'Shea?*

Rausery had the feeling that she would be asking that a lot in the near future.

"I want to talk to you, Consort." She motioned for Qivni to close the door.

The poor thing looked terrified for a moment before he shook his head once. "I'm not a Consort anymore."

"Auslan!" Qivni barked, her voice holding pure command even with a tender head. "Elder Rausery wishes to speak with you, and you will address her as such."

The younger male flinched and lowered his eyes to the floor out of long conditioning. He wasn't wearing much; a dark blue wrap around his waist that looked newer than the worn sandals on his feet. His smooth chest was bare, as were his arms, head, and back; she could see quite a lot of him.

Rausery noticed the gold streak in his hair on the left side and frowned to herself. From the strain of cleansing Sirana was what she could surmise. She'd been told that after Kerse had destroyed himself, the Consort had needed to perform a Sanctuary ritual first to purge the Abyssal energy from the Sister so that the healing draughts could be allowed to work. Otherwise, they had no effect.

"Elder Rausery," he breathed, swallowed, and said, "Elder D'Shea will not be happy to have you here."

"I know. I don't care."

She walked straight for him. He stared with his well-bred eyes; he genuinely did not know what to do. What would he do? Use that powder against her? It would be an interesting choice.

Qivni reacted quickly, reaching for something when the handsome male straightened up halfway, but she paused as they watched him tighten the strings again with both hands in clear sight. He turned deliberately, trying to make it clear where he intended to throw, and tossed the small pouch back onto the bed. He didn't wait for Rausery to take it away from him.

She smirked a bit as she closed the distance and took firm hold of his wrist. It looked smooth, even if the gloves prevented skin contact, and the bones felt delicate. Elegant. She dragged him over to D'Shea's desk, pushing on his shoulders and sitting him down in it. He was blocked to his right by her Lead, had the desk at his back, and Rausery towered in front of him.

"Just want to know what happened to my unit," she said brusquely. "The ones that visited you in solitary."

Auslan swallowed and looked nauseous to her. However, he didn't try to prolong things. "They forced me... and D'Shea stopped them. Thena was insubordinate, and D'Shea punished all of them for that."

"How?"

"Magical force. Threw them around the cell. Choked them."

Rausery was mildly impressed that the Consort—or perhaps he was right, the "former" Consort—knew how to give a report so succinctly and didn't waste her time. Perhaps he'd been given practice by D'Shea. Or Sirana. Or the others who visited him before. She herself had never spoken to him before now, though she'd known of his existence as an informant.

"Then?"

"She called...Agalia. And others, to take the four away to await her leisure. She brought me here."

After a pause, Rausery said, "And?"

Auslan was keeping his gaze on her mottled, black boots that may have still had small bits of Surface soil on them even now. "I have not left, Elder. I sleep and eat here."

"More, please."

He shook his head. "Nothing more, Elder Sister. I have stayed here."

Qivni was about to hiss something at him but Rausery gestured to her as she considered another angle. She said to him, "The Valsharess probably knows you're here through the Prime. Someone made a deal for your life, even with the other Consorts dying right now. Why do you think that is?"

She noticed that he focused even harder on her boots and his eyes glistened for a moment before he blinked twice to make the tears ago away. "I do not know, Elder."

"Who values you most these days? For what? Can't be your skills. I know D'Shea has no taste for you pretty Sanctuary males."

Her Lead shifted then and his eyes flicked briefly to her. Oddly, he laid a forearm across his lap and crossed his legs. The motion drew the Elder's attention to Qivni, and she realized that the Red Sister was staring at him with some fascination, as if the longer she did, the more detail she saw and had a harder time looking away. 

Long inured to it by now, Rausery had almost forgotten the Consorts had their own kind of magical aura, some with better control of it than others. It was a bit disturbing if Auslan had an aura that distracted even her strictest subordinate. No wonder the other four had pounced on him in solitary.

Still. It was clear he wasn't comfortable being stared at.

"You want him?" Rausery asked Qivni casually. "Can you be quick?"

She could read her Lead's hesitation in an instant; Qivni wasn't comfortable with her own distraction, either. She would refuse the offer. Rausey approved.

"No," Auslan said before he could stop himself.

Then the Elder smiled. 

His reaction was perfect, and Qivni's response was more so. She forgot her temptation in her lunge forward, snatching him by his upper arms to yank him out of the seat and throw him atop D'Shea's desk in a loud scuffle. He cried out as her fingers dug into his biceps, and Qivni's face was right in front of his; he could probably smell her breath. Despite everything, though, Rausery could tell he had an erection under his wrap. Probably unwilled; it happened sometimes.

Qivni growled, "You...YOU can't say 'no,' Consort."

He shuddered but met her eyes a moment later. He smiled beautifully and—stunning them both—he planted a small kiss on her mouth as the Lead's eyes widened.

His voice was rich as cream when he almost crooned. "Of course. Forgive me, Sister. That was foolish of me."

It was clear even to Rausery that Qivni might have done something damaging to him if she was alone; she looked so aggravated and insulted. To her Lead's credit, however, she maintained her discipline in front of her Elder and just squeezed his arms harder, her hands trembling a moment. His smile faltered but he kept his eyes open, his mouth closed, and did not make any sound though she could tell he felt the pain very much.

Rausery didn't understand why, but she almost recognized the expressions on the Consort's face a moment ago, and the tone and the very words when he had spoken. Auslan had pulled something that Sirana had often, simply to get on Qivni's nerves and test her self-control. 

It had happened at her trial and during Sirana's first weeks in the cloister especially, and Rausery had always known it was how those two squared off. She considered it good for Qivni to have another Sister around that could smile in response to the Lead's serious face, no matter what she did, and Rausery had never interfered. She wanted to let her figure out the challenge of the newest Red Sister on her own. Had Sirana had more than two years with the Sisterhood, Qivni would have figured out something eventually even with her busy schedule.

That interaction with Auslan just now had been very familiar...or maybe it was just that Sirana's was the last face Rausery had seen during a kiss under Moonlight. Really, the male should be beaten for taking such a tactic with them. And yet...

"Had any contact with him before now, my Lead?" Rausery asked.

"No, Elder," Qivni ground out.

"Hm. Let him go."

She did so, shoving Auslan back down when he tried to sit up; only when he remained where he was for several moments did she step to the side again. He rubbed at the bruises forming on his arms as he slowly sat up and slid off the desk, returning to his chair and covering his turgid crotch by crossing his arms. Now he looked quite shaken; that momentary, seductive slyness was gone even if he still hid an erection.

"Talk much with Sirana?" Rausery asked him.

His hands were gripping his elbows; hunched over, he was not looking up. "Yes, Elder."

"Discussing other Red Sisters?"

He shook his head instantly and answered with that intangible ring of truth she couldn't deny when she heard it. "No, Elder. She never spoke of her Sisters and I never asked."

"Then what did you talk about?"

He seemed lost for a moment. "The Noble Houses. Priestesses. Anything she asked of me, Elder."

"Let's focus on after you cleansed and healed her. Did you talk?"

"Yes, Elder."

"About?"

"Kerse. The Purge. The trials. What you already know, Elder, nothing new."

"And that's why you're still here," she said ironically.

Auslan didn't reply.

"What's your opinion of Sirana?"

The Elder liked seeing the subtle pulse in his throat; she liked that even in the light, she could sense the spike in heat before her. He was doing well, better than many under questioning, but she was learning his tells without having to touch him.

"A loss for the Sisterhood, Elder," he answered.

Indeed.

Ruasery half-smiled. "Well. Not yet. She was doing well when I left her not seven days ago."

"Days...?" he murmured, his eyes flicking upward briefly, and she knew she saw real interest at the mention of her present, stronger than his confusion at the word choice.

"Cycles," Rausery corrected. "The same as a wake cycle, but on the Surface."

He nodded, eyes back down, and she wondered if she was becoming unfocused—and getting soft, if Qivni's expression was any indication—but there was a lot more here that a simple beating wouldn't reveal; her gut told her so.

Time to force a confrontation.

"Secure him, Lead. Let's go."

Auslan blurted a few more denials and begged once as Qivni forcibly hauled him up and pinned him face down on the desk to bind his hands behind him with black cord. "Please, Elder, don't take me from here—"

Qivni punched the back of his head hard; his forehead connected with the desk and he was blessedly quiet for a few moments though still conscious. Barely. 

Neither of them had any need to explain it to him, but trying to wrangle anything useful out of D'Shea in her own quarters was a fool's errand. Rausery would much rather be on her own turf, with her peer's little sheltered pet in her possession.

And so they would be.

******

*Son of a dwarf, she's back.*

When the Elder felt the distinctive rip inside her head as someone forced her way into her personal quarters, D'Shea knew that the Prime hadn't told Rausery anything.

Not that she was surprised. She knew it would be one way or another and had simply waited. If Qivni would be the first source of information to her Elder instead, then what she would choose to say first would be predictable. D'Shea didn't blame Rausery for doing as she must with what she knew at the time.

What she wanted to know now was how Auslan responded to the pressure, if he broke down somehow, and if so, in what way? 

He seemed to be having such...*active* dreams lately, and despite his practical state of celibacy, he was not used to being without someone to touch him for months on end. It was against his very breeding and conditioning. She had been waiting to see if he would ask for another Drow to mate him. He hadn't yet, though it hadn't taken much observation for her to be able to tell when he craved a companion when his dream emissions weren't enough.

Now she'd see if Rausery's intrusion somehow brought his adapted coping mechanisms to a fever pitch, now or later. She had to make it back to the cloister now. She would not leave this one to a natural course as he could easily turn up dead instead of just fucked.

"Varessa?" Tarra looked up from her translations, reading her ally's face well enough not to have any protest to an abrupt departure but still wanting some reason.

"Auslan's in trouble again."

"How so?"

"Rausery's back. She just broke into my room."

The Priestess's eyes went wide. "She can do that?"

"With help, I suspect." D'Shea shrugged, collecting her gloves and cloak. "This could be useful in making him more pliable."

Tarra shook her head with a sigh. "We need to figure this out soon, Varessa."

"We will, I have no doubt."

"Having his real name would be a break-through for me in convincing the Valsharess I can achieve our new path."

D'Shea huffed in frustration, pausing in her departure. "I'm working on it."

Tarra took the pause as a willingness to reopen the debate. "By sequestering him away?"

"You know better. You said yourself you learned your Consort's name only when he was so relieved to have the release that he prayed for you."

Tarra's expression became pinched and D'Shea knew why. She—and all the other Priestesses with a Consort who had survived the Purge—had been forbidden from taking any action to protect them, and each had felt their males die nonetheless much more recently, at the hands of over-zealous Nobles. It was not nearly as devastating to her power as if a Draegloth son of her own body died, but it was undeniably unpleasant.

"You are sure you won't do it, Varessa?" the Priestess said, holding her ally a little longer. "I still think it is safer to keep this close."

"I can't have that kind of weakness, Tarra."

"Neither can I. Not again. If not you, then I still say Shyntre's the one most likely to hear it if they would—."

"If. Funny that you would encourage that. But even if, he'd never share that with either of us."

"He doesn't have to. In any case, I would need to watch and experiment with them first and when I'm ready, we can force it through a ritual, the same way Wilsira took Auslan's name from Juliran in the first place."

D'Shea mouth pursed hard. "No."

"But we would have Auslan to make him cooperate."

She shook her head once. "No. You also forget he'd tell the queen."

"She wouldn't care. She knows what we're trying to do and She would never take the risk of learning the Consort's name Herself. She'd be content with just Shyntre knowing it."

"You think? I also think it would fundamentally change my son to be bound that way and then forced into a ritual such as that. At this current time, the queen would take serious exception if Shyntre stopped what he was doing to the Nobles." She smiled with a lift of one nostril. "It's the new thing, after all."

The Priestess released a breath, her expression of derision alone a commentary on that "new thing." Probably because it had very little to do with the Priestesses right now. "So who else, if not one of us?"

"You know who. Someone who is already crazy for him and already pliable and broken. Why are you resisting?"

"I still don't like it, Varessa. Curgia's insane without additional contact with the Consort," Tarra repeated sternly. "She's in the dungeons awaiting birth—"

"That child is Auslan's and isn't tainted, you can prove it. She can be useful now being disowned by her mother. You plan to adopt the child already, just make sure they don't flush the mother before you do. We wait long enough, I have a chance to talk to her, heal her—"

"I'll grant she'd be very malleable after Wilsira and the Purge, but that will still take time to rebuild her and will have to take place elsewhere. Not in the cloister, not on sanctioned or royal ground. It's difficult."

"I know. No more arguing, Tarra, not now. Rausery's back. I have to go. We'll discuss this again soon."

******

He lay on the cold stone with his hands bound behind him, similar to how he'd first entered the cloister of the Sisterhood. His head ached so much and his hair was longer now than it was then, freshly shorn by a sorcerous Elder Sister's blade. He'd been curled up before trying to protect himself against boot strikes, and Sirana had spoken to stop it despite her Elder's hostile displeasure. Now he was curled up trying to hide his aching erection.

It hadn't gone down despite his fear. He was unnerved how, after scenting no other female but D'Shea for weeks...months?...apparently any other who walked through the door would trigger his body's desire.

Not his mind, though. He did not want them; he did not care what his body said. His body betrayed him. He kept his face as blank as he could manage and looked at no one.

Fortunately so far, the two Red Sisters did not seem to care, either. In spite of what he thought he knew of the Red Sisters and their appetites, Rausery and Qivni were well in control of their urges around him, unlike some he could name. The three of them now were waiting for D'Shea, he knew that. It wouldn't be long.

He imagined this crimson-eyed Elder Rausery leaving Sirana so recently on the Surface, well and healthy and presumably trained, ready to meet the challenge and complete her mission. He hoped it was so. He couldn't tell anymore whether his dreams were visions or just fears and hopes mixed together. 

He still saw Sirana stabbed in the gut by that red-rune dagger every so often, except now he couldn't tell whether the shadow figure backlit by the Sun was female or...male. Sometimes it didn't even look elvish, but larger, less graceful. Stronger. 

The images were changing more frequently now, but in response to what? He did not know. The terror always threw him awake, and D'Shea had been there to see him sit up shaking a time or two, though most of the time he was alone.

But now he knew Sirana had been alive very recently, and it wasn't just a wishful feeling. No training accidents; that was something.

Auslan had to bite back a groan when Rausery bid someone enter; it was not D'Shea, but Thena. The instigator of his attack looked able-bodied and recovered from the last time he'd seen her, however her mean smile as she recognized him made him sick to his stomach. 

The Consort had always felt he understood his brother well, but now having met a few of these same Sisters, he felt he knew much more intimately what drove Shyntre at times. He had to admire his strength for what he'd endured. Auslan could only hope D'Shea made it here soon before they made more sport of him; he knew he wasn't as strong.

"Need something, Corpora?" Elder Rausery asked.

Though Thena seemed to try to say something, it looked as though it got clogged in her throat and she scowled and looked a little queasy herself. When she could take a full breath a moment later, she said, "Elder D'Shea is coming. Do you need someone to watch him during your meeting?"

*Oh, please, goddess,* he prayed fervently inside his head. *Goddess, no.*

"If I did, it wouldn't be any involved in the incident," Rausery said flatly.

The younger Red Sister frowned half a moment; it was clear she'd been expecting a different response, but quickly smoothed her face and bowed. She stayed at attention.

Rausery looked over at him then back at Thena. "Thank you, Corpora. That is all. See Elder D'Shea in."

Another bow, though Thena's anger and spike of heat was obvious to anyone; Rausery chose to ignore it for now. Auslan felt his heart start to slow and his breathing become easier as the Corpora left the room.

Elder Rausery must have her own reasons for what she was doing, but he admired her for a moment. Her response to Thena's suggestion had sounded...balanced. Something the cloister had seemed to be missing in her absence.




Surfacing Ch. 05



Elder D'Shea—for all intents and purposes, his owner and protector—entered the room next. She closed the door herself and murmured some arcane words, causing a momentary tightening of the air before a ward was set in place. Elder Rausery laughed softly. 

"Stepping all over each other's territory, aren't we?"

D'Shea smiled. "It's good to see you well, Rausery." She looked over at Qivni.

"She stays," Rausery answered the unspoken question. "You're welcome to bring Jaunda."

"She's busy, but thank you."

"Yes, so I've heard."

"You haven't heard a lot or he wouldn't be on your floor." D'Shea indicated Auslan.

"I'm guessing the Prime wants us to work this out on our own."

"And you want to argue in front of a male?"

"Yep. He stays, too."

Elder D'Shea looked a touch surprised for a moment—as surprised as Auslan felt hearing that—but quickly shrugged it off. "Very well."

"Let's start with my major objection, Varessa."

"And that is?"

"Your placing compulsions on four Red Sisters from my units, not yours. A bit extreme and short-sighted, especially for you."

D'Shea frowned. "Necessary. Your Thena made it clear the whole reason they attacked Auslan was because they were bored and didn't respect me enough to await any order that might come from me. You hadn't even been gone for seven cycles. That's straight insubordination and the punishment fit the crime. They suffered pain, healed, and now can't discuss their poor choice with anyone but will have plenty of time to consider it."

"Which will divide loyalties even deeper. Others can still tell what you did."

"They are the middling ones surrounded by more middling, Rausery, even you know they can only go so far. Use it to your advantage, they will follow you blindly just to spite me."

A brief exhale. "Granted, but now the useful lives of those four are significantly shortened. I want to say now this had better not be any kind of new habit, D'Shea. It'll splinter the Sisterhood and, with the Priestesses collecting themselves, we need to be strong and more unified than this. You know better than almost anyone how compulsions effect the strong-willed."

D'Shea nodded once but didn't seem to acknowledge the last sentence. Auslan wondered about whom Rausery was hinting.

"Special circumstances, Rausery, I shouldn't have reason to tighten the vice on your units again for some time. Unless you plan to leave for the Surface again next year to check on our girls?"

Rausery ignored the last sentence as well, crossing her arms. "Special circumstances? I understand you didn't give any instruction concerning our resident in solitary, not even who would feed him. You could have given them the choice to disobey or not by ordering them all not to touch this prisoner. No temptations or compulsions necessary, disobedience like that would be basis for execution and they would know it. Why didn't you?"

The other Elder smiled. "Stark black and white choices like that is no test of discipline, Rausery; all of us test the boundaries now and then. I needed to see how good they were when you weren't around to enforce it your way. It was no surprise to me that those who took the bait, and that I found lacking, had also been embarrassed by my most promising novice. They served as an example to the rest what I expect of units under my direction. Whether they liked it or not, they were mine—potentially for a long time if you did not return, quickly or at all—and they had to learn and accept the difference between us."

Qivni tensed and the corners of her mouth tightened in response to that. Rausery took a few moments to consider her next words.

"Let's focus on the present," she said with admirable levelness and self-control. "I'm back. And continued actions like this will turn the Sisterhood toward the path of the Priesthood."

D'Shea narrowed her eyes briefly but also paused to consider her response. "You would be controlled by the Priesthood right now if not for me. You don't have the connections or the background."

"Granted," her peer acknowledged readily. "But we're sliding out of balance in the cloister."

"We lost balance when the Valsharess forced that second trial."

"So don't make it worse. Why expose our underside to them?"

D'Shea shook her head once. "Everyone is still feeling the power shift, Rausery, you will see how it's been. As for the Sisters you left behind, I cannot lead them your way and if I tried, they would reject it because I can't compare. I use my strengths, as always. If it scares them to see something new, so much the better. They can't be inflexible, Rausery."

"They can't all be like Jaunda and Sirana, either. You work with your strength, you also have to see theirs and work within that, even if it means lowering your expectations for them compared to yourself. The right tool for the right job, remember?"

"Some tools are completely disposable."

Rausery rolled her eyes briefly. "That's why there's only two Elders instead of as many Priestesses, and that's why we have to see more than that in our own. Favoritism in the Sisterhood has long been a driving force, if they want more recognition or power, they push themselves for it, you don't do it for them. If they don't push themselves, then they are content where they are just being above the commoner and the Noble. If they know their limits and live within them—of which all four that you 'tested' do— you have to accept this as well or you break the tool well before its worn. And I think you just did."

"Rausery—"

"You made the same mistake with Gaelan yet actually worked within it for the last seven years with her. I'd even grant you that she was making progress, especially when she was able to top Sirana in front of others. But those others, because they were mine...? What are you going to do now?"

There was a pause as the two Elders stared at each other. This was old ground, from what Auslan could tell, but had current consequences. It had gone from a theoretical debate of the "best way" in the past to an actual case in point. The Lead seemed surprised to hear much of this.

"What would your thoughts be to giving those four back to me for a longer time?" D'Shea asked. "I have a thought."

Qivni's mouth started to open but she snapped it shut without Rausery having to look at her. The other Elder smiled just a little bit. It was not lost on Auslan that D'Shea had just asked for her peer's further input. They were on their way to negotiating a bargain or a compromise, and he didn't matter in this any more than a possession fought over that had started the disagreement.

Rausery answered, "It'd be interesting. They'd view it as a betrayal from me at first. If you fucked it up further, that would be a lasting impression on others and those four would probably have to be culled if they respected neither of us."

"If they could not adapt, then that would be the natural fate anyway. But if you instead keep and protect them from me, if you make it as though they are not at fault and you side with them against me? Favoritism without the value to back it up makes us weak, Rausery."

"Agreed." The far more tactical Elder mulled it over some more. "Tell me what you'd do, if I gave them to you."

Auslan could recognize D'Shea's mind at work. She already had a strategy half worked out but was putting the final pieces into place. She looked pointedly at Qivni, then him, then back to Rausery.

"I would have to insist on privacy."

Rausery nodded readily; apparently she'd gotten what she wanted and would be patient. Auslan could see this being an example for Qivni as a Lead; she was being groomed. He didn't understand why he was still here...although he could not help but feel fortunate for having borne witness. Understanding had always been his best tool, and he understood now: thank Lolth that this Elder was back from the Surface. 

"What about him?" Elder Rausery nodded her chin toward Auslan. "What are your plans for him?"

He felt a hot-cold wave of sensation sweep over him when the three all looked down at him, and he flexed his fingers; they had long since started to tingle.

D'Shea shook her head, her aura strengthening along with her posture. "He'll stay out of sight of the other Red Sisters and especially away from the public. He'll stay in my quarters untouched unless I say, and you won't enter uninvited again. I will overlook it this once because you don't have all the information. If you want to talk of it more now, first I return Auslan to my quarters and you send Qivni on her way."

With a low exhale, Rausery nodded. "Agreed. Will you come back here after securing him?"

"Will Qivni be gone by then?"

"She will."

"Then yes. Give me half a mark."

"Done."

D'Shea ordered him to get to his feet on his own; it took some doing without his hands. He had to roll to get to his knees, using his already-sore forehead as a counterpoint on the floor before straightening up and getting one foot at a time beneath him. He felt dizzy.

Only then did D'Shea take his arm and start leading him away, both of them ignoring the press of his erection against the wrap that had yet to soften. For him, it had long since gotten uncomfortable. He glimpsed Thena and Suna peeking into the hallway from another room, however, and his stomach tightened.

It had the fortunate side effect of partly deflating his erection at last.

"Ignore them," Elder D'Shea said, and surely they could hear her.

He didn't look around again; at least they hadn't needed to pass near the two Sisters and he could walk without his member leading the way. As the only male in the cloister, he was eager to get back into the comfortable prison that was D'Shea's quarters. 

There was no other safer place anywhere outside of that room, not for him—and hearing Rausery say so callously that the other Consorts were dying on the outside, as he feared they would, frightened and pained him more deeply than most anything except for the thought of Shyntre's death. 

Auslan could not know how long he would survive himself, but the longer he did, the better the chance for something to change, for some choice to present itself when right now there seemed none but to wait.

His Elder was wary re-entering the compromised room, keeping him behind her and instructing him to stand just inside by the closed door while she checked everything over, methodical and not to be rushed. He observed her as she hovered her hands over many different places—her desk and bookcase, scroll cabinets, the tub, the bed, her wardrobe, the walls— and Auslan felt the energy in the room changing in ways at which he could only guess. He could differentiate arcane from divine energy, but that was about it.

He waited patiently without making a sound, even as his hands felt cold and numb.

Eventually D'Shea seemed satisfied and returned to him. "Turn around."

He did, relieved when he heard her draw a dagger and take hold of the cord at his wrists. She sliced right in the middle and the instant that blood returned to his hands it caused enough prickling pain to make him grimace at the wall. He let his arms drop to his sides and flexed them repeatedly to work the blood through. He wanted desperately to rub his wrists but he kept his hands visible to her at all times.

"Turn around again, Auslan."

He did so, looking first at D'Shea's chin which was level with his eyes. She was smiling without showing her teeth.

"Wise of you not to use the knock-out powder on Rausery," she said. "I'm surprised she didn't take it from you."

"I surrendered, Elder," he said.

"Again, very wise. I give you new tools to work with, to defend yourself, and you still show restraint and judgment."

He shrugged. "Perhaps anyone powerful enough to enter your quarters uninvited is not someone I would attack regardless."

"Fair consideration." D'Shea was still smiling. "So what did you tell her?"

"Answered her questions, but only that."

"I need the details. To the best of your recollection."

Auslan closed his eyes and thought about it, recalled and told her what he could remember. Most of it seemed benign to Elder D'Shea, except for his kissing Qivni and what he said to her.

"Why did you do that?" she asked in a sharp tone.

He hesitated. Then he shook his head. "I do not know. It would have escalated her actions if Elder Rausery had allowed it. I know it was not a smart thing to do or say."

"Not for you, who can't fight back." D'Shea mulled over the rest and finally said, "Rausery asked you about Sirana immediately after you baited Qivni, correct?"

"Yes, Elder."

"And asked if she'd told you about other Red Sisters."

"Yes, Elder."

"Look at me, Auslan."

When he lifted his gaze from her chin, she narrowed eyes that nearly matched his own in its copper hue. They stared for quite some time; D'Shea's aura started to envelop him, and Auslan had to recite a meditation to maintain the stress of it. Finally, when his tremors became constant and he wasn't sure he could keep standing, she pulled back, stepping back out of his space. He felt he could breathe at last.

"That side effect of your healing, the way Sirana was acting whenever you were threatened," the Elder murmured quietly, almost to herself although Auslan did think she was talking to him, too. D'Shea refocused on him and asked bluntly, "Does she know your true name?"

He shivered and shook his head. To his dismay and shame, his eyes immediately filled with tears and a few escaped onto his cheeks when he blinked. "No."

"No, what?" D'Shea was watching so intently he got a lump in his throat that he had to swallow before he could speak.

"No, she does not know it, Elder," he said thickly. He kept watching D'Shea with moist eyes, letting her see his physical responses and hiding none of them since he knew exactly what she was after. If he did not convince her of the truth now, he feared what she would try on him next. He would offer more than she might want.

"I wish she did know, Elder. I wish that I could have given it to her then as I may be able to feel her now. I am not name-bonded to her... but I feel strong desire for her since the healing. She is the only connection I have left that feels like one with a Priestess. The one that helped me control Lolth's Gift. The distance is great, but I want her still."

Like Sirana, the Elder Red Sister seemed fascinated with a show of emotions which he normally kept hidden. Unlike Sirana, however, D'Shea also seemed disconcerted by it. She had not been expecting it, nor was she impressed or drawn to it in the least. She could even be a little disgusted. But it was so raw that he knew she believed him whether this was what she had wanted to hear or not. She would focus on the words to move past the weight of the feeling behind them.

"Hm," she grunted, frowning in thought and glancing at her door. "That is very strange. We must discuss this further, Auslan, and we will later. Unfortunately I am out of time now."

He nodded and let his gaze drop to the floor, crossing his arms to hold his elbows. His Elder left quickly and secured the door behind him, and he was alone again.

Safe. But alone.

******

Shyntre wished for more than anything he could be left alone. He hated these arrogant, self-entitled, power-grubbing Nobles. If he had once thought Sirana worthy of his derision as a young Noble prancing around Court, as an overly-ambitious third daughter of her House—well, he had never really understood anything yet. 

Since the first worship ball without the Consorts was held a few weeks ago, he had been "assigned" three Matrons, though those Matrons sometimes assigned one or two of their daughters to come to him in her stead, depending on age, interest, politics...

The very first visit had been among the most stressful encounters he'd ever had outside of the Sisterhood, and it had easily been the most distasteful. He did not like her; she seemed so ignorant and pompous with no real skills to justify her entitlements. She'd berated him for his minimal response to her touching him, criticized that he did not find her irresistible. Of course it had to be *him* and had nothing to do with her boorish behavior.

"Where's that power you displayed before, hm?" she had sneered. "Or have you been locked up in the Tower so long you've forgotten what real pussy even smells like?"

She was insulting him, trying to bait him—not unlike Sirana tended to do. Except that she had done so even submitting to the indignities of her first trials and, more importantly, had continued on to dig for the reality of his situation, his life. Just from observation, wanting to know more, she made the effort to find him and learn some of what motivated him.

This Noble wasn't even trying and the insults were only the easiest and most base, the most predictable that could be had. All assumption stated as fact.

"Forget this, I'll choose another sire," she had miffed, getting up to shrug into her silk robe. Her pride was obviously stung, after hardly trying at all to figure out what interested him.

"You'd reject the Valsharess's gift," he'd said lowly, disbelieving her stupidity even if he was of a mind to let her go and damn herself. And him, too. He knew what was expected of him, the Valsharess had said he was not to embarrass the Palace, and yet he didn't want—

"I'll ask for another," she sniped. "You aren't good enough."

The wizard felt something clutch inside his chest, constricting his breath and burning like a lava stone. He ground his teeth and lifted his hand to make a gesture as the Noble female approached the door, whispering low.

She ran nose-first into an invisible shield long before reaching it. He stood up and could approach her as she made her usual noises, as she checked her pretty nose for damage, cursing him still with her back to him.

So stupid. So worthless.

He murmured a few more arcane words to close the shield back on itself, causing it to curl to where it encircled her entirely. She pounded on the shield, yelling at him until it constricted further, close enough that she no longer had room to strike comfortably and she finally began to look concerned how tight it was getting.

He smiled as she turned around in place to look at him.

"Release me, scroll sniffer."

"Not until you've taken my seed in your womb. The queen's order."

She made more noise. Goddess...such noise! Sirana would be talking to him by now, bargaining, persuading with reason and intrigue and challenge...

...or inviting him straight out to mount her, as she had during their "study breaks." That Red Sister could say when she wanted him, and he understood he was more than good enough to climax inside her body. He still remembered, angry as he'd been, how she'd been smiling, laughing, the first time they'd fought and coupled in the library. It had incensed him at the time...but later he couldn't remember anyone else ever sounding so delighted before.

Shyntre had blocked out the noise in his shield and the memory in his head to concentrate. It had taken him a long time to figure out how to warp the force field to where it forced the Noble into more useful position. He hadn't practiced it that much yet, and had only recently discovered it possible. 

Of course, it hadn't even occurred to the privileged whelp that the wizard was straining with his own spell. Sirana would have noticed and thought of some advantage to distract him, to stop him. This silly slit only voiced empty threats and insults without cease. No wonder she couldn't think, she blurted everything that came into her head. Why had the queen chosen this to be the first? What made her deserving?

The slow pace as he learned right then and there to manipulate his energy and morph the shape of the spell suited the rising tension. The Noble's voice started getting higher pitched, more frightened as well as indignant, as Shyntre eventually turned the magical cylinder to bend the female Drow over with her backside up and her hair lying along the polished floor, her forehead a few finger-widths above it. Though he could see his own magic, to others it might look like she was floating, or being held folded in half over some unseen giant's forearm.




Surfacing Ch. 05



Soon enough, the wizard drew the invisible shield open only around her haunches and thighs; everything else was encased from ankles up to her neck. She couldn't kick or use her arms at all. She was lucky she could still breathe.

His sex was hard now; he knew she couldn't do anything to stop him from lifting her robe and setting it to rest on her lower back. He did so slowly, pressing the hem along the back of her legs and over her buttocks with his hands so she'd feel every bit of it. If nothing else, she did have an attractive backside, smooth skin, and a well-groomed sex. He could make out her personal scent, mixed with her anxiety and the sweat of her struggle.

He could make out her fear, could hear her pounding heart. Her breath shook in anger and disbelief. He could take her now, he knew as he stroked himself through his mage's robes, and he could enjoy it.

"Stop this immediately! I'll have you flogged and gutted on Lolth's altar!"

What made him discard her threat was his memory of what the Valsharess had said during Her first private visit, where She'd taken him, used him thoroughly in Her own way.

*Only imagine how they must thank you after you seed them... no matter if they are unaccustomed to your tastes...*

He slapped the young buttocks with his open hand and she shrieked. He slapped them again, watching her squirm and hearing her shout, and brushed his fingertips along the lips of her slit, sending a magical spark along the sensitive skin before slapping her buttocks again. He alternated between slaps, zaps, and caresses, changed hands, made the pattern unpredictable, even sometimes using small shocks of magic directly on her clit. It got to where she tensed to anticipate the next spanking or shock, or the next massage, and it would not come until she lost her focus and readiness. 

He enjoyed hearing her gasp so abruptly once that she inhaled her own spit and choked; her backside flexed and jiggled amusingly as she coughed deeply, and he waited for her to stop before he continued, and continued, until the tender skin burned with heat and the Noble was more mewling than snarling whenever he touched her. He refused to use his mouth of her.

He tested her sex again, finding that she had become well moistened by the treatment in spite of her outrage. Wetting two of his fingers in her pussy, he then started prodding her netherhole. She temporarily regained some fight and screeched her indignity when she felt a crackling zap her right on the tender sphincter.

"No! You'll do it properly, wizard! I'll not be mounted like one of your Towermates!"

"Really. Let us see."

Ultimately she could not stop him from violating her with his fingers. It wasn't usually his first choice in a female, most of the time, but here he wanted it so much just because she didn't. She probably wouldn't realize he was being lenient in stretching her out first. 

"Don't! You're supposed to seed my sacred cunt, you imbecile! Remember the queen's order?!"

The moment he had pressed the head of his member against her purple pucker, and for a while after he pierced her and felt how tight she was, her noises served far better to excite him now than they had before. Oh, she'd hated every thrust and it was so satisfying, but he refrained from coming then, pulling out before he reached the critical moment and giving himself time to calm down.

It had taken surprisingly little on the whole for him to get her to ask him—politely—to wash his cock clean with her tongue. He relished her expression of hate and revulsion as he kneeled in front of her. She didn't bite and he hadn't needed to say it.

"Decent. I'm ready. Beg me to seed your 'sacred cunt' now."

She'd gotten busy sucking on him again, doing an extraordinary job of cleaning every inch after he'd said that. Obviously she wanted him to spurt in her mouth, but she didn't have a hand free and probably wouldn't have had to guts anyway to try to penetrate him in return and stroke his nut gland.

It was amazing that she'd fret so when a single healing potion would cleanse any contamination to her precious sex. Perhaps she simply couldn't stand the thought alone; all the better for him to have the leverage.

Eventually he'd pulled out of her mouth as well, her spit trailing out and wetting her chin, and he finished their business together, pounding her sex as hard as he could, gripping her hips tight enough to bruise. Soon enough he peaked, squeezing his eyes shut as he felt the rush and the release inside her. When he dismissed the shield and she fell to the ground, her pussy oozing his cream, she didn't get up at first but moaned and whined a bit more on her knees, and he could take a moment to enjoy her two, twitching, violated portals.

Then something heavy settled in his chest and Shyntre felt his mood sink; he shook his head in disappointment. 

Sirana had been off the floor and facing him in a moment, even though she couldn't see his face or meet his eyes. Having every hole violated for much longer than this slit, and even then manipulating both him and that fighter during it all, Sirana had still smiled at the end, and it had been chilling. She was ready to continue the rivalry he'd forced between them and—if he was honest with himself—he hadn't been expecting it because he hadn't seen past his reason for hating her.

Shyntre had brought her unceasing focus to discover who he was upon himself.

This Noble on the Palace floor was nothing compared to that blue-eyed Drow. The weakened female had threatened much less as she left his room, and Shyntre only waited to see if the queen would send for him and punish him.

She never did.

When the high had worn off later on, he knew deep inside that he didn't want to have to go through this every time until the slit conceived. Her or the others. Not over and over, locked in this room... He would stagnate, until those base, vicious rushes of momentary power reduced him to something far less than he wanted to be.

He wouldn't be anything more next to the queen than a Draegloth next to his mother: a servant and an addict for attention and approval.

Unlike Auslan, Shyntre wasn't trained or magically gifted to stiffen at will regardless of preference—or to even not have a personal preference. The wizard had never studied any magic that would help with it because it had never been necessary. 

After that first visit by the first Noble, he tried to work on potions of temporary virility, where he wouldn't have to repeat his actions and a drug would accomplish the same end. The Valsharess had soon forbidden it. 

"Child," She had whispered, standing next to him.

He'd been sitting at his work table the very next cycle after his first breeding. He knew She hadn't come in by way of the door. She caressed his ear and his jaw, making him shiver. 

She commanded, "No."

He'd watched helplessly, unable to stop Her when She had broken his bottles and spoiled his scrolls, ripped the specific pages from the books. She had threatened to take more from him if he kept trying to discover a short cut.

"You do not need this. You already know how. You are more than capable, the Sisterhood saw to that." Her smile had been slow, beautiful, and terrifying. "Do what is necessary, and fear no reprisal, dear child."

For the fear those words had caused, She may well have said that She'd condemned him to the Drider pit.

She said next, "You are not wearing your ring."

His pulse surged again. "Forgive me, Valshar—"

"Give it to Us."

It had been in his pocket, and perhaps that fact pleased Her a little more than if it had been away in a drawer or a box. He'd dropped the ring into Her palm, and then Her cool, smooth fingers had taken his left wrist and raised his hand up above his head but where he could still see it and Her tawny, golden eyes.

The young wizard hadn't been able to prevent tensing as She lined up the ring with his third finger. Perhaps She'd only forgiven it because he hadn't curled his fingers closed; he hadn't actually tried to refuse Her. He made the conscious effort to keep his trembling hand straight.

Shyntre felt nothing very strong, barely more than a light tingle of magic, as the Valsharess settled the silver band in place. She had closed his hand between both of Hers, firm and strong, pressing his for a moment before releasing, and the wizard thanked her in a thick voice because that was the best thing to say. It was hard to breathe.

"I-I...I'm sorry..."

"We understand you did not have the strength to do it yourself."

She'd commanded him to strip out of his robes then, to remove his emerald pendant, to remove everything so the only thing he wore was the silver band. For only the second time since he'd moved to the Palace, She had amplified and fed on his aura. His eventual orgasm on the bed had been so strong it had made his head hurt; like before, he'd managed to force it happen when he'd reached the limit of his endurance.

The queen had seemed pleased with him, and She left soon after. Shyntre was given almost a week alone, seeing none but servants, before the next Noble came to him.

He had no other options for the time being. It was becoming harder to control his temper. It was worse that the queen did not punish him when any other male would have already been executed for some of the things he'd done. He needed some fear of consequence to keep himself from pushing a little farther each time.

As many times as he had wished death on a variety of females...he'd never seen it done by his own hand, or his own spell. He didn't want to see it happen in this cage, but he suspected the queen was selecting Her Nobles based on willpower, on how difficult it would be to reduce their pride far enough in a "session" to make them do what they had never before visualized themselves doing. The easiest had been first, but the challenge was increasing.

It would go a little farther every time, because it would be required to break them.

Like before in the cloister, he needed to control his hate, to slow it down, to keep the change from happening too fast, or he would forget any direction, any goal he'd ever thought he could take for himself. In hindsight, it had been easier in the cloister because he'd only needed to endure.

Now he had to act.

Sometimes he dreamed about his brother, also held captive by a feared Matron, almost the same as him, and he wondered about the Consort's welfare. How was Auslan handling the Red Sisters and especially D'Shea? Shyntre wasn't even sure where to start guessing; the Consort seemed so fragile at times and yet...there had always been something about him that convinced the wizard he deserved to live. Even if he could not do much to protect his body, someone had always stepped forward to do it for him.

However, that was before they had stopped using the Consorts to breed with favored Nobles.

Every time when Shyntre himself was breeding, he couldn't help but compare the Nobles to Sirana; he always found them lacking. The wizard wondered whether she was even still alive on the Surface, and if she was, then whether she still carried her child, the one conceived in a desperate moment, a desire by both parents to survive for a while longer. 

He had the annoying, reoccurring thought that just because it had worked for her at the time, it didn't mean it would last. She could easily lose the baby, lose her life. Even if she survived her task, Shyntre couldn't see how she could possibly keep the pregnancy going past a certain point on the Surface. It was too dangerous, too taxing. Did she even realize that? Perhaps not. Why would she? She'd never borne a child before, and what he knew now about her that Auslan had told him, she had never expected to being barren for most of her young life. She hadn't paid much attention.

He couldn't even blame her if she had no other choice at some point but to end it. Better that she live if the unborn couldn't; no sense in them both dying. Despite the queen's tendency toward forcing a Red Sister to give birth if she conceived, if She knew about it, She might even agree in this case. Pyric absolutes were rarely ever seen in any Drow.

He could not stop thinking so about his own circumstances, or Auslan's, or Sirana's. None of them were dead yet, as far as he knew. Shyntre couldn't very well give up when neither of them had. He couldn't get so angry that he became a mindless tool so easily wielded at will by the Valsharess.

*How did Auslan tolerate it for so long without seeming to change much? ...Why is this happening this way?*

The wizard thought a bit about the longer consequences of a few of his fellow scholars humbling more of the Nobles in the privacy of the Palace bedrooms—some females receiving a taste of her own punishments visited back on her and perhaps eventually receiving pleasure from the humiliating secret. He guessed it may be the new forbidden fruit, brought out in the void of no longer having that tangible trophy in the Consorts. It would take time to product something physical, so something immaterial had to do for now...

No more special breeders; now the treat was in males who could wield some temporary, granted power, who could learn to give the Nobles something intangible that was theirs, and only theirs. So they believed. How would that change the game among the Nobles?

Shyntre wondered whether that might make some of the Nobles resilient at the threat of some of the Red Sisters' own pleasures, though not all. Then what? He saw the Sisterhood adapting to it rather than becoming less effective, which would escalate, to a certain level, more violence and terrorism than had been necessary before the Priestesses lost the Consorts to the Purge.

Why would the Valsharess want that? Or did She foresee a different result? Had She already seen something like this before?

How would it affect the lives of males in general? Some of them could be taught in secret to pleasure his Noble female a certain way. Of those males who took to the game, what would they do with it? Would they try to play power games of their own, using the potential shame of the Noble against her, if her penchant were revealed to her peers? Would she care? Would the society at large? How would the Nobility change with a path like this?

Or it might only be temporary. The Priestesses were working on regaining what they had lost, too. What they figured out might change everything again, and this—what he was being made to do— was only an entertaining diversion.

Then what would become of him? He would have to adapt again, find a new purpose. He could not become so engrossed in a new power game that he missed the eventual rebalance with the Priesthood. It would make all the difference whether he would still be favored by a powerful female...or if the Nobles remembered what he had done to them and demanded his sacrifice to Auranka and her Driders after the Priesthood became strong again.

The queen could grant it if it suited Her, if She didn't have another purpose for him, exactly the same way She had granted to the Priestesses that vindictive "penance" of the Red Sisters. Shyntre hadn't forgotten that the Valsharess sacrificed the three youngest of the Sisterhood to calm the Priesthood...even after those same Sisters had cleaned up most of the Priestesses' own fuck-up in Wilsilra.

No matter what he did or what the Valsharess really wanted of him, his fate was linked to those he didn't believe would—or could— truly change anything. It had been going this way for thousands of years in a state of constant flux, and the queen had only the desire to regain equilibrium.

*No one can win this. It can't be balanced. I want to see it all crumble down...*

If he had the power, he would collapse this entire cavern and bury everyone in it alive.

...except for his brother. He didn't deserve it. His very name was a concept that Shyntre had never known existed before, and even when he'd heard it, it had taken him more than a century before he thought he understood what it meant. Strangely enough, that had come only as he'd come to understand the Sisterhood and learned more of the Surface.

It made him wish for things that didn't exist here, and it had ensured that he would always be raging against his place in this underworld. Raging until something killed him, or until something changed him to where even his brother wouldn't recognize him.

He wanted to be free before that happened.

******

"Lelinahdara," the prison guard murmured, bowing her head in reverence.

The Priestess acknowledged her and motioned a graceful hand toward the main gate of the dungeon below the Palace. It was made of bars so as to better let the sounds of below come through. The pathways were not cut or dressed stone; it looked as though one might be walking a slow, downward grade, formed either by water or by molten earth, into an endless, lost pathway in the Underdark.

That was not the case, of course. This place was well known and not at all forgotten, and there were more ways in and out other than the main gate—just as there were more guards than just this one that she could see—but the illusion of emptiness and likeness to some visions of the Abyss brought despair that much sooner to the inhabitants.

There were "common" cells that held twenty bodies or more, and they were their own microcosm of survival. It took care of any possibility of overcrowding as nature took its course with limited resources and the competition forced in a close space. There were also solitary cells, which would be the only place where the Valsharess would have seen fit for any pregnant Noble captured in the Purge.

As the Priestess walked calmly down the middle of a tunnel with recessed, iron doors on either side, she ignored threats, cries, and offers alike, her green eyes focused on her path. Her mind considered the commoner matron, Daelina, who had found one of the alternate ways out only a year ago. 

Knowing what the commoner would have had to do to accomplish that escape, the Priestess smiled that there still was such potential to be found among the non-Noble Drow. Perhaps Wilsira had been right that they had found a branch of the family that had produced Elder Rausery, even if she herself had been an orphan. All the better that they'd taken Daelina's daughter to breed for them.

Tarra thought next of how Wilsira had told her of Sirana cleaning up that little slip for them, how she had burned the body after taking it away from the crowds listening to her screeching. Already poisoned either before or during her escape, Daelina had been captured alive by the Red Sister at first, but she was dead when Sirana caught up to the Priestess's coach a short while later. 

Sirana may or may not have been experienced enough to effectively interrogate the deranged Drow, and Wilsira had not said whether the novice had discovered anything useful. D'Shea had never mentioned anything about it, so Tarra was tempted to think it had been a dead-end. Her own ally would not have remembered enough detail of the forming room to make sense of a poisoned prisoner's rambling repeated much later by a novice Red Sister.

At best, Sirana herself might have made some connection recently when Wilsira had pulled that stupid, ultimately lethal move of dragging the Sister down into the forming room below the Sanctuary... It was truly unknown to Tarra how much Sirana had seen or been told.

Wilsira had to have lost her mind. As if D'Shea would have let that go without reprisal, had the Priestess lived and it had gone any further than it had. Kerse had shattered that embittered path by acting on his own. In the end, it was for the betterment of the Drow race. As Tarra understood it now, the Illithid prisoner had started the developmental change in Kerse as its best option to escape, strengthening and encouraging his Abyssal half... which had saved the pure Drow blood from irreversible corruption from the Abyss itself.




Surfacing Ch. 05



There was irony in all that, for certain.

Yes, the escapee from a year ago was a dead-end for now, but if D'Shea and the Valsharess were proven right and Sirana returned, then Tarra would have to probe her further about that confrontation with Wilsira and Kerse down below. She had to have her contingencies and for that, she had to know what others knew.

This was assuming her own proposal to the queen came to fruition and thus still had some bearing on her own future.

The Priestess stopped beside one iron door to look in, seeing Curgia's outline in the pitch black: curled on her cot, blankets wrapped tightly around her feet and her pillow clutched over her ears to block out the sounds around her. Her belly was swollen, the untainted unborn inside over halfway through its development, and her food dish was empty. The Noble was eating and doing well as could be expected.

Shaking her head, Tarra left without saying a word. She wanted the Noble child birthed and rather hoped it was a daughter; sons were so much more difficult to make useful beyond breeding, working, or fighting. As for the mother, it was well and good if D'Shea thought she could use the young Noble, but the Priestess still wanted someone in his or her right mind to bond with Auslan. 

She didn't care about the sex of the binder, as D'Shea apparently did. Tarra knew of at least four male Sanctuary servants who'd formed secret pairs and several Noble sons at Court who thought they were not being watched. 

The Priestess had begun watching for the tell signs in others when she'd first seen Shyntre and Auslan when they were younger; it was more common than most any powerful female wanted to believe. It was a particular blindness that was unfortunate, when female couplings were so common and accepted. The Valsharess Herself did nothing to dispel that blindness; She had always been oddly silent on the subject, neither for or against it.

Maybe D'Shea's only objection was that it was her own son, to whom she'd never had an opportunity to speak. She simply didn't know him except through Tarra—and Tarra had lost most of his development once he'd been removed to the Tower. Phaelous's words could rarely be taken at face value, although Elder Rausery had had some interesting things to say about him, his will, and his two trips to the Surface.

Lelinahdara briefly lifted out of her thoughts to touch the stone between the doors of two large common rooms; she murmured a chant and felt the stone vanish as she stepped into a pocket space not unlike the Sisterhood's network of spy tunnels through the Palace and Sanctuary.

That network was one of many secrets she kept from her fellow Priestesses, related to her role as liaison between the Sisterhood and the Sanctuary and the fact that she was favored to rise quickly in the ranks, even being two centuries younger than D'Shea and three younger than the High Priestess. The queen had bred her bloodline long enough; she knew of her potential. The current High Priestess was mostly a place-holder.

The Valsharess had wanted Lelinahdara to help D'Shea create those spy tunnels, and to keep them secret from all but the Prime on how they were made. Not even the High Priestess knew, something Tarra found encouraging. The highest Red Sister knew, but Tarra's own superior did not. After watching and plotting for a century, it had been her first true test given by the queen, making it worth foregoing her arcane training for divine.

This particular pocket would take her where the Priestess wanted to be with none the wiser, not even a prison guard. Wilsira had always used the transport circles in her quarters because it was instant and mostly private, but those sensitive to arcane magic as well as divine could always feel when that happened. It was like a shock pulse of sound and caused a tremble in one's chest. 

Tarra had always been one of those who could feel it, and that fact had probably saved D'Shea's life all those years ago. She hadn't known what was happening, nor could she follow or affect it in any way, but she had been put on alert and knew there was much yet to discover about the then-Lead Sister and her unborn son, sired by the Valsharess's own favored headmaster wizard.

The two female mages may have been trained separately but they were still of the same essence in many ways.

The younger Priestess considered her plans further as she walked in the void-like silence. Both before and after D'Shea had served and survived Wilsira's purpose in the forming room, Tarra had tended the Lead enough to know when things had changed in the Sanctuary. She knew now that the sorceress Sister was not able to trust any memories around that time, and had known then that D'Shea had been silenced even from babbling of them in a fevered or drugged state. The liaison tried both options at different times.

Tarra had begun her campaign to apprentice to Wilsira soon after Shyntre was born. It had taken a lot of time to become involved in that process, but as of barely thirty years ago, she had been to the forming room at last. She had been able to study some of the theory of what Wilsira did to create the Consorts. She knew enough now that she could potentially form any combination that she wanted from any pair, and she only needed a healthy womb to carry the result to term. 

The pregnancy and birth of a Consort were still essentially natural; the baby even adopted some of the functional inheritance of the surrogate. In that way, a Consort possessed the combined traits of three Drow, not two; two females and one male, allowing for more diversity in fewer generations than the purely sexual conception.

As a result of the scarring from her divine initiation and the following birth of her Draegloth, Tarra, like all Priestesses, could not bear further of her own body. It was a necessary sacrifice for the power of serving Lolth directly.

But that had seemed to matter less and less with time. To the Priestesses, the Consorts soon became the children of their blood if not their body, and Tarra knew it was only a matter of time before she could make daughters as well. No Priestess had ever birthed a daughter...but soon that might change, but only if she could make the last connection on how to control them if she did. 

That control would be trickier than with males; not a simple matter of breeding them to be more docile or breaking them to conform to their place in society. The females would have more potential, and more strength of will.

That one part, the control, was what Wilsira had kept jealously secret. Through sheer Lolth's Whim, D'Shea had captured and kept one of the mature and more powerful Consorts before they had all lost their value and had been damned to die per the Valsharess. 

Lelinahdara, D'Shea, and the Prime had needed to confess what they possessed before too long, they had realized, but had had a plan ready before doing so. They had asked for his stay of execution. The queen had listened and granted it for as long as he remained in the cloister, out of all view of the public, while Lelinahdara worked to follow through on her own proposal.

The Priestess could use this last, healthy, and mature Consort, though her purpose wasn't to make more of him. That time had passed; she would have to show the queen something new. Something that other Drow would want.

It was so obvious to her that the fastest way to Auslan's center was through the young wizard. If they couldn't have Sirana—who might've been preferable since she was compromised similarly to Curgia already, but still more loyal and reasonable through her formidable will— then it had to be Shyntre. 

With this kind of creation magic at her command, why should it matter if males wanted to mount each other the same way it was accepted that females did? The favored Priestess could still use their essence if needed, but she also needed Auslan's name in someone else's head to figure out that last link of control.

She herself had to be unaffected by the Consort, standing on the outside and experimenting with the one bound to him, similar to how she'd once tried to cleanse Sirana of the Duergar imprint. That particular theory had never worked, but it held such interesting possibilities and Tarra had learned something about permanent changes to the mind. 

If Sirana somehow returned before Tarra managed to bind Shyntre, then the Priestess thought she had a head-start working on the novice Sister, no matter what D'Shea had told her of her newly-discovered resilience to mental probing.

Regardless, the Priestess just didn't trust the bound one to be Curgia. She had already determined that the Noble did not know the Consort's name, regardless of the powerful effect that his magic had had on her when he saved her life after that miscarriage. Curgia would break under the strain; Sirana or Shyntre would not.

There followed one other problem, however, about which D'Shea was correct: the Valsharess and the fact that She wanted the wizard for Her own purposes at the moment. The timing was deplorable; Tarra did not have unlimited time to prove she could do what she said, but the queen not only had sent Sirana away but had made her move at last with claiming Phaelous's son after two centuries of mostly watching him. 

All Tarra could hope was that D'Shea would come to her senses and ask the queen for his temporary use in the cloister. They only had to get the two boys in the same room together and leave them alone along enough. She was certain of that.

Tarra smiled now as she clearly remembered D'Shea's face when the Priestess had said exactly this to her. 

The Elder's response: "You do realize that 'same room' would be *my* room, possibly on *my* bed, yes?"

The liaison had needed to suppress her laughter at the time. "Well, it could be glowing with energy rather quickly—"

"I am not like Wilsira to be attracted to the scent of my own son's magic."

"And how would you know? You haven't been well near him for the whole of his life and now you still haven't spoken with him. Instead you seem to prefer Auslan's company with as much as I understand you have conversed with him."

"Tarra!" she had barked, and the younger Priestess had sighed and bowed an apology. The Elder sighed and nodded, then asked, "Answer me this: if you only need them to couple, why did it not happen when he coupled with the Sisters? He came then."

Tarra shook her head. "It can't be forced that way. Force only triggers his defenses. Ask Moria."

D'Shea had nodded as if she'd already guessed but was just confirming it.

"How long will you let Shyntre sit in the Palace when the Sisterhood might have legitimate use for him?" the Priestess had asked.

D'Shea had narrowed her eyes at her ally. "Until his sponsor returns."

So now Elder Rausery had returned at last. Tarra looked forward to something changing in the cloister again very soon with the tactician's direct, predictable methods once again forming the backbone of the Sisterhood. 

As much as D'Shea affected the entire City around her in ways that few would ever realize, she was still tentative with anything direct concerning her son. It would take time to coax her into taking more ownership of him after centuries of watching other females claim and use her child, after centuries of avoiding him, of feeling sick just looking at him.

That was, if it wasn't already too late with the Valsharess.

Lelinahdara came to the exit that would lead her into the forming room, reflecting on this marvel she and D'Shea had created together. How long it seemed to take for one to pass through these secret tunnels sometimes depended on how much thinking one had yet to do. It could pass in almost an instant when one was focused on the moment and had purpose, or it could be private, protected solitude in which to take a long, thoughtful stroll. On the other side, it was the same amount of time.

It had definitely felt like a long stroll this time, but now she had to focus on what was on the other side.

The Priestess slowly entered the forming room, inhaling as her senses detected the usual dankness and stale air, the energy of the runes on every wall, the soft shuffle of a body in the back room...but also an added hum of another aura.

She recognized it and headed for the hallway.

"Phaelous."

The elder mage was kneeling outside the cell that housed their last remaining surrogate mother. He had food and water in his hands, so either he'd just arrived as well or he was teasing the prisoner. The blond hair and fine lines she knew were in his face were not apparent in the dark, but the power of his aura was enough to seem to blind her for a moment.

"Ah, Priestess. Do you come to tend her as well?"

Lelinahdara held out her empty hands. "Had planned on it later. So when did you figure out how to adjust a circle in the Tower to come here?"

"It did not take long once the Valsharess told me it was here, Priestess."

Tarra grunted, trying not to show her irritation. She approached the cell enough to be able to see Daelina's daughter, who was well over halfway through her pregnancy. She was young, of perfect bearing age and proper blood-trait, and carried literally the last of the Consorts, which was still moving in her distended abdomen as of two cycles ago. 

"How does she fare?"

Phaelous shrugged, finally setting the sustenance on the inside of the bars. There was a spark and a crackle of energy as he did so, but he did not seem to feel it. "Mute. She may be returning to reverie far more often than is good for her."

"She can't hurt herself, headmaster, I've seen to that. What is a little extra sleep to pass the waiting?"

"If she should stop feeding herself—"

"Her survival instinct is too strong, that's why she was chosen. So are the hunger pains."

"If you say, Priestess. I sense something odd. Mother and child start sharing dreams after a time, do they not?"

"It is probably her best source of exercise."

Phaelous lifted himself up slowly off his knees to stand. He was fairly tall for a male, and his dark robes with gold embroidery seemed to enhance it somewhat. His gold-flecked gaze was bolder as well; he was always unfailingly polite but he seemed intimidated by no one except the Valsharess—and Tarra could not gauge even that very well because she had only seen the headmaster and the queen in the same room one time.

"Have you ever had a surrogate learn a Consort's name, like you did your own Draegloth son in the womb, Tarra?"

The younger Priestess frowned, resenting the tactic to catch her off guard. "I don't care if you are favored by the queen, do not use my name so."

He bowed and spoke an elegant apology.

She flipped her hand as it batting it aside. "The Valsharess filled you in."

"Much is changing still in the City, Priestess. She wants me to know the why as well as the where."

Of course She did. All the better for him to spy on them all for Her.

He was watching her with an expectant air.

"To answer your question," she continued, "no, it has never happened before. A Consort's name isn't discovered until he matures and his virginity is taken by a Priestess. It's different than a Draegloth."

"And if this one should learn it in the womb, Priestess?"

She withheld a sigh. She had not come here to debate with a wizard. "It is fertility magic, not Abyssal. A fetus is not fertile, the bond can't happen."

"Do you have a contingency nonetheless?"

"Just say it, wizard. Why would you think it necessary?"

He indicated a particular rune over his head and to Tarra's left, close to the altar and she followed his direction. "That encourages a controlled Abyssal surge when called upon. Originally intended, perhaps, to amplify our late Priestess's power through her late son? Your surrogate can see the rune, and there is Abyssal blood in her unborn."

Lelinahdara stared at him. "So what do you suggest, Phaelous? Move her?"

"That would be best, Priestess, if you have another place."

Tarra finally focused on the silent surrogate in the cell; normally there were very little care needed in this magic-soaked room so she'd gotten into the habit of not looking directly at the breeding bodies. Now she needed to see her as Phaelous was seeing her.

Daelina's daughter had her eyes open and her head and one shoulder resting against the wall, her legs curled under her. She wore a thick, gaurro-wool, one-piece dress, unstylish and unflattering, but only intended to keep her warm anyway. She was not focused on anything, certainly not the rune Phaelous had indicated...but she was staring in the general area and perhaps the old Drow was right in that it did not feel entirely usual down here now.

Tarra could appreciate the wizard's caution, a bit embarrassed she hadn't caught it herself.

The Valsharess wanted this baby male birthed, though none but Her really knew what would become of him. Like many unborn now awaiting birth in the dungeons, he was tainted and would not be allowed to mature. Some experimentation was planned on the infant to try to better understand what Wilsira had done to their race—another reason the queen was being generous with Tarra's various requests, much to D'Shea's advantage— but in the end this last Consort would likely be a sacrifice. 

Auslan was her only Consort granted by the queen to try to put their rituals back on the right path again; the rest of the adults had been or would be sacrificed to appease Her and the Nobles...just as the three Red Sisters had been assigned penance for their role in the collapse of a long-lasting part of their culture to appease the Priestesses.

Daelina's daughter and the unborn in this cell would be offered as the final opportunity for the Priesthood to explain what had gone wrong in the first place.

Tarra would never learn this unborn's name, but if she would try to breed again, she would need a surrogate ready. This particular commoner was already chosen, already captured, already tested and conditioned, and the Priestess wanted to keep her beyond the first birth. The young Drow could wait and perhaps bear a second child with time, once Tarra was ready to try with her. It may be the start of a new hierarchy in the Sanctuary, and it could spread out to the Court and the Palace, even the Houses, with time.

She certainly couldn't get lax in the forming room's security now, despite Phaelous's presence changing that anyway.

Releasing a soft breath, Tarra chanted to be able to touch the lock, drawing the complicated symbols needed to ease the magic loose and open the door. The surrogate didn't move as the Priestess waited at the threshold and gestured to Phaelous.

"You enter and encourage her to stand. She should obey."

The wavelengths that formed the old mage's face in the dark changed into a disconcerting smile even if she still couldn't see the details, and he stepped into the cell with little apparent wariness. He coaxed the pregnant Drow to her feet—and as Tarra had said, she obeyed. After only a small stumble as she reacquainted herself with the weight of her belly, the surrogate went where he guided her. Her face was blank and a bit of saliva leaked from the corner of her mouth.

Phaelous held lightly to the commoner's shoulders as he looked back at Tarra retrieving the food and drink and securing the old cell. "To the next room, perhaps?"

She nodded. "We can hold up to three with the current runes. Let us take a look which is best."

Tarra did not leave it only to Phaelous to study the walls from various angles, even if she did take his opinion into account. She assured herself there were no Abyssal runes within easy view in the cell she then selected to hold the surrogate. Once she'd patiently set everything right again, she closed her eyes and drew in a breath, trying to detect any change.




Surfacing Ch. 06



Author's Notes: This story is erotic fantasy written by Etaski. I reserve the right to be listed as the author of this story, wherever it is posted. If found posted anywhere except Literotica.com with this note attached, this story is posted without my permission. (c) Etaski 2013

This is 12 Lit pages long; even longer than Sufferance Ch 15. Hm. It is not the destination but the journey, perhaps? Please enjoy. 

******

Chapter 6

We each accepted that all were watching the other; I'd started it by riding the horse backward as Gavin led us out of the narrow mountain valley. I liked that there was no pretending, and enjoyed even more that none but Kurn made it a point to hold my gaze for an unnatural stretch. It was easy to smile at the moment and it contrasted sharply with my company, so I kept at the least a small, contented smirk inside my hood, and a full grin where appropriate.

I was having a good time; I did not realize before meeting Sarilis that this all might be so entertaining.

In return, Kurn's face hardened, Castis tried for cool observation; Rithal more or less ignored it, and Mathias showed just enough fascination to serve my purposes later.

"Enough, apprentice." The Hellhound kicked his stallion forward with a burr and a snort as he moved out in front. "No more undead, you do not need to lead until we get closer to Manalar."

Gavin shrugged very slightly and said nothing, doing nothing as the Ma'ab gestured his brother forward, who coaxed Mathias along with them. I overheard them suggesting that Mathias help keep watch for game as well as scout ahead. Rithal glanced at me, and I back at him, and he eventually made his way just ahead of Gavin's horse. There was no one behind us now, no one behind me. It was safe to turn around and be more comfortable for a while, as we had such a long way to go.

A horse's hindquarters were among the broadest and most round I'd seen on a beast of burden; I thought perhaps I could swing a leg around one way until I was sitting sideways. Easily done...but then Gavin was in the way to prevent my other leg from coming around again. A good way to dismount, but not so for turning around.

"Slow a moment, Gavin," I said over my shoulder. "I will turn now."

"Uncomfortable, is it?" he grumbled.

"Not bad, but I will have no purchase if you kick the beast into run."

The mare resisted a bit in allowing the other horses move forward without her but came to a stop at last and I used one hand on Gavin's shoulder and another on the horse's rear end to come to a crouch and turn once again. It was not as easy as the first time.

"I do hope you don't wriggle this much as a rule," the apprentice said. It seemed he was in a perpetually sour mood, regardless if he was short of sleep.

"I do not ignore my body's needs, I will move as needed," I answered, loosely wrapping arms around his torso and I felt him tense.

I felt something made me pause as well. He was wearing some firmer form of protection beneath that tattered, grey robe.

"Hm. Come, Gavin, catch us up."

He kicked his mare and we moved forward again at a very quick walk, as if the animal was indeed anxious to catch up to the others. I could only barely see over Gavin's shoulder if I straightened my back and stretched up, especially since he wasn't slouching with me sitting behind him. Why were male humans so tall?

Really, I only had to remind myself of the bounty of flora and fauna around me, as well as the unlimited ceiling above us, to answer that idle complaint. I was curious to see a female human at some point to compare.

"You were right about Kurn wanting to lead," he observed.

I was confused. "I did not guess. He said exactly so."

He grunted. "And compliance equals agreement?"

"To a point, in ones like Castis and Mathias." I smiled even if he couldn't see it. "I wager you know better, apprentice. Had you any poison that would escape Sarilis's detection, you would have used it, yes?"

He didn't say anything at first, as we could see the other horses in the trees ahead of us now, though they had never been out of earshot. Before we caught up and dropped the conversation, however, Gavin did add one thing.

"He has developed resistance to poisons over the years, likely in response to meeting your Elder."

I smiled to myself. Notes such as this were exactly why I wanted time with the apprentice before acting against his master.

*****

After we diverged from the meager cart trail that had been called a road, turning South rather than continuing North toward the nearest town where Gavin usually got supplies, I wondered for half of that first day why we rode horses in the mountains at all. 

Considering how often we needed to take the long way around a trench versus the direct route, for how jarring the ascents were as the horses heaved their heavy way up a slope and how much of a test of nerves it was to lean back and let the beast pick her way down—with regular slips of its single-toed hooves—I was certain that I could make much better time on my own two feet.

I also genuinely missed my sure-footed guarro in the Underdark. This terrain would be no challenge for him...if he were adapted to Sunlight.

"Why do you all ride these creatures?" I asked lowly when our line had space enough to be less bunched.

Gavin paused as if considering the question. He did not understand. "What else would we ride?"

"In these mountains?" I asked with some incredulity. "These horses cannot be natural to them. We climb faster with our own limbs."

The apprentice considered that as well. It was a new thought for him. "They will be more useful when we reach more hills and flats and we can let them run."

"Is that where horse is found wild?" I asked. "Not dense forest and slopes. Those are for lighter, cloven-foot creatures. Deer, goat, and such."

"Now you mention it...yes. But I know of no tamed riding goats or deer for mountain travel. Perhaps we should ask Rithal what his kind uses?"

I barely caught the tone of his voice; he was teasing me in that deadpan way of his. I took the other tangent instead. "And what kind is Rithal? What do you mean?"

"Mountain dwarf," he answered.

"Instead of what?"

A small shrug. "Hill. Arctic. Jungle."

I felt my pulse rise somewhat at the opening of such a subject. "Tell me of them, apprentice. What you know."

"Not great detail, I'll admit," Gavin said.

"And I know not at all. I am interested."

The necromancer's apprentice certainly was a scholar at heart; my asking to know what he knew did not trigger that sour pulse of his. In some way, he liked to show how much he knew. Much like my mage back home.

"We may see Hill dwarves where we are going... you know what a hill is, don't you?"

"Rounded bumps of land, smaller and less treacherous than mountains."

"Good enough. The arctic and jungles are too far from here; we won't see them."

"Have you before?"

"I've never seen them, only read about them. Think of this larger land as the moderate one, with weather that changes frequently but not extremely, and it lies between two extremes that change very little. Extreme cold with unending snow and ice, and extreme heat that will smother you."

My brows drew down. "And dwarves live there?"

"As do others, just in fewer numbers. I should think one must be determined and more durable than most to stay in such places."

I pondered this, trying to imagine it as the burdened horse picked her way carefully along behind the others. If this part of the Surface was the more tolerable in-between...it was already more extreme to me than the underground, where weather did not touch and the ambient temperature remained consistent with only the movement of elemental air or water or fire to change the quality of the stone. 

All the Surface was exposure and a mix of the elements...but Gavin was telling me there were places more exposed than this. Like the red sand dunes beneath a bright Sun in a clear blue Sky. No snow and very dry, extreme heat however I was not certain what Gavin meant by "smother," so perhaps...

"Is the 'jungle' covered in red sand?" I asked.

I saw Gavin's brow draw down in confusion as he looked over his shoulder. "Sand? No...a jungle has even more green plants than here. It is choked with greenery and water, very wet."

I blinked and glanced around again. To imagine such a place...

He said, "I had not mentioned it because I don't know of any desert dwarves, but if you talk of a place of red sand, it's likely a desert. Another environment we will not find near. Heat in the day, very cold at night, but dry. No water. Few plants or life of any kind to be found amongst those sandy dunes."

"Desert," I repeated.

"You know of 'red sand' but don't know what the land is called?" he asked with some incredulity.

"I have only been on the Surface a short time, apprentice," I cooed, covering that slight twinge of discomfort at his being quite right. "I say I am doing well, yes?"

"Your kind must keep to themselves quite a lot."

"It is a far way, Gavin. Imagine yourself going underground when you have no way to see except to light a torch and show all hunters where you are. How dangerous would it be for you and how far would you travel?"

He grunted. "Point taken."

"So the red sand dunes are a desert."

Gavin nodded. "South and East."

"The direction we head now."

"If you kept going for another few months and found enough water. But there is nothing there. Humans try to cross to trade, perhaps, but otherwise skirt it if they can. No dwarves I've ever heard of. Just red sand and scorpions."

"Scorpions?"

Gavin let out a breath, apparently at the edge of his patience for sharing all his knowledge at one time. "A desert arachnid. I think it would look to you something like... a flattened crayfish. It scuttles about with a set of pinchers, but with a long tail and poisonous stinger."

"Crayfish," I murmured, using the description to try to link it with something I'd know... "Is it colorless in light?"

"Yes. They live in dark caves and swim where there is plenty of water."

I nodded; I knew the creature then. So a "scorpion" was flatter and poisonous and could survive on little water in sand...

"Like spiders, maybe," Gavin interrupted my thought, "they're small but deadly. Unlike a spider, they hunt and spin no webs."

My mind seemed to quiet down as that link teased my imagination. I tried to remember what I could of my dreams where I'd seen the desert...Auslan's dreams, as it turned out. I'd had one such dream while on the Surface, resting inside Tamuril's forest dwelling, with the running horse and the grey spot on the horizon. Would I have more such dreams? What was the significance to dream of a place I had never seen before and was reported to be one of the most hostile on the Surface?

This returned to my mind several times as we rode along and I watched the land around me with my hood up. The place in my dreams shared a venomous, eight-legged hunter, a bit like the spiders I carried with me, but made for the Sunlight.

*****

With Rithal's subtle nudging, Kurn found easier hollows and flatter areas following streams next to which to ride, the mountains rising on either side of us. I could smell the water and the grass along with the stone; I breathed in deeper the overall scent of the landscape, so much more complex than underground. The constant pace with only brief stops for food and water, stretching and passing waste, allowed for a lot of time to prod Gavin for conversation, and if he was unwilling or reticent, I could leave him be to consider other things.

The horse allowed me to conserve energy, which meant that I needed to eat less. That was good since I had not had much time to forage this day. I would have time during the night, as I already knew I would not rest in reverie nearly as long as these men would—and that would likely be up in a tree somewhere unless I found a den or something. Water was plentiful right now in that we remained close to a source which was leading us out of the mountain range.

The Sun was warmer than it had been when I'd first arrived on the Surface; I used my hood constantly and tolerated the dull ache behind my eyes that remained even after these months. When I noticed that I looked forward most to the shaded parts beneath the trees, and grimaced when we left the shadow and passed long just grass and rock, it was clear that I was starting to feel overly warm in direct Sun.

Elder Rausery had suggested ways of keeping cool in our durable, mottled black and grey outfits. Traveling at night was one option as Summer encroached...if I was walking by myself. The horses were not night creatures and would likely stumble and break a leg traveling rough terrain at night. My companions also were not adapted to such travel; at best, it would be inefficient and slow. They would likely get lost.

Wearing less was another option, letting the air touch the sweat, but the Sun burned us quickly and the risk of losing an important tool was higher every time it was off my person. Nonetheless, I would have to bathe every so often; I couldn't sleep in my armor every night, even if it was made lighter and better than what Gavin and Mathias seemed to wear, and it was much more flexible and far quieter than the half plate that Rithal and Kurn wore.

This was something I had not thought through entirely in the high excitement at Sarilis's Tower. Dealing with heat and Sun while travelling in the day, and maintaining some cleanliness while traveling with Human men who stared at me even fully clothed. It was not that my being watched while nude would cause me any distress, but rather that I had to keep things in perspective and weigh risk and benefit.

I remembered how I intended to interpret seeing a male showing more skin than a wizard's robes tended to reveal. It was invitation to flirt at least, if not touch. It could be the same here. Until I saw a Human female and how these interacted with her, however, I wouldn't know for sure. I might learn using my own body...but it was skewed because I wasn't Human.

Never mind the skin, though, there was also what they might wish to take from my belt or pouches or pack if I should remove them in negligence. 

My one advantage seemed to be the window of time between my reverie and their sleep. I simply had more time in a day to use, and I would have to use it for foraging and bathing every chance I got.

Smiling with a bit of a plan in mind, I rode with Gavin, the Sun lowering in the Sky on our right side.

******

"Who will take first watch?" Kurn asked.

We all looked at each other in the evening shade of the trees and he scowled.

"There are six of us, there will be six watches."

"Six," Mathias spoke up quickly.

"First," Castis volunteered.

"I'll take second. Rithal, do fifth," Kurn said and the dwarf raised a hairy, red eyebrow but nodded. The Hellhound looked at me and Gavin. "You two can decide between yourselves third and fourth."

"Fourth," I said.

Kurn gave me a suspicious look.

"Mathias can make the fire and boil the water then," Gavin grumbled as he unstrapped the bedroll from the front of his saddle.

The bounty hunter shrugged. "Certainly. I've done it plenty before."

"I assume we follow one of the Moons to judge our watch?" I asked.

The Hellhound sneered a little. "Of course. Then wake the other. And do I need to say to make clear, that if any theft, poisoning, or other threat occurs, I will cull you myself from this group."

He was looking mostly at me and Gavin.

I smiled. "And this applies to yourself as well, Kurn, yes?"

He chuffed. "My mission is more to me than causing strife."

"Don't lie, Kurn, your mission *is* to cause strife."

The Hellhound turned on me in a much more threatening pose and Castis and Mathias both backed up a bit. Both the man's dark eyes and his teeth seemed to flash in the low light. "I had planned to perform this mission with just four. You and the apprentice are extra weight unless you prove your worth. One misstep and we will easily do without you."

I smiled. "Which conflicts with your threat of binding me as your demonic servant instead. You can't have both. Which do you want?"

For some reason, Kurn looked plainly surprised that I would say that in front of the others, and the air changed a bit. I wasn't quite sure why, yet. At that moment though, confirmed by glancing at Castis and Rithal especially, my speaking that threat aloud as part of a mundane conversation seemed to take a lot of its weight away. 

Perhaps I was simply calling a bluff that he couldn't back up in front of his fellows. Seeing his own brief expression of resentment and uncertainty did much to further convince me that Kurn didn't know enough about the Drow or magic to be a real threat to me in that particular way, although he could always try to kill me with his physical strength. That was still a threat.

Kurn decided to change his tactic then; he stepped closer. Much closer. I could smell his stallion and the sweaty leather and the distinct, oily scent of male Human. He looked down at me, using his height to any advantage. I didn't back up; I sensed that would be the wrong thing to do right now.

"Since you bring it up, demoness, you do have one way to prove your worth more quickly than the apprentice." He smiled, and I detected a slight change in his scent that made me think of the type of aggression the Draegloth showed when they were released onto a female Drow. "You magic is stronger when you are properly mounted, yes? Isn't that what Sarilis said?"

I understood his meaning: useless except to breed or give pleasure. Turned around from what I was used to, and I was even expecting it, yet it still sounded strange to be told so after even two Necromancers and a "mountain dwarf" had understood the threat of what they saw. Either the disregard was intentional as an ironic understanding of my culture... or Kurn was simply prideful and self-deceiving. I wasn't sure I could give him credit for catching what Sarilis had been hinting about why, exactly, my kind would send a female to join the quest.

I chuckled now, keeping my focus on my periphery—on Kurn's hands, if his stance changed suddenly, if those around us moved—rather than staring directly at him. I alternated between looking at a small brown dot on his forehead and his nose with nostrils flared.

"I heard over-pitched flattery of my beauty, Kurn. Were you taking all he said exactly as spoken? Unadvised when your host is insane. What else might he have said that misled you, oh brave Lead?"

The small needle of doubt and the plainly ironic title worked to break the tension as Rithal and Gavin both made some sound of amusement, and I could use that to disengage from the confrontation without dignifying how I might be useful to the group.

For good measure, once I'd gotten enough distance from the big man, I added over my shoulder, "No theft, poison, or threat from me, Hellhound. Enjoy your night. I will return for my watch."

"Where are you going?" Kurn demanded.

"Drow things," I answered back. "See you at dawn. Come along, Gavin."

The apprentice had been seeing to his horse, removing most of the tackle and allowing her to graze. He glanced at me, considered his options, and decided to follow along. The others ultimately let us be. 

Gavin caught up with me and walked a small distance until he noticed that I was foraging. To my satisfaction, he began doing the same and making suggestions, some I already knew and some I didn't.

"You two can't be in the same camp for long," he observed dryly.

"It will be a glorious trip," I answered with a smile.

After a pause, he said in his usual, flatter tone, "You are clearly a threat. I wager he needs to be convinced he has some control over you. That need will drive him mad and only escalate the longer you resist and do not give him some satisfaction."




Surfacing Ch. 06



I frowned, digging up a tasty root I knew I could use for baiting a small snare trap I'd check later. I knew he was right about the inevitable escalation, but wasn't sure of his meaning, of "giving satisfaction." Could he be suggesting I submit so easily to avoid something more violent later on?

I rebelled against the very thought; my training assured I could continue on quickly, as long as I survived, and that event was not even remotely a certainty. Besides, where was the benefit in giving in at the first sign of intent, of rolling over and going limp? That was what one did if they wanted to die.

"I am surprised you could relate to that kind of need, apprentice. Sarilis mentioned 'castrated monk food'...and I do not get the impression you have much yearning for females."

"I have not been cut," the death mage said blandly, "but, like healing, procreation in necromancy is not a top priority or a talent."

I smirked; I thought it odd that someone may have no interest in sex at all, but given what little I knew of Auslan's fertility magic, perhaps this was the other side to that coin which provided balance in the world. 

"Have you ever mated, Gavin?"

He shrugged as he gathered some herbage. "Tried it. It was...curious, I suppose. Messy. I don't understand how it becomes an obsession for so many."

I couldn't help grinning at his response, and as the Sun had finally set I could lower my hood to let my head cool a bit. "Likely, because it is messy."

I observed him for a moment, working a few things out. He was correct about the rivalry between two of opposite sex and similar function. But if it wasn't Kurn's boots in which he could stand...it had to be mine.

"I will ask, Gavin, why would you guess how Kurn may or may not handle the lack of control here, and that—in his mind—mating me might solve that?"

Gavin shrugged. "Power is power. Kurn's attempt to intimidate you is not unlike a parent lording over a child. A parent can deny them anything, or can overpower with force and injury, to get them to cower and obey. Kurn is searching for similar weaknesses against you and making it obvious."

That he was, and I briefly saw where Gavin was standing. It validated what Sarilis had said before of his apprentice's nightmares of and hatred for his sire, his "father." It gave me some impressions of his young life without going into specifics.

I was a bit surprised how much it could be so much like down below; were Humans so alike my own race, then, just shorter-lived and less magical, and therefore less subtle or patient? I certainly had plenty of evidence in favor of it just in Sarilis, Gavin, and Kurn.

Yet what of the various hints of the Godblood, of Tamuril's admiration of him, her willingness to protect him? What of his assumed forgiveness and compassion, his wanting to save other lives outside of his blood family with the powder she now had? There were also Gavin's words about a "purity of faith" meant to crumble a foundation, and what did that even mean? How did it compare to the clerics of Manalar itself that he was this kind of a threat to them? 

I thought I understood that this Godblood lead a group of warriors as well, fighting men. It implied a balance of life and death, of power and influence that I could accept, but I did not understand how it might be compared to Kurn's overbearing leadership or Gavin's hints about his father's methods of gaining cooperation...

"I want to see what he chooses, and how," I said, finishing my snare trap and began another some distance away with the same, pale root. "I will watch, and will sleep apart and give little opportunity for surprise. You should be ready to move quickly out of the way when he bursts."

He snorted softly. "Indeed I shall."

"Will you sleep tonight out here with me, or back at camp?"

He hesitated, tucking a few plants and bulbs in his satchel. "I left my bedroll back there."

"Good. Perhaps I may ask for this first night what you observe? Future nights may carry too much risk, the longer he has to plot."

"Well. Now I know what you intend. Very well."

I nodded. "I will return for my watch."

After Gavin left with some edibles to cook, I searched for a suitable place to rest before my watch. I would have time to forage further and check my traps in the pre-dawn dark after my watch and as they continued to sleep; I had just enough time.

I took steps to cover my tracks and found a small hollow beneath some jutting rock that seemed previously used by animals. The scent was not so strong that I thought one imminently returning, but even if they did, my babies would be ready. There was only one way in or out, but it was easily defended; it would block the wind and dew as well. 

I crawled in, removed my pack and belt but kept them near, and let my spiders set up a few small webs around the rocks, both positions from which to guard me and to capture their own meal. I sighed and got comfortable enough to drift into that meditative state right before reverie, when I'd see how dreams wanted to speak, if they did at all.

*****

If I had to pick a moment that surprised me most when I awoke, just barely able to see the larger Moon straight above me, it was when I rediscovered muscles in my thighs that I had not been aware of for decades as I crawled out of my den. I felt how sore and strange I was as I first started walking. It felt like tight, leather straps had replaced some of my most intimate muscles of inner thigh; it would take some time to stretch them out again.

This was thanks, I realized, to the broad back and belly of Gavin's mare, which I had needed to cling to like I'd had an enormously round, standing Draegloth between my thighs all day. Another thing to which I should get acclimated quickly.

I took my time walking back, truly enjoying the sight and smells of the clearly defined landscape. I could see so much better at night, and the temperature was like comfortable Underdark quarters at the moment. It would get much hotter when the Sun rose, and just keeping my eyes open would be very taxing.

All so the horses wouldn't break their legs and my travel companions would not get lost in the dark.

If our destination was as far as they said, and if the mounts would indeed speed our journey and conserve my own energy, it would be worth it. I had the possibility of catching up to my Sisters who may be on foot, and I had the best opportunity I could ask to learn more of the Surface, more of the queen's sought mercenary, and more of Sarilis than Rausery could ever have guessed when she'd sent me out.

I sneaked up on the camp, kept my senses open for wards or any traps or alarms. I wanted to see how much they might trust the apprentice's watch, and how well they could detect someone like me if necessary. I did not have time to comb the whole camp now, but I would when I took over Gavin's place.

I sensed a ward from Gavin himself but he also left a spot close to the horses where it could be bypassed. I wondered about that. Did the beasts hate being so close to active magical energy? Would they serve as their own alarm on that side?

There was another ward set by Castis, but much closer to him and Kurn. That was good to know. The two were sleep near Mathias and closest to the banked coals. Rithal was a bit farther away, on his back and unmoving but for the rise and fall of his chest.

The three that normally wore armor were all without it at this moment, and it was interesting to see they seemed to shrink—either only a bit, as with Mathias and his stiff leather pieces, or a notable amount as with Kurn and Rithal. They still wore clothing, but it made me reflect that, in valuing flexibility and stealth, my armor did not really increase my width or breadth. They could all still tell my true shape if the cloak was not blocking, while theirs was masked a bit even without a cloak.

I'd known they made more noise all the time regardless of dress, as they were used to it, but without the armor, some might have the ability to be quieter.

I considered just breaking Gavin's ward again as I had before, but the next moment questioned whether it was worth the energy, or the inherent risk. If I walked next to the horses...well, Kurn's stallion was separated from the rest and tied to a branch three trees over as being more obviously aggressive. The gelded and mares might not mind me so much, but I could see the stallion trumpeting an alarm just stepping close to the others...

And what was the trouble if he did? It was my watch, and I was rested. It might teach me something.

I made just enough noise for two of the beasts to swivel their ears back in my direction; the dark stallion raised his head and whickered low, eyes probably not able to see me clearly but nostrils flaring wide to catch my scent. I murmured a few, low words I'd once crooned to the guarro as I'd approached it in the Underdark, and while the stallion pranced his hooves in the dirt, the rest just shifted their weight and looked about.

Gavin lifted his head and looked in my direction in response to the movement and whuffling breaths of our mounts, but he wasn't looking right at me. He couldn't see me yet....though that changed rapidly as soon as I stepped beneath his mare's head, electing not to walk behind as I'd been warned they had a mighty kick if startled. He straightened and I could tell he had identified me.

There was no real firelight, I wore my cloak, and I was standing several running strides away. Was his night vision that good or was he certain of my size? I wouldn't have been, were I in his place...

He said nothing as I approached and sat down beside him, resting my back against the log they'd dragged over for such a purpose. We watched each other for a few moments, and finally I smiled.

"Guessing it was me?" I whispered.

He shook his head. "I could make out your aura by the horses."

I frowned and had to wonder about that. Part of my training in the Sisterhood was controlling my whole being for stealth, including my mind, my focus, my energy... if I was failing utterly at that, why had no magic-using Drow sensed my aura when I was sneaking up on them? What was different about Gavin's sense than those of the Underdark?

Gavin broke my thought with, "You did not break the ward again."

"Having it will help you sleep better, yes?"

"I doubt that was your major concern."

I chuckled softly. We both went quiet as Mathias shifted in his sleep, waiting for the night sounds to return to the foreground before saying anything further.

"What do you do to 'suppress' that aura?" I asked.

Gavin's dark eyes blinked at me in the night. He considered, but shook his head. "Save that for the road. Too complex to explain it all now." 

"I will hold you to that. What about the eve? Anything notable, and is there food left?"

He gave me an odd look but shook his head. "They ate it all. It wasn't much, I prepared some rabbit and a bird, and vegetables. No large event. Some question where you were, I told them I did not know but you would return on your own. Mathias let Castis handle your pendant. He looked disconcerted when he tried to cast a spell, one of identification, I believe, and then handed it back. It's curious. Not just a stone, but neither of us sense magic."

I smiled. "Hm. Anything else?"

"Nothing that wasn't posturing."

I nodded. I knew how quiet and observant Gavin was from the Tower; I could put value in what he saw or heard and that he chose to share. He was also smart enough to hold something back if he wanted, but it would take some time to be able to see those voids in whatever he said. I could only work with what he gave.

Which meant it would be important to offer something useful in return, so those doubts he'd expressed the night before we left would not cloud his future judgment. If ever balance was important for me with an ally, it would be on this journey with this particular Human mage.

"The stone should not harm you if you touch it," I whispered to him. "It is active, though it is not for mages to use."

The necromancer's gaunt, shadowed face remained focused on me for several moments before he nodded and turned back to watch the Ma'ab sleeping.

"Well?" I nudged. "I am here. Sleep."

He made a face I thought was fairly eloquent even without words; a skeptical brow and a doubtful twist of his broad mouth. I understood; the one did not necessarily encourage the other, and it made me smile. Nonetheless, he gradually bedded down on Rithal's side of the fire but still apart from him, and tried to return to the sleep that had been interrupted by third watch.

I waited some time in silence, patience as eventually the horses settled and the breathing of all five males made their regular patterns. I shifted my watching location to be just close enough to Castis so I could prod at the boundary of his ward and discover its nature.

Of simple repelling. No feeling of illness or fear, anger or temptation to encourage a loss of caution, to cause a distraction or loss of memory. Between Castis and Gavin's wards, I was rather surprised how simple they were compared to those in the Drow City I had confronted almost every cycle in some form.

And yet Gavin could still see my aura. Could Castis?

I was not going to attempt to break the Ma'ab mage's ward this night, though I suspected that I could, and fairly quickly, too, if the need somehow outweighed the risk of a miscarriage—and with this kind of simple ward, that risk was lower than most Noble Houses. Still. It would have to be a life or death necessity, which was a possibility with the Ma'ab.

Regardless, there was no reason to be so reckless tonight.

My stomach began to cramp in hunger well before my watch was finished. I nibbled on what I had collected prior to lying down in the unused den, and I waited out the Moons' nightly travels across the Sky. It became a little colder, and eventually it was time to wake up Rithal.

I approached very carefully. His eyes opened before I touched him and he looked over to his left since I wasn't so foolish as to hover right above him. He grunted acknowledgement and sat up, his fuzzy red beard and wild hair seeming to blaze beneath the Moonlight.

Though I considered staying and learning more of this dwarf, what drove him toward Manalar perhaps, the need for fresh sustenance to preserve my stores was more important right then.

"I will return at sunrise," I murmured, and left by way of the horses again.

The dwarf watched my back with suspicion until I disappeared into the forest to check my traps.

*******

My pattern of keeping with Gavin during the day and going off on my own at night annoyed Kurn and kept the other three on edge. It also prevented me from making any contact at all with Mathias, who still had my sapphire.

On the other side of the coin, I had little trouble staying reasonably clean and fed with the resources available in the mountains, and much less energy was wasted on bickering or contests of will—something Rithal commented on during the fourth night, to which I fully agreed. Our pace remained consistent with the warmer weather broken only by a few small rainstorms, and Kurn's patience seemed further extended by the fact that there did indeed seem to be a visible pattern to me on which he could rely.

As a result, Gavin was able to stay in the camp most nights and give me a few insights on what was said when I wasn't present and they thought the apprentice couldn't hear. We both knew Kurn was still watching and crouching like the mountain cat I'd once observed take a fawn that wandered too far from its mother, though I believed I preferred this over the possible alternative of the Hellhound learning more of my training or how my mind worked. I could respond to a spring out of darkness; I knew I had less defense if they learned to turn my own impulses against me. 

At the same time...I also lacked the opportunity to discover some of those same impulses in my adversary. Back at the Tower, Kurn had wanted me to be wary and ever watchful on the long journey, perhaps believing the stress would wear me down. I noticed that, while our pattern certainly kept me expecting something sooner or later, I almost looked forward to it just to break the boredom.

The reason I did not make the first move was, as always, the demands on my limited energy, my quick hunger, and the safety of my unborn. This kept me patient and reigned in my impulse to prod the sleeping giant for entertainment. It was worth it to me to maintain the predictability for now.

The one thing I did discover once was Kurn's practice at dawn, before he knew if I had returned or not. It had been good timing for me; I possessed an abundance of edibles, had had my fill, and had time to spare before the others usually got up. 

Kurn was wearing only his trousers and boots, and some dark red pendant hung aroud his neck, which he had kept well hidden before now. His lack of dress offered a very good look at the impressive musculature beneath the hide and metal. I could also see an uneven, faded brown tone to most of the paler skin of his torso, as if...what? I wasn't quite sure. As if he changed color, like some of the reptiles on the Surface? In response to what? Perhaps Humans burned by the Sun turned the peeling skin brown instead of grey...

I watched him from shadows, and a bit of distance away from the camp, as he moved with his heavy, two-handed sword, moving in deliberate guards, arcs, swings, and rolls. They were practiced moves that would be fairly difficult to engage directly because of his reach and the power behind the swings. One true strike, and someone my size would lose a limb. His strength afforded him more speed than such a heavy weapon should allow, though I wondered how long he could maintain such a fight.

It had been quite a while since I'd watched any gifted male fighters. Prior to seeing my blood sister dead, I'd known a handful of male Drow with reputations as I had trained intensely in martial groups, though there had been far fewer at Court, and then he had been treated more as an act capable of entertaining tricks. Even being suitably dangerous, some Nobles still chose to disregard him as only good for breeding or pleasure or entertainment. 

Wasn't that familiar, given the subject of my spying?

It would be plainly foolish for me to take such an attitude here, though Kurn had to have a weakness. Endurance? Accuracy? Patience? I did not especially want to be in the middle of a conflict before I would find out, but that might be the only way to know.

Unless I tried to woo him instead. The thought made me smile, even though revisiting the concept of how the Hellhound might find me useful still seemed like too much risk for too little rewar—

"Ku's ummat," the Hellhound rumbled, breathing heavily as he stopped his practice.

I smirked. I would have to ask him what that meant sometime. He'd said it once before when I'd surprised him in the great room at the Tower.

Kurn had broken a sweat and he ran a hand through his shorter, black hair as if to get it off his forehead. He was scowling as usual as he stepped to where his belt hung with his shirt in the nearest tree. He sheathed his blade in its separate scabbard, but left the belt and shirt hanging as he breathed in deeply and deliberately, his nostrils curling, before he let it out again. He did this a couple more times; it seemed part of a habit or ritual.

I had expected him to do as he did next: to take the few moments to listen about him and look for watchers, to convince himself that he was still alone. I stayed still and quiet in the branches, and when he turned back to his tree trunk, I knew he hadn't sensed me.

I anticipated next that he would don his shirt and weapons and to return to camp, where I would meet him and we'd be on our way. But that wasn't what happened. Instead he loosened his trousers and only when he turned did I realize he had developed an erection sometime between the start of his practice and now. I straightened. This was a break in routine.




Surfacing Ch. 06



*My, my, this is going to be fun.*

I couldn't move very much and further avoid detection so the view was not ideal, but I could not suppress my smile as I focused on his hands and what he revealed. He freed his scrotum as well as his member and barely caressed it before he started stroking with efficiency and a surprising speed; he wasn't going to be luxuriating in this but rising to his peak as quickly as possible. He grimaced and closed his eyes, his expression all wolfish aggression as he leaned on his left arm against the trunk, his right hand seeming intent on absolutely throttling his jutting cock.

I could make out more genital hair than I was used to—the balls especially so, but also the wiry sprout of pitch black crowning his penis and seeming to spread onto his thighs as well. The head of his member, the only part not consistently enclosed in his big hand, was a very deep, purplish-red color when it wasn't covered briefly by a flushed foreskin that moved with his hand. Redness beneath his skin began creeping up his neck and into his face, as it had before in the middle of his practice. A few individual muscles seemed to flex or shift in his back as I watched.

"Katha anath shubis," he growled low, a bit of spittle touching his lip and chin, and by tone alone I had the guess that he'd said something extremely lewd in his own tongue.

I smiled.

The breeze shifted slightly and I caught a whiff of the heated musk coming from him. If I had tried to convince myself I was merely observing him in a vulnerable moment and enjoying the power I had over him, to explain why I was aroused...oddly, it was not quite that simple. 

The aggressive growls and strokes also brought to mind Shyntre in the library as he'd been resisting me, blatantly defying me in trying to steal his own orgasm. I still felt a surge of excitement remembering how I'd eventually gotten him to submit...and yet I still hit my head under the table after we were finished.

In addition, the flushed tone of Kurn's pale skin reminded me strongly of Tamuril and the way her pretty, gilded, pink petals between her thighs had darkened to a fuller rose under stress.

I did not want Kurn, but I was aching, and I did want to fuck...

*...Ku's ummat...* I thought. *Sounds like a decent curse for this.*

I had to rub myself through my leathers, trying to soothe my own flushed and lonely folds, as I watched for the payoff to my spying. I did not have to wait long.

"Teez shar-...sharmuta...ku's!" he groaned, closing his eyes even tighter and lifting his chin slightly. His spine straightened and his hips moved forward a bit as he paused with his mouth open. The first spurt of white semen marked the tree trunk in a long line, and a second soon followed. He resumed stroking with a few more smaller bursts, further coating the tree, seeming to be squeezing every drop of pleasure and spunk from his purple-red rod.

I was glad those on the Surface did not have the senses that I did; my heart rate and the stark spike of heat in my body may have given me away. I swallowed as my mouth was a bit dry, and I forced myself to stop touching my sex as Kurn again looked around and listened, gingerly tucking in his tender parts and securing trousers before finally donning his belt and shirt. The red stone around his neck caught my eye again just before it was hidden from view. Eventually he lifted his heavy sword and strode away back toward the camp.

Though I'd planned to leave and try to make it back ahead of him, I hesitated now. I watched with my heart still thudding in my ears, staring at the tree stained with fresh, white cum. I felt inexplicably anxious, like time was running out or I was missing some opportunity...

I slipped down from the branches and pulled out one of my limited, small, grey cloths. I drew a dagger and cut a smaller piece off of it, put the dagger and most of the rest of the cloth away. My footfall was nearly silent as I approached the spot where Kurn had been standing to masturbate. Nothing in the forest disturbed me as I calmly, perhaps a bit eagerly, wiped up some of the semen onto the patch and rubbed the cloth together to spread it thin so it would dry. I would add it to my tools.

I held the damp patch with two fingers and touched myself the other hand and murmured a pleasant, inarticulate sound as my sex tingled more strongly here, in this very location, than it had in the branches. My nose was still able to detect the potent scent as I held the patch above my head and braced against the same tree, in a similar stance. 

I found that I could rub hard enough on my sex through my leathers to climax in a few short moments. It was abrupt, quick but strong, surging through my gut like a fist; my knees weakened as I stayed leaning against the tree. I made no sound during it, but gasped quietly as I came down, and I, too, needed to look around, to listen, for a sentient audience.

I trusted my ears to a farther extent than Human ones, and I believed I was alone.

Only after I was walking back did the oddness of it all strike me. The energy had felt...strange. And why had I smeared a cloth with Kurn's seed? I did not know any arcane or religious magic myself, only the in-born focus to bring light or darkness at will, and that had become a common trait among the Noble-bred Drow. 

What use would I have for a sample like this? I doubted even Gavin would really care to find a use for it...

My head felt light for a moment and then I smelled blood, and deep rock. I felt nauseous in the presence of Drider guts. I stopped and all I saw was the Underdark in my mind's eye; the trees and the scents had disappeared. Something tugged hard at my head and in my chest, like there was a hook there, and I heard a scream. Then I heard quite a few more.

I didn't think I made any noise but when I became aware that I could finally blink dry eyes, I also found my gloved fingers dug deeply into the soil, like claws hooked in meat. A moment later I understood that I was on my knees in the brush. The cloth with Kurn's semen on it was hanging off a tiny branch, and it was mostly dry.

My spiders were on my bracers, and they were agitated. They were looking for the danger but not finding a target to bite.

I sucked in a breath against the fading pain in my chest and I blinked again against the strengthening light, trying to grasp how much time had passed. I looked East. The Sun was above the horizon. Not much time, but longer than I could account for what seemed to be missing. Slowly I removed my stiff fingers from the earth and brushed off the dirt.

*Come, babies, back in the pouch, the Sun rises...*

I coaxed them back somewhere safe and rose carefully to my feet. I wanted to leave that male-essence, that stained scrap of cloth, right where it was, but as I took a step, I stopped again. Biting my lower lip, I reached down to pluck it up and tuck it at the bottom of my cloth pouch.

"Elf!" I heard Rithal call from camp.

I blinked again as the Surface world seemed much more vivid and real than it had a moment ago, as if all the scents and colors I hadn't seen for a few moments jumped me at once.

"ELF! Where are ye?!"

*Damn it.*

I had to circle a bit so as not to seem to come from the same place as Kurn, but I had to hurry. The men had everything ready to go and Kurn was even already mounted on his stallion as I jogged back into the camp.

"Finished with your 'Drow things,' demoness?" he asked, with a look that gave me a fair hint who he might have been thinking about as he stroked off on that tree trunk.

I smiled. "Quite, Hellhound."

Gavin had taken to reluctantly offering an arm so I could pull myself up on the horse behind him when there wasn't an obvious place to stand it near for me to climb aboard. As I settled myself now and shifted my rump to get straight, Gavin looked over his shoulder. It was for long enough that I looked up as well and met the one dark eye I could see.

"What?"

"Your aura has shifted again."

Gavin had been slowly teaching me about auras, and about how to "hold in" whatever energy was actually sensible to the Surface-dwelling mages that wasn't so plain in the Underdark. I found it difficult, though I kept practicing out of necessity. He was the only one interested in telling me the truth on whether it was working, considering Sarilis and Castis had both said exactly nothing. 

And why would they? It was to their advantage that I be so ignorant.

Now the apprentice said that my aura had "shifted?"

"What do you mean, 'again'?"

He started following the others, dead last as usual, kicking his mare forward but keeping distance so we could talk. "It has changed a few times, Sirana. I don't know why. There are shadows in your aura. That is as best I can explain it. It could be natural to your race, but still, when those shadows surface, your aura becomes unbalanced and warps."

Gavin had a peculiar advantage over even another mage such as Castis, in that he could see two distinct kinds of auras, according to him: the 'life' aura that came to him as a necromancer, and the more 'magical' aura that helped him see the potential or the training in another mage, as he had mentioned before. 

All living beings had life energy; I even saw some version of it in the Underdark with my sensitive eyes, but it also created an aura that Gavin could sense yet I could not. In contrast, only those who studied magic could see magic, and far beyond the vague, brain-tickling sense that I got. I understood his description of life auras much better than the magical ones, despite his claim that I was a "creature of magic" and played on both his gifts with those "shadows."

Was Gavin saying that he could not differentiate between the two in any elf, or just me? I was immensely curious how he might see Gaelan, who was a magic user, compared to Jael, who wasn't? How might he see Tamuril, an elf and a druid but of a different race entirely? It was very interesting to ponder...

"I might guess that you are more unsettled this morning than most," he said now. "Did you see something? A spirit, perhaps?"

I felt my lips tighten but licked and relaxed them a moment later. I was irritated that I'd been on my way to forgetting that...episode, yet Gavin could see something, could tell something about me, and he had reminded me. 

I couldn't explain it, I didn't want to remember, and I did not want to dwell on it now; my change in pattern had already caused the others in front of us to look behind themselves at us more often than the previous nine days. It was a vulnerability.

I shook my head in bewilderment even though Gavin couldn't see it. I kept my voice low and near his shoulder. "Why would you think a spirit of all things?"

He paused before he spoke. "I see them sometimes. And shadows. Started in the graveyard outside the monastery when I was young."

I didn't even know what to ask at first, but this allowed me to dwell more on the apprentice than myself. "The talent is natural? You did not study to... specialize your inborn magic?"

I thought I could hear a very small smile in his tone. "You perhaps recall, I mentioned that I know more than Sarilis realizes."

Well, it might explain why someone might *want* to study that realm of the dark arts where sexual pleasure was a burden... Still, I frowned, trying to make some link here I didn't understand. "And you seeing spirits has what to do with my aura shifting?"

"You seemed...Afraid. For a moment." 

If I had to guess, I would say that he changed his mind on the word he'd been about to use. 

"No predawn spirit or glimpse of something immaterial?"

"...No. I cannot see spirits like that, Gavin."

"Did you see any danger we should know about?"

"No," I replied more firmly.

"Alright."

He seemed willing to drop it and I spent the quiet turning it over in my mind.

Afraid? And this was something he could sense in my aura? That wasn't helpful to my situation.

"Did you see spirits last night, Gavin?"

He shook his head. "We are still far from any settlement and not traveling the road. There are fewer occurrences the more remote one is and not all spirits linger."

"Unless it's an abandoned dwarven Tower on a ley line intersection far from anywhere."

Again, I thought I could hear a smile in his dry tone. "Well, yes. They are all welcomed there."

******

Rithal took the lead to get us through the last, treacherous pass before, I was told, the land would change rapidly to rolling hills and a short stretch of flatter terrain for a while before we re-entered a different chain of mountains farther to the South. They said the names, and I noted them, but they differed from what Rausery and Shyntre had noted on those scrolls. They would no doubt change again and were of temporary use. It might not even be worth updating the maps, so long as we understood how the land changed over distance relative to our portal.

I also enjoyed the moment where I imagined being present in the library again to tell my wizard exactly that thought.

"Nae, not that way," Rithal grumbled to the much younger, if much larger, Ma'ab leader as Gavin and I caught up to where the group had paused at a split. "There're clear markings."

"I see none."

"Ye aren't dwarven."

I looked about with interest, wondering what markings Rithal was seeing and what they meant. Perhaps—

Now that was interesting. How could the Hellhound not see it?

"That stone, there?" I asked, indicating one that cast a curious shadow. It was possible that it would maintain a straight edge that pointed down a particular ravine regardless of the position of the Sun.

Rithal blinked at me in surprise, but nodded. "Aye. Bit of a labyrinth here, but they cut th'stone to point the way."

"Which way?" I asked.

"Sanctuary," he grunted. "But only if yer welcome. We won't be."

"Suggests we go the opposite way," Gavin said quietly.

Mathias glanced at him then nodded. "That should lead us out on the East side, shouldn't it?"

"Aye."

"Well, then," Castis smiled. "Lead on, Rithal."

Kurn frowned at his brother Ma'ab and the mage's smile faded. The Hellhound looked at the rest of us one at a time and nodded deliberately. "Let us continue."

"Heavens forbid we fart without his approval," Gavin muttered into his chest and I had no trouble hiding my expression as I pressed my forehead onto his back and chortled.

The horses moved in single file over stony ground, again picking their way over rougher terrain like the first two days, though we were much lower in elevation. This was going to be a long one in direct Sun with the bare, grey and brown stone radiating the heat it absorbed, the only vegetation scrubby spindles of brush and weed.

I did my best to keep watch above and behind us as I could—the high ledges above concerned me, seeing as this less traveled area was still claimed territory, unlike most of the forested area we'd just left. Rithal seemed sure we were far enough from the stronghold and not worth more than a glance from the sentries since we were going in the opposite direction, but we had only his word to go on.

Still, the Sun reflected off the lighter colored stone and I grew very hot within my black covering well before midday. This was easily the highest temperature I'd been exposed to thus far on the Surface, and I had the added heat of Gavin's body and that of his mare to contend with as well. There was no good way for me to cool down; even removing my cloak would be a harsh trade for a near-complete loss of sight due to glare as I lost the shade of my hood.

I could feel how strands of my hair stuck to my forehead and I itched in places where I felt a trickle of moisture crawling down—my spine, my temples, beneath my breasts. The air was hot and dusty going into my lungs, and I felt drowsy despite my recent reverie. I frequently sipped from my waterskin, wetting my lips as my body demanded more than I could give it until I knew where the next source would come from.

"You are quiet," Gavin murmured at one point. "Are you well?"

"Fine," I responded. "The heat drains me."

He grunted. "Don't fall off."

I huffed a laugh. "I will not."

Nonetheless, it surprised me how my balance seemed to waver a few times and I knew the apprentice was well aware of each time that I suddenly tightened my hold on him. The weakness bothered me a fair bit, but as long as the horse's clopping steps remained consistent, danger was not imminent and I did have to fight the drowsiness.

After a time, I had to resort the worn sunblind I hadn't used since my acclimation, because I had to drop the hood and to expose my head to the open air to remain even half aware. Much of my peripheral vision was blocked by it but that did not matter now because I could see very little anyway. My ears opened up and became more sensitive in response, and my mind formed the general shape of the space around me based on the way sound travelled in this canyon.

I alternated between hood up and hood down, knowing Sunburned ears and face wouldn't be pleasant, but the distraction was unwelcome as I imagined a trap of collapsing stone for which the dwarves were known. Well...the Duergar, anyway. Still, a dwarf was a dwarf when they handled stone.

In the end, though, it wasn't a trap that broke the tension but an opportunity. Mathias had seen some sign of animal and, with Kurn's permission, moved on ahead to stalk it without our noise scaring it off.

I was still mostly blind as we continued on making that noise, but I became aware of a distant, welcome rushing sound as we approached the mouth of the canyon.

"Water," I murmured to Gavin.

He paused inexplicably and sounded terse. "Have you run out?"

"No..." I felt a bit bleary as I tried to catch up with him. 

Ah. He thought I was demanding his. 

"No, I hear water. A source." 

"Where?" he asked, looking around.

"Left, I think. The sound is bouncing off the stone, but it is there. A waterfall."

"Odd," he commented, sounding doubtful. "We'd have followed a river through the canyon if there had been one."

"Perhaps it comes from beneath," I said. "If there is a dwarf stronghold not far from here, they must have water beneath."

"Hm."

By the smell trailing back to me, no one was exempt from feeling the heat. Perhaps that was why Gavin nudged his mare up to Rithal and said to him, "Sirana thinks she hears a waterfall."

"Yer kiddin,'" he grumped, probably looking at me, though my eyes were still closed behind my blind. "What in Gaul's bearded balls is that?"

"For snow," I said. "Works a bit with Sun as well."

"Well...there ain't been a waterfall near here that I know of. No river."

"Unless underground," I said, thinking it odd that a dwarf wouldn't think of such a thing.

He huffed. "Yes, but not even that I know."

"In how long? Land changes."

Such constant changes they were when exposed to elements such as this; the changes belowground were less frequent but more abrupt, marked by quakes or hot spots when the rock itself moved.

He grunted what sounded like an acknowledgement. "Forty years since."

"Worth checking, then," Gavin said.

Rithal nodded without further prodding and went up to Kurn to talk. I could hear them clearly though they kept the debate low and private. Castis and Mathias were between us and had to be straining to listen as well.

"Might have a source of water up ahead."

"Very good. Lead the way, dwarf."

"Might be needin' to let the Drow lead, Hellhound. She's the one who hears it."

The pause was deafening. 

"You believe that? She hears something we all can't?"

"Don' be a fool. Think about where she comes from. Sound travels in the dark and bounces off stone, her ears are made for pinpointin' it."

"I don't trust her not to lead us somewhere we don't want to be."




Surfacing Ch. 06



"Yeh haven't been lookin' at her, Ma'ab. The Sun is harsh to her and she is weakened by the heat. She has motive not to mislead us."

"Unless it is to steal our water."

"And leave herself stranded in the middle o' nowhere?"

Kurn scoffed. "And why don't you know of this source? This is your people's land."

"But not my origin," he retorted with a growl. "Best water we'll get'n the hills ahead is a muddy springmelt on its way to dryin' up. If fresh water is here, we need it before crossing the Midway so far from th' main trade route."

Kurn himself growled but stopped his horse; the hooves crunched and scattered gravel as the stallion turned around, the beast champing and licking noisily. Gavin pulled up as well, and I felt the short hairs on my nape react to a stare that I couldn't see.

"Well, witch?" he blurted loud enough that I winced. "Where is it?"

I pointed with my gloved hand to the South, though that was also at a sheer cliff face.

"Bit of a steep climb for horses," he sneered.

"Forward and right," I said aloud. "Where Matias went."

"Jus' letter lead, Kurn," Rithal rumbled, and moved his stockier mount around behind me. "Faster and quieter."

The Ma'ab finally repressed further dissent, though I could well imagine his expression as the dwarf got behind me. I wondered whether the big Human considered that a flat challenge of his authority, or if he understood Rithal was just being practical? Either way, I doubted the dwarf would care.

I gave Gavin a slight squeeze. "Forward."

"With Kurn behind us?" he whispered.

"His stallion suffers. He'll follow until the water is visible to him and he will move ahead."

Sighing quietly, Gavin guided his horse out front past the other men and I concentrated on the dull roar as it shifted with our direction. It wasn't quite as easy as if I'd been in a tunnel or a cave—sometimes the wind would funnel through in bursts, drowning out anything else—and we had to move away from it a fair distance, following the South wall as the only path. With the slow pace and my simply sitting on a horse giving quiet instruction to Gavin, no one else could tell when I lost the source before I picked it up again.

And it was flowing liquid, splashing onto rock from a height that would kill any of us if we fell from the top. I'd wondered for a moment whether it could be rushing air playing tricks, but I was certain now as it came back stronger. Now to hope it was potable.

"I hear it," Rithal commented behind me, and I heard his armor squeak and tink as he twisted in his saddle. "She's tellin' the truth."

"Good for her," Kurn replied, the distinct sound of his boots kicking his stallion coming the moment before he passed on our right.

Something startled Gavin's mare and a gasp slipped out of me as I clung harder to the apprentice as our mount squealed and jerked to the side several paces, scattering pebbles but somehow managing not to slip. I heard two horses moving ahead of us and guessed it was Kurn and Castis.

"Worms rot his belly," Gavin hissed, low but very venomous, as he brought his mare back under control.

"What happened?" I asked. I was blind though I wasn't in darkness—that would have been preferable—and the reddish glare of light remained with me any time I peeked them open.

"The stallion bit her."

"Any idea when she goes inta heat?" Rithal asked.

Gavin's tension made his back quite stiff. "Not really. She's older."

"Gonna be interestin'," the dwarf returned, moving on ahead toward the water.

He was certainly right about that. My first impulse was that Kurn wouldn't want his stallion mounting Gavin's mare, just on a pride basis, or even a superstitious one. On the other hand, he could turn about fairly easily if Gavin gave some clear indication that he was anything other than indifferent about it.

"Let Kurn handle the stallion during her heat," I suggested. "Do nothing." 

He was still tense. "A pregnant mare might not be advantageous on this journey."

"If it is too much for her, it will end on its own. If you protest, Kurn might start thinking it is a good idea to harass or humiliate you indirectly. You'd be engaging him. I think he would have distaste of it if you only shrugged and allowed her natural course. Certainly it would provide relief for both beasts. If they are anything like some of ours down below, they will be unruly regardless."

Gavin sighed. "Perhaps. Meanwhile, the water?"

I licked my dry lips. "Waiting on you, rein master."

I could hear three horses slurping and sucking at the water as we approached, and the two Ma'ab sounded in good humor as they spoke low just beneath the drum of the falls. I opened my eyes to get some view of it through the slit of my blind. It was a fairly small waterfall, nothing like the one I'd found and fought next to with Jael that first night on the Surface, when it was much colder in the mountains. 

This water was indeed emerging from an underground source, only about as wide as I was tall, and though the healthy stream continued down off the shale slopes and toward the rolling hills, it was slowing and would likely evaporate until it settled in a muddy pool somewhere beneath the baking Sun.

It was new, though. The water splashing over the sharp rocks had not made much progress in wearing them smooth. Certainly within the last forty years. It was a new, valuable resource for the area hill dwarves and passers-by like us.

"We'll stay here the rest of this day and the night," Kurn announced as Gavin and I finally nudged a spot to drink. "We'll hunt with Mathias and prepare properly to cross the midway."

Castis nodded and folded him arms with dignity, but the other three of us were silent rather than point out that we'd each be doing so regardless if Kurn stayed or not.

I discovered quickly that neither Gavin nor I were expected or welcome on the hunt.

"You'll prepare what we catch," the Hellhound smirked, "so you can pull your own weight."

This particular song was getting worn out more than others; at least every other day, he found a way to make it known his opinion of our value. Still, I let it be because it would give me time to adapt, explore, and fully rehydrate. They would be the worse off when, or if, they came back. The Sun was directly overhead now and I would have to wait some time before I would crawl about, though I did want to know this spot better than anyone for the coming night.

Gavin was content to lie down in the shade of an outcrop of stone, as his solely remaining mare enjoyed her time with her head down, standing where the splashes of clean water would mist her face. I decided to join him though I did not get too close, and he seemed to appreciate that I did not try to make conversation.

Really, I was too hot and my headache was too great for it to be worth the energy. I finally removed my cloak and rolled it up to place beneath my head with a sigh. I was still warm in my armor but knew it would improve if I did not move about much in the shade.

I thought about Kurn and company urging their heavy-footed mounts in the heat of the day, going after something that could run from them, and likely run fast, with good enough eyesight to see them coming without a forest for cover. Mathias's arrow was about the only weapon that might overcome that challenge, but his aim had to be flawless, it was all or nothing. Either feast or famine.

Meanwhile, I knew of easier ways to collect dinner.

The shadows of the high wall gradually lengthened; eventually this crevasse would be filled with shade. I saw a few interesting points that looked as though they could be climbed, and there was a bit more vegetation than I'd realized as I'd ridden mostly blind. While I had been able to scent the growing things as usual, it was much less, with much more heat and dust and rock that I'd thought it more barren like the underground.

Not the case; woody, green brush grew out of tiny ledges and cracks in the stone and strands of yellow and green wild grasses cropped up in frequent bunches. There were plenty of places that might contain nests for birds or burrows of rodents and furry creatures. A possible source of food, also of danger. Snakes adapted to the drier heat could easily make dens in those rocks, and if rodents were present, the snakes would follow. The reptiles were tasty, too.

This didn't even include the edible insects. Even with less water, the bounty of food was greater than what I might find in a similar-sized territory in the Underdark. We were more dependent on cultivating and breeding our food than they were up top. I thought again how it would be nearly impossible to feed myself enough while pregnant if I was alone in the Underdark wilderness...yet it might be possible up here within the wilderness of the Surface. A surprising fortune in my choice.

Later in the afternoon when the Sunlight was a darker gold and there were plenty of shadows to keep to, I went out to seek those resources and explore the immediate area. I still planned to sleep apart as usual—like Kurn's stallion given some distance from the others, my distance saved us all time and energy, removing temptation from the one with the least self-control. There would be a time, perhaps, when I had no choice but to stay in the same place at night with the Hellhound...and somehow I did not think I would sleep if that happened. I simply was not that foolish.

I wondered about the feeling I got from the big, but young, Ma'ab. Gavin had estimated they are probably around the same age. While I was used to plotting and grudges, to plain derision or competitiveness...I had met plenty of opponents among my own that seemed in far better control of themselves. Sometimes it felt like my very existence was an affront to the fighter and he simply could not focus on much else if I was in view.

Anyone in the Underdark would tell you...giving that much power to your enemy was stupid and deadly.

Further, I did not understand how Rausery could be correct about the Ma'ab race supposedly being a Matriarchy. It couldn't be like ours if an "elite" group like the Hellhounds were male and had members like Kurn who behaved so toward females. True, he also believed I was a demon, but one did not paint a tree trunk with sperm if the non-Human aspect of one's rival was any sort of mental block. 

There had to be some other complexity of which my Elder did not know about the Ma'ab. Perhaps I would have the chance to discover what it was, what might explain what I was observing, before I had to kill him.

The easiest and first catch for my own sustenance made its fair share of noise. I had spotted a nest that was a decent climb for me, and while I'd only planned to filch the eggs and leave, the mother returned abruptly and started shrieking, diving at me and barely missing me the first time with wings and talons. She circled around for another attack, crying loudly; I drew my hand crossbow, murmured a specific word, and felt Callitro's ring warm on my finger as I felt my perception tighten and my aim line up well despite the Sun, despite the speed of the bird.

I struck the hawk through the throat and the feathered body fell to the rocky ground beneath me. I quickly scooped up the eggs, slipped them into my cloth pouch, and climbed back down to claim the body before another animal did. I also wanted my bolt back. After I'd done so, I reflected that there were few pleasures as satisfying as eating an egg raw and still warm from its nest.

By the time the Sun was two finger-widths above the horizon, I had similar success with a hare, three, fat, ground rodents, and a healthy handful of live, leaping insects trapped in a spare pouch, as well as a bounty of fragrant plants to help flavor the meat. Feeling more comfortable, with less of a headache, as the shadows grew longer and deeper still, I set a few traps for the morning, memorized the basic layout as well as a possible place to sleep, and finally I made my way quickly back to Gavin. I was delighted to see he had a small fire going already.

His brows rose up when I presented my fare. "You mean to share?"

"If you will help prepare it."

This was the first time I'd hunted and brought him back something, I realized; he'd handled himself in the familiar mountain forests or partook of whatever the others brought in so long as he cooked it—making himself quite useful though Kurn still did not deign to recognize it—and I took care of myself. Had the others been back when I'd returned just now, I realized, it would have continued this way.

But the others weren't back yet, and I did feel inclined to feed my longer-term ally and keep him in good health.

I found out the apprentice wasn't familiar with toasting the leaping insects alive, so I took care of that while he worked with the bird and mammals. Since it was convenient, I used two of his pan-tins to create a shell trapping the insects as their little heads struck the inside of the tin, as if they could leap through it. I tied it closed with a length of thin, metal wire I kept among my tools, and baked it in the fire. He also accepted one of my eggs, and I ate the last myself. He declined the insects when they were crunchy and ready, but they would keep for a time so I kept them for a later snack and enjoyed the fresh meat mixed with a few roots Gavin had dug up somewhere.

It was still light, but the twilight was deepening and the others had not yet returned to camp. I was not especially concerned but wondered how their hunt went. Gavin and I had had our fill and I dared think we were well rested. I felt content as it grew cooler and pleasant.

I lifted my head when I finally heard the heavy crunch of hooves break the monotony of the waterfall.

"Someone coming?" Gavin asked.

I nodded. "Four. On horseback."

"Is it our dear travel companions?" he asked dryly.

I focused and concentrated past the background rush of water, my eyes losing focus since they were no use at the moment. I heard a voice at last, a boast...or at least I could detect pride on the hoot. Kurn.

"It is," I answered. "And I think they caught something."

Gavin grunted. "I really should stop doubting your hearing at this point. It's rather convenient having an early warning."

I smiled. "The minimum expected in the Underdark."

The noise of Kurn, Castis, and Mathias seemed to overwhelm even the flow of the water as they filled the rocky pocket of our camp. My mouth pursed as I watched them ride in, dragging a large, hairy body along the ground between two of their horses. The hide would be ruined, of course, but I figured we weren't staying around here to preserve anything, so what did it matter to them so long as they could dig out the fresh meat? There was an arrow hole in the throat and it had bled profusely; there was also a bit of a scorch mark around the eyes and ears of the cloven-hoofed and prong-horned beast.

As the Hellhound leaped off his horse and proceeded to gut, skin, and butcher the beast, I realized that he could easily have done that out where they had caught it, left what they didn't want for the scavengers, and carried back much less weight. By the way Mathias was standing and watching, seeming antsy and critical of Kurn's technique—as if he would really rather be the one taking care of this—and when Kurn glanced at me in the middle of his work, just once, I quickly came to the conclusion that he wanted me to see this part. 

He'd spend the extra energy on himself and his horse if it meant he could perform for me.

So foolish to waste such effort.

Rithal began to build up the fire to make it a little brighter, a little hotter; he noted the bits of animal bones, feathers, and fur easily, glanced at us, but said nothing.

"If you both contribute and cook this for us while we take a well-earned break, you may have some," Kurn said, his gloves coated with gore and blood spattering his bracers. "I've yet to see what our maiden witch can do with a hunk of meat."

Castis, whom I'd only recently realized was somehow even younger than Kurn, covered his hand and chortled behind it; Mathias allowed himself a smile as well. I understood the double-sided nature of the remark, of course.

"I will pass," I said.

"As will I," Gavin seconded.

Kurn's prideful glow darkened quickly as he scowled our way and stood up to threaten with his blood-coated dagger. "Apprentice, get cooking or I'll slaughter your worthless, nutless sog alongside the pronghorn."

Unable to suppress an ugly downturn of his mouth, Gavin glanced at me—possibly recalling what I'd said about not standing physically between them—and I heard a nearly covered sigh of derision as he stood up to take a haunch piece from Mathias. He had already swept clean a work surface on a boulder for his earlier meal, had cleaned and put away his utensils, but now had to unroll his kit again and begin slicing the meat very thin to toss into his heated cooking pan. Watching this again, I reflected that he really kept his tools in fine shape.

"I suppose you will go hungry rather than demean yourself so, eh, demoness?" Kurn said with part satisfaction as Gavin did as he had most nights on the journey, and part arrogance as he looked at me.

I'd known a few at Court who might have seen it that way...I never had. I just wasn't hungry.

I smiled and shrugged, and stayed where I was as the others got settled.

Before too long the men, except for Gavin, were chewing greedily on the well-seasoned slices of herbed, seared meat. I stayed since my being present wasn't stopping the usual night routine, from what I could tell. Not yet. Mathias surprised me by asking Gavin a question.

"So you did all the cooking at that monastery, eh, Gavin?" the bounty hunter, probably the oldest in age of the Humans but not by much.

"Not all, but plenty," the apprentice mumbled as he placed a clean blade down alongside the rest on his roll cloth. He picked up the whetstone and lubricated it with a bit of oil.

"Were you a monk or a servant?"

The apprenticed glanced up from beneath a hooded brow. He didn't answer and returned to the practiced, smooth draws across the whetstone. Gavin wouldn't be the only one sharpening edges tonight, but I found him somehow more interesting to watch since he was not plainly a hunter or warrior—he appeared more like Castis in his overall mass and was not dressed in the least for combat. His motions were for precision, for small cuts and surgeries or efficient reduction of raw flesh into their component parts, and it showed when he cleaned his tools.

After a heavy pause, Kurn snorted in derision and shook his head at Mathias as if to suggest he not only drop it but there was no interest in this particular topic. I spoke up solely because Mathias was doing something Kurn didn't want him to do. Thus I wouldn't mind him continuing.

"I wager a bit of both," I said, smiling at Mathias, and he looked at me with a sudden flush coming to his cheeks. It was encouraging. "However, then his natural talent grew and it proved to be...incompatible with his upbringing."

Gavin glared at me and I winked.

"Natural talent?" Mathias asked, curious despite himself, and in spite of Kurn, who was still glowering.

"Oh my, yes. I might wonder whether the necromancy came from the Manalar side or the Ma'ab one. I would bet the latter."

Both Mathias and Rithal looked surprised—they hadn't made that connection at all—but Castis looked embarrassed and Kurn flushed deeply red in anger, not liking that I had spoken what was clear to him aloud. I met his eyes.

"What, Hellhound? You said your people were known for demons and dark magic, and the Manalar worship a bright Sun god. It seems obvious where the talent came from. Surely you may take it as a sign that your very breeding is stronger than your enemies. You are destined to dominate, and putting your males to stud on Manalar women would only encourage that magic."




Surfacing Ch. 06



This was a twist on whatever Kurn had been thinking of Gavin's mixed heritage before; he had to take a moment to absorb it and the unexpected praise. Even Castis looked a bit intrigued, and I did not mention the tidbit that the Ma'ab blood in this particular union was female. I used the pause to my advantage.

"So consider a Musanlo monastery hosting a Ma'ab child with dark magic running in his veins. Why allow him to stay at all? Unless he was also one of theirs. So... a bit of both."

"Enough," Gavin hissed at me, tense and that inky darkness seeping into the whites of his eyes again. Only the second time I'd seen it. His dislike of being talked about was obvious.

"You must have needed to leave at some point, apprentice," Mathias pondered. "Did they ever know of your talent?"

"No," the necromancer said flatly with all brusqueness.

"Of course not. He just slinked away with his tail tucked like the mutt he is," Kurn sneered, taking another hunk of meat and chewing noisily, a bit of grease making his lips glisten in the firelight. "Bet those monks are all better off with him gone if this food was their normal fare." He plucked a half-chewed piece of gristle from between his teeth and flicked it away.

"That depends," Gavin said very low, "if they found themselves beside Musanlo beyond the Greylands. I poisoned them all and left at my leisure."

All four males halted in their chewing as they realized to a one that neither Gavin nor I had eaten any of their dinner tonight. Castis and Mathias looked a little green for a second as they wondered...

I burst out laughing.

"Silence, witch!" Kurn nearly shouted, gladly taking me as his distraction away from that unwelcome moment of fear.

"Your stomach went ice cold!" I howled. "Admit it!"

"Shut your cunt mouth!" He pitched his piece of meat at me and I barely dodged.

Chortling still and ignoring Kurn beyond the pitched steak, I looked at Gavin, who seemed just as irritated. "I knew there was a reason I liked you, apprentice. Poisoned them all, hm? Impressive. A mage of my own ilk. We should swap favorite poisons."

I winked at the Ma'ab for good measure; let them think again how often they wanted Gavin to prepare their meals now.

I wanted to ask more specifics of him, of course—if it were true, if it included his own priest father, if some particular event had sparked an action like that or if it had been methodically planned over a longer period of time—but in front of the others was not the time or place for a deeper exploration. 

I already knew Gavin resisted talking about his past or his most private thoughts. He would talk of magic or ponder practical and theoretical things that were intellectually interesting, but there remained those personal barriers always.

He probably wouldn't have said this about the poisoning at all if he hadn't been provoked by us all, but it was a good thing in my opinion. We all just realized, even for a moment, that there was a line we could no doubt cross if we wanted, but Gavin wouldn't let it go if we did.

This was clearly not a threat worth fearing every second of the day, but...to each their own in embrace of the risk. I would back off now, I'd gotten something insightful, and I'd just shifted Gavin's status in the group whether he realized it or not. The fact that he did not display any but the most mundane talents did not help in gaining on his own, but now there was curiosity of what else he could do.

I certainly wanted to see it at some point before we needed it. All I knew for certain was that he could study auras quite well, see spirits, and sense undead. And even then, I was going on his word or circumstantial evidence.

None of the men got stomach cramps or lower intestinal woes from their meal, and because of that they were content to let Gavin be for the night. We drank as much water as we could hold, each of us often leaving the firelight to pass it out again soon after, before drinking more. When we left this waterfall, we would likely not find another source of this quality until we reached the second chain of mountains across the midway. 

Better to be fully saturated tonight, even if it meant taking down my leathers twice as often to wet the stone. Rather to my surprise, Kurn didn't try to interrupt me, and I spent more time away than present so they could lie down to rest without the Hellhound barking further and keeping everyone awake. His voice drifted up the stone at one point when he didn't know I was there, and it was clear he thought I went away so often because I was afraid of him and could not face the threat of a fight for long after teasing him.

That thinking hadn't changed from the Tower...how could one not adapt their as they had time to watch the dynamics of a group such as this, or probe the opinions of others? How could a supposedly elite warrior remain so blind? How did he ever read and anticipate his opponents? 

By this point, I did not think it could be true, what the two Ma'ab had boasted before about targeted lands fearing the coming of the Hellhounds first.

The Sky was black though the firelight dimmed some of the brightness of the Stars for me until it was banked for the night. The wind came in gusts and the air was comfortably cool, with the stones radiating a bit of warmth from the day. Everyone knew their order of watch by now, and the routine fell into place when the efforts of the day caught up with everyone.

My reverie was a quiet one and I woke with the darkness nearly complete as the Moons were very late in rising. I'd long since observed that their arrival and disappearance in the Sky varied by the same small amount of time each night, just as they each had their individual track and did not follow each other in sync. There would be the occasional night where the Moons could not be seen as they shared the Sky with the Sun, and the nighttime would be Moonless and utterly black but for Starlight the entire time. If one Moon did start to track the Sky before the night was done, it could be in the dark time of its phase, when it reflected no Sunlight.

That would be a rare event, and one worth living to see.

I had no trouble navigating the path back to camp when it came my turn to relieve Gavin on watch, per usual. I kept practicing suppressing my aura to see how close I could get before he might see me. 

The apprentice was a difficult one to approach at night if he was awake and explicitly focused on detecting life auras. I had gauged by now that I could get within twenty paces before he saw me, or at least detected a figure, even if he didn't know whether or not it was me. The identifying aura was the magical one, not the one that simply said I was living; he often made a judgment based solely on size. 

A bit like Gavin, I could make out life forms in the dark, too; unlike Gavin, I could see identifying details by Starlight alone. This was, near as we could describe to each other in limited Common, an example of a very sensitive physical sense contrasted with a more nebulous "sixth" sense that the mind was simply trying to interpret as "visual," for lack of a better description in words.

Twenty paces was close enough to hit Gavin with a bolt if I wanted, but I could not tap him on the shoulder and whisper in his ear if he was watching the night. Not yet. It was a challenge I rather enjoyed.

Once again Gavin detected me by his "life sight" alone; he granted he did not hear me or smell me, and gave me grudging confirmation that I had hidden the unique aura that would have told him for certain who approached him. 

"I'm fairly sure Castis couldn't sense you unless you wanted him to."

I was more than content with that evaluation. The apprentice did not take long to bed down again and try to return to sleep.

The constant slap of water against stone forced me to depend on my night vision far more than my hearing on my watch, which was unusual. It drowned out everything else, most of what I could smell was just damp, and without the ear-teasing nuances of the insects and tiny creatures, or the distant cry of some nocturnal pack, I became bored staring at the same rocky walls.

I reflected that I could use the time to wash my shirt—which needed it—and spot clean my leathers, and finally bathe my entire body. I'd be watching over the others anyway and wouldn't be able to hear anything better whether sitting here or calf-deep in the tiny pool. There was also a bit of vulnerability and a contest in it, trying to get the deed done with none of the Humans or dwarf the wiser, that perked me up and banished my equally dangerous, drowsy boredom.

From all signs, I could not look forward to another bath for a while yet anyway.

I stepped away from the group and toward a fold in the high stone that held an ideal place to stash my equipment; I would have to climb to reach it, and the others were either too bulky to squeeze into the same spot—that would be Kurn, Rithal, and Matias—or would have to display a bit of acrobatic skill I had not yet witnessed, which would be Castis and Gavin. Line of sight would also be an issue if one was detecting magic, as would remotely moving the stone I could use to seal the cache.

After reaching my desired hiding place and bracing myself, I first allowed my spiders out to crawl and into my hair, and considered what else on my tool belt might be good to keep on me, just in case. The spiders were lethal and I would not use my last antidote on any of these males should they be so stupid as to force me to use my creatures. But what of an alternative? Something less lethal, just a warning or a neutralizer? All it might take would be one good besting to make the Ma'ab behave and focus on the mission rather than me. It was a thought.

I was disinclined to use any powder; the wind in this canyon was unpredictable to me and I was as likely to have it blow back in my face. Likewise, blades and bolts...poison and infection...just a slower method of killing and a waste compared to the spiders that could revive their supply of venom. 

I possessed a small blow tube and tiny needles I could dip in a sleep paste...but I risked pricking myself with them in haste if I planned to be naked with no gloves or belt. No. Too risky and too much preparation required. That was for hunting, not defense.

I considered a compressed paste formed into a shape like half of my pinky finger.. It would dissolve in any orifice and enter the blood quickly, similar to what I'd once used on Callitro when I'd bedded him. It would loosen the tongue and cause the target to lose focus as euphoria diffused through him; it was intended as an interrogation tool—if intent was not bleed them, then better to drug them. I would have to get close to my target to use it, but...overall it was my best option if I wanted something non-lethal to hand in addition to my arachnid pets.

I only had three of the elongated capsules in a tiny, waterproof pouch, and so transferred two into another and kept one in its place, tightly closed. I considered for a moment my smallest, thinnest blade, normally kept in my boot; perhaps I could bring it in its sheath? No...using that at all would have to be lethal or it was pointless. Someone could turn my own blade against me, but they could not turn my spiders in such a way. Deadly was deadly, and a blade would be higher risk and redundant.

So I had one lethal, and one non-lethal. I was ready for my bath.

I had fun bracing myself in this tiny crack as I removed my pack and each weapon and tool, placing them in their hiding spot. I placed my cloak and boots there as well, but after peeling the rest off, I kept my foot stockings, leathers, shirt, and the flexible torso armor bundled beneath an arm, my small bar of scentless soap in my hand. I retrieved my other two pair of stockings that needed washing and carried them with all the stealth of which I was capable to our water source.

I kept my attention on those sleeping a good thirty paces away as well as the general area around us as I washed my shirt first, rinsed and wrung it out, and spread it over a boulder for now. It would be a little damp come morning, but not too bad if I could hang it elsewhere for the wind to blow through it. My stockings followed in quick order, and then the spot cleaning of my leathers.

Overall my things seemed to be wearing well.

I finished my washing in peace and collected all things again to return to my cache, securing the leathers and soap and choosing a different, nearby crevasse to drape the shirt and black stockings over woody twigs sprouting well above the heads of any Human. It would take until well into daylight for the drying clothing to be obvious to a visual race like the Humans, and I would be dressed long before then. Being naked beneath the Sun was not my first choice of each day.

Now, I just had my own bath to tend to. I had plenty of time.

Both my chosen tools were vulnerable to water, so I had to tuck the pouch in a nearby dry spot on the opposite of the pool from where it was easiest to approach from the camp. I placed my spiders there as well to wait for my call, if needed. Almost immediately, one of them snatched hold of a small insect that had been using the dry pocket near the falls.

*Good, cherished ones. Feed yourselves.*

As I approached the rippling pool, unthreading my braid after looping the tie around my wrist, I admired the shimmer of Starlight that made the surface glitter like diamonds. The temperature as I stepped in was that wonderful, shocking chill to which I'd become accustomed in the mountains, and I drew in a quiet breath and smiled—the strongest expression of pleasure I could afford—as the chill crept up my calves. 

Checking around me and seeing all was still, I squatted down to dip hip-deep and cup water to drink again and then to dampen my skin. I did not use my limited soap on my skin, which could be lightly scrubbed with any number of natural tools such as a handful of sand, but reserved that for my clothing. Eventually I moved closer to the falling water itself, scanning again for disturbances before placing myself directly beneath it.

The cool water beat on my scalp, ran over my ears and down my breasts, belly, and legs with great sluicing effect; it was invigorating and I wished I could laugh aloud. My nipples were hard and tight from the cold and tiny bumps had risen on my haunches. When I cupped them, I noticed how tender and sensitive they were; a symptom of my pregnancy. Next I rubbed the pads of my fingers through my snowy thatch and noticed the lips of my sex both tightened from the cold and tingled in response to the touch. 

How long had it been since I'd pleasured myself...? Not since that odd, rushed moment in the mountains after I'd watched Kurn do the same. I indulged in a few caressing strokes between my legs, but soon arrived at the conclusion that it was probably too foolish right here and now. I certainly wished for more. It might be a long time before I found one I would risk fucking, possibly not until returning to the Underdark. Alas.

The water seemed to brighten as I was in it, and I realized that the larger Moon had probably risen while I was still tending and hiding my clothing and tools. With the waterfall facing West, it had taken time for the Moon to climb high enough to offer any appreciable light in this spot. I could not see the round celestial body itself as it was hidden behind the rocky walls, but the change in light was obvious to me.

So, too, was a dark hulk that had just begun to sneak toward me from the camp, hunched over and moving on relatively light foot. Only the fact that water still beat on my head kept me from hearing him.

I felt a flash of irritation that my enjoyable, sensual solitude was to be interrupted, but was satisfied that he approached from the direction I'd anticipated, and my spiders and pouch would be easier to reach when needed with the pool would be between us.

His height alone left no doubt who it was, but I could also see the clothing and tools—shirt, trousers, boots, blade in the boot. No armor. The face came into clear focus a moment later. The breeze changed and I caught the scent—he needed a bath as well.

"I see you, Hellhound," I said, stepping out of the direct falls. I wrung out my hair in one stroke and started a quick, tight braid with my arms raised and hands behind my head. I did not need hair in my face if I needed to move quickly.

Kurn had straightened up hearing my voice, his body language giving away some of his own irritation at being made so quickly. However, he did not speak, which surprised me only until I realized that he was staring hard at my chest, trailing down to my thighs, then back up again as his neck craned, as if trying to make out more detail than he could see. Even if his eyes didn't work now as if it were daytime, his night vision under the Moon was good enough to be able to tell I was nude. I supposed my white hair was most obvious to him. Above and below.

"Is this an invitation, whore?" he growled.

I finished tying off my braid and it slapped wetly against my back. "Is what an invitation, Ma'ab?"

"Posing like that, so proudly." He sneered. "Not a measure of shame or modesty."

I sort of wanted to know where this odd little deduction came from, that he'd ignore the fact that it was my watch not his, that he had approached me, and that I was merely tying back my hair anticipating a confrontation. Were our positions reversed, I'd have evaluated the situation much differently. I could tease him, of course, encourage the delusion since that was what he would believe anyway, but...

"Posing at night seems ill-planned for Human eyes."

"This is the first you've splashed around where all could see."

"There is only one pool this time. And I would not do this in the day."

He snorted. "Of course not. Then you'd just be asking for it."

"Asking for what?"

"To be mounted by us all. You'd want it, or you would not parade so."

Ridiculous! I wanted to laugh, but then...well, yes, I could think the same if someone like Auslan displayed himself nude in front of a group of females. Yet I would like to think that I could take the scenario into account. 

Walking out of nowhere into a garden party, smiling and touching himself with an erection, making brief moments of eye contact to show his submission and desire? Oh, absolutely; he was lonely.

But if I walked into his private bath while he happened to be focused on scrubbing his toes, and then I accused him of being a naked tease? ...well, only if I was playing. 

The point was I knew perfectly well when I was the aggressor, and the rest of it was part of the foreplay, part of the game. I knew that I would not sound so accusatory or look so angry as Kurn did right now. 

What did he have to be angry about?

"And now?" I asked curiously.

"You do not cover yourself before me as we talk."

"You might notice the lack of clean, dry clothing, Hellhound."

"Not even cover with your hands."

I arched a brow. "What benefit would that be?"

He looked triumphant. "None since you are inviting me to look anyway, whore."

This debate made little sense to me and I rolled my eyes with exaggeration—which seemed to bother him as his momentary smile vanished to a scowl again—and I stood there looking back at him. The waterfall was the only noise for several long moments as Kurn met the challenge.

"You are all air, Kurn," I said after a while. "You place blame on me for your own want, which is self-deceit. Even now you still stand at the edge of the pool, fully clothed, and do nothing."

I distinctly heard his teeth grind. "So... you want me to hurt you, do you, ku's?"

I smiled. "Words and air, reshalitha."

The Hellhound crossed his arms to pull up and remove his shirt in one smooth motion over his head. I watched for this and it was enough time to step out of the pool on the other side and palm my pouch as my babies tickled the bare skin of my shoulder and neck before hiding in my hair.




Surfacing Ch. 07



Author's Notes: This story is erotic fantasy written by Etaski. I reserve the right to be listed as the author of this story, wherever it is posted. If found posted anywhere except Literotica.com with this note attached, this story is posted without my permission. (c) Etaski 2013

The bridge which leads to answers which leads to questions. :) 

*********

Chapter 7

My short time being the youngest Red Sister had taught me many things, or reinforced lessons learned from my family. One of them was that lying out of fear, with far less knowledge of a situation than the one to whom I am lying, never worked in my favor. A successful lie, as with any bluff, worked best from a position of strength—or the outward illusion of strength. 

I did not have either in Brom's room.

I stood without weapons or armor, with my hands braced against a chest of drawers near a Human-sized bed. I was still looking at the firebird design of the gold ring in front of me, a decorated echo to the simpler magical ring I wore on my right hand. 

The large Man loomed over my back—an allowance which had started out a playful curiosity on my part but shifted quickly to one of threat and vulnerability when I recognized his ring. He had his left arm hooked around my torso, palming my right breast and pressing fingers firmly into my side through my black shirt. My feet were bare, but he wore thick, hard-soled boots that could crush my toes quite easily.

There was no space between my back and his chest; the building and aggressive heat was notable and I kept my hands in full view for survival—for both me and my unborn. Brom seemed to note my intent, and his large, right hand moved back from near my own on the chest to brush my hair to the side, take the cord of Kurn's ruby pendant and to lift that over my head. He flung it far behind us; I heard it land and likely slide beneath a piece of furniture. Next he slid that hand down to squeeze my right buttock through my black leathers. 

Despite that first, unpleasant, cold wave that had passed through me in those moments when I realized I had been completely fooled and led into a trap where I may not walk out, I understood what was unsaid now and almost felt better for a moment. 

Thanks to my Sisters, being bested and forced to couple on male-dominant terms was not an additional fear or anger to lump on top of the rest. In my experience, that it would be fighting the wrong battle. Some of my tension now softened, just a little, because the fact that Brom still wanted to mount me most likely meant I would not be killed immediately. 

He had squeezed my flesh firmly, but it had not hurt. Time would tell if this would be only to pleasure himself or to torture and injure me as a surrogate for vengeance against the Valsharess. If the latter, my battle would not be sex; it would be either straight killing or pure endurance. One of the two. The sex was the least important part in that scenario.

I still had time; I could still talk, which meant I still had a chance.

"I do not know who you are, Brom," I murmured. "I was never supposed to know of the ring or the mage who wore it. Perhaps my queen once searched for him, but I do not know when this was, or if it is still the case... or even if the target was you. You do not match the description."

The innkeeper—which was probably the least accurate name of many—listened as I answered his questions, even the one that had been more threat to intimidate me and make clear his stance with the queen.

"Not in this form," he said, and he placed his right hand back beside mine where I could see it, and I watched as the magic shimmer and show one reality passing to the next.

The hand aged, it had more wrinkles but did not lack in strength from the moment before. The light brown hair that had lightly coated his wrist and the back of his hand turned to silver with touches of black and grey. The hand matched exactly what I had seen in Rausery's memory, even neither wearing the ring nor holding the red-rune dagger.

"Look up," he commanded.

I raised my eyes to the small mirror atop the chest of drawers, and he shifted slightly so that we could make eye contact without turning my head. I'd never seen the face before, but it looked like an older, more venerable version of what he had been at the start of the evening. The bone structure remained the same, still different from the pale Men around him in the tavern though it was hard for me to say exactly why. His eyes were the same intense, slate grey; he possessed more creases around those eyes and the corners of his mouth, but again, he had not lost any strength showing me what lay beneath the illusion. He was still a big Man.

Most striking to me was how his hair had become pure white, like mine, and that his skin was now quite a bit darker brown than it had been before. His coloring was more Drow than not, even if I saw a purely Human form in every other way. It seemed to combat the age lines in my view, and he looked mature and experienced, even attractive to me. His aura throbbed with power and he possessed an unnamed presence, truly appearing like a male counterpoint to the Valsharess.

How old was he?

He eyes narrowed at me in the mirror, one brow quirked, and he grunted, "Hm. You don't know my face."

"No," I confirmed.

"And my name?"

"If it is not Brom, then no."

One corner of his mouth drew up. "How old are you, Sirana? You can't be far into your second century."

I tamped down the temptation to be embarrassed or irritated about that, I could not change my youth after all, but I did believe—somehow—that this Human was much older than me. Only a strongly magical being might ever have the chance to extend his life beyond the natural span for his race.

Magical, and with strong ambition and the motivation.

"I am that," I answered.

"Perhaps that is why it was so easy," he murmured, his lips close to my hair. "It must be your first time on the surface in all your life. You have never seen the sunrise before this journey, have you?"

He waited and stared at me in the mirror.

"True," I answered, trying to keep my face and my tone neutral.

He didn't say more at first, he just stared in the mirror and I felt the pads of his fingers against my ribs begin to rub my skin through the shirt as his palm moved in slow circles against my breast. Quite unbidden, my nipple hardened and I felt the sensitivity again, that edge of pleasure-pain as my breasts felt more swollen and tender than they had when Rausery had touched them atop the mountain under the Moons. 

More than this, some part of my own aura was being manipulated by his, I was sure. I'd long since stopped suppressing it and he would have my pitiable measure by comparison. The uneven flush of energy would arouse me, I already knew, because that was how I'd learned to respond to a challenge for dominance. I could submit and be used quite thoroughly, or I could best the other and top them; looking toward either result did not change the somatic response to a challenge. I grew hot between my legs regardless.

"Many things I want to know from you, now that we're both unmasked," Brom said, inhaling near my neck, his right hand disappearing again and I felt him tugging at the leather thongs at my hip. "But I will better be able to concentrate once we've finished what we started. Will you be foolish and try to deny me?"

The unique feeling of someone else loosening my leathers encouraged blood flow to my sex and I felt my netherlips swelling; soon my sex ached. I was not with Jaunda or another of my Sisters, and I was long out of a training scenario. This Man could very well try to kill me as he mated me, but...if he meant what he just said, that he had questions for me for afterward, then I did not think he would unless he lost control in a big way.

I had yet to observe the sorcerer lose any control yet.

He had switched his grip around my torso to untie the thong at my left hip next, loosening my pants considerably but not so they'd slip down. Before I'd even decided if that last question was worth an answer, he slipped his hand down the back—not unlike I'd done to Kurn very recently to drug him—and, with his calloused palm cupping my backside, his two middle fingers slid between my cheeks and thighs, and ran over the slick glaze already gracing my sex. 

I bit back a gasp at the surge of pleasure—long weeks without sex for me worked in his favor as well—and I saw him smile in the mirror. He could still tell I'd liked it even without sound as my body tensed and I arched my back just slightly, pressing my rump into his hand. What was more interesting to me was that he shivered, his eyes closing for a moment as some sort of intense feeling had swept through him as well and I felt him push his erection into my left hip.

It was the first time he'd taken his eyes off me.

"Yes," he said thickly as he looked back in the mirror, "you will take me however I like. You are young, but not stupid enough to fight at this point."

True, not at this point. There were many ways to fight, but as soon as I had closed and secured the doors to his den myself, that had made it certain that—should he so choose— I would discover how Human cock varied from Drow or Draegloth, or even Duergar.

"Have you met many stupid Drow?" I asked without attitude, more curiosity, as his right hand finally released my breast and he used both hands to push my leathers down to mid-thigh. I could feel the air cooling the moisture on my lips and my sex tingled in anticipation of being filled.

Brom ran his hands across my bare backside, along my hips and flanks then my ribs, pushing my shirt up to bunch at my shoulders while exploring my skin. He paused when he saw the healing cuts on my back; the small bandages Gavin had used had already been removed much earlier when they'd gotten soaked in the rain. 

"You may let go of the chest long enough to remove your shirt."

I released the finely-carved, wooden chest to draw my shirt over my head and strip it off, tossing to the right. I placed my hands back afterward, now wearing nothing but my leather pants bunched just above my knees. He grunted at my cooperation and I felt him touch the new scabs on my back. I tensed, he whispered, and I felt the distinct warmth of healing energy spreading across my injuries. They itched a little, but I knew they were closing, the scabs falling off.

It only took a moment, and Brom smoothed his palm over the new skin before again reaching to cup my tender breasts in both hands, squeezing them before running one down my still-flat stomach to play with my mound fur. He stroked my naked netherlips with an oddly light touch for his size. Hot lips kissed my bare shoulder and he pressed the ridge of his erection, still trapped beneath his trousers, against my bare ass. 

I could not keep my breath even, and I had nearly forgotten to expect a response to my question when he spoke something quietly that sent tremors down my spine.

"Yulansho ignithi Drowh bregna," he murmured in my native language.

The accent not so much odd as it was...old.

There was the classic beauty of the Valsharess and some of the older Houses, like Jael's House Aurenthin, varying in appearance from the majority after all the time spent in the Underdark breeding to maintain our place and grow our power. Unlike House Aurenthin, however, the queen—and perhaps the Prime—also had a slightly different manner of speech than those of us so much younger than them. Perhaps because they kept themselves apart more often, or seemed to remember so much more.

This Man had spoken to me in Drow, with a nearly flawless lilt very similar to my queen. That astonished me far more than what he'd actually said, which was: "No Drow child is born stupid but can be tempted to act so."

If the pronunciation and tone both had been poor, I'd have thought he was simply insulting me directly, but they weren't. His voice had the controlled, underlying, second tone that meant the words were double-edged at least. He may be poking at my pride on how easy it had been to get me in this position, but he meant something else with that answer.

This darker-skinned, white-haired Man understood my race very well, and he'd been waiting for one of us to cross paths with him again. I had to accept that. I was fleetingly glad that it hadn't been Gaelan to run into him, and any other flitting thought of mine that wanted to deny this could even be possible was banished as it would only hold me back. I'd already frozen up once; I would not do so again.

It eventually dawned on me—as Brom enjoyed my skin, squeezing and stroking and kissing just about every part of me he could reach from thighs to ears—that my lack of direct participation, my passiveness, did not antagonize him. It did not tempt him to show his contempt by treating me more harshly to force a stronger reaction from me. Many Drow I knew would have reacted that way to my standing here being touched, and so would have Kurn. 

Speaking of him, Brom soon found the bite on my inner thigh during his exploration. He caressed that as well, his magic soothing as he asked, "Any others?"

"No," I said.

His voice was slightly more threatening when he next spoke. "Which of them did this? This is only two or three days old."

It was newer than that—barely a day—but Shyntre's pellets helped.

"One of the Ma'ab," I answered readily enough. "Kurn."

"Ah. The big one that called you a whore?"

"Yes."

"Of course." He paused, stroking my healed, smooth, inner thigh. "Unwilling?"

I smiled slightly. "I do not care for bites that hard, Brom. But that was the worst he managed from trying, nothing more. I did worse to him."

He chuckled darkly. "I shall remember that."

The innkeeper straightened up and raised his hands off me only long enough to unthread his own belt, loosen his trousers, and push them down with a shush of familiar sound. He pressed a hot, hard, and thick member to my naked skin, his hands again on my flawless skin as he rubbed himself over my ass at first and then between my cheeks. 

I could feel the wiry hair of his bush, but also the hair on his thighs and testicles as well on my backside and upper thighs. I wasn't sure what to think of that; it was different.

Nonetheless, I moved my hips to enhance the feeling for both of us and he seemed to purr deep in his chest. He took hold of the back of my neck with one large hand, gripping harder as if to test if I would begin to fight now—I stubbornly stuffed down the urge to do so—and his other hand adjusted his rod to point downward until the head glided over my wet sex instead of up between my buttocks.

"You'll allow this from me, Sirana?" he growled hotly in my ear, returning to Common. "Or are you waiting until the last moment to play hard to get, as you must have with Kurn? You are about to run out of time to try with me."

"I agreed to mutual pleasure with the innkeeper," I answered. "I still do not know who else you may be, sorcerer, but this is pleasurable enough. Thank you for the healing."

He laughed low. "It must be convenient for you to keep the bargain, or you know you can't alter it."

He forced me to adjust the tilt of my hips because it wasn't quite right for him to take me, and I knew how I presented to him, my ass thrust out and tilted up as my back arched. I felt him finally press his large knob into the softest and wettest spot between my legs, and he gripped my neck harder, seizing my right hip with his other hand as he pushed hard to fill me.

My eyes widened as I realized how broad he was. I'd taken as wide before in the various Feldeus, or even more so as in the case of Kerse's knot, but all those were widest at the base. Brom had only begun, and the way he thrust in, letting my body wet his dry cock before withdrawing some and then trusting again, sinking deeper each time, I knew without looking that the breadth was nearly uniform all the way down.

His hairy skin soon pressed up against mine; he was fully seated, my body wrapped snug around him. I felt the tip nudging uncomfortably at my womb before he withdrew slowly and then sank in again to bottom out. He held still, holding my neck and hip and keeping my sex spread wide open and clutching reflexively at his whenever we shifted any weight. I shivered from the tension; I wanted more movement, and yet I wondered if the depth or further roughness was safe for my unborn.

"Aia Innathi," he whispered, as if out of breath, and these words I didn't recognize at all, though I thought it was with the same reverence as if someone was calling on a deity in prayer. 

Brom swallowed and continued in Common, "Do you know of magical conception, Sirana?"

He gave us a few long strokes and I sucked in air before answering; it felt very intense. I thought it better to play on my younger age.

"The...Priestesses use it to aid those favored by the queen," I said, trying not to give any specifics about Draegloth or Lolth rituals or Consorts.

He grunted and fucked me harder for a few strokes; I winced at one that struck my womb and I squirmed a bit against the hold on my neck.

"Not so deep," I gasped.

He did not acknowledge that directly, but he did not punish with intent immediately afterward, even as he kept thrusting. "The more magical the creature, Sirana... the greater the possibility to breed with another race entirely. I know this to be fact."

My eyes rolled upward at a particularly nice thrust as Brom continued reaming my pussy, and a magical surge seeming to enhance it. I shook my head, trying to focus past it. "How...?"

He slipped easily into my native tongue. "When you return, do you think your queen would appreciate a gift from me, for old time's sake? She always did like new sources of magic."

I felt my sex clamp down on him as if I had any chance of expelling him once I caught his meaning. My mind whirled as I tried to think through the lust and the way his aura battered at me as his excitement grew. I wasn't sure whether his magic could even edge this coupling in that direction at all if I was already pregnant. Could arcane magic overcome divine magic somehow? Would it have to? What was done was done...

It couldn't be...something like that could only be bloody and damaging to every part of me, like Kerse and his ritual had been. It couldn't be an instant effect; to oust one babe and replace it with another in an instant. I used this very thought to snuff that stubborn, irrational swell of fear inside me, to remind myself that I had time. 

*Calm down...*

Regardless of the magic, however, I did not want him to know that he was too late in being able to seed my womb. He had said "when" I return. He meant to see me leave alive, at least at this moment.

"No, don't," I said aloud, shifting my hands to different spots on the chest, as if I meant to turn and look back at him. "Don't put your seed in me, Brom. She doesn't allow half-bloods to breed, if they are even allowed to live past birth."

Brom's breath shuddered excitedly with my words, and he leaned to force more of his weight onto me through his hand on my neck. It pushed my arms down and forced me again to look at the gold ring that had begun this battle of wills.

"She would have a law like that now," he growled and now started stabbing into me harder, using me as that surrogate I had suspected he wanted from the start. I pushed past the discomfort to focus on what he was saying. He was still speaking in Drow, low and aggressive as he rammed into me.

"She always did loathe any of my lineage... regardless that her sister chose me first. She *chose* to bear me heirs. What does the demon-worshipper tell her followers these days, that I somehow forced my wife stay with me? As if even the power of *my* bloodline could bend such an extraordinary will for so long!"




Surfacing Ch. 07



I wasn't sure I could even fathom that tirade quickly enough before Brom slowed his pace, keeping a tight hold on me even as I wasn't trying to get away. He huffed a short, bitter laugh when I looked up, as he read my face in the mirror quite accurately.

"She doesn't say anything at all, does she?"

I swallowed, feeling an ache deep inside me, and every full, slow stroke as the interrogation continued. I kept my voice neutral. "I am not in Her confidence, sorcerer. I do not know what She says."

"But it is not part of your lore, is it?"

"Why would it be?"

He sounded insulted. "Do you know what came before your current queen? Anything at all?"

I hesitated, but shook my head slightly. "No. Nothing."

Brom pulled out quickly, startling me, and grabbed me painfully by the hair to force my back straight again. His strength was considerable. He spun me around by the shoulders and stared down directly into my eyes. 

His expression barely contained his fury, and I could still feel the heat bleeding off him. His wet cock trailed my own juices along my hip and belly as he stood close enough to press it against me, looking down.

"On the whole," he murmured dangerously, "I am not surprised. Given how long it took to find out where she had gone, and even longer after that to locate an area where the nearest portal might be, based only on gossip and vague legendary tales... I knew there had to be a reason I have seen none of you in millennia. You don't remember this world anymore."

I asked a question before my mind could seize up at this. "Are...are you certain my queen is the same Drow as your dead mate's sister, sorcerer? Perhaps she is long dead and another has taken her place."

Brom narrowed his eyes at me, then smiled slightly in acknowledgment. "What is your queen's name?"

I pursed my lips briefly. "No one knows. She is the Valsharess."

"Let me look at a memory of her face. I will tell you."

I shook my head warily.

"I can break into your mind if you force me to," he whispered, leaning closer. "I am giving you a choice, young one."

"It is no choice. You will take more."

"Let the memory come to the fore, focus only on that. I only need a glimpse and I will not take more because I think you more valuable as you are than as a puppet stripped of her will...which is what will happen if I have to take what I want by force. You were the one to bring up the possibility, Sirana, and you could be right. Now give me some way to confirm it."

Even my not allowing another thought cross "the fore"— that he could find unexpected challenge in trying to read me against my will—I still did not want to test it against someone who might be as old as my queen...if he was telling the truth...if he wasn't just insane and living a very elaborate illusion.

Then again, how could he speak my language so perfectly and sound so much like my queen doing it? And he was right about the general population now living underground knowing nothing of what came before. Whether he knew what came before or not was beside the point; we still didn't know.

I nodded and focused on my last memory of the queen, standing in what was to be Shyntre's new quarters, as Her fingernail had punctured my tongue and my mouth filled with blood. 

There were no memories of the exact words said at that moment, they were gone, but I remembered and saw clearly Her aged beauty, felt her Her terrifying, oppressive aura that made it hard to breathe. I remembered hating Her for everything She had taken by force and demand. For benefit or detriment, She the first reason I was even in this place, held within the power of this centuries-old Human mage who did not fear my kind in the least.

A bluish sheen of magic seemed to shine over Brom's eyes as he concentrated on me; most of his erection had gone and he remained in thought as he finally released whatever spell he was using and lifted his gaze up. I was glad to be free of it. The queen and the sorcerer had this in common.

I realized then that we both still stood with our pants around our thighs. It bothered me now to have the physical distraction and restraint during such an exchange as this, and I stepped back slowly to strip the rest of the way so I could be fully naked. 

The sorcerer blinked as he focused on me, chuckled then took my lead—after a fashion. He sat on the bed and indicated with a silent gesture—a Drow gesture— that I should remove his boots for him. 

I felt a flash of irritation and insult, but his smile—chillingly easy for me to read on a different race—promised something in return, something that I wanted, if I did as he asked. Otherwise, our conversation would not continue for a while.

I yanked the boots off with hard jerks that made him laugh a bit louder; I took it the next step to strip his dark brown trousers as well without his asking. He was leaning back on his hands and when his legs were free, they widened as he relaxed on the mattress, his genitals deeply flushed, red, and sticky between his very dark, brown thighs.

At last he nodded. "It is she, your queen. The one I remember. And she has erased your heritage prior to her coming into power." He gave me an odd look and a smile. "But you are not wholly loyal to her, are you? You only fear her for what she can do, and what others might do to protect the balance of power. Did you run away? Is that why you are up here?"

I shook my head. "No. I was sent by Her. I am still going to Manalar."

I waited to see if his opinion varied on that; he did not say one way or another. 

Brom reached for me instead, catching my waist and one wrist and pulling me onto his bed with him. My bruised pride thought for a moment that I should fight harder, resist more, but really what would that do more than waste energy and focus? Nothing, unless I wanted to act in a certain way to deceive him, but I already knew that Brom would be very difficult for me to fool. Especially now.

He pressed me onto my back and leaned over me to kiss my mouth; his eyes closed briefly as mine remained open, and the softened edge made me wary. It was the same as the first time, when he'd been playing at being a forty-year-old Man eager and almost begging to bed an independent Woman he greatly admired. 

How quickly that had changed...though it was better this way. Had I not seen that ring, he would still be playing me like an instrument. More than he was now, with me still fully believing that I was the one tricking him.

His tongue tasted my lips and the inside of my mouth before drawing harder and making that distinct sucking noise, and he inhaled at the same time. I enjoyed kissing for the same reasons, being able to explore the sensitive orifice of another body at my pleasure, to use all my senses doing so, while the other did not usually dare to bite—like Auslan, restrained, accepting, submitting.

Brom lifted his head and breathed out as he shifted down to start nuzzling and licking my tingling nipples, the flat of his hand sliding down my abdomen and settling at my inner thigh. I was not relaxed and my thighs closed on his hand by reflex; he lifted his head to make eye contact again with a sigh of exasperation.

"I would rather you be more engaged, young one. I remember much more bold and confident Drow in my day, not passive virgins more afraid of the act despite their scent of invitation."

I stared coldly at him. "If you dare compare me to a long-dead mate, Brom, then a stiff body would be closer to the reality, would it not?"

The anger that seized his face and the aggressive pulse of his aura I fully expected; the ferocity of my own response, not quite so.

I lashed out and struck his larynx in a hard jab, though I avoided crushing it; it took his voice and his breath but broke neither. I followed up with a paralyzing blow to a nerve bundle at the junction of his right arm; the numbness should last for several minutes at least and spread all the way from shoulder to fingertips.

A naked mage without his voice or his hands was only a Human male, even an old one.

Following through, I rolled and rammed his chest with my shoulder to send him onto his back, leaping to kneel with my full weight on his chest. After striking the companion nerves of his left arm, I watched his face turn a dark shade of red, as red as his cock had been just after he'd fucked me. He now struggled to draw in any air at all between the pain in his throat and my knees digging into his pectoral muscle, my body compressing his ribs. His hands trembled but he could not raise his arms yet.

I slapped him across the face and it got his attention very quickly despite the other sources of distraction.

"I am engaged now, Ree Fon," I hissed in Drow, using the echo of the name I heard in Rausery's mind. "Is this better, mage? You ask, you shall receive."

I slid back somewhat and reached behind me to grasp his male member...which to my surprise had become like iron as I'd mishandled him. I caressed the hot, broad meat and he almost choked as he finally managed to inhale once. The red faded a little from his face and his eyes had lost the panicked, pinkish look as he had been suffocating. 

His arms still wouldn't work properly but would recover soon, sooner than expected. I would receive some payback soon, but for now I knocked his reaching hands to the side once more and slid yet further down his body.

Straddling one of his well-muscled thighs, my knee in perfect position to crush his testicles if necessary, I reclaimed his erection and put it straight into my mouth, sucking on it and servicing it with as much enthusiasm as I had many a Feldeu, able to use my hand in tandem with my mouth. I tasted my own sex as I worked as much saliva as I could over his entire length, until it started dripping onto his balls.

The sorcerer groaned hoarsely first, acknowledging the pleasure, but it grew in volume to an injured, frustrated roar as he sat up and tried to seize me with both hands. He could not manage fine gestures to cast a spell, but his hands were still big, and they could grasp now.

I drew my mouth off him quickly and punched him in the jaw on his way up, sending him half-way back down. It had not been hard not enough to fracture bone—I doubted I had the strength on him without magical enhancement—but it had shocked him again and gave me enough time to laugh aloud so I knew for certain that he heard it.

This only incensed him; he would chase me about the room if necessary, but I did not really want that—my spit making his cock glisten now would dry out if I did that. I played at some evasion on the bed when he rose up faster this time, to make him work for it, but within two lunges he got a very good hold on me and used his much greater reach and weight to every advantage. He grappled me, yanked my arms behind my back and pressed me face-down, smothering my nose and mouth as he made sure he could keep my legs apart and my hands secured.

One of his large hands held both my wrists crossed at the small of my back, and the other gripped the back of my head, pushing my face hard into the bedding; there was still a small tremor there in his arms from the fading numbness. His legs were braced wide inside of mine, holding them open. 

I went still and arched my bottom up to brush his scrotum and the underside of his erection. After a full ten seconds, he finally allowed me to breathe unfettered, taking his hand off of my head so I could turn it to the side and inhale fully.

We each breathed heavily for several, quiet moments. Without a word passed between us, he pressed the spit-slick head of his cock up against my back hole. I widened my eyes so that he could see it clearly, sucked in a breath for effect—and in encouragement, whether he realized it or not. I suppressed my urge to smile completely, even as I relaxed to allow the large, mushroom-shaped head of his cock to open me up and pop inside more easily as he leaned in. I groaned, feeling a bit of a sting as his Human rod spread my tight ring wider than it had been in quite a while.

He felt even broader in this hole than he had in my pussy, but I knew the pain wouldn't last long as my netherlips were already beginning to tingle in excitement as he lunged ever deeper in regular thrusts, grunting a few times in pleasure. I braced my knees well as I could to hold my ass up to receive him, thinking that only Kerse's knot had been wider. Eventually I felt his hairy testicles pressed against my cunt, his hips flush against my buttocks. He was in deeper than should be comfortable, but I didn't care.

"Your netherhole trembles around my staff, my deft, little fighter," he murmured in flawless Drow over my back. "Is it in pain or pleasure? Or a bit of both?"

His throat was still bruised, I could tell it in his voice, but he sounded in control once again. In fact, he sounded quite "engaged."

"Don't just plug it, merchant," I hissed in my native tongue. "Fuck it and find out." 

I was certain Brom trembled in response.

He rode me in leisured strokes at first, going at his own pace and perhaps trying to read my signs. I made more sound than I had up to this point, mewls, grunts, and moans that helped focus my pleasure even as I made the appearance like it hurt with every stroke, in and out. Interestingly he did not use this as reason to thrust more savagely, as I'd expected, though he continued to enjoy my clutching hole regardless and even either added more of his saliva or scooped lubricant from my pussy when it began to get dry.

It gave me time and a consistency of stimulation at a rate I was not really used to, and it felt as if I would rise to climax whether I made the effort or not. I wanted to, but I also often worked for it, for the timing, either making myself come sooner or later than my dominant partner planned. 

Here, it seemed to be rising sooner, and the more I relaxed, the more the swelling flush of sensation invited the floodgates to open wide. It was odd being ridden this way, rather unlike my Sisters, but still felt very, very good. At last, I could no longer hold it back.

*Oh, Lolth...fuck...fuck, yes...*

When my breath stopped for a moment and Brom felt the first, rippling squeezes around his cock, he released my hands and reached beneath my hips to press the pads of his fingers right on my swollen lips and the tiny nub hidden within. I squealed at the added, intense sensation piled atop my orgasm and felt my ass clutch him harder as I rode the rushes of pleasure in higher, sharper waves. 

I moaned in a long breath, the side of my face pressed to the mattress, the sound becoming a pleasurable growl when Brom thrust harder at last. Now he quite reminded me of Jaunda as he removed his hand from my sex, grabbed my hips, and fairly pounded my quivering hole. I used my new freedom of movement to brace myself on my forearms, fully giving him my ass. I felt no shock or insult, no distracting anger being plundered this way by a non-Drow male, though I felt plenty of aggression and pleasure and challenge.

I had long felt I understood what the Sisterhood had done to me. Now I had the proof that I did; I could apply it both to protect myself and to use what I learned for a later time.

"Innathi gru..." he grunted in that other language, gasping and on the very cusp of climax, I knew it. "Lo'wicova—"

His voice cut off as he barked something unintelligible and slammed in deep, holding himself there to spill his seed deep inside my body. I felt a secondary spasm of pleasure sweep through me as his cock pulsed in my back passage and I even fancied that I could feel the thick, white ropes of fluid erupting and spreading warmth inside me. 

A thought fleeted across my mind that, as often as I'd taken a phallus in my rear since joining the Sisterhood, not that often was there to be male spunk leaking out later. There had been Shyntre, Kerse, and that unnamed soldier from my trials. Two of the three were dead.

Now there was this ageless Human, as he pulled his thick member back out with a mutual groan from both of us. My netherhole twitched as it shrank back down, a touch of male fluid smearing and cooling on the hot, raw rim of my anus, soothing it.

It had been more than worth it. Perhaps Brom had meant that only that if a Drow female was ready to breed, not already breeding, then he could impregnate her, and maybe he was even lying about that... but without knowing more or understanding better how powerful of a mage he was, I would not accept any such magical threat to my first baby. 

I'd much rather take it in my ass, and peak in pleasure doing it. He'd been just as content to do it that way as well, after I'd fought him. I felt better having been correct on something, like I could understand part of how he responded in lust.

Brom's skin was moist, on his face, shoulders, and back especially, and his scent much stronger as he got off the bed. I watched him stand at the pot on the far, more discreet side of the bed, and he urinated into it, bracing himself with one arm against the wooden wall, his head down. His back was fully to me and I figured it possibly overconfident but more likely that he was tempting me just to see what I'd do.

I hadn't forgotten that I was still trapped in his den and his aura was on par with our strongest female mages. I sat upright on the bed—which was decidedly not stuffed with hay but something much softer and silent—and made myself and my throbbing netherhole more comfortable watching him.

When he had finished, he motioned to the pot, still speaking in Drow. "If you need. I'll get the warm wash and cloths."

That was only a good idea because it was inevitable anyway.

I got up and squatted over the waste pot with my back to the wall, facing the rest of the room, not only emptying my bladder but squeezing out some of that spunk he'd just deposited. Brom cast a spell with a careful gesture that heated the water inside a second, metal pitcher set aside from the one with the drinking water; in a short time I could see the steam gently rising up. The mage poured that into a wash basin and added a viscous liquid from a small bottle that developed suds in the water with a little agitation.

"You wash first," he said without looking at me, and it didn't sound like a request.

I padded over to him, silent on bare feet and strong board, I knew, because he looked over at last to make sure I wasn't doing something else. I smirked and gladly took one well-woven washcloth, dipping it into water that was just shy of scalding. Wringing it out, I used it to gently cleanse my sticky flesh and sore orifices. The heat seeping into my tender slit and netherhole was pure luxury as I felt them relax, soon nice and clean as I patted at my skin.

While I did this, Brom washed his thighs, cock, and scrotum thoroughly as well and then, after setting that cloth back aside, he took a second cloth, dipped that, and used it to wipe down his face, neck, chest and pits, which smelled strongest to my nose. I watched with some fascination before he handed me a fresh cloth, and I did the same. The ritual was practical but deliberate, solely for purpose of hygiene, especially following what we'd done...but from what I had been told, most Humans did not bother. 

Kurn and Gavin and the others went days without washing, from what I could smell. Maybe it was just harder to follow on the road, Brom had his own quarters and amenities to hand, but somehow I did not think so.

The sorcerer wordlessly and efficiently gathered up those amenities when we were finished, setting the washcloths by the door to be taken later. After unlatching a smallish, sliding metal panel that seemed to have some sort of chute built inside, he dumped first the waste pot, used the soapy water to rinse it out, and dumped the rest of the used water out before closing up the panel again. I stared the entire time as he set the vessels back in their places.




Surfacing Ch. 07



It was notable that he seemed to have similar standards to the Nobility of the City in how he kept his room and himself clean and nicely scented. Any consort to a powerful Drow would have done the same to please her, and that was what this Man was claiming to have been, once. The sire of multiple Drow children.

Where were those children, if that was the case? Had any of the survived as long as the sire? Or maybe they had never existed.

I was not going to break the silence first. The "innkeeper" was reworking his plans; this was plain on his face. He hadn't firmly chosen a path for after impulsively trying to bully me when I'd realized he had been fooling me. When next he looked directly at me after fucking me, a smile seemed to spread almost unwillingly and he chuckled with a shake of his head.

"Ah," he breathed ruefully. "Sirana."

"Oh. You recall a name with a face?" I asked with a cocked brow.

"Or a name with a very enticing ass," he returned in playful taunt.

Before I could respond, the smirk faded and he touched his sore throat, then briefly rubbed the left side of his jaw. I became aware he was using some of that same healing magic on himself. 

"A nice ass, and a precise strike. Impressive enough. Not quite what I expected when you were being so compliant...though I should have, especially when you goaded me."

I didn't have to say anything in return; I just smiled.

He walked over to where the cheese, roots, and fruit still lay, popping several pieces into his mouth and chewing. "I left you your ring. Why didn't you use it?"

I glanced at Callitro's ring and shrugged. "You're a mage. As well, I didn't need to. You did not try to kill me."

"You're too valuable to me to kill you lightly," he said. "I'll note you did not attempt permanent damage to me, either, though I suspect you could have."

"You gave away my value much earlier, when I uncovered your ploy."

He shrugged in a bit of irritation. "You recognized the phoenix."

"Phoenix? Is that what it is? You said quite a lot else besides that."

His frown deepened at my tone, but then softened just before he grinned unexpectedly. "Heh. I believe I have actually missed this game... Many old memories I thought I'd forgotten returned as I saw your image in the minds of the others, Sirana, when they first arrived at the inn. I have not spoken this language is a very long time. I shall take my various missteps in exchange for the clarity I have now, having bedded you."

I did not take that as a compliment. It sounded to me almost the same as if someone had just nudged a sleeping dragon awake.

He considered my nudity for a moment, seeming to enjoy it, before he looked back to my face. "I also have the feeling that even knowing what little I've told you would mean execution before your queen, should you report this. For you, and any others you may tell."

I did not respond to that; I hadn't explicitly thought it yet, but knew he was right. I wasn't in a good place between this Man and my queen.

"You called me 'Ree Fon,'" he said next. "Why?"

"Is it your name?"

"Answer my question first."

I expelled a breath and considered how to explain as the sorcerer cleaned the platter of all remaining food. "I saw the ring on your hand in a mind-read spell, like you did me to see the Valsharess's face, and I heard a whisper that sounded like those words. But it was only a brief flash, an accident."

"Accident," he repeated skeptically. "And whoever knew even those two details just accepted it to happen?"

"She didn't know, and I will tell you no more," I said stubbornly, adding, "Shall I call you Ree Fon?"

He smirked as he poured himself some of the remaining wine in his goblet. "Cris-ri-phon. Cris, if you wish, although any at this inn today will not recognize that name if you should blurt it out. I am Brom. It suites the land and the present time better."

"How old are you, then?"

An odd expression passed across his face at that and he didn't answer. He looked toward the door leading to the hall, his attention clearly somewhere else for several seconds.

"What?" I asked.

"The enforcers from Manalar are awake rather early," he said blithely as he took a sip of the deep red liquid. "Perhaps they feel they have self-appointed business this morning before breakfast."

Brom was watching me for a reaction, and I tried to decide what it should be. I was missing some link but... 

He said, "Your 'servant,' if that's what he is, seemed to be having a restless sleep just before you came down to the kitchen."

"How would you know that?"

"He stopped suppressing his aura. I wager if it continued during our visit, even the Witch Hunters could feel it eventually. If they are awake now, they will have done some preparation and planning. They hate necromancers."

I fully understood the threat now and I felt my eyes widen in genuine alarm. Brom chuckled as I moved toward the bed to collect my shirt and leathers, slipping into them efficiently and barely holding back the haste that would waste my motions as I quickly braided my hair.

The sorcerer did not block me as I continued on to don boots, armor, and tools, but he kept talking in an easy, calm voice.

"You are safe in here, Sirana, they aren't powerful enough to feel you even without the wards and likely don't even know you are here. You could let them take care of your travel companions and be on their way. I could even offer an illusion spell they can't penetrate, and introduce you to them. You could get much better information on where you wish to go."

How tempting, making it sound like he would just let me go.

As for the details, it was a potentially useful plan, and one that could help me locate Jael much faster, possibly with the sorcerer's more direct help. But not only did that put Jael in unknown danger from him, but it also conflicted with the other two plans: the Warpstone Cult and Gaelan, and Sarilis set up in his Tower. I had wanted Gavin's help sensing an aura that might be Gaelan's in this area, and I still had the agreement with him to help him take down his master. 

My blind need to destroy Sarilis had drastically changed now that I knew a very dangerous secret of the Valsharess—putting into question whether I would ever be able to return to the Underdark—but it was still too large of a secret of which I knew too little about to be able to say right at this moment. Certainly not in the little time I had to decide.

If I let Gavin be taken or killed by the Witch Hunters this morning—trading him and Gaelan for Jael and Brom—then I would have regret for that choice. I knew it. 

Brom would wait, as he has been, and Jael may still be traveling toward her goal. Gavin and Gaelan were the two in the greater, more imminent danger. Especially Gavin. Losing him meant I lost several options all at once.

"I need the necromancer," I said bluntly as I finished securing my torso piece and set upon my bracers.

"I'm surprised," the sorcerer said. "The Drow I knew loathed the very existence of the undead."

"Things change with millennia, Cris-ri-phon," I enunciated the name with some exaggeration, cinching the last buckle on my left bracer and lifting my tool belt.

"So I see," he commented sarcastically, and a bit cryptically. He paused. "What if I do not wish to let you put yourself in harm's way? Witch Hunters are among the most fanatical of the Malanar faith."

I snatched up my cloak in a tight grip as I focused my scowl on him. We held eye contact as I put it on, and then I reached for something on my belt. He tensed and I felt his magic gathering to prepare. I lifted up the small, black vial that Sarilis had given me.

"This is intended for Manalar. If I am not to leave now to protect own my plans, I will use it here, just to spite you for wrecking them."

It was partial bluff, not something I truly wished to do but something I could certainly be pushed toward doing. Brom could tell this and focused on the vial, as if trying to read what was inside it. He could try to snatch it or destroy it, or even shift it somewhere else entirely with his magic, so I added:

"There are a few more in your inn, and my companions could easily drop one during an attack in close quarters."

The sorcerer was subtle about showing any wariness on his face, but the fact that his aura dampened and I felt a ward on the door dispel itself before I had even known was there was enough for me.

"Be very careful with that, Sirana. Go, if you must. See if you can stop them from taking your half-dead boy the rest of the way to the Greylands."

I secured the vial and surged toward the door; it unlatched and opened under my hand without a whisper of protest. I sprinted out into the dimly lit hall and passed the kitchen and the common room in short order. The sound of many boots, armor, and weapons on the upper level was clear to me as I hit the stairs and took them two at a time.

The sound of a door splintering under a heavy force lashed at my ears as I changed direction to come around the back way from the second hall. Witch Hunters were standing at Kurn's door as well, blocking the way I'd come down.

They were already inside Gavin's room.

*****

It seemed odd that no one opened their doors; as I passed, I could tell other guests were just coming awake but they were not coming out. Perhaps they did not want to get involved and hoped the Witch Hunters would not break down their own door.

I noted three open doors, empty rooms that smelled of metal and heavy mixes of herbs and oil. There would be at least six, if two to a room, but given my glimpse of the four at Kurn's door, that would have to mean only two were attacking Gavin.

It did not sound like just two. At least one of them had brought a torch by which to see; I could see the light flickering inside as vague shadows were thrown upon the wall.

One Witch Hunter crouched on the ground directly blocking the broken doorway, gloved hands covering a ruined, bleeding face. He wore a helmet that protected his head, but it would appear Gavin had aimed straight for the face with something that slashed at him as he entered. The Man was shouting angrily and in pain.

"Nomilu sancji!" one inside the room bellowed. "Get him, hold the devil-worshipper!"

Another Man screeched in surprise as I heard a hard scrape of metal on metal; if I had to guess, Gavin was using his spade in desperate melee—and that was likely what caused the deep gouge in the face of the Witch Hunter on the ground.

"Curse you, desecrator!

"Grave robber!"

More struggle as a lower voice chanted, "Our Lord, we beseech your aid cleansing this blight upon your world!"

I was still counting. There were four inside, and the one injured at the door. Four going after the Ma'ab. Nine total. Interesting that they chose to send more after Gavin than Kurn and Castis combined.

More noise filled the hall as Kurn simply opened his door and shouted gleefully, "Tired of holing up an' shivering, huh?! Come get it!"

He was going to have a lovely time getting full swings in that room without hitting Castis. I didn't have time to roll my eyes or get distracted; the others had to see to themselves. Gavin didn't have a chance for survival once he ran out of space to cast anything in the small room. I had a loosened pouch in one hand and a fighting dagger in the other as my ball of Darkness came upon the injured one now trying to stagger to his feet. He just barely saw it coming.

"Devil! Devil swallowing the light!" he screamed, mostly as a warning to the others but there was terror as well as he disappeared from anyone's view.

It was almost too easy; I could tell exactly where his bare throat was just from his shouting. He didn't know enough to silence himself where I would have more chance of missing with my blade.

I didn't waste the powder on him; the point of my dagger entered his throat first, my momentum sending the rest through to lay open his windpipe and begin the blood spurting with force, spraying across the walls. I jumped over his body as it slumped, and I continued into the room.

My swell of magical darkness filled over half the space and enveloped two of the four Witch Hunters. These next two I did fling powder into their eyes, using a controlled arc that dusted each face with a small amount. One choked and started coughing immediately before shrieking in pain as his eyes began to suffer greatly. 

The other had better reflexes and, based on his voice, something thick covering his nose and mouth; perhaps he had even squeezed his eyes closed at the right moment. He shifted back quickly to squeak a fast, forced warning through his aching throat. "Summoned! Brothers, he's s-summoned a d-devil to s-save him!"

"Holy light dispel the darkness! Cleanse damned flesh with your fire!"

I heard both a hiss and Gavin's hoarse cry; I smelled the particular combination of burning oil and meat that meant the flesh was still living. From the sound of it, they were doing all they could to cause him added pain in addition to the burn; stomping their boots, striking him, anything to break his mage's concentration, to dispel the magic, to make me go away.

I made no sound but thought of Gavin's curse. *Worms rot your belly...*

I knew perfectly well that mages were in no position to focus and cast their magic when they were being physically mauled, and the only "ranged" weapon I had that wouldn't have a chance of hitting Gavin by mistake was one of my spiders. I loosened my pouch, called one of my babies out and tossed it toward the Witch Hunter on the right side, the one holding the hot metal.

*Bite twice under the armor.*

It landed on the armored leg and would take a moment for the spider to reach the exposed flesh, but it gave me time to dispose of the two choking. They were not giving up easily and were fumbling for things at their belts; one flung something that splashed into my face, croaking a few foreign words, but it had no more effect on me than water. 

In fact, I thought it might have been just water though I refrained from licking my lips, just in case.

I didn't know what else to expect, however, and couldn't have them at my back before going for the last hale one. As I engaged them, the one who'd burned Gavin screamed and slapped at himself when my spider got him, the tiny body protected by his own half plate as my guardian arachnid bit a second time and hid out there until I could call it back again. The Witch Hunter stumbled, wailing in horror and anger at what he began to feel: the unstoppable wave of toxic destruction of his own living flesh.

"D-didn't work! K-kill him! S-stop his evil....arrghh!" The spider-damned Witch Hunter threw himself into the darkness with me, not knowing at all what he faced but was yet another block I had to get out of the way as the other two finally dropped permanently, gushing blood across the floor. I hissed in exasperation being held back yet longer.

*Lolth damn you, just die!*

Gavin and the last Witch Hunter were fighting hard with each other from the sound of it; it only lasted a few short seconds, but they were desperate ones. It took me just a moment too long to slip my blade point into the inguinal gap in the armor of the swelling, poisoned Hunter and to dodge around his massive body as he finally crashed writhing to the floor. In that moment, Gavin had been struck so hard I heard his breath stop completely and the two collapsed to the floor.

"For Musanlo!"

The subtle sound of sharpened metal sliding home into flesh was distinct and Gavin's entire body jerked, his heels striking the wooden floor. I knew it had been a solid, well-aimed thrust between the ribs.

Pure heat and a killing need gripped me as I came upon the last Witch Hunter, enveloping him in darkness and grabbing his armor from behind to haul him up to his knees. I had time to draw my blade forward and back again, twice directly across his covered face, slicing cloth and very sensitive flesh; cheeks, nose, lips.

He screamed and finally could be pulled to the side away from my mage.

*Too late...damn you...*

In pure frustration, I made that last one suffer, giving him numerous cuts across face, neck, arms, legs, knees, and a few vicious jabs in the gut just above his crotch, all before he actually collapsed to the ground. He shook and shivered against the floor, murmuring prayers through bloody lips and making some attempt to get up.

"Stay down, dog," I hissed, and ruined his throat as I had the first one outside the door.

As soon as he stopped moving and the other poisoned one finally stopped thrashing, I heard Kurn, Castis, and Rithal—minus Mathias, that was interesting—still engaged with the other Witch Hunters, but they seemed to be having a good time somehow. I didn't care at all to come help them. I was not having a good time, and I kicked the last body another time before rolling it so it wouldn't crowd me and stain my boots further as I stood next to Gavin.

I dispelled the Darkness and turned to look at the apprentice's body, for some brief moment actually thinking that it wouldn't be to my eyes what I knew it to be by my ears. 

*Don't be stupid,* I told myself. *They killed him.*

Gavin lay on his side with his back to the wall, one arm outstretched, his eyes closed; when he'd landed on the ground, the Witch Hunter had had the apprentice pinned between him and the wall. The long shirt in which Gavin had been sleeping still covered him to the knees, but the garment was now slowly being soaked in dark red blood, spreading outward from his chest due to a small, ornate silver dagger completely lodged in his chest, driven in all the way to the hilt and through his heart. 

His feet and shins were damaged and bleeding from his attackers' boots, and he had a large burn welt at his neck and collar bone that looked like a smith's red-hot poker had been pressed there, the flesh in the middle white while the skin around it was blistered red. The edge of his linen undergarment was singed black.

I looked around, numbly curious, and saw what I thought would explain it—a straight, iron rod with two ties in the middle, one rounded end, and a leather grip. The torch they'd brought had been hastily dropped in our ceramic water pitcher nearby, now extinguished, but if the iron bar had been tied to the torch leading up to the attack, one end of it would have been hot enough to cause the burn. I noted Gavin's blood-stained spade as well, lying next to the table that held the pitcher and torch.

Tremors passed through my right hand as I gripped my blooded dagger hard, barely having the presence of mind to call my one spider back to me from the body it had killed. It did so with a slowness that suggested exhaustion, but I could at least have that tool back.

Next I stepped forward to check for a pulse or a breath on the apprentice, simply to be thorough, and because I didn't know what else to do at that moment.

He had neither.

*Damn it!*

Not only to lose him, as I hadn't wanted to, as I'd agreed to help keep him alive on this journey so he could help me with Sarilis...now he couldn't help with Gaelan, either, and I didn't even have the option of taking Brom up on his offer of introducing me to the Witch Hunters to learn more of Manalar, because I'd just killed most of them trying to prevent this...

I shook my head slowly twice, putting stained, gloved fingertips on my forehead as my head pounded alongside my heart much harder for a few moments. I drew in shivering breaths and tried to calm down, to slow the rush that only told me I hated being powerless, which I already knew but dwelling on it was useless now. It would not help me; it certainly wouldn't make Gavin breathe again.

Now I had to face Brom and Kurn and Sarilis...and I was starting over in allies. I was alone again. All that effort wasted due to some harried enforcers who took it upon themselves to break into our room.




Surfacing Ch. 07



I stood up, wiped off my dagger on the pant leg of a body and sheathed it. I went to the splintered door frame, looking out carefully though I could hear that there was further activity down in the common room beyond Kurn's crowing. There were more Men, and I could hear Brom's voice giving commands. Was the Ma'ab not done yet? What was he doing, drawing it out? He should have had them down by now.

*Bah.*

I was about to step outside to take the back hallway again to meet up with Brom—what else could I do?—when it felt as though a dribble of some near-frozen mountain stream was being poured down my back. The small hairs on the back of my neck stood up and some heavy, dark shade seemed to tease at the edge of my mind as if I would soon have another waking nightmare.

*No...no,* I stubbornly told myself. I couldn't lose time right now; I knew better. *Not here, not now. Just look at Gavin if you need reason to see why you have to remain aware...*

My eyes did slide toward his body again, as if to reinforce the reason, and something kept me staring at him for longer than necessary. 

What was it, what was different? Something was, though he hadn't moved and was still as he'd fallen. A faint amount of light that allowed me to see a bit of color now spilled in from torches farther down the hall.

I stepped back into the room to get away from the door frame as I scanned the room. Nothing was moving; there were just the five bodies I'd slain, and the one they had before I could stop them.

Yet something tingled in the back of my head, like the ley lines, like at the Tower, but yet not. I looked at Gavin again but consciously tried to relax and paid more attention to my peripheral vision around him, waiting for a few moments. It was a common skill for those in the Underdark; if something seemed to move but one couldn't detect it while looking right at it...well, then, just do not look right at it.

There seemed to be dark shadows in the far end of the room, not of my making, not the sphere of magical Darkness that no light could penetrate. More like tendrils of long hair moving, waving slowly underwater. They were deeper than any natural shadow had any business being on the Surface, even at night. Yet I still wasn't sure if I actually saw what I thought I saw.

Swallowing in unease, I shifted my gaze to Gavin's still, pale face, my periphery following the way the tendrils seemed to be coalescing around the silver blade in his chest but being repelled as the metal looked all the brighter next to them, a dim halo of light pushing out against the dark.

Was this another dream? Was I actually in reverie this whole time?

No. I could not doubt my sanity that much. Brom had happened. The attack had happened. Gavin was dead.

I couldn't leave the room, though. Not much time had passed, I was sure, though it seemed to slow down as if I was still in some moment of intense focus. There was no battle that involved me anymore, but...

My heart tripped and my next breath was almost painful when I thought I saw a shrouded, female silhouette—very briefly—against the wall above Gavin's body. It looked as though she should have been standing right in front of him with a candle set at her back, casting her wavering shadow upon the wall. But all I could see was the curves of a charcoal grey form.

*Oh Lolth...* 

Were my reveries becoming real somehow? The silhouette had always been in white before, wearing a white gown and standing with the Sun behind her on red dunes...this wasn't the same form, was it?

Before the shape faded, I watched as she kneeled down and reached as if to take hold of the dagger's hilt. The shadow pulled back—like the tendrils, also repelled. Then she disappeared from my periphery entirely.

*Take the dagger out?*

The thought only occurred to me now to do so. I didn't see what good that might do, unless I just wanted to add a somewhat inferiorly-crafted dagger to my collection... but would it do any harm?

I stepped over one of the Witch Hunters on my way back to Gavin's body, considering that the blood had stopped flowing as the necromancer's heart had ceased beating; he hadn't bled nearly as much as his attackers. I lowered myself to one knee before him, in the same spot that the shrouded female would have been if she'd been physical. 

Without thinking overly much on what I was about to do, I placed one hand on his shoulder to brace his torso as I took hold of the hilt, pulling firmly to get the blade out of his heart in one, slow, smooth draw. There was the usual resistance of metal in flesh, and a bit of blood followed but not much. As I looked at the soiled blade, I saw the bit of tarnish on the bar and realized it was probably made of pure silver.

Gavin's shoulder seemed to become colder for a moment, the fading life-heat being sucked away much faster somehow, and I jerked my gloved hand back in pure fright, if I was honest. When his eyelids twitched, I just about drove the silver dagger back in, just from the instinct that kicked in as my heart surged and fear rushed through me.

I stumbled back with less than my usual grace instead of stabbing him, putting some distance between myself and his body as I watched his large, bony hand flex. Then he drew an actual breath; I heard it with my own ears. Gavin's body had drawn air into lungs!

Trembling, I listened hard, and caught the distinct lub-lub of a heart beating when it hadn't been before. As it did, I noticed a darker, more viscous fluid ooze out of both his chest wound and the corner of his mouth. It could have been blood, but I wasn't sure...the scent was different somehow. His gaunt face had never had much color, but now it seemed to dry a bit and lose even the bit of flesh color it had had.

What was happening to his body? What had I just done?

Gavin opened his eyes next, and I did not recognize them at all. That inky blackness that had seeped into the whites of his eyes whenever he called his magic had returned, but the deep, almost black irises of his Ma'ab heritage here gone. Now they were a pale, icy blue—a bit like Rithal's, except now they seemed to glow in the dark room.

I would have attacked, would have tried to destroy the creature with the silver blade again out of sheer desperation than I'd lose my one chance—but he spoke. A mix of bright red and near-black blood came out in a cough right before he croaked a question.

"Are the Hunters dead?"

The voice was the same, perfect in the tone and inflection I'd become familiar with over the weeks of travel. Surely something else from the "Greylands" that might want to possess a newly dead body wouldn't have had it so convincing in the very first words?

Maybe...

"Yes," I answered warily. "But...who are you?"

A very familiar expression crossed his face, even lying on his side and waiting to gain more strength before sitting up. It was that same eloquent expression of before, a skeptical, raised brow and twist of his broad mouth when he thought I was trying to play him or tease him. 

Except now I wasn't.

"Sirana, did you take a blow to the head?"

"Tell me your name," I insisted stubbornly.

He acquiesced. "It's Gavin."

I blinked and tamped down the maddening urge to actually feel uplifted, hopeful... it was so inappropriate and I was still trembling.

"....Gavin?"

"Yes."

"You...you were dead." I lifted the naked, blooded dagger slightly. "This was lodged in your heart."

His new, black and ice blue eyes fell on the dagger and he showed me a hint of a smile. "Told you I had talents. Although—"

He carefully placed his palm down to help push himself up to sit, leaning against the wall with a grunt and a groan. He took another breath, and if I didn't know better, I would have said that the deep wound in his chest wasn't oozing any blood anymore.

"—this is one I would rather have not used," he finished.

That was the moment when I noticed that his teeth, his fingernails, and toenails had all turned black, but not as though they were rotting. There was no smell of that nature and they looked strong enough. Solid.

But they were black.

"What did you do?" I whispered. "How...how could you return...why...?"

Gavin seemed to take a few moments to decide which of my unfocused selection of half-questions he wanted to answer. "I wanted it, I suppose. My Patroness granted it."

I tilted one pointed ear toward him. "...'Patroness'?"

If I broke that down into parts and translated literally, I thought it meant "male head of family who was female." I didn't understand it at all and he could read that on my face.

"My..." He hesitated, trying for a different word or phrase. "My true master. She's taught me much of what I know, or guided me toward that knowledge. She offers her gratitude for your help, by the way."

I was stunned. Gavin had a "true" master besides Sarilis? She? The dark grey shade that had appeared female, and the elegant tendrils waving like silk... that made some strange kind of sense now.

Gavin had a mistress.

I drew in breath to speak even though I didn't know what to ask, but stopped the moment I heard Brom's voice. I had to strain to hear the words.

"Secure the upstairs. Amelda, gather all the guests in the common room and see that they drink the tea."

"Shit," I whispered, standing quickly. "Get up. Gavin, the innkeeper isn't what he appears to be. He knows what I am. Whatever happens, do not attack him."

Gavin arched a brow—looking somehow the same and yet so different now—but didn't say anything. He looked over and leaned to reach for his spade, long fingers barely touching to tug it closer to him. He was able to get a grip on it and he used it to brace himself as he got to his feet. The bloody rents on his feet and legs were more blackish than bright red now, I noticed, and they were closing at an unnatural rate.

Gavin was somewhat more than Human now.

I couldn't dwell on it right now, though; I was surrounded by many more Human Men that I did not truly know what any of them intended for me, if not to kill or possess me. I moved toward the shutters, thinking I could exit out the window, but stepped back the moment I felt the pain of a ward in touching it.

The sorcerer had blocked that way out already; he might have done so even before I'd gone into reverie, but then wouldn't Gavin have felt it? I might have been able to break it now by sheer force of will, if not for the real possibility that it might also start my womb bleeding from the stress.

Only if I was sure I would die otherwise... 

I wasn't sure. Cris-ri-phon had said I was too valuable to kill lightly, and I had reason to believe him, even if it was still a threat to my purpose.

I heard more voices, a mix of Men who sounded like those with martial discipline and those of the guests who had been trembling in their rooms.

"Gather your things."

"Wh-what's happened...?"

"Who attacked—?"

"It's over now. Please gather your possessions and come downstairs."

"Father?"

"Where is Brom? I demand an explanation for this!"

"Downstairs, sir. Master Brom will join us shortly. All will be taken care of."

The swell of voices almost covered his footsteps, but I caught the movement of shadow as our host approached the broken door. He inspected the damage briefly and stepped over the body of the first Witch Hunter, scanning and noting the others dead.

Cris-ri-phon had returned entirely to Brom the innkeeper in his appearance. His skin was much lighter though still tan, his hair a lustrous, chestnut brown, and an easy two or three decades of time had been melted off of his face. He was dressed the same as when he'd first greeted us out of the storm, except now I noted a stout blade at his hip as well as a necklace he hadn't been wearing earlier tucked beneath his white shirt.

When he smiled at me without showing his teeth, grey eyes looking over me as if to determine if I was injured but also in appreciation, I abruptly became aware of my nether regions, poorly timed as it was. I was still sore in both holes.

His gaze next landed on Gavin, and he stopped abruptly to stand with two bodies behind him and three between him and us. Brom and I both caught Gavin's gaze flicking down to the bodies of the Witch Hunters, as if he considered what it would take to raise them as a blockade. Brom's eyes narrowed in response and raked the other mage, and I became aware of the old sorcerer's pulsing aura again. 

Surely it had become something Gavin could see. I sneaked a glance at my ally. 

Oh yes. My newly-risen necromancer could see the sorcerer's aura alright. Gavin flinched as if he'd been looking directly at a lightning flash when it cut the Sky.

Brom smiled to show very white teeth then, still focused more on Gavin than me, though he also noted the silver dagger I held with Gavin's lifeblood on it. He chuckled very softly. "My, my... I see someone else has been exploring some limits tonight. Did you enjoy your journey, Master Gavin?"

"A bit chilly, but revealing," the necromancer responded.

Brom nodded, his manner turning gracious and remaining every bit the host he had started out to be. "I admire any who have the guts to try, even if the results vary somewhat. I must apologize for the violation of your privacy, young apprentice. Had I not gotten so...deeply in discussion with our lady, here, I would have seen it coming sooner. I see your underclothes are unsalvageable. I shall have Cheri find you replacements soon as practical, if you will accept?"

Gavin glanced at me with his new, unsettling eyes, and my answering shrug was very slight. I had no objection.

He looked back at Brom and nodded. "Please."

The sorcerer was both encouraged and amused. "I also have a spare cellar not being used for much at the moment. Once our business is properly seen to, I could have the bodies collected down there for your use. You should have some time where you can be left alone. Would you care to accept, apprentice? It is a gracious offer, and not one I make lightly but for the pleasure of your companion."

Gavin and I both shifted warily. We knew that Brom had nailed not only my ally's general introverted nature, offering the opportunity and the means to recover and even practice his birthright and his sole ambition after such a stark shift in his existence, but the sorcerer had also made it clear that he offered such an invitation only because of me.

I understood that Brom wouldn't kill Gavin right off; that would be too hasty. He'd keep him around as a host's gesture, at minimum, while he and I further explored our "business," which was far from finished.

My apprentice seemed to look carefully around the room, especially the windows where I'd felt the ward, and back at Brom, where he pursed his lips at whatever it was that he saw. Finally he nodded.

"Yes. I would accept."

My breath eased out as I was glad to be certain that Gavin grasped what I did: Brom was too powerful to match in a mage's duel like the brief one with Castis. My ally may not have dazzling social experience or much love of intrigue, but he was intelligent enough to understand a dagger wrapped in velvet when presented with one.

Brom smiled widely at this. "Excellent."

A blond Man well-equipped with the basics of melee poked his head in. "Sir?"

"Yes, Cameron."

"All the guests are downstairs and have enjoyed your hospitality. Amelda awaits further instruction."

"Tell her just to keep the bodies out of the way, let the guests eat breakfast and leave soon as possible. Has the sun risen?"

"Not quite, my lord, but the sky lightens."

"Good."

"And these, sir?" Cameron indicated my kills on the floor.

"Leave them here for now, they are out of the way."

A second Man with light brown hair and light eyes showed up next. "Sir. Something in one of the Witch Hunter's rooms you should see. We didn't want to move the body yet."

Brom frowned slightly but glanced at me and Gavin. "Care to come with me? We have a bit of time as people shuffle out, it seems."

He turned to step again over the bodies and in to the hall. After another glance at each other, Gavin and I followed with Brom's men at our backs. Knowing not what else to do with it, I quickly wiped the silver blade off and knotted it loosely to my belt by the hilt.

We took the second hallway where I'd come through before, passing the empty rooms of the enforcers of Manalar on my way to help Gavin. 

Or that I had thought had been empty. 

The master of the inn stepped inside the third room from the balcony, the door currently guarded by two other Men, making a total of four warily surrounding Gavin and myself. 

I could tell they were confused and even a little afraid—they weren't sure what they were looking at in either of us, the corpse-like apprentice still being covered in blood and dressed in just a soiled, natural linen longshirt, and me just being me, of course—but their responses seemed muted compared to someone who'd perhaps never seen or expected to see anything non-Human.

I made as if to step in as well, but one of them actually blocked me with his taller body; my eyes were level with the hard leather armor protecting his torso from a hard stab straight on. I looked up with a faintly threatening scowl and I could see his eyes respond, pupils constricting, and his scent seemed to sour just a bit in fear. But he didn't move.

"Master Brom?" I asked aloud, still holding the soldier's green eyes.

"Actually, let her in, Leif. I would have her opinion on this."

The Men let me slide by but still kept Gavin where he was and surrounded him; my apprentice was wary but seemed like he could handle this bit of pressure. I came forward into a room very similar to the one we'd slept in, except in the corner had a scorched spot and a body.

I noted details as I approached. A fire had begun eating the wooden table and had barely spread to the wall behind it; I smelled acrid, smoking oil and herbs. The table had been covered with a blanket and the room's ceramic pitcher that had contained any water now lay on its side on the floor, its entire contents spilled uselessly across the wood.

Whoever had done that had known the water would not douse an oil fire and had used a blanket to smother it instead. That one had not been the Witch Hunter, who laid face-down, limp with his spine partly twisted. 

It was clear to me that the body had been dead well before hitting the floor; I knew if I looked, I could find the bumps and abrasions on the head, arms, possibly hands that showed no attempt had been made to catch himself. I saw two clean insertion points in his back, one at each kidney.

"Did you kill this one, Sirana?" Brom asked.

"No," I answered. "I was busy when this one died."

He nodded, believing me. "May I have your thoughts, then, my lady?" 

He had a small smile as he stood up to give me more room around the body, but yet I would almost have said that he seemed irritated or otherwise unhappy with what was before him.

I noted general details first, from a few angles, prior to kneeling and inspecting the body's injuries. It was interesting to me, and I could guess now why Brom wasn't happy. There wasn't anyone in our party besides me who had the weapons and skill to backstab someone this way.

"Two daggers, angled upward through the side gaps," I said. "Pierced both kidneys and lungs at the same time, may have struck the heart as well, there is not much blood." I focused on the right hand. "And he's missing his third finger; it's been severed."

"Trophy?" Brom asked.

I shrugged. "Perhaps."

"Clearly an assassin, and yet it was not you."

I smiled playfully. "And you dislike not knowing who else in your inn had these skills without your knowledge. Whoever it was prevented this Hunter from starting a blaze we likely would have been too late to stop."




Surfacing Ch. 07



Brom was still frowning but exhaled with some tension leaving his shoulders. Next he contemplated Gavin still standing just outside. "Is it within your skills to interrogate the newly dead, apprentice?"

Brom's men shifted uneasily at the question and I was able to get a clear line of sight on my ally's face. Gavin seemed dryly amused both at the inquiry and the nervousness of his guards.

"Indeed it is. You'd have to have your questions prepared."

"I want to know if he saw his killer's face," Brom said readily. "If not, I wish to know if he or any in his group had a bounty on their head."

Looking at the placement of the wounds again, and their precision, I doubted that the arsonist would have seen anything other than the fire he'd been starting, but...given that I knew nothing about this aspect of Gavin's nature, and Brom did seem to know more, I was content to remain an observer.

Gavin said, "If I may have the garment replacement you offered and can clean up just a bit, I will need to gather my things first. We should not take too long, spirits do not linger forever."

I suppressed my smile but thought Gavin's timing was excellent in this case. Brom wanted something from him, so he'd have to help the apprentice collect himself quickly if that's what it took. The sorcerer knew this, too, choosing not to try to force what he wanted in a dominance of will, like his choice not to "break" my mind when he wanted to see what the Valsharess looked like. 

Brom stepped forward to one of the Men, saying low, "Ask Cheri for a tall man's longshirt and some soap and water. Bring it up to the back room for her, don't let her see this man or the bodies, and don't speak to anyone."

The guard nodded and left. Meanwhile, Gavin was escorted back to the room with two of the three remaining guards, and I waited patiently with Brom next to the body. The sorcerer watched me carefully and seemed more than once to reminisce for a moment what I looked like naked; his smile possessed an arrogant, suggestive quality that relayed his satisfaction at the outcome in his bed.

Odd to think I'd seen the same expression often on Jaunda's face.

"My lord." 

Yet another Man arrived to report. This one had reddish-orange hair of a brightness that surprised me; I'd never seen the like on any except Rithal, and I thought it had been a dwarven thing for some odd reason. How many colors were there in Humans? Did the two races share blood?

Brom sighed quietly, covering his annoyance at being interrupted once again from his thoughts. "Yes, Ian?"

"The party you asked us to sequester is threatening to get riotous. They want to see you. Mathias, especially."

"Of course," Brom said. "Bring them up. Just as well that they see this little show. How long before the guests leave?"

"They are doing so now."

"And they don't look directly at the damage or the bodies?"

"No, lord, they're oblivious."

"Good. Go get the others."

Ian bowed and left.

I quirked a brow at Brom, feeling in my gut a familiar, uncoiling surge of realization I felt whenever I made a new connection. "Mathias 'especially'?"

The sorcerer smiled widely at me. "The skin hunter has a few friends here from previous years, Ian knows him. Mathias used to work for me. How do you suppose he found this place in the middle of yesterday's storm?"

My face hardened. "He already knew it to be here."

"And that it was safe for outcasts like him," Brom added. "Do not blame him, Sirana. I had to nudge quite strongly to get him to go back out to find you, to bring you here to me. He didn't know why he felt compelled to do so just after drying off, but the dwarf offered to accompany him."

That explained much better why Mathias was so firm in wanting me to ride with him on his horse. Gavin's mare may indeed have become lame with continued stress, but regardless, Mathias had direct control over following Brom's "suggestion." And to say he had already made a deal to "include" me...I really should have been more wary.

I considered this and something he'd said before. "Skin hunter? Not bounty hunter?"

"One of the Witch Hunters is still alive, though neutralized," the sorcerer replied. "You'll likely have opportunity to see what I mean. I have rather missed his skills when he left us. I'd like to see what you think."

I could hear the others tromping up the stairs and crossing the balcony. Kurn was muttering threats to Ian as he led them in. It was a tight squeeze overall, Brom's Men clustered about and blocking the hallway off, my associates just stepping in to crowd the door, the one stepping forward being the Hellhound.

Kurn barely noted anything in the room except for me and Brom, and in an action so foolish I simply could not fathom it, he strode up to the innkeeper and puffed up, using his slight bit of height on the older man to stand chest-to-chest, clearly trying to intimidate him. He looked as though he had donned his armor in haste, but it had afforded the protection needed in a fight.

"What are you doing in here with her, magician?" the Hellhound demanded loudly. "And why is everyone downstairs acting like they don't see us?"

Brom smiled, partly showing his amusement but it also reminded me of a wolf showing his fangs. His grey eyes seemed to flash as he met Kurn's glare head-on. "Because they do not see you, Ma'ab. Nor do they hear you. I've set an illusion and a ward on my property." 

The Hellhound tried to speak again but the sorcerer cut him off to look at the rest of us. "We shall not receive any new guests today. If anyone approaches, it will cross their mind that they have other errands to attend to rather than come here. You may accept the hospitality and the privacy I shall afford you by sheer generosity."

Generosity, indeed... It was in Brom's interest that everyone not involved in this confrontation simply leave with a small case of amnesia, and that no one new interrupted something he had been waiting a long time to see happen.

It also meant no one remaining inside would leave unless or until it suited him. Even someone not able to see his aura should have understood the threat of what they faced just on this evidence alone. Kurn did not, or simply chose not to believe it, even as he understood the innkeeper was also a magic user.

"You can't keep us here," he said now. "We have a mission."

"It will wait," Brom replied evenly.

"No. It won't."

"Then I suggest you cooperate and do not obstruct, Ma'ab, we will be finished with business sooner. Now stand back from me, I dislike you fouling my air."

"I'll foul your guts if you do not release us."

"Everything in due time."

"Kurn," Castis said with worry from the door; he could clearly see at least some of Brom's aura. "Stand down, brother."

The Hellhound didn't so do quite yet, and a certain cool air seemed to drop over Brom as his eyes narrowed. 

Kurn gestured at me. "You didn't answer. What are you doing with her?"

The sorcerer tilted his head slightly and smiled with amusement. "I am thoroughly enjoying her company. She assists me at my request, as does her servant. I believe I hear him now. Make room for him, men."

Kurn didn't have time to do more than shoot me an odd, hateful look that I wasn't quite sure I could interpret before Gavin made his way into the room.

Just about everyone shrank away from my ally, almost unconsciously, as if not wanting him to even brush them. He had wiped the blood and mystery fluids away, was fully dressed in his usual, tattered, grey robe and worn boots, though I knew he'd have his added protection on beneath as well. He had gathered his entire bundle, all his possessions from the room, but could set it down now while still carrying a smaller kit in one hand.

"Welcome back, Master Gavin," Brom said cordially, giving a subtle chin-nod.

I watched as my travel companions all absorbed the changes: the blanched, dry, parchment quality of his skin and his cold gaze like an icy pit, the skeletal hands with the black fingernails. Castis muttered something in the Ma'ab tongue that may have been an oath, and Kurn had a look of disgust twisting his nose and mouth as he finally moved back from Brom. Rithal and Mathias were openly staring.

Doing something generally out of character, Gavin smiled—or rather, simply drew back his lips. Mathais gasped at seeing the black teeth. I had the sneaking suspicion that Gavin had finally looked at his appearance in a mirror as he had been collecting himself.

"By what Hell...?" Mathias murmured.

"If you'll all keep your questions for later," Brom said sternly, "I have need of the necromancer's skills right now. We are wasting time. Gavin, if you please. You know my questions."

I watched with a degree of wary fascination as Gavin nodded and moved to roll the body onto its back without asking anyone's help. It seemed to be fairly easy for him to do, though the Witch Hunter was not a slight Man. Gavin kneeled beside the body, putting his back to the wall so that he faced the rest of the room. I did not get the impression that it was because he wanted an audience as he just simply did not want to be performing his magic with a whole group of armed men at his back.

It still turned out that we were his audience as we watched him in near silence. Gavin removed the helmet to reveal the dead Man's blond head and drew out a pinky-sized bit of material from his kit. He used it to draw a precise symbol on the pale, clammy forehead in black grease—waterproof, I realized—then exchanged that for a small scalpel he used to cut the pad of his own left index finger.

Very dark, thick blood welled up and Gavin smeared his finger across the corpse's lips, muttering very quietly; as I focused harder to hear, I knew it to be the same language he'd been speaking in his last nightmare. The one with the unsettling undertone, perhaps the one in which he communed with his otherworldly "Patroness."

Thinking of that other world, I felt the temperature in the room dropping, becoming cooler, even with as many bodies as we had crammed in here. I was not the only one to notice. The Ma'ab brothers muttered something to each other in their native tongue, and several sets of boots shifted. Brom stood firmly between Gavin and the others, watching every detail while letting him work.

Breathing in slowly and in deep concentration, Gavin reached with his long-fingered hand as if he meant to dig into the chest cavity of the body. I felt my jaw loosen when his hand somehow passed through into it, bloodless and causing no damage, his wrist flexing as he closed his hand into a fist out of sight. As he drew his hand back out, a vaporous, dripping, pale glow surrounded his hand in a haze.

At first it was only a ball of...something...wavering about Gavin's curled hand like a flame on a candlewick, but after a few moments it began to take the vague, transparent form of the Man lying dead on his back. It was still tenuously connected to the body, but Gavin clearly controlled the form in his grip.

It was difficult to rip my eyes away from the spectacle, but I did so to glance at Brom, who was smiling and looking very pleased.

Gavin's eerie, vaguely glowing eyes looked straight at the spirit. There were no pleasantries, no introduction.

"Did you see the face of your killer?" he asked.

The ghost's mouth moved, but there was a death rattle at the back of the corpse's throat that drew all our attention as air escaped. I took a step back as Mathias uttered a sound of alarm.

"No..." The word to pass through the dead's actual mouth was hollow, flat, and drawn out as if under great strain to speak even that one word.

Gavin narrowed his eyes as I saw an odd pulse at his temple. He squeezed the apparition, closing his hand as if around something solid. "What qualities can you say to describe your killer?"

There was a short pause as the throat and jaw strained to form a word once again. "Quiet..."

"Nothing else?"

"None..."

It was about as I expected, though Brom was frowning at the lack of a useful answer. He reminded Gavin, "A bounty?"

A subtle nod, and he asked, "Who holds any contracts on you or your brotherhood?"

The corpse continued to strain, but the spirit's mouth moved more this time as its words passed through the body.

"Our enemies...hire...the Guild...as vengeance for those...heretics...condemned or...cleansed."

Gavin and the solidity of the ghost both seemed to be weakening as more fluttering pulses rose at the necromancer's temple and a tremor passed through him. Still, he clenched his hand again and asked, "What was on your right, third finger?"

"Bishop's...ring..."

Brom nodded. "That is enough for now, Master Gavin. Do not lose control."

The apprentice exhaled out in a slow, deep release, lowering his hand closer to the corpse, and the coalescence of vapor dispelled quickly, disappearing completely from our view. Gavin touched his temple and took a deep breath before tucking up his kit and standing to add it to his things.

"Useful, then, Master Brom?" Mathias asked, and the innkeeper nodded with a smile.

"Enough so. The summoned dead do not knowingly lie. What they say is always true to their knowledge."

My first thought to this was that I couldn't imagine the Valsharess allowing any necromancer to exist in the City. If death was practiced as being the final silencing of an enemy or opponent even beyond a compulsion, and the final victory, how would things change to have a mage who could call back sure, lost knowledge like that?

Among other things, that might be one reason for Brom's comment about the Drow he knew hating a death mage's very existence. It unbalanced the Game, and I could imagine many of us fighting over possession of such a weapon. The fact that this particular mage was male would only make that part worse, just as we would fight over a Consort like Auslan who received visions. 

It was curious for me now to consider Gavin's Ma'ab mother then, and what she may have been like?

The thought led me to glance at Kurn and Castis who—apart from Brom—did indeed look the least unsettled by Gavin's talents, as if they could have seen it before or perhaps just heard of it, knew it to be possible. Mathias and Rithal and all of Brom's men showed varying levels of utter disbelief and horror, as if it couldn't be real—it even overshadowed my alien presence for the moment.

"What is the Guild?" I asked bluntly.

Brom looked at me with a subtle, teasing twitch to his mouth. His men remembered I was there and at least one kept his focus on me as the others watched the rest.

"Probably Manalar's largest competition by organization, influence, and reach over multiple cities."

"Until the Ma'ab army shows up at their doorstep," Kurn growled.

The innkeeper shrugged, unimpressed. "Even if the Ma'ab wins that battle, warrior, I wager they don't have the slightest idea how to contend with the Guild next. You can't make them cede their territory easily. They have no temples and no political boundaries to take by force. They are a shadow organization within all the current fiefdoms, and if it takes them years to strategically assassinate your most powerful leaders and see your infant empire crumbling down, they will. It is how they came to be in the first place."

There was a pause as nobody said anything to that. Kurn and Castis were both glaring.

"You sound to know much," the Hellhound replied with plain suspicion. "Crowing their strengths. Are you part of the Guild, 'innkeeper'?"

I watched Brom's face carefully; it was too direct of a question to be very effective, certainly no surprise, but still, it wasn't outside of possibility. Kurn had a point.

"I do business with them from time to time," Brom answered easily enough, not seeming to care that he said so in front of many people. "Trade information mostly, I pay no dues and take no tasks. That puts me on the outside."

But he would know how to contact them. Sarilis had been talking about the "eastern taskers" as ones he had no dealings with but who filled the same niche near Manalar as "the Guild." They had to be one and the same if they were of any size and power, as he claimed.

The ancient sorcerer overall wasn't happy that a likely Guild member had gotten inside his inn—and possibly back out—without his knowledge, but that same assassin had stopped his place from being damaged by a potentially uncontrollable oil fire set by the Manalar fanatics. Surely it was a sign that the Guild considered this innkeeper an ally, at the very least.

I had yet to discover whether dealing with this Man, even in order to find the Guild connected to a half-Drow, could even be worth it. Brom had been Rausery's task, not mine, and she had centuries of experience over me and likely knowledge of him that I didn't. Simply my being hesitant to break any of his wards put me at a severe disadvantage, never mind what his possible responses might be to learning the reason why I was hesitant. I was not in a good bargaining position unless I could learn something more, something useful.

"Have all the guests left, Leif?" he said now.

"Aye, my lord."

"And the surviving zealot?"

"Awaiting your pleasure, lord."

"Gather the bodies in the back room and bring them down, along with this one, collect them together and sort their belongings."

"Yes, my lord."

Brom gestured to the rest of us and smiled. "If you will, come with me down to the great room. I believe we have deals of our own to work out."

******

Brom was gone from us briefly as he swept his own inn, perhaps to check for the Guild assassin, if he was still here.

Standing in the great room, I noted that the entire place was shuttered and closed; no daylight was getting in despite the dawn, and the place was lit with oil lamps. No one would be able to look in, it closed out the outside world, and it would happen to be much more comfortable for me. I wondered if Cris did that on purpose or if it was just a side-effect of the privacy he wanted?

In the more familiar glow, I saw plenty of evidence that my travel companions had led their four Witch Hunters down to the main floor to fight them, and they had broken quite a bit of the inn's furniture. 

Three bodies had been lined up and stripped of weapons; I did not see the fourth, presuming him to be the prisoner. By the look of it, each had taken one opponent; I saw one with a scorched face, another with several deep sword wounds, and the last with an axe strike to the chest that had actually caved in the armor.

I had to suppose that they had been drawing it out longer than necessary; they were not injured badly at all, almost as if the Witch Hunters had had no magical offense themselves. I hadn't seen the zealots use anything that implied it in Gavin's room either; one had thrown water on me and another had burned Gavin with a hot iron. Otherwise, it was all straight martial fighting.

I wondered what that might mean about the level of magic in general at Manalar? They had some, obviously, or we wouldn't be off to spoil their holy pool, but to not offer any to their "enforcers"? Curious.

"So what did you do while the Witch Hunters came for us?" Kurn asked me, low and through clenched teeth. "Watch me fight and finger your cunt, as always?"

I raised a brow but did smile, flicking my eyes up where Brom's men were bringing down the rest of the Witch Hunters from upstairs. I did not need to say anything as five bodies eventually appeared, in addition to the sixth from the previous room, all lined up next to the first three.

The Hellhound grunted, frowning. "And how many of Brom's men did you need to help overcome all those in one small room?"

"None," I answered.

"She is quite efficient," Gavin spoke up, surprising me as he'd never done so before. "Taking them from behind before they could offer resistance. I'm sure you're familiar with such things, Kurn."




Surfacing Ch. 07



The big man's face changed color, paling before turning three shades darker, and he somehow seemed to grow in size as he turned on Gavin with a snarl, making him back up by getting too close. Really, it was only Kurn's response that helped me catch that double-meaning in Common, though by Gavin's surprise, I genuinely thought that the apprentice hadn't meant it in but the one way.

Even if he was right about both.

"Tactics," I said clearly, circling to get behind Gavin and pull him back by the shoulders quite a few more steps, so that I could move in front and not be chest-to-chest with Kurn. Fortunately, Gavin didn't fight me and moved well out of the way. 

I looked up at the Hellhound's black eyes as he focused on me, having actually put myself between him and my apprentice, as I said I would not do. "He meant you are familiar with such tactics, Kurn. Correct?"

"Only in a cowardly backstabber such as yourself," he growled, the scent of his breath and skin similar to when we'd clashed, but more sour.

"Oh? Are you starting to remember?" I asked.

He showed me gritted teeth, grinding them and very much wanting to break my neck with his bare hands... but he wrenched his eyes from mine to look at Gavin behind me. "And what happened to you, eunuch? You look like a possessed corpse now."

It was Castis that spoke this time. "His aura's changed. He's...part...I don't know—"

"Undead?" Gavin asked, showing his own black teeth just for effect. 

Castis wrinkled his nose slightly. "Yes."

"Close. It's not that simple, of course. Unlike an undead, I do hunger and thirst. My flesh still tires. For now, at least."

*That sounds ambitious,* I thought.

"What triggered this kind of transformation?" Castis asked with grudging—I dared to think professional—curiosity.

His Ma'ab brother's shift in topic also gave Kurn the opportunity to calm himself further and step back rather than accuse in front of everyone that I had violated him, or give me the opportunity to say what had happened, to taunt him with it. I could see that he was willing to drop it, but only until later.

He would be thinking afresh of the canyon trap now, as I was.

Gavin did not answer, just watched the other mage. I took his lead and said nothing. Not only was it a sting to my pride that I had failed to prevent his death, as was my goal—regardless that he had come back from it somehow— but besides that, these males still had many odd times where they simply wouldn't ask me directly what they wanted to know. Even if they knew I had been a witness, they assumed I would not answer. This was one of those times.

"So what else can ye do?" Rithal asked the apprentice in a low rumble, no longer indifferent toward Gavin's presence as he'd been before. Now his tone was slightly hostile, even as he'd watched each of us and made no comment until now. "Other than wrench souls outta bodies an' force them tah speak?"

Gavin surely understood the change in tone; his response was flat and unhelpful. "I suppose we shall both find out, won't we?"

"We shall find out a lot of things," Brom said in a strong voice that filled the room as he returned. "First, I will know more of your actual mission, Ma'ab. You go to Manalar, that is true. But why? And why do you have such an eclectic band to carry it out?"

"You will spread it back to the Guild, innkeeper," Kurn said. "We'll not tell you."

Brom quirked one brow then looked around his inn quite deliberately. "Very well. You may try to leave by way of the front door."

Kurn and Castis shared a doubtful glance.

"You set a ward," Castis said.

"That's right, I did."

"So release it," Kurn said.

"No." Brom looked at Rithal next. "What about you, dwarf? You carry one of the black vials as well."

Rithal looked toward me briefly in accusation; he was right about it being me who told him of those, but wouldn't know at the time I'd been threatening the innkeeper with it. He thought I was cooperating with Brom. 

The dwarf cleared his throat slightly and, oddly, did not answer with his usual directness. "The Guild would like tah see the theocracy gutted from the inside, I think."

The sorcerer nodded once, very elegantly. "Indeed, I wager they would. You are helping the Ma'ab horde?"

"No," Rithal said. "They're on their own, tah win er lose. I am returning judgment in kind on the Priesthood. Tha's all."

"I see." Brom looked at me and smiled. "And you. Do any of your companions know why you are here?"

"No," I said flatly. "And neither do you."

"Not from lack of trying, my dear. Your discipline is outstanding, even under interrogation." Brom winked, then looked back at Kurn, who looked like he wanted to slit my throat before breaking my neck. "And you, Kurn, you want back into the good graces of the Hellhounds. Do you even think that's possible?"

The big Ma'ab's face turned deep red very quickly. His voice was harsh. "Yes. To win a battle large as this for them and strengthen our connection to our gods? To set and accomplish a goal that few can? Yes!"

Brom's grey eyes slipped straight over Castis to Mathias, who had been just about as inconspicuous as he could possibly be. I took a moment to note that the quiet Man still wore my sapphire pendant beneath his shirt.

"And you, Mathias? What has changed since I saw you last? Do you have any better control now?"

Everyone else I our party reacted as I had not long ago.

"You traitor!" Castis spat. "You brought us into this trap?!"

Mathias raised his hands, palms out. "It was only the storm! We needed shelter and I knew we'd be safe here. Lord Brom agreed—"

"'Lord' Brom?" Kurn blurted, turning his snarl on the innkeeper. "Who are you, magician? What are you?"

"Someone Mathias was right not to cross back in the day," the older man answered with a casual scratch to his jaw. "Where I you, I wouldn't harm him now, Ma'ab, it would be pointless. He meant you no harm, and he's one of the finest interrogators of the living I have known recently. He can pull as much information as you want out of the last zealot."

Most of our party's expressions were doubtful, including mine. Quiet, unassuming Mathias? A confessor? Our scout and game finder?

"Fanatics are hard to break and still be useful," I commented quietly and Brom nodded in agreement.

"Yes, I know. Mathias can do it. I think you might find it particularly interesting, Sirana. He doesn't like to work on women much, I think it's the pitch of their screams, but men always start babbling to him like he's their priest, sooner or later."

Mathias's face was deeply flushed and he had lowered his eyes; I couldn't believe it, he was blushing under Brom's praise.

"With your direction to the questions," Brom said to me, almost intimately, as he took a few steps closer, "he wouldn't miss anything you wanted to know. Whatever you're searching for, you'd be closer to it after talking with the enforcer."

He was trying to persuade me. Why? It did not seem like this needed any kind persuasion; of course we should question the living Witch Hunter, the same as we did the dead one. If Gavin had looked better recovered, I would have asked him to speak to the rest of them...but I'd seen enough to know the questions had to be specific, and it took extraordinary concentration and power to keep that connection to another plane of existence. Gavin had only recently risen himself; he was not yet up to that task.

The time available to question the dead was finite, and as with all magic there were limitations. Mathias didn't use magic, though. There would only be the physical, spiritual, and mental limitations. Taking the proper time in that case was required.

I watched the "skin hunter" for a few moments, and realized that he was looking to me as if for permission. He already responded quite naturally to Brom's command, whether he still worked for him officially or not, but Brom was passing that authority on to me, standing next to me, advising me on how best to use this Man's skills. 

I nodded. "A good idea."

Kurn interjected with a grunt. "How fast to soften the Witch Hunter, Mathias?"

Those medium brown eyes, which I had thought unremarkable overall in his unremarkable face, brightened with such interest and love of a challenge as to surprise me. He looked from me to Kurn and back indecisively.

"How much time do you need, Mathias?" I rephrased, and he focused on me.

"I'm not sure, it depends, Sirana, but I would ask you give me half a day to start. I would report to you," he glanced quickly at the Ma'ab and Rithal, "all of you, of course, regularly. When he's ready, you'll know."

I hadn't thought our bounty hunter capable of highs or lows, but I could see clearly now that I'd been wrong. He was capable of passionate interest, he just had a very specific switch that needed to be thrown.

Brom had just shown it to me.

"Excellent," the innkeeper said now. "Then please consider my hospitality extended for the duration, along with the previous agreement of your best guests' behavior. The entire inn is yours, and my staff will set up fresh rooms for you." The sorcerer looked at Gavin. "Would you like that cellar space, now, as well, apprentice?"

Gavin glanced at most of us in short order, a bit longer at me, but in light of the fact that we would remain here for the time being, he would ultimately choose the same as Mathias: his true interest. I nodded very slightly in agreement; Gavin would need time to strengthen his new form anyway, and probably communicate somehow with his mistress.

He said, "Yes, please. I should make good use of it."

"Cameron, Ian, help the necromancer with that, and in moving the bodies. Lief, assist Mathias in setting up our prisoner in his favorite spot."

It was about then that I noticed a small team of female Humans entering the great room, keeping a wide berth and slipping upstairs with supplies and linens in their arms. They were amazingly quiet and behaved just as I would expect servants to act...

...except for one. She still stood at the hallway that led to the kitchen; she wasn't carrying anything like the other girls though appeared a similar young age. She was dressed a bit better than the others, her dress a rich blue instead of some muted earth tone. Her features were lighter, more delicate—not nearly as heavy as the Men—and her face was smooth as mine in seeming to grow no hair. Her hair was thick, black, and with a wave and bounce that was unfamiliar to me, although I thought if Brom let his hair grow that long, it might behave the same way.

She also had the same shape of the sorcerer's eyes, I realized with a start, except they were Ma'ab black. She looked a bit displeased as she regarded me.

"Amelda," Brom said fondly, and her frown shifted quickly to a smile.

"Yes, father."

I remembered the name. She was the one who made the tea for the guests, and apparently a daughter who "awaited instructions" from her sire. An interesting thought.

"See to the Ma'ab personally, if you would."

She nodded once and walked forward with a sway to her hips that Kurn definitely noticed, though Castis made to ignore. Both of them looked fascinated by her face, though, in some fashion. I figured they could see the Ma'ab blood in her—even I could see it— and she was familiar to them, even calming after a long time in foreign lands.

So this was a Human Woman. Rithal shook his head once and scowled more deeply, looking at me and his host, but interestingly, he said nothing.

"You have a Ma'ab daughter, Brom?" Castis asked, though Kurn was silent, still looking at her.

"Surely, I do. Her mother was an extraordinary witch, you might be curious of Amelda's talents, Castis. So now you see why I wish to know more about your quest for your empire, blood warriors? But we have time to talk later. Relax for now."

"Come, let me show you our practice room," Amelda crooned, and I felt an odd air hovering in the room as she lightly touched Kurn's bracer and kept going down the second hall opposite from the kitchen, common room, and Brom's quarters. After a bizarre moment where the air seemed to become heavy enough to press us to the ground, both Ma'ab finally shuffled off hesitantly to follow her and the feeling lifted.

"Is that a good idea?" I murmured to the sorcerer, thinking of the Hellhound's general opinion of females.

"She's curious," was all Brom would murmur back.

"And what trick or offer have ye to try an' tempt me, sorcerer?" Rithal growled, the thick leather of his glove squeaking as he fisted his right hand and faced us directly. "An' is the Elf helpin' yeh?"

I rolled my eyes upward; my speaking very little as I watched every detail in the room seemed to make even Rithal forget that he could just ask me.

"I am as surprised as you, dwarf."

He blinked and looked straight at me, and I frowned back at him. Rithal made an obvious attempt to read me and Brom waited to see what he decided about my truthfulness.

"Perhaps," he granted, "but he wants something from ye, Sirana."

"True," Brom said with easy, forthright calm, "but it's only a matter of time before I release your party to continue your mission, master dwarf. Or at least you and the Ma'ab, as I believe in the simplicity of your motives and would even like to see you succeed. Be patient for now, cause no trouble, and there will be no trouble from me. Help yourself to food and ale, just ask for Elana in the kitchen, while Sirana and I discuss a few things."

Rithal's beard and brows moved with his thoughts as he weighed the larger Man's words. There wasn't a lot to respond to with such directness; either the dwarf accepted—even under protest—or he resisted. He knew that.

With a low, rumbling sigh, the dward nodded reluctantly. "I'll take the offer of ale while I wait."

"All that you want," the innkeeper said graciously and with a very broad smile and before long, my last travel companion vanished from view.

Cris-ri-phon had separated us all quite efficiently, and now he and I were alone. He smiled down at me.

"Now, if you've finally aided your apprentice to your full satisfaction, and you no longer plan to desecrate my inn or destroy yourself with your black vial...perhaps we may continue our conversation in peace within my room, Blue Eyes."

********

The sorcerer did not wait long after securing his bedroom to trap my face again in his large hands and press another kiss onto my mouth. His illusion faded once again to show me his pure white hair and darker, more weathered skin.

"I think I should enjoy having you again," he breathed against my cheek, forcibly shoving me up against the wall next to one of his displays of boxes and art, "after seeing what you did. A single Drow against so many Witch Hunters. Your race has not lost their taste for blood or their skill, I see."

I struggled because I didn't like this from him, being given no space, moved around and handled like a sack of supplies. It was with intense dislike that I was not able to keep track of his hands as they took liberty to touch my armor far too near my belt and weapons for my liking.

He was too large and too strong, his aura too distracting; I couldn't get free, I couldn't get away.

The helpless frustration of thinking I had lost Gavin, of knowing I was in a bad place regardless, all of it had not truly settled, there had been no time, and I felt it rise again as Cris-ri-phon mashed my tender breast through my armor with his palm. My training overtook my wariness and my forethought for a moment as I reached to release my spiders.

Cris gripped my wrist and slammed it hard against the wall; I had to swallow my cry at the painful jolt top my hand.

"No," he hissed. "Don't do that, my dark assassin. We shall both regret it."

"Then get back from me," I demanded. "Don't hold me against the wall. I hate this!"

Heat was pouring out of him like before when he was aroused, and he frowned dangerously for a moment as he considered simply continuing this way. I tensed, preparing to respond to whatever he chose. It would be a long time of him trying to force my weapons away from me, a piece at a time, unless he just wanted to make me completely unresponsive in some way and fuck me while unconscious.

That was as possible as any other outcome, but the natural consequences of this path would be rebellion at every turn later on, no matter how long it continued. He would not get cooperation nor as much information, and he would have to be on constant guard unless he just wanted to break me and, by his own words, lessen my value to him.

Drow did not tire easily when set on revenge for some action taken against them.

Cris seemed to realize this through his haze of desire and, perhaps after considering the intriguing challenge for a moment, he ultimately discarded it in favor of something more far-seeing. He stepped back from me, giving me space and I shifted away, more toward the middle of the room where I could maneuver.

"Will you disarm yourself completely?" he asked.

"What of the 'conversation' you mentioned?"

"After I've bedded you again. I will have you, then we will talk."

I could take the trade or I could completely decline. If I declined, then what? Try to overcome him as he had just chosen not to do with me? If I tried, even if I succeeded, I would not get that same cooperation and information trade, and I would have to watch my back for the next time as things escalated as I still may not be able to leave. I had no doubt Cris-ri-phon would respond exactly as my own race would to being thwarted.

So. It was a yes. Yes, I would trade and I would fuck him, albeit under threat.

Now I could either slowly, resentfully remove my things, or I could strip naked with confidence. This wasn't unlike my earliest months as a Red Sister novice—once trapped, it was going to happen eventually, why waste time and effort that would be better spent on the sating, even overwhelming, his physical demands?

Cris perked up as I swiftly flipped off my blood-spattered cloak, tossing it over the back of the chair in which I'd sat at the beginning of our meeting, then loosened my bracers in a few short movements and tossed them onto the seat. I scowled at him as I did this, but it was in a manner of inviting him to meet a confrontation rather than any throat-showing bitterness at submitting.

"If you're not 'disarmed' as well by the time I am done," I said, efficient but not reckless in removing my weapons and tools, "I make no apologies for damage done to your clothing."

He grinned broadly and began to strip.

It was a contest to see who finished first—I'd gotten a small headstart, but had the more elaborate outfit—and he was stepping toward me nude as I flipped my shirt and final piece over my head. The necklace he had donned after I went to help Gavin turned out to be Kurn's ruby. Great.

The next moment I decided to test how difficult it was to get behind him.

He reacted quickly to my tumble to his right; only a lucky strike to his wrist with my momentum fully behind it prevented him from catching good hold on me, and I came up in a crouch to hit a moderately painful nerve point in his side, but not the kidney as I'd planned—he's spun too much and protected his back.

His fingers dug into me as they snapped onto my upper arm the next moment, but I took hold of that wrist and used his own body to brace as I thrust my heel up into his hard gut, intentionally avoiding his erection—and he realized it. 

Still, air rushed from his lungs and he looked surprised enough as I twisted free, but his recovery was quick as he attacked with a barehanded, offensive style with which I was not familiar. I could only dodge a strike or guide it to the side with a slap; I could not block them directly or it would hurt too much.




Surfacing Ch. 07



Cris grunted a laugh as he struggled to get the rest of his wind back, his face darker flushed than it should be for the amount of effort so far, had I not spent his wind in the second move. Still, he seemed very pleased, enjoying the chase and sure that he would catch me eventually.

He was correct, of course, but that didn't mean I couldn't choose when to be caught, to some extent.

I never did get behind him in those few, intense moments, but I did manage a feint that opened him up long enough for me to jump straight onto his torso—as I had with Kerse what seemed quite long ago. One of Cris's broad hands clapped and gripped directly onto my ass, supporting me as my legs went around his waist, and his other arm encircled my back to hold my breasts pressed to the wiry, grey-and-black mix of hair on his chest.

Our lips met at the same time, though not from lack of trying to force the kiss on the other. It was pure force and aggression—not sensual but plenty of sensation and power exchange in it. He sucked too hard of course and I bit him when I got the chance; we separated briefly then dove in again with battling tongues, heavy, moist breaths, and wet, slurping sounds.

The sorcerer growled, his chest vibrating, as he carried me over to his bed and tried to toss me onto it. His problem was that I wouldn't let go so easily; my ankles were locked at the small of his back, as were my wrists behind his thick neck and one fist was in his white hair. I growled back and he laughed, his arm around my back tightening as his hand on my ass slid to press one finger straight into my back portal without any lubricant.

I sucked in a breath and automatically relaxed my anus at both the fresh burn and older soreness from a few hours ago, my training actually working against me as it also relaxed my legs just enough for Cris to break my hold. Once my lower body was loose, I did not have any good way to continue and I let go, landing naked on the bed. 

The sorcerer's eyes were bright and cutting as he looked down at me, his mottled, dark red cock standing out straight and leaking clear fluid at the tip. His hands shot out to seize me again and I got in close, struck out in return to land a hard jab to the meat of his neck—avoiding the windpipe this time—since some instinct told me what was coming next.

He made some satisfying grunt at being struck, but it didn't stop him from gripping my braid at the base of my neck and hauling my head closer until my mouth hovered over his rod. I already had my mouth open—the coy pursing of lips as the wet head was pressed and smeared over the face wasn't a step I tended to indulge much... unless Jaunda wanted to play at it. 

Cris forced his meat between my lips and pushed my head down, holding me very tightly as his Human cock nudged at the back of my throat.

"Don't bite," he rasped, tremors from the fighting and lust coursing through his body.

Oh, how easily it would be to stop the game right now.... A simple command from him wasn't enough to stop me from doing just that, but my own training demanded that I would have to be sure of a follow-up move to kill him outright if I wanted to take that step. I didn't have such a follow-up.

I still disobeyed, though.

I closed my lips tightly around him and used my tongue along the underside of his member—more or less as my Lead liked it—and he groaned aloud. His free hand clutched and smoothed and stroked the skin of my back and shoulder as he held my hair, moving his hips more than his hand was moving my head. I gently rested my teeth on him so he could feel it and his hand tightened in warning.

"Do not..." he whispered, pure violence bleeding into his tone.

I flicked my tongue again in answer, rested my teeth again, and squeezed gently with my jaw, applying pressure on his shaft but making no effort to cut into it.

He paused, warily curious, and when I did the same sequence again, he hummed, moved his cock in and out between my lips a few times, and pressed it back in so I could mouth him that way again, adding a little more pressure and holding a little longer each time. He groaned and let me continue quite a few times.

"Bite a little harder," he dared to say once, and it made me want to chuckle as I complied.

I was indeed "biting" him, but gently, squeezing down and holding for gradually longer periods, so pressure would build in the head of his penis and his breath hissed in pleasure as I would just as slowly release to let the blood surge into his cock again. I knew it to be intense, and something my Lead had always enjoyed. She was the one who taught me.

Cris enjoyed my skills, willing to let the pure force of our encounter back down as I became much more familiar with the musky scent of his bush. He did not release my hair, however, and my hands resting on his hips could feel the muscles flex and twitch as he got closer to his peak. 

I slid one hand to caress his testicles but he did not allow that much risk—his available hand trapped mine and he began to thrust much harder into my mouth, trying to get over that rapidly approaching edge before I did something to disrupt it.

His cock swelled between my lips and he was truly trembling as he gasped another of his foreign phrases, and then, just when I had expected to taste jets of male seed spreading across my tongue, he jerked my head back and had to release my hand to grip his own erection. He stroked twice and the first pulse of hot semen shot across my lips and cheeks.

I struggled despite the pain of his grip, digging my fingernails into his thigh deep enough to break skin. He growled both in release and pain as I growled in anger. He tried not to be too distracted by my fingers but was unable to stop me as I rose up higher on my knees, arching my back against his hold on my scruff. I felt the rest of his ejaculation marking my throat and collar bone, and sprinkling onto my violet-tipped breasts as I leaned back from him as much as I could.

Marking my face was probably one thing Jaunda would have done aplenty had she been able to, simply because I wouldn't have been able to stop her, but I had never considered semen in the eye an enjoyable thing in the least. It stung, and the first time it had happened, I had done it to myself not knowing quite what to expect as I stroked the young male Drow off for the first time.

Cris could paint my skin with his male fluid if he felt the need, but I did not have to accept it in my eyes. They hurt enough already just being on the Surface, even in a windowless, Sunless room lit with lamps.

When he'd finished, he used his grip to toss me back from him as he gasped heavily and I landed on my back with my legs open. He looked down on me, his pearly cum glistening on my dark skin, across my lips and part of my cheeks, my throat, a little farther down in artfully arrayed droplets. He was smiling and looked quite satisfied.

"Lick your lips," he ordered, watching intently.

"No. You taste instead," I returned with a smile.

He huffed a short laugh, one knee hitting the mattress between my thighs as he lunged for my forearms, preventing me from wiping away his seed from my face. Next he braced his elbows at my thighs and held me wide open. I thought it similar to the way I'd held both Jael and Shyntre when I'd wanted to give them oral sex, whether they accepted or not.

"Indeed, I shall taste," he said thickly, yanking my backside closer to the edge so he could kneel comfortably from the floor instead of being ass-up on the bed.

I tensed and couldn't suppress a shiver as his tongue slid once, teasingly, along my puffy, purple netherlips. He inhaled the scent of my white bush and licked a bit of sweat from my inner thigh—right about where Kurn had bitten me—before exhaling in supreme pleasure.

"Zenebreva ithir jih," he muttered with a drunken smile, and I heard and understood the tone, if not the exact meaning. What language was this?

Cris started sucking hungrily on my slit, and the way that he held me immobile, using his weight to keep me both down and open with his large hands closed on my forearms, I could do little but grip his forearms in kind and at least brace to shift my hips as needed to pleasure myself. 

He feasted with a very firm touch; he lacked subtlety while he was this excited. His tongue took turns slapping at my nub and piercing my hole to stroke me on the inside; his teeth nipped playfully at my netherlips before bathing them with his whole mouth. 

This was more for his own satisfaction than learning my own responses to see what truly caused me to writhe. But given that this play had begun as a purely physical test and not one of memory like the first time, I was hot enough still to approach the edge this way. Several of my Sisters had been like this, too.

My breath caught and surged, I shifted my hips frequently, what little bit that I could. Cris encouraged me with vibrating hums and growls, entirely focused on forcing me to climax. All signs suggested he would not stop before I'd reached my pleasure, though some part of me almost expected that he might leave me wanting.

I worked for the proper angle and stimulation, feeling my core begin to tighten up as I got closer. Little warning surges rose and fell in my lower regions as my pussy seemed to open and flutter, as if promising ecstasy to any phallus willing to serve my yearning need as it became engorged in blood.

"Ah...!" I cried softly at first, the intensity of the sensation hurting as much as it pleased as his tongue pressed directly on my nub. "N-ngh—!"

Cris released both my arms at once, using one hand to hike one of my legs higher, holding behind the knee. The other he used to replaced his tongue, laying his thumb across my pleasure spot and pressing down. The new angle and pressure not only kept my orgasm coming but allowed him to lean down and thrust his slick tongue between my cheeks, piercing my half-raw netherhole.

I gasped and shrieked; it was all I needed to feel the first waves spreading through my sex and my body as the tension finally began to unravel. The fact that I knew he could feel my backside clenching down over and over again on his rimming tongue made it even better. "Yes, ah, goddess! Ah!"

Cris let me ride most of the way down before crawling up on the bed and bodily shifting me upward to make room for him. I was still groggy and coasting, my heart pounding, but the next moment I felt him push his cock into my snug and very welcoming pussy. 

He shifted to lift my hips off the bed and leave me looking up at him with my body braced on my upper back, my legs wide and him thrusting between them. I could already feel the crack of my ass becoming wet from the movement of our coupling, and my eyes landed on Kurn's ruby around his neck. It glowed subtly with power.

"Aia Innathi," he said hoarsely and held my hips, fucking me with such enthusiasm... more than Kerse, I would have said. "So...you feel so..." 

He growled something I couldn't make out; he kept switching languages.

The first time I felt him strike my womb, though, I lifted one leg and struck him with the heel of my foot. It jolted him out of a near-trance and his eyes seemed to flash in irritation.

"Stop," I gasped. "Not so deep."

He smirked and shifted quickly, lowering my hips back to the mattress but taking my wrists instead to pin them out away from my body. As I tensed to do something, I hadn't chosen yet, he lay atop me entirely, using almost his full weight. He continued humping me but, as I'd demanded, not so deep that he was hurting me.

The new problem was that I had a fair amount of trouble breathing; his weight compressed my ribs and pressed my entire body into the mattress as I lay in a form-fitting dent. Whenever I tried to speak, he pushed his weight heavier and cut off my breath as he thrust harder into my body. I squirmed and gasped, not feeling much pleasure as this angle did not reach any of my sensitive spots. I could do little but punish him with some light bruises on his calves from the heels of my feet; I could not escape. He just kept thrusting into me, over and over and over.

It was very clear he intended to seed my sex this time and was trying to keep me under control for long enough for him to peak a second time. He was smart to keep his face outside of biting range and did not try to kiss me. My mute expression of impotent rage met his laughing eyes and lust-slackened mouth as he moaned, preparing to spill his cream inside me.

"No..." I managed an aborted croak on one gasp, my head beginning to throb at my temples from the lack of regular air even as I strained against him. 

I felt cold fear mix with the afterglow in my belly. Such an unknown risk to me, to the unborn I wanted to keep. Could Cris-ri-phon force my present pregnancy to end, to start over? Did he mean to keep me trapped here until he'd studded himself on me as he claimed to have done with some long-dead Drow?

"N-no, Cris—" I forced out, and he seemed to sense my panic.

"Don't worry, little fighter," he gasped, thrusting faster, harder. "It rarely... happens... without a surge of... wild magic."

His expression shifted oddly between a smile and a grimace right before he gasped and cried out, and I felt is cock throb within my tightly clutching channel as he finished at last inside me. I flexed and struggled but I could no more stop his deposit between my legs than I could get a full breath. He collapsed atop me completely and I was smothered, unable to make a sound as my lungs ached for air.

I bit at his cheek immediately when he'd lowered his head to enjoy the afterglow. He reacted quickly and jerked away, rising partially up, his angry expression softening somewhat when I sucked in my first full breath in quite a while.

"Get off me!" I cried.

He chuckled but pushed himself up on his arms and withdrew from my sopping, ruffled slit, moving to the side as I rolled out of the divot in the mattress. My inner thighs were stiff as I brought my legs back together, having been held wide and apart for so long. It had taken Cris a while to climax that second time, and our skin was sticky for having been pressed together so long; we'd smeared the seed from his first spending all over ourselves. 

The fresh semen oozing out now as I sat and discreetly bore down, right on his blanket just for spite, did not feel like just a little bit. Somehow he was still a breeding male, despite his apparent age. 

I also noticed the receding pressure of his aura and my head cleared a bit faster as I breathed. I had to suppress the rise of heat in my gut and the urge to attack him, attack to kill. That wouldn't be smart, even if I had hated the last part of that coupling.

Now I had to admit I feared an evident truth as well. The longer I stayed here, the more dangerous it would be for my freedom and the safety of my baby. I had to get out of this shuttered inn, and in a way that would not set this...this..."magician"—which was not even powerful enough of a word—to tracking or following me. I could not simply escape; I had to negotiate with him.

The thought seemed overwhelming at that moment. I did not know enough about him. I still did not know for certain what he wanted, other than to mate his first Drow in a long time.

I could imagine Jaunda's response to my hesitation. *Don't know, huh? So find out.*

Yes, he had promised a talk afterward. Yet...in what ways would discovering what I needed to know change everything for me? Would I ever be able to go back to the Sisterhood?

*Everything changed for me the moment the Illithid got loose. I am following the natural course, the consequences of that.*

I would be for years to come; I only just realized it in that moment. If I remained alive, it would not be, for me, unlike the Man sitting on the bed... who still remembered what the Valsharess had done to him long ago.

"Feel better?" Cris asked, and I looked at him. He had been watching me very carefully in those few moments of quiet.

I nodded. "I am not...used to mating that way."

"In what way?"

"Male on top, controlling everything."

"I could tell." 

"Very little pleasure in that position."

"Duly noted." He leaned to brush the back of his hand against my shoulder. "Unfortunately one does not simply let the assassin kneel astride you the first time. Or the first few times." He smiled in admiring amusement. "As stunning of a view as I'm sure that is."

I absorbed that. "Meaning you allow it at times."

"At times," he repeated. "It depends how dangerous the female is." He grinned. "I have a penchant for dangerous females."

"Would a Ma'ab witch be considered dangerous, then?" I asked with a quirk of an eyebrow.

"You are thinking of Amelda's mother. Yes, she was a dangerous one."

"How did you find such a one if they are far away now?"

"They've been nosing around for decades, and the Ma'ab women are a breath of fresh air for how willful they can be," he replied. "Unlike most powers in this area right now, the Ma'ab women can actually wield true power in their politics and religion. It's a pity the military is starting to rebel against their decisions."

"How do you know that?"

He smiled. "Amelda spent the first part of her life with her mother before she was killed. Kurn seems to support that change happening." He shrugged. "I'd thought they might have the potential to become an empire like mine, but they are squabbling around the wrong things too soon."

"Like yours," I seized. "When? Where?"

He tilted his head almost coyly. "Are you certain you want to know that, Sirana? I shall be happy to tell you, as it is part of your heritage, but then you have put yourself in quite a quandary concerning your own place with your queen and your race's history."

I was already in a quandary.

"Meaning, what?" I said. "You would wish me to return to tell the tale?"

"I think telling the tale at this point will only get you executed. But you would have other options."

I did not like the way he looked at me when he said that. One of those options, no doubt in my mind, was staying willingly with him, protected and dependent on him for resources and contacts on the Surface. I would be away from all my Sisters, and I would be assumed to be either a demoness or the submissive sex, every day. It would also mean I very well might give birth on the Surface and any magic and history my child might learn would primarily come from Cris-ri-phon. He might wish me to breed with me as well.

I knew did not match well in such a place; it was not my nature. I may yet be able to do better.

And choosing to learn no more than what he'd said before? This would not put me back to the time before the Man with the phoenix ring had his arms around me and told me that my queen had killed her own sister... before he claimed that a Drow had chosen a non-Drow to sire her children.

It was too late for that.

I nodded. "I am certain. I want to know your history with my race, what my queen has done, if you say She is the same as your wife's sister."

Cris looked content with my answer but did not start speaking immediately. He looked around his quarters first, scanning, although what he was seeing, I did not know. His white brows drew down and he frowned as he focused on something.

"A moment," he said, and if I had thought it a tease at first, or a bait and switch, I changed my mind when I saw him approach one of his many displays. 

Something elongated and wrapped in a finely decorated black silk was hanging halfway over the edge and seemed about to fall to the floor. Cris shifted it back onto its stand where it was secure.

Once satisfied with that, the Human sorcerer returned to the bed and sat with a low breath, comfortable being nude and sticky or perhaps thinking of some place or some time far away. Eventually he looked at me. "Where to start?"




Surfacing Ch. 08



Author's Notes: This story is erotic fantasy written by Etaski. I reserve the right to be listed as the author of this story, wherever it is posted. If found posted anywhere except Literotica.com with this note attached, this story is posted without my permission. (c) Etaski 2013

Fair warning, dear readers, as this chapter is probably one of the more appropriate I could submit in time for All Hallow's Eve, and appropriately, it is 13 Lit pages long.

We meet some darkness from the Surface face-to-face in this chapter, only previously hinted at before. As always, I hope you enjoy. 

********

Chapter 8

The concept of poaching was straightforward among Drow females; I always thought this. It was the female's action, her choice to poach, and, to the insulted party, her fault and hers alone.

Poaching—that was coaxing or commanding a male to mate against the wishes of his mother, sister, or mistress— was one of the few times we could publicly choose to forgive a male his actions if it suited us and we would not be seen as weak, as we all knew a male could not say no if asked. The female selected her sire when she wanted to attempt to conceive, she selected her playmates when she was bored....

...she selected her insults when she seduced an otherwise claimed male. 

At least, it was hard but to assume otherwise. The desires and intents of the male did not come up for intense discussion, most of the time, but instead the debate was how well a jealous female protected what was hers. What happened between the male and his matron or mistress behind closed doors later need not be a concern.

It was an excellent way to force a rivalry on quick, basic terms, although it was not a way to force blood connection between Houses, since the mother's line was forever and always the dominant blood and the only acknowledged name given to any offspring.

I had spent some small bit of time recently, after Sarilis had told me about Human bastards, considering that for this reason, pregnancy resulting from poaching was far less of a concern for the Drow when compared to Humans. It happened for us rarely enough as it was, it was welcome more often than not, and even better a pregnancy afforded protection from extreme retaliation when the insult was freshest.

No, bastards still did not really exist where I came from. Instead it was the seducer persuading the male to take some action against the insulted female, or whisper some of her secrets—be she mother, sister, Matron, or mate—that was a much more imminent consequence.

No one in their sane mind would try to poach from a queen, but... unknowingly, I had. And, true to the perceived dignity of my own culture, it did not occur to me to blame Cris-ri-phon despite his own trickery and select use of force. Such power games were normal, he'd played very well, and I had said yes.

My making excuses for it now would only make me look weak, which never impressed a potential rival.

The regal Drow still reclined on her couch had said it plainly: I was the Red Sister who had fucked her husband. I knew enough by now to know a "husband" was a claimed male even beyond what I might consider claimed back home...although he was also the survivor and had been living without his wife—and bearing children with other females, from the evidence that was Amelda—for a long time now. I did not know how seriously either would reasonably take those territorial urges.

I offered a small bow as a hot-cold sensation diffused from my heart down to my very toes. I tried to ignore the feeling as much as I simply had to ignore my confusion of where I was, what had happened as I'd been standing to Gavin in a disused cellar what seemed a moment before. For the time being, I couldn't ask. There was a more immediate concern.

"Is your husband Cris-ri-Phon, Matron?"

She nodded once, slowly. "Once. He was the Sorcerer General to my armies, and sire to all my children."

I lifted my brows in surprise. "All of them, your grace? No others?"

"If you knew Human Men, Red Sister, you would know the most ambitious of them focus best when they have pride and trust in their primary mate."

Trust? Tamuril had brought that up once...but between "friends," not mates.

She smiled at my expression, and it was beautiful. "You do not understand yet. That is well enough. I have answered most generously. Now you answer."

I bowed again, dropping my gaze briefly but not for long. "I am she, your grace. Your husband speaks of you highly, even while mounted on another." I smiled slightly, trying to portray wry admiration. "I daresay you leave an indelible impression spanning millennia."

The elegant, reclining Drow smirked without changing her position. "Millennia. Has it been that long? I grant you look very strange to me. Much about you is strange."

She stopped speaking as her deep, red eyes appraised me further, and I stood with deliberate patience. Her question about how long it had been did not seem to require an answer, and I did not know it for certain anyway beyond what the sorcerer had said, and he claimed there were times he had forgotten.

The former queen remained still and in thought for a long time, her eyes never leaving me though they moved about, and I found myself breathing with similar as if I prepared to drift into the meditation just prior to reverie. As when the Sisterhood had collected me, I could only wait, as questioning where and why would not help the answers come any faster.

Cris's queen sat up smoothly, her grace extraordinary even among Drow, and came to her bare feet to step down the one step that separated us. I noticed a single, golden toe ring on the first foot forward, and that her hair was loose and reached down to her backside. Her aura throbbed in a manner similar to both Cris and the Valsharess as she approached. 

She lifted her arm, her hand outstretched as if to take my bare arm while I concentrated on taking in enough air.

Her hand hovered, stopped just short of touching me, and I imagined for an irrational moment that my skin would begin to crisp if she did. I was already tense, and I forced a single step back so we wouldn't be standing so close, though I could not look away from the classic beauty of her face. 

The more I studied, the more I could see a resemblance between her and the Valsharess. The age lines and golden hair of the latter obscured it somewhat, but the forehead, nose, and the regal way her jaw, chin, and mouth all came together were the same. The eyes were different in color and shape, but the ears were the more similar between the two queens than either of them was to mine—a little shorter and broader than my narrower and more pointed ones. 

She appeared so much younger compared to the queen in the Underdark, I would be tempted in other circumstances to wonder of her being a great-granddaughter somewhere along the line. I would wonder, that is, if it not for the sheer, alien depth of her gaze. 

A much older consciousness stared out at me from the eyes of a striking visage in its prime. Unlike Cris-ri-phon, I hazarded to guess, but like the Valsharess, she had not had periods of forgetfulness or the distraction of setting up and reliving a new life many, many times, something that may lessen the weight of immense, aged memory.

She frowned as her hand lowered back to her side; she was displeased about something... perhaps at my stepping back? Again several thoughts seemed to cross her eyes, faster than I could read them, as she stepped to the side to look over my body appraisingly. She did not try to touch me again. 

Just as quickly as she seemed displeased, her face softened and she smiled, her voice matching the odd tenderness on her lips.

"Ah, I see the new aura. Truly this is fate. You are with child."

My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth for a moment; I nodded once and said, "Yes, your grace."

"And it is too far along to be his, yes?"

"His, Matron?"

"Cris-ri-phon."

The calculated, thoughtful way she said the name now, I could suppose she was not very jealous in that moment—if at all—that I had coupled with him.

"Correct, your grace. I caught this child well before I fell into his company."

"Excellent. My Cris will not be able to stud himself on you and track you that way, yet it may be early enough to fool him into thinking it so he does not try something else. We may yet be able to leave his realm."

We.

Something cold prickled down my back.

"We, your grace?"

She frowned a bit at me. "You are here because you commune with my judgment, my dagger. You plan to keep such an illustrious gift, do you not? Both Cris and I approve you to be the carrier."

I hadn't planned much beyond using it against the Warpstone Cult, to be honest, but... Could I then not say "no" to either husband or wife? I wanted to be able to weigh the admittedly limited options, not to have them decided for me. 

Against my preferences, I felt my age once again. Curious that it was four times the age of Gavin or Kurn and yet felt so inadequate by those who had changed the world well before my birth. Perhaps in some way, my birth and my life ultimately came from the choices of these two and of this...what had Sarilis said? Marriage?

It made me wonder, if I survived long enough, might I do the same with my own choices? Or would they be too small for any to notice?

"You imply," I began through a damnably annoying, fear-constricted throat, "that leaving his 'realm' will be difficult, your grace, though he has said he will allow me to leave."

The queen smiled widely, and it was disturbing. "Young one...his desires will consume you if you stay. You may have been born with the will, but you have not had the time among Humans to know how to stand for long before such a Man. He will not truly let you go, not without a way to find you again. He is possessive...a trait that served me well so long as I mated only him. 

"As a queen, it was a restriction that made me goddess-like among all others, untouchable, and I could use that to our people's advantage far beyond what one like you could possibly do. All you would be is a prized possession, though he may call it something else for a time."

A perfect breeze, not warm yet not too cool, moved past us and the soul within the dagger closed her eyes for a moment before opening them again.

"I want us to leave his power without his being able to interfere in our journey," she said firmly. "I will help you do it. You only must keep the Soul Drinker with you."

"Are not you and the Soul Drinker one and the same?" I asked.

"No, child. I am merely the strongest of the souls that the dagger has trapped here. Strong enough to mold the image of the land you see, strong enough to rule the other souls here, but I am not the dagger."

"Then where is here, your grace?"

"Who, what, and where, I see," she commented with a charming, playful lilt to her voice. Then she seemed to consider, looking out at the blue horizon. "One of the many 'elsewhere' that focused essence can go. I am not sure you would understand much beyond that."

My eyes flicked briefly away from hers to think of Gavin before returning. "Are we anywhere near the Greylands?"

The former queen narrowed her red eyes at me; she looked surprised, which hinted of some limits somewhere. "No, we are not...if we were, I would have attempted the crossing long ago, the same that Cris did. Unfortunately the power of Soul Drinker, the fear of it in its time, was that there was no way to return."

She saw the fear on my face and laughed musically. "Peace, daughter, you are not really here. I have learned to touch the mind of the carrier. Goddess knows I have had the time to practice." She considered me curiously again. "You are easier to reach than most. I do not understand why, but I have received more images of the world through your brief possession of my blade than I have in the last score of carriers."

The queen had spoken as she'd been appraising my flat belly through the white silk, but now she looked up at my face. 

"Show me the sire you chose for your child."

I blinked, and only the fact that I had not actually *chosen* the sire led my mind to go blank at that moment. It gave me that sliver of time needed to think better of it. 

She received "images" of the world and had known of my title and of my coupling with her husband; what else did she know? While I'd been holding the blade, all moments or just some? I was not ready to have another powerful female flip through my thoughts as if they were her personal book of secrets.

"Come. I am curious," she said, a thread of impatience entering her voice as she watched me intently. "Do not become stubborn."

"Your grace," I said, deliberately blacking my mind of all but her face, "he is of no importance."

She frowned at me. "He is just a breeder? No status?"

"Correct, your grace."

"And your status?"

"You called me Red Sister."

"Because that is how you identified yourself," she replied.

"When, Your grace?"

"While you carried the Soul Drinker. I can hear the loudest thoughts of the carrier at times, more so when the blade is drawn."

"You do not know what a Red Sister is?"

"Something my sister created, I must assume." Cris's queen's gaze became sharp as shards of glass. "You hold yourself as one of the upper crust and as a warrior. You were able to stand against my husband and not be overwhelmed immediately. He is impressed by you. You are no sorceress, but also no foot soldier, yet you claim a sire of no importance for your unborn? What is your place in my sister's domain?"

"My place is as a Red Sister, Matron."

The quip was certainly a cheeky one, coming full circle, a truthful answer without answering the question, and for a moment I saw the temptation to strike me on her face. She discarded the thought a moment later. It was very telling; I would not have been shocked at all if she'd struck me.

I already knew she wouldn't kill me, unless she wanted to become exactly what her sister had become, and be trapped here for another two thousand years until another Drow picked up Soul Drinker.

"You are evading," she stated flatly.

"I am, your grace."

"You are in my domain, child."

I bowed without breaking eye contact. "I am, your grace. Your dagger is in my hands. You wish my help, but a Red Sister is trained not to make deals against the Valsharess."

The royal headband, somewhat more ornate than mine with several, tiny, polished amethysts set within it, seemed to flash in Moonlight as the long-dead queen's face actually darkened in rage. I had to step back from her aura again as it swelled, being the closest I'd been to the edge of the step leading down to the next.

"Valsharess?" she hissed at me. "She takes and twists my title that way?"

"I know not, your grace, but you assume much. How useful is a servant who is persuaded to treason so easily?"

"You acknowledge me as your queen."

"I acknowledge a past queen who died as a queen, your grace. I still serve the one I was trained to serve."

"Even knowing now my sister is on the throne only for having broken the sanctions of the unborn in the most reprehensible way!"

"And yet Lolth sees her fit to remain on the throne for millennia, your grace."

There was such a reaction to that, such a flare of her power that I did step down to the next step of the pyramid, looking up at her in terrible awe. Her long hair seemed to float as energy buoyed her form and I half expected her to levitate off the ground.

"Lolth," she repeated with such acid, I thought her spit might dissolve the stone we stood upon. "I see. Your ignorance is the only thing that forgives you your disrespect. Otherwise I would see you never able to touch my dagger again and left with such nightmares as to never forget what you could have possessed!"

I frowned; a worthwhile threat but like my dropping the black vial in the inn, not something this queen would do lightly, given how long she had waited for a Drow to come into possession of it again. 

"Again, your grace, how useful is a servant who trades sides in a mere conversation? Would you truly want me that way?"

Her aura tightened down as if she was trying to regain control of it; her blazing, scarlet eyes narrowed and she considered me longer, her gaze at least once lingering on my lower belly. 

She sneered. "We will talk another time, Red Sister. Get out of my realm."

*****

Soul Drinker clattered to the floor in its sheath, and I stumbled backward, my body suddenly heavy and my skull seemingly ready to crack and split open like a nut.

I felt a cool hand grasp my upper arm, and only for that reason did I remain upright on my feet. At first I thought only Kurn or Brom could have strong enough to hold me up like that and I tensed, but I blinked and recognized Gavin's face with his stare of ink and ice. He released my arm as soon as I regained my feet.

"Your aura is unbalanced again," he said. "What happened just now?"

"H-how long...?" I asked, needing to catch my breath.

"Only a few moments, but long enough for me to see your mind was elsewhere."

The accuracy of that statement could not have been intentional...could it? I swallowed and he spoke again.

"You triggered the magic of the dagger?"

"Perhaps," I managed, feeling some delayed tremors begin to come over me. My voice shook a little. "I... met the sentience of the blade."

"Without fully drawing it?" he asked, both curious and skeptical. "Am I to take that it is...coherent?"

I nodded, swallowing hard against a lump in my throat. "And...Drow."

"Interesting. Part of the sorcerer's intent, I must think."

Was it? The queen had said she wanted to leave, did not want him to interfere. Surely if he knew of her presence, that would be impossible. Would she really have never reached out to Brom in all this time? She could have sought his aid, they could have worked together to seek vengeance. Why hadn't they?

What did it say about him, or her, that the late queen would remain silent and waiting this long...for someone else other than her husband to take the blade?

"Or possibly..." I said, "he is not aware of that aspect of it."

"Indeed? Unaware? Oh my." Gavin considered. "And what of your intent?"

I shook my head, an odd nausea roiling my stomach and moisture coming too quickly to my eyes as my throat constricted. "I...I do not know yet."

"Would you leave it here?"

It struck me that all of Gavin's questions thus far did not have a suggestion behind them, though they could have. He did not sound to have an opinion; he was simply asking, perhaps so that he knew better what to expect or how to adapt. Perhaps.

All the same, his guidance helped me focus when too many possibilities were surging up in my head to see them all.

"She does not wish to be left behind," I murmured.

"And? What else?"

"To be taken away from Brom, for one," I said. "What else beyond...I hesitate to guess."

To be returned to the Drow in the Underdark? Did she wish me to take action against her sister on the throne? What kind? I did not even know. I could not imagine she did not want revenge against the Valsharess...but how would she try to get it through me, as the wielder of the dagger? What would it cost me? Was Cris-ri-phon really ignorant of his wife's presence, or was he just as good at scheming and misdirection as any Drow?

Were they working together to possess me?

I felt the moisture in my eyes begin to slide down my cheeks and my throat hurt more as I trembled. I did not want to pick up the sheathed dagger at my feet. I had to suck in a breath as I tried desperately to withhold a sob.

"Overwhelming," Gavin said, observing me. "To meet such elder beings face-to-face."

It prompted me to wipe the tears away and take a deeper breath, to still the shakes as much as I could. "You sound like you know."




Surfacing Ch. 08



One corner of his mouth twitched. "I did not have your time and your experience the first time I met my Patroness, Sirana. Perhaps you might imagine how a human child responded to such a burden."

I thought of a Man-child such as Layne, unable to know what Gavin looked like at that age. But I had seen Gavin sleep, or try do, as he suffered troubling dreams. "I could only imagine one...wailing with insanity or pain."

"My father did think me possessed, yes," he mused blandly, with very little emotion. "You seem to be recovering well, though it is interesting to see a dark Elf can indeed weep."

The statement helped me regain my self-control better than any other, it seemed. I felt myself frown and took a few more deep breaths, wiping my eyes. "We do not often."

"I am not surprised. It speaks for the power of that relic, Sirana. Leaving it with Brom while both he and the blade itself want you to carry it might have an unfortunate backlash."

"Would it be worse than drawing it, I wonder?"

"Indeed, that is the question."

And I already knew the answer, whether I would admit it or not. Even a raging queen had said we would speak again, and that was after I had knowingly challenged her. She would not kill me even in a temper; another part of one of Auslan's earliest dreams made immediate sense.

The one protected inside my body would protect me from her... 

It was a limited amount of time in which to work, but no less than the decisions I already must make within the next twenty months anyway. I had time...provided I could escape Brom's Inn.

Provided he could not track me back to the Underdark, or anywhere else. I may indeed need the previous queen's help with that...if I could believe her.

I would take Soul Drinker with me, but with great caution. Perhaps I would need to strap it to my pack? Or exchange its place with one of my fighting daggers at my hip?

I left it near my feet for the time being; it was silent and making no high-pitched noise.

"We should speak of something else," I said.

"The original reason you came down here?" Gavin asked.

"Remind me."

He gestured toward the stack of armor, clothing, weapons, and tools. "The Witch Hunter possessions."

Ah. Of course.

I nodded. "You...said, I believe, that my Darkness spell was the best tactic I could have taken, given what else they carried."

"Yes. They did not know the form or the size, or even that there was flesh to seize. Tactics were inconsistent, given their choices."

"What do you mean, Gavin?"

 The necromancer smiled to show his black teeth; I was unused to him smiling at all, but I had to think he had gone through his own changes returning from the Greylands. "A mixture of items that might actually work as intended, provided they know better what their target is, and others gleaned from peasant superstitions and old myths."

"Give me specifics."

Gavin indicated some of the weapons laid out. "Swords, crossbows, throwing knives, daggers of specific metals, a maul, a hearth poker for branding, pliers, chains, manacles, sharpened stakes of various types of wood...basic implements against flesh. They will work no matter the reasoning, and I have heard Bishops talk of the reasoning against female demons especially."

I was tempted to remind him I was somewhat familiar with weapons, but the gender slant helped me gather my patience to continue listening. I was glad that I did.

"They may even get lucky with one or two against the right creature, but I doubt they know which."

My eyes landed on the dagger that had killed Gavin. "They used one made of pure silver against you."

"A dagger is a dagger once embedded in a human heart, Sirana. The fact that it was silver did not kill me."

"But your Patroness could not touch it. She needed me, or you would not have passed on her thanks."

Gavin sighed and nodded. "Lucky inspiration, perhaps with a vague connection to some legend. I recall a tale in the monastery, a place that was surely the Greylands although they no longer called it such or knew its true purpose. 

"It was a place of limbo or holding, punishment to wait an indeterminate amount of time before being allowed to pass on to Musanlo's light. Silver has some magical uses here, but in the Greylands it is anathema. It wreaks havoc with the flow of essence in that land and its inhabitants."

"Necromancers have vulnerability to silver?" I asked. "Does Sarilis?"

Gavin shook his head. "No. Practicing death magic does not make one vulnerable to silver. What happened here was that it disrupted my Patroness's magic and her bond with me."

"Meaning," I began slowly, "not all necromancers serve a Grey Lord."

"Correct. I might think few do, but I have not met any others besides Sarilis."

"And you?" I asked. "You have changed, but at the allowance of your Patroness."

He grunted. "I will say I am glad you chose to toss the blade onto the pile with the others when you expressed your regret. It would have brought many questions to mind if my ally slept with a silver dagger beneath her pillow, so to speak."

I reflected that most any Drow would have called me stupid for that gesture... "A weakness inherited from your mistress, then?"

He gave me an odd look at the word, but pursed his mouth as his eyes seemed to shine with a pulse to his aura. "Power demands a price. Should one try to use it against me, I may see it being the last action they take before sending them to the Grey Maiden herself."

I could not help but smile. "Threat heard and understood, Gavin. I do not believe you are bluffing after seeing those rents in your flesh close up so quickly. You know of one or two of my weaknesses. It is balanced. You do not share mine with others, then neither shall I share yours."

He grunted, and we both seemed content with that.

"Tell me of the other items they carry," I prompted and he nodded once.

"Compare the more practical to these," he said, and we moved closer to one of the shelves holding odd and random items. "Incense balls worn around the neck, intended to ward off plague though they will do no such thing. An assortment of herbs, good in cooking or teas, but not likely to bring more than a sneeze to most that inhale it. Holy scripture in a book written by men, it fulfills the need for a battle cry, I suppose. Holy symbols to shout their allegiance to the world, but not anything that would pain another to look at."

I eyes scanned the well-thumbed, ratty book, the pouches and the scented herbs and crude, metal jewelry, and I nodded. Gavin indicated small, corked bottles next.

"Vials of water, likely blessed by a priest and intended to be like acid against evil creatures, but again...they would have to be exceedingly lucky to hit the right creature. Also such a vial would need to be from a priest of actual magical power, not a buffoon that muttered an old prayer and loudly proclaims his faith."

I snickered and nodded. Like my late sister and her attempts to reinforce her view of her divine blessings with self-delusion, combined with the very real harm that she did to me. I understood well.

"Now these...would work in their favor more often than not, but whether they understood why is a different matter," he said, and again it was a small collection of tiny, wooden boxes, corked bottles, and pouches of powder. 

"Poison such as you use, hallucinogens either to see spirits or commune with their god or perhaps to whip them up into a 'holy fervor' in combat. I have seen Witch Hunters take such things and not feel their injuries for hours. Other components they may take for various reasons, but all would have a predictable physical effect on their body, like alcohol, and it is not magic except how they wish it to be."

I shook my head now. "I do not understand. How can such a half-formed, ill-understood religion have such powerful Priests that we are going to them to soil a true magical source that Sarilis wishes to usurp?"

"My understanding is that they have taken all sons who become known to have any affinity for true magic and locked them away in the temple to serve Musanlo. Repetitive rhetoric, punishments, and peer pressure would do the rest. The most powerful become ruling Priests. They keep all their true magic in one place and the rest of the people uneducated."

I blinked at the similarity to the Wizard's Tower back home. "Hm. What of the daughters?"

"Burned as witches, I would hazard to guess. There are no women in the Priesthood, or in any monastery."

I felt myself frowning. "So magical sons are god-touched, but magical daughters are demon-touched?"

"Devil-touched, actually. And that is my understanding, yes." Gavin looked down at me. "It did always seem a waste to me."

"Why were you not taken to the temple?" I asked, and he tensed. It was a direct, personal question.

"My Ma'ab heritage," he reminded me. "I was tainted."

"Was your father magical?"

Gavin sneered. "No."

"So it came from your mother."

"It is as you guessed to Kurn and the others, though I did not know her. I was told she died giving birth to me."

"How could it be that a Musanlo monk would mate with an enemy, a self-proclaimed witch, and keep her spawn?" I asked with a bit of frustration, and Gavin's eyes started to darken completely as he took a step back from me.

"Enough! That is not open to discussion. Do you want to know more of what you face at Manalar or not?"

I refrained from a retort that understanding the twisted motivations of his father would help me see what I faced more than anything, as I could see the result of such a life right before me. Gavin's aura was building and I'd become much more sensitive to such changes lately as warnings. I went silent on the subject instead and nodded.

"I wish to know more."

The necromancer nodded as well and returned his focus on the belongings of the Witch Hunters. He took a few moments to recollect his thoughts and dampen his anger back to that level of indifference where he seemed comfortable. "They possess a few images of wanted heretics—none I recognize—and a transcript bearing the personal seal of a Priest I must assume is well recognized this far out from their holy city."

"What does it say?"

"It gives them unrestricted power to act on their own discretion in pursuit of 'justice.'"

"They need written excuse?"

"They need their people to believe in their authority."

I pondered that, and the particular word Gavin had said it with a wrinkle to his nose, "justice." Brom had said, when the group claimed it was a "witch" who had made me appear as I am, that the enforcers of Manalar would love a description of that witch so they could "seek justice" on my behalf... 

"Do you mean vengeance?"

"Vengeance implies wrong doing, either personal or political," Gavin said. "Justice is..." He thought for some time. "A 'divine' decree that some things are inherently good and must be defended for all against that which is inherently evil. Though in the Witch Hunters' case, they seek out the evil tirelessly, sometimes before it happens."

My brow creased a bit. "Is not that self-delusion? They want to hunt and cull challenges to their power."

An unwilling smile seemed to hover at the corners of his mouth and Gavin finally had to shake his head. "I cannot explain it better for I simply don't understand such thoughts myself. You might ask the Godblood, if you have the chance. He is sure to have a steady grasp of the concept, even above the Hunters."

I watched Gavin for a moment, amazed. Was he...? 

He *was* trying not to grin!

"Somehow I do not think the Godblood would speak with me as you do, Gavin," I said with an answering smile, although I could give a mental sigh at never having that opportunity. "He may understand what I am as well as you, a rarity in itself, but the chances are that he will be tempted for vengeance as much as justice."

"Interesting," Gavin said. "Why do you say so? You said he may arrive at Manalar as well. What do you know of him?"

I pondered how to explain, then decided what I'd told Cris already was good enough. "The Noldor champion him in some way, they have presented themselves to him on more than one occasion."

"Ah," Gavin nodded. "Then as the Noldor are rivals of yours, he would be set against you just by association."

I nodded, decided not to go into the fact that the Godblood's young son had died of infection because Tamuril had been attacked by my Sisters on the borders of the Underdark, and thus made the blond Elf incapable to bring back the spell component she needed. A spell component I had traded away to her. I could wait to see if any of that was as important to Gavin's understanding as my knowing a bit about his father was to mine.

I gestured back at the transcript. "What is the Priest's name?"

Gavin reached to open the hard leather tube, sliding the parchment out to unroll it. I could not read one stroke of what was written there and considered myself very fortunate that my ally could. I doubted even Castis could.

"ArchBishop Keros," he murmured.

"Do you know anything of him?"

Gavin shrugged. "No, though I have heard the name. He never visited the monastery, and I did not care for the politics of the church when there were other texts to read."

Understandable.

"How much time were you given to read those texts?" I asked.

Gavin looked at me suspiciously. "Some."

"Mm-hm, meaning they want every monk to have the skill, even one with a taint. Why?"

"To be able to read the word of Musanlo, of course."

"And the other texts?"

Gavin shrugged irritably. "Spoils of war, taken from heretics and locked away from the populace."

I grinned, catching a scent. "Ah. Is that how you knew of jungles and deserts and scorpions?"

"Obviously."

"The texts were not burned."

He paused.

"Should they have been?"

He hesitated, and I could see the temptation to lie. I interrupted.

"That is yes. Why were they not?"

"I do not know."

"Yes, you do. I can read your reluctance as you can read my aura, Gavin."

He scowled. "Then I do not want to tell you."

"Meaning it has something to do with your sire and dam."

"Stop pushing it, Drow."

"I will trade, apprentice. Tell me, and you may ask me something."

"I *cannot* trade that. My Patroness holds claim on the pain of my past."

I nearly laughed, nearly taunted him, said that he was lying only to try to wriggle out of a tempting deal—many male Drow did that, shifting responsibility from themselves to whatever superior female they could blame for their own reluctance. 

I reigned back on those words as I watched him try very hard to suppress his emotion, and I considered that it could very well be so for him. Regardless.

It had been the case for Auslan when I'd pushed him, when I'd literally cornered him against the wall...and, unlike Gavin, Auslan had actually wanted me. He still refused me. 

Oddly, I felt the Consort's absence keenly in that moment as well; the first few moments of waking up in his bed became unsettlingly clear, and a sense of yearning that seemed to rise up out of a black abyss in my head and make my chest hurt. There was pain there, a lot of pain, and something else from which I wanted to shy away.

I certainly wouldn't share it with Gavin if that's what he might ask for trade. Yet it would be a fair exchange if he did, if he knew to ask.

So. Gavin had a mistress who knew his secrets, why then could she not be jealous of them?

"You cannot speak of your past?" I asked with more curiosity but far less pressure.

"I can. I only will not relive the worst of it for you."

"Eloquent."

And something we had in common. 

I could expect, whenever I pushed him toward a hard-won reaction as I liked to do, he would always slam and bar the door at the last minute. He was not adept at seeing it coming, but he recognized his own swell of reaction early enough to throw up a barricade. And he claimed to do it in service of his "true master."

It was not only the abuse beneath his father's hand that made him this way, then. Just as much it was from the early burden and demands of an "elder being," as he'd called them. And all I had to do was watch him as he adjusted to his mistress's gift, as I noted the more apparent costs.

I could consider it a parallel warning for the relic that still lay at my feet... if the glove fit. It was sobering.

I nodded. "Forgive my ignorance, Gavin, I did not know. Please continue to speak of relevant events, without reliving them. I have noticed the tactic. It suits."

He grumbled something I couldn't quite make out. "I should like to return to my work, Sirana. If you discover more of the sorcerer or your relic, or know how we are to leave this place, then do come back and inform me."

I nodded.

And so I tentatively plucked up Soul Drinker, silent as could be, and left Gavin pouting somewhat as I had been when I had left the sorcerer's bedroom.

*****

I decided next that I would check on Mathias's progress with the final Witch Hunter, as Cris has suggested I do. Whether I offered my opinion to him or not, we would see.

I climbed out of the cellar and passed Cameron and Ian with them staring at me.

"Any snakes down there, m'lady?" the bright redhead was bold enough to ask.

I arched a brow at him. "No. Why do you ask?"

"We heard a lot of hissing."

Or whispering? Or perhaps Gavin had his own kind of ward in his private little cellar... Satisfying to think they had overheard nothing at all.

"Ah. Well, rest easy. There are no snakes, but there is a death mage with corpses for company."

They each nodded stiffly, perhaps not enjoying their assignment so much, and I left so as not to be delayed longer. Once out in the hall, I took a moment to tie Soul Drinker to the left side of my pack; if she...if she could hear strong thoughts just from my holding it, then I wanted the privacy for now.

I followed the hall warily back to the great room and turned to take the second hall on the main floor. It would lead me to the back door where the outbuilding would be, but it might also lead me past wherever Kurn and Castis had gone with Amelda. The "practice room," if they were still there.

The answer to that came quickly, as at the very rear of the main building and to the right, there was indeed a larger room with double doors. Through it I could clearly hear Kurn practicing, and a delighted, female laugh and exclamation. I stopped by the door, and felt there was no ward on it; it took very little to simply listen, and I could almost imagine what it must look like inside.

Amelda was at rest to the right near a wall, Kurn in the middle of the room with very little around him. His boots moved over an expanse of dense, wooden floor, as they had when I'd spied on him in the forest, and I heard the same grunts and swinging of his weapon.

Cris's daughter sounded entertained, although there was a quality to her laugh I did not understand. It reminded me of a child's laugh, or a higher, tittering version of the satisfied, smooth chuckle from a Matron back home. It did not become a grown female.

I did not hear a third body. Where was Castis?

Kurn began speaking after a brief time, still swinging, though the question was in Ma'ab and I could not understand it. Amelda answered fluently and in kind. Though he kept up his demonstration for her, they were in a conversation that felt continued. My common sense and familiarity with intrigue led me to think they were likely discussing me, or me and Amelda's father, and coming to an understanding between themselves. I did not, however, hear any proper names used to confirm that.

Nonetheless, I knew Kurn's tones of voice well by now, and the hatred was unmistakable. Amelda was either advising him or persuading him toward some action, but I had no way to get a translation. I would have to wait for whatever action they might take. It did not sound as if they had come to an agreement yet; Kurn was reluctant.




Surfacing Ch. 08



Amelda, however, knew what she wanted, and that made me wary. The only hint I had was that she had been frowning at me before she smiled at her father when he turned to look at her. She felt a dislike of his distraction by me, perhaps; I had seen it before among the Nobles, when a child thought their Matron was not attentive enough to other matters soon after gaining a new consort.

Usually it was ill-advised to seek harm against the favored mate of the moment if the Matron was not tolerant of such petty disruption in her pleasures, but I did not know Cris's level of such tolerance. Perhaps he would be entertained by such conflict between me and his daughter, although I could not imagine he would allow it to escalate to physical harm.

The conversation and the sword play continued for a time but at one point I heard Amelda shifting in her seat and the sound of cloth sliding against flesh caught my ear the same as her crooning tone. Kurn responded in a gruff, derisive tone but it was very like the lewd speak from when I'd watched him stroke himself before, and Amelda laughed then purred a few more words.

It grew quiet for a few moments and I had to strain to hear anything at all; Kurn was standing still, and at most, the sorcerer's daughter smoothed her hand over bare skin or through her hair. It was very subtle.

Next, I heard Kurn's boots as he tromped across the spacious floor to her, sheathing his sword, which nixed the idea that he meant to behead her. I heard him grab hold of her as he growled something undeniably crude; I heard the lust bordering on violence. She yelped briefly, shifting in her seat, but laughed again and said something defiant in return.

There was a brief scuffle, and within seconds Kurn had mounted her; I heard the urgency as his thighs slapped hard against her flesh, as he grunted both in derision and stark relief. She was moaning and encouraging him, and only laughed when I heard him strike her with open palm.

*Better not to damage her too much, Hellhound, her sire is still in the inn...* I reflected only with anger at the thought of him doing such to me. 

However, I would not interfere. Amelda was working on something, she had Kurn's measure just as I did, and if it turned out badly for her, well...it would make it easier for me if they were indeed plotting against me. Kurn would pay a price just as she would. It was very Drow-like, and sometimes one did lose control of the balance of violence and lust. It was one of the risks of playing the game.

I would have to reconsider how much I could push Cris that way as long as I was pregnant. It could not escalate much. What had his wife said...it was early enough to make him think he was the sire? That would change his behavior toward me, undoubtedly, but I did not believe that was for the better. 

Wouldn't that only make him more determined to find me later, making such a plan a temporary solution at best? How would he respond to the realization that he in fact could not track me through my offspring? If he ever caught up with me again regardless, what would he do? 

Such a plan had not been fully explored before my bond with the dagger had been broken, but I already wanted to reject it wholly. It did not seem sound. There had to be another way.

The steps of another approaching the hallway, where I stood pretty much in plain view, urged me to leave my eavesdropping then—even with my hood up, any who knew of my presence would be able to guess who stood listening at the practice room. I moved quickly to slip out of the backdoor.

The Sunlight was harsh and painful in a way I had almost forgotten in the darkness of the shuttered inn; I was fortunate enough to be beneath some trees that stood near the building, but the shade was not dense by any description. The Sun had not even reached its midpoint yet, and my head—already tender from my connection with Soul Drinker—protested the intensity to the point I had to cover my eyes with my forearm and lean against the outer wall of the inn for a few moments.

During that time, my ears picked up the innumerable insects and birds surrounding us as well as the drifting noise of the settlement farther down the road toward the river; my nose recognized all the lingering scents of a soaking storm, like the first time I'd seen the Surface but much warmer, the air stickier. 

I could sense the sorcerer's ward as well, but it was a at least four long strides out to each side of me and not in front of me at all. I had to take the time to adjust to being in an open area as the patterns of sound and echo changed again, but it did not take me long. I could not see but I could be sure of walking forward, so long as I placed my feet carefully.

The earth was soft and muddy, uneven, with large puddles I found difficult to avoid out in the open without my eyes. On the whole, I just had to keep moving, as stopping to consider each puddle I stepped in would only give it the chance to seep through. It was a little noisier than I would have wished, though.

Nearing the wall of an outer building, using the wards as guides, I knew it to be the right place because I recognized the same qualities of a dungeon; sour sweat, lingering fear and pain, very muffled sounds of despair and rage. I would know what to expect.

In theory.

The wooden door was barred from the inside, and upon listening close I could hear a bit of shuffling and a groan, but I also knew that—unlike Kurn and Amelda—those inside knew that another stood outside the door.

"Skin hunter," I said quietly, thinking better than to use his name and thinking Brom's name for him had more impact.

The balance between interrogator and prisoner could be quite delicate during such times, and one never gave away too much "normal" information about the one in control. It lessened the tension significantly for a time, gave the prisoner renewed strength; I understood well enough.

Just the name and my voice was enough to tell Mathias all he needed to know; I wanted to see what he would do with it.

After a considered pause, he approached, unbarred, and opened the door.

The scent that wafted out was very strong, of two Human males and a great deal of stress. I stepped inside out of the Sun and Mathias closed the door and barred it again without saying a word. It was very dim inside, with thin slivers of light leaking in through imperfections in the structure's walls, and I could finally open my eyes even as I kept my hood up. Mathias's face became visible, but it was curiously without expression even though his body language suggested welcome.

"Lady," he said with a tiny bow, and in a voice that was much different than his practical, educated, or curious ones that he'd used on the journey thus far. It was low and utterly calm, content....and almost indistinct, giving me the vague impression of a disembodied voice drifting out from a dark corner of a room.

What had Mathias been when I first met him and Gavin on the road to the Tower? A normal, scruffy Human Man on a brown horse, warning me more than once that where he headed was no place for young girls. Sarilis had called him "sir Mathais" and "Lord Briar," alternately, and had sent a "missive" and his apprentice to meet the bounty hunter in the supply town. Sarilis had asked for Mathias specifically, and for Gavin to bring him back.

Now there was a link to Brom as well, as a former employer. Did that mean there was a stronger link or further knowledge between the ancient sorcerer and the master necromancer in the Tower? Would Brom report anything back to Sarilis about this? Would Mathias?

I was irritated with myself for not thinking to ask Gavin about that before coming here, but I had already pushed far enough with him for now. I would simply have to observe what I could here and now.

"Young Lord," I answered back with a nod, and he smiled a very small bit. 

His brown eyes seemed more...empty, compared to previous, relatively limited moments on our journey when I caught him looking at me.

"You mock virtuous women, devil worshipper," rasped Mathias's prisoner. "No 'Lady' would be allowed in to see this place. Is she your harlot, then, come to suck your cock as you try in vain to make me turn from Musanlo?"

Mathias did not reply and did not look away from me, but he did hold out his hand, palm up, with surprisingly elegant grace. He murmured, "Your hand, my Lady."

I had my moment to consider whether to play along.

Lifting my gloved hand slowly, I placed it in the interrogator's bare one. Mathias closed his hand with a softness that shocked me and he lifted it slowly to his lips, bowing down just a little with his back straight. The previous practice was as apparent as Kurn's sword swings.

I watched as the bounty hunter pressed a soft, slow kiss to the leather covering my knuckles.

My first guess was that Mathias had only done this because of what his prisoner had said about "harlots" and Ladies, to be contrary or to mock him as one would at Court. Had the Witch Hunter remained silent, he would not have thought of it. Any pleasure Mathias got out of bowing to kiss my hand—which I could recognize as a cultural signal of the upper class—was in his prisoner's reaction to it, not because it was my particular hand that he kissed.

"Come in," Mathias invited, releasing my hand and gesturing in welcome.

My eyes quickly noted more details of this most rustic interrogation room and its central inhabitant. A blond Man, stripped to the waist and about Mathias's age, stood with his arms lifted, held up with wrist manacles attached to heavy hooks embedded in the ceiling; there were similar manacles on his ankles that attached by way of longer chains to poles buried deep in the ground that bore no weight of the roof. His feet were bare.

There was room to walk all the way around the prisoner, upon a hard-packed dirt floor spread lightly with straw. The fact that the Witch Hunter remained on his feet at this moment told me Mathias had not been overtly damaging; the Hunter was not hanging by his arms with the full weight of his body. It would happen eventually, though, if for no other reason than exhaustion. His arms likely ached by now.

There was another place in the back of the room for Mathias to go when the Man could no longer hold himself up: a pair of thick wooden beams crossed to support the frame of a body spread-eagled, bolted permanently to a large stone and tilted midway between flat and vertical. 

Along the far wall was a table with recently-placed metal tools not all too different from what Gavin had shown me down in the cellar: pliers, pokers, blades...but also included were multiple forms of whips, lashes, and switches.

Odd that I had not seen any of those among their equipment in the cellar, I thought at first, but then I counted and realized they were all well-used, and there were exactly nine of them.

"Did you collect all their lashing weapons from the apprentice, skin hunter?" I asked.

Mathias chuckled softly. "I did, Lady. They each have a favored one that they use upon themselves as often as they do their victims. You can see the healed marks on his back."

"Does your arm tire already, pain drinker?" the Witch Hunter taunted. "Is that why you've summoned the witch? You need a devil's slut to carry the brand for you?"

His voice possessed a distinct, recognizable hoarseness from yelling or shrieking. Why hadn't I heard anything like that as I approached this small outbuilding? Surely it would have reached the inn itself. I could only think that there must be something swallowing the sound before it reached the outside.

"He may enjoy that a bit too much if you do it," Mathias murmured to me with a smirk that was unfamiliar on his face, eyes sliding toward his victim as an ambush predator might, patient and observant.

Perhaps that was why he went silent and waited for either me or the Witch Hunter to speak next. I could wait.

"If you use them on me, harlot, you only cleanse me!" the Witch Hunter blurted defiantly, addressing my cloaked form directly for the first time. "They are all blessed by Priests of the clergy! It will burn into your palm with the purity of Musanlo's light!"

I weighed briefly the advantage of proving him wrong by lifting what was certainly a very ordinary whip...or letting him believe I actively avoided touching them. It was an interesting choice, but not one I felt strongly enough for to get in Mathias's way.

I noted minimal bruising and cuts on the pale skin of the prisoner's torso, along with coarse hair—darker than the blond hair on his head—growing in all the usual spots on Human males. Any damage would have been plain to see and there was very little, yet the skin was slick and covered in sour sweat as if he'd been enduring endless pain. 

The Hunter's face was twisted into a permanent snarl, yellowed teeth gnashing like a beast, a damp, golden forelock falling forward to cover most of his brow and obscure part of his light brown eyes, beneath which there were dark shadows as if he'd been denied sleep for days.

Overall, it was impressive for the few hours Mathias had had him.

"What is his name?" I asked.

"Jacob," Mathias answered readily.

Quite impressive.

"Has he told you anything useful to us?"

Mathias nodded. "He has not realized it."

"You lie!" the Witch Hunter cried. "I have told you nothing, and by Musanlo's strength, I will tell you nothing!"

Certainly he wouldn't when his voice gave out.

"I would have more time, Lady," Mathias said.

"I am not rushing you," I replied, both of us ignoring the prisoner's growl of some slur between a prayer and a curse. "I would watch for a time, if you will it. The innkeeper recommended most highly."

"Master Brom!" the Witch Hunter shouted. "Had we known that man was kith and kin to such foulness, we'd have taken him and all his hellfire minions by order of the Bishop long ago!"

That mental image brought out of me an unexpected bubble of laughter. It would have gone even more poorly for them had they tried to break into Brom's room...

"You laugh, and you ask to stay! You are a filthy whore whose cunt needs the cleansing brand of God's Chosen, you disrespectful slut!"

Mathias looked pleased as he watched me and finally nodded once. His voice went to a whisper which Jacob likely could not hear. "You may stay for a short time, on one condition. You allow me to take your hood down."

I did not think for long; it would likely only help Mathias's techniques, give him more to work with. I nodded. "Agreed."

The skin hunter beckoned me to follow him closer to the prisoner. "Jacob. Have you ever seen a true witch?"

The Witch Hunter ground his teeth. "My brothers and I have brought twenty-three devil's whores to justice in the past year. They try to hide from us and cast against us, but we find them and we see that they beg for Musanlo's forgiveness for the misuse of his magic!"

Mathias nodded. "What of devils? Have you faced those?"

Jacob stayed focused on Mathias and refused to look at me. "Such creatures lurk in the shadows, afraid of showing their true faces in the light of Musanlo, and they don't have the strength to break our blessed circles."

The scout-turned-torturer stepped behind me so that Jacob would have to shift his gaze to me. I noticed the blond Man's eyes drop oddly to my ankles and turn to the depth of my hood in one leap without stopping.

"Allow me to present to you a Lady of the Underdark," Mathias said as his fingers very, very lightly touched the edge of my hood to pull it back.

Jacob's eyes had long since adjusted to the dimness, so he could make out my white hair, my large, angled eyes, and my pointed ears immediately. My skin must have looked to bleed straight into shadow for how terrified the Witch Hunter appeared to be for that first moment. I could believe I was the strangest race he had ever seen outside of his dreams.

The next moment there followed a surge of violent anger and disgust that reminded me strongly of Kurn as he'd watched me bathing beneath the waterfall.

"So now you've come, Maris! You've returned from your exile at last for your revenge!" Jacob shouted. "You've been burned black in the fires of Hell, now you've become this wretched form! What filth did you have to swallow to get out of your prison, you diseased slut?"

I tilted my head slightly and kept my face placid; for the moment, I resisted glancing back at Mathias, who watched in silence over my shoulder. The Witch Hunter did not see, as Brom did, a Drow making her way across the frontier of her known world. 

He saw something else...someone else...and it was highly personal.

On inspiration, I smiled with gentle pleasure. "It is good to see you as well, Jacob."

"Whore!" he bellowed. "May the rotting eggs of Fierna foul your diseased cunt so that *any* man can see the pus and filth running down your legs!"

Well. That was certainly...visceral.

"Am I to take it you did not see that filth the first time, Jacob?" I asked curiously.

"Your illusions kept you looking pure," he hissed. "Now your appearance matches the corruption in your soul."

"Indeed. Are you diseased, Jacob?"

"I've been cleansed and blessed by the ArchBishop himself after he sentenced you! But you tricked me, you sodomized whore, and you shall suffer for it again!"

"He dreams of illusions in a healthy pink, I suspect," Mathais murmured in that odd, disembodied voice again. "Did she taste sweet, Jacob? What of the color of her thatch?"

The Witch Hunter's face screwed up. If he had ever considered sniffing and tasting pussy, it was not with simple desire to enjoy it. 

"Such filthy gashes need purification through holy consecration and the blessing of childbirth to control their temptation. Those who do not receive it deserve damnation and the ruination of her one gift to mankind, so she may not misuse it again in the eyes of her god!"

I felt a heated response pass through my core at the reduction of the power of being female to that of a brood mare for violent, hateful males—not altogether unlike Lana's fate with the Duergar, but at least that was straightforward slavery. However I did not give Jacob the same cues in my face that he was giving me in multitudes. Why such hate and distrust of his Women? Did they fight back or were they cowed by such irrational consequences? I thought I knew the answer.

"You are being oblique, Jacob," Mathias commented in that penetrating voice, walking from behind me to lift his hand slowly and caress the hair above my ear. 

I quirked a brow but allowed it as part of an act. 

My travel companion smiled easily. "I wonder, Jacob. Is there a difference between 'holy consecration' and 'ruination' of a breeding woman?"

"The purity of one man's seed versus the soiling and mixing of many in her cunt?" Jacob rasped with teeth bared. "You are a fool, pain drinker, not to see the difference."

"And you and your brothers administer the ruination?"

"It is justice for those she tempted, and apt punishment for her lust!"

"Ahhh, I see. She wants two men, so she must want them all, hm?"

"It's a betrayal of a sacred pact! A chaste woman has nothing to fear from Musanlo's enforcers. The witches, however, who tempt the good from divinity and cause strife amongst us...they shall have that evil purged in a whore's own language. She will see the error of splaying herself open or may she stand the rest of eternity in Fierna's pit sucking oozing syrup directly from a devil's arse!"

"He seems to enjoy those images," I commented, indicating the small rise at the crotch of his trousers, and Mathias chuckled.

All the same, I understood what Gavin and Brom had both said about the fanaticism we faced in the Witch Hunters, and more of Gavin's comment about my "choice of cover" being perfect at the time; essentially they did not know it was a female, alien race who attacked them. What kind of religious fervor would that have brought to their struggle had they seen my true form clearly?




Surfacing Ch. 08



They easily may have abandoned Gavin entirely and turned on me as one, and I may not have been able to get enough distance in that small room.

"How many souls did you claim for Fierna upstairs, Lady Maris?"

*Maris?* I realized that Mathias was talking to me when I looked at him, and we held eye contact for a few moments. He was still putting on that performance, for both our benefit.

I smiled. "I took all five Men that dared enter the apprentice's room. Though they may be with another entity in limbo by now."

"Indeed, I saw them, Lady," Mathias said. "Throats torn out, guts punctured, one bloated with poison, turning green. It was glorious, the pain they suffered on Jacob's account. And they will never reach Musanlo's light now thanks to you, they are lost in the grey."

The Witch Hunter's face crumbled for half a moment before he started trembling in rage, all his muscles straining and pulsing just before, with a powerful yell, he tried one tremendous pull as if to bring down the entire roof. The support beams did not budge, though the lash of the chains going taut as his feet left the dirt floor battered my ears, followed by his bellow in the small space.

I could also tell that the sound stopped traveling at the wall, and it was not drifting outside.

"So that is your revenge, you putrid slut!" the last Witch Hunter shouted at me, red-faced, the whites of his eyes pink and tendons standing up on his neck. "I did what was right turning you in, and you know it! It was for your own good to save your soul! But you wouldn't allow your pact with the devil to be broken, wouldn't allow yourself to be saved, even as all you had to do was confess! Your black bitterness in the afterlife offends Musanlo's light! What did you have to trade for such power? Are you some devil's gaping, soiled arsehole, parting your cheeks whenever he asks?"

"Is it more than you ever got from her?" Mathias asked, and Jacob tried to spit on him but it fell just a bit short.

"Damn you, castrated servant of the Underdark!"

So he had been listening.

I was not sure I wanted to continue to engage such vitriol directly. I was not a true interrogator by training or leaning, though I knew of some Drow back home who would have taken on this Human with glee and made it last for months, years if the Human was strong enough. 

For me, there was no pleasure once we started going in mental circles, and the only way I knew to break that was to start wearing down the body. Certainly my encounter with Kurn showed me a time when reason played no part in a debate.

Mathias was using me to his advantage, though, and letting me watch—if not fully understand—the male attitude of where we were going. I could not expect females living there to have any more status than the Drow males in my own City. Potentially, these Women had even less if it was widespread that any independence on her part resulted in punishment to keep her compliant, and if those born with magic were culled.

I could not see how a city could function if all within its borders were like Jacob, however. It seemed to me that the Priest-mages may have sent these Witch Hunters away to roam and live outside the city because they were so disruptive to daily business. If their rhetoric was "blessed," and they had that letter of approval...then it made sense for the Priests to send them out only to spread fear and control in the surrounding area. 

But the true magic users of Manalar sent these Men without any true magic of their own, likely so they wouldn't burn the whole Surface down in their misjudgments.

I could not say that the actions of many Drow females were much better than this—though at least the male magical ability was not squandered but harnessed. I could say that, except for the Consorts and the mystical divinity that surrounded them, every matron knew it was simply because they did not want to share the power and had the ability to keep it that their males stayed in their subservient role.

The reasoning may have something to do with the ability to give birth—that it made us the superior sex according to our Goddess—but it was nearly a side note in our culture these days when compared to Jacob and this external, twisted, convoluted fear of everything; that those like this Witch Hunter viewed the submissive gender as the actual threat to which they reacted with compulsive over-indulgence, with little self-control.

Males like Shyntre and Auslan could be admired and prized for their strengths, even being submissive possessions to more powerful females like Rausery and Wilsira. Our ability to encourage and strengthen our males' talents while still maintaining control of them reflected well on our understanding of balance and using what scarce resources we had in the Underdark.

This was completely lacking in Jacob's spouts of dogma. It made me wonder as to the source of the hostility. In some ways, these particular Human males—these Witch Hunters—made the entirety of their existence dependent upon the power that the female had over their minds, the power that they gave her, whether she wanted that it or not. 

Whether she asked for it, or "deserved" it...or not.

Something about the scale of that kind of lack of control and balance was unsettling to me. I'd already met Human Men with much more mental ability and intelligence; I knew this was not normal for the male gender of this race. In my society, an animal acting this far out of its nature would be slaughtered for the well-being of the population... yet this religion was organized to reward this behavior for power and control of neighboring lands. 

This must be how it was spreading and why there were adversaries like the Guild. It could not hold this way indefinitely; something had to change, and the Godblood and Tamuril somehow were connected to this. 

According the Gavin, the Godblood's arrival at Manalar might very well be that change. Yet Jael...my Sister...she was searching to find and to kill this Man for our queen, and she approached this male-dominant, extremely religious city without knowing what she faced.

Rausery had been certain Jael would die, and she had been to Manalar once. Somehow, that very journey was what had drawn Cris-ri-phon to this area to wait for us. Our own Elder had known to what the queen had sentenced Jael, but she had said nothing. Perhaps because it would not do any good.

I felt flat denial at that thought now. No.

I had to get out of Brom's inn, somehow; I needed to find Jael, to prevent her from bearing the full brunt of this sickened, rotting Man's city.

"Stay a while, Lady Maris," Mathias said now. "allow me to entertain you and fulfill the final part of your vengeance."

I nodded slowly. I would stay; I needed to see all I could, and Brom was right in that this Man was best suited to show me.

I removed my pack and setting it on the floor at my feet before leaning against the wall. I let the skin hunter take his lead as he demonstrated the best ways to get beneath Jacob's skin. For a while, my direct participation was not needed and my presence was enough. 

I watched in fascination as Mathias's creative taunts and well-chosen mental imagery—much as Jacob liked to use himself but without the holy fervor— combined with strikes using the Hunters' own switches and whips... actually seemed to be arousing the Witch Hunter. 

*crack!*

"Nomilu sancji!" Jacob cried with face lifted to the ceiling.

"Tinirus gothii," Mathias chuckled.

"SILENCE, HERETIC!"

*CRACK!*

Every moment for Mathias was cool and calm in the face of Jacob's riotous bile and nearly ecstatic cries. The skill of lashing in general, I could see, was obviously familiar to both Men.

More interesting was that Jacob was denying his erection, fighting that arousal every time he remembered I stood in the room. I would have started bending by now, accepting it. I already had, many times.

The trap was well-set and inescapable, and Mathias did not hurry as the prey had nowhere to go, not even inside the privacy of his own head. Jacob had given far too much of himself away and Mathias wielded the offered length of rope and Jacob's own whips with the same confidence he handled his bow and other hunting tools.

I had never seen Mathias so happy.

My body eventually responded to the struggle and firmly guided resistance unfolding before me, and I did not think much of smoothing the pads of my fingers over the leather of my crotch, rather as I had while watching Kurn fight so hard against his desires as well.

Mathias almost seemed to be watching for that as his eyes found my hand between my legs quickly. He straightened and circled to stand before the other sagging, heaving Man; he inhaled the close, moist air in the outbuilding with relish.

"Lady Maris," he said, "please, grace Jacob with a view of your infernal temptation. Show him that it has remained as hellfire hot and lustful despite what his brothers may have done to you to try to quench that flame. His weakness is theirs, it was his doubt that broke their power of protection when they broke that door to take your servant... isn't that so, Jacob?"

"NO!" he bellowed at both of us. "You lie!"

"She did, Jacob. She killed them all, and she could because your lingering desire for her weakened the faith of every one of you. It brought your downfall in that inn."

"Not true! She made a pact against me!"

"A pact more powerful than Musanlo, apparently."

"Blasphemous bastard!"

*CRACK!* That one had been across the front of Jacob's sweating chest.

"Lady," Mathias said quietly on an exhale. "Please, I beg you. Show him."

Hm.

I detached my fighting daggers first, then lifted my belt a bit and began unlacing the ties at my left hip, much to Jacob's baying dismay. Mathias immediately went to retrieve a simple wooden chair for me, set it down next to me, and watched with what I could consider appreciation as I slowly pushed my leathers down my thighs to rest just atop my knees. 

The interrogator's appreciation more for the action itself and what it meant for the atmosphere and the tension, rather than the blunt desire of Brom or Kurn.

Without speaking, I had agreed to assist him.

I did not sit immediately, and Jacob growled like a wounded animal as Mathias kneeled down before me, stroking the whiteness of my fur delicately with his gloved fingertips. It felt pleasant.

The Witch Hunter looked down at the floor and stubbornly refused to watch, squeezing his eyes shut and chanting a mantra I'd already heard multiple times by now, over and over again. Mathias chuckled and leaned to give me a bewilderingly light kiss right on my mound before he stood back up and motioned for me to sit.

"Get comfortable, Lady Maris, spread your legs so he can see that white crowning your woman's flower. Pure as fresh snow."

"It is false! Mold growing atop blackened rot!"

Mathias grinned wider. "Touch yourself if you wish, Lady. This is justice as you would have it."

Time passed easily as I watched Jacob's responses to painful and pleasurable repetition begin to change. More than once, the Witch Hunter was brought to the very edge of his control and Mathias stopped him from losing it. Jacob responded well to the sharp pains of the lash, seemed to become deliriously high on it, but then Mathias would change that pain with a hard blow to the kidney or something similar to send him crashing down.

Then they would start over.

I did touch myself. Mathias made for an extraordinary trainer; it occurred to me to wonder if he possessed the skill to break mounts for riding.

"Now... watch me worship her cunt as it is supposed to be worshiped, Jacob. Watch me."

I drew in my breath slowly as Mathias kneeled down by me and placed a hot palm on my bare thigh; his other hand slowly reached to join my own between my legs. He concentrated on brushing my fingers only, stroking them a couple times as my fingers still pressed to my netherlips; he glanced over his shoulder at Jacob, who had turned his face away and was muttering prayers.

The interrogator chuckled and got back up again to leave my side, returning all his attention to softening his target's will to resist. Within a quarter hour I heard the second bleat of weakness from Jacob's mouth that had prompted Mathias to kneel and touch my fingers between my legs in the first place.

Sure enough, Mathias made the same command—to watch as he worshipped my cunt—and returned to my side again. His palm was again on my thigh, and his left hand sliding along my inner thigh; a muscle twitched involuntarily.

Finally Mathias looked up to meet my gaze. He was gauging my response as much as Jacob's.

I licked my lips briefly and drew my hand back, shifting my hips forward a bit so that my soft, slick flesh touched the pads of his fingers. He smiled at the added layer I'd granted.

"Oh," I said softly as the skin hunter touched me very lightly, and that made Jacob look at me.

The Witch Hunter sucked in a breath as his eyes widened, his face flushing a deep red, and he shut his eyes again and looked down, chanting much more loudly now. Again, Mathias laughed softly and stood up again to return to Jacob to torment him some more, all without once making him bleed.

This process was repeated again and again; how many times, I had lost count, but somehow I had the patience to observe a master at work even as my sex began to ache fiercely as I was teased as well. Each time, Mathias grew more bold in how intimately he touched me, how deeply he slide his fingers inside. He encouraged my sounds of pleasure, took the time to learn how to pleasure me, and I knew that my heated scent also helped; they were tools for free use in this place.

"Watch, Jacob," the interrogator commanded yet again, setting down his whip once again, kneeling again at my frustrated sex, seeming almost tireless in this game.

I widened my thighs for him, tilted my hips to make myself more accessible, with a deep breath of my own as I anticipated his fingers.

Jacob lifted his head slowly then, unexpectedly, and I made eye contact with the Witch Hunter at last, holding that hateful gaze—exactly as Mathias's tongue flicked out and caressed my netherlips, his broad hands gripping beneath my splayed thighs.

I gasped and cried out. "Yes! Oh, Goddess!"

"SLUT! Festering cunt, cuckolding WHORE!" Jacob screamed, struggling against his chains. "May the devil ram a red hot poker in and cauterize that oozing gash closed!"

My bare fingers embedded themselves in the skin hunter's thick brown hair as I felt two thick fingers pushing readily into my very receptive channel, as gentle tongue and lips caressed me, his teeth nipping me lightly. The breath of his exhale was hot as it ruffled my fur, as he thrust fingers in and out, firm but relaxed...slow. He allowed me to cover his other hand on my thigh with my own so that I always knew where it was.

Jacob's eyes were still wide open, but Mathias's were closed in concentration; I could bet he heard every shift in the room. I chuckled and cooed at the top of his head as he licked and sucked me. I had to admit being charmed and impressed, enough to feel that I could climax from being serviced with such exquisite timing, watched by such a helpless, hateful prisoner.

It was almost as if Mathias had been tutored by the Drow, though he may not have realized it. Still, there had to be a reason Brom had spoken with such pride of his talents; surely the sorcerer had had something to do with Mathias's training and development of his tastes.

"Ohhh," I breathed again, moving my hips and pressing my mound harder to his mouth, bringing me closer to the edge. 

I was long aware of Mathias's lack of weapons—he'd removed them all and kept them far from his prisoner—and his utter focus was on me and on every shuffle, jerk, and foul word that Jacob roared in his weakened, gravelly voice.

I felt safe enough to cum.

I broke eye contact with Jacob when the large swell of sensation washed over me, as I felt my pussy clutch and flex around Mathias's slowly twisting fingers, and my thighs tightened on the interrogator. I let enough voice through as I tilted my head back for both Men to know the depth of my pleasure.

"REVOLTING BITCH!"

I gasped almost desperately for air as I laughed and came down.

When Mathias straightened up and smiled at me, I wondered for a moment if he would try to settle his cock between my legs—and I wondered whether I would allow it?—but he only shifted out of the way so that Jacob could see my tingling slit unobstructed. Then Mathias reached with one hand to gently part my lips with his fingers. 

The Witch Hunter stared transfixed at the deep, wet pink of my pussy. 

"Nomilu sancji," Jacob muttered, his bottom lip trembling as tears became visible, the sweat on his body thick as ever.

Mathais took his hand from between my thighs and pushed himself easily to his feet. I could well imagine the taunt in every breath and scent when the skin hunter next stood face-to-face with the Witch Hunter. Mathias hadn't even wiped his face clean of my juices, but he put one of his wet fingers into his mouth, sucked it clean, and wiped the rest of his hand off in Jacob's hair.

"DON'T TOUCH M—"

Mathias clasped Jacob's face in both hands and the blond man was too stunned to respond at first as his torturer forced their mouths together. This resulted in such thrashing from Jacob, in such a loud, spewing tantrum as to be...truly astounding to me. Jacob made it clear what he thought of another Man sharing female slickness on their lips...or perhaps any fluids he'd deem "unclean."

I stared at them with my mouth open.

Possibly because of the circumstances, of power and control, because Mathias understood the nuances so well...I did not think that it had looked any different than any number of wet kisses shared between the Red Sisters in the cloister, although I had not given much thought to males in general kissing each other before.

The memory of Shyntre pushing Auslan in the garden of House Itlaun came back then, and I remembered that first time realizing that they knew each other fairly well, of how I'd wanted it to go further. I had wanted to see them fight and wrestle, as my Sisters did. Different but the same. The fantasy had aroused me even as I had not gone toward kisses and other uses of the mouth before....it wouldn't be a far leap to do so.

Laughing in profound delight, Mathias with his intense situational awareness noted when I had moved to tug up my leathers as my afterglow waned naturally. He quickly retrieved a clean, if coarse, linen cloth from his tools and handed it out to me.

"Here, clean up with this and hand it back to me, if you please."

I hesitated at first then reminded myself that everyone had pretty much agreed that Mathias did not use magic—Gavin had even said he only had the one life aura about him.

"You will not tell Brom?" I asked, being vague on purpose.

Mathias immediately shook his head. "No. What happens here is mine alone, Lady. He will not know unless you tell him."

I was happy to hear that. I obliged, wiping the cooling wetness away thoroughly and giving it to the interrogator to add to his tool kit. Then I stood up to set my leathers, belt, and weapons to rights.

"Were you entertained, my Lady?" he asked quietly, with a small smirk on his face.

"I was," I admitted.

"Would you give me more time?"

"Of course."

He bowed his head. "I thank you for your assistance, Lady."

I knew to take my leave of my host then, ignoring Jacob's final threats and insults at "Lady Maris, the Demon Slut" as I waited for Mathias to unbar the door and let me back outside.

I looked forward to seeing how different Jacob was the next time I saw him. Mathias used all his own weaknesses against him, and he had not even gotten to any true physical torture yet. I wondered if he would need it? What would we discover of Manalar proper when Jacob began talking?




Surfacing Ch. 08



The Sun had passed its zenith while I'd been inside and was a fair bit lower in the Sky; we had perhaps three or four hours of daylight left. Had I been in there that long?

My growling stomach said undeniably that, yes, I had.

I was able to avoid the puddles this time, as I could manage well enough with my eyes open. The ward guided me straight back to the rear door of the inn, but unlike when I had gone out, someone stood just inside the solid, windowless door. I paused warily and listened for more beyond the subtle boot scuff that had warned me, deciding after another few moments that it must be one of Brom's men.

I tapped on the door.

After a hesitant pause, a young man's voice asked, "Who is it?"

"Do you jest?" I asked in flat disbelief. Of course the Man knew for whom he was watching; the fact that I had surprised him with the timing did not change that.

The dark-haired Human opened the door readily enough with a half-embarrassed smirk. "Welcome back, milady."

"Thank you." I stepped in out of the thin shade and warm Sun, into the cooler, darker inn once again. I had no better idea of how to leave now than I had went I'd left to eat before, although I did have some fascinating insight into the minds of Men.

Elana was only a bit surprised to see me, again, based on the timing.

"You missed th' midday meal, M'Lady," she said, but immediately started gathering leftovers, some of which was still warm.

"Was I the only to miss?"

The cook hesitated a moment to think about it and shook her head. "Nay, Mathias missed as well, and your servant who refused to exit the cellar, though he accepted a plate handed down by Ian."

"You remember Mathias from before?" I asked as I began to eat.

She swallowed, but nodded. "Never knew much about him 'cept that he spoke as from wealth, unlike most of those here. He came and went here over the six years I've been working here, been here 'fore that, they say."

"Is it unusual for him to show up now?"

Elana shrugged. "I suppose not. Once he stayed on retention fer nearly a year, been gone for 'bout as long. He is a restless one."

"Hm," I acknowledged, focusing on pushing more food into me before I got too distracted by the intrigue inside the inn.

"Th' big Ma'ab asked about you," Elana offered.

Of course he did.

"Did Lord Brom and Amelda eat with everyone?" I asked.

"Amelda, yes, she seems taken with the big man. Of her kind, so it makes sense. Lord Brom, no, he took his lunch in his quarters."

I nodded. None of this was unexpected.

"C'n I tell her what I heard, mama?"

I looked over to see Layne with his golden hair easing into the kitchen, looking to his dam for permission but fairly bursting with the need to speak. 

Elana pursed her lips while wiping her hands in a cloth. "I told you not t'spy."

I looked at Layne and felt amused, then looked to his mother. "I would like to hear, since he knows it anyway."

"He doesn't know what he heard," she responded nervously. "He thinks he understan's Ma'ab from Amelda."

"She taught me some!" Layne insisted. "I know they were talkin' of the demoness."

"Shh!" his mother scolded, and in this case I agreed as I focused my hearing on the door to the kitchen. 

Nothing I could hear.

I turned on my stool to look at the boy and nodded in agreement. "Best to keep your voice quiet when you offer secrets."

Layne nodded with surprising seriousness and licked his lips. "I'm sorry, mama."

The cook waved her hand nervously and shook her head. "Then tell her, but no more spyin', Layne, d'you understand me? The Ma'ab're cruel people."

Again he nodded and approached me slowly, his warm brown eyes seemed to want to take in every detail he could while close up. Perhaps that was the trade he wanted for the information.

"Amelda will getta red stone that belonged to th' big man and use it 'gainst you, as he did not have the...um..."

*The balls?* I wondered.

"Didn't have knowledge t' use it," the boy finished carefully, as if he was translating in his head.

The ruby. Of course, Brom had been wearing it earlier, and chances were high Kurn may have recognized it, or sensed it. He must be pretty angry; he must think I had given the sorcerer his necklace willingly. In all truth, I had forgotten about it in light of everything else.

"Was the smaller Ma'ab there as well?" I asked.

Layne shook his head. "He took a room upstairs before an' after lunch. He doesn't like Amelda."

Interesting.

"Any more you understood?"

The boy looked regretful. "No. More said, but I...I dint know th' words."

It was more than I'd gotten from spying, aside from the knowledge of an alliance between the two. If Amelda meant to somehow get the ruby from her father, what would be the goal? My life? My will? My health?

"Are you a demoness?" the boy asked me then.

"Layne!"

I felt my mouth tugging into a smile. "No."

"What are you? Where you from?"

Ah. There was the real trade. The boy had not insisted upon a trade of information at the start, which he probably should have...but if he knew some of Kurn's language and had a curious and bold spirit to listen on my behalf due to simple fascination... then now was not the time to teach him that particular lesson.

There also seemed to be much less reason to keep the Surface stories of us vague, now that Cris-ri-phon had caught up. From the Valsharess's perspective, it should have been unavoidable anyway. We had returned to the Surface long ago; that's how the sorcerer knew to come here.

"I am a Drow. From the underground."

"Like...caves?"

"Tunnels. Caverns. Very large ones, very deep."

Layne nodded, his eyes remaining wide and unblinking. "How do you see?"

"I see shapes in the dark. And I hear very well."

"That why you dress in grey an' black? Blends in?"

I smirked and nodded a "yes" for simplicity.

"An'... yer a dark girl with weapons, that don't marry."

"Layne, enough," Elana warned, but I lifted my gloved hand in a signal to wait a moment, and the cook stood up straight in response to that, though she looked no less worried for or protective of her son.

"True," I said. "What do you think of that, Layne?"

He swallowed, tearing eyes from me at last to look at the kitchen table, to think, before looking tentatively back at my belt, my daggers, and finally my face. "I want t'see you fight th' big man."

Elana brought her apron to her mouth, aghast.

I started laughing aloud.

*****

Lingering in the kitchen after eating my fill would only be procrastination; I had a few obvious choices what to do next, things that had to be done, but my hesitation was a bad sign. My choices had no room for doubt.

I could seek the sorcerer again; we could discuss Mathias and the Witch Hunters. I could guess that Mathias had learned some of his techniques from the innkeeper, who in turn had learned from the Drow of his day. Maybe.

Then he would likely want me in his bed again. I was confident I could handle it as long as I gave no reason for him to use powerful spells. But the only true reluctance on my part was my early pregnancy and not knowing just how much stress, physical and magical, that my body could take before it might reject what was undoubtedly a measurable drain on its resources. 

I wished more than ever I had been able to talk to a mother who knew about carrying a baby before leaving the Underdark...but it had to remain a secret and D'Shea had barely spoken to me after I'd flatly refused to abort and had essentially had become Rausery's Red Sister, for all intents and purposes.

Back to the sorcerer, with Cris's defenses fully up now, I did not see where I would get very far in learning more than he fed to me on a spoon, though I could always watch for such openings. Sooner or later, the sorcerer would want to ask for or suggest something else. 

I only was not sure I had the patience for it; not right now. And if I was not sure, I should not do it.

Next possibility, I could draw Soul Drinker and try to stand before the strongest soul inside, the one who still remembered what she'd been. She had been angry that I had not gone to one knee immediately for her, but even she had said we would talk again. Perhaps my instigating that revisit would be a good thing, if I was ready to face her, unlike the first time.

A great many questions had arisen that I had yet to sort, not the least of which was how she might prove she was indeed who she claimed and not some illusion or a demonic soul using Cris's more persuasive story to misguide me. 

If this being had absorbed the knowledge from a time Cris had been handling the blade, but now claimed the sorcerer-general did not know of her presence...it was strange. What was more, she did not want me to tell him, she just wanted us to trick him into thinking he'd impregnated me and to finally leave his inn with blade in hand...perhaps take her back to the Underdark...

By comparison, the blatant enemy of my queen wearing altered forms was the more transparent schemer and straightforward bargainer.

The other options—see about the ruby, maybe try to speak with Amelda, see Gavin again—were less risky, perhaps, but it would not aid or change the major players who sought my attention, and it would give them all—Kurn, Amelda, Brom, Castis, Soul Drinker— more time to plot. The ones I had less care for—Gavin, Rithal, and Mathias—all still had their own plans as well, just not overtly interfering in mine.

This was worse than the Court; there was barely any room to breathe. I could understand why Gavin had refused to leave the cellar and took his lunch down with his work. It may not be generally wise to ignore all that was going on around, but at least one had some quiet and lack of drama when one did not want to play.

And to think I used to live for those Court games, when it was all I had. Now I could not stop thinking of how all this only interfered with my finding Gaelan and Jael, or threatened my baby and my own missions.

Missions I had wanted to fulfill in order to be able to return and be welcomed back by my Elders. Now...how could I look at anything below the same ever again? Yet what would I do with such knowledge in my current, questionable position? It was a trap of the mind, to pretend only long enough until another realized what I knew and the queen either sent the Sisters or the Drider mistress after me, or dealt with me Herself...

I huffed a quiet breath that was supposed to be a laugh at myself. I had to survive the Surface first. Bringing down Manalar still had its appeal, especially after meeting Jacob; something tilting that far out of balance should be given that last shove it needed to come toppling down. 

I knew, even from my own circumstances, that only select opportunities ever arose to make it happen among certain players on the board. If a player passed and took no action, that player would eventually have no further bearing and the world would wait for new players to take the stage.

The destruction of Manalar was not true my purpose, though; I was not the sentencer and executioner of Human cities; in most cases, I would not care...but Sarilis, Gavin, and several Humans more intimately involved had given me reason to help with this one.

Especially if the zealous mage-Priests hurt Jael in any way.

What about the half-breed linked to the Guild? I would drop that mission if I could...it was too unrelated to everything else and would only delay me...but I noticed my head begin to ache as I sat at Elana's table and contemplated giving up on that one.

The Valsharess's compulsion wouldn't allow it. It would haunt me until I fulfilled that one; another reason I may have to return to the Underdark regardless. Damn her.

Sarilis, though...but for Gavin's sake and his mysterious purpose with his mistress in wanting to take over that Tower, I wondered about the risk versus reward on that one. Especially if it would not guarantee my return to the Sisterhood.

I glanced away from my now-empty plate at my pack on the floor, next to the kitchen table, and at Soul Drinker strapped to it. That was the closest, more immediate challenge now, the one less easily ignored or contemplated with more knowledge.

I did have to speak with her again.

"My thanks for the food, Elana," I said, shifting off the stool and collecting my pack.

"Ah...yer welcome, M'Lady. There will be an' evening meal as well."

I nodded, and she and Layne did not move in their spots as they watched me leave. My purpose was to sneak to the upper floor and take one of the rooms for a short time; I did not want to run into anyone else, nor did I want to have to ask.

As soon as I eased into the great room and peered up the stairs, listening, I realized that would not quite work, as Brom's men were largely impossible to avoid. They stood in twos at various points in both hallways. I could guess that Rithal and Castis were likely up there, possibly Kurn and Amelda as well although I would not know unless I did more spying. Being unable to do so without observation from Brom's watchmen in plain sight seemed pointless.

*Very well,* I thought, and moved quietly up the stairs, aiming for the first guest room in the second hallway, closest to the balcony. I would only have to pass two Men and I would be closer to sounds of any gathering at the inn. If I could not do this in absolute secret somewhere in the far back, then I might as well keep a finger on the pulse of any up front.

One of the Men I approached was Lief, and he stared hard at me with those vibrant green eyes, even as his hair was as earth-brown as Mathias's. I took his expression merely that he remembered feeling true fear the last time he blocked my path; I had been able to smell it.

Would he block me now?

No, he bowed slightly instead. "Can we assist, Lady?"

Some kind of word had certainly spread among them.

"I would like one of the guest rooms to rest," I said, and indicated the one closest to him and the balcony. "That one."

"As you wish."

I barred the door from the inside as I had upon first arriving here, though I now knew that a heavy male body or two could break in if they wanted. At most it would give me warning, but that was all.

The room was identical to the one I'd shared briefly with Gavin; I set my pack upon one of the beds—that one farthest from the door and next to the warded, shuttered window—and sat straight up on the edge of the bed with my feet on the floor. I kept everything on me as I normally carried it, although my fighting daggers at my hips needed adjusting—and then I checked to make sure everything was present and familiar. I released my three famished pets from their pouch, giving them the opportunity to hunt for a meal as well as protect me from outside threats.

Then I contemplated my next move. It was simple, really.

I breathed in and out a few times, trying to center myself as I might when preparing to break a ward, snipe someone, or disable a trap. Focus, strengthen the will, choose the moment.

I reached for Soul Drinker, felt the magic seem to liven up as my left hand clutched the scabbard and my right wrapped around the hilt.

I freed the blade in one, smooth pull.

That first time I saw the scarlet runes etched into the shining metal, they seemed to lash across my eyes like Mathias's whip, burning into my head in a way similar to those I had seen in my braces while finding the dissonance to undo a magical ward. My entire arm seemed set afire and my hand clenched so tightly to it, I thought my palm bruised by the wrapped handle.

*Will you?* challenged an unknown voice, both hostile and ecstatic. *Oh... will you?*

*I will,* I responded.

It was the truth, or I would not have drawn.

*You will?!* it shrieked. *So easily?!*

Something hard thumped against my chest and shocked my heart into skipping a beat. I had my eyes open though my vision of the room had darkened before the scarlet runes. After a faded moment, I saw the angle of my wrist—unnatural and painful—and the pommel of the dagger aimed at my chest.

The pommel, not the point. Had I failed some intangible test, I would be gone now.

I did not dare consider this further. I had passed. That was all I needed.

*YES!* I shouted back inside my head as I trembled, turning my wrist back to its normal position by sheer stubbornness. *SO EASILY!*

*Yes...! Yes, yesss, yessss...* the voice hissed and receded away into nothing, seeming to cross a vast distance that I could not see.

Soul Drinker throbbed in my palm, the metal light in mass but the power writhing in my grip, lashing itself about like an Underdark serpent. A bit at a time, it seemed to come more under my control, but I found myself searching the room for someone to use it on, or if not in here, out there? Perhaps Brom's men standing guard by the balcony...

So thirsty...

*No.*

I imagined the blue-light desert and the pyramid, recalled what I could of her classical face.

*I would speak with her.*

The dagger seemed to want to block me; the edges of my mental image started crumbling, dissolving, and I revived it multiple times as my face flushed very hot and Soul Drinker seemed to become heavy to hold up with my arm.

I relaxed, let the image fade and my arm to lower down, but just for a moment. Whatever presence had been pressing on my mind, rather like the Duergar in the Underdark, shifted at my yielding, and I focused a small, tight thought straight forward and through it, as when I'd been mind-linked with D'Shea.

It was amusing to think that one could feint with a thought.

"Desert queen!"

She spun around, still wearing her alluring, white dress, her feet bare on smooth, warm stone set below a clear, star-filled night Sky. Her face showed equal parts surprise and irritation in the Moonlight, and she looked over me carefully as if she'd never seen me before.

I knew why. I was not dressed like her, but as a Red Sister in full, under-City uniform.

"Yes, my warrior, why have you come?"

"To prove that I could."

The Valsharress's sister relaxed her expression then and smiled with elegance. "For certain, you liven up a dull eternity, and add a nice flare of color, too."

"Acknowledged without the flattery, your grace."

The queen chuckled. "Have you changed your mind, Sirana?"

"Have you changed yours?"

She tilted her head slightly. "On what, my child?"

"How you would bargain for my service, and to what extent I offer it."

The older Drow did not respond immediately, but she seemed to contemplate, gazing at the sand dune horizon for a few moments. She did not look at me when she next spoke. "You draw Soul Drinker with success, now you feel empowered to bargain with me."

"For proof of your identity, yes. You have said you can hear the thoughts of the carrier at times. Perhaps you show me only what you learned from Cris-ri-phon, and you are but an illusion using his story to gain my compliance."

Bright, scarlet eyes narrowed at me. "Perhaps. Yet I have no such proof here, Sirana, particularly if you know nothing of times past. Do you not believe my husband?"

"Does he know you are here?" I asked bluntly. "Would you wish me to tell him?"

Her eyes widened slightly and she turned to face me full on, her eyes locking onto mine. "Do not be foolish, Sirana, and do not undo centuries of careful effort on my part with your youthful challenge."

"Why should he not know? He would have helped you get revenge on the Valsharess years ago."

"His time is past!" the queen retorted heatedly. "We are allies no longer, all our children slaughtered; he has moved on, died, and returned again as I have been helpless here to stop him from becoming what he is. Once, his blood was worthy and I trained him well, but he has warped too far from where he began with me. His interference in the affairs of the Drow after so long will only bring about the same fate for us that befell the Noldor. I will not have an immortal king seize control of our race! I would rather my sister remain untouched and wither to dust on her throne!"




Surfacing Ch. 08



I was silent in the face of her passionate statements and could not help but see her point, just from what little I knew of the innkeeper, the Sorcerer General, the Phoenix... 

"What befell the Noldor?" I asked. "Even Cris-ri-phon said he did not know what happened after the war, why they withdrew from Surface affairs. How could you?"

The ancient queen scowled at me. "That I do not know, either, Soul Drinker has never been drawn by one of the pale ones. But I do know of the immortal male who was the true power behind the Noldor queen in my last centuries, and may still be, for all I know. He was the reason I needed male allies to defend our place, one at least who thought like him and had great potential for magic. That was Cris."

"Defend?" I was skeptical. "Would not we have been the aggressors at some time?"

"Certainly once threatened. I do not tolerate such things lightly."

"And why were we threatened?"

Her lip curled. "Because he decided he would claim two queens, he was not satisfied with one. Cris would be the same, he has changed too much."

"It is what he wants?" I murmured. "Not to avenge you, but to find your sister nonetheless."

"He believes he wants revenge. But what do you think would happen when a human general performs a coup?" she hissed. "That vengeance alone would satisfy him? When the power void is there for the plucking? He cannot find precisely where you came from, Sirana, you must do all you can to prevent it. You must take me with you. Keep this within our own race, do not involve others, until we are strong again. The rule will remain true. Swear to me as truth due to a queen, if not your queen, that you will not tell Cris you commune with me. Swear."

I stared at her for a few moments, realizing that an oath would mean something to her, even without the power and the structure to back it up and make it worth following—as my oath to the Sisterhood truly was, at its core. Its strength was in direct correlation to proximity...which was why I stood here considering many things I would have deemed too dangerous to consider back in the City. 

It was probably why I left Sarilis's Tower in the first place.

This would be an oath for no reason than a proclamation that it was better for my race as a whole, more an agreed-upon secret to protect our autonomy as a Matriarchy. Assuming she was right, and she could be...if she was the Valsharess's sister.

Still. That one action of revealing her presence to Cris would only limit options; I could not argue with that.

"I will not tell your former husband, for the time being," I said. "Though your claimed identity is still in question, and he cannot help verify."

Temper flared across her face. "A skillful demon I am, indeed, to have such an intricate lie you heard from Cris first, and more detail besides!"

I shrugged. "A skillful demon tricked a Priestess recently back home, and all our divine mages are expected to come into contact with one at least once. I know of the danger."

The show of temper receded and she looked disturbed before demanding, "Why? Why are they expected?"

"It is how Lolth grants her favor to the Priesthood," I said. 

She paused. "How?"

I felt a wary chill creep up my back. How? "A... ritual that brings a full-blood demon to our plane, to couple with a new Priestess. The halfbreed born later provides immense power through a symbiotic bond, while he lives."

As well as provided a built-in power ceiling should the Valsharess ever feel threatened.

The long-dead queen took a small step back but nodded. "I am not surprised my sister agreed to such a pact. I would guess your Priestesses believe it necessary to achieve their full power and status."

I blinked. Well... "Isn't it?"

The queen scoffed. "I never dealt so with Lolth, child, I knew better. And we had no priestesses like that of which you speak. At best, they were scholars or healers and did not get directly involved in the governance. What does that tell you?"

I swallowed as my mouth went dry. "But you know who Lolth is. Readily."

"Yes, as an interested entity, one of many of which to be wary when working deals of power in the time before the fall."

"You never worshipped her as a goddess?"

"Oh? Is she a goddess now?" The queen looked both weakened and haunted for a moment before she shook her head.

I hesitated. "I...that is what I'm told."

"With so many followers, she must be." She turned slightly from me, and I saw both her hands clench. "Damn you, Ishuna...so foolish...you should be here, not me..."

"Ishuna," I repeated.

"Your Valsharess," came the bitter sneer. "Ishuna Au'renthil."

The name itself did not shock as much as visualizing it attached to the elder Drow wrapped in dark purple and gold of the finest silk, with Her pale, tawny eyes and fine age lines, crowned by pure, golden hair...to think that She actually had a name...and a sister.

"And your name, your grace?" I asked.

"Innathi Au'renthina," she said with much less ire but a touch of added arrogance.

I felt two shocks at once. The first name... Cris had said "Innathi" more than once as he bred me...and the second, the song of it finally struck me.

Jael.

"Who is she?" Innathi asked curiously. "I saw my sister as she is now in your thoughts, and I believe how many years it has been since the fall. This other, this child, why think of her?"

I swallowed, regretting the slip profoundly; however, my curiosity for the similarity in name kept me truthful. "Jael of House Aurenthin."

Innathi blinked slowly, tilting her head. "Ishuna's great granddaughter, perhaps?"

"I don't know," I admitted. "The Valsharess has no surviving direct children. I do not know if she ever had any."

Twisting her mouth a bit at my habitual name for her sister, Innathi nodded once. "Cousins, perhaps...but still of the royal lineage. This House was not culled."

"No...just kept powerless among the Nobles." I was so tempted to run through every detail I'd ever heard or read about the politics of that House as I'd been watching Jael for recruitment...but I dared not, not right now. Maybe later, when I wasn't touching the dagger.

Innathi watched me, intent, fully intrigued. She smiled a bit, and I saw the family resemblance in Jael as well, removed but undeniable in the brow, the eyes, the jaw, and the ears especially.

"Where is this child?"

I didn't want to answer. I shook my head. "I don't know exactly. I search for her now."

"Another reason to escape Cris's trap."

I could nod at that.

"I suggest you encourage him to breed you fully, Sirana, including the surge of wild magic from him," Innathi said. "Stop resisting, make him believe he was persuaded you to be a willing ally. We can use your pregnancy now to our advantage."

"No, your grace."

She frowned at me. I did not blink or look away.

I said, "I do not know what a 'surge of wild magic' will do to my unborn."

"Nothing will be done," she said, a bit impatient. "I have done so while with child; it is a marvelous feeling. Do you think I would knowingly harm my own?"

"You were a sorceress, were you not?" I asked. 

"Among other things."

"Well, I am no mage."

The former queen breathed out to collect herself. "You can take my word."

"No."

"Sirana—"

"My body, my child," I said. "I decide. There must be another way."

"There is not. Either Cris will plant a mind compulsion somehow or he will breed you. I suggest the latter and don't tempt him to become fixated on the former."

I felt stuck at those two options. "Even the trick is not good for me in the long term, Innathi. What will your former husband do when he discovers he cannot track his offspring, because it is not his offspring? You said he is possessive. Will he not only be more determined if a Drow that you said yourself would be a 'prized possession' to him, one so far below his power, outwits him and escapes?"

"You will have to outwit him somehow," Innathi seethed, ignoring my questions. "I have given you an option that will work."

"I will not risk it."

"Then I leave you to your own devices, Red Sister," she said with a curl of her lip. "I will act as advisor, if you wish, and will bear in mind my good fortune that—despite the spiders somehow serving you—it is not a Priestess of Lolth who first drew this dagger after two millennia."

I blinked, frowned, and wondered how could she have known of my guardians...? I had not thought of them.

The next second, it became clear.

They were calling me with the simplest, most instinctive of thoughts.

Danger.

*****

The advantage of surprise, and how far it stretches, is all in the timing of a pre-planned action. Kurn's action would have been fair; direct, sudden, the effects short and unlikely, in the end, to prevent being bitten or stabbed in the back.

Amelda, on the other hand, displayed a mage's tactics with two back-to-back spells that prevented their immediate deaths. First was a broad, magical shield that divided the room and kept my spiders and me on opposite sides. Second, a flash-bang that, in the small space, was worse than the lightning storm on the midway.

I did not scream simply from lifelong habit, though the pain pierced my brain with staggering intensity; my eyes and ears were numbed and useless for as long as it took Kurn to strike my hand holding Soul Drinker with something hard and blunt. There I did cry out as a bone snapped under his full swing; he did not hold back. Once I'd dropped it, he seized hold of my wrists and crossed them behind my back, pressing me down to the bed.

My hand quickly overtook any primary claim to pain as I blinked my eyes and strained to hear anything at all, my body twisted awkwardly and still with Kurn's weight holding me down. His knee pressed hard and painful into my thigh, though it still paled in comparison as my right hand trembled and started to swell.

Making it worse, my entire chest began to ache belatedly from the deep bruising that Soul Drinker's pommel had left when I'd drawn it, and I had trouble taking a full breath.

My own voice sounded muffled in my ears but I wheezed, "Your father will be displeased you if you kill me, First Daughter."

I heard Amelda laugh derisively but still couldn't hear well enough to discern what she said. Spots floated frantically as small bits of my vision returned.

"He's been planning the arrival of a Drow for half a century," I said aloud. "Imagine his irritation, Amelda."

"Half...-tury? He's n-...that old," she said, her voice fuzzy to my ears, though I could detect just enough consideration in her tone despite the fact that she apparently didn't know—perhaps she had seen something before that made her wonder about "Lord Brom."

What had he said? That Amelda had spent the first part of her life with her mother among the Ma'ab... 

"No? And you know all his secrets, do you?" I forced a chuckle even under the considerable strain. "Did he collect you as a foundling after your mother fell assassinated?"

"How did...know?"

"Because you doubt me, so you must be new to his House. Do not kill Drow beneath his roof, Amelda. The warning is very real."

Kurn was busy trying to figure out how to get my belt off as I spoke to Brom's daughter. I didn't make it easy for the Hellhound, rolling my hips as necessary to block him, although really, I knew it was inevitable. All he had to do was abuse my broken hand and my focus on defense suffered as much as the bone. 

Sweat started to break out on my forehead and I felt nauseous as he finally squeezed it and held the pressure, my teeth gritted down over a groan, part of my face pressed to the hay-stuffed mattress.

"Ah, but we won't kill, whore," Kurn hissed from above me, easier to hear as he was close and enunciated each word for my benefit. He finally yanked my belt and fighting daggers away. My cloak followed shortly after. "Don't listen, Amelda. Her kind are all tricks and lies."

"And temptation," I added with a smirk. "You lose your true focus, Kurn."

"You challenged me to try. Don't complain when I win."

"You should follow your own words, hound. I recall you can be milked fairly well on your knees."

He tried to do something to me other than hold my hands—I believed he may have wanted to grab at my crotch in some way, and I nearly got loose right then. The Ma'ab Man abandoned the attempt, however, and recaptured me again, and made it hurt to get me back under control. By the slight shake in his breath, he realized how much that had almost cost him, at the same time the Woman had cried for him to hold me still.

 "Good," Amelda said, taking effort to calm her moment of fright. "Now...he is right, demoness, we do not come to kill you. I want your influence on my father to stop before it becomes more."

Jealous and possessive; I was not surprised. She came by it honestly.

"And you could not ask me first?" I muttered.

"You disrupt Kurn's plans, and I know Father doesn't care for sharing a woman with another man in the same house. All I want is for you to take Ma'ab seed, and for Father to know. You need not be hurt any further."

I could grant that probably would get me out of servicing Cris further on his terms... but it also had a high cost in the dominance struggle within our travel group, and in the possible loss of information I might get in the sorcerer's bed. 

I also wasn't ready to submit to Kurn quite yet. He hadn't earned it; Amelda had played the greater role in catching me this way.

"Shall I?" Amelda asked Kurn, pulling out the ruby that the Hellhound had been wearing around his neck before I took it.

So Cris had given it to her. I wondered as to his reasoning...unless she somehow stole it, which seemed unlikely.

"I want her fully aware of me mounting her," Kurn growled.

I noted that his scent was the same as when he'd hunted me before, only more sour.

"That is much higher risk," Amelda reasoned. "We agreed. Better she becomes aware later and sees the state of herself after I've shown Father."

"You should listen to her, Ma'ab, females do know better tactics," I said. "As Gavin said, you know them well."

Kurn did not reply verbally although he dug his knee harder into my thigh with a growl.

"She is inventing taunts to delay," Amelda warned. "You said she tricks and lies!"

"Not inventing." I forced a smile through more pain. "Your Hellhound takes his dagger hilt deeply inside him... and with great enjoyment."

Kurn actually head-butted me, struck the back of my head with the front of his, and nearly shouted directly in my ear, "Whore!"

I laughed even as I winced. "He sprayed all over his belly. It was amusing."

Another hit, but he still didn't let go of my hands. Damn it.

"We'll turn that back around to *proper* form, as it should be! My aer will split you and make you bleed, k'us." 

"I doubt your 'aer' has the same talent as your dagger's hilt, and at least I spit on you to make you wet like a k'us," I said. "A pity you didn't keep the dagger, at least that never goes limp."

I looked at dark-haired, pale-skinned Amelda in her blue dress, when she finally came into my view and I chuckled. She looked absolutely shocked at the details, or perhaps at our language.

"Demonic slut," he hissed, his grip tight and quivering now. I felt some of his spittle land on my hair, despite the flash of light in my vision as he again squeezed my injured hand. He remembered not to try to grab me anywhere else lest I get loose again.

"Demon...devil...what is the difference?" I gasped with a moan that pleased him enough to allow me to talk again. "You must be a long-lost brother to the Manalar Witch Hunter in the out building with Mathias. No wonder you target them...easy to overrun and absorb a people who think the same as you."

He emitted a derisive scoff at the comparison.

As long as we were talking, there was more chance some of Brom's men, or Brom himself, would become aware of this—although I was ready to handle whatever came regardless. I would not break as easily as Kurn had, I would kill them if I had the chance but I swore at least I would keep breathing.

My eyes drifted to see a shimmering wall of magic a few feet away, and my spiders hopping and scrabbling desperately to go around, climb up or under it. They could not get through and they were trying harder than any natural spider could even attempt.

"Now she invents," Amelda said, trying to shake off the distraction of what she'd just heard.

I hummed. "There is always a kernel of truth with the Drow, First Daughter."

"Consider the source," she sneered.

"I noticed Kurn did not deign to lick you earlier. Just thrust into your hole, still sweaty from his show, without even a complimentary pat."

"Spying on me again?!" Kurn barked, squeezing his hands harder—I sort of wondered why neither had gagged me yet. "You filthy annath shubis!"

Amelda huffed a breath as she attempted to turn her genuine surprise and unease into something more dignified. "I did not ask it of him."

"Yes, it was rather quick. Would you have enjoyed a pat and a lick?" I asked. "Would you like me to teach him how it is done?"

This pushed her surprise even more and she was mute for the moment that Kurn spent imagining it, judging by his sudden stillness.

"I might have known you were a k'us-raule," he rumbled, shifting until he was rubbing his erection over my leather-clad buttock; I could feel the heat of it seeping through to my skin. "Teasing cocks all day but reserving your real effort for your own side. Makes much more sense. So you want Amelda, do you? Shall I watch your technique from above and behind, balls deep inside your back hole?"

"Sounds good," I grunted. "I'd much prefer her taste to yours, smelly hound. I need my arms back to brace, or you will push my teeth right into her k'us."

"Hah. We are not that stupid."

"Then undress me, Hellhound. Get started."

He paused as he realized that he would have to release one of my hands to do so. They did not have restraints ready; they had been planning on me not being able to resist at all—my will or awareness taken by magic. The dead moment nearly made me laugh aloud, but I made due with a smile.

Amelda said something in Ma'ab that sounded very contrary, lifting the ruby around her neck, probably as a reminder of their earlier plan.

Kurn responded in the negative, and based purely on the tone, made some kind of demand of her. She refused, placing her hands protectively in front of her as if to make further barrier to her sex with her hands, and the Hellhound growled some more, trying to intimidate her. By the way she flinched when he got loud, it seemed to be working.

I was actually glad that Amelda was susceptible to male intimidation, even though it was pitiful to see in a First Daughter. I was glad because she had the better idea to use magic to make me unaware and unable to resist—essentially the ruby could be the equivalent to the drug I'd pushed up Kurn's ass. 

But then, the Hellhound had considered that "cheating" and under-handed when I'd done it, and my being aware of his rape held much more appeal to him, despite what Amelda may have originally planned with him.

While they argued, I took stock of my body and situation.

I would be further aroused by the exchange than I was now if not for the deep bruising in my chest and my broken hand, but the effects of the flash-bang had had enough time to fade with only a faint, lingering tenderness in my head. I had already turned my mind and my pride to be willing to use anything and everything given to me to survive, even Kurn mounting me, and my sex would not be stone-dry if he did—although my ass would be.

My pack was against the wall on the bed where I'd left it, and they were ignoring it for the time being. My belt, long daggers, and cloak were on the floor. During our argument, I had confirmed with my good hand my reach of a short, flat blade beneath one bracer, but Kurn's grip at the moment prevented my drawing it.




Surfacing Ch. 08



I did not see Soul Drinker or its scabbard, and could only assume it was on the floor or had skidded beneath the bed. My spiders had not given up trying to get around the shield, but I could not rely on them while Amelda was aware and holding her shield spell.

The two Ma'ab debated and negotiated for a long time; I wished I could have been involved more, but I did not know the specifics of what they were saying. One time Kurn sounded aggressively aroused, though, as if he had just described something sexual, and Amelda straightened her back and tightened her fist in response. I arched my back and pressed my ass into Kurn's crotch, to encourage that desire a bit more.

Anything to delay finding out personally the ways that ruby was really used by a mage who knew how.

"See, you do want me. You just need to be taken, don't you? You need it that way, can't just give in," Kurn chuckled, leaning over me and biting the tip of my left ear.

"Argh!" I grunted—that hurt very much—but my ass came up again and in response he ground his erection harder along my crack with a shudder.

"Get the rope out of her pack, sorceress," he demanded. "I want to watch her tongue lash your proper, pretty k'us as I break open her pucker. I will hear her scream, not be some dazed, limp fish. Then we can do the rest your way."

Amelda purse her lips but complied, if reluctantly, and came over to the bed to reach for my pack. I felt a flush of adrenalin as her weight compressed more of the mattress and the angle shifted. Her skirts were brushing the top of my head and I lifted my face to nuzzle her thigh through the velvety material. She paused in what she was doing, looking down at me perhaps in bewilderment, and I purred, looking up at her with a smile and a wink.

"Come, hurry," I said. "Lift your skirts for me. Let me taste."

Kurn chuckled, "Not so quick. Amelda, before the rope, untie the laces at her hips and push it down so that she is ready for us. In fact, touch her, put your fingers in her."

"Kurn, I do not want—!"

"Do it, latha!"

"Yes, Amelda," I gasped, the side of my face still pressed to the mattress, my broken hand relentlessly throbbing, yet still I writhed my hips. "Do that. I will enjoy it."

"Just needed to find your hot button, eh, demoness?" Kurn chortled, humping me slowly, to which Amelda hissed something at him in Ma'ab as if she was either jealous or found it distasteful. Or both.

After a low growl that I was willing to bet was a threat, Kurn shifted so that Amelda could tug resentfully at the laces that secured my leathers, and I waited. I even made it easier for her, shifting so that my pants were soon bunched at my upper thighs, stopped only my Kurn's knee between my legs. I could feel the Hellhound's eyes on my exposed backside and on the hollow between my thighs. He murmured something lewd and anticipatory.

"So touch her. I'll hold her down."

"Kurn!" She made another attempt to remind him of their plan in Ma'ab, but he cut her off.

"Touch the black k'us! Now!"

I shivered as if in response to his voice and drew a good—if painful—bit of breath, reaching my good hand to touch the tiny, flat blade beneath my bracer again. My chest still ached, my injured hand had numbed a bit from lack of circulation, and I wondered how soon I might get the chance I needed. Patience...even feeling him push into me wouldn't be the end of things unless I lost my mind in denial like Kurn had in the canyon.

Amelda's hand between my legs was reluctant and not curious in the least. Resentful, she did the equivalent of making a single swipe at a saddle she'd been told to clean. I made a sound of disappointment.

"Is that all?" I asked.

"I told you, fingers in, Amelda."

"No. And I don't want her to lick my latha, either."

"Oh, come now, lift your skirt!" I said loudly. "You have seen mine, allow me a sight of yours, pretty pale sorceress."

"Silence, you whore! I shall not!"

"Don't make me strap you down," Kurn growled at the Ma'ab woman.

"Well, then, forget the rope to tie down the Drow!" she belted back.

"You will. You want me to seed her."

"I'll open your trousers as well while you hold her," she said, fairly seizing at his turgid crotch. "You are ready, just take her while you can!"

Truer words were never spoken. Kurn tried to jerk his hips away and growl another demand as Amelda tugged forcefully at his belt. The physical interference weakened his grip on me for just a moment.

I freed the flat blade beneath my bracer with my good hand and I whispered the command word for Callitro's ring, feeling it warm on my hand. I couldn't afford to miss.

Neither had time to react as I broke free and twisted, ignoring all distraction, and jammed the short knife into the hollow of Kurn's throat. Amelda screamed in shock as his black eyes went wide, his body still, blood pouring down the front of his half-plate. It had taken less than two seconds.

The First Daughter's first choice, as I struggled madly to get out from beneath the Hellhound, was an interesting one. She ignored me and dived straight for Kurn, clutching at the blade around which he was trying to breath. 

I let her, only able to raise my leathers part way so I wouldn't trip but could do no more with my hand broken. Nonetheless, I took the extra moment to grab my pack and belt and cloak...Lolth, dammit, where was Soul Drinker?

The next moment, I realized I could not carry everything, nor put anything on properly due to my injury. If I left now, I would have to leave something behind. A bad option.

"Uhmashi tuon, Kurn!" Amelda cried as the Hellhound fell over partway onto his back, and she drew my dagger out, blood splashing her hand as she covered the hole and immediately started chanting, a glow coming to her palm.

Very interesting. 

I kneeled to set everything down again and took a pinch of knock-out power from the pouch at my belt.

I could wait a bit longer.

As soon as Kurn coughed, gargled, and gasped a new breath—the ugly, deep wound gone almost as soon as I had made it—I flicked a bit of my powder onto his face and grabbed Amelda by the hair with my good hand. I threw her shrieking onto the ground and landed on top of her.

"No! Shicarshivil!" she screamed, and I found out quickly that she was completely untrained in any grappling or hand-to-hand combat. It took nothing to straddle her.

Kneeling with my pants still undone and halfway down my hips, exposing part of my white bush to her, I struck her across her cheeks with my good fist three times, until the magic shield finally started to fade.

Kurn remained unmoving on the bed, and my babies joined me immediately, jumping onto me with joy, though I bid them wait... *Do not bite, wait*...as I looked down at the sorceress. She stared back, bruises already forming on her delicate, pale jaw, tears of pain in her fearful, black eyes. She focused on the three large, black spiders crouched on my shoulders and screamed when one shifted suddenly, preparing to strike.

"Silence," I hissed, though with a smile. "You will scare them. Now, I will have some of that healing, Amelda, clean and quick as you just did for Kurn, and you will do it properly. Unless you want to swell up like a bloated corpse in less time than it takes to piss yourself, after my pets sink their fangs into your pretty skin."

She shook her head, muttering something I did not understand.

"Are you refusing me, witch?"

One of my spiders began crawling down my good arm, and she nearly lost her ability to think.

"No! No, please, don't let it touch me! Don't..."

I took that added moment to yank the ruby off of her neck, breaking the cord, and she winced as it bit into her skin. I stuffed it into my boot and remained straddling her as if we were still in foreplay, though truthfully, neither of us felt horny in the least right then.

"Amelda, you have three seconds to heal me."

Her trembling, bloody hands shot out to take my curled, broken one and I hissed at the spread of white-hot pain up my arm. The next moment she was chanting and the same glow began, and as with Cris, I started feeling the cool, soothing spread as flesh and bone weaved back together. It was not a localized spell, it seemed, as the ease of splintered bone also spread to my bruised chest, my bitten ear, battered thighs, and that lingering headache.

"There!" she gasped, sweat on her forehead from effort and fear. "Now let me go, my father will not be pleased if you kill me!"

I grinned, feeling so much better right then and hearing her same reasoning that I'd used. "I might wonder which he might save, if he had to save only one of us."

That comment seemed to hurt somehow, as she fought against some doubt in her mind, and I was glad. 

"Tell me what you know of the ruby," I demanded softly, "and I will let you go."

"The sound ward has dropped!" she cried. "My father's men can hear us now!"

I slapped her. "Is it only for demons?"

"No," she answered, trying to raise a hand to her stinging face, but I knocked it away.

"What is its nature?"

She screwed up her face, baring her teeth in defiance, but I struck her again. She bellowed and kicked her heels against the wooden floor in a tantrum, and now...she was right, I could hear Brom's men finally start to respond to the disturbance in this room.

It had taken them long enough.

I gripped and twisted her nipple through her dress, hard enough to leave a bruise for later. "It's nature! Now!"

"W-will bending!" she wailed.

I let go of her nipple and rose off of her to my feet, my spiders keening again and again to be given leave to jump her though I held them back as she scrabbled to her feet. She charged for the door, throwing it open only to run right into the embrace of Lief and the other man.

"Lady Amelda! What's happened?!"

"Get my father!" she cried, starting to weep openly, her breath soon coming in sobs. "This creature abused me!"

I had righted my leathers and was donning my belt and daggers by this time, my spiders having retreated sulkily back into their pouch. 

"By all means," I said, waving a gloved hand casually. "Informing Lord Brom at this point is required, is it not?"

Lief's eyes were sharp as he scanned what he could of the room, noting Kurn unconscious on the bed, the blood on the Hellhound and Amelda's hands though it was harder to see on my black leathers. He tried to make sense of what had happened inside, but nodded toward the second man in silent command. As the designated messenger left, Lief kept his arms around Amelda as she cried and shivered; an image I found almost ludicrously funny. I suppose it worked only because Lief was physically larger than Amelda, her own frame more frail by comparison.

They watched me as I collected my cloak and located Soul Drinker with its sheath beneath the bed then quickly brought the two together before looping it at my side. I finally picked up my bracer flat-blade, still covered in Kurn's blood, and my pack, and smiled at them. 

Apparently they did not intend to interfere and I was glad for the time to right myself. On an inspiration, I retrieved the same cloth scrap I'd used to collect Kurn's semen and now wiped his blood from the blade on it as well, before tucking both back into their place.

Clearly Lief and Amelda both believed me to be a demon in truth, watching my deliberate actions, though they could not know what the other stains on that cloth were.

It did not take long for Brom to arrive with two more men, though I was surprised to see Rithal and Castis accompanying as well...although perhaps I should not have been. They could no doubt hear the boots and voices as well after Amelda's yelling.

"What's happened?" the Ma'ab mage demanded, and Brom extended his arm to block him from squeezing his way into the room and toward me. Rithal, however, was short enough to get by on the other side, once he turned to the side to be a little less broad.

With a better view, the dwarf looked at me, looked at Kurn long enough to see that he was breathing, and sighed deeply with a slow shake of his head. "Again, Elf?"

I smirked. "Whatever do you mean 'again,' dwarf?"

"Don' try tah be cute. Blood's on ye as well as on them."

I flicked a glance at our host when I heard him chuckle. Cris-ri-phon was looking out through Brom's eyes, and by the smile on his face in that moment, it almost looked like he wanted to mount me right then and there in that room, especially as he noted Soul Drinker still at my side.

"Father!"

Amelda traded Lief's embrace for Brom's, which he allowed, putting strong arms around her more delicate shoulders, rubbing her back comfortingly. She had made the effort not to smear either of them with her hands, keeping them curled in toward her bodice.

"Ah, my dear, you tremble so. What has happened?"

I wanted to hear this; I stood quietly, keeping my awareness on all the small movements of the others around me in case one of them turned against me. Surely Castis was ready to hurl another fireball at me, and Gavin wasn't here to sputter it out. Fortunately, Brom was.

"I..." Amelda glanced at me.

I quirked my brow in response. *Yes?*

"You have bruises on your face," Brom said, not without some concern. "Has the Hellhound been misusing my hospitality?"

I could see the Ma'ab woman weigh throwing Kurn beneath the cart, tempted to shift blame and come up with another story other than failure since he was passed out, but I smiled and withdrew the ruby from my boot, holding it up. The ancient sorcerer's eyes fell on it.

"I struck her face, Lord Brom," I said. Upon seeing Lief's expression of disgust—and Castis's slightly happier one—I added, "If that seems untoward to you, young Man, I am used to settling matters with my own gender when they mean me harm. You do not call for help from a female in a challenge between males, yes?"

Lief and the other Men blinked and glanced at each other, pondering that.

I smiled. "Of course, it is curious that you heard nothing at all, Lief, close as you were guarding the hall. I even wonder how the door was unbarred from the inside as I slept."

Brom smirked, and Amelda's pale face flushed pink, almost like Tamuril's did, and she looked up pleadingly at her sire. He cut her off before she could begin.

"We will speak later, Amelda," he said. "Retire to your quarters and don't come out until we do."

"Fath—"

"Now, daughter."

"The ruby?"

"Spoils to the victor, I would say."

"But you said—"

"You were foolish in your choice of target, my dear. Go. If you do not tap the bloodstone in your room within the next thirty seconds, then we may consider a more public punishment now. I'm sure my men would enjoy watching."

Amelda's face darkened further to red, as I'd seen Kurn's do in a rage, and she left quickly, her skirts rustling quite a lot as she hurried down the stairs and toward the hallway that led to Brom's quarters. Our host waited the full thirty seconds in silence, his eyes unfocused, and then—when we all heard a door slam shut in a temper—he nodded in satisfaction.

In the end, Brom did not seem to want to go over the minute details right then while standing in the room, and even Rithal and Castis seemed certain of what basically had happened.

"Dead or alive?" our host asked me, indicating the Hellhound on the bed. "Your choice, Sirana, my daughter you'll spare but the Hellhound can pay for their attack on you."

"NO!" Castis shouted, clenching his fists and turning on Brom—though without any magic coming to light, I noticed. "That's not what happened!"

"Oh, but it is," the innkeeper said calmly, turning an amused gaze on the Ma'ab mage. "I saw Sirana go into this room alone in Lief's and Chance's minds. They tell me they did not hear or see anything until Amelda was screaming, and I can taste their truth. Amelda has been getting better at her spells and wards, sneaking trollop that she is. I know my daughter, young mage, and you know your brother had a stiff one for Sirana. So. The Drow has won. In my inn, the victor gets to choose the fate of the defeated."

"Nae," Rithal broke in, glaring at me. "He'll be remainin' breathin', Lord Brom."

The sorcerer chuckled. "Oh?"

"We still need 'im."

"If you need a Ma'ab, surely you can do with just Castis."

Rithal shook his head as the young mage looked to the dwarf, clearly glad for firm support. "Not negotiable, innkeeper. Ye don' kill 'im, regardless of what he pulled. Ye see Sirana is fine."

Only because I'd forced Amelda to heal me.

I thought Brom looked very amused, but I did not know how long he might dangle the point before he made it clear that he did not have to negotiate, if he did not wish. The dwarf was putting up a stubborn front, though; it was difficult to tell if he was aware that Brom was indulging him.

"I'll have my choice, all the same," I spoke up, the males all looking at me. "You actually suggest I let him live to try for a third attempt on my life, Rithal?"

"Third?" Castis barked sharply. "So you did do something to him at the canyon!"

"He chased me, Castis," I sighed. "Had he slept until dawn and minded his own business, it would not have happened."

"You were the one who came along despite knowing his opinion of you!"

"Now the blame is mine that he attacked me?"

"For all I know, you attacked him first! What did you do to him that he returned half naked?!"

Brom was trying not to chuckle too loudly, and his men just watched, equally entertained by us.

"More important, mage, she left 'im alive," Rithal interrupted, speaking deliberately to Castis, though he shifted pale, blue eyes to me next. "Ye di'n't kill 'im then, Elf. Had tah be a reason."

"Because it likely would have meant killing all of you, if you responded so stupidly as you do now," I replied, meeting his stare. "And that would make it difficult for me. I still aim to topple Manalar."

My saying that aloud calmed Rithal much more quickly than it did Castis, who was still only being held back in using his magic by Brom's presence.

"An' we still need 'im to do that," the dward said, trying now to reason. "Alive."

"Alive," I repeated yet again, "but now, only for an exchange, Rithal. I let it lie before, but I want payment for the risk this time, or you can see if you can prevent Brom from gutting Kurn right now."

Brom scratched his cheek casually and grinned, his shoulders leveling out as he took on a predator's stance. He was willing to play; perhaps he had a guess what I wanted.

Rithal pursed his lips deep within his fiery beard, noting the change in demeanor of the sorcerer and his men. "What exchange?" he asked suspiciously.

"A side quest, just north of here," I said. "Before we go to Manalar, you all will help me in payment for sparing this dog's life."

"Ah," Rithal rumbled, "Now we discover why you truly came along, do we?"

I smiled. "Lord Brom needs a band of Warpstone cannibals culled from his forest. We will perform this task for him. Then continue on to Manalar."

I'd managed to surprise Rithal completely.

"How does that help ye?" he demanded, his voice rising.

"None of your concern. You will convince Kurn of our change in plans when he wakes up, and we will slaughter those man-beasts in the forest, every one of them, before continuing on."

"And you would have my deepest gratitude for doing this, sir dwarf," Brom interjected, smiling happily.

"Warpstone!" Castis cried, finally overcoming his shock. "Are you insane?!"

"Gratitude don' fill bellies," Rithal grumbled, not having the same reaction to the name that the mage did—also nearly ignoring him. He was listening to the negotiations because he wanted to come to a compromise.

"I never asked it to be free." The innkeeper withdrew a small pouch that seemed to appear out of nowhere. "Then take this as a token of my seriousness in this matter, even to help you on your journey."




Surfacing Ch. 09



Author's Notes: This story is erotic fantasy written by Etaski. I reserve the right to be listed as the author of this story, wherever it is posted. If found posted anywhere except Literotica.com with this note attached, this story is posted without my permission. (c) Etaski 2013

Not much to say except perhaps...wow, a male is so damned distracting in an all-female barracks... 

*****

Thena nudged Panagan with her boot's toe, getting her to turn her head, and signed, *Look who's back.*

The younger Red Sister leaned up from applying pressure as she worked the small piece of jade that D'Shea had given her, as the sorceress shown her. She was irritated with Thena for having lost her concentration but glanced across the stables from the loft. She blinked as she made out the robed, male figure. Her brows rose fairly high.

*Again? So soon?*

*It's been months.*

Panagan reflected briefly, pursing her lips and shrugged. *It has. So?*

*He was tutoring Gaelan, Sirana, and Jael before they left. And D'Shea is escorting him herself now.*

Panagan shrugged again. "No surprise. Suna told us the Elder can be near him now, and that he was claimed by the Valsharess at the trial.*

Thena nodded. *Exactly. So the Valsharess let him come here again.*

The younger archer expelled a breath, brushing her thumb over the sharpened jade. *I don't care anymore, Thena. Let him do as he will at the cloister. The Elders know what they are doing.*

*Even if it has to do with the Consort?*

*We've been told to stay away from him,* Panagan signed, letting some frustration show. *Were the punishments not enough for you? Was being given away to Elder D'Shea when Elder Rausery returned not clear enough a warning?*

Thena scowled at her subordinate, reaching forward to flick her ear painfully before signing firmly right in her face. *Don't take that tone with me! You only watched before in solitary, now you are happy playing with stones that D'Shea gives you? You are pathetic.*

*New tools I can make myself?* Panagan challenged the elder Sister. *New spells cast or components on my arrows? It's what I've wanted since I joined, Thena, I did not think D'Shea would ever grant it. I want nothing to do with the wizard or that Consort. I bet they had cause in all this recent trouble. They should have let Sirana die when she fell prey to a Draegloth. The Purge may not have happened.*

*As Jael should have died, if not for Sirana?* Thena signed back with a smirk. *They're an interesting group, aren't they? Trying to change the way things ought to be.*

Panagan shook her head. *Sirana and Jael are both gone, they won't come back.*

*They could.*

*And if they did?*

*They'll leapfrog over us in status.*

*If they return, then they earned it. But they won't.*

*Want to make a bet on it?*

The archer shook her head, glancing where D'Shea had already disappeared with her son and changing the subject slightly. *Shyntre was from before Qivni collected me, but I've heard the stories. Sisters talked whenever Rausery brought him over. I don't understand what he was thinking, pushing Elder Rausery until she put him amongst us in the cloister for a time. What did he want? Why allow it? Why not just kill him?*

Thena chuckled but shook her head. *I'm not sure, but he sure didn't get whatever he wanted. Rausery got so aggravated with Wilsira allowing him to bother us directly she stripped him naked and pushed him out of her office, let him try to find a way out of the cloister on his own.*

*Did he?*

*Nope. It was a great game, left to whoever found him as a surprise, until word spread—same restrictions on a new Sister, no killing or maiming. He crafted some tools on his own to try to use in defense and always put up resistance, but he deserved everything he got and was even lower than the youngest Sister, passed around to everyone for a few intense cycles.* 

Thena waved her hand above her crotch as if she was cooling down her cunt; she had a wicked grin on her face and Panagan nodded her understanding.

*Then what?*

*He was sent back to Wilsira with some new skills and some very sore orifices.* Thena showed her teeth in a leering grin. *He was fun. Different than a Noble male, or an army fighter, or another Sister.*

*Who was the youngest Sister at the time?* Panagan asked.

*Dead now,* the older Drow said with a shrug. *Doesn't matter.*

*But I thought I heard he actually hurt one of us.*

Thena frowned. *Maybe a lucky shot in the struggle.*

*No. Later, outside the cloister. Hurt by magic. One of us kept hunting him?*

*Yeah. Sirana.*

*Before her.*

The older Drow sighed impatiently, shaking her head. *He'd be dead if he did that. Who told you?*

Panagan hesitated, looked around her first. *Qivni. I was new. She warned me to leave him alone the first time I saw him. That if he wasn't killed for using damaging magic on a Red Sister, then someone important was watching him.*

*D'Shea, obviously. Or Elder Rausery.*

The younger looked skeptical, and there was a quiet moment as they thought separate thoughts, before she said, *How long after those first cycles in the cloister did Elder Rausery actually take him on a Surface mission with her?*

Thena stared at Panagan as she thought about it, trying to remember. *Not sure. A decade?*

*Maybe he did get something, then,* the younger signed. *Maybe Elder Rausery was testing him like she tests recruits and novices?*

Thena's smirk shifted to a frown. *What, give a male training as a Red Sister, even dumbed down? Just because he was D'Shea's pestering son?*

Panagan shrugged. *I don't know why. But Elders see potential we don't. Why else would she train him for anything at all?*

The elder's nose wrinkled and her copper eyes narrowed. *I don't like that idea. Males don't belong in the Sisterhood. They're a distraction. We didn't get much done while Shyntre was here displaying his bare cock and ass like that.*

*And now there's the Consort here for some reason,* Panagan signed slowly.

Thena was still for a few moments. *Think D'Shea is keeping him for something similar? He doesn't have the will Shyntre has. He wouldn't last a cycle before we broke him.*

*No, not similar,* Panagan answered. *She's keeping him out of sight and protected. It's something else.*

*And you don't want to know what it is?* Thena prodded again. *The beauty is the second male the Elders have brought to the cloister, and now they bring the first one again within a short time, both protected? Do we just accept it?*

Panagan pursed her lips and glanced at her jade. *We have to wait and see, Corpora. We are still beholden to the Elders, who are still beholden to the Prime and the Valsharess.*

*Why would the Prime want males becoming so familiar with the inner cloister?*

Another helpless shrug. *I don't know. Trust the Elders, Thena. Please. Or at least obey them.*

The elder Red Sister did not reply; she got up and left.

*****

"Elder Rausery will be back soon," Qivni said. "I've already sent her a message, Elder."

D'Shea nodded, noting Shyntre's tension increasing at the news that there wouldn't be a quick exchange passing him directly from his mother's company to his sponsor's. 

"Are there notes already available on which he could start transcribing?"

Rausery's aide shook her head, her face stoic as ever. "Not laying out where I would pick them up, and no instructions to retrieve them, Elder. I believe her errand came up rather quickly or she would have waited. She knew you were coming."

"No need to explain, Lead, I understand," the sorceress responded, although she considered the semi-apology a good sign. 

Despite what D'Shea herself would have thought at first, Rausery had proven to know her closest Lead much better than she thought. After witnessing her two Elders' discussion over the fate of the Sisterhood, seeing that they both hadn't given up on their subordinates even if their methods were different, and seeing them come to a willing compromise, the Lead now was more amenable to working between the two Elders than she ever had been.

With Jaunda being unavailable much of the time and D'Shea making real effort to mend what she could of the four Sisters she'd nearly broken, Qivni had grown in her responsibilities over the past few weeks and took to them well, now more a delegator and focus point for the other Leads and the ranks below her. Rausery was extremely pleased, and D'Shea had to take what she could get.

The slope was slippery at the Palace and among the Priestesses; there was much more to watch now among the Nobles; the Sisterhood had been lacking in focused leadership, much to D'Shea's chagrin seeing the inarguable difference with Rausery present as well, she had to admit now she had been overwhelmed. Not the least of which among all this was the two males, whose fates D'Shea was trying to hold onto rather than abandon them and let them spin out into the Abyss or vanish in the Valsharess's Palace.

D'Shea had a few things to get done at this time as well, and she hazarded the guess that Shyntre did not want to follow her around. She wouldn't just throw him into her room with Auslan; not quite yet, she wanted to ease into that after Shyntre believed that he had some genuine protection here. He'd just been ripped from one close place; she wanted him somewhat settled before making any plays with the Consort.

"Who is available to be a competent bodyguard for Shyntre until Elder Rausery returns?"

Qivni pursed her lips in thought. She seemed to consider then discard a few choices then sighed. "I am, Elder. He can stay in this wing with me."

D'Shea considered, then nodded, turning to her son, looking at his eyes which were so much like Phaelous. "We will share a meal with Auslan later, Shyntre, if you're willing."

The wizard didn't reply immediately, looking at her slightly sideways, before speaking for the first time inside the cloister. "May I choose my meal to be elsewhere, Elder?"

"You may," D'Shea said with a small smile and holding his gaze. "I'll share my meal with Auslan in my quarters in such a case. It is not unusual."

One hand tightened unconsciously on a clutch of fabric at his side though he remained calm-faced, even smiled wryly. "Oh, not unusual? Where in the cloister does a male actually stay to sup with an Elder regularly?"

"He stays in my quarters. It is the safest place for him, solitary was not secure. No one touches him there."

The young mage was trying hard not to give much away on his face, but she could tell he had read between the lines. It was his first hint that someone had touched the Consort, and that D'Shea had taken steps to rectify that it didn't happen again. She didn't want Qivni or Auslan himself telling Shyntre first. 

He asked with as much sarcasm as he could get away with. "No one, Elder? In the Sisterhood's cloister?"

D'Shea smiled calmly. "No one below the rank of Elder. For good or ill."

Shyntre tried smiling back in the same way; he was doing a good job, but his emotion was too strong for her not to see signs of it. "Curious. What do you mean, Elder D'Shea?"

She straightened, her cloak flowing as she shifted her weight. "Where will you take your meal, Shyntre? It is your choice."

He dropped the smile and frowned at her; he was far too intelligent not to see how her words had told him only enough to promise more, if he agreed. However, unlike before they could even talk to each other, she could think that he also saw she wanted to start with him in a simple trade: A meal and likely a conversation for an understanding of Auslan's well-being.

Her son weighed it, and if D'Shea had not been certain of his bond with the other male, it would have been convincing that he didn't care all that much. At least in comparison to his dislike of her.

He shrugged. "I'm willing to share a meal with you, Elder."

"Excellent. I will find you later." D'Shea nodded to Qivni, who bowed her head in acknowledgement, and turned to walk out of Rausery's wing.

*****

Qivni glanced over at Shyntre as they were left alone and sighed, rubbing her temple briefly with a red gloved hand. She seemed to be considering something to say, but in the end held her own council as she shook her head. 

"Come with me, wizard. I have work to do."

Shyntre followed wordlessly as he made rounds with the Lead, as she touched based with three others and passed on orders. Shyntre didn't know what those orders were; he was instructed to turn around and put on a blind each time, and presumably the communication was all in sign. He did as he was told, trying to remain as stoic as Qivni, though he could not keep from letting some tension show when he had his back to Red Sisters.

While he might have expected someone to try to touch him then as he was unable to see faces or intent—especially when the Red Sisters made no noise except for an occasional scrape of their boots on stone—and while he might have sensed the temptation or their private smirks...no one laid a harassing finger on him. He only listened to his heart as he waited each time, before being tapped on the shoulder and summoned to follow again.

The cloister was the same as he remembered from when he'd been chased or dragged through nearly every corridor of it. He still had the map inside his head and updated some details on store rooms or new barracks. He noted there were several empty rooms and wondered if they'd be selecting and initiating any new Red Sister novices soon?

"Here, carry this," Qivni said, handing a large sack of what his nose told him had to be taccin-cured pods. "Make yourself useful."

Shyntre pursed his mouth shut and carried the food as Qivni carried two more bags of equal size; they made their way back to Qivni's quarters where they dumped them out onto the clean-swept floor. She instructed him to start seeding the pods, placing the skins in one large sack and the seeds in another. The Lead began to do the same thing, and the wizard understood this was what they'd be doing as they waited for Rausery to arrive.

If he thought Qivni was going to strike up a conversation with him, or start probing or asking questions then, as time passed and seed after seed began to pile into the bag, Shyntre finally did believe that this Lead wasn't very inquisitive about his presence. 

Oddly, he didn't remember for certain whether she had been among those who had forced her pleasure on him, although really, how could it be otherwise when the scent of fear was in the air? There had been so many... Still, he remembered Agalia before she was a Lead, because they'd been face-to-face for just long enough... and there were other faces whose names—if he'd ever known them—had come back the moment he saw them again at various times over the last century. Some of those who took him were dead now, more than half still lived.

He remembered Jaunda among them, but more recent events with Kerse and Sirana took precedence over the time when he was pretty sure she'd just been taking her "fair" turn because she snared him in the cloister. Shyntre had wondered before whether she simply hadn't been satisfied with the chase itself, that he hadn't been able to make it last, or if she'd thought him too frail for her frame. She could have been much worse, and it hadn't felt so sadistic as some.

Not that he had ever cared about satisfying her that way, and at least the Lead had always believed him to be smart; she had listened to him when it mattered. She made him useful, too, a time or two...she had relied upon his shields in the fight against Kerse.

Qivni, on the other hand...she was a Red Sister that he had never known much about, even though he'd seen her several times. She'd never been to the Surface, he didn't think, certainly not at the same time as him. She was loyal to Rausery almost to a fault and he had never seen her smile. Her shows of force, perhaps, did not come from taking pleasure in humiliation—or he would have remembered her better.

"Elder Rausery's training up top was successful, Lead?" he asked quietly.

"Not your business, boy," she growled, seeding pods without pausing. "She's back, what more would you need to know?"

Shyntre felt a small punch of nameless distress in his gut as he made himself speak again. "Elder Rausery had me help with the pre-mission training, Lead. I would like to know if she's pleased with the results."

"Then ask her. If you're asking for gossip, you're nudging the wrong Red Sister."

The wizard withheld a sigh and nodded as he kept working. More time passed, however, and he realized Qivni had been thinking on what he'd said and it had led her to a conclusion because she paused what she was doing and turned a narrowed, hostile gaze on him. He stopped, too, giving her his full attention.

"Tell me something, and I'll tell you something," she said flatly.

He hesitated. "What do you want to know?"

"Where exactly you went from asking permission to rape Sirana's ass to wanting to know how she fares on the Surface? We all heard how you came to the cloister to warn about what Kerse was doing, in the briefing before going to the Palace. Was it to save her?"

"A gate to the Abyss near our City was dangerous to all Drow," he pointed out, not answering the question.

Sharp, copper eyes stayed on him without blinking. Qivni had stopped seeding. "I'm guessing you could have prevented that even with casualties. Sirana was deliberately saved from dying. Those two events don't go hand-in-hand."

"Lead Jaunda was doing what she does; she doesn't leave Red Sisters to die, especially her own subordinates," Shyntre said, defensiveness leaking into his tone.

"While looking to you for solutions, I bet," was Qivni's retort. "And you could have chosen anything at all. It didn't even have to work, not if you wanted her to die instead, you just had to make the attempt."

"And be punished for failing a Lead's order?" he challenged, starting to feel angry. "You don't know what it's like for me, Lead. I don't think as you do, and I don't have the same choices!"

"Yet you were so angry at Sirana at the beginning," Qivni returned with quiet intensity, letting that hang in the air as she stared at him.

Shyntre pursed his lips and seeded another pod. He had looked away when he said, "It's not worth the energy anymore. She's been sent away."

"And you asked me if she was still alive."

"No, I did not. I asked whether Elder Rausery was pleased with my efforts."

Qivni snorted. "Meaning you want Sirana and the others you taught to make a good showing. Thus, being alive."

He expelled a breath. "Sure, yes, I'll accept that, Lead. What else do I have to show any pride in my skills?"

She was quiet again and they both went back to seeding.

"Would you be curious?" she asked.

"Not anymore, Lead," he answered. "You would read too much into it. Please bear in mind I've been to the Surface, it's at least of archival interest to me."

Qivni seemed to grant that with a small shrug and a slightly tighter frown. "Did it have to do with Elder D'Shea favoring her in an odd way? Did it make you angry?"

"In exchange, may I ask you from where you came, Lead?" he asked bluntly, tugging overly hard on a pod and flinging a seed out onto the stone floor which he scrambled to collect. "No one seems to know."

The Red Sister was dead silent, and he took it that she did not want to trade that, that it was a thankful end to their conversation.

Except it wasn't.

"Sure. I came from the same place you did, boy. Now answer me."

Shyntre felt his body jerk in surprise as he looked at her. His brain took an extra second to process the command. "I...uh...."

"Did you hate her only because of D'Shea's favoritism?"

Shyntre swallowed, but had to nod. "Yes, Lead. So you came from the Sanctuary?"




Surfacing Ch. 09



"Yes. So you don't hate Sirana so much anymore?"

"....no, I don't. Is your mother a Red Sister who had to give birth in the Sanctuary?"

"No. What did Sirana do to earn that change from you?"

"She...ah...she pursued me. She didn't know whose son I was. She tested me on a clean slate and made it a game."

"That's all?"

"Yes, that's all. So who is your mother, Lead?"

"Was, I think. She was pregnant when she entered the Priesthood, but could only ever have the one half-breed son in her duties. She birthed me and I was placed elsewhere in the Sanctuary, away from her. So Sirana softened your hatred with *games*?"

"That's quite a sneer, Lead."

"One more comment such as that, and I'll knock your candle out. Was she always fucking laughing at you?"

Shyntre had to think about it, but he nodded. "Yes, Lead. Frustrating, at first...I couldn't get her to fear anything I did to her. After a time, she even invited me to keep trying."

And that thought stirred up an ill-timed erection for him that he covered with his robe's sleeves.

Qivni's mouth twisted. "Seems we have that in common, mage. Always laughing, taunting, dancing around. I'm not surprised she fell into such trouble as she did with Wilsira and Kerse, after what she did with the Draegloth in her trials."

The wizard swallowed, staring at her fully engaged in the conversation, and knew he'd be thinking about this for a while. "I've seen her serious once. It was the one time I offered to trade with her. She knew she was in trouble with Wilsira, Lead."

"Oh? And she didn't slide around on your agreement?"

"No. She gave me what I asked for. So, how did you become a Red Sister?"

Qivni sighed. "The Prime asked for me as a child, rather than send me to a family cousin to raise. A rare exchange for all the cloister children given to the Priestesses; they finally had one to give back since they didn't realize their newest initiate was pregnant until her training had begun. I couldn't stay regardless."

"Why not?"

"The Valsharess ordered it. I was an unwanted reminder that the Priestesses couldn't have daughters inside the Priesthood. Only sons in the form of Draegloth and the Consorts."

"And the Sisterhood can't have sons, only daughters," he murmured, wondering at the pattern he'd never seen before.

The elder Drow quirked one white brow at him. "Except when one like yourself beats on the door, apparently. You ever regret that move, Shyntre?"

He felt a bit of nausea in his stomach at some of the memories that came back just smelling this place, but he still shook his head. "I don't. No Drow male living knows as much about the power structure as I do, or about the Surface."

"Which is why you're in the Palace under our queen's watchful eye at such a young age, Shyntre. Be careful."

He nodded; he did know the truth of that very well. "So...you grew up in the cloister?"

Qivni nodded. "Not an easy place to be the only youth, but the Prime was pleased with my temperament. I made due. Most of the Red Sisters have been changed out since then, only a few are even old enough to remember. I don't talk about it, and neither will you."

The wizard nodded readily and verbally agreed to that. It explained the differences Shyntre had noticed in this humorless Red Sister, to be raised by the Prime in this place... it also gave him insight as to why he'd always heard of her being called the Collector when no other Lead was. He had heard it was always Qivni who retrieved the recruits when the time came. He supposed there would be no chance of any Drow in the City knowing Qivni from anywhere before when she showed up in scarlet red uniform, unlike Noble recruits, such as Sirana and Jael, who had families...

"So you are curious about Sirana on the Surface, aren't you?" Qivni asked again.

Shyntre felt some tension in his back relax when he stopped fighting that point. "Yes, Lead. But I will do without if Elder Rausery decides I'm simply not to know."

Qivni ignored the last part. "You wanted her saved. The healing Consort was your idea, so you know him, probably from the Sanctuary. So you're the reason Elder D'Shea is keeping him here after the Purge."

The tension returned immediately along with an extra knot he'd probably have to rub out later. He rubbed his face with one hand, his stomach sinking. "You're very astute, Lead. But I do not know to what purpose, I swear to you."

Qivni grunted, stripping a few more seeds from their pods. "It doesn't take much to figure Elder D'Shea wants to get to know you now. Is she holding the Consort as ransom for that?"

"Probably. You heard her yourself, Lead, talking about a meal together. It's not guaranteed to work, though. And I am here primarily to assist Elder Rausery, as always."

The Lead actually smirked, almost a half-smile. "Sure."

They went quiet again, and it was Shyntre who spoke next.

"What did she mean that solitary wasn't secure for the Consort? Did he try to escape?"

Qivni looked at him askance. "No. Even you commented that she also said 'no one' touches him in her quarters, and she's right."

Shyntre looked down to concentrate hard on the seed pod. "What happened, Lead? Is he permanently damaged?"

She sighed with an eyeroll. "No, he's still beautiful. Near perfect. Three Sisters got to him and did what you would expect. Elder D'Shea had her hands full without Elder Rausery, but she still found out about it somehow—had a ward on his cell door, perhaps— and caught them in the act. Punished them right then."

Shyntre couldn't make his hands stop quivering slightly as a part of him felt quite hollow. He wanted to throw up. "Punished them...how?"

"Beat the Drider shit out of them with force spells. Forced a compulsion that prevents them from speaking of what exactly happened. I saw the damage on them, though, talking or not, and I heard Auslan's report with my own ears."

He hesitated to comment at first. "....Who were they?" he almost whispered.

"Why would you want to know?"

"To see if...I remember them. If I see them, I know to be wary."

"No one will touch you on pain of death, Shyntre. That's the order."

"I still want to know. I have a history here, you know that well...it might matter where the Consort is concerned. I'll trade you something, Lead."

Qivni purposed her lips, and sighed. "I'll hold on to that favor for later, right?"

He nodded. "In kind."

"Indeed. Don't try to renege."

"I won't."

"Three under Elder Rausery, but some of ours with the least self-discipline. Thena leading them, Suna and Moria following. Another named Panagan was there but not as badly hurt, just a bruised windpipe."

Shyntre didn't know Panagan or Moria, but he did remember the other two. Clearly. If some of his mother's Red Sisters hadn't come to get him, hadn't challenged them and won, he could have believed that Thena and Suna and their team could have made it last for him for several sleep cycles straight without sleep. 

He felt light-headed almost immediately, a high pitch seeming to ring in his ears. *Oh, no...*

Qivni didn't move or pause long in seeding her pods as she watched the wizard scramble over to a bucket intended for refuse and emptied his stomach in several racking, heaving retches. She waited patiently until he was done, gasping and swallowing.

"There's a waterskin hanging to your right."

Shyntre nodded and mumbled an acknowledgement, stretching up to lift one of the three plump containers from the peg. He took a swig and swished, spitting that out into the bucket before swallowing another small sip to test his stomach. The fit seemed to have passed, and he drank a bit more of the cool liquid.

He soon rejoined Qivni, glad for the simple task to do with his hands as he tried to let his mind settle some, although his mind was overtaken with fear for Auslan now. How much had he endured....?

"That bad, huh?" Qivni asked. "When they had you?"

"I don't want to talk about it." Then he remembered with a widening of his eyes: "...Lead."

Qivni huffed softly, forgiving the slip. "Might interest you to hear, then, wizard, that same group wouldn't let Sirana sleep for three cycles when they had her, only there were six of them. Somehow even the laughing girl had to be kept from going a killing rage, but I know Gaelan had something to do with that."

Shyntre knew his expression was easy even for Qivni to read: he really wished she hadn't told him that.

She smiled and added: "She had her revenge when Jael was in her place, though. Took on Thena, who challenged her and lost. Sirana humiliated her by using her own tranquilizer powder against her, dumped her fully armored and equipped body in front of her peers, still stark naked, and kept hold on Jael for the rest of the cycle."

The smallest bit of tension in Shyntre's shoulders eased as he felt himself wanting to smile. It explained the camaraderie he'd witnessed between the two youngest Sisters in their pre-Surface training, and it probably explained Jael's own ferocity trying to beat Kerse back from Sirana in that fight.

Then his smile fell.

"Did they know the Consort healed Sirana?" he asked. "Do you think they were taking revenge on him since she wasn't here anymore?"

Qivni thought it over. "Maybe. But I think they would have entered his cell regardless, Shyntre. I'm sort of surprised it took a week after Elder Rausery and the rest of you left the cloister."

"And...Elder D'Shea interrupted them and punished them."

"Yes."

"And you've seen him after that? You know he's whole in body?"

Again Qivni nodded, with a slanted expression Shyntre almost would have called a wry one. "He's still got spirit, too. Milder than Sirana's irritating tease, but the same nature."

Shyntre didn't comment on that. He couldn't really remember that quality in Auslan at all. The Consort had never been a humorous tease, his training had been far too rigid; he could only be obedient, calm, polite.

Had it developed only recently knowing Sirana? How much contact had they had without him knowing? Auslan had told him more about the meeting on the farm since Shyntre knew to ask about it after being with Sirana; the Consort had explained how he'd coped with that, and some about her showing up for information after that...but Shyntre couldn't know every word passed between them.

Still. It could be a good sign. Maybe Thena and the others hadn't broken him. At least, they hadn't had enough time to do it. His mother had stopped them. Shyntre wanted to talk to Auslan first, before he decided how to feel about that. Shyntre couldn't imagine the motive being any other than self-interest...but at least she had done it. At least she had protected him. At least he didn't feel like throwing up again when he imagined his brother frightened, trapped, and helpless in solitary. 

At least for Auslan, it hadn't been over and over again.

The wizard said, "You said they have some of the least self-discipline...so why keep them?"

Qivni shot him a sour, somehow cruel look. 

"Because they can do what they did to you, to Sirana, to the Consort," she said brusquely. "And they follow the orders of someone stronger. Elder D'Shea proved she was stronger. They're no threat now. It is a recruit like Sirana, who is too smart for her own good, that I distrust the most, Shyntre. Without self-discipline but with far more brains than Thena and her crowd...no telling what she'll decide to do in her own interest. Given enough time."

Shyntre blinked slowly, trying to picture Sirana as that kind of pot-stirrer. Certainly she had been the catalyst for Kerse, but the Illithid hadn't been her fault...

He remembered that Auslan had mentioned she said she would come back for him, would find another place for him. Somehow. Would she? That was an interest distinctly outside the Sisterhood. He couldn't fault Qivni's distrust, because Sirana would do it if she focused on it, perhaps depending on how long she carried the Consort's child, on how long they might have that connection.

This Collector seemed to assume that the young Red Sister acting on this would cause nothing but big trouble for the Sisterhood. It might...and yet Shyntre would be so grateful to her if she did.

*****

Qivni was on her feet before Shyntre even realized Elder Rausery had entered the room, but he got quickly to his feet as well, keeping his eyes below chest-level as they each greeted her.

"Report, Qivni."

Again Shyntre was made to turn around with a blindfold on and to wait while the ranking females communicated in sign. He wasn't nearly as anxious waiting with his back to them as he had been before.

"I'll be in my quarters if you need me," Elder Rausery said to Qivni aloud, then turned eyes on him; he knew it even though he couldn't see it.

"With me, wizard. And take the blind off."

"Yes, Elder."

He followed far enough behind to allow her red cloak to flow through the hallways; he glimpsed some Red Sisters who looked curious, but there was no feeling of threat as before. Mostly. He kept his face placid, his hands relaxed and obvious at his sides, and inched his chin up, straightening his back as he walked.

They stopped briefly at Rausery's door so she could release the protection and let them both in. It was pitch black in her quarters after the door slid closed again, and for the time it took her to remove her cloak to hang and disarm to a comfortable level, Shyntre focused far more on the strong, familiar scent of the place—leather, pressed fiberstalk, ink, metal, and Rausery's particular musky scent—and on the slightly moving air. Soon the shapes of her desk, her somewhat messy shelves of maps and scrolls, her bath, and her bed came into clear view with his darkvision.

He lost all detail the next moment when she summoned a heatless, magical light to sit atop her wide candle's wick, as if it would actually consume it. It mimicked firelight fairly well, and after he even more slowly adjusted back to his color vision, he already knew that Rausery had walked up to him, real close, her aura making it seem that she towered over him.

He blinked and looked up at her, at her face, and she was scrutinizing him with her mouth and jaw set firm. Dark crimson eyes somewhat like his seemed to scrape over what details she could see. 

The Elder reached for his left hand and he consciously kept his arm relaxed as she lifted it to up get a good look at the silver ring on his third finger. He made a small, unintended sound of protest when she moved as if to tug it off, and the Elder paused, still watching him. She released his hand and he put his arm back down.

Next Rausery took hold of his chin and studied his face, turning his head to see nearly every angle, then she searched his ears and his mid-length hair with her fingers, tugging out the tie that held it out of his eyes and setting it aside.

"Give me your robe, Shyntre," she said brusquely. "And your sandals."

Suppressing any feeling of awkward embarrassment, he began tugging loose his belt and stripping without trying to convince her it wasn't necessary. He knew his Elder was checking for scrying marks, and that was a good sign as it meant she intended to be honest with him if she found him clean. He was sure that he was.

She looked subtly pleased seeing the emerald still around his neck as he handed her the fine wizard's robe and sandals and watched her check his belongings thoroughly, her way, while standing naked on the stone floor. It did not take long before she was circling his body next, checking every crevice including between his legs and beneath his scrotum. He cleared his throat in apology as he got an unintentional, partial erection.

He submitted to the cavity searches as well, his mouth and his anus, but would definitely bring up the suggestion that Rausery please communicate to D'Shea that this particular search had already been done, and his mother wouldn't be repeating anything like this later on.

"Okay," the Elder said as she lifted his robe and tossed it the short distance to him to catch, passing his sandals next and giving him time to redress. "Anything you'd care to mention first, Shyntre?"

"I'm under no compulsions at this time, Elder."

"The fact that you can even say that is impressive." Rausery nodded her chin while looking at his left hand. "What about that?"

"A way to message the queen directly, Elder, and to track me, should it prove necessary. I've studied it, I don't believe it can do the same as a bloodstone."

"Huh. No compulsions and no passing voices? Not tightening down the leash right off the starting line, is She? Curious. She's waiting to see if you earn it, maybe. I'd figure you've been... cautious about meeting Her expectations?"

Shyntre didn't reply verbally but he let her see his expression; it was the only time he ever dared show the depth of his hatred of his situation. Rausery observed him a moment and gave him a nod; she understood, and she wasn't going to chastise him. That bit of acceptance helped lift the weight of it for a moment.

"And you can't take the ring off," she said.

"No, Elder."

"Gotcha." Rausery pulled out her simple, sturdy fiberstalk chair from her desk, turned it so she wouldn't be behind her desk, and sat facing him. She gestured toward the single spare chair up against her far wall. "Bring that forward and sit."

Shyntre obeyed, placing the chair facing her but a good two paces away; they would be able to see full body language and wouldn't be close enough to touch. He was grateful she wouldn't have him standing the whole time.

Rausery asked, "She using any other wizards like She is you?"

"I saw a few at the last worship ball but I know very little otherwise. I'm...isolated the rest of the time, Elder. I'm no allowed out of my quarters unless summoned."

One side of her mouth lifted. "You don't yearn for group activities anyway. Pretty much dislike and resent all others, don't you?"

He knew only from past experience that Rausery wasn't discounting or dismissing his complaint out of hand; she was trying to get him to think about why he said it at all. He could refuse the challenge and consider her merely cold and unfeeling of his plight...or he could offer more thought about why the isolation bothered him.

"I'm given no challenge except to breed idiot Nobles."

"Ah. There we go. What challenges do you miss, Shyntre?"

"I study very little magic nowadays."

"And Phaelous isn't there to nudge you now and then."

The younger male Drow swallowed and nodded, accepting that. He did miss what his sire had offered. Now and then.

"I also don't expect the Sisterhood will be able to call on me as often for tasks."

"Probably not. You don't care to see what secrets you can tug out of the Nobles sent to you?"

Shyntre felt his middle clutch hotly in disgust and his frown deepened again. "What do any of their secrets matter? I know they're all distractions encouraged by the Valsharess to keep control. For me to care, to get immersed in them, is to grant importance to their antics. And they're not important."

His Elder grinned and her shoulders shook as she chuckled silently. "I like that. Although even I have to keep some tabs on what games they're playing, boy, lest I fall behind."

His eyes went down briefly. "I meant no insult to you, Elder."

"I know. No knowledge is pointless, though. You know that."

He nodded. "Yes, Elder, but...it's also the queen's expectations. I'm to dominate them as other males can't, even break them, not coax them into whispering gossip in my ear."

"Thought I heard something like that," Rausery commented blandly. "You need some pointers on interrogation tactics? Sounds like that's where you're standing in the Palace. As an interrogator."

His brows showed his concern. "I don't like doing it, Elder. I...I get too angry...I might end up killing one of them."




Surfacing Ch. 09



"And some interrogation training might help temper that. You get angry because you have zero choice in this matter and want to punish them for it, right?"

He swallowed again and Rausery nodded without his having to answer aloud.

"So practice self-control on the Nobles, if it's all you have. I shouldn't have to tell you that, wizard, unless you want to accelerate down this path without having any idea what's coming for you."

He was silent for a few moments. "I...don't know how long this will go on, or what She wants. The time head...the prospect is...bearing me down."

"Sounds like perfect training on the Valsharess's part," Rausery said flatly and the young male winced. Then she leaned forward on her elbows, drawing his attention so she could hold his gaze. "Listen. I'm only going to say this once. You're looking too deep into the black, boy. You need to learn to pull back and find something closer to focus on. That talk about the Abyss staring back at you if you peer into it too long isn't just metaphor."

Shyntre felt something at once hot and very cold spread through him as he thought it over. "Yes, Elder. Any...training you are able to grant me, I would be grateful."

"We'll get to that. I understand you're also here to copy my notes from this last trip to the Surface."

"Yes, Elder."

"And you'll need escort to and from the Tower a few times to see to the archiving."

"Yes, Elder."

"Just like old times, eh?"

Shyntre felt a sudden, strong tug at the corner of his mouth when she smiled at him. "Yes, Elder."

"You should know I'm pleased with the degree of language skill you were able to pass on to my young Sisters, instructor."

He swallowed, feeling that rare, unusual, and uncomfortable warmth in his chest again, banishing the previous chill. It was ultimately welcome, each time, even if it did feel like he was stepping to close to some foolish ledge. "I'm glad you're pleased, Elder. May I ask how the training fared?"

"Fared well. All three acclimated appropriately. Sirana had that extra practice with you, she grew most confident speaking in Surface Common, and that helped Jael and Gaelan. You performed your task well for the time you'd been allowed."

He bowed his head in thanks.

"Qivni says you might also be here as leverage for whatever D'Shea wants with the Consort, or vice versa, the Consort is here for whatever leverage she wants with you. Either of those theories hold water, in your opinion?"

Shyntre held still, his eyes down as he reflected that he didn't want to talk about this, even with Rausery. "They both do, Elder, but rather than speculate now, you could wait until I've shared an eve meal with the two of them, as my mother asked and I agreed. I might know more then."

Rausery nodded, seeming pleased at this. "Yeah, Qivni mentioned that, too. Alright. Any other purposes to your being here, known or suspected?"

"The queen desired it. She was waiting for D'Shea to come ask for me, and wanted me to give a reason why it should be allowed."

"And your reason?"

"Archiving your notes. D'Shea's reason, too."

Rausery smirked. "Does the Valsharess know you have a connection with the only surviving Consort?"

Shyntre pursed his lips tightly; he'd heard gossip from a few Nobles about what was happening outside, but wasn't sure whether to believe that all of the Sanctuary breeding males would die, even those without demonic blood. But Rausery had just confirmed the worst of it. "No, She does not."

"At least you presume so."

"I am not easily read, Elder. You and my sire helped see to that."

She nodded. "So, not yet, perhaps. The Prime will hear about it, though, not a lot D'Shea or I can do about that except in downplaying it."

The wizard felt his heart start pounding, and he lifted his eyes to look at the Elder. She smirked.

"Easy, Shyntre. The Valsharess already granted him a stay of execution or he wouldn't still be here. A favor to the Priestesses, and to D'Shea's contact Lelinahdara especially, I believe. I might think it better to see how long we can go without mentioning it to the Prime, but I'm not optimistic. Still, I'd ask your mother what her plans are, because she had to have known that just the act of retrieving you from the Palace would cause a realization of connection, such as Qivni dug up in one conversation."

Shyntre felt his hands quivering again and he nodded. "I hear you, Elder. I will."

"Good. I've also told Qivni to stay quiet for now about that connection, and you can trust her to do so. If you can refrain from confessing it to anyone else, we might have more time to work with it."

A swallow. "I understand, Elder."

"Good. Let me show you some of my notes, and we can talk about this last trip to the Surface. I'll even tell you how Sirana performed."

*****

Jaunda wasn't far from her unit—they'd be able to hear a summons or a warning in a message pellet from her—but it was, somehow, too quiet as she crept over stone that appeared to have been stopped in mid-ripple. The different wavelengths of minerals and elements of this particular rock looked to her eyes like swirling streaks and curls of liquid seized and petrified. She supposed that it had once the lava flow had passed and the melted rock had cooled at some time in the recent past.

She was checking this swath of wilderness looking for the first signs of inhabitance; she did not want to miss some and find herself far too close to a mindflayer conclave to be able to retreat.

The past few months had not bourn much fruit in the way of accomplishing her mission, but the Lead wasn't roaming around at random. She could do little but follow and learn more of the existing patterns in the direction where the Illithid had escaped. 

She had a ring on her finger than would warn her of active psionic energy a good distance out—about as hard to create as the mindflayer's suppression collar but the Prime and Priestesses had seen it done, following the Valsharess's orders to support Jaunda's efforts. It could not fully protect her, though it did enhance the mental discipline and willpower of the wearer—and hers was formidable.

The conclave had to be farther out than some Drow had worried; it was possible still that the Illithid hadn't made it back to its own kind, though the Red Sister could not stop searching if she could not confirm that. Confirming it would be impossible unless she stumbled on an uneaten body or skeleton with a Red Sister's cloak at least partially intact....which, after a certain amount of time, would itself be impossible anywhere in the Underdark. Something always found its meal, no matter the condition.

Jaunda had come to understand only since the second trial, when her three subordinates had been sentenced along with her, and learned from the Prime herself that the Illithid battle a couple years ago had been in response to their fellow's capture. The Prime had originally told the Sisterhood the Illithids were present only to capture Drow slaves. While they most certainly would take prisoners if given the opportunity, the Illithids had also been answering the last call of distress from their mindmate. 

There had been a time lapse between those two events, the capture and the battle; a few weeks—for unknown reason—but Jaunda knew now that the securing of an Illithid prisoner had definitely come before the attack and the battle in Drow territory. Once the Red Sisters had arrived on the scene, the Drow army had decimated the thralls; the Sisters had collapsed the escape route and poisoned then burned the bodies of the three psiomancers controlling them. 

Knowing where the thralls had attacked and where the prisoner had actually been held...Jaunda had to commend the effectiveness of the Drow-magic in the suppression collar that Kerse had broken to cause that explosion. The thrall attack had been on the wrong side of the City, and it would have been impossible to reach the warded, Drider-trapped cave to rescue a prisoner without passing through the entire Drow civilization and everything the Valsharess would then throw at them.

The Lead soon came to a point that was the farthest out and down she'd ever been from the City. She was no stranger to multi-cycle trips out from civilization, but it was in the opposite direction she normally went with her unit, toward the upper Underdark and the Surface. This was a barren area with a history of low activity and little trouble; if another Red Sister had ever needed to see what was on the other side, Jaunda hadn't been able to find out about it. The Prime didn't even have many records on exploration in this area.

On the whole, the Valsharess kept exploration limited; certainly such things were a strain on resources. The Surface treks were overall rare, and part of an unknown larger plan that no one in the general population City really knew or dreamed about. Patrols around the City and the Drider pits, yes. Meeting limited trade caravans on neutral ground, yes. Revisiting areas of known Duergar activity or contested resources with any other race, yes. The very occasional shot straight up toward the Surface...yes. 

But this area? Dead, and black, and quiet. Yet it remained the only direction with any sign of the Illithid just after its escape. Jaunda just didn't like how far she was needing to go out each time, how much she had to prepare, and how little there was for her to sense. 

There was only the one psionic ring, so Jaunda always took lead as scout, and most of the time returned empty-handed back to where her unit was staked out at her last stopping point. They were her lifeline, but the farther out they went, the more dangerous it was for all of them with no guarantee of finding sign of what they sought.

When she felt something at last this time, it was immediate and she doubted nothing of her instincts at all. She listened to all her senses at once and knew enough to stop and ease backward quietly to where cleared rock would protect her back. No weapons drawn yet, but she was ready to pull what tool she needed.

*You Know You Are Uninvited. Go No Farther.*

Jaunda drew in a slow breath; her heart sped up briefly but long practice soon had that under control; few even in the Underdark would be able to hear it. Still, this one sensed her sentience, not purely her breath, her heart, or the flow of her blood.

Yet she knew it was not the psionic race that she sought. The ring on her finger was completely inert, despite the voiceless words that passed along the surface of her mind like a hot breath. The deepest, oldest part of her recognized a magical ward in one of its purest forms. She was not even sure if it was arcane or divine, either. None of her other indicators went off.

Her knees felt weak.

Jaunda left the area quickly, in silence, the control of her breathing of utmost importance. The tunnel remained still and quiet behind her, and nothing followed. She made it halfway back to her unit before she stopped, crouching somewhere defensible, and took a full breath, running a hand nervously through her short hair. She had to acknowledge the fact that she was shaking; that didn't happen to her often, but there was a good reason here.

No wonder the queen did not explore this area. There was something very old down here, something she did not want to fully awaken. 

Surely the Illithid had not made it past that ward...?

But she knew after all this time this was the only direction with physical and psionic sign; the Illithid might cover its tracks in other ways, but its feeding multiple times before entering this area had left certain impressions at the spot of each kill. Not only was skull-cracking and brain-eating messy but the energy surge lingered in a way that could be measured, once Jaunda learned how to listen to the band on her finger. Illithids were intelligent, they knew strategy in groups...but individual Illithids were not wilderness survivors, and the escaped prisoner had left a very clear line of kills leading to this particular darkness.

Could the Illithids have an agreement with the sleeper, to be allowed to pass somehow? Or had she missed another exit from this tunnel between here and there?

She'd have to go over it one more time before heading back to her unit.

*****

Auslan patiently plucked creases and wrinkles out of the semi-damp bed sheet hung to dry at the back of D'Shea's quarters, smoothing them out as he used a cantripped warming stone, boosted by his own body heat, to help the process. The stone had been a small gift from his Elder, not for any special reason except perhaps that she saw the focus and increased efficiency in this one task helped to keep him from obsessing over minor imperfections in her personal belongings that he could do nothing about, and she certainly wouldn't.

The former Consort had not expected that Shyntre would have been brought directly here upon his arrival—indeed, he hoped that would not be the case, because it would be a bad sign for D'Shea to be doing something so obvious. 

For the first time since telling Sirana that he would wait for her, that he would stay alive as long as he could, the waiting seemed to offer Auslan some tiny bit of contentment. Just knowing that the meeting with his brother was inevitable, and accepting—despite his fear—that this was something that Auslan wanted had brought a calm feeling to him now that he hadn't known since Jaunda had abducted him from his safe, comfortable room at House Itlaun.

Auslan admitted to himself a certain satisfaction guessing that Elder D'Shea would show up to tell him of Shyntre's presence in the cloister, not realizing that he already knew; she would tell him that eventually they would meet, and what would happen next. Or at least...what she ostensibly wanted out of it.

And then she did exactly that. 

"Nice work," she commented, looking over his shoulder where he kneeled in front of the bed sheet. "The stone helps."

He had acknowledged her arrival as always, speaking her title and name and setting down the stone so nothing was in his plainly visible hands. But unlike the Matrons and their Noble daughters, D'Shea had far less interest in requiring any kind of formal bow or other ritual whenever she walked into her own living quarters. A practical show of obedience was enough for her, whatever made sense in context, and she let him choose it based on what was comfortable in his previous training.

Even with his developing "habits" and his troubling dreams, Auslan was still self-aware enough to realize that the fact he *could* choose the obedience gesture, with or without her blessing, meant that he was not a mental invalid yet.

"Thank you, Elder. And yes, it does." He had turned slightly on his knees and was looking up at her. He waited.

"Have you eaten yet?"

"No, Elder."

He consumed mostly the Sisterhood's long-term travel stores nowadays, it being shelf-stable and easy for D'Shea to leave with him to feed himself. As he was unused to the rough, bland, and redundant diet, and adding to it his fitful sleep which would often steal his appetite, he was eating less anyway.

Oddly, in that moment, D'Shea seemed to notice. She really looked at him, head to feet, and narrowed her eyes in thought. "You've become thinner."

Auslan offered a tiny shrug. "I do not move around much, I do not need to eat often."

The Elder seemed to consider a few things but did not share them before she turned away to remove her cloak and gloves near her desk. She sighed and spoke a bit after that, shaking her head slightly. "I told you I'm not known for keeping pets, Auslan. What do you need? Do you want to leave my quarters now and then to exercise?"

The thought was terrifying, knowing what lay on the other side of that heavily warded door. He blinked his widened, copper eyes and shook his head. "Just wander the Red Sisters' cloister mostly naked?"

An unexpected smile came to D'Shea's face. "Point. The problem is that no one is allowed to enter my quarters when I'm not here—"

They both shared a look that clearly acknowledged Rausery and Qivni dragging him out a few weeks ago as a rare exception.

"—and I do not have the time or regular schedule to bring you fresher food and escort you around outside."

"I am afraid I have no solutions for you, Elder," he said, "I am still grateful to stay here, even if you would trust none other with my care. You will not hear me complaining."

D'Shea's mouth tightened. "I lost all three I would have considered, Auslan. Gaelan would have been perfect to tend you. She had been allowed in here during my absence."

Auslan vaguely remembered that Sister's face; she'd arrived with Sirana a few times for reports. Shyntre had mentioned that she was one of those who'd gone to recover Sirana and stop Kerse, and one of those punished by the Valsharess for doing so—one of those he had been in the cloister to teach. 

Gaelan, Jaunda, Sirana...all three that D'Shea had been grooming. Intentional on the Valsharess's part, to force an Elder to start over in her closest support, as the Priestesses were? Auslan had to think so, on some level—even if it was just a side benefit to a larger plan.

"Gaelan had earned your trust?" he asked, mostly because their conversations were the best care she could offer him, even if she would not likely acknowledge it.

"There was little she could do to betray me," she answered thoughtfully. "But yes, she also earned it. She would never climb truly high, she knew it, but she could be content as the scroll at my right with Jaunda and her physical prowess at my left."

They both moved almost automatically as she spoke; Auslan got off the floor and slowly settled himself cross-legged on her mattress—straightening and smoothing the sheets as he did so—while D'Shea took her desk seat, leaned back and crossed one leg over the other. This particular arrangement was not the first time.

"What place had you for Sirana?" he asked. "If neither the right nor the left..."

"The point." She smirked at his bewildered expression. "Out in front, the first contact in a variety of situations, both following orders and responding independently to the events, gaining information." She paused. "At least, until she grew more cautious with age. With the right experience and barring the usual pitfalls, she would be either a rival or a peer...or both." D'Shea shrugged. "By then, I may welcome the change."

Auslan felt himself smiling a bit; he kept his eyes on the Elder and she didn't make him look down. "Does Rausery have a point? Her left is Qivni, and her right...?"

"Me, actually." D'Shea shook her head with a chuckle. "All her magical tools and talents have come from me. And she doesn't want to lose me. She has a few others she uses in the role of point, short-term like I do, but she realized too late she should have tried harder to claim my chosen novice for herself two years ago. Although, you well know, the Valsharess ultimately helped her out by sending her to the Surface where Rausery would train her in her image. It will be hard to modify if Sirana returns."

"You think she might?" Auslan asked. "It has been a long time already. Did not she have just the one task?"

"So does Jaunda, and yet she's still working. No telling how long the travel alone may take. I doubt you can conceive well of the distance of which we speak, Auslan."

Now he looked down and conceded the point with a nod.

"Look up, Consort."

He did, and the Elder Sister smirked at him again, locking eyes to the point that it made his skin crawl.

"I've been thinking about your mannerisms."

"My...mannerisms, Elder?"

"Certainly the taunt with Qivni, but ever since then, small things here and there, while we talk like this, which remind me of my favored novice. You aren't even aware of it."




Surfacing Ch. 09



Auslan felt a cold rush pass through him, but he managed to keep his head up. "I did confess the...connection I feel to her since healing her."

"And it's not your name bond?"

"No. She does not know it, of that I am certain."

"How can you be?"

His brows drew down. "You do not have such a name, it is impossible to describe, Elder. You will have to accept that I keep our agreement to be truthful with you."

D'Shea expelled a soft breath. "Very well. What is it, then? If not your name, it must be her psionics."

Auslan blinked. "Her...what?"

Her gaze sharpened even more and he felt frozen to the spot at her intensity. "Are you, or have you ever been aware of the fact that her mind was permanently altered in a fight with a psionic dwarf, shortly before she first attacked you on that farm? In fact, it was in that altered state in which you first confronted her."

He felt his middle tighten in anxiety as his breathing quickened. He shook his head. "No. I was not aware. I have never been."

"Shyntre didn't tell you about his sapphire necklace at all?" D'Shea looked at Auslan's absolutely baffled face and nodded. "He didn't. I believe you. So in light of this possible connection, what have your dreams been telling you? You have nightmares, often. So did Sirana for a while, after the psionic attack."

Auslan shook his head, truly afraid and speechless. Would he have to confess his visions to this Elder, too....? He looked away, feeling something trembling inside his chest as he seemed to lose feeling in his hands for a moment.

Sirana...attacked by a psion, even before the Illithid? Her mind changed in some way, but he never knew her before that event so he had no comparison. And D'Shea thought this might be the reason for his..."mannerisms," from when he healed her? The connection he mentioned, the desire, but without the true name.... Auslan covered his face with his hands and took a few deep breaths, knowing D'Shea was watching every flinch and quiver. 

Could she be right?

*What will I do...?* He clutched at his forehead harder with his fingers, pressing until it hurt.

Then in a moment like a flaring bolt of white light, Auslan realized that D'Shea had given him his answer to a different problem altogether: a way to talk about his dreams, not to have to hide them from her or evade her questions, without saying the real reason for them, if he was careful. Psionics and some connection in reverie. Not divine visions at all.

The dreams could be merely a side-effect of Sirana's healing ritual; nothing more. And he might gain the Elder's help in exploring some of them, the specific ones pertaining to Sirana and Shyntre, without having his secret be discovered. D'Shea had even mentioned before possibly reaching Sirana, discovering what for sure whether she was alive, what she was doing, where she was...and D'Shea thought of this because of a psionic connection this whole time?

Again, she could even be right. But that would not curtail the possibility of sharing his visions under the same pretense.

"My dreams..." he began hesitantly, his voice still quavering. "I...they tell me she is still alive, standing in exotic lands, surrounded by danger."

D'Shea uncrossed her leg to sit up, although her smile was sardonic. "Just knowing she made it to the Surface explains that, Auslan. Be more specific."

"It is not that simple, Elder," he protested. "Have you ever known any of your dreams in reverie to be plain and straightforward?"

She shrugged. "Nonetheless, I think you can do better."

"You said there might be a way to reach her before, but that it would take a lot of effort," he returned. "What did you mean?"

"That is still under consideration," she said flatly, staring unblinking at him. "I like that you feel her to be alive. What else? Prove to me something you could not otherwise know except to have seen it in reverie."

"How would I even know if it meant anything to you, Elder?"

"You wouldn't. Give me something specific."

Auslan pursed his lips and rubbed his face again, trying to bring back some of the most recent barrage of imagery. "A ring."

"Lots of those around," D'Shea commented dryly.

He ignored that. "Shaped like a bird made of fire, broad flames for wings outstretched."

Her brows rose slowly. "Do you even know what a bird is, Auslan?"

"Does it matter? It flies like a bat. It is from the Surface."

"Very well, continue."

He took a breath, staring down at the clean, white sheets, smoothing another crease. "Someone...someone powerful was forcing that ring onto Sirana's finger...she did not want it because she would not be able to take it off. She would belong to him, and he could track her wherever she went."

D'Shea frowned now. "Who was that 'someone'? You said 'he.' You are sure it's a male figure?"

Auslan nodded an affirmative. "But not Drow."

"What did he look like?"

A shake of the head. "I only saw a muscular form, taller than her. Chest and arms. No face."

"Then describe the chest and arms."

The former Consort shook his head with a helpless shrug. "Off-white shirt. Leather bracers."

D'Shea's face set like flint. "Try harder, Consort."

He swallowed his frustration, blinking back tears as he tried to remember. "Uh...brown skin on his hands. Rough, not smooth, some small silver hairs on the back above the knuckles."

She nodded. "Better."

The Elder considered this for a few moments, and Auslan would have said that the details indeed did not mean anything specific to her; she was just sorting them away for later.

"Anything else? Any words?"

"I cannot...remember, Elder," he mumbled, looking down. "Yes, there were words, but I only recall now the feeling of a low voice like Kerse but not so...hissing. Not bestial or demonic, but matching the big chest, like sound has a deeper echo in a larger cave."

"Was it a threat?"

"No...more a statement of power. There is a small difference."

D'Shea smiled a bit. "Indeed, there is. I'm glad that you can tell. What next, Auslan? Everything until the dream ends, please."

He swallowed. "She escaped, ran, but the place was dark, I could not see anything around her. It...shifted, as dreams do, and I remember a kiss, and...ah!" He rubbed a place at his temple where he felt a stabbing pain briefly. He took a breath. "Something about her needing to return to get the ring to come off. She still wants to return. I remember feeling the desire, very strongly. But that was the end of the dream."

"Hm." D'Shea rubbed her chin. "Do you know if she still carries her child?"

That thought caused an odd feeling, like a bolt of energy straight through his lower abdomen... He nodded confidently. "She does."

"This is all assuming your dreams are of a psionic link to her, in its nature."

Again, Auslan nodded firmly. "True, Elder. And even then, it could be entirely shadows taking a shape familiar to her or to me, but not what actually occurred for her."

D'Shea nodded thoughtfully. "On that thought, do you think the faceless male is the necromancer she has been sent to kill?"

Auslan hesitated. "The ring makes little sense, as a dream symbol. But I do not know either way."

D'Shea allowed him to read the fact that she had other thoughts on that. He dared to ask her what they were, and she actually granted them. Or some of them.

"Rausery's notes on the necromancer would indicate that he is at the end of a natural human life span, frail with age, with very pale skin, and he was not very tall even when younger. Certainly not as you describe: towering, muscular, brown-skinned. I don't think it's him. So Sirana perhaps has met others besides her target, and there is danger. You are getting this message, perhaps anxiety from her through this odd bond, even as there is little we can do for her."

Auslan smoothed out the bit of sheet he had unconsciously crumpled in his hand before looking up again. "Sounds...reasonable, Elder."

She made a face at him. "Oh, I'm quite open to changing my theories on this, Auslan, I know very little but probably more than you just from my personal experience with her limited psionic imprint. On this one subject, I want you to speak up if something I say isn't what you sensed from a dream—do not fear challenging me or proving a theory wrong, or we will not figure out how best to use this connection of yours."

The younger male stared at her, almost disbelieving, but soon nodded. "As you wish, Elder."

"Then give me something else. Anything."

Auslan thought about it, stunned that he would find himself so abruptly in a position to actually say this to another Drow, for the first time in over a century. It was so tempting. Shyntre wouldn't be happy, but Auslan had the perfect ruse for this, and a powerful sorceress possibly able to give him more than helpless dreams and feelings to relive over and over again in absolute solitude... 

"There is a place that keeps being shown to me, the exotic place where Sirana is always standing. Powerful Sunlight, red sand, no water, blue Sky like her eyes. Poisonous creatures that sting with fang and tail...and that firebird from the ring in my last dream."

D'Shea frowned deeply. "That is not what Rausery's notes say is above us. Not even close. Sirana can't actually be there, she can't have traveled that far on foot from the Surface portal."

"She is not there, I am certain," he assured her. "It is...there is a symbolism I am missing. But it is what I see much of the time, Elder. Not a real place, only a real place in reverie."

D'Shea nodded slowly as if she might understand, then she looked over to the candlemark on her desk and cursed softly. "I am late. And you are likely hungry. Save your appetite a little longer, I'll bring back something more interesting than travel rations."

He tilted his head innocently. "Why? What is the occasion, Elder?"

"We will share a meal with my son."

Auslan made to look shocked, and felt that same clash of desire and fear as when she'd first offered such a meeting, but thought it safer to say nothing at all.

D'Shea just smiled.

*****

Shyntre rubbed his eyes that had become tired in the candlelight, but he still pictured the vivid colors and mountainous scenery beneath the open Stars... so clear that he could think he stood there again for a moment or two. He flexed a stiff hand holding a fiberstalk quill, but he truly wanted to taste the snowmelt water again in daylight as well, directly from the clear, rushing stream. 

He'd never quite realized before that pure water could be clear enough to see every stone it covered, and every bit of green that clung to those stones just beneath the rippling surface. And when those green, growing plants began to change to red and yellow and orange, and the air grew sharp and brisk in a way that did not exist belowground...

His stomach growled, and Rausery chuckled, snapping her gloved fingers in front of his eyes to make him blink.

"Come back, wizard," she drawled.

He pursed his lips and shrugged, finishing up the last copy on Rausery's first night out with the novices, by the mountain pool that one had found before the others. "So Jael was irritated with Sirana enough to cross blades? Over what?"

"You'd have to know Jael better. She was playing and Sirana knew it. It wasn't like with Thena and you. Besides, you're male and not a warrior, Shyntre. You made them look bad."

"They were being stupid," he grumbled.

"I agree," Rausery said casually. "But you were the one who had the brilliant notion to say so to Thena's face."

Shyntre set down the quill before he might be tempted to grip it and snap it in his hand. "I...."

The Elder sat relaxed in her chair, sipping a cup of water, watching him. She didn't seem in any particular hurry to be anywhere or get anything done.

"I never thanked you for... stopping her," he said, feeling his throat tighten around the words.

Rausery nodded once. "Couldn't have you too injured so as not to make it back to the City, Shyntre. There was that understanding even back then."

"The Valsharess?" he asked hesitantly.

Rausery nodded. "In hindsight, yes. Word came from the Prime, though."

"Why send me at all?"

"Wasn't their idea, it was mine. You had the guts and curiosity, and it was a good way to convince Wilsira to let you go once and for all. It suited a number of others of interest. So I made it happen."

"No one wanted anything more specific than that?"

The corners of his Elder's dark red eyes crinkled just a little bit as she smiled. "I did."

Shyntre stared at her for as long as he dared, until it felt too heavy to do so, and he looked back at his neat, careful script. "You won't say more?"

"Too early, wizard. Relax, you have a lot of time yet. Things change."

"But if I knew better what you wanted—"

"So would others. Relax. You aren't forgotten in the Palace, just like Sirana isn't forgotten on the Surface." 

Her intense, dark red eyes glanced down to the words he was writing. There was an odd pressure behind his eyes that coincided with an uptick in his heartbeat; he felt his cheeks flush a bit and he blinked rapidly a few times as more moisture built up. He nodded.

"Enough for now," she said, and Shyntre began to carefully clean up the desk. "D'Shea should be coming for you soon."

He nodded, but said, "Qivni told me that...Sirana and Jael both didn't like Thena much, either."

His Elder paused, seemed to recall something specific, then laughed out loud. "Oh, yes...that. You know I'm still kicking the stone about the loss there? Two Red Sisters each under a different Elder but defending each other in the cloister? Doesn't happen often, Shyntre. You may have found Jael abrasive, but she had the potential to be downright frightening as a fighter and with a fierce loyalty to match Qivni to the lucky Drow that snared it."

She shook her head. "Don't see how she could possibly finish her task and come back, though. Something about her that the queen didn't like, and that was that. The Valsharess actually gave Sirana a fair shot by comparison."

The wizard nodded. "The...notes about Manalar."

"And a potential war brewing. Yeah. Like trying to scale a glossy column in dancing slippers with rabid scavengers waiting underneath."

He thought that over some, feeling some of his dislike of the young Drow fading into unimportance. What was the point when a novice had to face something like that?

Then he remembered why he had brought up Jael and Thena in the first place. "Qivni also told me...it was Thena who led the attack on the Consort in solitary."

"Ah," Rausery shifted in her seat, leaning more on one elbow with her head resting on that hand. "Vengeance? The most she knows about you and the Consort, Shyntre, is that you each kept to a cell for three cycles when you weren't teaching the novices. If it had to do with anything, it was Sirana and Jael humiliating her during Jael's initiation, linked by the fact that Auslan healed Sirana and was brought here by D'Shea, who favors her."

"But I recommended to Jaunda that he could do the healing," he said. "I brought him into it."

Rausery shook her head. "Stop it. Maybe so, but again, Thena didn't know that. It could have been because there was opportunity. He's beautiful and he was unguarded."

"Why was that?" he asked with some urgency. "Why not guard him?"

Rausery shrugged. "Ask your mother. Things were hectic and we had more work cut out for us even without my leaving with three of our Sisters in the middle of it all. An oversight, perhaps, or lack of spare hands."

Oversight. No one available. If Sirana could have stayed, that wouldn't have happened...

Shyntre gripped the arms of his chair and unwillingly recalled that gripping, horrifying feeling that had overcome him just that one time at the Palace. He had thought it had been a waking flashback of his own memory...and yet, the timing as he understood it now would have been about right. And it had felt...different, at the time. He was afraid that he had actually felt part of Auslan's attack.

"How has it been since?" he asked quietly.

Rausery let out a breath as she considered. "I only saw him one time after I got back, and I intentionally scared him. He seemed about as I'd expect out of a Consort—quiet and obedient when spoken to—but he hung in strong, too. I know he was sore and cramped being bound for part of the time, but he didn't make a peep or a whine. He isn't broken or babbling, Shyntre, he just got a taste of what it's like outside of the perfumed and pillowed Noble gardens. I also think he's fully aware of it and not expecting it to get better, or to go back how it was. D'Shea's been jealously guarding him herself ever since."

A mistake in judgment, perhaps, that his mother was trying to amend? Would she even admit to such a thing? Again, he wanted to talk to Auslan, but in private. He didn't even know if that would be possible here.

Shyntre drew breath to say something else when he recognized Rausery pondering something related. He waited.

"You know," she said. "There was one thing he did that seemed really out of line for what he is. Qivni was intimidating him, shouting in his face, and he responded by taunting her like a slut and kissing her without permission."

The wizard did a double-take as his mouth fell open a bit. "What? But he...knows better...he would never—"

Rausery looked amused as his reaction, and it encouraged her to give him more. "I should note that it reminded me very strongly of Sirana and Qivni facing off. I've seen it before, like he was mimicking her. Would he do that?"

Shyntre shook his head. "No. Or...I don't see why he would. That's not his way."

"Interesting. He has a 'way'?"

The wizard lifted his chin stubbornly. "He does have a real personality, Elder, believe it or not."

"With you as a bad influence in the Sanctuary, I wouldn't be surprised." Rausery grinned at him, making his face warm again. "So...thoughts? I'm open."

Shyntre shrugged. "I might ask him."

"Do that. I'd like to know what the fuck he was thinking. He's too afraid of me not to run anything he might tell me through six filters. Unlike you."

"Shall I take that as a compliment, Elder?"

"Not every time. Your tongue could stop out-pacing your common sense once in a while. But I do enjoy watching and wondering which parts of you are D'Shea and which are Phaelous when they were your age."

Shyntre made a face. "I only look like my sire, I don't think I'm anything like him. He studies and spies on others and he punishes the students when they step out of bounds. That's about it."

Rausery chuckled. "Oh, I disagree. He's gotten quieter over the years, but don't underestimate him. The Valsharess broke him of quite a powerful temper, I heard, but there was something else that D'Shea really liked about him. They started out hating each other, too. Rather like you and Sirana."

Shyntre had been ready to reply but closed his mouth at that last, deft comment, and gave it more thought. He couldn't imagine Phaelous with a temper, but then, the old Drow had been a consort to the queen. And Shyntre was well aware of what She was doing to him now...

"I see," he said quietly instead.

His Elder was still smirking at him. "So. The Valsharess clearly wants you to breed. Say Sirana comes back. Think you would do the Sisterhood another task?"

Shyntre buried the thought that Sirana would have to deal with the first pregnancy one way or another before he could... but then he nodded.

"Yes?" Rausery tilted her head. "So readily?"

He had trouble fighting a smile. "Yes. Any time, Elder. Just make it happen."

Rausery's eyes narrowed and she smiled without showing teeth. "Hm." She glanced at her candlemark and then at the door, shifting her weight before looking back at him. "I'm hungry myself and tired of waiting on your mother. Shall we?"




Surfacing Ch. 09



Shyntre stood up with her, feeling the anxiety come quickly as he made himself keep pace behind her and they left her quarters.

*****

In going back more slowly and carefully over this particular tunnel, Jaunda discovered that she had missed something. A mark, very close to where the ward threatened to press on her most primal fears again. Hardly more than a gouge in the rock, it was still deliberate and permanent until the next quake. It was a simple but perfect curve, like a scythe or a long claw.

She did not sense strong magic or psionics associated with it, but it made her look around, up, down, shutting out the nearby warning of the ward and focusing on possible exits from this tunnel.

After a time spent shifting to see everything from at least two or three different angles, she finally spotted it. Naturally camouflaged, it would require a short climb but it was big enough for either Illithid or Drow to crawl through.

*No time like the now,* she thought to herself and began scaling, an easy task for her but not beyond even a weakened mindflayer.

Her ring remained quiet as she edged toward the small portal, and Jaunda gave herself time to check for other concerns—wards, traps, entrenched creatures, basic slickness and unpleasant fungal spores. There was only a little bit of the last two.

And there were boot scrapes. Fresh marks, the one passing had ripped off part of the slime mold to leave the rock beneath bare.

Hadn't the Illithid been barefoot, with only Sirana's red cloak to cover it?

She could feel the familiar surge of energy, enhancing her senses and in classic response of a Red Sister. This was the first truly intriguing thing on her quest so far, and it sat before her. Her nose and her ears told her that the entrance was small, but it would open up farther back. It was a passageway to a new area of the Underdark.

Even so, she held herself still. 

This might not be related to her task yet she wouldn't know if she didn't look. Perhaps she should not go in alone without back-up; she should return to her unit and bring them forward to watch the area more closely, now that she'd cleared it...

But it was too fresh. The one who'd made it could still be here. 

The simple fact was that she hadn't cleared it, and she was best able to judge whether to risk more Red Sisters on a venture like this.

Jaunda drew her smallest dagger, its edge kept pressed to one bracer as she crawled into the close space, her eyes and her ears both seeming as if to grow twice their normal size as she made as if to be aware of every tiny shift of air while moving through. She needed to crawl on knees and elbows, breathing shallow and keeping her equipment from getting damaged or caught.

Soon enough, however, she reached the opening, slowly expanding to another tunnel where she could stand up.

Jaunda settled down into a position she could hold instead, and she waited for quite a long time, listening, breathing, sensing. Entering and exiting crawlspaces was always the most dangerous part of pursuing anything down a hole...

Given enough time, her keen attention to temperature and scent told her this was not cold or barren stone—creatures lived on this level, and there was water somewhere. Was there anything larger than a rodent present right now? That was harder to discern, especially when there lacked the wards and traps of larger, sentient beings, but Jaunda lived by her instincts and her intuition. There were no sentient watchers on this particular hole right now, though that could change given enough time.

The Lead cautiously looked out, still able to defend her head if necessary, and scanned all the varying shades of energy that her eyes could see. Aside from the shape of the rock, there were living mosses and lichens, insects and spiders, a rodent or two...even those small things were quite the change from the last tunnel just behind her, when she'd run into that ward and nothing else. 

*So nearby, with this portal connecting the short distance between the two. Odd.*

The path to her left had a cave-in blocking most of the way, with water leaking down from somewhere above, though she wondered whether there could be yet another hidden path that way.

To her right was the open way, wide enough for two to walk abreast; she saw a bend to the left even before her dark vision gave out. This was a rather small dead-end, and an excellent place to herd and trap someone you might be pursuing...

...or a place to vanish if one was being pursued.

Jaunda pulled herself out of the hole, confident enough to stand and explore the area some, searching for more boot scuffs on the rocks.

When she saw none, she became suspicious.

If the other had been moving too fast to slip that badly once, then it was too fast to cover all other tracks except that one. If it had been a pursuit, there were no other tracks but that one.

*Planted?*

Who, though? Who would want her—or any sentient—to see that carved sign and then find that raw scuff mark?

Unless it really was a set up.

The silhouette had slipped out very near where the water covered any noise—that dead end she'd thought to check closer—and as her periphery picked it up, Jaunda flung the dagger already drawn, anticipating the dodge and flinging a web pellet with about the right lead against the far wall.

The figure stopped dead and flipped backward, a paff of sound signaling the pellet burst as magical, sticky web spread out quickly enough to snare her target's ankle. Jaunda was already moving forward and drawing, knowing anything that moved fast enough to nearly evade that throw had to be neutralized quickly.

Her opponent wore something, as Jaunda did, to blur the body's outline and make precise strikes more difficult, except it wasn't a cloak but something more form-fitting. Still, she could tell when it drew a short blade and made a smooth, practiced slashing motion; the figure was free of the web with just enough time to roll out of the way of a blade swing.

It just wasn't a blade strike Jaunda had chosen. Instead she flicked a wide arch of coughing powder over the entire dead-end—probably more than necessary but she wanted to be sure—and shifted back quickly to get out of the affected area even as she felt her own lungs itch. She wanted to break that silence and that speed, to see what it was she faced as she chose her next weapon.

The Red Sister had enough time to register that the suffering figure was roughly the correct size and shape for a Drow, though covered head to foot and the cough was voiceless and gave nothing else away.

Then she heard a distinct draw of a blade behind her and specifically blocking off that portal through which she'd come in the first place.

*Fuck.*

"This hasn't turned lethal yet, Drow," she murmured to the figure behind her. "Or your companion wouldn't be sucking air to keep making such noise."

The responding chuckle was definitely female, though the voice likely came through a mask like the other one. "Take three steps to your right and let him go, and non-lethal it shall remain."

Let...him go?

Jaunda's eyes shifted to the crouching, recovering Drow and only when he started to stand up did she see that the shape indeed matched a male Drow. A very acrobatic one. He was also wearing something soft which covered his face; it probably helped some against the powder as well. If she hadn't used "too much," then he might have shrugged it off even faster. 

"Don't see many males doing backflips for no audience this far out," Jaunda commented dryly. "Who are you?"

"Step to your right," the female repeated. "We can talk, as you said, this hasn't turned lethal. Or...you can keep your back to me and keep threatening him, and we will see how that turns out."

Jaunda's frown deepened but she took those three steps, her other senses open for treachery as she kept her eyes on exactly where she stepped. She also took the opportunity to turn to face her challenger as the male coughed one last time and moved closer to his defender. 

Both wore form-fitting, simple outfits that she bet granted much more flexibility than her leather armor and cloak. No scabbards hung off their waist but various weapons or tools were strapped to their limbs or their torso to minimize bulk. In candlelight, Jaunda bet the clothing would have been black.

Two against one, and the Lead counted that male dodger as a formidable flanker. Some of her own Red Sisters would have been hard-pressed to respond that fast and tumble away from a web pellet, and he had as many things strapped to him as the female. Jaunda still had options, but engaging them simultaneously in a sword or dagger fight wasn't one of them. No doubt they had surprises, just as she did.

"So talk," she said. "You sound like you are from the City, so you should know what I am."

The female nodded, the outline of her eyes and ears becoming more clear, though her white hair was covered along with her lower face and neck. "We do, Red Sister. And you seek something we can help you find."

Jaunda narrowed her eyes. "Oh? Tell me what I seek."

"The conclave," she answered simply.

There was a beat of silence, then Jaunda commented, "Sounds like a dangerous thing to seek out. Foolish, even."

"Tasks for the Valsharess often are, one or the other. More often both."

It was the male's turn to chuckle lowly, though he did not speak. Good to know that he wasn't mute.

"You're here to test me," the Lead stated flatly.

"Test within a test?" the female asked, shrugging one shoulder slightly. "It's something we do, though not at your queen's command."

"Easy to say. You have nothing to convince me otherwise."

The female's eyes flicked to her somewhat shorter male companion, and he nodded slightly. He showed Rausery both his gloved hands first, showing them empty, and slowly reached for something; the Lead wondered if she was being doubly foolish in deciding to wait and see what he attempted to draw out.

It was a shred of heavy fabric and a damaged but rune-marked bracer.

Jaunda frowned.

"May I draw out a light as well?" the male asked quietly; he had a pleasant voice. "Natural luminescence only, not fire or magic."

After a consideration, and a theory coming to her, she nodded. The masked male withdrew a soft-glowing stone from a tightly-closed pouch and held it just close enough to the items to confirm what Jaunda had begun to suspect.

The fabric was red, and the same type as what made up her own cloak. The bracer was one given to novices when they first started learning how to bypass wards.

Pieces of Sirana's gear.

"You pilfered before the recovery team?" she asked suspiciously. "You just *happened* to be nearby to find that bracer."

Neither commented on that, though the male held up the piece of cloak particularly. Jaunda's eyes considered it again and almost slapped her forehead as it struck her.

That piece of cloak wouldn't have been in the pile of damaged equipment; the Illthid had taken it, had been wearing it.

Had these two been watching the Illithid, too? They must have to have followed closely enough to retrieve a piece of Sirana's cloak somehow. But they hadn't stopped its escape.

"Tests within tests," the female murmured. "But not your queen's command."

"Whose?"

"We cannot trust you with that, yet. But we can help you on your 'dangerous and foolish' task. Someone besides us wants you to succeed, and the City needs what you can learn. The conclave is waiting for something, biding its time, but the whole knows now what that one Illithid knew."

Great. Potentially everything Kerse knew, or even Sirana.

"And you know this how?"

"We would need to show you."

"You keep saying 'we.'" Jaunda looked at the quieter male. "What is he, and what are you?"

The other female, not as tall or as physically strong as herself, stared at her eyes. "He is one of us. So am I."

Though Jaunda's psionic-sensing ring was not shrilling at her, the Lead might doubt that it was working properly... She had the thought that these were somehow Illithids masked as Drow, speaking in the collective as they often did, yet tricking her vision...maybe the male figure had never been moving as fast as he had, he was just an illusion.

Perhaps the male could actually read that on her face—or read her mind?—because he slowly moved to lift his mask.

"No," the female hissed at him.

"You are being too oblique," he said. "Too much mystique, leaving too much to her imagination."

Jaunda didn't know the face, though he looked more like a commoner than Noble blood—plainer but not in a distasteful way. His hair was cut close to the nape, as short as Jaunda's—though likely intentional, while hers had been a casualty in a magical blast—and his ears were wider, a bit more flared in the middle before coming to the tip. He looked healthy and intelligent, his body language bold and confident, and in sizing him up as she would any opponent, Jaunda had to think he'd be impressive even for a female soldier, despite his smaller frame.

The female next to him made a frustrated sound and made no move to remove her mask. "Fine. How would you convince a Red Sister?"

He passed the shred of cloak and the bracer to his companion and lifted empty hands, stepping forward with enough time and deliberate motion for Jaunda to be able to read his intent and stop him if she wished. She let him come closer, and he stood very, very close to her indeed—face-to-face if he'd been as tall as her—holding out his hands far enough for her to always know where they were.

"Take your time," he said with a small smile.

The other female crossed her arms and waited, and the Lead took that time to consider what she thought next of this development. He had a real Drow scent, healthy and male, the body heat matched both his size and the physical effort he'd shown earlier, and more than anything he reminded her somehow of her Sisters.

Jaunda reached up to take hold of his jaw, testing his substance—his flesh felt real. He didn't resist although the Lead easily sensed the female tense up, quite ready to defend him. He seemed to trust that she would.

Interesting.

The Red Sister cupped his crotch firmly with her other hand, getting a very good feel of him and mostly convinced that an Illthid offering a projected illusion wouldn't be able to get that right. But even if it somehow did, the minute detail of physical response in the male—the surprised facial tick, the change in scent and heart rate, the unconscious swell of the member in her palm and its increase in heat—fully convinced her that he was real and exactly as he appeared to be.

"Don't you dare, Red Sister," the female threatened with a very familiar kind of challenge. "He's not for you."

The masked female's scent souring in anger, though the male still kept his hands visible despite the groping. That together convinced Jaunda that these two really were individuals, not part of a collective. Unless it was a collective like the Sisterhood.

Jaunda smirked, released the male entirely and he stepped back, catching his breath and readjusting his crotch. He was partly erect through the relatively thin fabric but not outwardly embarrassed by it.

"Alright," the Red Sister said. "What do you want to show me?"

*****

Compulsion or not, Thena could still think about whatever she liked; though she had no doubt that if D'Shea had her way, she would control their very thoughts as well. As a case in point, the Corpora was disgusted that Panagan was so easily swayed by promises of shiny stones and new tricks.

But, truly, what did she expect? Panagan may have been involved in the three-cycle orgy in fucking Sirana, and in hunting Jael before her own initiation, but the subordinate also got her ass handed to her by Sirana in a pitched fight overseen by Elder Rausery herself. Sirana had broken Moria's knee in the first strike.

With a quiet, gruff sound, Thena set down the one blade she'd been sharpening after mending the leather of the hilt, and picked up another.

Just what did Sirana do to earn an evaluation fight like that so early on? Thena knew personally that Sirana could give good head, but not *that* good. 

Though Panagan had beaten Sirana in capturing the newest recruit out of the wilderness, in hindsight it hadn't seemed to make much difference in Panagan's attitude toward D'Shea's favorite pet. She was still wary of the novice, careful what she said about that hunt, as if she was hiding something still. She also didn't seem that surprised to hear about what Sirana and Jael had done to gang up on her own Corpora. Not like Moria standing next to her.

Now Panagan was happy to be given some attention by D'Shea while Elder Rausery disowned them. Really, fuck them; Thena was glad the two youngest were both gone, even if things couldn't go back to normal quite yet.

Seeing Shyntre walk in had certainly brought back a lot of memories. Thena almost wished that one had been born female; having him within the actual Sisterhood rather than a novelty by association would have been glorious. Too much temper to rise to be one of the Leads, he certainly would have stayed somewhere around Thena's own rank, and they could have kept playing for a very long time.

The Corpora was beyond sure that he would never give up the way Panagan and Moria had, or learn to be as pliable as Suna, her little spy. Shyntre would be like Jael, but smarter, and equally ready to get angry. He was physically out-matched yet he kept trying... Thena sucked in a quiet breath as her middle heated up. It was such a turn-on.

As a group and with enough time, Thena and the others had almost pushed Sirana to that point—laughing, taunting, "bending" Sirana—but Thena figured Gaelan had been interfering, probably on D'Shea's order. The Elder didn't want her new student to get in the habit of going berserk, more's the pity.

Then, for some reason, the newly-molted pet had been sent out on more solo missions than she had any right to be as a novice. What in Lolth's name was what about? Among them, Thena had eventually figured, had to have been visiting that informant-Consort, the one D'Shea now kept like a *real* pet in her room. It had to be; otherwise where was the connection? The connection had to be Sirana, or D'Shea wouldn't be protecting him and no doubt keeping his many pleasures for herself.

The price had been high, but Thena was still glad that she had been able to hear the little darling squeal as she opened up that virgin netherhole between those perfect ass cheeks. He'd been so tight around her. It was likely the Consort would have become boring soon enough; a whimpering, limp fish with a loose, sloppy hole. She didn't see him fighting for very long, just like a lot of the males she had been sent to intimidate.

Honing a third edge to perfection, Thena sheathed the dagger and added it to their armory, looking around and satisfied that it was in order. She sighed; enough putting off her task given by D'Shea. She may hate it, but defying her so blatantly would not get her very far. It may even get her demoted.

Still, when she left the store room and began walking down the hall, she recognized Elder Rausery's purposeful stride sounding off the walls, as it did when she wasn't trying to sneak up on anyone. Another Drow—likely not a Red Sister—was with her.

There were only two non-Sisters in the cloister right now, and both were males Thena had fucked. She grinned to herself and moved to catch up.

"Elder Rausery!" she called, and to her glee, she saw that Shyntre had been passed from D'Shea to her preferred Elder some time recently. She was also delighted that he clearly remembered her and had been unable to hide it.

Things hadn't changed that much.

"Yes, Corpora," the Elder acknowledged in her level voice, "what does Elder D'Shea have you doing?"




Surfacing Ch. 10



Author's Notes: This story is erotic fantasy written by Etaski. I reserve the right to be listed as the author of this story, wherever it is posted. If found posted anywhere except Literotica.com with this note attached, this story is posted without my permission. (c) Etaski 2013

Yet another "Longest Chapter Yet!" A lot happens, a lot changes in this chapter; another where the tectonic plates are shifting. I had a great deal of fun writing this one; I'm happy to offer it as a winter holiday gift to you all. I hope you enjoy! 

*****

Kurn had kept far too fast of a pace for too long for me to be able to keep up my first time guiding a Surface mount. Before long I simply slowed down to a walk as my grey gelding blew air heavily out of his flared nostrils, righting myself back on the saddle again as I'd been sliding to one side despite my resistance.

Full gallops weren't as easy to maintain as the Ma'ab might make it seem.

"I'll scout ahead," Mathias said in passing, and I nodded acknowledgment though knew he would do it whether I agreed or not.

In this case, I agreed. Having Mathias between Kurn and me was preferable, as was a slower pace as my backside still healed. I'd taken that wellness pellet more or less in a panic after becoming aware in Cris's bed, thinking only to protect my baby, but I would have the fortunate benefit of the pellet soothing my raw netherhole by the afternoon. It would not chafe me for as long as it had Kurn when we'd crossed the midway, and I would not have to stand up in my stirrups. 

Gavin pulled up alongside me as our mounts picked their way along the narrow road through the forest. Dew still covered the grasses and the air was cool for now but would warm up soon. We both had our hoods up to block the strengthening light as well as we could. We'd already climbed and descended plenty of hills and this was not the easiest route as the road contained nearly as many holes and washes as the one to Sarilis's Tower. No one had been doing much to maintain it in recent years, I could see the effects of the elements, and perhaps that spoke well of the location of our target.

"You will keep your sense open for auras?" I asked Gavin, and he nodded.

"This is not the best time to close it off," he remarked dryly.

"For threat, certainly," I said. "But also one that might not be a threat. At least to us, if we can find her first."

"One of yours whom you seek. How much magic does she use?"

"I'm glad you have the memory still. More than me, but less than you."

Gavin nodded in thought. The eight dead men were several horse-lengths behind us riding in a cluster, sparing me their unnatural proximity. They did not speak or even draw air, and they barely moved, never adjusting for a cramp or reaching for a tool or a drink of water, though their mounts still made quite a lot of noise. I noticed one of the Witch Hunter corpses was missing a hand somewhat above the wrist.

My mind slipped easily from recalling the cellar, where those men had been lying still just yesterday, to the ritual in the outbuilding not hours ago.

"I still wonder that Mathias has not slept," I said aloud.

"Taking a substance or a draught, I wager. He will fall hard later today. He may require one of us to watch him. Fortunately for him, we will not make the cult today."

I nodded. "Or he may sleep apart, as I did. Do you know what substance he might have taken?"

Gavin shrugged. "No. But Brom gave you a new potion, didn't he? He could do the same for a former employee."

"Or a present one."

"Indeed."

I pondered more, even as I partook of a few handfuls of my own travel rations when my stomach growled; I would need to check out Brom's contributions a bit closer later on when we stopped for a rest. There was plenty from the inn on which I hadn't had the chance to think much yet, although Soul Drinker, now at a place at my belt, fortunately was not demanding that thought now. It seemed simply content to have left the inn.

Most present in my mind, which that had not been discussed aloud with anyone, was the sunburst brand on Gavin's back and what he'd done to Jacob.

"Gavin."

"Mm?"

"Why did you eat the heart?"

"The ritual requires it."

I arched a skeptic brow. "I have heard that before. I am not sure I believe it. More effective for show, is it not? To further torture the sacrifice, or to thrill those watching it?"

Gavin turned slowly to look at me, and it crossed my mind looking at that death mask that if there was even less of a performer for others than Gavin, I had not met one yet. Even Shyntre had more of an urge to show off his spells, and they were both bitter, highly magical males forced into submissive roles.

"Consuming the heart attuned the shard to my aura, Sirana," he explained. "This way I can hide its magical presence as I can hide my own, if necessary. Otherwise carrying it would draw the eye of every competent mage in the land."

"That powerful," I commented.

He turned to look forward again. "Only because of the particular potency within the soul."

"What did you make? What is its use?"

Gavin was quiet for several moments. "She has not told me, yet. First I was to prove I could do it."

"Your mistress presented the challenge and you did not question why?"

He looked at me again more sharply. "Were you able to question your queen why she tasked you to assassinate Sarilis?"

My queen; Ishuna. She had a name now. I smirked at the verbal crossing of blades. "Perhaps she simply told me why in my briefing, and I did not have to ask."

"Indeed. I would not think she told you her complete reasoning."

"You would be correct," I granted before I gave in to temptation to start bluffing him for entertainment. "Does that mean the Grey Maiden gave you even part of her reasons?"

The apprentice nodded. "I only need to work it out. I see elements, but not the mural."

Gavin was in a more stubborn "give and take" mood, which discouraged me asking outright what one of the "reasons" was the Grey Maiden had given him for drawing out and transforming Jacob's living soul. A trade was not so easy; there was no simple explanation for why Ishuna wanted Sarilis destroyed—too many connections all around that could not help but lead to a chase of questions down the black hole—and that very well might be the same with Gavin's mistress. 

I could lie, of course, give something misleading, but to what purpose? How would it protect or benefit me? And should Gavin catch me in an ill-considered lie sometime later, would he continue being so open with his knowledge of the Surface, or would I have to doubt everything he said from then on? I was far from the City, and I was outside Brom's Inn. The same habits and thought patterns there would not help me with this Human scholar; I already knew that.

Perhaps it was not the best time to discuss it; I still needed to be aware of my surroundings and guide my own mount for once.

I breathed out, tired still from running my mind in circles with Cris-ri-phon, and found myself wincing, feeling sharp pain in my eyes as we passed out from beneath the trees onto a stretch of road completely open to the Sky and where the higher Sun finally struck the dirt. I was looking down, squinting, trying to adjust again, when I glanced over to Gavin again. And stared.

I only saw his hands holding his mare's reins, but I stared, wondering if the fast-changing shade of his skin was a trick of the light?

"...Gavin?"

"Hm?"

I pointed at his hands and he looked down. His expression was mostly hidden beneath his hood, but he shifted both reins to his right hand and lifted his left in front of his face, and I could see him studying his skin thoughtfully. It was darkening to ash-like grey, and getting darker with no signs of slowing.

"That is interesting."

"Does it hurt?"

"No." 

He kept his hand out beneath the Sun's rays, and eventually after several score of steps taken by the horses, it eventually turned pitch black, darker than my own skin even—which at least still possessed a slightly grey-purple tone beneath direct light—and now matched his black fingernails and teeth. What was happening? My mount sensed my nervousness and side-stepped at least once from Gavin's mare and I had to split my concentration between him and the horse.

Gavin said nothing more, but when we passed beneath the shade of trees again he grunted, watching as his dry, slightly wrinkled skin began to lighten again, soon back to grey and then to the pale, near-translucent whiteness of before. His scent had not changed even as the color changed, I noticed this as the breeze shifted. As it had been in the inn, his scent was mostly what I recalled while riding double for weeks, but far less potent, as if he sweated very little now, if at all. I would have to watch as the Sun became warmer if his skin grew moist.

"That will get you burned alive as a devil at Manalar," I commented, as it was the first thing that came to mind. "It is as difficult to hide as my appearance."

Truly, a mage who turned from Moon-pale to void-black when exposed to direct Sunlight then shifted back to normal once shielded from the light? Was there anything more insulting to Musanlo's fanatical followers that the Grey Maiden could have done to her apprentice?

Gavin smiled, showing those black teeth again in stark contrast to a now-pale face. "True. But I think I shall never suffer sunburn again."

Was he jesting? "Uhm. You think that is what it means?"

He shrugged. "It is either the intent or a benefit, but I no longer feel the rays as I did. It will take further observation."

If that was the case, then...very well, yes, that was something of which I could be envious. No damage from Sun exposure? I clearly recalled peeling bits of grey, dead skin from my Sister'' backs after Rausery had fucked each of us naked on all fours, beneath the Sun for long enough to burn us.

Following that thought and the view at the time...while I had only seen distant smears of snow atop a few higher peaks early in the Spring, I'd been taught of snow-blindness; like the surface of water, the Sun's light could be reflected up into the eyes for enough time to actually cause damage, like the first time I'd witnessed a Sunrise. Hot, burning, dry...it did seem rather stubborn that the light would find a way to hurt the eyes even when one was looking down at the ground in the opposite direction.

"No sunburn...even your eyes in the snow?" I asked. "Will you be black head to toe?"

Gavin seemed to be drawn away from whatever he had been pondering and shrugged. "I suppose I will see." 

Then the corner of his mouth lifted, and he said in a muttered, more thoughtful voice, "'Ye shall know the shepherd, for he shall be as a light in the dark, but also the darkness in the light.'"

I shook my head; I'd heard him clearly, though I knew by now he did not expect others to hear more than a possible grumble at that decibel, and they would rarely ask him to repeat what he said. Even if they did, in most cases he would pretend he had said nothing at all.

Except with me.

"What do you say?" I prodded.

"An old passage from a tome I once read at the monastery. It seemed oddly appropriate."

It certainly seemed to suit a literal interpretation of that passage...

"What is a 'shepherd'?" I asked.

He looked at me, considering, before going back to watching the road. "A sheep herder."

"Sheep."

Gavin started to smile as he had more often whenever our talk could halt completely just at my lack of vocabulary in unexpected areas. I suspected this was because he had learned to enjoy contemplating the truly mundane, to explain as if it was exotic.

To someone from far enough away, everything was exotic.

"Short, noisy, nervous livestock, good to eat and drink their milk, but also covered in a unique coat. We can shear off great chunks to spin into cloaks and blankets that keep us warm even when wet, if a bit smelly. It is called 'wool'. All of our cloaks are made of it."

"That is the smell, then," I mused. There were so many coming from one Human body, it was hard to tell at times. Then I chuckled at the description. "Short, noisy, and nervous?"

The necromancer nodded. "They need only one strong will to drive them. They follow each other otherwise and are bred to be docile. Aggressive rams—the males—are often culled so as not to breed more aggressive sheep."

I stared at him as the horse's hooves clopped. "Is that symbolism with intent?"

"I do not truly know."

Gavin was still smiling, though.

"Of what was the tome speaking?" I asked. "Was it a Manalar text or one of those not destroyed?"

His smile faded and he looked at me with irritation. "Your skill in questioning is rather remarkable at times. You come from odd directions to correct conclusions."

"Ha. One not destroyed." I grinned. "You were reading, what was it...heretical text. Ma'ab, from your mother?"

"No, not Ma'ab text," he said quickly, and abruptly shut his mouth again.

I pushed just one more time. "Spoils of war, though. That is what you said. Text found elsewhere and brought to the monastery. By whom? I cannot imagine it to be any other than your mother, come into her possession from Ma'ab movements."

Gavin ground his teeth. "I do not know, I was not yet born."

Still, I added, "I should like to have met your mother. She had a mind somehow to upset quite a lot of Musnalo's foundation, no?"

"It did not lead to a long life," he observed with forced aloofness.

"No...but she carried you. A Musanlo priest's son and disciple of the Grey Maiden."

"Stop."

I backed off then, knowing the boundaries well by now. Still, I would guess that Gavin would like to know just what his mother had been thinking, coupling with his father in the first place. I was beginning to wonder whether the "Patroness" had asked for a servant somehow, even if the Ma'ab witch had not been aware of it. It was not altogether unlike my Elder's "accidental" conception of a certain mage, as Elder Rausery had suggested it might have simply been the Valsharess wanting D'Shea to breed before she grew into an elder. 

If the Greylords were powerful beings of another plane—an actual place that Innathi and Cris-ri-phon themselves knew about—but assisting the souls of other deities' followers...that did not make them deities as well, did it? More demi-gods. Perhaps such as Ishuna fancied herself, by now.

It did imply a certain connection of the Ma'ab to the Greylands, though. Wasn't that what Sarilis had hinted at his own dinner table? ...but then why had Kurn and Castis not reacted to his suggestion? Had I only imagined it, and Sarilis merely compared living struggles and war-loving races like the Ma'ab with "peaceful" passing from one plane to another?

Gavin's dreams and apparent pain did not seem to imply the Greylands were quiet and still...

We heard a horse's canter coming toward us before too much longer, and as I suspected, it was Mathias returning down the path. He lifted a weapon-free arm as a hale as he slowed some distance from us. I gestured for him to come closer. No one spoke as his horse walked up to join us; we didn't want to have to shout. He offered a bow of his head in greeting.

"Kurn has cooled off now. They are walking the mounts and will meet us at a landmark ahead for the midday meal."

I nodded and we continued on, Mathias glancing back more than once at the eight undead following us on horseback.

"I am grateful they aren't stepping on our heels, necromancer."

"No reason to be surrounded yet, perhaps," Gavin muttered, not outwardly acknowledging the fact that Mathias had not called him an apprentice as before. Perhaps he still saw himself as one with a Greylord shadowing him and disturbing his sleep.

"Do tell me why Lord Brom calls you a skin hunter, Mathias," I said, since we were choosing names. "I've been most curious."

The unremarkable-looking Man chuckled. "It is another name for a bounty hunter, making captures for payment, but more to do with trophies that prove a death. Live captures are more in demand in some areas, but in others, dead is just as good."

I shook my head slightly. "Mm, perhaps. I think there must be more."

He turned to look at me with eyes and expression that appeared somewhat as I had seen him on our earlier journey, but still more like the Mathias in the outbuilding—perhaps because I knew to look for it, or he did not see reason to hide it in accepting company.

"Well. I believe you saw my favorite type of live capture. A great deal of skin is involved."

I nodded. "And from whom did you learn such interrogation skills?"

Mathias glanced at Gavin, who was paying very little attention to us, either pondering a puzzle in his mind or seeming to hear more than just our voices and the sounds of the horses and forest. I was reminded of what my ally had said about seeing spirits and hearing voices.

"Some from my lord father, I think your companion knew that."

The Man focused on me and smiled in a much more familiar way, bringing to the fore of our minds the fact that he had been allowed to press his fingers into my body and pleasure me further with his mouth in pursuit of that interrogation.

"But I think you have a better guess, don't you, Sirana?"

"The sorcerer," I said.

"Correct. Did you experience a few... similarities between us?"

I smirked as his knowing expression and direct gaze, as if he was probing my soft spots as he had Jacob. 

"Brom learned well from my elders. It makes sense he would take a few students himself."

The surprise was clear as Mathias straightened in his saddle. "What?"

"Your employer was a pupil once himself, if you can imagine. To my race."

"Hm," Mathias grunted as he frowned in thought. "That explains a few things."

"Of course. I know he wants you to watch me. Did he give you a reason?"

"Quite clear in the way he kissed you, I would think."

Sadly, it was. "But also more complex."

He shrugged. "So you say. Anyone can make it more complex, but the base desire is not. It is why I always make my captures, sooner or later."

That was essentially the mindset of many in the Sisterhood; he just did not have the longevity in the game. It was interesting for me to contemplate; what was "patient" for him might be "too soon" for an Elder, but either way for a novice... At the same time, there was always serendipity and opportunity, and being able to tell judge those against impatience and temptation...and this was so no matter the age.

"What are you to do for Brom, then?"

Mathias smiled. "Watch your back against the Ma'ab. See our mission complete."

"And see that I return?"

The skin hunter smiled. "Or simply pass on your sincere regards."

I did not believe that. Brom had already set a compulsion on Mathias once to return out into the rainstorm to retrieve me, bringing me back on his own horse. Of course, now that I had the forewarning, it would not be so easy to repeat...but Mathias did not necessarily know his own intentions where his employer was concerned.

However, the first two reasons were the same that Gavin had overheard. Mathias was being as truthful as he could be, for now. Coupled with returning my sapphire without Kurn seeing...clearly he was showing a desire to be allies.

"What reward do you receive?" I tested.

"I've already had it."

"The Witch Hunter?"

"Yes."

I challenged that, even as it was what Gavin had said as well.

"What is your drive for following through if it becomes too dangerous for you, if your reward has already been satisfied?"

After all, Gavin was right to doubt my own drive to help him if my pregnancy became too advanced before we could return to Sarilis.

Mathias gazed at me with that slightly disconnected expression. "Pure fascination, I suppose. Especially as I hear now my own training has its roots in your timeless race. You seemed pleased with me at the time, Sirana. Did I do well, then?"




Surfacing Ch. 10



"You did, which speaks well for Brom," I granted, also recognizing the shift in topic for what it was: a distraction. Still, I could choose to let it remain so as I had a very good hint that Mathias's drive to stay was in no way stronger than his sense of self-preservation.

It only remained to be seen if Brom's compulsion was stronger.

"I have never witnessed him so interested in a woman before," Mathias said.

"Well. Six years of irregular visits is not a lot of time to observe," I said.

He chuckled. "Ah, but no fear of you. Not like when we saw you for the first time."

"Yes. He recognized my race, of course."

"Quite the privileged sorcerer."

"Ambition does draw attention for benefit or detriment. You discovered that."

"It seems our fortune leans toward the benefit from such attention."

Gavin muttered, "Often the case for the wealthy."

"What?"

The apprentice shrugged and did not repeat himself, although I could guess where his mind was at: someone without wealth or status would draw the wealthy, powerful rivals by displaying the same ambition and rising to be a threat. Between the two, the one with more resources often won. I did not see anything odd in it; someone had to build the wealth in the first place, so they earned it... and then they had to keep it as the concentration of resources drew the coveting of others. I also did not see anything wrong with the wealthy being torn down if they could not keep what they had; it only meant the cycle would start over again.

However, I was probably born more to fortune like Mathias and Brom, and the only thing about my upbringing that was like Gavin was only due to my predatory older sister and my lack of any voice on that subject for decades. 

Under natural circumstances, I would have fought hard to keep the life with which I was familiar...but then, the Sisterhood had required that I fight to earn a different life altogether, or die trying. I would not keep my birth status regardless. It wasn't beyond possibility that Cris-ri-phon had discovered the same when he knew Innathi's attention...or could it have been intentional pursuit on his part?

Fickle fortune, overall. It changed quickly, and those who did not want to believe it could happen to them were the most likely to be caught off guard when it did.

My stomach growled again, and I sighed, as it seemed I had just eaten. Mathias chuckled, and we agreed to stop and thoroughly check over the supplies that had been entrusted to our saddlebags and those of the undead men. We agreed it was better to know in advance what was there before we caught up to the Ma'ab and Rithal.

Most of it was mundane but very useful; most of the weight was food that would keep a fortnight or more and swollen waterskins, although some basic medicine kits were in Gavin's bags, and in addition the dead men horses carried a selection of smaller forged tools and a few larger ones like a hatchet, plus bits of one-size spares like gloves—a pair of which Gavin put on to hide his Sun-sensitive hands from sight—socks, face masks, cloths for wrapping and cleaning, even an water-repelling lean-to, and an extra cloak and blanket.

I did not truly know what to make of such abundance, except that it carried the unspoken message: "Survive and maintain strength." I would...although given how many horses were required to carry all this, I knew I could shed it all very quickly if I had to. Holding on to such materials if it only slowed me down would not help my survival, and my earlier thought about concentrated resources drawing focus and competition still applied.

I'd been trained to do better when the situation demanded it.

As we mounted back to up eat in the saddle, Mathias asked just what was expected of him when we met the cult.

"Stay behind Kurn and the undead and let the magic users dismantle them," I said.

He quirked a brow. "My arrows?"

"Save them. They will do small harm unless enchanted."

"So basically just be an extra pair of eyes."

I nodded.

"In what way are the others magic users, besides the obvious mages?" Mathias asked. "I know I was to carry your sapphire because Rithal said I was the only one who did not use magic."

I looked at Gavin, who had been listening this time around. He cleared his throat.

"Kurn's sword is enchanted, as is Rithal's axe." He looked at me, and I shrugged. "And Sirana's daggers."

I did not smile, only nodded, but I wanted to in realizing Gavin had not been specific about which dagger. Soul Drinker would, according to Cris, likely fell a chaos cannibal in one blow, no matter where it struck as long as it was deep enough. All it had to do was disrupt the cobbled will of the creature, and that was one of the relic's primary purposes.

"Well, I feel rather useless." Mathias grinned in what I thought was irony.

"You were not intended for this task. It is what Kurn owes me for his stupidity," I said.

Mathias tilted his head, and I realized that he had been outside of the loop while he'd been tending to Jacob; no one had brought him up to speed beyond what Kurn had said in the great room as the Sky had been lightening.

"He attacked me again, this time with Amelda's help. Brom granted me a boon as an apology for his daughter's behavior."

The skin hunter contemplated that and chuckled. "Again. So, then...what happened at the canyon?"

I smirked. "Had I known your preference, Mathias, I'd have been tempted to let you do the honors. As it was, he has thrown away his tainted boot dagger."

The Man's expression was one of astonished delight. "How in this world did you overcome his strength to manage that?"

I turned my hooded head to look directly at him. "I have been told Drow do not play fair once you corner them."

Mathias's grin broadened even more as the images in his mind seemed to please him very much, then he tilted his head back and laughed. Gavin just shook his head and muttered his appreciation for not providing more detail than that.

"So on Lord Brom's , he tried for vengeance again and failed, again."

"The first time was not vengeance."

"Yes, it was. Vengeance against someone else who is not here. You were the proxy. Although now I would suppose it is quite personal."

"He made it so."

"I do not disagree. He may still try to take the opportunity to see you killed in this task."

I nodded. "Which is why you are not useless."

The skin hunter's chest expanded as his back straightened and he nodded his understanding. After some silent time traveling, however, the first signs of fatigue became to show themselves in our interrogator.

"I will take your watch tonight," I said, knowing that I would not need the time to hunt for food as I had been—food was already provided. "You still have not slept."

"You noticed," he commented, his grin not quite as high at the edges, and the pupils of his eyes seemed to be responding more slowly to the changes in light. He looked as though he had already contemplated that complication, and nodded. "I watch you, and you watch me?"

I nodded. "Let your rest fully rejuvenate you."

"Then I thank you, my Lady," he bowed with a wry smile. "I will need it to better watch over you."

We would see. There would be times where he would not be able to watch me.

We were table to travel far that first day with fair weather. The light periods where the horses could safely walk, even in a pit-filled road, had become longer, even since leaving Sarilis's Tower. Certainly the days were much longer than when I'd first reached the Surface.

Just as Shyntre had said they would.

We caught up to Kurn, Castis, and Rithal where they had chosen to stay for the night: beneath a rocky overhang on high ground, barely flat enough to keep the living and their horses. The undead would have to wait at the base of the hill, guarding the supplies and whickering mounts in two separate clusters.

"They do not sleep at all," Gavin said. "They could do the entire watch."

"NO."

Somehow, Kurn, Castis, and Rithal had managed to say that in the same instant. 

Gavin was also forbidden from touching the food, as was I; Rithal did the cooking now. The necromancer shrugged at both decisions and returned to thumbing through a book; he had actually brought a few along, but I hadn't realized it as he'd been kept far too busy until now to leisurely read by campfire light.

"So I suppose you will find your own place to sleep again, whore?" Kurn rumbled, staring at me with black, hateful eyes in a stone face.

I smiled without showing teeth. "Am I unwelcome?"

"Best find another place to stay until sunrise if you value breathing. I don't want to listen to your slut's mouth, or—"

"Or you'll be tempted to fill it?" I chuckled when he blinked. "You already said something of that nature before. It is repetitive."

He scowled deeper, his now different voice grating. "And I imagine the innkeeper has already plugged you up to keep you quiet. I bet he gagged you with it *after* sodomizing you, and you loved it, lu'shatten cus."

"Kurn," Rithal spoke up with a boom to his voice and an incredibly deep frown. "No more. The elf will not sleep here tonight, and ye'll not poison the air with yer bitter insults. I don' want the listen to it."

I myself noticed my body heating up and preparing for a fight, though I already knew engaging in any talk whatsoever would only encourage this vein. It felt as if I should not accept this in silence and merely walk away, especially from a male, and yet...it would simply have to be the time to break or kill him if I accepted the challenge.

The reason was because I already knew there would never be a change in mind for him. He would be broken, or he would be dead. But he would not be different otherwise. I imagined that, in this state, he would take quite a bit of his anger out on the Warpstone cult, and it would make him valuable for something, if even only for a moment.

Mathias had been subdued enough through the evening—and keeping a bit of distance from me—to observe that Kurn and Castis, and even Rithal, did not truly know of his shift in alliance. He still seemed "group neutral" to them. And he needed the rest.

Gavin had assured me while unpacking his mare that he would be fine remaining nearby as well, that the others would regret trying to disturb him, and he would not need to sleep as long either.

It was just me who was to leave, or fight.

"I will go elsewhere for the night, Rithal," I said.

Kurn snorted and muttered, "coward," beneath his breath before speaking up, "And take your eunuch servant with you."

Gavin's skin did not change color in firelight, so he looked as he had at the inn with no change beyond what had already startled the others. He lifted his head from his book, contemplated the Ma'ab a moment then put it down to retrieve his small eating knife from his belt. The Hellhound looked baffled as to his actions, though Castis's hands were already curling in preparation of some magical defense. 

"Truly a brilliant plan as always, but I shall be staying here," he said, rolling back his sleeve to expose his pale arm. "I will also be taking Sirana and Mathias's watches. There shall be no trouble in this unless it is by one of you." 

"What are you doing?" Castis demanded.

"No magic," Rithal pointed a stubby finger at him.

"I'm not intoning a spell," Gavin said, "simply a... demonstration."

He pressed the knife into his skin and cut to draw blood, and the same thick, black substance I'd seen before welled up. He seemed to feel some sensation, some pain in what he was doing, but he endured it without comment, audible or otherwise. Setting down the knife, he collected some of his blood onto the fingers of his other hand and flicked it onto the remains of the medium-sized, brown-furred quadruped that Kurn had managed to kill for the evening stew.

Blackness spattered the wasted hide and bones and inedible pieces and seemed to seep in until it was out of sight; the fire put out less heat for a moment. For a brief time nothing happened, but then the remains quickly cobbled together to form a tottering, undead version of what we'd eaten, a skeleton dressed in fur. The eyes were still present in a mostly-intact head with long buckteeth in front and round ears, and they had been black originally; I saw no animal intelligence but something not unlike the Abyssal creatures. 

There was hunger in those eyes as it shakily began to scuttle toward us and I felt my body tense up and I reached to draw, ready to cut it down before I'd consciously willed it. I was not the only one. Gavin made a brief gesture and word and the undead rodent froze.

"Something else that will warn us of uninvited guests," Gavin said flatly. "Now, the effects of this on living flesh are somewhat more ...unpleasant. About as binding, though, if I wish it. Akin to having plague spit in your eyes, I should think."

Gavin drew a finger across his arm where he drew blood, wiping away the excess and revealing completely unmarred flesh beneath; the cut had already closed up. He had definitely frightened the others; even Mathias was alert and nervous, as before he was so tired and lethargic he had slumped on his log. 

It was a similar feeling for me, to be honest—I could tell looking around that no one here understood exactly how to combat powers like Gavin's, and the only weakness that I knew was silver, yet I had tossed such a dagger away and it had been left at Brom's inn. We weren't even sure he could be killed without simply "healing"—although somehow that description did not seem to fit—and standing back up with the blessing of his mistress, as he had before.

I was more pleased—and relieved—than I'd ever been to have maintained my allied bond with him and defended him where possible. I could also count myself fortunate that the Grey Maiden seemed to approve of his agreement with me, as far as I knew, and I would have to consider very carefully before I might think to decline assisting him in taking over Sarilis's Tower.

Not that I intended to back out of that part of our deal at all...it was only that my pregnancy limited my time and ability to help. Unfortunate as that fact was, it was still as true as the fact that I would not take D'Shea's potion preemptively; only if it was a surety that both of us would die otherwise. Gavin was aware of this; he was as practical as I was to a large extent.

And also as unwelcome at this fire. 

"You cannot make him leave, and wounding him is a poor idea," I repeated, having no doubt that Kurn needed it said. "That is all he is says. I will leave, and Gavin will stay. Leave it at that and nothing more will happen this night."

"Deal," Rithal said immediately with another hard look at Kurn, who just mouthed a Ma'ab slur while glancing at me, and a glimpse of disgust at Gavin.

Castis was staring at the undead rodent, which had not moved or made any sound since Gavin willed it. "Does that need to stay so close? Or stare at us?"

One corner of Gavin's mouth twitched. "Necromancy is not unknown among the Ma'ab, Castis. I am surprised you are uncomfortable."

"Yours is..." the other mage began to say, then he closed his mouth.

"His is what?" I asked.

The Ma'ab shook his head and Kurn nodded approval at Castis's lately-considered discretion.

"It is different?" I pushed. "How can you tell?"

"He likely means Sarilis bleeds red and it is not quite as dangerous to make contact with his flesh," Gavin said. "Implying their necromancers are the same."

The Hellhound frowned so deeply that I thought his face would collapse under the pressure. "Those of noble blood, perhaps. The slum are more secretive and ugly. Guess we now know where your cursed blood came from, eunuch."

Gavin had already gone back to reading his book, seemingly unaffected by the barb; as well he should, I thought. Cris's earlier comment returned to me, about Sarilis now having significant competition in the young apprentice through "hard-won experience" and Gavin's having bought a significant increase in lifespan from his true mistress. 

Favored by a Greylord with a surety some might only wish for in their god, and serving her faithfully out of pure desire for what he could learn from her. Indeed, what weight had Kurn's comment that his mother might have been a "slum" necromancer among the Ma'ab? Someone more powerful clearly disagreed.

To me, Kurn was missing something even more extraordinary. It was an intriguing thought on its own that a practicing necromancer might have been able to conceive a living child at all, and by a Manalara monk, no less. That had to have taken true effort on the part of someone.

Cris-ri-phon would not be the only party interested in watching Gavin over the next few decades.

The set up for the night was good enough for me; Gavin and Mathias would be fine and talk had grown very stilted and resentful. I soon collected my things and made to go farther into the hilly forest for the night.

******

I rested in reverie deeply and longer than typical, for once undisturbed by red Suns or scorpions or desertscape...though familiar faces remained an I woke still so aroused and missing my Drow males acutely. The lingering imagery of Shyntre and Auslan in the garden at House Itlaun lay in my mind, from when I'd been spying on them what seemed so long ago now. 

The wizard had planted both hands on Auslan's chest and shoved him backward, just as he had in my recollection of actual events. But in this reverie, the Consort stumbled and failed to catch himself, landing on the ground on his back. 

Instead of using magic or otherwise taking advantage of the higher ground, Shyntre stopped himself to watch him. Auslan did not get up; he waited for whatever happened next, his mostly-nude body curled into defense though he made eye contact with his angry brother above him. Shyntre paused and took a step back, yielding ground when he had no reason to do so. It was also clear that Auslan did not mean to stand up and retaliate any time soon.

Instead, I watched as the wizard removed his robe and joined Auslan on the garden's mossy ground, using it to cover both of them as they scooted very close to each other, as if they were cold and desperately needed to share heat to survive the next few marks of the candle.

At first I felt disappointed that the two would not accept the challenge and the insult; that they would not start an earnest fight, a struggle for dominance that I could watch for entertainment. I wanted to feel contempt at their weakness, to shake my head, to think that this was why males always lost to females in our City; they could have the emotional outburst but not the guts to follow through to the end. I'd always known I would win eventually, whenever any male had pushed back...

But wait, that wasn't true anymore, was it? My reverie dimmed very slowly, and I felt more light-headed, until even the garden faded from my dark vision. It felt the same as when I'd lost my vision slowly from blood loss, on the ground, on my back, and not even able to curl into a defense as Auslan had.

I'd seen in my mind some of what the demonblood had been visualizing intently as he used me with his barbed cock. Runes. Chaotic images of infinite levels, and of wings to take one there; of blackness and of blood and unending struggle, well beyond what I'd considered ongoing power struggles within the City. Kerse had said his own name, and another name, over and over again. Reaching out.

Someone had answered, and the other had been so pleased at what his spawn was doing to me. My insides had been shredded, I knew, though by some mercy I had gone numb from the waist down by the time the Draelogth had stood up.

By the time I'd heard the other voices, the ones not from the Abyss.




Surfacing Ch. 10



I had not won that challenge in any way, when Kerse had finally pushed back against the females controlling him. I had been helpless and broken and dying...my life had been in the hands of others. They had all chosen for me; everything, including the seed that now strengthened my resolve to survive this task...and to know better, to be able to see it coming for the sake of something broader. To be someone more resilient and lasting than the solitary, silent, angry child I'd once been.

It wasn't just me anymore. Once, it had been. Not anymore.

I wasn't sure when I'd kneeled down shaking in the garden, or when the darkness had receded, but the two young males had spotted me spying on them. I'd actually been discovered, I'd given myself away somehow; perhaps I'd made a sound? They did not dress again, or cover themselves, or run away; they did not speak at first, no accusations, no excuses for what they'd been doing to pleasure each other.

The wizard and the Consort kneeled down with me, on either side of me; one pulled down my hood and began to lightly kiss my ears and my neck, exposed parts that were not covered by cloak, armor, bracers, or gloves. Shyntre's hand moved to press low, covering the hot spot in my abdomen, his strong aura seemed to make it tingle. Meanwhile Auslan's hand slide further down, between my legs to cup my sex, touching me gently through my leathers.

The Human sorcerer had done these same things, yet how differently it felt in this dream. How could I be so calm and content, yet so excited and aching at the same time? I felt the body warmth of being between two naked males—which was not a first, yet I strained my ears so to catch the sound of their breath and small sighs of welcome and of...and...of what?

My breasts—always tender—felt swollen and hot beneath my armor, and my males did not move to undress or disarm me. I felt I would still cum just from their kisses to my face and mouth, ears and neck; from Auslan's precise, well-trained fingers and Shyntre's intoxicating aura bringing me higher.

I shuddered. Were they both using magic...?

*Magic wears differently on us all over time, Red Sister....even with a queen that aims for stagnation.*

*I like that it may be you to bring a deep earthquake to this City that needs it so, though do not assume to do it alone.*

My favorite males used their mouths on me and massaged me harder; Shyntre bit the lobe of my ear and nibbled along the edge to the very tip, nearly driving me mad, while Auslan lightly ran the tip of his tongue over my lips before I caught it, drawing it in for a sucking, wet kiss. 

I reached out to take a stone-hard erection in each gloved hand, somehow focused on all that sensation at once; they shuddered, the sound of their twin gasps thrilled me. I loved the way the tender skin slid over such hard swellings, the subtle sounds made when I increased the tempo. I certainly did not reach the high point alone as they sprayed their seed all over the red leather of my uniform...

To coax into bed twin brothers who did not fight each other outright was one of my favorite scenarios...though I had not needed to coax these two at all...

The Moons were still up and the Sky was black when I opened my eyes, but I could tell more than half of the night had passed. I attributed the long rest to having my previous burdens of searching for food and watching out for Gavin now lifted for the night, as well as the stress of the inn catching up to me. 

My appetite was larger upon waking as well, and thanks to the sorcerer, I had plenty to consume out of sight of the others while my three pets fended for themselves. Shyntre's wellness pellet had done its work and I was no longer sore anywhere, inside or out. I took a few moments to strip in sections and to wipe down my skin. As I was shirtless, I tested the subtly-growing weight of my breasts and pressed upon my abdomen prior to re-donning my armor. My attention turned inward as I gently probed the swollen, warmer place down low in my pelvis; I could tell that it had continued to change as I was on this journey, just very slowly.

My womb still wasn't visible as a bump, even bare beneath the Stars. Only the fact that I knew it was there and it was doing something, only the fact that I was trained and encouraged to have an abnormally high awareness of my body, allowed me to be sure of any growth. At least I could be certain that there had not been any significant change from before the inn, either way, inside or out. I felt normal, as I'd become accustomed to be "normal" for me.

I could grant that my stomach wasn't concave—it never had been, between martial training and being among those always having enough to eat—but I couldn't help but consider what it would look like when growth finally started pressing outward. For that moment I might have wondered, but soon enough I reminded myself that I was not in a hurry for it to happen. It would only be yet another factor that made Humans like Kurn act less predictably around me.

The Hellhound certainly couldn't seem to handle with any grace his imagining of what Brom might have done with me, or to me, naked in his bed. Certainly that had been the sorcerer's intent when he kissed me farewell in front of every male in the place. If it was somehow a warning to Kurn that I was "his"....I sincerely doubted it would make any difference to the Ma'ab now that we were well away from the inn. 

My showing signs of carrying right now would not help matters, even if any idiot should know that if I was, then the Man I'd mated for the first time just the previous night could not possibly be the sire. 

I sighed to myself as I stood up to finish dressing; with Jacob as example of the learned superstition and ignorance on the Surface, I would not put it past most males what they might presume to know about my baby's heritage and my body. It could be anything they could dream it to be. 

The catching and bearing of young was mystery enough to females at times, I had to wonder how it must seem to males? Especially those who did not pay close attention.

In impressive time, my eight-legged babies returned, sated for the next few days or week as there were plenty of insects around and they had been easy to catch. I gave the scorpion its chance to hunt as well, waiting as needed and trying to think more about my reverie—where I'd climaxed between two male Drow, even fully clothed—as it was much more pleasant than dwelling on the sorcerer who'd given me that second venomous hunter.

On my way closer to camp, I studied my surroundings in general. The mountains on this side of the Midway were not as high as those to the West, and the dampness seemed greater as well, with fewer needle pines and more leafy trees. I could see the green health of the leaves and grasses and could scent the dew; moisture in the air seemed to be blowing down a bit cooler from the North rather than the West.

The rising Sun would warm the air soon enough with the Summer only beginning to truly settle in, and the humidity might be unpleasant at times with thunderstorms like the one that drove us to Brom's inn in the first place would likely come again. For the time being, however, it was clear and easily the most pleasant temperature I recalled on the Surface so far for this time of pre-dawn. It was like the Underdark; not too warm, not too chilly, the air moving slowly like a deep river.

That could have been the reason I heard someone bathing some distance off.

I paused and crouched for cover within the deepest shadows to listen a bit longer, before I decided whether to investigate or not. Was it of my group or not? If so, or if not, what would I do?

The general size of the splasher would be Human, I could tell soon enough, and it was in water deep enough to swim. The fact that water was displaced in powerful strokes implied strong male. Mathias or Kurn, if it was one of us. Castis and Gavin both had less mass than I heard.

I'd gotten used to Kurn grunting and muttering obscenities to himself, so the fact that this one was only splashing water made me wonder. I decided I would creep closer and identify the bather, at least. I was not sure of the chances of our meeting a stranger on this road, but...we were near a Man-made road, weren't we?

The lingering Moons lit up a small pool with one of the quietest feeding streams I'd witnessed, its source a belowground spring, the water flowing down from just above the pool itself, which in turn overflowed and the stream continued its way down a steep drop and between the steep hills. Leafy trees and brush surrounded the pool and it smelled fresh, not stagnant. Some stones bordered the pool but there were points of mud bank as well; I approached from one of those, and decided to shift not only for a better view, but for more solid footing.

I spotted what was clearly Kurn's equipment and armor placed upon a large boulder and looked at the pool again for signs of more than one body. There were none, but after a time, I could see wet footprints leaving the pool by way of the rock. Probably Castis.

The Ma'ab had finally decided to take a bath.

The temptation to swap places with him was very strong, although I would not want the end result to be the same. It wouldn't be, merely because I did not have the same motive to rape him just because he was naked. Also, he had not chosen a good place to leave his belongings. I could stand between them and him very easily.

It would be aggravating him, perhaps. Still. He never had asked me about the red ruby, and he was becoming far too comfortable insulting me with no consequences. There would be consequences; I just had to choose my moment well...and my rock upon which to crouch. It was not unlike the first time he'd turned around to discover me crouching on Sarilis's great room table, but this time he had no sword to draw. I was right next to it.

Eventually Kurn did finish what actually looked to be a focused, intense exercise in the small but deep pool. He had been swimming back and forth, fast as he could propel himself. Now he waded toward me and closer to the edge until he could stand up and walk carefully to shore. His footing could not have been secure.

The dark-eyed Man stopped when the water still covered him from the waist down; that was how close he had to get to see me in the dark under Moonlight when I used my cloak and hood, and even then, he squinted as if he wasn't sure what the black shape was upon the rock.

He still acted, and I discovered he had not left all his weapons ashore. He pulled a dagger up from below the surface, the droplets of water sparkling under the Moons as he shifted the hold and drew his arm back to throw.

I waited until it was too late for him to stop his pitch before I dodged down behind the boulder that held his possessions and heard the metal chink loudly against the stone before ricocheting off into the brush. He was moving fast out of the water and I scooted backward while still out of sight, having already loosened my spider pouch and gaining a pinch of my coughing dust.

I thought I heard Soul Drinker squeak with glee and I was tempted to draw it.

"Do you always strike first and inquire later?" I said loudly, still out of sight and quite able to defend but giving him the opportunity not to come charging around that stone. He would be down once again if he did.

His movement hesitated then stopped. He growled first, but then he forced a harsh chuckle as he stood dripping.

"You really cannot help yourself, can you, Sirana? Always spying on me when my cock is out."

Odd for him to use my name then; he hadn't bothered in quite a while, if ever. And I suppose he had a point, but that was only because he seemed to frequently draw his cock out to be seen. I tended to spy regardless; the state of dress in my target rarely made a difference except perhaps to make it less mundane or to better evaluate them.

I stood up slowly, keeping all senses open to sudden movement from him, and took a few steps away from his belongings—truly they were of no interest to me at this point in time. I already had the one item I did not want him to have any longer. Completely nude with only a sheath strapped to his thigh—and actually that was not a state in which I had seen him before—Kurn stepped and took up his sword first.

"You finally smell better," I said. "Although I wager you did not wash your clothing, so it will do little good."

He smirked and flexed an arm in gripping the hilt of his sword tighter, as though without thought. However, the way he held his form wasn't altogether practical for engaging in combat...so I had to assume he was displaying his form, as I already knew he had a tendency to do whether his audience was imaginary or not.

"I did wash them. Castis's cantrip dried them already."

"How genteel of you."

He frowned. "What demon word is that?"

"Ask Gavin. I learned it from him. I think it means 'polite' or 'respectable. Not slum.'"

The Hellhound snorted, "He would know. His mother was probably captured and mounted by every soldier in the unit."

I shifted from one shadow to a slightly deeper one in an easy, fluid step as Kurn rolled a muscular shoulder and his neck as if to work out a kink.

"Oh? Do Manalar armies do that?"

"The Ma'ab army does."

I felt my brow quirk at that lack in logic, but it gave me an opening I wanted to take. "For what purpose?"

"You jest, demoness. To breed them out, of course. As you said, our power is stronger, our seed more robust."

Right. "And your female politicians suggest this?"

He spat at the ground. "No. They claim to reward with it. Only politicians promise that which is not in their power to give."

"Are the armies all-male, then?"

"Of course. We are much larger than our women, much stronger, yet they seek to control how often we get between their legs."

Or they did control it, by the sound of it from a few other more unbiased sources.

I nodded. "Under what circumstance do you think a Ma'ab woman would have been so far afield to be captured by Manalara, if she was not in an army?"

"If she was slum, who by Ghabra cares?"

"At the very least, you mean the Manalar have never entered your territory."

Kurn snorted and didn't deign to answer.

"So what are you doing here, little voyeur?" he asked instead, exhibiting no hesitation in adjusting his genitals with his free hand. His length had increased some as we'd been talking and he hung lower, and heavier. "Was the innkeeper unsatisfying that you come sniffing around here next?"

It was interesting that he seemed to forget, at least in this moment, that I had penetrated his netherhole with his own dagger, that I was responsible for the new scar in the hollow of his throat and the change in his voice.

Or...perhaps he did remember, and that was why we had actually managed a short conversation, with some real detail about his race, before he brought up Brom again. It was a surprising thought for me, given his behavior at the campfire. Even the lack of or presence of witnesses had not seemed to matter.

So what was I doing here?

"I suppose I like to watch you in some way, or I would not be here," I said with a spreading smile, resting my hands at my belt near my daggers. "You remind me of a... a bull, let us call it. A bull inside a fence, charging those who dare to taunt it from the outside. You might agree it is entertainment when there is nothing else." I barely paused. "Before you suggest it, no, I would not let the bull mount me. It is a good way to get a broken back."

Several muscles shifted in Kurn's arms, back, and neck as he considered this and likely could not tell if I was praising his strength and eye appeal, or insulting his intelligence and sexual finesse. That was fair, because I did both.

Finally he sneered and grabbed his pants, leaning his sword against the boulder within easy reach as he watched me with that same simmering hatred. He began to dress.

"So tight-lipped about the innkeeper," he growled. "Amelda said there was no way he would not try to seduce you, and you were known to be in his room for a great amount of time. Did he succeed in parting your k'us-lips or not?"

"And this applies to you in what way?" I asked, tilting my head.

"Once a choosy k'us opens her thighs, that aer has expanded his territory."

"Which means what to you?"

"He will seek you out again, sooner or later."

"And this harms you how? Have you not seen his gifts in your saddlebags?"

"I do not trust gifts from aging rivals."

I was frowning at him as much as he was me; as irritating as he was, it was a good point and this was the first time he had some halfway accurate understanding of what he saw—even if he had no idea just how "aged" Brom was. Nonetheless, the accusation and demands he made now, as if I owed him an explanation of my couplings and their details, was well above simple arrogance.

"He is no rival of yours, whether he succeeded or not. I will not 'open my thighs' to you, Kurn."

"Not without persuasion," he growled. "You just like to be chased."

"No. Not during the short, pitiful time that you draw breath, Human!" I hissed. "Can I make that any more clear, stupid beast, or need I pierce you again, this time somewhere between your ass and your neck?"

The Hellhound's face and neck darkened, reddening significantly in the Moonlight, giving me warning as he plucked up something from his laid belt that appeared to be a normal pebble. I was already backing up, covering my ears, and gaining distance when the flash-bang struck the ground, imitating thunder and lightning for an intense, painful moment by the sparkling pool.

I might have known he'd received a few of those from Amelda before he left the inn. I was glad to have the forewarning now, even as I was in full retreat. My blindness did not keep me from navigating among the trees with enough speed that Kurn would not be able to catch up by the time he was fully dressed. 

My ears rang, but I had not been caught by surprise this time and I could hear Kurn bellowing as if to bounce his already-damaged voice off the hillsides.

"...THEN I WILL MAKE YOU REMEMBER ME LONG AFTER I AM DUST!!"

I mentally shook my head. *That loss of temper will cost you far more than it was worth, Ma'ab.*

It felt for a moment as if someone had sensuously caressed my left hip, right where I kept Soul Drinker. Still without my sight, I touched it, took hold of the familiar hilt, to make sure it was still there.

"Yesss. Yess, it will,* it cooed to me, and I felt how happy it was that I'd acknowledged it at last. *Judge him. Sssentence him. For what he wantss to do...again.*

Though there were still spots before my eyes, my vision was returning and I lifted my hand off the hilt to the disappointed sigh of the sentient blade. I kept moving quickly toward the camp.

It wasn't Innathi I'd heard just now; she had said that she and Soul Drinker were not the same, and I believed it for the most part. The reason was because I still felt the weight of memory looking at the former queen, whether I actually stood in the elsewhere in reverie, or it was merely a mental connection with her, a communing. 

The dagger's voice, on the other hand, possessed no age, no history in no specific place, and no distinct personality the few times I'd heard it. The traits most like an entity of any intelligence were its awareness of its thirst and its fickle wants and challenges—and like any pet, those were to be controlled, or not, by the handler. 

I had already begun to suspect that it borrowed language and culture familiar to the carrier in order to communicate, but the time, the place, or even the ideal behind its suggestions meant nothing in the end. It only amounted to one demand:












Surfacing Ch. 11



Author's Notes: This story is erotic fantasy written by Etaski. I reserve the right to be listed as the author of this story, wherever it is posted. If found posted anywhere except Literotica.com with this note attached, this story is posted without my permission. (c) Etaski 2014

Hmm. Beats the previous chapter by 3 pages, but there's no bloody attack in this one. May you be in the mood for some serious "coming clean" and character development, dear readers. 

*****

I woke beneath the Stars and the light of the smaller Moon in the Western Sky, to the sound of Gavin's usual restless sleep, and to the feeling of being watched.

Despite what should have been plenty of tangible distraction, I still had that moment just as I left reverie to realize that I was between goals in the waking world, and one of them was an unknown that settled heavily on my chest. Was it done or not? Was I too late? How soon did I have to move on and leave here; and could I find out more before I left? How long would Jael and the Ma'ab wait to meet me at Manalar...?

I felt ill and weak lying down, so I sat up slow, and stiff, adjusting my cloak to keep it over my shoulders. I was still nude from my bath in the river, yet the cloak was somehow completely dry and warm. Odd; my clothes had been damp and likely wouldn't totally dry until the Sun rose again and the day became hotter or—

Or until someone hung them from a makeshift frame of branches lashed with fibrous ties, and placed closer to the fire. As they hung now.

I looked across the low fire and could make out the larger shape sitting cross-legged, elbows resting on his knees, and a set of yellow dragon's eyes in a solemn, black-purple face. He was dressed again in his dry cloak and pants but not his weapons harness; looking at his large hands, I noticed a pair of plain gold rings, one on each hand.

Ah, yes, the hybrid that had changed everything in a very few, short moments. He had been watching my travel on the Surface for a long time, since leaving Sarilis's Tower, apparently. Yet at exactly the moment Kurn and I had set to kill each other, he had killed or run off the rest of my group, except for Gavin who had done the only smart thing and removed himself from the fight until it was over. The mercenary had helped me see one of the Valsharess's "penance" tasks—the one set for Gaelan—fulfilled, for a hefty price. 

And he had saved me from Ishuna's further punishment; they had saved my pregnancy—he and Gavin had, quite intentionally—though I could not see that this would be for free, either. The Grey Maiden had asked her price on Gavin's behalf; Mourn would ask his for his own.

"Hungry?" he asked in his unfamiliar dialect of Drow.

"Not yet," I answered.

One side of his mouth lifted at the qualifier. "Feeling well?"

"Closer."

He grunted and paused. I did nothing except sit up straighter and rub a sore spot on my back, and check to see that Gavin was still resting. He was, deeply, though his eyes were active beneath his lids. He was dreaming again...likely of that vast grey plane I had seen, with the beautiful woman of infinite gaze, shrouded in tatters...

Mourn said, "What do you remember, Baenar?"

That almost felt like an intrusion.

"Why do you call me that?" I asked, ignoring his question. "Surely you heard Gavin use my name. You know what it is."

This time both sides of his mouth drew up. "I do. But you have not introduced yourself. I've not been invited to use your name."

That was ridiculously formal considering the place we were in... Although it was the first hint I had that he might respect females in some way. Or did he hold this formality with everyone? He hadn't called Gavin by name, either; just "Deathwalker" and such.

I sighed. Better to get it done and out of the way. "My name, as you well know, is Sirana. You may call me such. And you are Mourn. Or Morexxy-something."

"Moryxxyleth," he said again.

I did my best to repeat his Draconic name. "There. We are introduced."

Mourn nodded once. "What do you remember, Sirana?"

"Of what? A lot has happened."

"When the grey mage revealed part of your geas."

I felt an echo of sickness at his words, although it settled down again with a deep breath, and I frowned as tension filled my chest, like it had after I'd found Gaelan's dagger amid the cultist's rubbish. I swallowed and breathed again, looking at the shadow behind Mourn rather than at him. 

"I...felt pain, as I am accustomed when attempting to speak something forbidden...but more so. Panic. Failure. I knew I had failed. I was first to suffer and then return to confess the failure to my...queen."

Mourn nodded. "That was the second part of the compulsion. Your ally triggered it by speaking what he deduced."

I shivered, imagining myself on my way back to the Underdark right now, instead of sitting here by this fire. "Alright. Then... after that, it felt like you were trying to rip a snarl out of my hair, right off my scalp. Except you weren't, it was... inside."

The half-breed's eyes were unblinking although I began to notice once again how often he tasted the air, how the secondary membrane protected his eyes from the wood smoke. "Do you understand what happened?"

I nodded hesitantly. "You...'unraveled' the spell using Draconic. Gavin absorbed the magic when it was released."

"Drawing the shock away from your unborn," he added plainly.

"Yes, I will be sure to thank him when he wakes," I said, my tone bordering on irritation as I waited for some comment about how unusual or unwise or uncaring it was for me to be pregnant on the Surface in the first place. 

Would he question who or what the sire was, as if it was his business? Would he judge, like Tamuril, that I was putting myself and the baby in such danger, when she could not possibly know what had happened to lead to all this, or that I had to risk much to choose something more than two years of slavery and the condemnation of my firstborn?

Or why I would take the dangers of the Surface over giving any child of mine to Lolth's crippled Priesthood after one Draegloth had all but destroyed their standing?

Mourn tilted his head slightly but ultimately did not comment exactly as I expected. Instead he said, "I have gleaned these past weeks that you were headed to Manalar, and you said you planned to weaken them prior to the Ma'ab arrival. No mention of how you might accomplish this."

I smiled a bit at the opening. "Well, the details need refiguring. You slew most of us, remember? The plan has changed."

"You still mean to go."

"Yes," I said with careful levelness. "Whether you make a contract with us, or not."

"Manalar's weakness is the objective of the contract?"

"One part of it."

Mourn's tail slid along the ground behind him, shifting to the opposite side and coiling up partway. He still watched me unblinking and his focus seemed almost penetrating.

"Would we be acting against the Guild, infiltrating the temple city?" I asked, confident of the answer in what Mathias and Brom had told me.

The half-blood grunted and shook his head. "No." He paused then, and did not go down the path of question I expected right then. "What is the other objective?"

*Not one to be led by the dangling root, I see...*

"Locate and possibly recover another Drow in the same area."

Mourn stared at me for several long moments as the air shifted, blowing a cool breeze in from off the river. He did not say anything immediately to that, and I took the moment to lean and retrieve my waterskin to take a drink.

"The same one who owned the dagger found in the trash?" he asked, indicating the general direction of Gaelan's blade among my own possessions.

I shook my head. "No. A...third Drow. There were three of us sent from the Underdark."

Mourn was highly focused on me. "All of you were sent to cross the Midway, seeking something. Separate things?"

I nodded.

"You sought me."

That was close enough. I nodded again.

"Why did you start at the Ley Tower?"

"I was told Sarilis had many stories of the Surface. He first told me about the Guild, though he called you the 'Eastern Taskers,' for some reason, and about the dark one among them. I knew to travel this way, and I thought to find my two Sisters at the same time."

"Sisters?" He was questioning the accent and emphasis of the familial word.

"Of a Sisterhood. Not from the same mother, but bonded nonetheless with a common purpose."

The half-breed spent a few moments absorbing that; if he was surprised at the possibility of such a thing existing among us, he didn't show it. "What are the other two things sought by your Sisters for Ishuna?"

I smiled wryly, liking a bit better how this conversation was going. "Well, you helped me with one of them. The Warpstone Cult needed to be destroyed."

Mourn's ears moved back slightly and I could tell he was displeased that the ultimate objective had been for the benefit of someone he seemed to have a grudge against.

I shrugged. "Come, at the time, I only needed your help to survive, that was what I asked of you. Gavin and I took care of the pool, we did not need your help to do that."

The half-Dragon growled low, "Interesting to consider that she pays such attention to Chaos boils on the Surface."

I shrugged but said nothing to that. I did have a connection, though; "Mother" knew Cris-ri-phon and Soul Drinker, both of whom had belonged to Innathi, who was killed by Ishuna. I did not know what the Valsharess wanted in aiming for the same thing that Cris did—destroying the chaos cult whenever it cropped up, even twenty years apart—but suddenly I had the thought that I did not even know how long this particular hunt between Mother and Cris had been going on.

"Mother" might have a very long memory. It came to my mind something the chaos minion had said, of that city to the south. V'Gedra, on the edge of a desert. If it still even existed.

"The other one," I said, moving on, "seeks a particular human, a champion of Musanlo."

"The Archbishop?"

I shook my head. "No, younger, and born outside of the church. Probably called a heretic by the temple, though I have no name for him other than 'Godblood.'" Watching Mourn's expression carefully, I perked up as his slit-like pupils grew wider. I straightened up. "You know who he is."

A low sound of disapproval vibrated in his chest. "Your queen seeks a very young Yun-gar, a follower of Musanlo? Why?"

Mourn let me read that this was one topic where he and the queen did not agree on the task, before I even said anything.

"The task given to my Sister was to assassinate him," I said, then quickly added when I saw the spines start to rise on his back, "but it is *not* mine. I only aim to find her alive before she is captured by Witch Hunters. If we find her in time, we can even persuade her to forego the task."

"If she is under a geas like you, it will not be that easy," he said.

I frowned at that thought. "As far as I know, she is under no such compulsion...the queen did not spend time alone with her as she did with me. That I know of."

I thought another moment—no, she had gone straight to the cloister after that second audience with the Valsharess and had trained there the whole time. I was sure. I shrugged. "But even if so, you could undo it. I should think that obvious."

He grunted and paused.

"What of weakening Manalar?" he asked as if testing my truthfulness, and now I hesitated.

This mixed-blood mercenary killed Witch Hunters; he was interested in how we meant to weaken Manalar before the Ma'ab; and yet...he did not want seem to want the Godblood killed. I pondered how to answer with the right balance—

Gavin shifted then, drawing in a sudden, deep breath and I could tell Mourn knew he was awake as well.

"What was the question?" the mage grumbled grumpily. "Manalar and the Sun god have been spoken several times. What are you telling him, Sirana?"

We had been speaking in Drow, but Mourn switched to Common easily enough to accommodate Gavin. "How do you plan to weaken Manalar before the Ma'ab?"

"I plan... to let their own forged blade sever their connection to their god," the necromancer answered with apparent bitterness as he sat up stiffly, his hood back and his skin remaining pale in the Moon and fire light. "Let them destroy their own foundation."

"How so?" the mercenary asked again. I could almost say he was intrigued.

Gavin shifted his gaze to me and he smiled slowly, seeming perfectly wicked for a moment. "Jacob."

Mourn narrowed his gaze at the incomplete answer, but I felt myself tense as a particular delight raced up my spine.

"You mean the soul shard?" I asked.

The apprentice nodded. "Use it instead of the black vial Sarilis gave us. I believe I can attune us as 'non-targets.' It should have a similar result, but not so volatile or dangerous to us."

I could not help but laugh at the full circle this created in my mind's eye—mage-priests to Witch Hunter back to mage-priests—and Gavin's grimace turned into a broader grin. I felt lighter still when I saw that Mourn did not know what we were talking about. So! The sneak had not been lurking around the out-building during the interrogation...

"One of the Witch Hunters at the Inn died by sacrificial ritual," I told him, knowing that Mourn had been there during that attack which had killed Gavin, but perhaps had not linger too long after. "Gavin? What would you call it?"

He said readily, "Nyxtimalization."

"Sounds like an alchemist phrase," Mourn commented and Gavin looked at him, clearly amused by some private thought.

"It involves the distillation of the soul or essence of a person, if you will," the robed Man considered. "So alchemy is not a bad comparison." 

"Meaning," the half-Dragon finally seemed to run thin on patience with this line of questioning, "you need to get inside the temple with a 'soul shard'?"

"And throw it into their sacred pool," Gavin finished.

Mourn blinked slowly. Very slowly. The fire crackled and popped as it grew low, needing more fuel before long and I snuffed a bit of the smoke out of my nose. Gavin and I both waited for him to respond.

"Show me the shard?"

Gavin slowly reached inside a leather pouch that he'd not taken off his waist even to sleep and tugged out the black crystal I had not seen since I last stood inside the close, sour-smelling room beside Mathias, standing witness to various morbid talents within my former group.

The black crystal lay benignly across Gavin's wide, gaunt palm, cupped protectively and barely reflecting any light. It seemed almost ordinary, as if he may have plucked it up from the shale side of some obsidian mountain somewhere. Mourn peered at it and whispered a word, after which whatever he saw made his eyes widen significantly and he straightened as if to lean back.

"You keep its aura well hidden, mage."

"I try."

Mourn grunted, thinking more to himself. "What would happen if this landed in their sacred pool?"

"Metaphysically speaking?" Gavin considered. "Perhaps something like...a temporary diverting of a river. Instead of the magic flowing from one realm to a sacred site, it might come from another."

"Specifically?"

"The Greylands."

Another grunt. Another pause. "Getting inside the temple?"

"That plan was destroyed by a certain hired killer hated by all horses," I spoke up with a grin. "So that is...negotiable."

Mourn arched a brow at me. "You will not get inside that place without the Guild."

I kept grinning. "I was hoping you'd say that."

I met Mourn's eyes, certain now that he was convinced. We just had to work out the terms. Before we could, though, he informed us that he needed to sleep.

"You've had your rest, I shall have mine."

I pursed my lips slightly, because negotiating with a fully refreshed half-Dragon was going to be *so* much easier. Well, maybe I would have time to talk to Gavin, then, get some ideas.

"Of course."

"We will stay through the day to repair, clean, rest and eat before we travel in the evening."

"Night travel?" Gavin asked.

I liked the sound of that. The Sun was becoming hotter every day, it seemed.

"You see life auras," I said to him, "like plants? You could see at night, can't you? Your mare now follows your every command."

Gavin looked doubtful. "Plants do not shine with life in the same way as you or I. Perhaps a druid could see that way but not I. Navigating by squirrels and rabbits would leave me with quite a few bruises by morning. The light of a soul does illuminate its surroundings like a torch would."

"Hm," Mourn considered. "Then perhaps you may be able to learn a new Word, mage."

"You mean 'To'vah'? Ha. My mouth is not shaped like yours."

"It need not be. Just knowledge and practice, mage."

Gavin looked intrigued despite himself, and I thought to ask him, "Would it offend your mistress in some way? To learn a Draconic word or two to better serve her?"

The necromancer did give it some thought, but ultimately shook his head. "She knows my thirst for knowledge. It is what has been promised. And if it is useful, that is all for the better."

"Bekir toma."

Gavin looked at Mourn, who blinked back at him.

"Bekir toma. Meditate, practice, focus your will. You know how, mage."

"Bekir toma," Gavin repeated slowly, tasting the words in a way that I would have to say was typical for magical scholars. He was dissecting them in a way I could not consciously describe.

"More stress on 'kir.' Bekir toma."

Gavin repeated it, adding that bit of growl and roll of the tongue, and again, until Mourn seemed satisfied, but as far as I knew, nothing had happened or changed for the Human's eyes.

"What will it feel like when it works?" my ally asked quite reasonably.

"You vision will shift for a brief time. That time can be lengthened with use. I would hope you are seated when it happens. It can be disorienting the first time."

Gavin glanced at me; I wasn't sure if he was skeptical or wary.

"I will leave the fire and the Words to you," Mourn said, collecting a rolled bundle that seemed to have everything he carried with him except for the twin double-blades, which he picked up separately. "I will return when I'm rested."

Having no immediate reason to make him stay—and I had no doubt he had reason to return—we watched him leave without comment, moving farther from the river and into the forest. The privacy to each collect ourselves was welcome.

We sat in silence for a while, as Mourn's footsteps faded quicker than they should have if he had not been trying to conceal sound. Perhaps he would be spying on us the entire time...and yet after seeing how much food Mourn had consumed, I could not but think that he had to rest after such a battle and such a meal, then staying up to watch over us as Gavin and I had rested.

The small Moon was setting and it would be very dark for a little while before the Sun began to rise. Gavin tended the fire and began heating water in his little pot, and began checking over his kits and his books and his mare. He seemed well inside his own mind and I let him be as I finally decided to dress and rearm myself.

I still had a lot of cleaning and mending of my own to do.

We worked in a peace that had been unknown before in our traveling group, and it was a bit strange. No tension or challenging words, no paranoia; that extra energy that had been spent watching those around us wasn't being used now, and...well, I liked it.

I had thought it a necessary price, an inevitable effect of working with others on the Surface to achieve my goals. There would always be the friction and strife and challenge, first for my not being of their race but of being of a challenging gender. I had grown accustomed to it, and even learned to enjoy the snapping and barking. 




Surfacing Ch. 11



Kurn's attacks had been educational, though they also made the overall goals harder and ultimately...had led them to fail. Had that been the inevitability from the start? I had wondered whether failed attempts to dominate me might persuade him to focus on his other goal...it would have worked with any other Man in our group, except for him.

Perhaps there was always one who had the potential to upset even the best laid plans. Otherwise good plans would work out far more often.

I discovered, as I put myself together and did all the maintenance I was supposed to do before I had been stricken by that horrible pain, that Mourn had indeed mended my hand crossbow and a few bolts that had cracked. Magically, I was sure.

We hadn't negotiated a price. Of course, knowing that he likely knew what all my possessions were now—though nothing was missing—I would probably call on that to be my price. His knowledge of what I carried for the mending. He hadn't asked, after all, and I had been unconscious. I did not owe more than he'd taken in acting on his own.

Soul Drinker had been settled in between my other blades next to my pack; I wondered whether Mourn had not wanted to touch it, or if it had been luck? I handled it now, studying the scarlet runes etched into the hard, black sheath, feeling a warm comfort and welcome as the similarly-marked hilt settled in my gloved palm.

*You are well....* I heard it whisper, almost gently.

Yes. Well. Better than before; I was free of one great disadvantage. And it was a disadvantage that my allies...both of them...had not used to take advantage of me, to dominate me in any lasting way. 

What would have happened had something like that struck me as I was in the company of Sarilis, the Ma'ab, or Cris-ri-phon? I could well imagine, and I expected that I would still be naked, in one case possibly enslaved, my baby, too. In the other two cases...most certainly defiled, strangled, and dissected. Cut up and taken apart.

"Why did you take the backlash for my unborn, Gavin?" I asked quietly, though breaking the peace rather suddenly. I set Soul Drinker down entirely, away from me so I could be private in my thoughts as I brought this up.

The apprentice looked up from his reading and then leaned to stir the softening roots, greens, and shredded pork he was preparing to break our fast. It was smelling pretty good.

"To prove something to myself, mostly," he pondered. "Certainly because my Patroness asked me it of me. You remember your agreement, of course."

I nodded readily. "Yes, I still mean to help you in any way I can to take the Ley Tower from Sarilis. But whether I somehow continue to carry to a birthing does not mean much to you."

"It seems unlikely that you will carry full term, once you pass a certain point continuing on as you have been," Gavin mused.

"But you told Mourn of the danger he didn't know about."

"Because it matters to you, and I knew the loss would cause more trouble than the mercenary's knowledge of your pregnancy, and I could not be certain you would stay to continue to Manalar much less the Ley Tower. I assure you, it was in my own interest that I told him. Preserving your unborn was the best way to continue on my own path."

I smirked. "I like your honesty."

"I am without a certain...moral empathy, perhaps," Gavin said, smoothing a page in his grimoire. He tilted it just so that I happened to see what looked to be an anatomical sketch. "But I am aware of the trouble that lack can bring me if I ignore how others respond to certain assumptions and actions. And I'm well aware of what the world at large thinks of necromancers." 

"Yet a previous campfire discussion implied there were more of them among the Ma'ab, even to be a 'noble' kind and a 'slum' kind."

Gavin only shook his head at that.

"What? Don't you know what they meant by it?"

"I do. The Maab are ...unique in their stance on necromancy, but even then there are other factors that influence them. There are divisions in their society, as I'm guessing your own 'city' has not only a queen but an order of rank and status, including a 'nobility' with resources, and a 'slum' at the bottom, perhaps?"

"Mm," I grunted, glancing at his hands as he stirred the gently steaming pot again. "True. If there is a likeness, then, would you tell me what you know of them? Where did they come from?"

Gavin nodded, apparently seeing no reason not to answer my questions. "Mourn called us 'cousins,' his Ma'ab marks and me. He would be right. The Ma'ab ancestors were not native to this world. They are an escaped labor force, exiles, in a way. Their origins lie within the Greylands themselves."

Truly...?

"And...I presume you know this through your mistress?" I guessed, and he nodded readily.

"They've forgotten," Gavin said. "The ancestors who escaped the Greylands are now their deities, whom they worship in a caste system. The descendants of certain figures have immovable privilege, as 'divine birthright.' The weak serve the strong, and are consumed by them to lengthen the life, or unlife, of those heirs."

"What about the females having a power that males such as Kurn resent?" I asked. "Power over the politics, and the army. Brom even supported that, as he said a Ma'ab witch had far more spirit and ambition than any female of Manalar."

Gavin gave it some thought, turning a few pages in his book and scanning in quick jumps. He wasn't reading it to me, not at all, but something about it gave him a starting point to begin talking again. 

"The Grey Maiden told me that at first, only the 'weakest' who traveled to this new world were fertile and, with the use of the native Humans, could give birth to the next generation. Their leaders' powerful death magic made it difficult to conceive on this plane. So followers with fewer resources grew in number, the 'slum,' the work force was there. The ancestors could live and exist longer on that work, as they studied ways to procreate themselves. Thus, the caste system."

I mulled that over. "That...explains what Kurn said about the army being encouraged to rape those they attack."

Gavin nodded. "They'll take what offspring they can get, males especially to strengthen their force, as they are larger and stronger. They do not play well with others."

"Fighting for limited resources, like any of us."

My ally nodded agreement, but was concentrating deeply. I didn't interrupt.

"If Draconic was the first language of magic here...then the Ma'ab brought necromancy and undeath from the Greylands. In all likelihood, they had to learn how to blend some form of the natural magic here with their homeland's language, and they succeeded, else there would not have been descendants of those leaders at all. 

"And as the most powerful noble necromancers actually carried a live child to birth on this plane, thus actually transforming the connection of their homeland... then I can see where this would place the 'Matrons' somewhat above the fertile males, who only needed to plant the seed. This would have been the base of their 'religion' to maintain this structure."

"Mourn said," I pondered, "that Kurn killed someone powerful. I know the one killed was female, and he took her ruby. His own Hellhound father supported the contract on his head."

Gavin nodded. "Likely Kurn killed a fertile necromancer and daughter of those 'deities' from the Greylands. It would draw a heavy wrath. Although the repetition of Kurn's calling you a demoness makes me wonder about that ruby..."

I nodded. "He assumed the ruby would work against me, as a demon."

"Interesting. It supports what I have been told of further dealings with other entities since their exile, with the Abyss and Chaos, mostly to extend the life of the powerful and consume the weak to 'save' them from a worse fate."

I tilted my head. "A 'worse' fate? Being what?"

Gavin smiled slowly, showing his black teeth in the early dawn, a void against the firelight. "Their essence drawn back to the Greylands, where they came from. Unlike many Humans, the Ma'ab do not look forward to any reward or afterlife. This world is their reward. Being pulled back into the waiting blades of their ancestral enemies is a fate that the nobles use many techniques to avoid, including the soul shard technique you saw me use on Jacob."

I nodded, smirking a little at knowing what the Ma'ab feared most. Yet their 'protection' from those Greylords was also certainly what the Witch Hunter feared most, being trapped and barred from passing on to Musanlo's light...

Meanwhile, I had likely saved Kurn from his most feared fate...by sending him Elsewhere, beyond the Greylands. Would he prefer eternity with Innathi to the Grey Maiden, I wondered? Either way, he had to deal with females more powerful than him.

Gavin continued, "According to their religion, the Greylords usurped the Greylands from the Ma'ab, and turned it into the wasteland they see in their dreams. Not true, of course, but it is better than admitting to the followers that they had been breeding and fighting slaves to their creators and masters, and nothing more."

I absorbed that. "You do not really consider yourself Ma'ab, do you?"

Gavin used a spoon to sniff a sample of the morning soup, tasting it before pulling out a pouch to sprinkle some adjustment to the flavor. "Their blood is what attunes me to the Greylands, what gives me my magic. I need not take their religion, any more than I need take Musanlo as my god because my father said so."

"And your 'slum' mother," I said again, "she was a necromancer witch able to carry a live child, fathered by a native Human, or a 'Yun-gar' as Mourn has said. I do not believe she was one of the 'weak' who could first breed on this world, if only because of the attention given you by a Greylord."

Gavin pursed his lips, thinking over what I said and seeming to consider how to respond. "What do you ask, exactly, Sirana?"

"Was she 'slum' as Kurn said, or could she have been noble?"

He shook his head immediately in the negative. "She was not noble, but that does not mean she did not gain her own power. Kurn was right enough that what he called the 'slum' are not often pleasing to look at. I understand the bottom caste often have to bargain or steal for their knowledge, and use forms of self-mutilation as a means to focus their natural Greyland talents. They may even make a connection back to the Greylands, bargain with a Greylord or some other being, and they are periodically purged by the noble class, who then study and dissect what they have learned on their own." 

Gavin's long nose lifted in clear distaste as he sneered. "Thus the 'nobility' need never sully their hands with the difficulty of experimentation. I would not be surprised to learn that the 'ancestors' discovered how to breed live descendants by using the 'slum' techniques as their base."

During this unusual reflection on his heritage, I could see so much in my mind's eye: Gavin cutting himself with such focus, making sigils and runes in the flesh of the Witch Hunter, his deft use of his scalpel and needles and fine picking tools. His lack of concern for mere physical pain.

There was the hot-iron brand of the Sunburst on his back, and the whip marks, the signs of torture that I understood many of the Manalara might practice, even unto themselves...and suddenly I could see, in the right guise, in the right situation, a Ma'ab witch could be *comfortable* with the abuse, with the self-abuse. She could act well in "purifying" herself, as if she was a pious woman to a priest...

A penitent witch? Would such a woman tempt one such as Gavin's father? It must have; I had the proof right before me. Had the purpose been to get a child all along? Or had that been unexpected?

I certainly thought that the Grey Maiden was delighted with the outcome, whichever way it had been. She now had a natural blood to the Greylands, fully separated from the Ma'ab caste system and free of their beliefs, to whom she could speak directly...

And she could act through him, in a mere twenty-six years. Barely a blink of an eye in her time scale. Even mine.

When I looked up again from my thoughts, Gavin was watching me warily. He expected me to press him harder for more personal details. Somehow, I did not feel like digging further. He had been generous, and I saw the irony that only after both Ma'ab were dead did I have some true insight into what drove them.

I glanced down at Soul Drinker then, far enough not to feel as if it were touching me, but I did remember how the voice had said that...if I gave Kurn to the dagger, he would still exist. All that he knew would still be..."accessible."

"Why are the Ma'ab coming for Manalar?" I asked.

"Expansion, on both sides," Gavin answered readily, and I could think he was glad to move away from the mention of his mother. "They are natural rivals and both incredibly aggressive. They would conquer the other if only to prove which is the strongest, regardless of the damage such a war causes."

"Are you concerned for the damage?" I asked curiously. "It would simply create a different balance on the Surface."

"Something about it concerns my mistress," was all he'd say.

Interesting.

"And Sarilis doesn't want either side to win, either. That is why he sent our group."

Gavin smirked. "Presumably, by proximity, Augran may not want to deal with a victor as well."

I nodded. Or, by extension, the Guild. There were a lot of sides in this conflict. And what would happen if one Drow, my Sister Jael, actually killed the Godblood amid all this upset...? It seemed appropriate, as something that the Valsharess and Lolth would do. Perhaps they did not even care about the outcome.

The Valsharess had said she did not expect Jael to live to return...though perhaps that did not mean she would fail in killing her target.

"The Draconic words our mercenary gave me are intriguing," Gavin added, shifting the discussion slightly and drawing me from my thoughts. "I will have to work this 'root' out in a way I can use. I will then presumably have the knowledge to see in the dark."

I smiled at that, considering the off-thought that perhaps those "root" words were also how the Drow as a race began to see in the dark? When we went underground?

"You would not simply repeat what he said and focus your will?"

Gavin shook his head. "If magic were that simple it wouldn't be so difficult for so many to learn. He gave me a tool but it is mine to consider how it works best with my set of hands."

"Meditate," I murmured, remembering what Mourn had said, and Gavin nodded again, looking up from his pot and gesturing to the food.

"It is hot enough. Anytime."

I had a thin metal cup I used frequently from my pack, for water, for stew such as this, and I used it now to scoop a full one to consume. It was hot and I could smell the fresh vegetables and the meat and whatever flavorings or herbs Gavin carried with him. I took a sip of the broth and could only think that I was very satisfied. The Eastern Sky lightened to that familiar lavender and quickly changing to pink and orange as I drank my soup, chewing slowly and enjoying the quiet.

I was...glad that the difficult group to which I'd attached myself was gone; this was a preferable way to spend the morning, more as it had been with my Sisters at the cave as we acclimated to the Surface. I was glad that there was a possible alternative now to continuing, and even if the massacre of the others had not happened...I still might have switched alliances and persuaded Gavin to come with me once I became aware of the half-blood I sought.

"How long as it been since you've meditated with that sapphire?" Gavin asked abruptly. He'd been watching me as he ate.

I blinked at him in silence, then gently touched at my chest where the stone was hidden now; I'd removed it from a pouch and donned it for the first time that morning since having to give it up back at Sarilis's Tower. I thought about it.

When was the last time the stone had done anything noticeable...?

Rausery. I'd been riding her Feldeu beneath the two Sister Moons; I'd climaxed, it had warmed as it did with Jaunda...and I'd seen my first glimpse of Cris-ri-phon within her mind, Soul Drinker in his hand and the phoenix ring on his finger.

I fished it out now and studied the crescent Moon shape cradling the sapphire. It felt inert; it looked like an ordinary polished stone.

"A month now, I suppose," I said. "Since before we left the Tower."

Gavin nodded again. "What you said about it, of it not being any use to mages, and even distracting or drawing power from them...I think I believe you."

I took the last gulp of my soup and set the cup down, settling comfortably to tilt my head at him. "Why believe me now? I haven't even mentioned it."

He considered carefully as he, too, finished up his breakfast. "You did something...strange to me when I touched you. In your distress, you made a mental connection with me and my mistress. That was when she decided to bargain with you, I believe. But it did not feel like any spell or any magic I have ever studied or heard about. It was instinctive, uncontrolled."

I was surprised and disconcerted to hear this. "I thought your mistress came to me."

Gavin shook his head. "No. She can only speak to those who are attuned to the Greylands. What you did was force your way into that communion through me. And based on how I felt after we were separated again, if I did not regenerate as I do now, I would have a concussion and still be unconscious, assuming I would wake up at all."

I remembered his nose bleeding afterward, how he was holding his head. Had I done that, somehow? It wasn't just the backlash he'd taken for me?

"What other abilities do you have," he asked, "other than calling and dispelling a globe of darkness at will, and seeing in pitch black? Is this mind-link common to your race? As you used it on me, your ally, I would like to know."

Shaking my head, I sighed. I prepared myself for more distrust between us. "No, it is not common. It was a...change I went through, rather like you did at the inn."

"A trauma or a death?" Gavin asked with a raised brow.

Both, I realized with a bit of a start.

I straightened my back and shrugged. "I suppose one could call it a trauma. A physical struggle with a psionic enemy, involving too much ritual magic."

"Psionic," Gavin repeated the Drow word, clearly asking me to define it.

I nodded. "Mind-talents. There are two races in the Underdark with them, and they are both dangerous. They can communicate mind-to-mind, can injure or control another sentient, and sometimes move physical things with their will, like mages can, but it is on a different level somehow...no words or gestures. Pure thought."

He blinked those icy blue eyes slowly, considering that. "And you...changed after being in a confrontation with one?"

"I killed him, but we were still...mind-linked when he died," I admitted. "Something about that changed me."

"And the sapphire is a focus for that change?" Gavin asked with patience and perception.

Until he'd said it aloud, I wasn't sure I had really believed that. But what else could that strange warmth be? When Lana had done what she did, stabilizing my mental "injury," perhaps, I'd been wearing the blue stone then.

I nodded. "Possibly. Probably."

"Can you move things with your mind? Or control others?"

"I've never tried."

That wasn't quite true. Out of necessity I had tried a suggestion, the temporary "forgetting" of my pregnancy within Jaunda's memory. It had worked; it protected us both from the queen and my Lead did not need to suffer a compulsion from our Elder.

"Mostly I...just seem to make links with others, only if I am touching them," I said carefully. "But as you said, it is instinctive. I am not sure what triggers it, except...it happens most easily when my body is feeling a great amount of sensation. Pain....or pleasure. Like I'm using my specific training to focus it."




Surfacing Ch. 11



"Pain and pleasure is a large part of your training?"

"Heightened awareness of my body, and the wit to go with it."

I rather felt like I was making up part of this. Speaking it aloud this way—as I never had before—I was describing commonalities between instances, but I had no way to know if that was what really governed it. At the same time, I had no one who knew any better. Only myself and my experiences.

Yet I had been doing my own training a disservice, ignoring it as much as I could, because too much else demanded my attention in this foreign land.

....or, perhaps, I ignored it because it frightened me.

Gavin asked, "Would you say you are unique among your kind in this 'psionic trigger'?"

After a pause, I nodded an affirmative. "Only three others know of it. No one knows what to do about it."

"Very interesting," he pondered. "I wonder...could there be any mind-talents here on the surface? I've never heard of any but they would no doubt be hiding the same as many mages do. Easier when one can control another's thoughts."

"There are others," I said, glad enough to share knowledge of the Surface that Gavin didn't have, for once. "I have heard them called 'Varasa.' Brom said they were reclusive and he did not know where they are or how to find them."

Gavin rubbed his smooth chin. "Hm. You asked about them? Do you search for them? Seek a teacher, perhaps?"

I blinked at that; that was a possibility I hadn't dared consider. I did not believe I had the time to search so far afield. "Well, no. I search for my Sisters, first and foremost."

"Is one gone?" he asked forthrightly. "The dagger you found."

I hesitated as my chest tightened for a moment. "I do not know. Daggers can be dropped."

"Connor said they ate her."

"He also got the names wrong. Twice."

"Would that matter?"

I shook my head. "That was...strange. I felt so strange during that. It was like that pool, like 'Mother'...through Connor...was pulling our desires from us. Offering gold to Mourn, Brom's death, me joining my Sister—"

"Information about some city to the south," Gavin added, then gestured to the pot. "Take what you want, I will be cleaning up soon."

Despite my upset at the topic, I knew I had to eat whenever I could. I served myself another cup and forced myself to eat that—which wasn't difficult, despite our talk—while Gavin continued analyzing our confrontation of the previous day.

"V'Gedra," he said. "That means nothing to me. Does it to you?"

"Not in itself," I said. "But there is some connection to Brom, I think. Connor's 'Father' to the South."

Gavin shook his head. "Tenuous link at best, the inn being to the south."

I shook my head as well. "No, it is more...you know he is a powerful sorcerer, and old." When I received a nod, I continued. "He told me he was from a desert originally. That he used to rule there."

"Ah, the scorpion you pulled out," he answered, straightening up quite a bit. "I truly wondered where that had come from, whether you had pulled it out of a black void inside your pouch somehow."

I smiled and felt the urge to chuckle. "No. Brom gave it to me, specifically to punish Connor."

"Indeed," Gavin mused. "Suppose Brom is Connor's father? He has a daughter, and seems to enjoy women."

I shrugged. "The way he said it...it was like when Connor said 'Mother,' wouldn't you agree?"

"Perhaps." Gavin thought about it. "Mother and Father...Chaos perhaps would make links and not keep them straight."

"Meaning I do not want to take what he said at plain face. Brom even warned me about that, though I suppose the warning could also protect his own secrets."

"Indeed. So...you do not have sufficient proof that one of yours is dead."

I could only shrug. I knew that finding such a thing in such a place in the Underdark would mean that it was the only conclusion the Drow could make. We would move on, and only if the missing turned up again, still breathing, would we deign to be surprised, to admit being wrong. It was rare for one of us to hold out hope like that if there was nothing to be done.

Rare, but not unknown.

"If you might hand me the dagger itself," Gavin said, "I could see whether there might be any death impression on it. Likewise...could your psionics pick up a memory, do you think? Some emotion from who last held it that might give a clue what happened?"

"What?" I lifted my mouth from my cup.

"Or has it happened already? When you first touched it, is that why you left the camp so abruptly?"

I took a large swig of soup and chewed the well-seasoned meat and veggies, shaking my head and trying to settle my nerves. "No, it was the smell. I needed to vomit and didn't want to do it in front of you. But I wouldn't know how to do what you describe."

Gavin nodded, accepting. "Mm. Then may I see it?"

Sighing, I leaned to lift the naked dagger from where it lay near my pack, turning it to extend handle-first to Gavin. He accepted it carefully and held the hilt, touching the blade with his other hand; it seemed a bit small in his long-fingered grasp.

It was an intriguing idea, what he'd just said. A psionic impression on objects carried by others, lingering emotions or memories? Was that even possible? Where would he have gotten such an idea?

The answer seemed immediate as I watched him; this Man saw ghosts, lingering impressions of life; he saw auras and how they changed with their health. 

Derivatives, extensions and parallels. Overlaps, perhaps. My mind saw connections, cause and effect, sometimes quickly enough to make predictions, to anticipate a move, or to deduce what someone might know or be hiding. Why wouldn't Gavin's mind work in similar ways, just in terms of ancient words and auras and experimental magic? It was his very heritage, which he fully embraced...

I believed that knowledge was indeed his greatest treasure that he could ever seek. I wanted to see if he might have some unseen answer for me from holding at dagger, but at the same time, being what he was, I wasn't sure I wanted to hear something definite.

Ultimately Gavin shook his head and handed the dagger back to me. "I do not sense anything strong. Death clings to the blade from past kills, but that tells me nothing you do not already know. At best, I would say no one has died while wielding it."

I nodded, placing the weapon back beside my things. "It being out of its scabbard does imply it was drawn, probably by her. An elimination, maybe, but no answer. And if not back at that garbage pile, I would not know where else to look for her."

Gavin nodded. "Then we both have much to meditate on. Perhaps an answer will come to you."

"But I can't stay here long," I said. "The Ma'ab draw closer to Manalar each day."

"How do you know?"

"My youngest Sister was instructed by the Valsharess to reach Manalar during the warm seasons, that is when the Godblood will be there. Once it begins to cool toward the Winter change, it will be too late."

"Then we negotiate with the half-breed and move on to Manalar?"

I pursed my lips. "Maybe take one more look on the way out for any other sign, but yes."

*******

We did not waste our morning in complete idleness as we waited for Mourn to rest, wherever he was. Gavin cared for his mare, checking her teeth...which seemed to me to be becoming sharper...and made sure his packs were ready for quick securement to her broad back. He also prodded around to gather a bit more wild edibles to supplement his supply; I would do the same, and maybe even bring back a rodent or two for the horse. 

I captured a few insects for my spiders as well, saving them the trouble of hunting. They had moved very little after retreating back into their pouch, empty of their venom, and fortunately had been on the opposite side of my crossbow when it had been damaged. I had visually checked on them to confirm they still lived as I stripped down to bathe, though I still felt I would have sensed it if they had been injured or crushed. But then when all that pain had begun, the conflict with Mourn and the Grey Maiden and my queen's spell... I had fallen asleep afterward, exhausted, and I had forgotten about them.

My babies now ate hungrily of the soft-bellied flies I had lured to me with a mushroom powder which smelled of decay when a few drops of water were added. I smiled, looking down at them in their protected shadow as the Sun climbed higher above the trees, and could sense their overall well-being. They were soon content and quiet, drinking the insides of the flies which soon would be only husks.

I did some small hunting and gathering along the river, not going so far that a loud noise would not carry to me, but sure that Gavin would occupy himself and be well. He certainly had numerous ways to defend himself now, the ability to recover even from a nose-bleeding concussion without losing consciousness, and another female to watch over him whom he trusted much more than me.

Once again I became aware of the peace and the satisfaction I felt being on my own in the wilderness. I might have grown to enjoy the challenge of strife and friction living near others, as it was necessary and a greater pool from which a race could draw strength to survive as a whole. But the time spent acclimating, the time traveling from the portal to Tamuril's hovel, then Sarilis's Tower...that had been empowering as well, on a solitary level. 

And here it was again; I felt my trust in my own abilities once more.

I brought back enough small meats for Gavin's mare, which she tore into with surprising dexterity of her jaw, and set myself to grinding together some nuts, wild grains, and fruits, mixing it together with clarified pig fat to wrap up and add to my own stores. These warmer months were showing more and more abundance every day.

I did keep in mind that, Rausery and Shyntre had both said, the abundance would not last. I could feel independent now, but sooner or later, I would need help to find enough to eat as my baby grew. That was the reason for the friction and the dominance struggle and living with others...to assure the most resources for the healthiest offspring possible. If I injured myself out here, I would not have many options to look toward giving birth alone. And injuries did happen.

This did lead my thoughts toward the mercenary again, to my watching him as he'd ambushed that pig and hauled it back for us all to feast on. He had done that even not knowing that I carried, but now that he did...?

How would he act around me now? There had been few tells so far, but given enough time, I would see why he had gone so still at Gavin's revelation, and why he'd gone to the extra effort to save my unborn.

Perhaps he had merely agreed with Gavin and did not want me "distracted" from whatever his own goals were, but something told me it was something else. Maybe it had to do with what he'd said about dragons not being very fertile, and his sire holding on to a pregnant Drow for years—that my pregnancy may matter more on a racial level to him than it did with Gavin.

That could be to my advantage, but it could also be a hindrance, depending on how he acted about it.

"It is afternoon," I told Gavin at the camp as I finished up my supply gathering. "I will see if I can track Mourn, see if he is still sleeping."

Gavin looked at me, his hood up against the Sun though again his hands had changed to dark again. He almost smiled. "Is it wise to go seek a dragon asleep in his lair?"

"Not if you believe the tales," I grinned. "But I may not be able to track him. I'll worry about the lair should I find it."

Gavin shrugged and nodded. "I'll remain here."

"Stay comfortable."

He pffted, and I chuckled and stepped off in the direction Mourn had left in the pre-dawn dark, noting the disturbed soil and opening my senses—scent and hearing and sight, the orientation of my body and the air against my skin, even that indeterminate sense of Elf heritage and magic—as I entered the forest.

It would have been easier to follow in the morning dew, of course, rather than wait so long for the trail to get cold, but I was partly testing myself, partly seeing if I got lucky. I did not expect to sense or see his aura if he had been able to follow us for so long only being detected once, and for a very brief moment, but I was bored enough to want to see if something else might happen.

I lost clear physical sign early on—Mourn was not nearly so inexperienced as to leave behind a trail of fresh broken twigs, torn leaves and fronds, scuffed rock and soil disturbances. I moved on with an odd mix of scent and perception leading my way; it was like another side of the forest lingered just at the edge of my periphery. Some body warmth, some unusual musk, some already-cast sound that left an echo for me to drift toward like it floated on a natural current...

My eyes came back into focus suddenly as I heard something just over the next rise, which had quite a few rocks crowning the top among the trees. I leaned down to lightly touch the ground on four points of contact to better stay still and balanced on the slope amid the brush. The sound gave me a mental image of a bear scrubbing an itchy spot against some rough bark. There was even a growl of relief, I knew, as my ears perked up, and I moved smoothly toward the sound that I decided wasn't a bear.

The mercenary hadn't gone far; a good shout from me or Gavin, and he would have heard it.

I managed a glimpse of him as I peeked over a rock, right before he sensed me and turned around. That glimpse was that he had been scratching his bare back against a stone, to one side of his spines as if his right shoulder was irritating him intensely. He had removed his harness to do so...or maybe he hasn't put it back on yet. His straight, black hair was thinner but a *lot* longer than I realized...down to the backs of his knees. He must have had it coiled up before.

Had he just woken up?

The next moment he inhaled through his mouth and moved his head; his gaze nailed right where I was crouched, even as I tried to lower out of sight, and I heard him rumble in our native language. "Greetings, Sirana."

Well, damn.

I stood up and smiled, coming forward confidently, looking about. I could see he had been using a den to rest during the day, rather like I had found a time or two in the wilderness, only I wondered whether this was one he had used in previous stays by this river? It had to appearance of having been a regular shelter for more than one kind of animal...

"Greetings, Mourn. Did I disturb you?"

"No. Bored?"

I smirked; maybe he did know Drow females a little better than it seemed. "A little."

"Hrm. I might have thought you'd come searching sooner."

"To catch you vulnerable, perhaps?"

"Some think it is a good idea."

I shrugged. "I had work to do."

"And a lot of talk with the grey mage, from the echo on the wind."

I squinted at him. Had he overheard everything? "Aw. Did it keep you awake?"

He almost smiled. "Good to know you are truly allies, unlike those others of barest convenience."

I paused at that, considering. "I know him well by now. His knowledge is invaluable to me and I have defended him to keep it."

Mourn nodded. "I do not doubt. Listening to him...he is the tutor who refined your Surface Common, correct? The Manalar monk."

A touch of wariness came to me. "Yes. You won't hold that against him?"

The mercenary shook his head. "No. It is a mark well in his favor that he would teach an outsider, and he is an outsider among his own as well. Excommunicated."

I frowned. "Excom...?"

"Out of Musanlo's favor, and out of the church."

"Ah. Well, that goes without saying, given his practice."

"Indeed," Mourn mused. "Death magic like the Ma'ab, but all the skills and language of one devoted to a Manalar monastery."

"Perceptive. He is a mixed breed, like you," I said.

Mourn looked interested at that. "With a pull in both directions, perhaps."

That gave me a moment to think. Certainly after everything the apprentice had just told me of his mother's side... "Gavin seems to be taking from both heritages, but walking his own path."

Mourn smiled slowly at me, showing fang. "I like that you are curious about others, Baenar. You see the sky above you."

I stared at him for a moment, watching the way his nostrils and mouth shifted subtly, even when he wasn't talking, and I watched the nictitating membrane blink across his more golden eyes even as his gaze didn't leave me for an instant.

I wasn't sure what to say at first, but I picked something. "I decided that your looking through my tools is knowledge enough to pay for mending them and drying my clothes."

He looked amused. "Oh, you have decided?"

"I take it you would not want me to look through your weapons at my leisure while you were unconscious."

"But you would anyway."

"If necessary."

"And if I asked you not to?"

I shrugged. "Depends on circumstance."

"Ah." He narrowed his eyes a bit, considering though not hostile. "Tell me, is there something on your belt that would cause most to regret searching the specifics of your pouches?"

It came to mind immediately: My spiders. They had never cried out to me...not that I heard, anyway. And they seemed undisturbed in the morning. Certainly not agitated.

Mourn could read on my face that there was indeed something and he nodded. "I did not search your things, Baenar. I moved them. Carefully. Even your relic I would rather not touch directly. It has a hostile aura."

I glanced at the matching rings on each of his hands, and the pouches on his harness set to the side with his sliders, his pack-roll, his cloak, Rithal's axe. There would be things there that would make a snooper regret digging around in there. Even if Deep Dragons were not already said to be intelligent and sneaky, he was still Drow, so how could there not be?

I was mostly bluffing that I would go through his things under *any* circumstance, and I had the feeling that he knew it.

"What is your opinion of my being pregnant?" I asked directly, and succeeded in surprising him.

"My opinion?"

"Yes. I want to make a contract with you to weaken Manalar and find a female Drow on the Surface. I also want to keep my unborn." I crossed my arms and waited.

The half-breed seemed to turn that over a few times, even if the connection should have been obvious. Looking up I had the time to study how, despite the heavier favor of his jaw to hold a few more teeth, and the aloof, reptilian eyes, his face was actually quite balanced in an Elven way, and he had a black peak of hair centered on his forehead and pointing directly between his eyes. Despite the fact that he was not full-blood Drow, he was not ugly as the Draegloth were. Just heavy-boned, and...exotic.

"I do not accept contracts that target children or pregnant females," he stated calmly. "We could make a contract and you could be quite certain that I would not harm you while you carry, Sirana, unless you sought to harm me first. Make it part of it contract, and I would even defend your body to keep the unborn well."

Well. That was a good opinion, overall. Really? No judgment? Even a bodyguard?

Could I really be certain of what he says?

"What about mates?" I asked. "Do you have any?"

Again, my question surprised him.

He rumbled. "This is strange negotiating, Baenar."

"You looked at me while I was nude, and you liked it."

Mourn didn't deny that, but he turned it around. "As did you look at me."

I made a motion to bat that detail away until later. "So? Are there other bonds, any female who holds claim to you who is not a temporary 'benefactress'?"

Mourn considered. "No. There are not many who would have me as I am, and those that would might only do so for power or curiosity."




Surfacing Ch. 11



Given that he looked very demonic, that did not surprise me. "What about mating in an altered form?"

He blinked, then grinned to show teeth. "You trust I can?"

"Your sire could. And there are tales of disappearing acts about you. Taking another form would be quite the performance. You will have to show me sometime."

The mercenary chuckled and nodded, acknowledging that I was correct in my guess. "Indeed. But no, I do not maintain another form to fool a mate."

That was better. I was glad; less drama for me to deal with. I nodded. "And do you only accept treasure as payment?"

"No. Favors in kind, resources, knowledge of value; they work as well. I am one of the Guild; this is what we do."

Again I nodded. I could work with that.

Finally I asked, "What about releasing me from the compulsion?"

Mourn paused and considered me, looking down. I thought I saw something short and hard in his black hair, a somewhat lighter grey, two on each side, like...horns? Was he growing horns?

He said, "You answered my questions when your tongue was free to do so, and I believe you do not know more. I would hold one more question about your queen, to use at my discretion."

I still wanted to shiver inside from the memory of last night, but I nodded firmly. "Very well. One more question, and only about Ishuna. Then I have repaid you."

He nodded. "Agreed."

It was a light payment for saving my life, and my unborn.

I sighed. "If you are rested, perhaps we could meet Gavin and leave now. I would check the cannibal camp one more time before we leave for any sign of the third, the other Drow Sister, and Gavin will still be able to see until the Sun sets. You said we could bargain on the way to Augran?"

Mourn nodded and moved to slip into his harness and get geared up. "He has not figured out how to use the Words yet?"

"It has only been a few hours."

"Very well."

*****

I hated returning to the pool and the camp; it would be a blight here for a while, until the natural elements absorbed and reclaimed what had been usurped for some time. Eventually the grass would grow back, the trees would right themselves, the pool would support frogs and insects, maybe eventually fish.

The day after its cleansing, however, I was still searching carefully about much of the same refuse, the same horrid smells, though I took more care to use branches and longer tools to dig around, trying to keep my equipment and clothing clean as possible. The only thing I had not cleaned—but instead wrapped in cloth and put on Gavin's mare with Kurn's sword—was Gaelan's dagger. The earlier suggestion of possibly detecting some lingering memory on it still stayed with me.

Gavin helped me search, able to sense the few spots that had a magical aura, but it was all very weak and nothing we found was anything even Mourn wanted to collect out of the mess. The mercenary mostly stood to the side and watched around us; I got the feeling he was standing guard and aware of much more in the forest than the mere rustling we were doing.

In the end, I found nothing of Gaelan besides that dagger.

"No armor, no pouches, no belt, no boots," I muttered, shaking my head. "Yet there is a great deal of other bloody clothing and tools and bones here. I can see that they ate bodies, but no sign of her."

Gavin nodded. "It does seem strange. Perhaps she still lives somewhere, or died far from here, not as a victim of this cult."

I would have preferred either of those possibilities, to be honest.

"Are you ready to leave, then?" Mourn asked.

Some part of me didn't want to. What if she was injured somewhere near here, and I had only to find her? What if leaving now doomed her to become a skeleton of scattered bones in a Surface forest? She had made it this far or her dagger would not have been here...

"Which direction did you come from, Mourn?" I asked him, and he tilted his head.

"I tracked your group."

"That is no answer. You left Brom's Inn earlier than we did. Which direction? Were you waiting for us to catch up?"

"I had other business."

"But you were in this area before we were?"

Mourn paused, watching me. "You want to ask me a question, Sirana. Just ask."

"Could you have sensed or smelled another Drow, other than me? Or anything odd? Is there a place we should check again before we leave?"

The half-blood made an odd ticking sound in the back of his throat as he thought about it, looking around the forest and listening to the intermittent quiet.

"No. I think we should leave for Augran and make haste. I will have contacts waiting for us, and soon as we can reach the city, the sooner others can be out searching for your third Sister. You stand a far greater chance of locating her with multiple sets of eyes and ears covering a greater distance than the three of us can while standing in this forest."

Jael.

For a second, it almost seemed I remembered what she smelled like.

*You must still be alive. You must.*

*****

I rode behind Gavin on his mare once again, trying to conserve my energy so I did not have to eat through my stores, that I might have enough to reach the lake without too much extra hunting and gathering. Mourn walked tirelessly beside and slightly in front of us, glancing at the undead mount now and then. Gavin was right about her; she was entirely indifferent to the horse-eating predator sharing the path, although it was clear to me that the dragonblood did not consider her to be food at all.

The Sun would set before too long and we had traveled quietly at first, lost in our thoughts, and Gavin almost seemed to be meditating while riding. I did notice that Gavin must have bathed at the river when both Mourn and I were gone; we never saw him do so, but I could smell the difference, even in his garments.

I noticed now that, even clean, his body temperature was not natural, not like it had been before riding on his horse before his resurrection. He wasn't cold or stiff like a corpse, but I was the one giving out the most heat between us, easily. Likewise his mare did not seem so hot and sweaty beneath my ass as before, though the sheer mass of the beast still allowed basic insulation.

I found myself practicing, suppressing my aura and letting it rise again, like I had before, the routine of the first few weeks of traveling with Gavin at the back of the group returning. Except there was no group ahead of us; there was just Mourn walking peacefully beside us.

Did I really not have to be prepared for fights and arguments at each dawn and dusk? Could we pool our knowledge and find water and food and shelter without bickering? We could focus on our surroundings and not be caught unaware, as we had been with the Warpstone cult?

I breathed out, noticing how the shadows had gotten much longer and my eyes felt less strain. Gavin whispered quietly now and then, and I recognized the "root" Draconic words in what he was saying, as did Mourn, who turned his ears now and then but otherwise did not disturb him. Gavin was adjusting the words, however, to whatever inner logic best suited his own talent.

Twilight was upon us, the night world clear to me and the Moons not yet risen, when I felt a subtle pulse of energy come from my grey mage, and Gavin breathed in suddenly. I felt him tip slightly to one side.

I caught him, wrapping my arms strongly about his middle and holding him to his horse. He was not normally comfortable with such close contact from anyone, but he was well distracted by something else this time.

"Good catch," Mourn commented to me.

"Did it work?" I asked Gavin. "What do you see?"

"E...extraordinary," was all he said at first. He turned his head well around in different directions, focusing near and far, and I could tell he was not faking. He was not blind or straining to see dull grey shapes in blackness.

Mourn smiled and said nothing, and I followed suit, letting Gavin adjust and slowly releasing my grip on him when he seemed to have his balance back.

"And...this is what you see every night?" the necromancer muttered thoughtfully.

"What is it you see?" I asked with a smile, curious how a Human would describe it.

Gavin thought about it. "Different...spectrums. Perhaps energy? No colors as I know them, but the infinite densities outline everything in solid lines; rocks, trees, moving things. I see now why you thought I might be able to navigate by life auras. I can see well, though not as far as in natural light. Interesting." 

"Excellent," Mourn said. "This will help us. Just practice your endurance now. Well done, mage."

Gavin didn't acknowledge that directly; I would have said that he gave the half-blood a quick, odd glance. I figured he was not used to praise from other males; he was only used to being beaten or insulted by them.

"What may we expect in this next leg of our journey?" Gavin asked.

The mercenary nodded, accepting or perhaps expecting that. "We can reach the shore of the Great Lake before dawn if we do not stop. There is a supply port, a common stop going between Yong-ch'chai and Yong-wen. We will be able to slip aboard a ship there to take us swiftly southeast."

"Yong-wen," Gavin repeated, tasting the word. It was clearly foreign to him. "That is Yungian. Far to the North."

Mourn grunted. "Yong-ch'chai is on the other side of the Great Lake. Yong-wen is their enclave within Augran. The Guild has many contacts there."

I stayed quiet and listened acutely.

"When did that happen?" Gavin asked. "I only recall reading a mention of a strange people on the North Lake. Closed and defensive, horsemen and fisherman and warriors, with strange weapons well beyond sword and dagger."

I gestured at the sliders that Mourn carried on his back. "Like those?"

Mourn smiled widely enough to show nearly all his teeth as he glanced back at us. "They first saw these weapons with me, though they may have mimicked them. These are older than Yun-gar. But to answer your question, Deathwalker, Yong-wen 'happened' around three centuries ago. They are closed off within the metropolis, shrewd businessmen, building wealth to send back to their people north. They are superstitious, but they will be more open to our presence than many places in the city."

"Why?" I asked.

Mourn took another "tasting" breath and answered simply, "They revere dragon spirits."

Huh.

"Three centuries ago..." Gavin muttered. "Within the time you've been on the surface. Did you encourage the trade to happen, Mourn?"

"Perhaps. There were many factors."

"But it was good for the Guild," I guessed, and he did nod.

It did somehow imply that Mourn and Cris-ri-phon had avoided each other possibly by chance, at least at first, simply being a remote distance from each other—North and South. I resolved to watch and listen carefully to everything Mourn did from here. He would be using paths that he had used before in his past to get around in this world, perhaps ones that he had forged himself where there had been none. It would be a wealth of knowledge, more than any from my City had.

"How did you first become aware of the Archmage?" I asked him, but he shook his head.

"I think, perhaps, we might discuss what is good for the Guild in my helping you achieve your goal. I have been waiting for you to open the barter with an offer."

"You want to do this," I replied a bit testily. "You want the church to fall, so we'll come to an agreement sooner or later. I personally do not care to barter when I'm on the back of a horse looking at my potential dealer's back."

He grunted again. "Fair. But is it that you do not know what to offer me, Baenar? Do you feel you have little to offer of similar wealth to the dragon's marc you gave me to fight the cult for you?"

That was true enough. And if he called that platinum piece a "dragon's marc," then what else would have the same value to one such as him?

"The Archmage gave me that coin," I said. "I came up with very little in riches. Originally, we were to use that coin with an illusion potion he made to get me into Manalar as a wealthy noblewoman." I gasped. "Oh, Gavin! The map and times we got from Jacob! They were on Kurn's horse—"

"A bit soiled, but salvageable, Sirana. I got them."

I grinned broadly in relief. Jaunda definitely would have beaten me for such a stupid oversight. What was wrong with my memory these days?

"Map and times?" Mourn asked, allowing the tangent in discussion.

"And sentry passwords," Gavin said. "From the Witch Hunter we interrogated."

Mourn grunted, but I added in quickly before he could ask for it for free: "Do those have worth to the Guild in our barter?"

"They do, but only in a temporary sense. Such information does not have a long shelf life, it would have to be used quickly. But you have an illusion potion, Sirana?"

"To make me look Human for half a day, and strong enough that few mages would be able to see through it."

"That is good to know. And the Archmage gave you the Drake."

"Yes. How old is it?"

"Older than I have been on the Surface, but that is only because I can taste it in the metal from when it was last forged. It is in good shape, so I expect it to have been secured undisturbed for some time. I do not recognize the script, but I cannot read all scripts of all the current peoples, so that means little."

"You 'taste' metal?" Gavin spoke up.

Mourn nodded, demonstrating with a flick of his light purple tongue through his teeth. I was startled by the length, having only seen it from behind his teeth before. It was a bit like a serpent, extending past his chin, although it was not forked like one.

"That must come in useful for hoarding," the apprentice said with both amusement and consideration. "Do you have a store somewhere of your earnings as a mercenary?"

The half-blood chuckled low. "The wiser ones do. I remember the unique taste of every piece I have ever collected, Deathwalker. Remember that."

We both got what he meant. If that was true, then stealing from him would be a fool's goal. Perhaps Mourn would even stop by to drop the rings, jewels, coins, and Rithal's axe that he had collected on this trip. His store had to be somewhere central to his work with his bounties and the Guild...so my first thought was that it would be near or within Augran itself.

I thought more about what of value I might be able to offer Mourn that I was willing to impart to him. Not my sapphire; never. Nor any of my own tools or weapons, or Callitro's ring; I needed them all, as they had seen me through the wilderness thus far. I didn't have much else that was extra.

It left me with knowledge about the Drow City, about the Valsharess and the Red Sisters, about Lolth and the Priestesses, maybe information on the history of Cris-ri-phon and Innathi...but then I would have to tell him much more about Soul Drinker. I didn't really want to. I feared what he would do with it.

This also left sex.

The conversation with Rausery atop the mountain about using sex for barter returned to me, and how she warned against it with quick-changing Human populations. She had suggested that if I felt in a position to try, of treating my pussy as a diamond to a dwarf and negotiate with it as such. Certainly I had kept it out of Kurn's reach when he would have simply taken it.

Cris had taken more than I had given for any exchange of knowledge, or even for Soul Drinker, which I believed he would have given me regardless because the dagger had called to me. Once I had stepped into the sorcerer's quarters, there had not been a lot else I could do except submit in an interesting way, and try to get something for it. I had even enjoyed most of it...up until the end when he made me try to forget that he wanted my womb.

That had been another diamond Cris would have taken out of my hands by force, had it been an option. I had Auslan and his visions to thank for saving me that complication.

Mourn had indeed looked at me nude in the river in a way that Gavin never did. Yet he had lifted himself off me when I told him to, after he had caught me falling, and he had cradled me, both of us entirely naked after he had tackled me, preparing to free me from the geas. I remembered the heat of his body without clothes, but he had just lifted me and set me down by the fire. I did not even remember a lingering caress or a squeeze.

His self-restraint was unlike anything I was used to seeing in powerful males, or in any male who wanted to couple at all. Perhaps he merely admired beauty in general—and I was a more familiar beauty to him from his youth—but he did not want to mount me.

Maybe my dark purple pussy was not a diamond to barter with a dragon.

I sighed to myself, finding myself drawn back to the last dream I'd had of Shyntre and Auslan, the arousal of see them both naked at the same time; yet they had never undressed me at all, only touched me through my uniform and kissed my face. I'd cum in that reverie, as had they, spurting their mixed seed across my leathers. It had felt real enough, even down to hearing the droplets as they landed just before I awoke...yet I knew it was still just a dream. Why would it happen that way in the waking world? Why would two males serve me so gently, voluntarily, when I had not asked them to?

And why was it that now, when I thought about that dream and about Gaelan's dagger, did I feel that heavier weight on my shoulders, and I felt so...alone?

I watched Mourn walk in the dark, along the road and beside the mare, and as the shadows beneath the Moons became more apparent.

Half-breeds often did not fit in either family from which they were made, though the only half-breeds I knew from experience were the Draegloth, and even they had brothers. They had at least seen and spoken to more of their own kind, all kept inside the Sanctuary. Sometimes they even were allowed to impregnate a Noble for their mother, or they could all share and mount on the same Drow female...

Remembering Jael's rage clearly during her trials and unwillingly switching out the Draegloth for Witch Hunters, I shook my head almost violently. The suddenness of my heart as it sped up and pounded in my chest surprised me, because it wasn't excitement or bloodlust, or any kind of lust.

It was fear. And a similar anger, a denial, as when Cris had taken me that last time.

I quickly breathed to slow it down, to control it, even as I understood where it had come from. I didn't want them to have her, to hurt her. Discovering whether she was trained enough or had the wit and determination to survive was not what I wanted to see...she would be greatly changed, no matter what, perhaps beyond what I could reach. No one survived any trauma without drastic change. 

That might even be the only way that some Drow changed at all.

I had to find Jael in time, and that meant I had to make some kind of bargain with this mercenary of Drow blood. I did not imagine that Mourn had any brothers or sisters like him that he knew, he was alone on this Surface world; and his sire meant more to him in his magic than the Drow did. It was how he understood his "Words," and perhaps his world.

Until I understood better how he lived with his Drow blood, I wouldn't know how to make that contract with him.

*****

I could smell the Great Lake well before we saw it by dimming Moonlight; it was cool and fresh, though the shore contained undercurrents of plant and animal and the usual decomposition of living creatures. Mourn led us off-road before we could meet any natives and we circled around to the water still well into the pre-dawn darkness.

Gavin complained of a headache in maintaining his new night vision only when it became very bad, and I could see that he regretted getting so close to a settlement while in pain. I volunteered to get off the mare and lead her the last small way, choosing the closest path to the dragonblood while imagining how it might look to a light-sight creature. I was not without practice by now, and I let Gavin rest without comment. I think he was glad to be without the teasing for once, and I was more focused on our surroundings.




Surfacing Ch. 11



As we crested the last hill to the final decline, as I could see the expanse of dark water beneath Starlight, Mourn paused and looked toward the even darker spot on the edge of the water to our right. The settlement was much larger than the small, timber-built community around Brom's Inn, and had an even greater smell.

"Welcome to Port Fortnight," Mourn said quietly. "It is not without its charm...for a dung pile."

I blinked at his straight face, wondering for a moment how to react.

He was right, of course, there were plenty of dung piles. I could hear rising numbers of foreign livestock; kept, docile versions of the pheasants and wolves and pigs I had already seen out in the wild. I smelled manure evenly spread out over tiny plots of land growing food as well. It wasn't entirely unlike the lesser parts of home, even the floating fishing boats bobbing in sparkling water.

What was unlike home were the two or three much larger water vessels anchored farther off shore, and which seemed to be made of...trees. Formed wood, in the way that we formed stone, ore, and fiberstalk. But they did not have the magical tools; it looked rough and without much attention to aesthetics. Functional, sturdy, but not pieces of art to serve a picky eye.

"Ships?" I whispered to our guide as we got closer to the shore and the wind shifted to bring more of the Human smell to us.

Mourn surprised me by signing a simple: *Yes.*

I paused then tugged the mare up closer to where he could see my hand as I moved it one-handed near my face.

*You know the Silent Tongue?*

*A style of it.*

I watched his face carefully, and signed something more complex. *How will we get the mount of the apprentice onto the vessel?*

He was reading and translating with effort; I knew it wasn't exact, we each had our own sign language. It was close, though, because he understood me.

*We remove her pack and she can swim, and the— can use the— to lift her up.*

*The 'what' can use 'what' to lift her up?* I signed, shaking my head in confusion.

*Sailors,* he signed again, and I shook my head again. *They are the Men who direct the vessel.*

Ah. I nodded. *And the other?*

*Pulley. For using rope and canvas to lift cargo up from the dock.*

*Can-vas?*

*Cloth made of strong growth, like fiberstalk. Called 'flax' or 'hemp.'*

I signed understanding at last. I could only guess that Mourn had created new signs for the Silent Tongue while using it on the Surface. This told me he had likely taught it to others, so that he could still use it up here. Guild members; it had to be. It would be perfect for an organization of mercenaries and assassins and information traders.

So the Guild knew parts of the Drow Silent Tongue, similar to Mathias having learned from Cris about Drow interrogation techniques, each of them without knowing their true origin. That was amusing to think about. 

But this was exciting to me in another way as well; now I knew the other Drow settlements had the same core sign language as my City. Had the split in our population happened after our exile, then? Did Ishuna know about them or had she forgotten, or assumed they had died out?

Soon, Mourn asked us to wait while he met with his contact to board the ship in secret before the Sun rose. He instructed us to keep our hoods up, faces covered, and auras suppressed, even boarding the ship. As soon as we agreed and Mourn actually opted to leave his cloak and some of his extra weight with us, we watched him slip into the Lake very similarly to how he had at the river, going beneath the surface with little disturbance and presumably swimming toward one of the ships.

"How far does the Great Lake extend?" I asked Gavin in a whisper, looking out but unable to differentiate much between the night Sky and the dark horizon of the water.

Gavin shrugged. "Unsure. It's known to be very big, but this is my first time seeing it."

I paused in thought, then asked, "How would one of his 'contacts' simply be here waiting on one of those boats?"

"Perhaps he has many, and we are lucky one is here."

"Or he knew somehow in advance."

"Possible. There could be any number of signs we would not know how to read."

"Could we be in danger, accepting passage on this ship?"

"Always. I might recommend making that contract sooner rather than later, Sirana. Mourn seems the type to keep his agreements."

"And what would you offer him?" I asked with quirked brow.

Gavin shrugged. "His choice of any treasure to be collected on our way."

"He would take that regardless."

"Unless you made it part of the agreement and did not just let it happen."

I smirked. "Is that a comment on Kurn's sword?"

"I had to insist on taking it, otherwise he would have."

I sighed. "I tend to barter in different ways. Secrets. Motives."

"Knowledge." Gavin nodded slowly, his face pale enough to be visible still but his eyes almost vanished inside his hood. "I understand. Material possessions do not normally persuade me, either."

"I don't want him to make a contract with us for treasure that allows him an opening to taking other contracts at the same time."

"Ah. Too simple, perhaps? I can see why you are teasing him."

"I am not teasing him."

"He is waiting on you. Even what little you have told me of your race, it is clear the females' opinions hold great sway."

"He was taught by a dragon, not Drow."

"Up until his twentieth year, he said. The arithmetic tells me he escaped to the surface world when he was one hundred and thirty-seven."

"You worked that out exactly?"

Gavin smiled a bit. "That's older than you are now, isn't it? Either way, it leaves a rather large period to have interacted with his mother's race, don't you think?"

My brow furrowed; I was annoyed. "I don't understand his body language, Gavin. He does not act like the males back home. I'm still reading him, deciding the best way."

"Very well. I will leave the particulars to you as long as we do receive the Guild's help on our mission."

"We will."

We fell quiet waiting for Mourn to return, and when he did, he was escorting a small carrier boat from the nearest ship. The half-breed was still in the water, and seemed to be tugging the craft along at a faster and quieter pace than the oars would normally have been able to manage. There was one Man inside the boat, and he was hunched down.

Gavin and I remained hidden where we were until Mourn came partway out of the water, holding the edge of the boat in one hand and signed to me an all-clear. I could make out that the mercenary seemed...different. It was still him, and he had his cloak off for the swims back and forth, but he was missing his claws; his ears were round and his eyes were not golden reptilian but white with deep, round irises.

He looked a bit more Human, if dark-skinned. Like a tall, strong Man with his black hair coiled at the nape of his neck.

I led Gavin's mare and he stepped as cautiously as he could in the dark; I figured his head still hurt and he was navigating by shadow and Moonlight. We had to wade partway into the shallows to step into the boat. The necromancer was surprisingly strong in lifting the mare's packs into the boat himself—he would not accept any help and he was efficient about it—but I blinked when the Man in the boat braced himself and reached his hand out to me, palm up. 

Was he asking for a toll to enter?

"Milady," he murmured, and the next moment I grasped that he was offering his hand for stability.

Well. A Human woman would accept. He hadn't seen my face yet, just my smaller stature.

I grasped the rough, broad hand and climbed into the boat, crouching down, covering up with my cloak and making room for Gavin, who crawled in without any assistance. The Man, who was dressed in old layers of clothing and smelled of sweat and salt and oil, brought out his oars to reverse the little boat. Mourn had taken the reins and was leading the horse into the water; after a brief hesitation and a soft word from Gavin, she came forward straight into the Lake without fear and started swimming after the boat.

"Damnest thing I've seen this night," our Man grunted as he pulled at the oars. "Horse is jes followin' 'long in dark water withou' even a snort."

"She's well trained," Gavin murmured.

"Water horses 're rare 'nough. Don' sell 'er cheap."

"I will not."

We made steady progress toward the ship, and other "sailors" were ready to lower down the canvas and pulley for Mourn to wrap beneath the horse's belly in the water.

"Come on up," someone above us called, throwing a rope ladder over the side. "In case the horse kicks! Don' want tah be 'neath!"

She wouldn't if Gavin told her not to, but neither of us was going to bring that up. I glanced at Mourn still in the water, with his odd, Human face, and he signed to me.

*Go, hood up. Safe.*

Gavin balanced the saddle packs over his shoulders and began climbing first while we held the boat steady. The oar-bearer huffed at that, glancing at me and shaking his head, then gestured.

"Go'wan up, then, milady. Watch your step."

Adjusting my hood again to make sure it didn't fall, I stood up and scaled the rope ladder with considerable ease. I slowed down when I caught up the Gavin and heard a sound of surprise from the Man below me; I was giving too much away. Still, if the Man had not seen even the outline of any of my weapons by now, then he was truly darkness-blind. I was not a kept Consort, after all.

There were six more Men helping to get the horse on board under the paltry light of two glass-encased, candlewick lamps, and none of them questioned just what they were doing at this hour of the morning with this animal. A few grunts of effort, a word of warning when I saw Gavin gesture and the horse simultaneously kicked in a fairly believable manner, as if she were frightened—as if she were alive—but otherwise it was smooth and successful, and Mourn joined us aboard a moment later.

"Thank you, men," the mercenary said, passing a pouch of coin to one of them.

"We got it taken care of," the other nodded, accepting. "A few last-minute supplies when the sun rises and we'll set sail."

"We will wait in the hold with the mare."

"The lady, even?"

Mourn nodded. "We'd take spare blankets if you have them."

"Sure. We'll call ye when cook has the stew."

Gavin was a bit hunched over as if he was disguising his usual height around these other Humans, and he and I stood close together; he did a good job of casting extra shadow on me. We said nothing and went where we were guided to the ramp that would get the horse down below.

The ship assailed me with smells of close-working, Human males, of dank wood and something that smelled like burned sap, or perhaps tar, and of fish and old urine and vomit. It was nothing like being in Brom's Inn, which had servants to clean it. I wouldn't have called the sailors the "servants" exactly, even if they did all the work.

Still, while I might have preferred the fresher work, sweat, and mud of existing in the mountainous forests, I knew this was the fastest way to reach Augran and I wouldn't complain. I'd been in a few smellier places in the Underdark, including the dungeons. I'd even had a smelly, greasy-bearded dwarf with his trousers down, pressing me to the stone and breathing in my face, for Lolth's sake.

We settled down for the wait until Sunrise, listening to the Men's footsteps above us and the creaking wood. The slow sway of the boat in the water felt very strange to me, and I wondered at the thought that I might be below the level of the water. I had to hope that the workmanship of the sailors was competent and the wood would not begin leaking.

"So, they will not get too curious?" Gavin asked Mourn.

"No. I have used them for passage into Augran before, for those who wish to remain unidentified. It is not unusual. We will sail upriver through the city directly to Yong-wen and disembark there."

"Upriver? Where is this enclave compared to the Lake?"

"Southwest."

"And might there be inspections?"

"There will, but nothing that coin will not ease the way."

"You trust these sailors," I said quietly.

Mourn looked at me. "I have reason to."

Gavin quickly grew to be very tired after the day spent awake and the entire night riding; I gave him a blanket and he settled down against his pack to sleep with little care that his body would roll gently with the movement of the waves. I was a bit jealous; I was wide awake and consciously controlling any troublesome anxiety caused from having only one escape route that I could see, one that could easily be blocked.

*May settle to rest,* Mourn signed to me, getting down onto the floor himself. *It will be some time.*

I found a barrel upon which to sit and sighed, crossing my hands. I soon heard the tiny squeak of rodents down here with us, and noticed that the mare looked up with interest. She champed her teeth, and indeed, they were more carnivorous than they had been.

Well, I thought...why not?

It was easy enough to wait in the pitch black with my hand crossbow, ready and to shoot a couple of the rats with non-poisoned darts, practicing my skill and collecting them. I placed them within reach of the mare to eat, which she did, fur and tail and all. Mourn watched me the whole time without comment, though I supposed if I knew his Human face any better than his dragon one, then I might have been able to read something.

*Why the dark skin?* I signed. *It makes you memorable to these light Men.*

*They know me as Guild in this form; they will help. The dark skin form also protects you, should they see your skin.*

I nodded. *How many forms do you have?*

*As many as I can concentrate to make.* Then he smirked. *But they all walk on two legs.*

I nodded understanding. *No turning into a wolf or horse or lizard?*

He shook his head, blinking Human eyes properly. *No. Though a true To'vah can take any shape. My sire has one form of a handsome Baenar which he used.*

That was unsettling. A dragon could walk among us if he wished...?

*Is it an illusion that you form around you?*

*No. I shift bone and muscle, grow hair and change skin, altering color.*

*Sounds painful.*

*It can be.*

In the other hand, this made the idea of conceiving a hybrid in the first place a bit less...straining on the mother. Although that had not seemed to help her much in the birthing.

A quiet moment passed, and I tried asking, *Why did you leave the Underdark? You know why I did.*

*On an assignment for your queen. You mean to go back?*

He was delaying. I frowned in thought; it did not take long to decide the answer was simple enough. *Yes.*

*Why?*

I shrugged. *I cannot give birth alone up here, if I could survive that long.*

He watched me curiously. *Were you sent with child, or did you conceive up here?*

*Sent. But it was not known, or I would not have been allowed to leave.*

Mourn didn't reply to that; I was glad. There were a lot of other reasons I may have to go back regardless—one of them was currently bundled silent at my side and had belonged to the sister of the current Valsharess. But a lot of things could change between now and then, all depending if I found Jael, on if we took the Ley Tower from Sarilis, on if I did not miscarry...

Maybe Gavin would let me stay in safety and privacy, just for the last year until I birthed my child? But then what? It only began from there... I didn't know much of caring for infants. Maybe Jael could stay with me, could help me. Maybe I'd find Gaelan. Maybe.

It was a long time between now and then; there were a lot of unknowns.

*Why did you leave the Underdark entirely, never to return?* I asked again, finishing being distracted.

As he often did, Mourn took his time to consider and think it over. When he gave it, his answer was also simple: *I killed my Matron.*

Oh my goddess.

He had something in common with Kurn... He had to leave the Underdark; he would have always been hunted for that action, until they caught him.

*Why?*

Mourn blinked at me. *Your first question is why?*

I nodded, and waited.

Again, he considered. *She wanted to breed me. I was not ready.*

That was a strange reason. I wanted to feel some contempt at first; had he made it seem that he was untouchable? No male was untouchable, especially to a Matron...but he killed her for that choice? How dare he—?

I pushed that feeling down.

*I do not understand,* I signed instead. *You just did not want to breed?*

*No. I was too young. I was not ready.*

I felt further confused with Gavin's precise figure. *But you were one hundred thirty-seven when you left. How were you too young?*

He signed more emphatically: *I. Was. Too. Young.*

Oh shit.

I made the connection, I thought. I saw the misunderstanding in my head...the Matron would have been waiting for him to mature from the time he was sixty. And waiting more than twice again past that age, and he still couldn't breed? If his Matron was anything like our typical one, she would not have been patient or understanding with him.

Especially if she had paid a handsome sum and lost a sister to a dragon for such specific offspring.

*How long...for a dragon to mature to breed offspring?* I asked.

Mourn relaxed a bit at my question. *A full-blood To'vah must be about five hundred.*

My jaw dropped. Oh, wow.

*And you are four hundred sixty-three?*

*I am still half Drow,* he signed, answering my implied question. *I am mature.*

*Do...do these other Drow settlements mate their children on purpose?* I asked, and Mourn shook his head.

*No. I was trained to be an assassin against the other Houses. I grew to be very good, one of the city's best infiltrators and killers. They thought this meant I was ready to mate.*

Yet for the Matron to try to force it...indeed, he must have appeared capable to breed; in form, in intelligence, in skill. Dragons were that long-lived, that experienced and mentally mature, before they ever produced their first young.

...Was that why they were so rare?

I stilled my hands and thought deeply on this, because it was important. This explained a bit more...*a lot* more. This half-blood would not have matured in body while living among other Drow at all, but it would have happened later, on the Surface. He had still been a youth when he left, and may have suffered some abuse while too young to understand as much, such as I had, or he had watched the others cavorting in bewilderment, maybe very conscious that he was developing so differently from them all.

And no one would have known what to expect.

More immediately for me, this meant that Mourn had never mated a Drow female by choice or desire. Perhaps he was even confused, looking at me naked. My instinct to be careful with this bargain had been true. If he should want to bargain in this way, which I would have to discover, then I would be his first of his own race, ever, to bed him when he was "ready."

I did not really have any idea how I might even do it.

Yet he was telling me this about his past. Why was he telling me this? Just because I asked? In another place, confessing this so plainly would only mean his death in whatever painful, ruthless way that worked to put him down.

Ah, but I was in his world now; I was on his Guild-linked ship. I did not even have any true understanding of how far his influence extended on the Surface, except that there had been stories of him for many generations of Humans. He had earned that.

I was a fraction of his age, even if I would have the sexual experience over him by right of my gender and my purpose, by my very training.

He was testing me. He had to be testing me. He did want something. As long as he wanted something, then we could bargain.




Surfacing Ch. 11



I nodded to Mourn. *Fight and flight. That was the only reason you killed her. Instinct to survive, to escape alive.*

I knew that well enough. It was the reason I had killed Kain.

The half-blood blinked at me, tilted his head slightly, and waited.

*Not like me and my sister,* I told him. *I was afraid, too, at first, but I could not run. I was small; I did not have the physical experience you had to defend myself. I was trapped in my House. It festered to hatred and planning, and finally vengeance.*

"Hrm," he hummed, and again there was that customary pause before he signed. *And did it feel...good? Powerful?*

I smiled. *Immensely. I was free, and I was rewarded with further training, because I proved my will and intelligence over an elder sibling.*

He breathed out slowly through his nose. *That is the way of the female Drow.*

I arched a brow. *The males learn it quite well.*

*Simply the way of things, is it?*

*With our enemies? Absolutely. It is how we keep our ground and our strength.*

*And yet your queen keeps you so closed that you do not know of the others.*

I shrugged, liking this challenge a bit more. *Tell me where the Guild falls between the layers of these short-lived Human cities, dragonblood. Mercenary. Assassin. Taker of bounties and of treasure, learner of secrets, looking from one contract to the next. Rewarded for killing and overcoming enemies, for power or wealth. Very Drow-like.*

I grinned.

He frowned. *I am very good at what I do.*

*So you keep doing it?* I nodded agreement. *To what end? What do you want in time?*

*What do you want, young one?*

*Easy: to survive the next two years. To find my Sisters.*

*Why?* Mourn sat up suddenly then, as if this point returned to him again in his mind. *Why the concern for those other Drow? You could have finished your own mission and returned, geas intact and treason avoided. Surely you would be rewarded again for your will and intelligence. Leave them to their own; perhaps see them again, perhaps not. Now you stay out here, and I know now it to be against Ishuna's wishes. You ask me for help. For them.*

My smile had evaporated as he signed with more passion than I was used to seeing from him, and I felt uncomfortable again. The only thing that came to my mind, the only thought or reason was: because I had decided on treason before I ever left the cave. Because I was capable of this action, this choice.

Elder D'Shea had decided the same thing; in keeping Auslan, in keeping my pregnancy secret. In letting me go. There had been the words atop the mountain that Rausery had hinted had, had shared about her own compulsion by the queen. 

Both Elders had implied that treason was not impossible to survive, that they had survived it before; somehow it was expected, until one failed to avoid a trap and died of it. Secrets kept from the Valsharess...it was part of the game, the challenge, and Ishuna played it as well with her Sisterhood and her Priesthood and Noble Houses. It was the four-pointed balance of the City. Else why was the queen even still alive and we all paid such myopic attention to her?

If I could keep my own secrets, if I was truly Drow and embraced my heritage, then I could help my Sisters on the Surface because I wanted to. It was my choice. There were too many options not to try.

*Because Jael asked me to meet her at Manalar, and I said I would,* I signed to Mourn. *Because Gaelan told me farewell, and I would prove her wrong.*

He stared at me.

I signed: *Because I can.*

Mourn's stillness was nearly unnerving as he thought on this, but I firmed my gaze on his less intimidating, Human one until someone called to us down in the hold and we both blinked at the same time.

"Breakfast!"

He grunted, getting up. "Stay here, I will get us food."

I nodded, letting him leave as I considered how, as he started climbing the wooden ladder up to the hatch, I was shaking. Just a little bit. It felt as if I had just stared down a true terror of the Underdark. And I did not understand why.

In the following quiet, Gavin's mare tossed her head, and the necromancer muttered something in his mistress's dead tongue, and I became aware of Soul Drinker whispering to me. I touched it.

*Innnathii...Shhe wishes to talk...*

I frowned, staring at the ship's dark hold and at the voice in my head.

Oh? Now she wishes to talk? And the dagger was simply going to pass along the message like a good courier, instead of blocking me as it had before?

*No.*

*Yyesss...Draw meee noww, or it will be painnn when yyou inevittablyy do...*

Damn it! I gritted my teeth; I could well imagine the poor timing of that spiteful punishment in another cluster fuck like the cultists. I was not seeing much difference between Ishuna and her sister then. They were both cunts.

Soul Drinker giggled.

*****

I took the precaution to move farther from where Gavin slept, and away from his horse, before I drew Soul Drinker. I felt my hand clutch in a hard, painful spasm around the runes in the hilt, just before I heard the grains of sand spilling down the side of the pyramid, and the shrill, shiver-inducing cries of cannibals.

It was still blue, twin Moonlight and long shadows beneath Stars of different constellations. The smooth stone steps and the ornate lounge remained as I remembered them, and Innathi stood smiling and beautiful and graceful, her long hair and her gown both free-flowing. Golden jewelry adorned her ears and encircled her long throat; gem-eye snakes both stout and tiny wrapped around her arms, her fingers and toes.

"Sirana," she said, acting almost gentle. "My soul warrior. I accept your gift with such pleasure. A fine choice for your first sacrifice, he is a delight."

My hands, arms, and shoulders were completely bare but for two golden bands around my wrists, and the white silk wrapped around me was not long and flowing as before, but short and barely covering my torso and supporting my tender breasts. I could feel the warm desert air move between my thighs and brush my naked sex, and my feet were bare as well.

Something touched my ankle, just a few fingers rubbing along my skin, but when I jerked and stepped away, glancing down, I could not see anything.

"Innathi," I said, disoriented and unsure what gift she meant, until I noticed the familiar, strong, and pale body behind her.

Kurn was on his knees behind her, naked but for a golden collar around his neck and a chain that latched him to Innathi's couch. His muscular arms were bound tightly behind him around both elbows and wrists. From the look of it, he couldn't even kneel up to get his back straight. He was drooling a bit onto the stone, and muttering what I knew to be profanities in Ma'ab.

Cris's queen chuckled with a fond glance backward. "Such a wealth of delusion. It lends such strength to his will, Sirana. Had you not weakened his body with poison before sacrificing him, he may have resisted for long enough to slip free of me." She tapped her chin. "This will take a while, and I shall enjoy every infinite moment. Perhaps another time we commune, I will have him trained to pleasure your sacred slit while we talk."

I did clearly remember the pleasure of penetrating him with Soul Drinker in the Warpstone forest; I nearly relived that ecstasy now, and without really meaning to, my hand slid to touch my netherlips. They were very sensitive, just barely peeking out from the wrap of white silk.

I shook my head, drawing in a quivering breath. "Why did you... call me, Innathi?"

She was displeased at the familiar and impatient address. "Too busy with Nyx's boy to speak with me? Or with the dragon child?"

"As I recall," I said carefully, trembling slightly with sensation, wary that I knew exactly who she meant, "this takes but a moment on my plane. I am in no rush... but the last we spoke, you essentially held me down as your husband spread my legs. He meant to breed me as he did you."

My choice of words seemed to hit her in a very real way. She shut her deep red eyes, as if in memory, and breathed in a shuddering breath. "It aroused you.... It arouses you now."

My middle fingers moved in slow circles around my swelling nub, but I still shook my head. "This is your realm; you are causing it. There is no... reason for me to be this aroused."

"No? Not seeing this boy in bondage?" Innathi swept an arm out to Kurn. "Do you not delight in his helplessness? Have you seen that he is erect even now, despite himself? He knows his new queen, even if he has yet to admit it. Watch."

The ancient rule stepped back toward her couch and reached beneath Kurn's taut stomach and between his thighs, likely taking hold of the erection she mentioned though I could not in fact see it. The Ma'ab fighter jerked, however, and lifted his haunches in response to her tugging on a large, golden ring that was freshly pierced through the head of his cock.

"That's a good bull," Innathi cooed. "Head down."

Her dark-skinned hand pressed Kurn's pale face down so his cheek was against the smooth stone, though he remained on his knees, his legs apart, with his bulging arms behind him. His ass was in the air, his testicles drawn up tight, and his erect cock hung heavily with its glittering decoration.

"A sapphire on his ring, in tribute to your lovely eyes, Sirana," the queen of the Elsewhere showed me, displaying the well-crafted cock ring to its best advantage as she cradled his turgid thickness in her palm. "As the one who took him, he'll always have a sapphire somewhere on him." 

*Ohh...* I groaned and sank down to a crouch before I could become too dizzy and fall back into the arms of whatever had been rubbing my ankle. My pussy ached and it had become slick and hot as I'd watched her position Kurn in such a way.

It did arouse me. I could admit that. Any such view would have, with or without Innathi's influence...

Warm fingers touched my ankle again, and when I did not move away immediately, they quickly slid up my bare leg to my ass, fondling me from the rear as I still touched myself from the front. I shivered, knowing the touch was not Drow, not Human, but I was not sure what. I felt my own wetness making it easier for those probing digits to explore my folds, spreading the moisture around the ring of my netherhole and making me gasp, but I did not sense a reciprocating texture or substance.

It was almost ethereal...

My breasts seemed too constrained, bound as they were by the silk across my chest, and I pulled down on it to free them, feeling the warm air caress them, welcoming. I cupped my swollen breast and pinched one purple nipple, and it hurt...it tingled. It ached.

I went fully to my knees and parted my legs, the silk bunched around my waist as my hips and buttocks were better revealed to the air, inviting the unseen fingers to penetrate me fully, not just tease and stroke me. My own fingers pressed my clit and I cried out as other fingers pushed into my pussy, and another snaked into my asshole and wriggled around, exploring me.

"OH, goddess..."

"Yesss—glorious..."

At the voice, which was not me and not Innathi, I forced myself to look up from where I had been staring at nothing, staring at the stone. Innathi's eyes were radiant as she watched me, as she simultaneously pumped Kurn's erection, keeping him rigid and straining but slowing down any time he seemed too close to release. Her nipples were clear through her white gown, and small muscles in her dark thighs quivered through the slits in the fabric.

"Do you want him to fill you?" she asked and gestured, and the fingers fucking me, stretching me out, withdrew far too quickly to be comfortable.

I leaned over and groaned in dismay at my need, gasping for breath. "Innathi..."

"I will have him fulfill your pleasure, and he will have none himself."

I shook my head.

"No?" She squeezed one of her own breasts. "Come, he is your slave now. Come here, my warrior. Let me reward you for your gift."

I started to crawl forward on my hands and knees, my sex wet and swollen and open to the desert air, my womb a hard, hot coal in my lower abdomen as Innathi stepped to one side with an elegant sway of her body. I felt to be like Gavin's mare being lead into position for Kurn's stallion to rise up and cover her back; I even felt hot, male breath puff and spread across my right hip. I did want it, to stay still and let myself enjoy the service, but I was not choosing it.

There were consequences; there would always be consequences...

Whimpering, I dug the tips of my fingers into the stone until it hurt, trying to wake myself back up from a dream, and rolled in a panic when I felt a hard piece of male meat brush across my buttocks. I planted one hip against the stone, squeezing my thighs together and writhing to get some small bit of relief for having denied myself.

"Sirana," Innathi said in disapproval.

Kurn's thighs were almost against mine; I could feel his body heat and he crouched down to lick and then to bite my ass and I yelped. He inhaled deeply, his nose hovering above my receptive pussy, and leaned up to shuffle closer on his knees.

Heart pounding, I focused on the look of utter hatred I saw when Kurn opened his dark, blood-shot eyes, and he actually seemed to see me. Recognize me.

His erection was resting atop my up-turned hip, and I looked again at the sapphire-studded cock ring, the still-healing puncture wound, and could not think that such a decoration would not scrape me on the inside. His cock was still bleeding, still raw; not a lot, but just enough that I knew it was too early for this to be healthy.

It wasn't really him. It was his essence. What would it do to me, allowing this twisted, trapped soul to fuck me, to fuck my mind, as I knew from before that I wasn't really here? What would it do to my unborn? I could still feel how hot my womb was, as if the child were linked to the Elsewhere with me...

I shifted, drawing strength from that first movement, then I started scrambling backward on my elbows and heels.

"Do not draw away!" Innathi demanded. "We are free of my husband at last, and Soul Drinker has gorged on judgment once again! Let us enjoy it and do what we will!"

The wind picked up, and the cries of the cannibals drifted over my ears again.

They were here, with everybody else.

My arms seemed ready to give out, to collapse, as I curled up on the stone well away from Kurn, squeezing my thighs together. It was the best I could do to protect my pussy, and my still-wealthy womb.

As much as I tried, though, I couldn't leave. I couldn't wake up.

"Your grace," I gasped, shaking my head, crossing my arms over my naked breasts. "Let me go back. The Chaos cult...it is affecting you. You are not this mad. Have you not been planning, waiting? Have you not hidden from Cris-ri-phon, though he held the dagger? Let me help you, please, do not do this to me—"

The ancient queen frowned, gritted her teeth; she took a few steps toward me on the platform, her fingers curved into hooks, her breasts heaving as she grew angrier. Pure desperation fueled my limbs, and I began to force myself to my feet, stumbling, trying again under the weight of her gaze.

"What will you do?" I challenged, fighting the dizziness as I stood unsteadily, nearly naked, and moved back until I was standing on the edge of the top step of the pyramid. "Push me down and rape me however you can? Will you trap me here? What is a 'soul warrior' to do for you if not carry you back to the soul you want most!"

Innathi blinked; she slowed, and her bottom lip trembled. "W-what?"

"Ishuna," I gasped, trembling and afraid. "Remember? Do you want me to take you back to her?"

"Y-yes," she whispered, her eyes, once blazing now seeming to clear of her rage. "Yes! I do. Are you...are you the one, then? You offer me your service at last?"

"On condition that you do not force a communion with you like this again, or force me in any way," I said, just beginning to feel the waves of lust and sickness begin to recede. I tried to tug the wrap up and down to partially cover myself, but it was pointless. 

"I will come to you, Innathi, willingly, only if you do not do this to me again. I will be in too much danger, too unfocused with my body on my own plane, and I will not be able to return to you your sister if you abuse your 'soul warrior' so. You will wait here even longer. Do you understand?"

She nodded hesitantly, looking around as if it was all sheer, vast emptiness around her. She soon refocused on me. "Yes...the Chaos cult. Of course, you are right. The kind of essence trapped here does change the portrait of the landscape. It will...it will settle again, Sirana, have no worry. I am strong enough....I am strong enough..."

I watched her warily. "Perhaps... I can offer something less insane, next time."

Innathi smiled slowly, then chuckled softly and seemed in control of herself again. "As you wish, my warrior. Perhaps we can speak again when I have all the new souls here under my complete control."

"I will come to you when I am able, your grace," I said with a nod, managing at least to cover part of my ass again. "You will not force it on me. Agreed?"

She drew in a deep breath, her breasts perfect against the fabric of her dress, her hair moving so lovely, and she nodded. "Agreed." Looking back at Kurn, she shrugged. "I do still like the boy."

"I'm... glad to hear it." I had a thought. "Might I be allowed to talk to him later, should I need to?"

"You are welcome to try. Do not step off the ledge this time, Sirana, they will grab you. Just close your eyes and allow me."

******

I became aware of both the painful cramp in my hand when I finally dropped the dagger, and of the burning heat between my legs, the way I could feel my leathers scraping over puffy, slimy netherlips when I shifted my weight.

I wasn't about to fall, I knew I wasn't—I didn't think I was—but Mourn apparently thought I would. He caught me up in a firm hold and forced me to take several steps away from Soul Drinker as it lay on the floor of the hold.

"Not...not a good idea," I breathed as I clutched to him harder than I thought I needed to.

"What was that?" he asked, his chin over my head.

I tried to think.

"The relic wanted to...thank me for the feast in the forest," I murmured.

"It waited this long?"

"Time works...differently for it."

I felt my heart beginning to settle and I breathed in the welcome warmth as I became further aware of the sway of the ship, of the slap of water against the sides and the muted spray toward the front.

Actually, with the way we were moving, I was surprised I hadn't already fallen down. Instead, my cheek was against a hard-muscled, partly-scaled, dark purple chest which was giving off a lot of heat. Our breathing had almost gone into synch, and when I glanced up, I was not surprised to see a bit of the light purple tongue behind his teeth.

"You're sniffing me."

"You are very wet."

"You know that, do you?"

"The relic is that rewarding?"

I snorted and didn't reply; I just tried to focus on calming down my flaming pussy.

"Why did the Archmage give it to you?"

"Hm?"

"I know you did not have that dagger before you reached that place."

"Of course you know that."

"So why?"

I pushed away from him, but too early; I stumbled with the movement of the ship and landed on my ass with a curse. Mourn crouched down with me, much more stable aboard a moving vessel on his wide, bare feet. I was beginning to feel a little nauseous. I hated feeling sick and horny at the same time...

I rubbed my face, trying to recall what I'd already told Gavin. "Oh, let's see...it belonged to the Drow before. He was giving it back."

Mourn was dead silent, and a glance showed me his skepticism.




Surfacing Ch. 11



"It's true," I said.

"You are leaving a lot out."

"Brom said it would help with the Chaos cult as well."

"Short term."

"So?"

Mourn blinked golden eyes and straightened his back; I saw his ears move. "How does the Archmage know that relic belonged to the Drow?"

"You know he's old."

"Implying what?"

"You jest."

"Why should I?"

I shook my head. "Uh-uh. I'll tell you that when we have that contract, Mourn."

"So make me an offer."

"My head hurts." I squirmed with a deep frown. "And I want to fuck. You have the advantage."

He did not seem to know what to say to that, and I was disappointed that he did not continue the banter. He was quite good at it. Shyntre probably would have been wrestling with me by now...although I did already know it wouldn't last long if I tried with this half-blood, with his reach and his tail.

Goddess, if I were alone, I would be furiously stroking myself.

Instead, my stomach rumbled.

"Come eat," the mercenary said on cue. "I brought you food."

I sighed. One more thing to add to what was quickly becoming a very unpleasant first day on the Lake. 

***** 

I'd been told before I got on the ship that this leg would take five or six days of sailing. Other than the smells, the closeness and darkness of the hold would not bother me that much for that long. The inactivity might, but a Red Sister had always best work with the circumstances, and I had long learned to be able to trade whatever could be tolerated for the tangible advantage. 

Mathias had said that if we had continued riding to Augran, we could expect to travel for another eight or nine if the weather did not turn lastingly bad. I would rather save the time, which might be better spent listening for any word of Jael or the doings at Manalar.

Meanwhile, we had as much time as we needed to rest, to read, to meditate, to plan, and to talk.

Gavin spent some time with Kurn's sword, studying it in ways which implied more than just staring at it.

"Just what *do* you plan to do with that, Gavin?" I asked when Mourn was up top at another point in the trip.

Gavin shrugged. "Most likely equip a minion."

"Minion."

"You've seen me make them already."

"Indeed. Your horse is a minion. And Kurn, himself."

"It was effective. Though most of them have been of a crude nature since I'm working here in the field."

"Crude? Implying you can do better?"

"Much better. Given enough power, an undead servant may even remember most of their life's skills. At best, those you saw could only swing sharp things and make themselves an obstacle."

"Hm." That made me wonder about Cullen, Sarilis's messenger at the Tower. "Anything particular about the sword, since we know it is enchanted?"

"Lends strength to a wielder's blow, mostly," Gavin murmured. "It isn't intelligent and the enchantment works for anyone, though I would wager that it lends more strength to those of Ma'ab descent."

I smiled and Gavin left it at that, until I spoke again.

"Nyx."

I had his wandering attention back very quickly.

"Pardon?"

"Nyx. Is that a name you know?"

One black brow rose in wary curiosity as he set the sword aside. "Perhaps. Where did you hear it?"

"Soul Drinker."

"The Drow sentience? How could that be? No Elfish soul passes through the Greylands."

"Allow me to run something by you."

"Please, do."

"The Archon 'Mother' remembered Soul Drinker. And she remembered Cris-ri-phon."

Gavin was already chewing on that. "He offered you that task."

"He did. I think he knows Mother in some way and wanted to cause her some trouble, although do not ask me why, I do not know."

"He possessed the dagger," Gavin mused. "So some time from when it came into his hands to when he handed it to you to attack the Chaos cult, he must have shared his knowledge."

Reasonable, and I could leave it with that as the connection and keep Gavin ignorant of Cris's more intimate connection with my race...

...but I was probably going to be telling Mourn sooner or later, and this particular mage had the ear and mouth of an entity that I was sure Innathi had known about in her own day. Yet why would she, if there were no Elves in the Greylands? Simply by her union with the sorcerer? Possible...and yet, I might find out so much more by sharing just a little more—if not immediately, then later after Gavin had spent more time "communing" with his beloved Grey Maiden.

If Nyx knew more about the Drow past...it would be worth it. And the more I knew, the more it would change my position with every other Drow I ever met in my ongoing life. I already knew enough to get me killed, so why think that ceasing to search for more would somehow delay my ultimate fate?

"It wasn't just that," I said, and Gavin perked up. I checked to make sure we weren't about to be intruded upon from someone up top, then continued. "The Drow sentience and the dagger's sentience aren't the same thing. There are two, one the original magic of the blade, and the other a past wielder, an ancient soul. But it was the Drow who called you 'Nyx's boy.' Is that the name of your mistress, Gavin?"

Any annoyance or resentment Gavin may have had for my pinpointing and using a more precise name for the Grey Maiden was overshadowed by his own aroused contemplations on such a connection.

"It is," he granted, staring at me. "What is it you want to say on this?"

I glanced toward the deck again. "Do not mention this to Mourn, it is a possible playing piece with him, possibly with any Drow. And try to keep it straight, I will only say it once."

Gavin nodded in agreement and waited.

*Alright, here we go.*

"Brom's real name is Cris-ri-phon, and he used to be a consort to an ancient Drow queen, the sister of my current Valsharess. They had children, though none survive. Soul Drinker belonged to his queen, and she is still here, within the dagger. Cris-ri-phon does not know that, though. He recovered the dagger because it used to belong to his once-mate, and he gave it to me because I was the first Drow he had seen in centuries. 'Mother' knows both the sorcerer and Soul Drinker, and the queen at least knows of the Grey Maiden. She taunted me about spending too much time with you and Nyx, by name, and not with Soul Drinker and her."

The necromancer sat very still and blinked his inhuman eyes slowly at first, then looked away from me to the far wall and fell into his familiar concentration. He did not ask me to repeat any of it, and I gave him the time necessary to commit it to memory.

"Connor said the sorcerer's name," he mused.

"Almost. It was slightly different, but they were likely the same."

"And Connor's claim to be his son with a similar-sounding name?"

I shrugged. "Possible. But moot. We killed him."

"With a scorpion."

I smirked.

"And you said the sorcerer used to rule in a desert. Was this concurrent with the Drow queen, or sometime afterward?"

"Concurrent."

A spark of interest lighted in his icy eyes. "V'Gedra may have other Drow relics, then, assuming it might be a ruin of past times."

My thoughts had drifted in that direction once or twice before, but it sounded somehow a bit more exciting hearing it come from a scholar. "It might."

"Fascinating. And an Elf queen knew of my mistress...so there is some connection."

"That connection still might be Cris-ri-phon. You recall, he was not surprised when you returned from the Greylands. He even commended you, as he's done the same. The queen in the dagger even told me that was how he still lived."

Gavin nodded thoughtfully. "I see."

There. The seed was planted, and I could wait to see what fruit it bore.

...though I really should not have been surprised that it might also sprout an immediate, unexpected off-shoot.

"One of the first things you ever asked me about of the surface world was a desert, Sirana," Gavin mused. "But you did not know what it was called, though someone had taught you our trade tongue. You only knew how to describe the red sand dunes. Why is that?"

I expelled a breath of amazement, throwing up my hands. "You are barely a quarter century old, Gavin, and yet you make more leaps of intuition than most Drow I knew at Court!"

He allowed himself to look smug. "Call it the advantage of a Yungar, we don't normally have the time to spare."

"At least there is an advantage to having your existence determined for you."

He frowned but did not get distracted as I hoped he might, perhaps saying more on his thoughts of his "existence" expected to be for much longer now. 

Instead, he prodded me again. "Why the dunes, Sirana? I know why you told me what you did of your relic, in case my mistress might enlighten me with further knowledge I could share with you. Answering this might count toward that."

"But my asking you about it is from before I took up the dagger, you know that."

"Yes, that is why it is intriguing. Do you study a place you've never been? Or do you dream it?"

I grumbled. "I dream it."

"Your whole life?"

I shook my head. "No. Only recently."

"How recent? Was there a trigger?"

"In the last two years." I paused. Had there been a trigger?

Well, yes, there was; according to Auslan, the first image I'd ever had of it hadn't even been my own dream, but his. And it had been a short while after I'd first "met" him.

I cleared my throat. "After the psionic attack changed me...I in turn attacked another who, I discovered later, has these visions of the red sand dunes. I started having the dreams after that."

And they were getting more frequent.

Gavin tilted his head. "'Attacked'? Did you kill the other, like you did the psion?"

I could not help but smile and feel a little warm pleasure at that. "No, he lives. I only forced him to mate with me."

At least the surprise on Gavin's face was worth the admission.

"Hm," was all he'd say, then he thought more. "Does the other continue to have the dreams?"

"Yes."

"So you are psychically linked, perhaps? You are sharing in these visions."

Again, until Gavin said it aloud, it hadn't really crystalized for me. But now it did. Was this happening in true time, then? Not just echoes of my missing home or missing Drow males in particular, but when Auslan was dreaming of the red sand, so was I?

I nodded an affirmative, wanting to see where Gavin would take this path of thought, even if it might not be so. He tapped his long fingers on his tattered robe.

"Would you say another entity was in contact with him? Have you seen one?"

I thought over the few glimpses of silhouette, the white dress that did remind me of Innathi, and I had seen Soul Drinker...I had even been stabbed with it, that first time. It matched so well, and yet there had not been one mention of Auslan during my actual encounters with her. She could recognize Gavin quickly, but she would make no mention of a Drow who had been having visions of her for two centuries? That did not seem right....

Although... Innathi had asked me who the sire of my baby was, and she had said something like "Truly this is fate" that I was pregnant...but hadn't she been talking about fooling her former husband, not about the sire of my child?

What would happen if I told her about Auslan, admitted that he was my "chosen" sire? Would she tell me more, would she explain? Or would she be confused, be able to give nothing, and then have more personal information than I wanted to give her right now? Certainly my last encounter with her was plenty unsettling...

Not only that, but there had also been the too-bright one, the one recently, from whom I had covered and protected the Consort when he was being burned by the Sun. I had called that one a Noldor...though I had never seen any image. I could not open my eyes. It was just in the way that she talked.

Innathi and Soul Drinker. Another golden Elf riding a horse. Another, shining too bright to even see...

"Perhaps," I said slowly, "perhaps more than one."

Gavin's night eyes widened a bit, which only made the void in them appear even deeper. His tone communicated his surprise and dismay. "More than one? ....I do not envy any mortal of this world being pulled by dreams of multiple gods or demi-gods, Sirana. Is he even sane?"

I almost laughed at that, although Gavin's expression pulled it down to a smile. "Well. I suppose he is...different compared to most Drow."

"In what way is he different?"

I shrugged and considered. "He is very meek. I don't think he has ever hurt anyone or acted in vengeance. He does not seem to want to."

"And this is strange?"

"Surely you would agree, Gavin. Strange even for Humans."

Suddenly, he seemed to see. "A pacifist? How is he still alive among your kind?"

"He's a pet. Why do you think I wanted to mate him? That's his function."

Gavin only grunted, clearly not wishing to hear details. "Back to your own dreams, then, you are now sharing them with him through a mind-link."

"Maybe."

"You must be," he insisted, seeming to have another inspiration. "This would explain the way your aura warps at times, Sirana. It is this power I have never seen before in a life aura until you. The shadows are present when you are communing with your relic, or dreaming, or otherwise seem to be seeing something that is not there...it is all very similar."

Great. The necromancer was figuring this out before I did. But then, he did seem to have the background necessary, and this was partly why I had followed his questions. He even seemed to have something in common with my Consort, talking to others in dreams.

So, was I sharing Auslan's visions, his dreams, maybe even his current state of being...? In such a case, I would certainly know it if he died while I was away. And so would Shyntre, because he was name-bound to the Consort. That made the three of us connected, even over this vast distance...or maybe the four of us, if my child was also linked the way I had felt when talking to Innathi.

Shit. This would be much easier on my own, wouldn't it? Finding Jael, maybe still Gaelan. Deciding what to do about my hasty offer to Innathi to return her to Ishuna in the Underdark...in the meantime, bargaining for some kind of balanced agreement with a half-Dragon. Distractions could always get me killed. It seemed like there was always something, always distractions.

The door to the hold opened up again and Mourn dropped back into the darkness with us. Gavin and I by tacit agreement shelved the discussion for another time.

******

The food was simple and predictable, as it was rationed and on a set schedule for the most part: Very hard biscuits to be soaked in water and wine, with cheese and some kind of preserved meat or fish would break our fast; the largest meal was at midday with a hearty stew or mush of beans and grains with oil, and a mixture and about half that amount in the evening. 

I was given an equal amount as the Men, which was probably Mourn's doing as he negotiated all of the food runs to minimize exposure of either my or Gavin's faces to the crew, though I still dipped into some of my own prepared travel mixes—mostly because I craved the fruits and vegetables in them—and the only thing I might have wanted a lot more of was fresh water, especially as all the meat was preserved with salt.

"Can I trade my wine for more water?" I asked the half-breed. "I don't want the wine."

Mourn shook his head. "It'll draw from others on the crew. Do not worry, the wine is diluted, and even cleaner than the fresh water becomes as a voyage goes on. You will be fine for a few days drinking it with the water. It may not be any easier finding fresh water in the center of the metropolis; weak ale is usually what the pregnant females drink, as it has at least been boiled."

I made a face. "Ale? Are there any sources of water at all?"

"At a premium."

Ah, so now the need for coin and wealth as an additional tool made itself known to me. Of course, my options to loot might be somewhat limited from here on out. I could see myself simply stealing a clean drink of water. When I became thirsty, or when I became hungry...my body let me know and it was as hard to ignore as Soul Drinker could be.

Rausery had warned me against stealing and going after the limited foodstuffs of settlements, or at least doing it lightly. A large city would be even worse if I got caught, even if it had more to give than a small village.

I more likely had to rely more on Mourn, his resources, and his contacts. I knew what I wanted and needed from him...but I was still stuck at what to offer him. His patience would run out sooner or later; I could not continue toward Manalar as I was, riding his cloak, with some ill-defined idea that we were tentative allies through mutual enemies.

I was hoping something ingenious would come to me, or that he would give me an indication what would drive him best...but it was still tilted more on his side. His self-discipline, his competence and his training, indeed, even his self-restraint where there had been a few signs he might be curious or interested in sex, even when he'd been holding me naked or keeping me upright when I just wanted to sink down and bury my fingers in my cunt below the ship's deck...well, it all made him a difficult one to bargain with, more so than Gavin had been. 

Even if the necromancer was indifferent to acts of physical recreation with another body, he still had a very strong lust for knowledge and the drive to satiate it. It had been something with which I could work. 

Not so with Mourn. He was tolerating my procrastination because he was not in a hurry; he had already been watching me for a while, and any surprise or novelty at my existence had worn off weeks ago. 

Unless I found out more, the fact remained that I needed him more than he needed me. That was always a bad place to start in any negotiation; one could expect to pay a very high price.

******

I became skilled at snatching or pinning even the smaller mice aboard the ship to feed to Gavin's mare. It was something to do when Gavin slept, or when he was awake and otherwise not feeling talkative. My understanding was that the rodents would whittle away the Humans' foodstuffs continually anyway. Thus, any and all small, furry things were free game and welcome to be killed and thrown overboard...or put to better use.

On the fourth night, I was running low on targets and my own meal wasn't sitting peacefully in my belly. I paced, rubbing my temple with one hand and holding my middle in the other, trying to breathe steady in the dank, stale air. I made an unintended sound of discomfort; it seemed to be getting worse with the rocking of the boat.

At this, Mourn stood up from where he'd been crouched and tending a weapon; he lifted his hood to cover his earns and hors and approached me, gestured to come forward. "Let us go up to the deck. The sun is down and you need fresh air."

I felt exactly split about that suggestion. "The crew?"

"Those few on watch will not watch us. Just keep your hood up."

A few clean breaths might help my roiling stomach, I thought. I followed him up the ladder and out of the hold. I could hear the snores and grunts and passing gas of most of the sailors sleeping below deck as we moved through without pause, but neither I nor the mercenary made any noise.

The blast of cool, moist air as I exited the below was more of a shock than I might have expected. I came from a world of caves, tunnels, and small, dark places; the hold itself did not bother me, but the extreme change from one place to the next was nearly as strong as the first time I had ever stepped outside of a cave when it had been raining.

The Stars were peeking out in bright patches between a few overhead clouds, with the larger Moon just setting to our right. I could hear the spray and the foaming burbles around the boat and determine movement far out around me, but unlike even a pool belowground, I couldn't see anything but black mass with glittering crests. There was too much light to see anything just below the surface with my darkvision, but there wasn't enough to be able to determine any reflective colors to the Great Lake.




Surfacing Ch. 12



Author's Notes: This story is erotic fantasy written by Etaski. I reserve the right to be listed as the author of this story, wherever it is posted. If found posted anywhere except Literotica.com with this note attached, this story is posted without my permission. (c) Etaski 2014

Topped myself again; this is the longest chapter. I got to thinking about Sting's "An Englishman in New York" while editing this, for some reason. ;)

******

Chapter 12



When I awoke from reverie, I was sitting on the low bed in the small, warm room of a Guild safehouse in Yong-wen. I found myself wondering if Auslan was still awake in the Underdark, and that was why I had not dreamt of him. Those dreams with him in it always had a particular...vivacity that those without him did not contain. 

Likewise, Shyntre had not been there, either to tease me or to tell me to fuck off and leave him alone. I felt disappointed. Or maybe this was something a little...different. More as if I might have wished to have that opportunity again, an opening to start it over again and try something different, rather than simply pouting that it had not worked out in my favor the first time. That he had resisted me, been more concerned with other things.

There was less activity outside my room now; it was quite and dim, with only the diffused glow of Moonlight pushing at the paper shades of the window. The weather was calm, though the air itself seemed laden with extra moisture and heat, even with the Sun gone from the Sky. I was much warmer here than I had been in the mountains or on the Lake.

I remembered that Mourn would be here soon to collect me for that visit to a Yungian Patriarch. As far as he knew, I was only going with the goal that the Man might loan me a body to use for my pleasure, if I was a good enough guest.

This was true enough, but I found myself thinking back on that headache right after I'd actually talked to Shyntre, and then to D'Shea, as if it had been in a real moment somewhere between here and the Underdark, and my head was paying a price for the effort. 

I'd also actually told the wizard that it had been lonely up here, and that was why I was groping him like a witless Court Noble....or just maybe like any Red Sister. Then Elder D'Shea had further lifted that opportunity away, with a demand for a "report"...and the wizard had been too focused on finding Auslan anyway.

Shyntre had seemed...felt...more anxious than before, as if something else weighed in his thoughts much more heavily than anything I could do to him in that crypt. He had been particularly worried about the image of the Valsharess that we saw, now that I replayed that part in my mind.

Had that been truly real? Was something very like what I'd seen going on now—both of the Valsharess and Jael, and my Elder and my two favorite males? I did have the proof—or at least the claim from a Noldor—about Jael indeed being imprisoned; take that as one will. But what about Shyntre? Who had possession of him right now, the queen or his dam? I was confused.

It seemed unlikely, to say the least, that Shyntre would be cooperating with his mother on a spell that took that much power and focus...assuming I had any inkling just what it took to accomplish a far-reaching mind-link like that. Even just to talk for a few moments.

I had not even had the time necessary to absorb this staggering incident before I was in a stiff negotiation with Mourn and his Noldor handler, Krithannia. It had not gone well for me. As interesting and novel as I might be to them, I had discovered that who they really wanted at this moment was Gavin.

He was the mage capable of creating that black shard that had been Jacob's soul; he was the "Deathwalker" capable of punching a hole between this world and the Greylands as a means to throw both the Ma'ab and Manalar into a bid for survival rather than a battle with each other. Mourn had said that this opportunity for the Guild would not work without my apprentice, and they were fully behind making the attempt.

I was very lucky that Gavin meant to remain my ally and wanted to continue with me after Manalar, and that he meant it enough to say so aloud to the two Guild members. He could have offered the pale Elf a better deal; he still may be offered a better deal by her. I had to rely on my understanding of him, of his motives and his real desires—and those of his mistress, who Krithannia did not know about—to hope that the Guild would not simply recruit him entirely and remove his advantage from my own missions.

I'd been irritated and impolite, to say the least, when Mourn had come afterward to invite me to this midnight gathering with some Human family. My head hurt fiercely, I ached for sensual companionship after both the aborted reunion with the wizard and seeing Auslan himself bound in such a way. And I still felt deeply dismayed at what the half-Dragon had asked of me for his help in recovering Jael...to tell him about my City, to take him to my City.

I'd asked him, the day after defeating the chaos cult, whether there were any females who had a claim on him. He had said no. But a pale Elf handler and hardline negotiator, about his same age of four or five centuries? They were long-time allies from what I could tell, and her being the "only" Noldor to even dare to get to know him as half-Baenar...oh, I thought that was a pretty damned big claim.

Mourn would say that he had not lied to me, because I had been asking about his mates specifically, not his business partners. Implying that, if he wasn't lying, then he did not consider her a mate. Not right now, anyway; no comment on whether they had been previously. Nonetheless, it had been a very unpleasant surprise. My previous thoughts on what I knew of him and what influence I might be having on him through any shared heritage...well, that had been shattered. 

I had to start over, and I'd been very grumpy realizing this, seeing him again so soon, with a throbbing brain and hearing him ask if I was angry with him...? Damn straight, I was! At least I hadn't also been hungry; that would have made it worse.

Honestly, I knew I would feel much better—more clear-headed with a better sense of humor—after a good, energetic, exhausting fuck. That was the one thing I had not been able to find in the wilderness or from any of my contacts in travel. Not without a heavy price, of which both Brom and the demanding, weighty Soul Drinker on my belt was proof enough.

So I had asked the mercenary-assassin about Yungian pleasure servants, and he'd said it was possible. I rather hoped that it would be offered. I'd take a young Human or two with some stamina over nobody right now; I'd just have to ignore the actual, tiny age and focus on the body's maturity. Different race, and all that. I would not be abusing a child. Humans matured fast...although some of my own kind might consider the age proof enough that it was more like fucking a beast than a worthwhile race.

I didn't care. Cris-ri-phon and Kurn were both not only quite sentient, but examples that, as males, they functioned perfectly well for what I sought. They were just *expensive* Surface fucks, with unpleasant aftermaths. 

As would be Mourn, if I tried, assuming I could even get him to drop his guard long enough. At this point, I knew that I couldn't. Really, I needed a less ambitious male; one that was accustomed to service to others. Preferably with less life experience. Just let me take care of things, let me do the work, let me do what I want.

The half-blood tapped on my door a bit earlier than the "hour before midnight," but I was up and finishing sorting and cleaning any gear, so I didn't mind not having to find busy work or pace in boredom any longer.

"You are ready?" he asked in Drow as I approached the door.

I listened a moment, satisfied that he was alone, and peeked out a crack. He was wearing his complete harness and had the two sliders and Rithal's axe crossed on his pack.

"Almost."

He nodded. "Meet me at the grey mage's door, then."

"I thought the invitation did not include him."

"It does not. However, I want to show you both something before we go."

"Another surprise?" I did not sound pleased.

Mourn half-smiled. "The Deathwalker will like it. You may find it interesting, more so than the watercolors in here."

"The what?"

"The images on the wall. Watercolors."

I looked back at one of the images of a long-necked, long-legged, ghost-white bird standing on the edge of a wide pond at Sunrise. "They seem to favor diluted color."

"Exactly. Diluted with water."

And every image all seemed to contain bodies of water... 

I quirked a brow. "Water is a big artistic motif here?"

"Augran is on the Great Lake. The Yungians cross it regularly."

"Ah. Of course. Give me a moment."

I finished collecting all my things—I would not be leaving any of it behind—and soon left the room. Sure enough, Mourn was standing at the doorway persuading Gavin to gather up his things and come with us as well. We would probably have to wait a bit longer for him to do so; he hadn't been preparing to leave again this night as I had been. I hoped that he had at least gotten a nap; he normally looked so ragged, however, that I could not tell just from looking at him.

Gavin sighed deeply when he saw me fully kitted out. "Very well."

He shut to door firmly, and I soon heard rustling.

Mourn and I were content to stand in silence in the hallway for that little while; I was mildly curious whether he would break the silence, but he never did. Either graciously or because he had already done it so many times, Gavin was ready fairly soon, his heavy pack, including Kurn's sword, on his back. He had one of his mare's saddle bags in each hand, and the one on the left still contained Gaelan's dirty dagger wrapped in cloth. His boots, like mine, were tied together and slung over one shoulder. 

Despite his gaunt frame, Gavin did not seem to be having much trouble carrying it all. I still hadn't asked him if he was that much stronger than he had been before the attack at the inn, but just watching him here and there, I would have to say that, yes, he was. Had he the skill and reflexes to go with it, Gavin could come close now to matching Kurn in the damage done to someone's jaw when swinging a fist.

I glanced at Mourn with a questioning look, and he said in Drow, "I told him there would be a safe place for all that. We aren't going far."

Well. Alright, then.

"Where are we going?" Gavin asked.

"Out to the stable, we'll check on the night-mare," Mourn answered, flicking his tongue out very briefly, and I looked around to see what he might have smelled. I didn't see anything.

Slipping back down to the near empty kitchen, I saw two bodies sleeping near to the coals, either for heat or to keep them alive; we managed to don our boots and leave without waking them. Even Gavin had practice moving about a place to draw minimal noise and attention; he also did not seem to need the light, and I wondered if he had muttered his new words while inside the room?

We paused before crossing the ally to the stable, making sure there were not obvious Humans skulking about to note our passage, and upon entering the stable, one of the boys we had seen earlier did stir and opened his eyes. I watched Mourn crouch to smoothly touch his palm to the boy's forehead.

"Shh," he hushed through his teeth, and the boy's eyes rolled backward and he passed out as quickly as he had awoken.

I bet that Gavin and I both probably wanted to comment on that, but there was another boy there sleeping and we did not want to make further noise. Instead, Gavin moved slowly toward the back and his mare, the only whickers or tapping of hooves coming from the other guest horses, and not one sound from the undead one in the back.

Mourn signed, *Stay and meet him.*

Before I had a chance to clarify, he left back out the stable and I glanced out to see him moving toward an under-earth door framed in stone that seemed like it would lead to a room right beneath the kitchen. Storage, perhaps.

Gavin returned before long, stepping quietly, and nodded at me. He was satisfied with how she looked. He looked questioningly for Mourn, and I jerked a thumb out toward the cellar. It was already open, the bar removed, and he had gone down; I was just waiting for another sign.

It came soon enough, just a large, clawed hand poking up and signing a simple, *Come quietly.*

I nodded to Gavin and we made our way over to the cellar, hopefully unobserved. The stairs made some noise, a bit more when Gavin needed to regain balance with his load, but Mourn reached to close the double doors and muttered a Word to get the door to lock itself once again from the outside—or that was my guess when I heard it being barred during the next moment.

All my familiar senses indeed told me I was in a food storage place. It was a bit cooler down here than it was in the household above, and many types of dried, brined, and otherwise preserved foodstuffs lay down here. But more importantly...there was a passage out other than that barred door. I didn't know where it was—every wall and spare spot was taken with jars and barrels and bottles, with dried, hanging haunches and herbs— but it itched at the edges of my senses.

"I must blind you both," Mourn said.

*Oh, goddess, we are about to get killed...*

I stowed that first, paranoid thought—I still believed somehow that Mourn wouldn't kill a pregnant Drow, and I knew he needed Gavin— and glanced at the necromancer.

He said, "Temporarily I would think. Blindfold, then?"

"Yes, temporary. But with Darkness."

"Ah, the globe." Gavin nodded toward me.

The half-breed nodded. So he could do that, too...

"Mm, secret room?" Gavin guessed.

Another nod.

"Alright then."

"Baenar?"

I sighed. "Yes."

With that acceptance, I really didn't remember what happened next. I only knew that I came to with Darkness receding from my eyes, smelling a thick scent that was like a cross between the Tower's wizard libraries and a blacksmith's shop. I was also about ready to topple off my feet. Gavin had already staggered, and the room became quite loud for a moment as he was forced to drop his saddlebags to catch his balance. I went down to one knee, all muscles tense and ready to respond should something jump out at me, planting my hands on a surprisingly soft floor until I felt more steady.

My fingers were pressing into a rather ornate rug; I could see the intricate design, but not any colors. Not until Mourn called a glow to a few lanterns; Gavin and I both winced at the light, but I saw the rug was woven with a brilliant red, yellow, purple, and blue in designs that implied flowers, fire, and water, and was... very lovely.

"Your living space?" Gavin asked, holding his head and still a bit dizzy from the jolt to our senses.

"One of them."

I got to my feet and looked around. The space was large enough—if we were below the safehouse still, then it could easily fit within the footprint of the architecture—and I could smell the age of the parchment of scrolls and books lining two of the walls, with two heavy wooden desks, matching chairs, and one oversized chaise. 

There was a spread of curiously blank wall that was just plain well-crafted stone, yet my fingers twitched as I wanted to start touching that spot, to study how it was made, perhaps by whom. Was it dwarven work? My gut thought it was.

Dwarves in Yong-wen? I had not seen a one of them.

The half-breed turned his head toward a dark corner of the room, and doing so drew my attention to two small, reddish eyes peering out at us from the shadow between two bookshelves. I heard the creature gurgle a displeased rush of air from what had to be a small throat. 

"Graul, ava'yorn," Mourn said in a calm, smooth tone, and the beady eyes shifted to him. "Qe-ifpesp, fevekic."

He motioned his hand forward, and after a moment of consideration, the creature emerged from the shadow and slinked toward him along the ground. It was a reptile, and looked to me to be a tiny, not-quite-dragon; it was a deep black with purplish-undertones like Mourn. It did have wings folded very close to its body, and a long, whip-like tail, scales that did not seem very shiny, and claws on four legs. The neck seemed a bit short for its tail but it still had enough bend; the beast was capable of looking behind without having to turn its body around.

"You created a small, dragonic guard dog?" Gavin asked as Mourn crouched down to lift the creature up.

It seemed pretty happy to be cradled by the big mercenary, purring once then hissing briefly at Gavin, as if it had understood his comment. It struck me that it had moved kind of stiffly across the floor, and had not stretched its wings at all. 

Looking at the eyes, which were reddish kind of like most of the Drow, I could also see a haze that reminded me of the few riding lizards that reached a point where they were too old to be mounts anymore. There was also a tiny bit of growth—course hair, it seemed—sprouting on the chin and the tips of its swiveling ears. The hairs were white and silver.

"I don't think he created it," I mused. "It's old, isn't it?"

The long tail coiled around Mourn's forearm like a snake—or perhaps like Mourn's own tail had coiled about that wild pig—and the tiny beast turned its head to hiss at me next. Finally, the wings moved a little bit.

"For a drake, Graul is ancient," the half-blood acknowledged, rubbing the pad of his forefinger between the little reptile's eyes. It seemed to like it, purring again, and I could see a flap of skin along his throat vibrate.

"What's he doing here?"

"Guarding my hoard."

The surreal look of pride on the little beast's face almost made me double over in laughter. I probably would have if my pack wouldn't have pitched me head over heels.

"Really?" I asked, failing to withhold my chuckle of disbelief.

Mourn smiled, and I would have said that it was a very favoring one. "Graul used to travel with me. Now it hurts his bones, and I have him stay here to watch over this place. The Yungians are more than pleased to have their own 'good luck' dragon protecting the very foundation of their business. Sometimes he finds his way out of here, and they feed him or give him a pillow to sit on and watch them work. I hear the stories when I return. No mouth-blasts from him, yet. He likes being worshipped, I believe."

Mouth-blasts? Gavin and I glanced at each other; we weren't sure whether to believe him, but we maintained our distance just in case.

"Ahm, well, he's cute," I said. "This isn't what you wanted to show Gavin, though."

My apprentice shook his head. "No...I'd think it would be this library where the little beast lives."

"I told you the Guild had many tomes, Deathwalker."

Gavin gave him a look, then another look about him as he stood on the plush carpet. "Implying that you are prepared to have me simply sift through them?"

"If you like. There will be time. Krithannia is gathering further information for our mission, and I am obligated to present Sirana to one of my contacts this night. You could stay in the room up above, if you wish, or you could read down here."

"Can I get out without you being present?" Gavin asked reasonably, although he was eyeballing the texts with growing curiosity, now that the drake's eyes were nearly closed as it dozed in Mourn's arms. 

"You can, through that wall," Mourn indicated the plain stone. "It will take you outside. But you would not be able to get back inside; you would have to be certain it was time to leave. 

"Well then, what of food, water, and life's other annoying interruptions?"

I smiled at that. Like sleep and voiding waste, no doubt. I remembered him saying that he might consider ways in which he would not be required to sleep, or eat...and by extension, shit.




Surfacing Ch. 12



Mourn nodded. "For life's necessities..."

He walked smoothly over to a panel with a handle, barely disturbing Graul as he lifted it up with one hand to reveal a small platform. One side held a few clean cups, plates, and bowls, and the other a rune-marked circle. "Magical dumbwaiter. If you require sustenance, place a cup and bowl and plate on the runes and wait. They will send something back to you."

"Will they?" Gavin said with a bit of a sneer.

Mourn grinned. "They won't know it's you. They are accustomed to answering the dumbwaiter when they know I am back in Yong-wen. They will assume it is me. It will be good quality."

"Will they send a meal that I can actually stomach or should I expect a slab of raw meat?"

"There will be meat, but it will be cooked. I rather prefer it that way."

"Just too hungry to wait with the pig haunch, hm?" I commented, and Mourn looked at me. I noticed that his pupils weren't slits at the moment but had expanded to be twice as wide as normal.

"The battle consumed a lot of energy."

That it had.

"Well, Gavin," I teased, "you won't have to frighten more serving girls."

He gave me a look but seemed to be contemplating, even settling down with the idea of remaining here while Mourn and I were gone. "And the other half of life's needs, now that I shall not starve or die of thirst?"

"Similar closet, over there," Mourn indicated a panel door at a better-lit corner with a handle and hinges. "Only it transports waste to the horse manure pile in the stables."

"Lovely," Gavin said dryly. He looked at the snoozing Graul. "What of the drake?"

Mourn looked down at the scaly bundle in the crook of his arm, now peeking suspiciously through an eyelid. "Just don't try to lift him up or needlessly wake him from a nap."

"Mm. What kind of mouth-blast did you mean?" the apprentice asked, indicating the room. "I'd wager you'd be wary of fire with all this parchment around."

"Air," Mourn answered. "Enough to shove a very large man off his feet or slam him into a wall. He can also create pockets lacking enough air to breathe, if you are close enough."

Interesting. He might not mention, though, that such an act would probably be pretty costly to the little beast in his advanced age. It would have to be really necessary.

Mourn and I waited patiently, giving Gavin time to look about and decide for himself what we already knew: with the exception of the crabby little drake, a private library with servants to provide food and drink without having to interact with them, privacy and comfort without being interrupted at all, was probably *exactly* what Gavin would have wanted for any lengthy down time in this safehouse.

It was truly generous. I had to think that Mourn was indeed "courting" Gavin for the Guild, showing him some of the benefits of membership. There was too much here for Gavin to be able to read it all in a single night, but I still wondered what the grey mage might find down here as he poked about?

"Very well," Gavin said. "I will stay here and await further news from you and Krithannia."

Mourn smiled and looked very pleased, though somehow not in a way that would have set my senses alert and wary, despite the fact that I was sure he wanted to lure away my necromancer. He stepped to set Graul down onto the comfortable chaise—with a minor protest from the drake, although he curled up again soon enough, blinking curiously at us.

We watched as Mourn also removed Rithal's axe from his back and stepped to one of the few wall spaces available—this one with a couple empty hooks. He placed the axe one-handed atop two of the hooks, which displayed the axe at a slight, fairly flattering angle. The mercenary looked over to Gavin, glanced at Kurn's sword strapped to one saddlebag, and winked.

Gavin grunted, clearly recalling their bickering over the weapons amid the cleaved cultists. "Only one place for one weapon on your wall?"

"I leave a new piece by itself in here until I have a chance to study it. It will be added to the others soon enough."

"The sword is still mine."

"That it is."

As Mourn moved to a heavy box atop one of the desks and seemed to be working a magical combination lock, I wondered about the half-Dragon's easy release of a magical weapon. Perhaps he would seek it later? One of the hybrid's particularly non-Drow qualities was the patience to wait and watch for a very long while.

"I will give you this before we go," Mourn said low, his voice easy on the ears in this underground lair. He lifted up a sealed bag from out of the box and closed it, stepping to hand it out to Gavin.

"What is it?" my ally asked without reaching for it.

Mourn glanced to where Graul was again dozing on the chaise. He leaned closer to the necromancer, and I leaned closer to them. I needed to for how quiet his voice became.

"Snacks. If he becomes agitated or aggressive, offer him one. Use them sparingly."

Gavin blinked his eyes in a very amusingly Human way. He grunted, reaching out to accept the bag. "An animal usually has a warning before it triggers its ultimate defense."

Our host nodded in acknowledgement of the unspoken question. "He'll make a sound a bit like a sheep's bladder if you were to fill it with air and make it tremble so fast it hummed."

"I've never heard that."

"It's unique. You'll know it. Usually, the flap of skin at his throat will puff out, stretch and be a bright lavender color. His tail as a tendency to lash about hard enough to cause a welt or cut skin, should it strike an unprotected area."

Gavin's mouth twisted a bit; it wasn't a smile. "Toss the snack?"

"No, place it down and step away. Don't throw it at him." Mourn smirked. "Unless you want to play rough for the rest of the bag."

Gavin felt for the snacks inside with dexterous fingers, contemplating—although I did not think he was actually contemplating leaving this library—and he finally nodded.

"Sirana and I must leave to make our appointment now. Enjoy."

I did not envy Gavin being stuck in a room with only books to read...not in and of itself. But I did envy that he'd gotten exactly what he most enjoyed, with an amusing companion in addition.

May I be as fortunate.

*****

I was allowed to bring only enough equipment as would display my function as a fighter and assassin to the Yungian Patriarch; the rest needed for long-term travel—and which I did not need right now anyway—I could store safely with Gavin and Graul. Maybe it would be safe. We'd see.

The lack of such extra weight was noticeable, I could admit the relief, and Mourn and I both moved quickly and silently through the midnight streets. More lanterns had been lit to illuminate the street earlier in the evening when there had been more people about, but now that most were asleep, about half had been snuffed. It was still overcast and the Moons were hidden, so there was plenty of deep shadow in which to hide from eyes dependent on Sunlight, and though I missed the bright colors and decoration of the day, the night was always easier to move about.

I was using my earlier mental map for a while, recognizing landmarks even in the dark because none of them relied on color, but soon I was expanding that memory as we entered another neighborhood that actually had dwellings surrounded by a few taller trees, more shrubs, and crafted paths around constructed ponds. 

We crossed one constructed border—a fence made of plants set in a straight line— and got closer to a particular house. The landscape was obviously tended constantly and cared for well; I also noted a small garden patch, partly protected from excessive wind or rain by a wall of oddly-crafted stone. It even seemed to have a drainage system. Thick scents of herbs and unusual blossoms floated from the small garden.

Still, this did not look any larger or wealthier than the dwellings around it, and I had trouble accepting that this was the home of the Patriarch by whom we were to be "honored."

*Where are we?* I signed to Mourn after getting into his periphery so he would look at me. *This isn't the home of a leader.*

*Side trip,* he answered.

*What?* I showed my irritation. *Why?*

*You will see. Glad you are paying attention.*

*Fuck you, merc.*

His fangs glinted in what little light there was. *You will not be able to 'fuck' immediately upon arrival, so you might as well relax, Sister.*

*Push the tease too far, and I will go hunt my own.*

*That will cause you more trouble than it will be worth.*

*Not if I pay for it. I imagine there is 'pay-for-sex' here. I trust thirty pieces of silver is enough for a slit?*

*More than,* he acknowledged as we both referenced the bit of coin that he had tossed me before for killing Kurn before he could. *But you would find mostly female...slits.*

He clearly did not know that word in the Silent Tongue, but he continued regardless.

*Males would be very young, almost children, and found in the more dangerous areas where you risk much. With any, you risk infection from the less scrupulous who have used him or her before you. Not good for your own child.*

I made a face. *You have a way of spoiling a plan, Mourn.*

*It is true, Sirana. Better that you be patient and stay with me. Now come, we do not have much time to both remain here and keep our appointment.*

*Even then we will likely have to run the rest of the way,* I signed grumpily.

*After all those days on the boat, I think you will like it.*

I smirked at that, because he was right.

Mourn approached the back door of the dwelling, motioning me somewhat behind him and to his right. He tapped with the four tips of his claws, one, two, pause... one, two, three, pause...one, two three, four.

He continued patiently, adding another tap each time, and truly, I did not know what he intended. It was not threatening, the sound, but almost like the breeze was causing a nearby decoration to swing lightly into the painted door. By my count, he had gotten up to a total of eleven taps before I finally heard soft feet approaching the door.

"Sh-shuzi ai'nali?" asked a female Human on the other side.

"Yunqi," Mourn answered in an odd tone with a lot of bass.

She hesitated, and Mourn and I waited to see what she would do.

Ultimately, she opened the door a small amount, only wide enough for her face, looking out first, then up. Her body had a very similar reaction as the stable boy who had peeked into my hood—she started and I heard her heart trip and begin to pound— but after that initial jolt, she opened her door as wide as it would go and managed a very good bow.

She was not wearing the same yellow and pink folding gown from earlier today, but rather a plainer, loose garment that covered her from neck to ankles. Still, I recognized the elder female to whom Mourn had given a vial in exchange for the silver and blue stone necklace. 

"Lung-jinshen, duo'shan tsoa woia," she said solemnly, calm, as if we could not hear her heart and her breath, or sense the flush of heat coming from her body.

Mourn seemed to pretend that he couldn't sense her fear clearly. He asked her a question, and she started to shake slightly but nodded many times, gesturing for us to come forward past the threshold. I noted the mat to the side, and sighed to myself in that I had to take off my boots again. 

This custom was not conducive to being able to come and go very quickly, if need be. We had best be as safe here as Mourn seemed to assume that we were.

Mourn smiled at me as I tugged off my boots without being asked, and the woman retrieved a previously drawn bucket of water with a towel in impressive speed, at first seemed to want to wash his feet herself, but the hybrid thankfully spared her *that* embarrassing display and did it himself.

During that moment, the grey-haired matron looked at me curiously, and I obliged her, taking down my hood. She immediately put her palms together in front of her, pressing close to her breasts, and nodded, lowering her eyes.

"Jan'shi-tsao'nu," she said, and I hoped that she did not require a response from me, because Mourn did not translate that for me.

Instead, he said something a bit lengthy which ended in a question. I was unused to seeing a female emoting as much as she was listening to him, and I felt discomforted. She did almost nothing to hide her weaker thoughts in her grand gestures and fully expressive face, the creases and wrinkles actually seeming to enhance the emotion. I would have said that she was astonished at his attention but all too eager to tell him exactly what was troubling her, and where she had failed in her recent life.

She soon guided us through a clean, flower-scented set of work rooms to a much smaller room lit with a portable lantern. It contained almost nothing but for a pallet on the floor, layered with blankets and cradling a small Human child.

Dark, straight hair topped the youth's head, some of it plastered with sweat, and even though the brown skin gave the impression of health when compared to Gavin's gaunt paleness and sunken eyes...it lasted only until I looked at the small lips and around the eyelids. They were oddly pale, with darker, bluish-purple flesh and tiny veins visible beneath the closed eyes and around the lips. Exhaustion and shallow breath were both clear to me; this was a rare, quiet moment for one very ill.

Mourn and the matron talked a bit more, their voices quiet, as he crouched down next to the pallet. His tail shushed along the floor beneath his cloak as he briefly inspected the small Human. I realized that the child was young enough that I could not tell if it was a male or female.

Mourn's palm covered the whole of the child's chest above the blankets as he whispered something that made my ears tingle; I knew instinctively that it was Draconic. Almost instantly, deep brown eyes fluttered open and the tiny heart began to race as the youth drew in a much deeper breath and began to cough, turning away and toward the wall. The sound of it was raw and deep and hoarse, and I could see the pain etched on the babe's face as it tried to stop the fit without success.

I did take a step back, I would admit; I knew something of how illness was spread, although I did not know how easily it might do so from Human to Elf. But I had a good reason not to take the risk deep in my own belly.

Mourn removed another vial from his belt and gestured the matron forward to assist in getting the youth to drink it—which took a few moments and it was almost spit back up—and meanwhile he said a phrase in his first language, more than once, sounding as a much different song from the Yungian speech. "Weloh baeshari loreat."

His words seemed to augment the quickly-changing feeling in this tiny place; the cough quieted, I heard a clean breath that did not rattle. The matron was excited, anticipatory as she kept her eyes fastened to the one I presumed was her offspring, even if she seemed a bit too mature for bearing children. If she were an Elf, it would have been difficult for her to conceive.

When they finally rolled the babe back, it was staring with wide eyes and no voice at Mourn. I did not think it was petrified into speechlessness; it was watching intently, noting many details as possible with the opportunity of an enviably good, close-up view of a half-Dragon. He obliged the child by pulling back his hood, revealing hair like the Yungians, adding his ears, and his horns. I thought it was the perfect example for a Drow child to follow: shut up and watch.

"Ankang'lun," Mourn said, then he stood up with the child still staring.

"Sheh-sheh!" the matron cried—literally, I realized as moisture began to trail down her cheeks from her eyes. She looked from Mourn to her child. "Xijuan, shuohua!"

"Sheh-sheh," the Yungian child repeated obediently, finally actually blinking its eyes at last.

"Huan'yin-sho, Xijuan," Mourn answered, keeping his face peaceful and his teeth hidden, from what I could tell of his profile.

I had to admit, I liked that Mourn did not linger in getting us back out. He bowed his head to the matron—I kind of copied it—and we returned to where I had left my boots, I put them on, and by then, the elder mother had come into to open the door for us. She thankfully refrained from gushing more words of gratitude at us, but her eyes were still very moist and almost glittering in the lantern light.

When I got outside, it was a relief to get away from so much heavy emotion.

Once we began cutting through the darker part of the garden into a neighbor's garden at a very good pace—though short of running—I signed, *Let me guess. You healed that child the rest of the way.*

Mourn nodded. *The illness had too strong a hold to cure her with only the vial I gave earlier. She needed a magical boost.*

*So it is female?*

*She is.*

*How many years aged?*

*Not more than six.*

I pondered. *You knew them from before?*

He shook his head. *Today was the first I met the grandmother in the street.*

*Grandmother. That was her daughter's daughter?*

*Her son's. But yes.*

*You came straight here. You must have sought them out while I was in reverie.*

*Yes.*

*Why?* I asked. *Why do what you just did? Why risk being late to your all-important contact for something of little consequence?*

Mourn slowed and looked at me. Then we stopped and he faced me full-on. We were far enough from any dwelling that he chose to speak his answer to me, for whatever reason. 

"The girl is with her grandmother, slowly dying of illness, because her parents did not want her near the older brother, their only son and heir. The grandmother was desperate as she had tried everything. Now Xijuan will live, and in a mere fifty years, that girl may be telling her own grandchildren of the night the Dragon Spirit came and saved her life. 

"As their ancestors have done for three centuries now, those children and their children's children will look to the shadows for protection, and never whisper a word of the dragon's passing to those outside of Yong-wen. Loyalty like that can never be bought with coin, Baenar."

I felt a touch embarrassed; I knew that small actions had consequences...it was only that I was used to thinking in terms of individual competition and secrets, not the thought that a whole community might follow the same behavior through more than one generation, based merely on a whispered story.

I thought that Humans grew and changed over their populations too quickly for it to make much of a difference, at least compared to the Elves. Mourn was telling me otherwise, that it was something different he had figured out about Humans. And he had made for himself a haven by using it wisely.

*Alright,* I signed. *Given what I have seen, that is impressive."

His shoulders relaxed, and we picked up our pace slowly, topping out at that nice sprint he promised through the wealthier district of the enclave, and presumably toward the Patriarch.

Interesting that the mercenary did not seem to take more advantage of this "reverence" in which the Yungians held him. So many choices, and yet the only two true possibilities were either to accept—and set up some kind of influence or seat of power—or reject it and leave. Mourn had accepted, but only to an extent. He still left, quite often I would wager, as his return seemed to cause quite a stir. 

It seemed he must also give something back regularly to this haven to maintain it. I had wondered earlier what he had to do to keep these contacts... One was to heal random children without seeming to ask for anything in return. Even though he was.

Another was to answer an invitation and be "honored." Whatever that meant. I was more curious now than I had been before to witness it.

*****

The Patriarch's home looked much more as I might expect for a privileged leader with influence and power in this community. The land within the border was more broad, the well-tended gardens were larger, with fine, decorated stone bridges crossing a very large pond. Crossing over it, my eyes caught movement of living things when I looked down, and I saw fish and frogs making a plush home for themselves.




Surfacing Ch. 12



The architecture of the home itself was ornate and masterfully crafted in a way I had not thought Humans could accomplish without magic—or perhaps they had some magic that I had not seen yet? I counted three levels beneath the curved roof, and multiple smaller outbuildings which no doubt served necessary, purely practical purposes.

There were guards at the gate as well, obvious and easy to see as we approached. Yungian males, generally much shorter than Kurn but not spindly, were dressed in both functional and decorated leather armor, with metal parts for reinforcement of vulnerable spots. 

They were armed with weapons I was immediately curious to see put into practice. The long poles, for example, with a curious double-crescent at the top and bright red tuft of something like the fluffiest feathers. It seemed odd to me to make it so clear to one's target where the end of the pole was, as that bright red could not help but draw attention. Was that the purpose, somehow, like the bright red leather of the Red Sister's uniform? 

Beyond that, though, every tool with a sharp edge held a common purpose—to cut or puncture, to block or hook something—but the variety and details often dictated the most efficient way to wield it. Some required more training than others.

Mourn took us directly toward that main gate, walking along the relatively clean street and to a well-lit path leading from the gate to the lavish house.

*Will this not make us obvious?* I signed as we both worked on slowing our breaths from the run. I did not like the eyes I sensed peeking out of the windows.

*That is the point,* he replied. *What good is it to him if others do not see us arrive?*

*Fair enough, but you said midnight was for our privacy and comfort.*

*Yes. Privacy, not secrecy. I meant that there will not be hundreds of guests.*

Hundreds? Ugh.

*How many should I expect?*

*At minimum, his close family and his advisors, plus his personal warriors.*

*And that is how many?*

*Maybe twenty or thirty. But the warriors will not interact unless they are called upon to defend the family.*

*From you?* I signed with a smirk. *Or do they worry about me?*

Mourn gave me a look that was almost a warning. *Neither. Yong-wen has family houses competing for merchant rights and influence. He is simply not being negligent about his welfare and those of his own while hosting an important guest.*

*Got it. What is expected of me?*

*Watch for this signal.* Mourn showed me a subtle cluster of his four largest fingers pointed more toward him, with the pinky out more toward me.

I took a moment to interpret that. *Act as you act?*

*Correct. You will cover the basics that way.*

*Will they understand the signing?*

*No. They are not Guild.*

*Very well. And if I have any questions for them?*

*Speak to me; do not sign, as it might be threatening. I will translate. Keep your questions minimal; their females are not encouraged to chatter during important meetings.*

I frowned. *I am not one of their females.*

*It is polite.*

*And demeaning. They will have many questions for me, yes?*

*Likely, yes.*

*How are theirs more important than mine? Why should I tell them more than they tell me?*

Mourn sighed quietly. *Their questions are not more important, and you may decline to answer or be vague, or even lie. They will not know the difference. Bear in mind that they will remember everything that you say and do, and that will have consequence for me and the Guild. This is their first contact with a pure-blood Drow. You represent your race.*

I wanted to sigh at the weight of that last statement. *More Court games, then.*

*If you see it that way. I wager they follow many more unspoken rules than you do, and they do not tend to change as fast.*

That last thought especially set the tone for our entry and welcoming to the home of Patriarch Shi Mu Kuo. He greeted us personally, his black facial hair finely trimmed and braided down into three deliberate twists leading off his chin. He was as well-fed man, likely accustomed by now to mostly directing and giving orders without needing to do heavy lifting or fighting. 

His fine clothing—loose-fitting but layered and highly-colored tops that stretched to his upper thighs, partly overlaid on baggy dark trousers—supported the lifestyle; not a smudge or frayed end to be found on him. He was not barefoot in his home, but wore sandals that did not look like they had ever been worn in the mud. His toenails were very clean.

His three sons, all young and slender but mature for their race, stood proudly forward on each side of him, wearing similar attire to their sire, and his two daughters were back behind the male "advisors" along with the "wife." The females were dressed in decorated, single-piece robes closed with a sash—not unlike my wizard back home—but instead of sandals, their feet seemed wrapped in snug bands of cloth. Odd.

They all had long hair like Mourn. I couldn't really comment; we all wore braids or wraps or buns in some fashion.

At first I could not comprehend what I was seeing in the family arrangement, though, or just did not know what it meant. But slowly—as Mourn took over the salutations—I started where he suggested, with the eldest male in front of me as the "Matron." The Human sons, then, would be the First, Second, and Thirds Daughters in order of birth, and the Human wife would be the current consort alongside any of the Matron's sons—whether or not they were the current consort's seed.

What was different here was that the four male "advisors" had status even over the consort and sons, standing between them. Matrons did not have female advisors not related to her, and her strength of presentation lay in how many children she could show off together, and also potentially how many male consorts she currently supported and enjoyed.

Something about non-blood standing between blood did not settle well with me, regardless of whether they were male or female. Or were they related, somehow? Surely male cousins and uncles would not stand before the blood children, even the females?

Especially the females.

I could barely absorb the intricate décor with how rigidly I had to pay attention to Mourn's hands, and the greetings and body language of Shi Mu Kuo. Bowing, gestures, words, more bowing, removing my hood at the proper moment to be stared at with stoic gazes. How could something so repetitive and ritualized be so hard to interpret?

Perhaps it was because it felt to me like everyone, including the Patriarch, was wearing an actual, immobile mask, and no one wanted to make any challenges to give any hints as to what they were really thinking to keep interactions interesting. My own muscles felt stiff by extension as I sensed their hesitance to make a move with their own bodies that would not, somehow, speak of something unflattering to their honored guests. 

As if their guests couldn't recover from an assumption or a misinterpretation. As if they couldn't expect it as inevitable. If the whole of the night was going to be like this, it wouldn't be much fun for me. 

It was at this time that I realized that Qivni did have at least one point about me: I was not capable of eternal vigilance when I was bored or thinking on something in particular. I did well in general, but I could never reach her level of stoic expectation. I had not really cared to try.

In this case, my attention wandered as I was looking at various Humans, mentally undressing them out of their armor (*Interesting how it is put together*) or their colorful robes (*Were any of them mages?*), and considering whether they do would for me or not. This was generally a bad thing when one does not know which individuals would be available for such services, or how they were chosen in the first place. Yet of all the questions I might ask Mourn to translate for me, now was not the time to ask the one I wanted most to ask.

Of course, I had never bothered with having any companion "selected" for me at Court based on a wise political choice. I went on instinct, with whichever male dared meet my eyes, even for a moment, and gave me some sign of his interest, that he wanted to be pursued. Because I gladly would. Regardless of what Mourn might hint as to who would be the best "choice" tonight, my own preferred choice would be whichever one signaled that he wanted to play.

"So what did we say?" I asked quietly as we were finally being led away from the front door, which at least had been closed so I did not have to worry about being shot in the back from outside. What was more, I was not asked to remove my boots as long as I remained on the woven reed mat that led to the back of the main level.

"Traditional greetings. Nothing more as of yet. Wait until we get to the banquet hall."

Indeed, the entourage was all moving together, me and Mourn behind only the Patriarch, with a few straight-backed, perfectly-dressed warriors in front. Need I mention that I hated having that many Humans behind me, several with weapons?

"Nothing more," I repeated. "So there's a traditional greeting for a Black Ghost?"

Mourn smirked. "No. You were 'And His Mystic Companion.'"

I chuckled once. "You wish it, maybe. Yet that is dismissive."

"They do not think so."

"I do."

"You can't speak it."

"You could tell them."

"Shhh."

I noticed two of the guard males looking at me with odd expressions, turning their heads to look as we spoke. If not for the masks, would they dare to show disapproval of my bantering with their Dragon Spirit? Was it so unusual for a female to carry a conversation with one of her own? I could certainly get one of them under me and show them just how to carry a conversation with a Drow female properly. We'd see if they urinated all over their mat in their fear...

"Are you well?" Mourn asked.

"No," I grunted, making some attempt to calm my tension, breathing out in focused pushes as if I had just finished an intense work-out.

Even more than the crush of would-be worshippers among the commoners yesterday, this place seemed even heavier on one's inability to move where one would. And there were only a fraction of the people.

I could grant that it was practical that I follow Mourn in everything going from place to place, starting in the mountains and jumping aboard a ship at the Great Lake, and eventually crawling back into shore deep inside the population of Augran. It was practical to take his hints at dealing with the crowds and stepping inside the homes and otherwise getting fed, rested, etc., without causing unnecessary conflict.

Here, I saw there were too many actions for Mourn to be able to tutor me in them all on short notice—I could see why he hadn't even tried—and none of them seemed practical to me. As if they were simply waiting for something to cause conflict in an otherwise plush life. It seemed to be nothing but adding unnecessary difficulty in attaining what you sought. 

So...what did the Patriarch seek, then, assuming he went through these many social rituals to get it?

We had not quite reached the banquet hall at the back of the main floor when I heard a young female voice whisper something. Only when I looked around and actually made eye contact with her did I realize that she had not been talking to me, or trying to get my attention. The young daughter had simply underestimated how good my hearing was compared to what she was used to, and the other younger female to whom she had spoken looked equally startled at my sudden attention. Startled and frightened.

The entourage had slowed down. I could finally read something on their faces. The females had been talking about me. Mourn had pretended that he had not heard it, but I had just lost my cover of being able to listen to whispers at will. Damn.

Oh well, best make the most of it.

"What did they say, Mourn?" I murmured. "Quickly."

"Do not," he warned.

"Zehn-be'le, Lung-jinshen?" Shi Mu Kuo said as he stopped with everyone else and turned around. He actually looked just a little concerned.

"Just translate," I snapped.

His tongue flicked out just before he said shortly, "They are only curious if you can use the blades you carry. They mean no disrespect. Do not draw on them just to make a point, Sirana."

He knew Drow females well, indeed.

I finally felt like smiling—I was the only one there who was—and I made a little bow to Mourn, an ironic flick of my fingers letting him in on the joke. "In that case, please tell them that I would love to perform for them, if they wish."

"That would be a challenge to their best family fighter. He would be obliged to perform as well and be judged alongside you whether he still does honor to his family."

I liked the sound of that. "Oh? And who is what?"

Mourn sighed, looking over to where the Patriarch waited for a response. I caught him looking back at his daughters with a hard stare for a brief moment, perhaps promising them something for causing this unease with their whispers. His attention was solidly back on Mourn in an instant, and they conversed with their hands almost as much as their voices.

Meanwhile, the daughters were shrinking back, and only their mother—the wife—keeping them from leaving the hall. I pushed my cloak farther open so they could get a much better look at my weapons. The brothers and advisors were staring as well. One of them smiled.

"Pin'shya!" the Patriarch exclaimed, blinking his eyes a few times and really, I was glad to see that they were all capable of some expression on their faces.

Mourn crossed his arms deliberately, towering over all of us, and nodded toward me. "Jan'shi-tsao'nu."

"Jan'shi?"

"Tsao'nu."

They talked a bit more. With every bewildered, uncertain moment that passed, with every nervous gesture or tick that I finally began to read in the others, I got a feel for what thoughts might be passing through those minds in the room. I felt more and more at ease.

"Well, Mourn?" I asked with a sweet lilt to my voice.

He looked at me, his arms still crossed. He may have been irritated with me but he didn't show it. "Does the Warrior Maiden with Eyes of Water care to eat first or perform first?"

I showed my delight at getting my way. "Eyes of Water? Really?"

"Be glad you were not born with the usual red color, Baenar. You would not have this choice now."

So he had noticed. He hadn't said anything.

Chuckling, I bowed, probably my most gracious so far. "May I have a small pocket or something to keep my stomach quiet, and then perform?"

"So, neither and both?" He did not seem surprised that I chose the third option.

"I would not do a banquet right before a fight, if I had the choice."

"Nor sword-dance on an empty stomach?"

"You wouldn't if you were with child, Mourn."

"Perhaps you should not do this at all, for that reason."

"No. Better that I keep in practice for our mission. We need only an agreement: he doesn't hit my stomach, I don't hit his balls."

Mourn blinked and grunted. "It will be a weapons and form display, not a fight."

"Well, damn, thanks for teasing me." I grinned. "All the more reason to eat first and not worry about a banquet." 

He conceded the point—perhaps he was hungry, too—and continued negotiations on my behalf. I loved it; whatever plans had been set in preparation for our arrival were being altered very quickly to please me.

I glanced around again; as everyone but me understood what was being said, I did my best to read their reactions. The sisters looked both horrified and excited, keeping their eyes down even as their round ears would be perked up if they could be. The advisors seemed flustered, as if their careful plans had been disrupted. Good.

The brothers...oh, the brothers were interesting. Two of the three were looking at the third, and that third one had straightened his back and was looking toward his sire and Mourn. Indeed, he seemed to be mimicking Mourn's body language, and looked about as serious.

Ah-ha. So he would be my competitor. I looked him over; he was likely the eldest with the most experience and training. I could only judge his potential strength and speed from his hands and neck, which I could see out of his loose clothing; it looked formidable for his frame.

I noticed callouses in the right places for someone who knew some hand-to-hand as well as melee weapons. He was not a lot taller than me, which was a nice change, but I wanted to see him dressed in something more form-fitting—assuming he wouldn't strip to the waist, or something lovely like that—to better see the shape and tension of his muscles.

I was used to seeing males of all shapes and sizes, some softer and smoother from studying magic or gracing a beautiful bed, and some harder and more taut from hard labor or fighting. I could be happy with about any shape, but I did want to see how a slighter Human such as this compared to a male Drow fighter, rather than being a bulky, top-heavy brute more like Kurn and Cris, and even Kerse. Still, certainly this shorter youth would fight differently than any of them.

My blood was humming, I noticed, and I was very pleased that Mourn was making some attempt to give me what I wanted, just like he had for Gavin. I just had to ask, or make an offer. The irony did not escape me.

Something else nearly did, though, and it was a look from one of the younger brothers. He was slightly leaner in the face than his eldest brother, as if he still had a bit of growing to do, not just muscle development as I had already seen in full adult male Humans.

I was not sure if it was my wishful desires playing tricks on me, or if Humans could have the same intent with the same expression...but the look had been almost identical to Callitro at the worship ball, the first time I had spoken with the wizard. Did the boy even realize what he had just done? My young battle wizard certainly had, but it would be foolish of me to assume it of a Human.

Still, I held the dark-eyed gaze for as long as possible right then, barely three seconds, yet to my surprise...the light brown skin of his face flushed rather like Tamuril's had. He looked away, but there was that uncertain tease of a smile, and a slight shiver through his frame.

Ah, yes. There it was; the scent. He was excited. He was perfect. Only slightly larger than the typical male Drow.

"May I make a request, Mourn?" I said softly in a brief break, and both he and Shi Mu Kuo looked at me.

"Like what?"

"I trust our weapon and 'form' styles are quite different, yes? You would know."

The older hybrid gave me a subtle-but-suspicious look; he was right to do so. "They will be, yes."

"Rather than throwing the honor of the family against unknown standards," I said, opening and spreading out both my hands to show them empty, a gesture I was copying from multiple Yungians, "and instead of placing admittedly ignorant risk on my 'condition,' what of a practice round first? One with a younger son who is still training and not expected to win?"

Mourn looked slightly intrigued, and his eyes did look briefly at the three brothers. I continued.

"The eldest would have a chance to study my style in action before facing me, and I would have a chance to practice against a new culture and get the feel for it. It would be fair, would it not?"

"Fair," Mourn actually smiled at that, and would have chuckled probably, if not for his company.

"Balanced."

"Indeed." The half-blood looked over the brothers. "Which caught your attention?"

I didn't point. "On your right. In the green shirt."

Mourn pondered for a few moments without staring directly at the boy, but began a new round of discussion with the Patriarch. The advisors shifted nervously on their feet as we stood in the long hall, doing nothing pre-ordained, and I actually had a chance to admire the burnt-ochre shade of the paint on the wall, framed with polished wood trim and lined with more paintings of various water scenes.




Surfacing Ch. 12



I looked at the daughters again as well, and the one who had first caught my attention with her whisper was looking up through her lashes. The stance looked kind of cute, if unsuitably demure for a female. If I thought of her as a male consort, though...it was better. 

She had a lighter brown color to her eyes than her brothers, like dark, rich earth mixed with melted gold, and there was a real, fragrant blossom in her hair that I would never have thought of doing myself. It did somehow bring out the softer curves of her face, and since I understood flowers of the Surface to be the attraction method for many plants trying to breed, the symbolism certainly worked with the girl's face.

What were the chances that the pleasure servants were also the Patriarch's blood? Not high, I thought, unless they were far less rigid with sex than they were everything else, which I doubted. A pity. Still, they were pleasant to look at, and attractive, sending signals of submission and admiration the way they were doing.

Warrior Maiden with Eyes of Water. I liked it; it stood on its own, which was infinitely better than "Mystic Companion to the Dragon Spirit."

...wait, wasn't "Jan'shi" and "tsao'nu" something like what the grandmother had said to me? I wasn't sure, but if it was, then Mourn had heard it and used it just now to change my name with the Patriarch. Maybe I owed him, it if meant what I thought it meant.

"Alright," Mourn said to me in Drow. "It is agreed. We will perform, with snacks, for the entertainment of his guests and family."

I was smiling. "Who is 'we,' exactly?"

"You, me, Renshu, Hulin, and Bohai." Mourn indicated all three brothers.

"You will perform?" I asked.

Mourn smirked. "The Patriarch's line have been developing their own styles from watching me for decades. This is part of the fun."

"Fun?" I grinned wider. Could he be more on my side in this than I realized, or did he just want to push things farther for his own benefit? I didn't really care, because... "All three brothers?"

"Shi Mu Kuo wants them each to learn something. And they want to see what a female Black Ghost can do."

Yes!

"Agreed!"

*****

We didn't make it to the banquet hall; at that point Mourn gestured for me to remove my boots so that we could take a detour to the far right. I saw first a sitting room with multi-sized brass dragon statues, flowers, and lots of comfort— not one thing that implied violence or strife—yet three rooms and no hallways later, there was another room with almost nothing but more of their stranger weapons set upon the wall.

There was a series of poles of different lengths set vertically in a row against one wall; some of them had wide, wicked-looking curved blades on the tip, and others that were more spear-like but with hooks that I could immediately see the use in disarming or tripping an opponent, probably injuring them at the same time. Could also be used for fishing for large prey in the Great Lake, perhaps...?

There was a shining, finely-made pair of twin crossed swords very like those tripping and stabbing poles as well; the metal hand-guards had small hooks, and the tips of the swords themselves looked like something I might use to hang a hunk of meat off the ground. I didn't see how it could be sheathed or unsheathed quickly, if at all, but I could grant it an intriguing design; perhaps more for show?

I matched three of the simpler weapons to ones that the bodyguards carried—the Yungian style of dagger, short sword... and something that looked like two crescent moons facing each other and soldered to overlap, lopsidedly, at only two points. How did one use those?

Furthermore, I did wonder how the actual guards might compare in skill to the noble boys with whom I would "dance." The older men were more competent and practical, I would hope; I half-expected that the Patriarch's children might be more focused on their appearance to spectators. As well-formed as they were, as practiced as they may be, if they had never been in a fight for survival...

But I would wait and see. I wasn't going to spoil or delay my fun by pressing to find out about the guards' skills; I expected the brothers to be interesting in their own right.

I was looking for foreplay, not urgent training.

In a broad, nearly empty room in what I figured to be the northwest corner of the home on the main floor, servants met us with a few hastily cobbled platters containing what looked—and smelled—like warm, spicy finger foods. Next to that was a selection of small, ceramic cups, painted with nature designs and two larger pots. 

The refreshments were set upon very low, wooden tables that also appeared newly placed within the room—if I judged by the fact that a few large, sitting cushions were overlapped off to the side as if they had been tossed there. The next moment one of the servants scuttled to place those plush seats elsewhere in the room, seeming to choose the spots with some care.

As I looked for the mat upon which to set my boots, I saw there were also a few wall candles that had yet to be lit to fully illuminate the room. The efficient serves began to take care of that as I set my boots down, and I soon saw much better that the walls were painted in red, with accents of purple. The boldness of choice got my attention; there was not one diluted watercolor to be found in this room. I liked it; it felt powerful and regal at the same time.

I sniffed the air and had to be pleased with the timing of all this as well. There would not have been much time to mess with the food, or be able to anticipate who would eat or drink what at set places, if any even dared tamper with it as they hosted one of their revered "mystics." I didn't think they would, it was just my habit to think about it. I also wasn't sure what protocol was for getting some of that food into my mouth, but I wanted some.

Shi Mu Kuo surprised me, as he stepped before me and bowed slightly, then not only spread his hand, palm out in open offer, but plucked up a dumpling with two of his fingers and placed it in his mouth, chewing and seeming to very much to like the taste. I received a clear message: Do not hesitate, please enjoy.

I glanced at Mourn, who nodded once, and mimicked the Patriarch in the way that I served myself a dumpling and ate it. The bite was similar to the inn, but there was another layer of flavor that was different, somehow fruity and spicy at the same time. I felt a bit silly but nodded and exaggerated the pleasure of eating it, like the Patriarch had.

It seemed the right thing to do; I heard a very soft, but collective, release of breath from the advisors and some of the children, and Shi Mu Kuo's chest puffed out some in pride as he stood with stoic dignity. His warriors were farther away and had spread themselves out to stand at attention around the room in strategic spots.  The center of the space was empty of rugs or furniture, except for the sitting cushions lining some part of every wall.

Meanwhile, Shi Mu Kuo himself poured the tea for Mourn and I—I hadn't expected that, but no one looked at him like he was doing something odd—although it is worth noting that he bowed to offer both cups to Mourn, and Mourn had to accept both first with his own bow, then hand one to me. Well, whatever it took to sip it, I guess.

Everyone got a small something to eat and drink—perhaps they had saved their appetites for a banquet and I had spoiled that for them—and the Patriarch and his advisors made themselves comfortable on the larger cushions along the wider wall, in the center. After watching the wife and daughters moving to the farther, narrower end of the room to sit on their own cushions, I understood that they would be farther away from any "display," while the males would have the closer view. I was of two minds about that.

First, the females were in a harder-to-reach area; they would be less likely to be attacked or struck, or in the way of a flailing, falling body. They also would not be able to view the display as well, watching the "performers" in profile most of the time. In reverse, the males were prime targets if any fighter was actually an assassin who wanted them dead, but they most certainly had the privileged spot for any viewing.

Smart defense and protection of their females, or dismissal and marginalization? I considered that it would be more the second one for the Drow males back home, but that was because protection came with a price.

Renshu, Hulin, and Bohai remained standing closer to Mourn and I. I did not yet know who was who, but could guess they had been named in order of birth. Meanwhile their sire and his advisors got comfortable on their cushions and I ate a few more bites. The boys appeared very calm, but I focused on their hearts and their body heat—easy to do if I unfocused my eyes for a moment—and they were as keyed up as anyone should be when anticipating a fight. Or, very well, not a fight exactly, but a competition, anticipating a display against which one would be judged, of course. It was not to be a proper fight.

I wondered what the punishment or consequence would be if they did not perform well enough? I could think of one way in which the boy in the green shirt could pay back the mystics for their sire's honor...

"So what do we wear?" I asked Mourn. "Do we strip down for better movement?"

He narrowed his eyes just a little bit, looking down at me. He wasn't fooled. "Do I guess correctly that you wrestled nude in your barracks?"

I smirked. "Frequently."

Mourn grunted, and he lead us by removing his sliders, somehow keeping them crossed at the hilts as he rested them against a wall, and he was the first to remove his cloak. I did the same, hanging it from a hook just outside the performance room next to his, and blinked in pleasant surprise as the hybrid also set to removing his weapons harness and pouches. That would leave him bare-chested, wearing only his loose-fitting black bottoms, with his queue still plaited and bound at his nape.

Goddess, it was like he read my whimsical wish a few moments ago.

I wasn't the only one staring at him; if any had forgotten his bloodline, the patches of harder, reptilian purple scales covering most of his shoulders and creeping down his upper chest and arms were excellent reminders. And that was ignoring the spines still flat against his spinal column.

Nonetheless, I was probably the only one explicitly thinking about sex right then. Nonetheless, the three brothers each bowed to their Dragon Spirit and, after the presumed blessing of their father (who said something and made what looked to me like a "go ahead" gesture), they began to strip down like their guest to wear only baggy bottoms.

I was very happy. They probably had no idea how happy. They had lean, defined muscles not unlike my Sisters, and smooth, brown skin that was a paler shade to Cris's. I liked the darker brown nipples, though. They were like inviting berries; I wanted to lick them with the tip of my tongue, hold them between my lips.

As usual, it seemed I had more clothing to remove than any of the males I had run into except for Kurn, and I started with my usual belt—with a soft whine from Soul Drinker that I stoutly ignored—then bracers and leather armor, all in familiar order. My black shirt was likely sufficient for freedom of movement—it had proven so before—but if something should happen, if contact was made with my opponents, why should they have more to grab hold of on me than I had on them?

Besides, it was a good test.

I lifted my shirt off before any could protest—I had even caught Mourn off-guard—and I felt my own purple nipples tightening up at being freed, and the weight of Shyntre's sapphire as it settled warmly between my breasts. I straightened my back some and made to stretch out some of my back muscles.

"Qing, sho'huoa—" the Patriarch began with some discomfort, and I glimpsed the wife and daughters at one end each throw a hand over their mouth.

Not all brothers knew how to react, either. The elder Renshu definitely frowned, though it did not feel hostile. Hulin tried to keep a straight, placid face, though I clearly saw him swallow. The younger one in the green shirt—Bohai—seemed pleased at what he saw; one side of his mouth drew up without his seeming to realize it.

"Jan'shi," Mourn rumbled in a voice that, while not loud, still seemed to fill the room. Belatedly I realized that he was talking to me.

"Yes?"

"Would you care for a scarf to bind your chest?"

"Ha. Are they somehow insulting to look at? I don't mind."

"I wager more that they are child-tender," he answered with a small smile, "and the added support will improve your performance."

Well played. My tits probably would be an embarrassing distraction as a source of pain, despite my intent to show them off. The idea that an opponent could squeeze the tips really hard right now—and it actually wouldn't feel good, despite my horniness—convinced me rather quickly.

I exhaled. "Very well. Please."

At his request, they retrieved a lovely, very long red scarf, and Mourn helped wrap it around my breasts, shoulders, and ribs in a crisscrossed halter.

"Do you want to remove your pendant?" he asked, and I wondered whether he might ask about it later, as Gavin finally had. Mourn hadn't yet, and he had not even hinted he might accept it as part of his payment. He'd actually said I had no other "riches" to trade.

I thought about his question. "No. I'll keep it on."

At a risk, I tucked it securely into the wrap, where it usually lay over my heart, where it had been when it was struck by a Duergar psionic attack more than a year ago. The cord nearly disappeared next to my dark skin. I checked over and tested out the red wrap.  Mourn had done an impressive job; it snug but not too tight, I would be able to breathe and move freely, but my heavier, swollen breasts would hold still, for the most part.

"Have you done this before?" I asked him.

"Yes."

"Who?"

"Some in my squad, and some females trained by the Guild."

"Are there many?"

"No. A few."

"Hm. Alright, what is a janshi?"

"Jan'shi," he corrected. "Warrior Maiden."

At that, the brothers nodded their heads and then I realized Bohai in particular was admiring my bare arms and the well-defined lines of my body as I stood in my more snug black leather pants. An excellent start. Even if I was being a bit obvious, at least I was getting through the racial and language barriers, and some of the males were responding.

"And that *was* what the grandmother called me, wasn't it?" I asked.

"Yes. She is a wise old one."

I was smiling again; I felt light on my feet. "So, when do we start?"

"Right now. We start by bowing to each other, and each show something of our own form."

"Form?"

"Do you practice your techniques by yourself?"

I shrugged. "Not really. It's better practice when I have an opponent."

"Interesting. Alright, I will be your opponent. Let them watch."

I tilted my head. "Limits?"

"Do not do anything you wouldn't wish me to do in return."

"Fair enough."

Mourn took a moment to explain just what we were talking about to his host, and I thought I read that the Patriarch finally understood that I was not from the same place as his Dragon Spirit, as they had all likely had presumed before. We were related, but the half-blood was doing as much translation between the two of us as he was doing between me and them. 

This seemed to create a further light of understanding in the Patriarch's eyes, and Shu Mi Kuo continued to look admiringly at Mourn—I could suppose for performing such a social balance with relative smoothness. It did seem to be going well overall, and I might still bed a young male here.

Speaking of balance, I was asked to watch the practice "forms" of the brothers first, as it turned out the custom was that the youngest and least experienced go first. A lucky guess on my part. It wasn't so ritualized back home, but I understood; it could happen the same way in the Underdark, except perhaps the motive more often was that the elders wanted to study the youth to make sure they weren't surprised and beaten by a novice. And to intimidate them, if possible.

It brought to mind my first real training with Elder Rausery and her Feldeu in the cloister. Every time she bested me or pinned me, I felt the thrust of her phallus into my pussy as her show of dominance. That continued under Jaunda's lead as well, and the memories made my face and my crotch warm now. 

While I wouldn't think it smart to allow the same gesture with these boys only to get that which I craved...I did wonder whether any of them would become erect during these exercises. Especially if they faced off with me?

And they were performing exercises, slowly warming up their bodies and making them more limber before Bohai went first. His focus was good; he could almost convince me that he had forgotten Mourn and I were there watching him. His dark hair was plaited into a queue like Mourn's, though unlike the hybrid—which was twisted and bound over several times—the end of Bohai's shorter plait had been brought up and secured at his nape so that it formed a loop. That would certainly be easy to grab hold of, though I supposed no easier than my own braid.

I could describe what the youngest son did as choreographed dance, showing deliberate postures, using his hands, pushing them out with loud breaths and sudden barks of sound that at first I truly did not understand—it would be stupid to make such noise fighting with someone in the dark—but at my questioning look, Mourn signed an explanation to me.

*One method to control and focus their aura.*

*Are they magical, then?*

*No. I mean their life aura. The one Deathwalker can see.*

*Are you serious?*

*It works.*

*How?*

*Keep watching.*

I did. I could see the lines of defined muscle and strength in his form, for certain; he tensed up and I could see the abdominal muscles surely able to absorb a blow without immediately bruising a soft organ. Still, the prancing around looked kind of silly to me as a solitary exercise.

After a few moments, though, I realized his feet stayed either along an imaginary straight line or the fine curve of a circle, no matter what his shirtless upper body was doing or how distracting it was to the watcher's eye. It revealed more body and situational awareness than I would have guessed at first—the feet were the first things to lose focus if one was an inexperienced fighter.

The older two brothers performed similarly, in the same style though with slightly more complicated moves, and I watched the feet, confirming that it was not by instinct or chance that Bohai moved in such a way. All three brothers were practiced at it.

It was entertaining the way a dance was, but I wasn't sure it told me much of how they fought. Or perhaps I just didn't know how to interpret it. More interesting would be if I could get at least one of them into a hand-to-hand. Could that careful footwork translate into action under pressure? I'd like to see. Even moderate competence would turn me on.

There were some gestures and plenty nods of the head from the Patriarch and his advisors in between sets, and though the audience did not make a lot of noise, there was plenty of body movement and expression to show approval of the performance. Mourn even acknowledged some of them and each time it made Shi Mu Kuo expand his chest with a solemn nod—which I eventually figured out meant that he was accepting compliments and was proud of his offspring.

There was a bit of an exchange when it came time for one of the "mystics" to go next—maybe they were trying to figure out which of us was older, since I was the one with the white hair?—and eventually they seemed to reach an accord. I looked expectantly at Mourn.




Surfacing Ch. 12



"I've told them you have a foreign style and do not practice a form, but can give us a demonstration by trying to land a blow on me. I will only block."

"Really," I said. "And what will be their opinion if I cannot land a blow?"

"You are not expected to."

"You mean you do not expect me to."

He did not acknowledge that. "It will give them a view of what you can do."

"What about your tail?"

I saw a bit of a smirk on his face. "Avoid it."

"And landing a blow there does not count?"

"It does, but probably at the expense of becoming immobilized."

"Hmph." I glanced at the brothers. "Would one of them like to try his hand at landing a blow on me afterward, even if I 'lose'?"

"We will see. They are not accustomed to striking females. It depends on what you show them. Perhaps the more difficult you are to evade, the more likely their pride may be captured to try."

"So put on a good show."

"Yes. I will watch them for the desire to test themselves."

I nodded. Good enough. At least the hybrid was working with me, not against me. He seemed to understand this was meaningful to me as well, but in a different way.

I stood facing Mourn, both of us bare-foot and in our black pants—me wearing red once again with the extra support for my chest—and I caught the signal to bow to him as he bowed to me. Neither of us lowered our eyes, and Mourn's tail almost seemed to have a life of its own as it swished quietly across the floor.

Beginning with any game of patience was pointless here, I already knew, as I would not be able to goad him into acting first as I often could my Sisters. At the same time, a direct attack only to be anticipated and blocked hardly seemed entertaining. I did wish I had my tools—many more options for surprises with those—but I had to think of more stripped-down, essential moves now.

I did go for a feint, seeming to move in for a low kick or a sweep before jumping up and kicking out at his chest. He slipped backward out of reach and had his arms up ready to block any added strikes, and probably could have grabbed my ankle had he been on the offensive. My response would have been to grab the wrist and go for pressure points immediately and watch for that tail...but then we would both be on the ground within the first moments of the fight. 

Like the first time he chased me and I punched him in the jaw.

Truthfully, that was the intent more often than not. The Red Sisters did not have to "display" and it was a bad idea to think that way. The longer a fight dragged out, the more tired one got, the more clumsy or sluggish the moves became. The struggle with Kain proved that to me, even if we weren't only fighting. Even my training with Moira and Panagan went in short bursts of action, the victor decided quickly, before we were to try again.

That was the nature of this performance. Mourn defended and blocked against moves which were designed to end a fight quickly, potentially lethally. If there was a succession of attacks that made it look anything like the smooth, unbroken dance of the Shi brothers, it was because one action led to another organically, based on the position and posture right then. We did not make any sound except for our breathing and the weight of our feet, knees, elbows, or hands striking the ground.

I wasn't looking at the audience—I was wholly focused on Mourn, because he was faster than any male I'd ever been up against—but in hindsight, it probably looked as though I was making real attempts to injure or maim him. Perhaps I was. I did not have the height or strength to throw him, couldn't likely trip him, and without tools or weapons, he was very hard to get close to. 

Only an uninhibited strike got me even satisfyingly close, where he looked to be truly on his guard. That first sucker punch in the forest had probably been a rare moment when he'd underestimated a panicked Drow in physical and mental distress. He wouldn't make that mistake again anytime soon.

There was one moment when we all witnessed the half-Dragon's astonishing vertical spring, a standing jump I only saw coming because of the way his thigh muscles flexed and his aura seemed to compress along with his stance, as if one could feel the energy about to be released. I chose to somersault forward, fast, to get under him and hopefully out of the way of the lashing tail or raising spines. 

There were exhalations and a soft exclamation from one of the females, as the jump was higher than any Human or Drow could jump, even with a running start and maybe even a pole vault for some. Good to know he could do that. 

Mourn's horns had scraped the ceiling; I could see the two gouges in the wood as I rolled to my feet, looking up. I wanted to laugh. Well done, amusing me like that. It was distracting.

I did my best to use his landing against him, kicking low and trying to force him to move his feet again before he was truly ready to do so. Sadly, he just kept jumping, two quick skips backward to gain distance, his tail acting as a fine counter-balance, though if I'd had any kind of throwing weapon, I might have had an opening just then as it was enough time facing him to pitch something stinging into his eyes and nose. Blinding wouldn't have been the truly crippling part, he could blind-fight as well as any Red Sister, but I could wonder how a half-breed who depended much on tasting the air might react to something that coated the sensitive linings of the nose, mouth and throat.

I was breathing hard now and starting to sweat; I had gotten a good feel for some of the half-breed's defensive movements. I had had enough; now to end it. I decided to go for that tail, just to see if I could get a strike and another demonstration of how he used it. Even if I didn't have a way back out of my attack... would I be able to land that final blow with an imaginary, poisoned dagger?

With a deceptively soft exhale, I went for another feint, as if to go for his low flank; he made ready to block, prepared to urge my body past him with a sweep of his arm, and his stance was very wide. I took a leap and tumble over his tree-trunk thighs, landing with my feet and ass close to the ground and I managed to smack the thicker part of his tail, closer to his backside, with the heel of my hand. I felt him flinch, but immediately the tail ensnared me around the ribs and squeezed hard.

I would have injected the poison before I died.

As it was, my ability to take in any air at all halted. Given how much I needed after this fight, breathing was non-negotiable and not anything I could delay without passing out. I couldn't tell him aloud that I yielded, so I slapped at his tail twice with an open palm and signed up high for him to see: *End.*

We hadn't worked out any signals of that nature ahead of time, I realized belatedly, but he accepted it and released me. I drew in as deep a breath as I could manage, no further attacks from me—though I noticed that he stepped away and was still very ready, in case "End" didn't mean the end of the fight to a Red Sister.

It probably didn't, in most cases. In my present company, however, it did, and I got to my feet and bowed first, a smile starting to spread onto my face. That was fun...and educational. I'd seen more of his offensive moves with the cult; now I knew some of his defense. Without weapons or tools, though, there would be plenty he was holding back.

It was only after I got a look at Mourn's expression, and those of the brothers and advisors and the Patriarch, that I realized they had all been quite unsettled in some way. They hadn't had as much fun as I had, apparently, although when the mercenary saw me smiling, he relaxed some in his shoulders.

"What?" I asked.

Mourn studied me for a few moments, then smirked. "I think you scared them. Your face as you fought was....hmm."

"Hostile?" I guessed.

"Murderous."

Oh.

"Well. I was just concentrating."

"Indeed. Impressive, and frightening. You focus your life aura as they do, as a warrior, and they felt its true menace."

Aw.

I frowned. "Does this mean the brothers won't fight me?"

"You are tired, are you not?"

"That means they won't fight."

"Nonetheless, you should rest a moment."

Mourn turned then to the Patriarch and they went through their little social rituals again. As I caught my breath, I did look at both the brothers and sisters to compare responses as the Dragon Spirit spoke. 

Whatever he did, it was an excellent job of giving some kind of reasoning or insight into my "performance." I saw about half their faces shift from stark fear and wariness to either one of calculation and evaluation—as I saw in the Patriarch and most of the advisors—or to a cautious intrigue, as with Bohai and the whispering daughter. That was good. The other half remained discomforted by the "Black Ghost," including the two older brothers, the wife and other daughter, and one advisor. 

The half-blood added something that caused all their eyes to widen and there were a few reflexive nods of respect in my direction, mostly from those who were still afraid.

"What did you say?" I asked, and Mourn finally shifted toward me again.

"The truth. That you are deadly where you come from, and for a hundred years you have been trained to protect your elders with your body and skills, against silent adversaries they cannot imagine."

"Slight exaggeration."

"Not really. They cannot imagine Illithids, and this tells them your training extends past the time of their grandfather. That is all they need to accept what you can do."

I nodded acceptance as well; his reasoning was good. "Well...thank you."

Mourn grunted. "With your skills, if you were not in loyal service to another, to them it would mean they had invited a haunting spirit into their home. That would not be good for me or them."

I lifted a brow. "You could have cautioned me how hard to try to hit you."

"No. Holding back would not have convinced them of your true worth. This is better as a female; leave some fear of you, but they believe it controlled by an elder male elsewhere, that you answer to another. You are not a rogue spirit with nothing to lose in using your power against them."

I had to make the effort not to laugh. There was quite a lot wrong, and yet still something very right, about that misdirection.

I nodded once and finally felt my breath settle with a final exhale, and noticed that I felt a bit more tired than usual after something like this. My lower abdomen was definitely warm, though nothing had struck it. I almost felt hungry again.

The Patriarch actually stood up as he spoke, his advisors following his lead, and listening to a grander tone and watching his hands, it seemed a formal request to Mourn in particular. I soon learned that they wanted to have the honor of watching him "dance" with his sliders. Given what I had already seen against the cannibals...that would be a fine way to wrap up the performance. No one here would be able to match that in both difficulty level and exotic sight.

I could enjoy that as well.

The ceiling would not be high enough, apparently, so everyone relocated out through a sliding door that led outside and into part of the warm, fragrant garden. Only two lanterns were lit, throwing long shadows but making it enough for the Humans to see their performer, though it obstructed the detail somewhat for me.

The placement of the audience now was less strict, it seemed, as I had the opportunity to stand closer to Bohai. I liked the way I saw his pulse in his throat for a moment as he stoutly kept looking forward. His whispering sister also managed to get closer for a better view as well, standing just behind him and to his right, staying away from me, but still closer than she had ever been. I could sense her curiosity; she was bolder than her sister.

There were a lot of changed scents now that the Yungians were more clustered after our display. All of them were hotter but, as Mourn chose an area with enough space out on the shorter green grass, I began to slowly filter the scents through my mind, letting them tell me about relative health, cleanliness, and maturity of each. I thought I was beginning to tell an elder scent from a youth's scent, and more easily could tell male from female, despite needing to filter out the added topical fragrances on their skin, likely created from plants and spices. It was interesting.

Focusing on Mourn, I saw him begin in a practiced, choreographed routine similar to the brothers, but not imitating it. It was unique and appropriate to the weapons he displayed—the double-swords currently locked in position and the blades not moving but from the tilt of his hands. It was not much like the urgent, lethal use as when he'd killed Rithal and fought against the Warpstone cult; not quick and dirty, but smooth and stylized.

The Shi family watched carefully, and this did not seem like a first time. Perhaps it was a privileged, family "tradition."

Mourn began slowly, and simply; even I could see that it might have been a first lesson for how to hold and balance the sliders in their locked position. In his second and third movement, he unlocked them and demonstrated how quickly the weight shifted and responded to the tilt, the angle, and the downward pull of the world. He managed to "dance" through a basic turn and slash—which looked much stranger when the weapons were moving on their own, in addition to being moved by powerful arms—his feet remaining along that imaginary straight line that I'd noticed in the brothers.

Then the half-blood locked the sliders, drawing no attention to it except whether the observer either heard the soft double-click or just noticed that they seized in mid-swing. He'd gotten them back into position in the middle despite the movement—or maybe because of it. His yellow eyes did not seem to be focused on anything in particular, or he was staring hard at something invisible.

Mourn's swings slowly became more fluid, faster, rotating around him and above his head, and I was willing to bet that I was the first one to hear the soft hum the blades were making in the air. The rest of the family seemed hypnotized, transfixed, but as Mourn tilted the flared blades this way and that, still spinning, they as a group became more excited when they could finally hear the hum as well.

Was he making music? Maybe that was too generous for a vibrating buzz in the air. And yet...

It was a constant tone at first, trembling and with only a little variation, until he unlocked the blades again and gave them their full span. It was quite clear why we were standing outside in the nighttime garden beneath the clouds and filtered Moonlight; the destruction to the performance room would have been severe.

The tone began changing with the way the tilt and slide of the blades and with his steps, turns, spins, in how he flexed his spine and moved his arms. My heart beat a little harder as I decided that a song was actually a reasonable description for what he was doing. I would have said it had its own magic, or affected—perhaps focused—his aura, or distracted or soothed those that heard it, giving him the edge. I wasn't sure. It could have been any or all of those things.

I had to remind myself not to get too comfortable, watching.

Was this something distinctly and uniquely To'vah, or did it have anything to do with the Drow with whom he'd lived for more than a century? Mourn had told Gavin that those Yungians North in Yong-ch'hai and mimicked his weapons but that he had indeed introduced it to them. Had it only been refined on the Surface, or was it truly from the Underdark? 

I'd never heard of it. A blade style that made hypnotic music and potentially focused magic for use in spells... Yet another thing that I had to wonder, if we did not have it in the City, why not? Did the Valsharess already know about it, or not?

Ha, and he had called me "frightening" when I focused. I believed now that I definitely had the Surface mercenary necessary to free Jael and see Gavin's goal done...if I could afford him. How much would I have to give up to him to attain those services?

I noticed with my eyes as much as my sightless senses that Mourn had grown very hot again, his energy throbbing in the dim, that even with the two lanterns, my eyes no longer had any difficulty making him out. In the Underdark, his presence would have made almost anything short of an Illithid scatter and go for distance. 

Yet Mourn said he wasn't yet powerful enough to go up against Brom, but he fully intended to. The half-blood had to mean in magical tactics only; he was already faster and superior in skill in any martial sense, from what I remembered when tussling with the Archmage. Even I had been able to jab the sorcerer in the throat, and could have crushed his windpipe if I hadn't pulled my punch.

Perhaps I should have, when I'd had that rare chance given no one else in recent memory. But I hadn't known enough about him at the time. I still didn't.

Mourn finished up his performance with a final sweep, locking his blades, his momentum slowing to a halt and he became still in a deliberate crouch for long enough for the music to slowly dissipate into the night air. No one moved until silence had truly fallen, and a few peeps of tiny frogs and chirps of insects had returned. Finally, the half-blood stood up straight and bowed forward to us.

"Weida du songyi!" Shi Mu Kuo said, seeming almost breathless. "Songyi!"

The following flutters and chatter of the male advisors and the brothers were growing a bit tiresome, if I was honest, so I looked more at the silent females and the silent guards. Their faces told me what words were being said, I thought.

So Mourn had outdone himself from previous visits, hm? Had he done that just for them, I wondered, or because I was here, too? What had been different, the song of the blades or something else?

I stood with my arms loosely crossed over my bare midriff as I watched—and missed—quite a bit of social intricacy and something of importance. None of the males were focused on me, except for the guards, so it was a good thing I wasn't there to stab anyone in the back. My eyes drifted a bit, and I caught when the whispering daughter was glancing my way again. 

For the second time, we made eye contact, and she blushed as her brother did, her smooth, gilded eyes looking down again. She lacked the same small ticks of a smile or a shiver of lust. She wasn't thinking the same thing as Bohai, wasn't admiring the shape of my body in the same way. But she was looking. It was something else, some other desire.

What did she want as she watched me? It could easily be the same thing that I wanted: to do as I wished without restriction. Even skipping the banquet, it had been more than an hour already and I still did not know whether I would have an opportunity to get what I came for. Or who I would choose, given the freedom to pursue as I would.

Why was I holding back? Because it was not my homeland, and I did not know all the traps here. Because I wanted something from this otherland. I wanted Gaelan and Jael back. I wanted some other option besides imprisonment for my baby. And I still didn't know how I was going to get any of that. 

The only thing, maybe, that I really needed to be worried about was being certain when *not* to hold back.

Not only the Patriarch's voice but some of the advisors had raised enough to draw my attention. The daughter nearest to me focused as well and I heard her gasp softly, somehow frightened at what they were saying. I refocused very quickly. Mourn was making an attempt to refuse something, he'd done so twice already, and yet he hesitated at refusing a third time. He seemed to accept.

Had he just made an error in judgment? Or was it something new, as he'd likely shown them something new?




Surfacing Ch. 12



"Dandan," her father called, gesturing, and the daughter whose whispers had set all this in motion swallowed and shivered—I smelled a very sudden and pungent fear.

Nonetheless, she came forward with the same deliberate grace and straight back I'd witnessed even in the girl servants at the safehouse, and bowed low to the Men, and to Mourn, separately, never lifting her eyes. It reminded me a lot of the Consorts back home.

Mourn could smell her fear as well—I saw his tongue flick out briefly—and his eyes flicked very briefly to me as he signaled, *Patience.* 

Difficult to do when he still carried a slider in each hand....wait.

*Uh-oh.*

That meant I was going to learn something that would try my patience very soon, didn't it? It figured.

Mourn seemed to encourage and facilitate the body of people to return to the house, and I moved to the front to be among the first to go in with Mourn. I smirked up at him insolently and signed to him:

*Let me guess. The daughter is yours, and I cannot have the son?*

He couldn't well sign back yet with his hands full, but by his expression, I was essentially right, but with nuances. I didn't know whether to growl in frustration for myself or laugh out loud at him.

*Can I watch?* I asked him, and I swear to Lolth that he flushed hot underneath his night-purple skin.

He set down his sliders as the brothers donned their shirts, and he spoke aloud in Drow, in a calm and very Dragon-like voice. "We'll attend the banquet now. Everyone is hungry. Leave your gear, it will not be touched."

Was he jesting?

"I've been sweating harder than any but you."

He made a motion to a small room just off the Southwest corner. "There is a place to wipe down through there. I'll have someone bring you a robe to wear to the banquet."

"You don't need to wipe down, too?"

"I will do so elsewhere. Custom."

I wasn't sure I believed him; he seemed to want me to just take what he said verbatim. Or did he just not want to deal with me asking about the daughter, and what had just happened out there?

Well, I would know, sooner or later.

"Hm. Well, if I must, then a robe in red, if you please."

The wash basin in the alcove was easy to find; I heard it first. Somehow it had running water flowing from out of the one stone wall, guided into its catch of polished marble, and flowing out again along a stone path that led beneath the wall. There was a small sitting pool in the room as well, and something that—if I had to guess—I might think was a place to set a small, controlled fire.

I had to smile at the small pebbles laid down in the bottom which made it look like a crafted pond. Though it seemed the perfect, serene place, there were no paintings. The only works of art were waterproof statues, including one serpentine dragon, and it did seem like it might get too humid in here to be safe for any watercolors. Despite the name.

There was a small stack of off-white, linen cloths, and I selected one to dip into the cool water and wipe my face and arms first. I tugged loose the leather thongs at my hips to push my leathers at least a bit down my hips so I could wipe my belly and lower back next. I would need to get the rest of my torso soon, but I figured I'd wait for that robe before removing the chest-bind.

I heard footfall and assumed it to be that servant bringing me what I needed, and I turned around expecting another supplicant to the mystics.

What I saw was a surprise, but much better. And he looked quite nice in green.

"Bohai," I said aloud with a wide, white smile, and he froze, staring at me wide-eyed at hearing his name on my lips.

He seemed to forget to bow or look down, or whatever was appropriate right then—as if I knew—but he was holding a red garment. Was this Mourn's doing? Was he hinting that I should take advantage while I could, or was he testing me? Surely he wouldn't put the boy at such risk if he thought the possibility was—

Oh, fuck it.

"Zehy-joa gei'ni, Jan'shi," he managed to say with the expected little bow, offering up the folded garment with both hands.

I set down my damp cloth and accepted the robe with both hands—don't ask me why—said I "thank you" in Drow before setting it down on a nearby bench. Then Bohai tried to leave.

"Stay," I said firmly.

He understood the tone, at least, and turned back around to look at me, managing to look remarkably innocent...at least until I began to unwind the red chest-bind from around myself. His mouth opened up, though he made no sound, and he glanced back out as if checking to see if anyone else was coming. Even though I would have bet that he did contemplate trying to leave again, ultimately he decided to stay and watch me strip to the waist.

My skin itched in some places as the length of cloth fell from me, and my breasts needed a quick massage to make them stop tingling. It was even better being topless and showing my breasts to an appreciative set of dark eyes, exotic and yet still familiar. One side to of his mouth rose again in an unconscious smile as his attention stayed well below eye-level as I wiped myself down fully, going so far as to nudge my pants down a bit farther.

I didn't feel like giving him everything at once, so I was mostly turned away when I pushed the leathers down enough to give my crotch a good, refreshing swipe as well, and a look over my shoulder confirmed the youngest son was staring at my backside with almost the same concentration he'd given to his martial form in front of his father. I could make out the head of a stiff penis pushing against one loose pant leg.

Really, what was the purpose in waiting? I had definite attraction, and an erection; that was almost as good as consent.

I tugged my pants up but left unsecured as I turned and approached him. He glanced up at my face once but something about it might have made him uneasy, because he focused again on my breasts and hard nipples. I saw that pulse in his well-defined throat again, and his tongue wetting his lips. He was just a bit taller than me.

"Go ahead and touch them," I murmured, reaching to take one of his hands at his side, lifting it—at once unmoving and limp—to place it on my right tit.

Bohai was not experienced; his first effort was to make sure that his hand didn't simply fall off my chest. Then he squeezed tentatively, petted the underside, and tapped experimentally at my stiff nipple with his thumb. I had to wonder if he had ever felt a female breast before? Or was he just wondering how a Black Ghost might differ from a Human girl?

It didn't matter to me, really; he was already firm enough. I was giving him what he so obviously wanted, so that I could take what I wanted here in a moment. I was happy when he took the initiative to lift his other hand and play with my other breast, too, both of them at once; he seemed to be having a good time.

It felt pleasant enough for me, though not as nice as in times past, before my pregnancy. Now there was a little too much sensitivity, and I was glad this Human's first impulse wasn't to start slapping or twisting or pinching my tits, as had been the penchant for some Red Sisters, especially during my initiation.

Bohai became brave and started trailing his fingertips across my ribs, touching more skin than only where I'd first placed his hand. I liked how strong his heartbeat had become, how his breath had changed and there was a small tremble in his composure, despite his best efforts to be deliberate and in control. I liked that, in some way, he acted without any plan or habit or ritual. This was pure curiosity and exploration.

I did not think I had ever targeted virgin males at Court—and really, there were few of them anyway, and they did not remain so for long—but I was beginning to believe that Bohai indeed was a mature virgin. He was starting to smell very, very good to me; offering no threat, all pleasure.

When he dared to caress my waist, his frame and his breath still quivering, I stepped closer suddenly and tilted my head, covering his lips in a hungry kiss. He inhaled in surprise through his nose, but he yielded to me, his hands still flat against me.

He had an "earthy" taste that the long-lived races I'd bedded all my life did not have; there was such a tender softness of his mouth which was so young, and yet the flavor of his skin and moisture was well-aged, like a good wine or cheese. I didn't really want to ask how old he was; it might seriously dampen my own arousal if he told me he was under fifty.

Bohai's arms were lean but quite hard as he wrapped them around me just as I pulled him closer, my own hand cradling the back of his head and his queue, fingertips just barely caressing the round curve of his ear. The fingers of my other hand dug into the green silk covering his back, and I moved to grind my crotch into his, rubbing my mound along his length through our clothing.

"Qhu-ban," he groaned as I lifted my lips after thoroughly tasting his tongue. Without context, his grimace and his tone could have made it seem as though he was in pain. The movement of his hips, at least, told me it was a good kind of pain.

"Whatever you said, I agree," I whispered hotly, reaching to seize one of his hands and to stuff it down the back of my pants. Then I tugged his other hand around front to cover my abdomen, so he could get the hint and start squeezing me elsewhere.

At this rate it would take until after the banquet before he had those long fingers up my twat.

Even thinking that had probably cursed me. The Yungian had just worked up the courage to start playing with my white tuft, barely touching my swollen netherlips, when one of his family called out his name and said something else. Bohai started so badly in my arms, his scent changing to one of anxiety and the need to flee, even as I had a hand clutched around his stiff pole.

He shook his head and told me no. He pleaded with his eyes, as Auslan had the first time on that farm. No. Don't. Release me.

*Damn every god that exists straight to the Abyss...*

I growled at first when he tried to get loose; I held onto him firmly. I knew what I *wanted* to do, and I could do it, because damn it, he wanted it, too! Even if he looked scared of getting caught now, he couldn't pretend that he didn't still want it!

I leaned and bit down on his earlobe, sucking on it.

"Ting zi," he murmured, nervous but still aroused, and he softly kissed my cheek. "Qing, pehli Jan'shi. Houlai?"

Had that been a promise of some kind, for later, perhaps? Or a trick? The Drow way was to *never* gave up what was already in-hand for something that wasn't. I could drag him elsewhere where his family wouldn't find us for a little longer. I could take him quickly; at my level of arousal, it wouldn't take long for me. A little resistance on his part would just add a nice spice to this secret encounter.

The way that Bohai's heart changed in its pace, matching his scent now as one who wanted to run, not fuck, as before, nearly convinced me:  take him now, quickly, don't let him change his mind. I could even gag him with that red scarf; he would look quite luscious, and if it was over too fast for him, served him right for trying to refuse me...

Ah. But what might he say afterward? I obviously wasn't going to kill him, and Mourn could speak his language. It would certainly come up, particularly if he had any bruises or lingering fear. Bohai was supposed to be of the dominant gender here; how would he adapt afterward? Or would he? I had already seen in Curgia what happened when a formerly "dominant" female was thoroughly used and brought down low as a mere breeder sow. 

Would doing this dissuade Mourn from even deigning to work with me at all, never mind getting Jael out of the hands of Manalar?

*I will not thank you if you dishonor him and his family,* the half-blood had said to me back at the safehouse.

Mourn had been talking about the Patriarch, but given his own intense dislike of those who force sex on others...I was pretty sure that warning included Shi Mu Kuo's virgin son, who felt now that he must leave without us finishing what we started, because he needed to attend the "honor" banquet for the Dragon Spirit.

"Jan'shi?" the same Human voice called, approaching the room, slowly, giving us plenty of time to separate.

*Lolth damn it all...*

Bohai had only to straighten his clothing once I released him. I turned quickly to pluck up the red robe and shrug into it to cover my naked torso and loose pants. I was still shaking with barely suppressed violence, and I expected to see the boy cowering from me now. In letting him go, I had missed my opportunity.

I was surprised to see, instead, Bohai actually smile at me again, his eyes playful and still hungry as he bowed to me.

"Pehli Jan'shi," he whispered, touching his fingers to his lips. "Houlai, wo-shyu ni."

Then he left the room to meet up with his older brother, Hulin, and I was left to cool my fires alone.

Had the Yungian even realized the danger he had been in just now? Or had he been more as Mourn had suggested about me and Brom on the boat: that neither of us really understood the risk, though we thought we did, and the elder in each case did not explain it.

Grumbling in my own mind at the unflattering comparison, I hurried to straighten and secure my pants and to do my best to mimic the style in which the robe was supposed to be worn, based on what I'd seen already, and unbraided my hair to finger-comb it before plaiting it smartly up again. 

Would I even have the patience now to sit through a mind-numbing, ritual-laden dinner, possibly staring across the table at the Yungian male who was definitely my choice to bed? At this point, I wasn't even sure I could accept a substitute from the Patriarch of some fearful, shaking servant who was simply ordered to get into position under me. 

I didn't want a reluctant slave; I wanted the one who had already said yes.

Coiling the chest-bind up to take with me, I cut through the performance room to hang it by my belt...and I made damned sure not to even brush up against Soul Drinker. Not in my current mental state.

Where was the banquet room, anyway? Was I expected just to wander around until I stumbled into it?

*No, no...do not be fuck-stupid.*

All I had to do was stand still for a few seconds and listen. It wasn't hard.

Shi Mu Kuo and Mourn turned from where they were standing to face me when I entered—and thus, so did everyone else—and I had no idea what to do. As always, I looked to Mourn for a signal.

*You sit to the sire's left. Let him invite you.*

To his left? It would depend on where he was sitting...and I couldn't tell. The table was round and there wasn't an obvious "I am the Matron" type throne as I'd expected.

Okay, so wait to be invited.

Shi Mu Kuo seemed to take a grand liking to seating everyone, and Mourn was seated first on his right, and myself on his left. The advisors were facing us across the way, and the family filled out the rest of the circle—seemingly—according to age, as Bohai was closer to the advisors and Renshu was closer to his sire, with Hulin in the middle on the right-hand side. Likewise, the wife was seated next to me on the left-hand side, with the two daughters seated in order.

So far, so good.

The table was set with recognizable dining ware...except for the pair of bone sticks resting neatly on a small, marble rest. Mourn was watching and caught my look of inquiry. He signed, *Start with the soup. Watch others. Learn."

Helpful.

When I saw his tongue pressed against his teeth in that familiar way, I grew suspicious. Had he truly sent Bohai with this robe in the first place? Could he guess why Hulin had to go find him and I was late just by scent? Probably. Was he testing me still?

All I knew was that he had best not laugh at me this whole time. I was not in a good mood; once again my pussy was aching and I had no way to quench the need right now without making a huge spectacle that would cost me much more than a good meal. In other circumstances—once that didn't have the lives of my Sisters hanging in the balance—I would have just thrown the Yungian boy onto the table and fucked him in front of everyone. Really, how much ritual could one shove into every aspect of one's life without feeling stifled?

I shouldn't have asked that question, even within the turmoil of my mind.

The hot, fragrant food was brought out on larger serving plates, which were all placed in the center of the table upon a smaller, finely-carved wooden stand... which could be spun in place. I couldn't believe it; everyone would be eating from the same source? Could I have asked for a better solution to my habitual worry over tampered food? I'd also be able to reach anything that suited me without having to ask.

Except that Mourn gestured for me not to do so, and I had to wait to be served. They were rather small servings to start, I thought. Couldn't I just tell them that I was pregnant and could I please just serve myself the amount I wanted?

The youngest daughter poured tea and wine for everyone, and as I watched Mourn thank her, I did the same, although I was pretty sure I mumbled whatever the words were. Mourn stopped me again when I would have taken the first bite—*What? It's cooling down, I want it still hot!*—and I waited with quashed impatience for some sign to begin. 

That sign was the Patriarch giving a formal toast to the Dragon Spirit and the Black Ghost, we sipped our wine (although I did not drink but pretended I did), and then finally inviting everyone to enjoy their meal.  Or so I gathered by straight body language, and the fact that I thought it safe to eat once Renshu had taken his first bite.

There were a lot of meats from the water, I thought, though an almost equal amount of others I would bet were the flesh of land animals. I spooned a very flavorful, though thin, vegetable soup into my mouth and watched them use the eating sticks, even lifting a bowl of those fluffy grains close to their mouth to shovel it in surprisingly quickly. Curious. Very neat and deliberate, most of the time. Noodles were slurped, as was the soup, though the rest of the bites were chewed closed-mouthed.

I had seen watching Kurn and the others cram large mouthfuls and chew noisily through the entire trip, though I had never commented because I had often been digging in the ground and eating grubs and roots with my hands, or nibbling on lizards and slurping down raw eggs filched from a bird's nest.

Mourn certainly couldn't judge either, after the way I'd watched him tear into that raw pig's haunch with his fangs. And then the three of us had gnawed and torn off hunks of pork from bone and rib after cooking it in Gavin's spices. It was a bit funny now watching the half-blood eat so daintily with those sticks. They shouldn't have even fit into his hand, but somehow they did.

It took a bit of practice to use the sticks myself, almost like extended fingers to pinch my pre-slices bites of food without getting any sauce beneath my nails, but I grew to like the concentration it took, the challenge and hand-eye coordination. Soon enough my body's demand for food eclipsed the demand for sex. For now.

Mourn and I both ate at a faster pace than the rest, and more volume, I might guess, but this seemed accepted as our bodies clearly worked differently from theirs, and we were still following their rituals. 

The Patriarch even seemed to enjoy plying us with more food, because there was plenty to have, and perhaps he even got a perverse pleasure out of the fact that I would eat anything that he placed on my plate himself. Some of it tasted better than others, but I didn't care; none of it was anything close to a wriggling worm still covered in grit.





Surfacing Ch. 12



Eventually, Mourn signed to me, *The meal will not stop if you leave no food on your plate.*

Well. I was getting full, at last. But to intentionally leave some on the plate, uneaten, just so the servants would throw it away? Why?

All it took for me, however, was a glance down to the right, where Bohai had finished and seemed to be waiting patiently, though he had not looked directly at me through most of the meal. Certainly a good reason to end the meal right there. The last few morsels I left alone, sipping the rest of my tea as things finally seemed to be winding down. I even heard a few satisfied belches that draw a smile from me.

So, now what?

The Patriarch stood up first, and everyone remained seated. He gave some kind of closing speech, bowing to both Mourn and me in turn, and then at some signal that I missed, his family and advisors stood up and made ready to leave the banquet hall, somewhat abruptly I thought. No lingering for chat or sweets?

I shouldn't complain, though I was wondering—with the language barrier—how I was going to find Bohai again if he simply left, as he was doing now, keeping his eyes averted. Intentionally. The Patriarch shared some more words one-on-one with Mourn, who nodded and there seemed to be some kind of understood plan, and the sire then left the banquet hall with his wife.

There was only one who didn't leave so quickly—the whispering daughter—as she remained standing and glanced twice at Mourn, trying but failing to hide her nervousness.

*We need to talk,* I signed.

Mourn exhaled quietly. *Indeed. Let us gather our things. They have resting rooms for us until we are ready to leave at sunrise.*

Which my gut told me was in about another two hours. Not a lot of time remaining.

*Resting rooms.* I smirked. *Separate?*

*Yes.*

*But the female goes with you.*

Which was clear, since she was following us as a Consort might; demure, head down, hands folded in front of her.

He grunted, which was a yes.

*Will you explain that?*

*Let us get to the room first. It may be easier to say in Drow.*

Maybe.

We collected our belongings from the performance room, and the daughter insisted on carrying at least the cloak for Mourn and, I thought, asked him for more, so I handed her my cloak, my boots, and the chest-bind. She wasn't touching any of our tools or weapons.

Each of us did want to get out of the open halls where a few guards remained on watch, so we entered a new wing led by Mourn, the specific rooms confirmed in soft response by the daughter. She indicated to me that the next one down, a little farther away from the home's center, was mine.

I shook my head and looked at Mourn. "Not leaving yet."

He grunted again. "Then set your boots down inside and go in first."

I did so, and Mourn was deliberate about having his large hand resting on the smaller girl's shoulder as they crossed the threshold out of sight of the guards, before they closed the door behind us. Shi Mu Kuo's daughter was staring nervously at me. I wished she could relax; it was making me a bit agitated as we set out things down.

"So?" I asked aloud, crossing my arms, the silk of the red robe shushing quietly about me.

Mourn invited that the girl sit down, and she did, kneeling at the foot of the resting pallet, large enough to hold the half-Dragon's body in repose. The room looked like many of the rest, though spacious, and they did not overdue the dragon decorations; there was only one, a marble statue sitting on a tiny, tall table, facing outward to a paper-covered window.

"What's her name?" I asked.

"Dandan."

She perked up expectantly, but then realized that Mourn was talking to me, and she went back to waiting in a straight-backed, bizarre mix of endless patience and simmering anxiety.

"That was her name?" I asked. So I'd heard it before. "Alright. How did she come up as an offering to you? And is it permanent?"

Mourn half-smiled. "You read situations well enough, even if you do not understand the significance of the particulars."

"So light the candle for me. Answer my questions."

He took his usual time to formulate his thought, stepping to pour water from a pitcher closer to the bed. He gave a cup to Dandan—likely to give her something additional to focus on—and then briefly sipping from the second cup before offering it to me. There were only the two cups, but I accepted. I was thirsty, and he'd just tested it for tampering for me.

He spoke as deliberately as always. "It is not permanent. The Patriarch would be honored if I would bless his house by 'opening' his eldest daughter's womb."

I stared at him. "He wants you to be first to fuck her and spurt inside her. Lucky you. Sounds like a payment or bribe to me."

Mourn grimaced at my wording. "The Sire did not explain everything about his situation, I don't believe. This is partly under a guise of the better-known 'untouched sacrifice' to a Dragon, which you will hear in Human tales if you around them long enough, but also partly being able to offer something in the future that other important houses in Yong-wen cannot."

"That is what?"

"A Spirit-blessed wife, lucky to have and fertile for being marked by a Dragon's seed. One of the few 'sacrifices' of that nature that would not lessen the daughter's worth in the eyes of important men."

As if anything really lessened a strong female's value.

My mouth quirked. "Aaaand this was all his idea? Or did you somehow hint at it?"

Mourn shook his head and shrugged a bit. "Part of my blade dance was to encourage openness to sensation."

"So there was magic in your performance."

"Yes. Subtle. But there. He asked whether there was anything I might ask for this night, besides the banquet. I commented on a compliment I had heard, of his pleasure servants being skilled and accommodating to guests, thinking to confirm a companion for you. He made an offer a far step above that to me, before I could get further. To refuse or continue seeking more would have undone everything we have accomplished this eve."

I couldn't really help but to smile, almost laugh, at hearing this; Mourn was in this situation because he had been trying to manipulate events to get me laid. When I was younger, this type of bait-and-surprise was often, to me, when it seemed that the Spider Queen was paying the most attention and plucking at her webs for entertainment.

"Are you telling me that you would rather not couple with her? Does she even know how?"

"There is a certain decorum expected of the well-bred," he answered only the second question. "So, no, she would not be educated as a bed servant might be."

"How dull. If you don't want her, can I have her? Shall I teach her?"

I saw the spines on his back raise a little, almost by reflex. He hadn't liked that suggestion.

"No."

I flicked my eyes to Dandan was paying very close attention to our body language and tones of voice. "So you're making her decisions for her, are you?"

"Her sire is," he growled. "And I doubt she would understand what you would want from her. In any regard, I do not want you to endanger her standing in her family, or her community. She remains here long after you leave."

I exhaled. "Fine. What about the youngest brother, then? Can we talk about him?"

His tail swished briefly. "What do you want to know?"

"First, did you send him to me, alone, to give me this red robe?"

He shook his head once. "I did not."

"Ha. Then were you responsible for that occurrence? Did you manipulate things?"

One corner of Mourn's mouth twitched. "You're learning."

"I thought so." I was frowning and nearly demanded, "What did you want out of that?"

"What did *you* want, Baenar?"

I felt some of that heat, that recent, intense frustration again, and Mourn flicked his tongue out very briefly, inhaling through an open mouth.

"How did you 'read' the situation, To'vah," I asked almost through gritted teeth, "when we both entered the banquet hall?"

Mourn did not look away from my direct gaze. "Neither of you had had release. He was unafraid, expectant. You were angry, perhaps shaken. It was interesting." He tilted his head. "Did you stop, Sirana, when you were interrupted by the middle brother?"

"I didn't want to," I said resentfully.

"But you stepped back. You didn't frighten or punish him." He looked pleased. "Why? That is not the typical outcome for any Drow that I once knew."

Damn his tongue.

"Because you and I still don't have our deal," I said.

"You were concerned of my opinion on the matter?"

"More like you hold our agreement hostage," I denied.

"Jael is the hostage, as I recall. And you want her back more than you want easy prey."

"That boy is not such easy prey," I said stubbornly. "Had you sent me someone without well-known family to protect him, it may have been quite different."

"Sadly, that is all too common."

I paused at his expression. "Why it was not a servant. That was deliberate."

"You did well, Sirana, for where you are, with what you have. You impress me."

"I do not seek your approval," I snapped.

"But you believe what I told you about my Matron and me."

"Irrelevant. It was more about the Archmage, and your claims about consenting to risk."

He tilted his head at that. "Interesting. Do you realize now that he raped you?"

"Since the very start, Mourn, and in three different ways," I spat. "Two of them, I liked. Had he not tried a third way, we would be allies."

Mourn's ears shifted back slightly as he frowned a bit more. "He does not form alliances. He takes servants. You knew this, it is why you did not stay to make any lasting deal."

Dandan had shrunk back a bit as she listened to our rolling, foreign tongue; she didn't have to understand the words to know that we were arguing. I myself was quivering with the heat I felt; Mourn was hard as stone.

I wasn't going to get far with him as I felt now; I was mostly reacting, and floundering for direction, trying to anticipate a Drow male already far ahead of me. It wasn't usual, but I could be excused. Mourn was far more familiar with this world and was leading me in several ways, even though I'd had my share of directing a debate, or letting the strong hatred of the other blind them as it simply rolled off of me.

Maybe this was how Shyntre felt at times. I had always thought it fun, without exception; to be enjoyable foreplay. Was it the same for him, or not? Because he was usually the one quivering in frustration, as I was now...

"Yes, I knew that," I said. "But it is not for me as it was for you. Had you grown up where I came from and we were snarling like this, we would be fucking by now."

As on the boat when I'd been frank about my arousal after bargaining with Innathi, Mourn did not respond verbally. As before, I sensed hesitation that likely came from not having worked out a particular problem yet, to have decided on a course of action.

If nothing else, the half-blood was not convinced that he would be able to lead me so easily in a sexual encounter, as he had been able to in everything else. He could not lead me, but nor had I figured a way to draw him in to considering it for more than a moment or two.

Maybe he thought it would endanger for Manalar mission. And if he thought so, then it may very well be so, because it was one of the few things he wasn't practiced at balancing. And maybe I wouldn't want that, either.

It was tiring always holding back, though.

"I'm jealous, of course," I added, glancing again at Dandan.

"Do not be," he replied. "As you said, she knows little. She may only be afraid for the whole of it, or only think it a necessary ritual."

I smirked just a bit. "Would that dampen your own...enthusiasm?"

"Not your concern."

We both did hear something scraping outside then; he knew as well as I that those were the sounds of someone sneaking about to spy, but was not stealthy enough to go unnoticed. I moved first, heading to the covered window with the dragon statue facing outward, and kneeled to where I could lift the blind just a bit, peek out into the night and inhale the air.

I could make out a young, male Human's shape very easily—right next door, where I should be sleeping. While likely out of side of any guards low and close to the ground, he had no cover from this angle. So he had meant to try to find me again.

*Hello, sweetmeat.*

In a moment, my red robe was pooled at my bare feet in a quiet rustle, and I lifted the sapphire off to hide within it, shoving it into a corner. Mourn wouldn't steal it, and if he did, then I had leverage to push back on our deal. I tugged loose the ties at my hips, pushing my pants down to slip out of those as well.

Dandan gasped and uttered a word, and I made a rude gesture at Mourn to quiet her. He stepped silently and crouched to press a single, clawed finger to her mouth, making some body signal I actually couldn't read too well, but I didn't care to expend the effort to try. I just wanted her quiet.

No interruptions this time, please, and no missed opportunities.

The Summer night was plenty warm enough, and the air was heavy with fragrance and the scents of dense growth. It was easy to pick out the only large, two-legged form crouching in the bushes, and as familiar as he might already be with his home, I'd had plenty of practice stalking various forms of sustenance in the brush myself.

Certainly now, I sought another, my crotch already hot and prepared for it, its appetite well whetted. When I got close enough, I had no doubt my scent would have given me away to any Underdark creature...but Surface races, always inundated with sound and sensation, had to filter out more of it than they took in, and it left them a little numb to what should have been an obvious warning. Especially as the breeze shifted.

By then, I was right behind him, and it was likely more my aura he felt before he ever scented my slick and receptive sex. At least he did turn around; when he was face-to-face with me, I had to do nearly the same as Mourn and use my hand to cover his mouth, lest he speak too loud. A good thing, too; I felt the vibration of his voice as he cried out, startled. It was too much noise for my liking, but muffled enough for Human ears.

"Shh," I breathed, reaching up with my free hand to stroke the edge of his ear, the side of his neck, then the smooth braid of looped hair.

His scent changed to become more pleasant very quickly, and Bohai reached out to touch his hands to my hips, smoothing them up and down, both enjoying and confirming who he thought it was that held him, and that she didn't wear any clothes. I could see his face quite well in the night, but his eyes did not seem like they could focus on me very well. That was okay, he didn't need to.

I took hold of the firm body and hauled him down onto a nice patch of soft grass, deep in the shadow of a larger bush. Bohai had enough training to try to determine quickly whether this was too exposed or not, but I had already chosen it, and by the time he accepted where he lay, I was on top and had ground my crotch against his swiftly stiffening member, placing a slick mark on his clothing, as I lifted his shirt to expose his nipples. 

I still wanted to lick them, and pinch them just a little hard. And I wanted to taste the stronger scent near where his neck met his shoulder, and find a few places that made his skin tingle or caused him to shiver as he had back in the wash room.

I'd get his loose bottoms pushed down soon enough, as soon as he fully submitted to me and forgot that we were outside with guards hovering around.

Bohai grunted softly but put tremendous effort into trying to be quiet as I molested him freely, but he seemed sharply sensitive to most things I did to him, as if he somehow did not expect any of it except for the stroking of his penis. His hips bucked up frequently, cramming his erection into me, both on instinct and in an urgent plea.

I had been ready, and he was young enough to be roused again fairly soon after the first time, which I knew wasn't going to last long for either of us. Still, I hoped he had more than three strokes in him.

He lifted his backside and slipped his stained bottoms down to his thighs with only the tiniest tug from me, and I grinned enough that, this close, he could probably make out the white, wide smile in a black, indistinct face. His prick was felt almost scalding, with an interesting downward curve to it, toward his feet, that already had me considering some prime positions for later. 

I had always loved the feel of any erect male, a hard core wrapped in smooth skin, so much fun to stroke and rub in numerous ways. Bohai felt comfortable and familiar, just a little wider than my male Drow; I doubted I would have to be careful in how vigorously I took him. He was of perfect size, if decorated with a little more hair; dark like on his head, but unlike it, also very curly.

I seized his member and used my own arousal to slicken him up from base to tip in a stroke or two, then adjusted the angle and pressed down and along his delightful curve in one full stroke. Bohai sucked in a startled breath and my hand went back over his mouth when he would have cried out louder than he did. I couldn't hold still once I had him inside, though, and I began to pleasure myself, only a slight tilt to my hips needed to glide my clit along the lower part of his shaft.

A few strokes later, I realized the head of his penis provided slightly firmer pressure to the far side of my channel. If I turned around and faced his feet, he'd rub my much more enjoyable anterior, just by virtue of his shape. Me on all fours, with him mounted from behind, would also work...although it did mean both times I would need to have my back to him.

Still...

I climaxed easily as I was, happily able in a few dozen strokes, though my spasms triggered Bohai's sudden orgasm as well, as he was unable to hold back. The youth's breath caught in his throat as he jerked and spurted into my body with all the urgency in which we had begun. I came partway down from my high, breathing much more smoothly than the trembling son of the house, and already knew that what we'd done wasn't nearly enough to quench my thirst.

*Come on.*

We got up—him dazed and merely following my unspoken demand—and I tugged up his soiled pants just so he wouldn't trip as his shirt fell down naturally to cover him. Then I pulled him back toward Mourn's window, where I could see that he had lit a single lantern to give off a warm glow in the still-dim room.

There were distinct three advantages that I could see for me—and one solid answer— in bringing Bohai into Mourn's room instead of the empty one that was supposed to be mine, and they had nothing to do with the sometimes pleasure of being watched.

Most simply, I could try those other positions on the young man's cock and the half-blood would not be able to help but to watch my back for me. In addition, Mourn wouldn't have to guess whether or not I'd hurt the inexperienced Yungian at any point in the encounter, he could see for himself. I knew that might very well weigh on the hybrid's mind. And the third advantage: I thought doing the brazen and the forthright now might teach the half-blood a few things about me, and about where I came from.

That was what he wanted, after all, wasn't it? Who said he could choose exactly how he wanted to learn it, when he wanted it?

It was a two-way path, as I would also get an answer I needed: Was the dominant male half-blood anything like Brom or Kurn, as he claimed not to be?

Mourn was sitting on the low bed with a fully-clothed Dandan; he was shirtless but had not removed his pants yet. He had the young female curled against him, entirely within the borders of his arms and legs, with his tail curving around them like a partial circle drawn on the bed. She was barefoot now, the wrappings gone. 




Surfacing Ch. 13



Author's Notes: This story is erotic fantasy written by Etaski. I reserve the right to be listed as the author of this story, wherever it is posted. If found posted anywhere except Literotica.com with this note attached, this story is posted without my permission. (c) Etaski 2014

The Drama continues! Those of you who have jokingly mentioned having a flow chart or software to keep track of the connections...get ready to rumble! :)

Shyntre wasn't surprised that his erection had beaten him to consciousness yet again. He was, however, surprised to feel it pressed flush against another body, and his arm was draped over that other, his nose hovering above warm, fragrant skin which immediately whetted his appetite to put his waking iron to use again very soon.

If only his bladder didn't feel near to bursting...

The wizard peeled himself from his bedmate's back in silence, replacing the spot with warm blanket before realizing he was going to have to climb over to get off the mattress and relieve himself. He didn't really want to, because the Consort was asleep, resting still and peaceful. For once.

Then Shyntre wondered what it said about his current state of mind that he hadn't until now even thought about how to prepare for his mother returning soon, or that he could not remember ever having woken up next to another sleeping Drow before.

Oh, Lolth, what had they done? What had *he* done? Was it inevitable that She knew of it, or could he hide it?

Shyntre climbed over and off the bed with as much stealth as possible, though he knew that Auslan had been jostled and was waking regardless. He heard the soft sigh and then a yawn. Neither of them spoke, and the Consort could only see his back as he located the basin built into the wall near the tub. Surprisingly similar to what had been in the cells in solitary.

It was going to take some concentration still to let go long enough to—

"Did you dream of her, too?"

"Hm?" the mage grunted, placing his palm flat on the stone in front of him so he could lean on it and try to relax. Come on, just a little more...

"Sirana. The three of us. She was in uniform and we were unclothed—"

"Auslan, if you can," Shyntre interrupted with strained patience, "hold that thought or I'm never going to do this."

The Consort paused, finally seemed to realize his brother was trying to get a turgid member to go down long enough to relieve himself, and chuckled before settling back down to wait patiently. If the wizard hadn't already been watched plenty of times passing urine—out of necessity, and for humiliation—Shyntre might have found it even more difficult feeling Auslan's gaze on his backside. As it was, he managed, and watched as the waste disappeared down a hole after he touched the small rune on the right.

Seemingly inspired, Auslan traded places with him, and had even less trouble relieving himself with another in the room. He even managed somehow to do it with enough grace to make it entertaining to watch, though Shyntre doubted he was aware of it. The wizard supposed that might tell him something particular of Auslan's experiences with the various Noble females over the years...

When the Consort finished and saw something out of place, he began cleaning up, seeming to have forgotten about the dream for the moment. Shyntre thought this was a good idea—better to have the place, and the sheets, clean before D'Shea came back. He stepped up to help speed the task, even managing to get Auslan to wash with him in the tub, getting all the sweat and fluids and scents off them, before the Consort could finally focus on the badly wrinkled bed.

There were spare sheets hanging at the back of the room to trade out for the ones they dumped into the tub, now re-filling with steaming water, and Auslan gave every surface a good rub-down with a cloth, to where the wizard might think that he had essentially erased any evidence of their activities in this room the previous cycle.

"Alright, that's enough," the wizard finally spoke up. "We should talk before she comes back. We are lucky to make it this long."

Shyntre wasn't surprised that he had to pull the cloth out of Auslan's hand to get him to stop cleaning; however the Consort simply picked up a warming stone and began to use it to tug wrinkles out of the damp, hanging sheets.

"Auslan."

"Just a bit more. Keep talking."

"No. Put it down. Look at me." Ironic that Shyntre had first woken up wanting to avoid eye contact.

"I am not done," Auslan said.

"You'll never be done. You can't get perfection."

Shyntre didn't receive a response, and his first impulse was to snatch the warming stone from his hand and pitch it across the room. Taking a deep breath, however, he stayed that first action, and instead picked up a hair brush on the dressing stand and kneeled behind the Consort to start combing with it. 

It was a pity Auslan's hair was still so short from where his mother had chopped it off, especially compared to what it had been. It didn't take long to brush it out, but it served its purpose as Auslan slowed down on using the warming stone, his shoulders relaxing some as he gave a soft hum of appreciation.

"Now me," the wizard said firmly, holding the brush over Auslan's shoulder so it was in line of sight.

The Consort nodded obediently, and Shyntre insisted that they trade—the warming stone for the brush—which Auslan accepted after a pause. Then they switched positions and he spent good time carefully teasing the snarls from the mage's hair, and making the experience somehow very pleasant as well.

"So...another dream?" Shyntre prompted. "Sirana in uniform?"

He heard a distinct smile in his brother's voice. "We were naked, and she was caressing, you know, *us.* At the same time, while we touched her, kissed her. You do not remember?"

Shyntre almost shook his head in the negative, but as soon as his hair tugged, he stilled and answered aloud instead. "No. I'm not sure that I dream much in reverie, Auslan."

"A pity. I enjoy the way you kiss." Auslan kept combing. "Very commanding, powerful, like a female. It would have made my legs give out if I had been standing, I think."

The wizard withheld his sigh of irritation and closed his eyes, counting backwards from ten. "Don't say that. Please."

Auslan slowed. "Do not say what?"

"That I act female."

The Consort paused. "Why not?" 

His question sounded completely innocent.

Shyntre frowned, biting the inside of his cheek for a moment so that he didn't say the first thing that came to mind. Instead, he explained.

"That's how they taunt me, Auslan. The Sisterhood taught me a lot, but never enough to make up for the fact that I was born male. I can do a lot of what they do, even think and act as they do, even if I don't have the body strength or endurance they have. And yet I'll always be excluded, and to dare to use anything that I know outside of the Cloister or the queen's protection, out in society—?"

"I understand." Auslan kept brushing even though Shyntre's hair was well straight and smooth. "They taught you to act more female? Was this before or after the last time you contacted me? You had sounded so—."

"I thought I was going to die," Shyntre said brusquely, then answered his question. "They taught me before that."

"Ah. It opened that trouble with one of the Red Sisters, then. What happened, Shyntre? You only ever told me one of them wouldn't leave you alone and that you had to keep fighting. When we talked again in the garden at House Itlaun last year, that was what you feared would repeat itself with Sirana. Why you wouldn't listen to my advice."

A shiver passed through the wizard, and the brushing mostly stopped, even as the Consort smoothed it out before pressing a hand to his shoulder. Shyntre couldn't make himself lean back against him when he felt the gentle tug; he refused, and Auslan didn't push it.

"It wasn't just some stupid Sister who couldn't take no for an answer," Shyntre murmured. "It was that Wilsira tried to use it to break my will, to depend on her and the Sanctuary for protection after my mother refused to get involved. The Priestess wanted me back at the Sanctuary, obedient at last now that she had something that I feared. Now I think...some of the other higher-ups were arguing whether to hold me at the Tower again, or the Sanctuary, or...send me somewhere else." 

The wizard clutched his fist, a flare in his aura focusing there for a moment. "Any time I was outside the Sanctuary, Wilsira saw to it that I was... somehow,I would always see *that* Red Sister again. Mostly alone, but not always."

Auslan kept caressing his hair, then started braiding it. "Go on. What happened? It finally stopped. You are still here."

Shyntre glanced about the room, paranoid but reminding himself that the Elder who owned these quarters already knew what he'd done. In her position, she must know.

"Wilsira sent me again on an errand to the Wizard's Tower, and guess which Red Sister was the escort?"

"The 'stupid' one," Auslan answered, squeezing his shoulder again. "And something happened where there were no eyes to see...?"

"She raped me again and I burned her." He spoke very low. "Tapped myself out almost completely...she couldn't be healed, she was half disintegrated. After I stopped panicking, I contacted you through the bloodstone—I thought it would be the last time—and I ran back to the Tower. I didn't know where else to go."

"Did Phaelous protect you?"

Shyntre breathed out slowly, trying to lessen the ball of tension in his middle. "...He must have. Or he must have started something."

"Perhaps your Elder mother as well," Auslan said.

"Maybe Elder Rausery," he countered. "Or the queen. Anyway, I stayed in the Tower for a while, and it was odd because...it was just like any trace of that one Red Sister vanished. No one has ever mentioned her to me again, and I didn't dare ask when they didn't come to take me away. It was only a few years later that Elder Rausery pulled me out of the Tower to prepare for the Surface."

The Consort gently explored his bare back, doing his best to comfort. "And you saw the Stars for real, not just in a dream. Did you ever count them?"

Shyntre chuckled, but far too briefly. "No. Too many and Rausery kept me far too busy for that."

"Mm. Too many. It sounds nice." Auslan took some time to formulate his next thought. When he did, his voice was the most soothing the wizard had ever heard. "Well. If last eve was any measure, you have learned far more than they taught you. You can do the same things, and yet also choose not make it hurt." 

He paused, and when Shyntre didn't respond, he added, "Thank you. I liked that you were slow, that you held me, and talked to me like I had a mind of my own. You understood. You convinced me I could enjoy welcoming you...into me." He hesitated. "But only you. I do not want anyone else that way."

Shyntre felt his chest warm and his member stir at the Consort's silken voice. They had the fresh memory together, of Auslan's willingness to try to purge his fear, to replace Thena's brutality with something much gentler. 

There was also a much older memory at the Sanctuary—just mutual, curious exploration, hands and mouth only, yet just as intense as last eve. Possibly more so, in its own way. That had been when he'd first heard the Consort's name, and felt it take firm hold inside of him, where it would never leave as long as he was alive.

The young breeder had not been able to explain what had happened then; he didn't know. Shyntre couldn't even hint to any female why he might be asking about it, especially the Priestesses, especially Wilsirathon. He knew that would be a fatal mistake.  

It wasn't until the Priestess Juliran had coaxed the same name from his healer-brother—thinking herself the first to do so, unable to sense the previous bond—that the Consort had been able to offer them both some kind of explanation.

All of Auslan's differences from the other Consorts, and part of the strength of his inborn magic, came from the one who had first lowered his magical barriers by rite of passion. Their auras had permanently changed, and no Priestess knew what Auslan's mature one had been like before Shyntre. He had simply been as he was.

The two had no way of knowing if they were the only such males still living who had done something like this, or if there had been any others.

If not for that memory, and the lasting consequences that had nothing to do with his mother or the Sisterhood, the wizard might have wondered whether his randy response now to Auslan's words was merely their training. But it wasn't the Red Sisters' doing, he could be sure; this was his and Auslan's alone. It was real, not the result of some conditioning torment or confusing game.

"I've caused the same pain, too, the same way," Shyntre heard himself say almost in a monotone, forcing the warmth in his chest to dampen. "I've enjoyed doing it, hurting them back. I've even done it to Sirana, before you knew her. And...because of the queen's will, I will do it again when I leave here."

What would the submissive, passive Consort think of him, knowing that?

Auslan set down the brush beside them and hand his hand the length of Shyntre's hair one more time before reaching around to hold him from behind, his chin resting on his shoulder. "You are my name-bond, my brother in all but blood, and you always will be. No matter what you have done, or will yet do. You are who you are, and who you are... knows who I am."

The feeling in the mage's chest became chilled, hardened, as he thought about having to return to the Palace after this. How could he protect what was his from the Valsharess, if She may very well want to take everything that he was? As She may have already done to his sire? 

Living with his memories of last eve in these quarters would only make everything worse. Auslan could soon be tortured and killed merely to teach the wizard a lesson about obedience and being a proper breeder. What had he done? Had his mother planned on that? Had the queen? That would be an apt punishment for him, indeed, one that he had done to himself.

The Consort felt his tension and squeezed him once before leaning back to rest his fine hands at the shoulders and start massaging the muscles. "I have a question."

"Mm," Shyntre acknowledged, actually starting to relax a bit under the talented breeder's skill, despite his worry and fear.

"Do you still yearn for females sometimes, as horrid as they can be?"

The wizard snorted a laugh at the phrasing of the question. Oh, hadn't that baffling beetle been pinned to the board? "Sadly, yes. We're made to give them more children, after all."

Auslan sounded encouraged. "You like the way they smell?"

"Some of them. Some could either wash their crotch more often or use less scented oil."

Auslan's hands moved to his upper arms before shifting to his upper back. He sounded like he was smiling again, almost teasing him. "And the feeling of power you get in seeding a female? Sirana, in particular?"

Shyntre shook his head, bemused, and more aroused. "I swear that comes from you, somehow, breeder. You were the one who planted her child."

"It does not come from me," the Consort replied with surprisingly confidence. "It is you. I have only the ability to offer, Shyntre. I offer, and they accept. You claim. You make your mark inside them, at least in your mind, and you like it that way." Auslan leaned over to hold him from behind again, lightly playing with his dark purple nipples. "You claimed me back from Thena, and I like that you did."

Shyntre could feel the blood rush to his crotch as he hardened at an alarming pace. How was the Consort doing that with just his velvet voice and a massage? Oh, goddess, he wanted...

"Auslan—"

"Shyntre. Lie back. We will be out of sight should the door open."

The wizard thought he had to be insane to do this after everything he had been thinking, and yet here he was reclining onto back, with Auslan crawling carefully over him, stretching out on his belly with his knees on either side of the wizard's head. 

Shyntre couldn't see exactly when Auslan closed his mouth over him...but, oh goddess, could he feel it. Auslan hummed as he took him deeper, using some of the same tricks he'd learned just last eve.

"Fast learner," Shyntre grunted before catching his breath.

The Consort's own sex was fully engorged and teasing above him. Shyntre didn't hesitate long; he leaned his head up and caught the tender head between his lips before drawing more of the shaft in as well as he could at this angle, taking the Consort's hips in his hands to help control the depth and speed. He focused on the texture and heady taste. 

Auslan made the same delightful sounds as last eve and started sucking him harder in response, his by far the better angle to manage deep-throating him a few times as well as use his hands, coming up for air with a mix of sound both eager and urgent. Yet he trembled and paused as Shyntre suddenly took the lead from below.

"Not l-lingering, I see," Auslan teased him breathily, stroking the other's shaft with his right hand and massaging his sack with the left.

Shyntre grunted an unintelligible agreement and was glad when Auslan shifted his stance to get the angle better for them, so that he could take him deeper. The Consort had already begun quivering, getting close; it wouldn't take much longer at this pace. Shyntre wanted his brother to come first, wanted to swallow his seed. He wanted that magical high in full bloom when he came himself...

But... he also wanted Sirana here at the same time, wanted her to be excited, watching them, ready and eager to offer her wet, fertile cunt after he had swallowed, when he was so overcome with need to breed a female that he could not imagine any feeling in the underworld being better than these two things, one after the other.

The wizard sucked harder on his bond-mate's prick, able to take him far enough back that he suppressed his gag reflex with practiced training. Auslan was unable to concentrate at all by this point; his hand was loosely wrapped around the wizard's cock, the fingers of his left hand pressing into his mate's thighs as he moved his hips slowly with Shyntre's forceful rhythm. 

The Consort had indeed described that difference between them; Auslan was offering himself, allowing his cum to be beckoned out by a hot, talented mouth...and Shyntre would not stop until he took it from him.

Auslan's breath caught, stopped for a moment, before it came out again in a rush. "Oh goddess...Shyntre...!"

Shyntre felt muscles flex as his brother ejaculated into his mouth, and the wizard took hold of the base to stroke and coax out every drop. Immediately the spice hit him, filled his nose and warmed his tongue, and when he heard Auslan's intoxicating groan of pleasure, the sound seemed almost a physical touch caressing his ears. He waited until he had every last pump in his mouth before he swallowed.

Oh, Lolth, this was good. He wanted to fuck someone. So badly. Not just get sucked off, but to fuck, hard; to make her feel it. He wanted to spurt into her, fill her belly, mark her creamy pussy with his baby-making cock...

In a burst of aggression Auslan didn't see coming, Shyntre knocked him over onto his side and spun around to seize him around the torso, using his weight to hold the Consort down as they were facing, almost as he and Sirana had been before on the floor of the library. The wizard forced a semen-scented kiss on the Consort, who accepted it, kissing back and touching his sides. 

But Auslan refused to match the aggression; he didn't accept the challenge to fight.

Growling low, Shyntre bit his lover's neck, causing a sharp inhale, before licking the warmer spot, kissing it, as he ground his erection against the smooth, perfect body. Auslan didn't know how to respond; he seemed stunned, still coming down from his own climax. This allowed Shyntre to shift and quickly force him to roll over onto his stomach, where he pinned him again. He made sure his brother could feel the iron erection rubbing along his crack, letting him know how much he wanted to fuck. It seemed to wake him up.




Surfacing Ch. 13



"Wait!" Auslan cried out. "Wait, it will hurt like this, please, stop."

Shyntre hesitated, caught between words he had heard spoken before, recently, by the tight-slit Nobles—which not only hadn't made a difference, but only encouraged him to hurt them more—and the familiar, smooth voice saying those same words now. 

He gripped the trapped body tighter, his heart pounding against the Consort's back; he didn't want to give up the dominant position, but he didn't know what to do with it...

"Shyntre, please," his lover said more softly with less panic. "Please. I am sore. Do not hurt me as they did."

Trembling, Shyntre felt loathing for himself even through the haze of lust and rage. He nodded and shifted wordlessly off of the Consort, unable to speak. Auslan immediately rolled to face him and seized him in an embrace before he could back away, holding tightly so he couldn't escape. He kissed him.

"Thank you," he whispered, sharing his warmth on the cool floor. "It is alright. I am not angry or afraid of you. I am not. Do not tell yourself anything like that."

Too late. 

Goddess, how he hated this City...

Still, his erection hadn't gone down yet, it had only become slightly less painful. Auslan's talented hand was on it immediately, touching him with eye-rolling grace. In only a few heartbeats, it hurt again, but in the good way. The regret for what he'd almost done seemed to melt away too quickly. How was Auslan doing that? It shouldn't be so easy to let it go; nothing was ever that easy.

"Oh, goddess," he breathed into Auslan's hair as the Consort sped up the pace.

"Mark me," his brother answered back, a sensual plea that was the closest thing to a command that Shyntre had ever heard from him. "Cum on my body."

Nodding, knowing without a doubt that was just what he needed, Shyntre enjoyed skilled hands for several more moments before choosing his moment to push Auslan onto his back. He quickly climbed up to straddle the trim waist and took his own cock in hand to finish. 

Leaning forward to grip the Consort's shoulder, Shyntre felt the pressure build with the inevitability of a fire spell about to go off. Ecstatic, he cried out as he began to spurt white seed all over Auslan's dark chest. His name-bond arched his back and eagerly accepted the mess the wizard made on him...

Rather to his surprise. 

Shyntre realized, even with his head still whirling, as he crouched over on trembling limbs and caught his breath, that Auslan could be messy during sex. Maybe there was hope for his odd compulsions.

As soon as the cum began to cool, however, the Consort was immediately looking for a cloth to wipe it off. Seeing no advantage to obstructing him, Shyntre got off and finished resting as he observed a more fastidiousness Consort wipe off his spending without spilling a drop onto the floor.

"Any chance we can lay on the bed?" Shyntre asked. Some of his joints were sore from staying so long on that same hard floor.

Auslan hesitated as he glanced at the neat, unrumpled sheets, but slowly nodded. "Are you hungry? I have the usual dried food...but you cannot eat it in the bed."

Shyntre shook his head. "Later, then. Let's lie down."

With a bit more coaxing, the wizard got the Consort to recline with him, off of the floor, and they lay in silence for only a few moments.

This was the second cycle that he'd been in the Cloister. He had at least eight before he had to return to the Palace.

"What mark is it?" Shyntre asked.

Auslan shook his head slowly. "I never truly know anymore."

"Well...where is D'Shea?"

It was a very good question.

*****

The Headmaster's chair was comfortable, plush, made for long hours sitting in deep thought. It would not be easy to clean, but that was not her concern. She hadn't wanted to bathe first—something about the mix of sweat, tears, and sexual fluids was helping her concentration in a way she almost couldn't recall from before, and she did not question it.

Managing not to disturb the old mage was satisfying as she had risen to sit in his chair, but now she'd all but forgotten her host as she replayed details that were not new—she had lived them before—but that she had forgotten.

It had to have been that single drink, very long ago. It was the only time she had not been allowed to question its source or refuse to drink; everyone was drinking at once, a toast led by the Valsharess and with hundreds of Nobles present, including herself.

The Valsharess did not do such things often, but it had been a special moment. The first Consorts had been gifted, and Priestess's new theories for expanding Drow power seemed to be proving viable. Even then, even so young, Varessa had been able to see the tactic; the Nobles had something that set them apart from the commoners; they had new toys, new status symbols, something for which to compete. To focus on their own navels.

She could not have cared less, but she had toasted the Houses and drank. The swell and recession of magic within the room had been felt by many more than her, and it was surely a blessing from Lolth. The Spider Queen approved of this new path chosen by the Valsharess, so said the Priestesses.

It had to have been that moment, because it was the only moment when—during the many times the Valsharess had swept her tawny eyes across the eyes of the masses—She had paused on Varessa D'Shea. Their gazes had met, and the new youth just coming into her arcane talents and already hinting at her future potential in the realm of politics, should have looked away. She felt that she could not, that she was forbidden to do so for one moment, and would not have known what that feeling had been as the wine seemed to sour on her tongue.

Now, the Elder did know the feeling, very well. So did Rausery, and Gaelan, and Sirana. Almost certainly The Prime, and Auranka, and Lelinahdara. Quite possibly, every Red Sister and Priestess who had ever drawn the queen's favor, even for a moment, knew the insidious penetration of their queen's will. 

Royal favor was always an acknowledgement of value; it meant one had potential to achieve power and influence...and She knew it, accepted it, wanted it for Her City. The Valsharess could only allow so much power to be accumulated by any one Drow, however, even as those who wanted it most must become so...or the City would never be content, never be stable.

D'Shea licked her lips now; she could still taste the salt of her dried tears. Six hundred years, and she had never wept like this, so hard that her throat and stomach still ached. She'd never had cause.

Now she had an idea how to mask it in herself, but she had to be sure it could work. She'd never felt such fear...or such exhilaration.

"Phaelous," she whispered. "You will die for this."

He rolled over, breathed in, and sighed. Of course he was awake now, hearing her voice.

"I know, Varessa."

She watched as a yellow globe next to his bed slowly rose to a soft glow, so she could see the gold flecks in his deep red eyes.

"She would never allow your ability to exist."

"She didn't," he said, bemused. "I have felt many more restrictions on my magic than you, my Elder. As time wore on, She revealed only to me that they could be lifted without death. She had no choice. She did not have a replacement strong enough in magic, and greater power was needed as the Tower gained more male students through the Nobles."

"You still should not have been able to do what you did to me. The queen is not that stupid."

Phaelous didn't reply, but continued lying on his side, watching her from his bed, as she sat naked in his chair with bed-rumpled, gold-touched hair.

"When did you become... unrestricted?" D'Shea asked.

Through long habit, he clearly considered an evasive or misleading answer.

"There is no longer any point to lying to me, Phaelous," Varessa said harshly. "You and I will both die for nothing, and very soon, if you do not give me what I need to survive outside this Tower."

Phaelous breathed out slowly and started to sit up. "It happened... when I finally translated an old manuscript."

"How old, and where did you find it?"

The golden-haired mage adjusted the blankets around his waist as he sat cross-legged, looking at D'Shea. "Not sure of its exact age, perhaps as old as I am. And I didn't find it anywhere within the City. It was a trade a student brought back, amid a whole other stack of dirty, torn, nearly worthless scrolls, that some Pech scavenged and thought that 'us elfie-readie types' might be willing to buy from him. One cycle, I went through it, sorted out the ones for the students to practice on, and kept the most difficult ones for myself."

When he paused, D'Shea didn't insert another question; she nodded for him to continue.

"It was an almost incomprehensible Elfish, a strange dialect that might have come from the Surface or perhaps not, and it mentioned a First Tongue."

The sorceress sat up straighter, her interest snared. "And...this lifted your compulsions somehow?"

Phaelous nodded. "The very form of this language cannot lie. Compulsions do not exist in that language; they are lies that our very essence believes to be true, but is not. It is tricking the will into believing it needs something which it does not.

"It is very hard to overcome. But hearing Truth in words helps, if one can say them, and one can accept them. You knew a compulsion could be broken, and you could be free. You accepted a Truth that did not mean Death when I spoke it."

Varessa slowly shook her head. "I do not...remember you speaking any First Language."

"That doesn't matter. You felt it. You wept."

Another pause.

"Why now, Phaelous?" she asked, wondering if her time was much shorter than she had first thought.

"You finally returned to me," he said simply.

"And now you are ready to die for one last reunion? Or become a Drider forever under Auranka's will? You have never been that limp-wristed, Headmaster."

Phaelous smiled; it was calm and smug, and it was infuriating to her. "If it is so, then so be it."

D'Shea slammed her fist into the arm of his chair. "No! Don't you dare! Not after what you've done!"

"What do I dare, my Elder?"

"To hide what you've seen. If I know that I have been moved into position for some plot, especially by you, then I *will* know why!" Her fist uncurled and she held on to his chair in a tight grip, trying to calm her voice. 

"You have done another divination spell, old mage. I don't know how long ago, but you have. You do not take risks like this just for the challenge of any royal game. You do as you are told as best benefits you. You have said you earned your peace here, but you will lose it now, so you have seen something you are willing to trade for it."

The Headmaster considered the sorceress for quite some time; D'Shea waited. Impatiently, but she waited. Divinations of the nature with which she was familiar seemed at once too vivid and too rigid; they could trick any mage into believing they were a certainty, inevitable destiny, when they were not. Divinations did not have the symbolism or malleability of a dream in reverie, or a vision from Lolth. They were hard as stone, direct, and quick. Blink and one important detail might be missed.

Sharing those divinations with others was also tricky. The sire of her child would tell her something; he would, because he had unbalanced something of dire importance to the Valsharess. He had done it deliberately. 

Now there would be consequences for many, and so soon after a Purge which had changed the course of centuries of breeding Nobility, which had taken so many of their youngest of all abilities, fighter, wizard, crafter... Those older and still alive, who still managed so many of the riches and resources, did not truly know where they stood.

The bottom dropping out of a key vessel holding a queen's power was dangerous enough; this happening in the existence of any current power void tended to push events too quickly, too violently. D'Shea had to be prepared, or neither she, nor the Sisterhood, nor her son had any chance to survive.

She did not think that her son's sire could survive under even the most lenient of predictions, if only because of his attitude.

"The Illithids will come to the City, Varessa," he finally said, "and there is a chance you will be the one left defending it."

D'Shea did not respond at first, because her thought was decidedly obvious: why her? There were several others right now more powerful who would take on a threat that great right at their home threshold. The Valsharess Herself wouldn't step back from an event like that, and the Prime would be directing most of the ground forces. Auranka, the High Priestess, and Elder Rausery as well...they all outranked her. D'Shea would manage the arcane forces, but...

Phaelous said something else when she did not respond. "Listen to Jaunda, my Elder."

D'Shea nodded slowly, making a note of that. "Is there a trigger?"

Her lover's shoulders stiffened. "Several. I cannot tell which comes first, or if they are even the cause or just coincidence. Could be a fatal mislead if I tried, my Elder."

She had to accept that, though she itched for all details she could get. Still, she was competent enough of a sorceress to tell when too much information was too soon. She could wait.

"How long do we have?"

Phaelous shook his head. "Less than one year."

Damn it.

"Based on what clue, wizard? What did you see?"

It seemed like a genuine hesitation rather than any tease that he did not answer and had to be told again.

"Phaelous."

He cleared his throat. "One of the enchanted spiders that killed Wilsira. It was still alive, crawling on the Palace floor."

D'Shea straightened up. "Did you see Sirana?"

"I did not," he answered more readily. "The spider was present at the start of the attack, however." He tilted his head. "I trust that she is currently in possession of them?"

"Of course. They were made to guard her. What good are they to me if she is gone?" She touched her chin. "So Sirana may have returned in your vision..."

Phaelous looked amused. "If I recall correctly, they will cease to function if their charge dies, unless a very competent mage is there to reassign them. It does not answer what you really want to know, does it, Varessa?"

D'Shea snarled in irritation. "You've made them before."

"I have. There is very little you know that I do not when it comes to magic, my Elder."

"So I've seen." 

D'Shea tapped her fingers on the chair, thinking. It seemed easier to think back on those many threads of connections, some of them that should have been obvious long before now, but had been made thin enough to fade into the background one way or another. She found herself back to where she had been before Phaelous had spoken his "Truth" and changed everything for her.

"The Valsharess has decided Shyntre will replace you, and you will be killed before you become even more powerful," she murmured. 

Phaelous nodded. "I have already become more powerful, but She doesn't know that yet. There is a middle wizard who can run the Tower, if She is willing to give up access to this room for a while, until they figure out the blocks I've set. If She must kill me before Shyntre is ready, She can."

She narrowed copper eyes at him. "That is why you have chosen now."

"As of seven cycles ago. I'd rather have waited a little longer, but if you are here now, then it will be so."

"But She is having you research what happened in the forming room, with Wilsira, with me."

"And I have been. Diligently. This is my last assignment, I am guessing."

She quirked a brow. "So I should not remember anything, for as long as possible?"

"I like that you are not ready to be rid of me quite yet, my Elder." The old wizard showed a rare grin that made him look a century or two younger despite his golden hair and creases at the corners of his eyes. "But, on the contrary..."

"Yes?" she asked at his pause.

"Would you return with me to the forming room?"

D'Shea waited for that hard strike in her mind, that flat denial to even consider it. It tried to rise up—a natural wariness for any place of intense pain—but the sorceress found that she could overcome it. For the first time since submitting herself and her unborn into the care of the Priestesses.

The Elder nodded, and peeled herself out of the Headmaster's chair. "We have some time, not much. A quick bath, first."

His eyes lit up. "Of course, Varessa."

"No distraction, mage."

"Never touched my mind, Elder."

*****

Only one, comatose, swollen body was present when they arrived and stepped out of the transport circle and Phaelous cast a privacy spell for them. D'Shea drew a steady breath, slowing her heart, but immediately hated the scent, the taste, of the place.  

It was on her tongue. There was Abyssal taint, creeping at the edges of those runes, trying to get into them. From what she could tell, they were not close to doing so—it looked more like tadpoles bumping stupidly against a rock blocking their swim path—but the very presence of them was an affront to her magic. In retrospect, why would the Drow ever make such deals with demons?

"The Priestesses will have to change their initiation rites," D'Shea murmured, "if they are to gain any more in numbers, or replace those who are killed."

Phaelous was looking at the one pregnant captive, but blinked as he focused on her. "Those are your first thoughts entering this place, Varessa?"

She shook her head. "My first thought was that this places needs to be neutralized and destroyed. Those reinforcement runes won't last forever."

"Those reinforcement runes are your doing," the wizard said in soft, simple way; no accusation or wryness. "I can feel your aura in them, Varessa. Can't you?"

She frowned, supposing that explained why her eyes had rested on them first, checking their strength, their competency, their foundation... "I did not realize. I don't remember why, but I can think you must be right."

The eldest wizard pondered that some, trying to nudge at his sorceress's still-healing memories. He came at her from a different angle. "The Draegloth are born here as well, same as the Consorts were. Just not usually at the same time."

D'Shea nodded, her mind working more quickly than she dared consider on a conscious level. She had always been good at putting small details together and following them back to their source. Now that the earliest blocks had been removed...

"And why are they born at all?" she asked, almost to herself.

"Lolth's will. The queen's way to both bolster Priestess power and control it."

"Yes, they were always a weak spot. What if the Priestesses did without them entirely?"

The wizard looked doubtful. "It has been this way since before I was born, Varessa. I am not sure their magic would thrive without something else to replace it."

"Our inherent magic is not enough?" she challenged.

Phaelous hesitated then said something she didn't expect in the discussion. "We've been growing weaker, Elder. Our magic is waning, compared to what I remember as a child. That is why there has been no replacement for me, though the one I replaced had been a mere four centuries at the time I stepped forward. We used to be stronger than we are, and only a few of us in a generation are born like you. Or Shyntre."

"Power breeds with power, and you retain that power," D'Shea said with a flint edge to her voice. "That was why the Valsharess chose me to breed your replacement."

"It may have been that way once, but is less predictable now than you might think, Varessa. It is taking more and more rituals to pass on the magic at the same strength." 

He stopped talking, as if he had been about to continue but remained quiet; instead he began walking over to the pregnant captive. D'Shea frowned at his back as he walked closer to the cell, but drew closer to him so they could still keep their voices low.




Surfacing Ch. 13



"Why?" she demanded, softly. "What were you about to say, Phaelous?"

The mage didn't look at her, but reached through the warded bars to touch the surrogate's cheek. She didn't blink. "You remember coupling with me often, don't you?"

D'Shea had certainly started to remember more of it. And recalling last eve, she felt warmth in her face and her gut, even in this close, dank, cursed place. "I do. You are the only male I've met who has that 'wild magic' surge." She smirked a bit. "I think it spoiled me; I preferred waiting for a free moment to come here, more often than not."

Phaelous nodded. "And the Prime was generous. But I could not do those surges until much later, Varessa, only after the queen stopped...desiring me for some time, and I studied more. Shyntre was my fourth try. I matched the surge to your aura about perfectly. The first three were...less than they were required to be. Or so I was told."

D'Shea only heard a number echo hollowly in her mind: *Three?*

"By the time we got to that point," the Headmaster explained, "the Valsharess wouldn't waste the time or take the risk waiting on you, and I was to 'break' the new catch, where it would just be reabsorbed into your body, before you knew for certain that you were pregnant. I was to mask any suspicion in your mind, and I was to try again."

The Elder Sister stood over him, stock still; she felt a deep, hard cold enter her chest, part of it her breaking pride at hearing how much of a pawn she truly had been as those suspicions seemed to come back as he spoke.

All her ways of distracting herself, of being distracted, that she thought had been the way to achievement, and the will to where she wanted to go...

Ha. Only where the Valsharess wanted her to go. And in the end, it was to give Her a new Headmaster.

She dared not add to that any decided thought that Shyntre was somehow her fourth child. He was her firstborn, he always would be. She had one viable child who survived to be birthed. The greater atrocity was what had been done to her body, her will, to get him.

She felt nauseous, deplorably weak in the knees, but she stayed stubbornly standing, her face set like the stone around her, her arms crossed above her belt. She still wore her reds. That, at least, had always been hers.

"My penance," Phaelous reminded her, "for my part, Varessa, is the return of your full will. As I remember you being when you were Sirana's age. I've watched you for a long time."

Varessa's middle still trembled; she didn't have full control of herself yet. She had to ask something else, find out more, but not... talk about *this.*

"Tell me about the Consorts born here."

The mage nodded and did not make her wait. "From what Tarra and I have decoded in Wilsira's notes, the Consorts were originally a ploy to speed up natural change, and try to inject magical strength back into the weakening Nobles at the same time. If it worked, it would be expanded to the commoners. It seemed to be working, before the Purge."

D'Shea shook her head, looking around at everything except for the mute, dumb, pregnant Drow in her cell. "How was it supposed to work if the inspiration came from the Abyss? From Kerse's sire? I can't imagine the Valsharess getting that desperate."

"Perhaps She was, or perhaps Lolth suggested it," he murmured. "In any case, the original breakthrough was Wilsira discovering how to extract 'cleansed' magical essence through a series of runes. As a Priestess greatly skilled in calling on Abyssal power...she was siphoning it, purifying it, and bestowing it upon the Consorts soon after their conception. With their heightened fertility, most of that added, neutral power was hereditary and passed on to become whatever natural talent was already in the newborn Drow. As I said, it seemed to be working for our race, replenishing what we are mysteriously losing."

The sorceress narrowed her eyes in thought, shoving the angry thoughts to the side as she tried to see where her and her son had fit into Wilsira's plans, which seemed to have been somehow different—conflicting—with what the Valsharess had wanted. It was during her time in the Sanctuary that the taint first seeped into the Consorts...how? Had she done it, somehow? Even though Phaelous had said she was responsible for the protection runes in this place?

"Tell me..." she said slowly, deliberately, "exactly how the Consorts are made."

"Tarra hasn't told you yet?"

"Not in terms of actual records. As you have seen with your own eyes."

"Always left in the haze of religion, wasn't it?" he smiled wryly, taking a moment to recharge the water-draw bottle in the cell for the surrogate. "Don't you want to know who this is?"

D'Shea shook her head in the negative, and Phaelous ignored that.

"She is Bathila, a commoner that was abducted from the City. From Wilsira's notes, she is supposedly a removed cousin to Elder Rausery, but that relation was why she was targeted."

Of all the names D'Shea had not expected to come up in this conversation, that was one of them.

"Elder Rausery?" she repeated, not even certain what she was asking for the moment.

"Indeed. Impressive physical strength, rarely-wavering constitution, with clean healing and high, practical intelligence. Plucked off the streets by the Prime herself after she was discovered around a tender seventy years old to be building an underground trade system of her own, barely touched by the Valsharess's Hand."

D'Shea might have been more irritated at his telling her things she already knew of the Elder's strengths and origins...except that the sorceress hadn't known about the supposedly burgeoning black market. That was just before she was born.

As she mulled that over, the mage glanced up at her. "You remember any talk of Rausery having a daughter of her own within the Sisterhood, when she was young?"

D'Shea shifted slightly. "Well...it was before my time."

"But not long before." Phaelous stood up from the cell and finally faced her. "At one time, the Sisterhood could keep their daughters, train them, and even have some say in what happened with their sons. I was alive then; I remember more blood bonds between the Sisters, it was clear in their appearance.

"Wilsira changed it. She was convinced it was a power imbalance, since the Priestesses could not breed beyond their Draegloth. Many others in power began to agree, and the Prime had become more complacent than the firebrand she had been when she was more your current age."

D'Shea lifted a brow at that, but Phaelous continued on.

"Rausery's newborn, a common-blood daughter, was among the first given to the Priestesses, as Shyntre would be many years later, though Rausery was not expected to spend her time and birth in the Sanctuary. That was another restriction placed on the Sisterhood later."

D'Shea stared deeply at his eyes, almost afraid to read what was there. "She's long dead now. Rausery's daughter."

He nodded. "Tahna is dead. Elder Rausery knew that. What she did not know is that her then one-hundred-fifty-year-old daughter bore six Consorts in a mere fifteen years, before finally giving up on her life in the Sanctuary. An extraordinary constitution and strength of will, given the physical strain and isolation enforced on her." 

Phaelous's creeping, morbid humor emphasized his point, and D'Shea finally did shudder, her eyes drifting to the side. She trembled inside, seeing in her mind's eye a strong daughter who should have been in the Sisterhood... being down here instead, in one of these cells. Her eyes landed on Bathila, who was not even aware that they were there.

Six pregnancies, six births? In fifteen years. It should have taken no less than fifty, and that was pushing one's health. No natural mother had ever endured that, it wasn't how the Elves repopulated.

If not for Phaelous's intelligence and magical focus, that could have been D'Shea as well. Three times before Shyntre was conceived and allowed to grow...?

*No. Don't think about it.*

Phaelous continued quietly. "Varessa. ...you should know this as well. The youngest of Tahna's brood is the only survivor of the Consorts now, and he's living in your quarters. Awaiting further experimentation by Tarra and yourself."

"Auslan," she whispered aloud. "...Rausery's grandson?"

Phaelous shrugged slightly. "He's still mostly of Juliran's make. She was his Priestess, the one who graced him with much of his appearance and magical inheritance. As far as the Priestesses are concerned, Juliran was his mother."

D'Shea frowned, and the wizard nodded his head in agreement. 

"I know, my Elder. Juliran didn't give birth to him or add greatly to his health and body; she was incapable of bringing him into existence. Tahna the Commoner grew him and gave him life. That's the curious thing about the Consorts...they are the products of two mothers. Three parents, if you count the seed of the sire, though from what I could tell, Wilsira stopped using seed milked from outside the Sanctuary once they got a healthy first brood of Consorts. Then they were self-sustaining."

At D'Shea's look of disgust, the wizard chuckled and added, "From the charts, Wilsira was required to keep track of which Consort seed was going with which egg of a Priestess. She only crossed the same blood line a few times, to no immediate negative consequences, but the Valsharess soon forbid it to continue. The Priestesses had to 'breed' across from each other, and bring in new Priestesses regularly to offer more pairings. Wilsira was not allowed breed with herself, though by now I suspect most knew that she wanted to."

D'Shea's eyes stung again. Lolth damn the goddess's own Priestesses! 

And she would *not* cry in front of Phaelous again. Yet how much agony and torture did she want to pay back upon the Sanctuary, and the Palace? So much that her chest had begun burning, as it had before she'd wept, and she wanted to create the largest, most volatile spell and set it off dead-center in the middle of the Sanctuary.

With what, exactly, was Tarra planning to replace this...this "method," anyway? D'Shea herself wouldn't be able to describe it if asked; not fully.

The ambitious, younger Priestess was keeping this pregnant Drow down here, and she had claimed to need Auslan's name and his cooperation to discover the next step. She did not care if Shyntre was the one bearing that price. Of course not. The Sisterhood's strength and their wombs had always been there to be used, to prop up the Priestesses where they were weakest.

"What do you remember from being here, Varessa?" Phaelous asked, again.

"If you know this," she asked, for a second time, "will you not be disposed of that much more quickly?"

"Perhaps. Perhaps it will make no difference."

"I still do not remember what happened to me here, old mage," she said flatly. "Take me back to your Tower and show me what I need to know to hide what you've done for a little longer."

He nodded obediently. "As you wish, Elder."

She continued to speak, ignoring his soft sigh. "I must return to our son soon. Rausery will bring him to the Tower at least once to finish the newest Surface archive he is working on for her."

Phaelous looked rather thoughtful at this; this information appeared to be new to him. "Very well. Thank you for the warning, Varessa."

*****

"Elder D'Shea is back, Elder."

"About damned time. She retreat into her quarters yet?"

"Not yet, Elder. I passed along a message that you'd meet her in the strategy room."

"Good girl, Lead. I'll wait here, then. Here, take this to Agalia."

The Elder kept a perfectly straight face in front of Qivni's barely suppressed irritation at being called "good girl," and she passed the sensor tabs for two down teams to check the perimeter at random points—just the usual, really. 

A chuckle could have been seen in Rausery's shaking shoulders once she was alone, though.

D'Shea didn't make her wait, and Rausery got the feeling that her peer had probably been coming here, anyway. Only whether it was before or after checking on her boys was where Qivni had made the difference.

There was no ward until after D'Shea entered; then no one but the Prime could disturb them.

"You look worked over, D'Shea. No sleep last eve?"

"Not enough." 

D'Shea must have been tired, either physically or mentally, because she sat down in one of the chairs around the circular table without looking at Rausery up and down first.

Something was different.

Rausery considered the sorceress with the obvious Noble features, trying to decide what it was that D'Shea was doing—or not doing—that was setting off her instincts.

"Shyntre still available this cycle?"

"Of course," D'Shea said easily, almost cordially, as her eyes drifted over the map on the table. "I'll see him fed first and bring him to you, if you like."

Rausery nearly found herself tapping her stone stylus. "How did dinner go?"

Her peer smiled—a bit wryly, perhaps, but she was pleased all the same. "Well as can be expected." Then her copper eyes came up from the map to meet hers. "What's the latest update from Jaunda?"

She shook her head. "Nothing since the last one. Team's due back soon, though. This is the farthest they've been out. We'll see if they got lucky this time."

"I want to hear the next report directly."

Rausery shrugged neutrally. "Always your right. You weren't interested before."

"I was preoccupied. I need to catch up."

The other Elder snickered and shook her head in disbelief. "The politician needs to catch up to the ground-pounders?"

D'Shea didn't respond to that but she didn't look away or get all "aloof sorceress" on her. "Be sure to inform me when she comes back. I shall join you."

"She's still your Lead, D'Shea. I'll tell her to report to you first."

Her peer shook her head. "I'd rather you be present. You have been much farther outside the City than I have been. I would have your insight."

Rausery quirked a white brow. Well, this would be interesting. Leads rarely reported to two Elders at once; it was intelligence control. Or competitive jealousy. 

And why now? 

"Fine. I'd ask what's on your mind, Varessa, but I know it is wasted breath."

The sorceress smiled a bit without showing her teeth, and Rausery frowned back.

"Still playing games, eh?"

Oddly, D'Shea stopped smiling at that. She looked down at her right hand, flexed it inside its leather glove. "Are you?"

Rausery almost snorted. "I move the pieces around to best serve the queen, same as you. I guess it's a game."

"That it is."

Far too much was going on inside that too-intelligent head of hers; Rausery could see it in her eyes. She sighed and leaned back, tilting her head and narrowing her gaze at the other Elder. "Alright, I'm going to ask."

"So ask."

An answering smirk. "First invite? I'll mark the day."

D'Shea reacted slightly to the odd vernacular but otherwise just waited.

"Why did you bring Shyntre here, D'Shea? He's under a lot of pressure, and you risk more than just me and Qivni figuring out that he knows the Consort from before now."

The sorceress frowned slightly, but otherwise did a fine job of acting aplomb. "Have you told the Prime?"

"Nope. Might cause pointless drama."

D'Shea seemed to relax just that tiny bit. "Only you could get away with a call like that." She paused, again glancing at the map. "Why did I bring him? You and the Tower archives require his services, for one."

"The reason given the queen. Yeah, I know. What else?"

"He would benefit from spending time with us if he is to make a successful transition to Palace Consort."

"Oh? In what way?" Rausery asked curiously.

"Whatever advice or training you see the need to give him," D'Shea opened her hand upward briefly, looking directly at her. "Given what is expected of him right now."

Uncanny. How did the sorceress do it? Or had Shyntre told her?

Rausery shrugged. "Done. And the Consort?"

"Auslan."

"What about him? I know you're keeping him safe for Lelinahdara for now, but when are you going to do something with him? And what does Shyntre have to do with it now?"

D'Shea focused on her face a little too long for there not to be something she wasn't saying. "Auslan is having fits related to his attack in solitary. I wish to see if Shyntre can provide a service to me in stabilizing him with some male companionship, as he had in the Sanctuary. Something none of us can provide. You know the mysteries of the male mind."

Rausery simply stared at the sorceress as if she'd grown a second head.

"Alright," the elder said finally, slowly, turning that over in her head. "So you're not neglecting Thena and her team, and you're not neglecting the beauty, either. Can't say that I can complain. Always said you needed to get your hands in it more often, D'Shea."

Then it finally struck her to ask: "And 'Auslan' needs to be stable...for what reason?"

D'Shea smiled at her, probably because she was far ahead of her. "I think he's something new for the queen, and the Sisterhood."

Rausery narrowed deep crimson eyes. "And the Priestesses?"

D'Shea shrugged lightly. "What about them?"

She blinked. That was a switch. "Huh."

Her peer smiled wider. "He's something you might like yourself, if you really *are* playing games like the rest of us, Rausery."

At that, she stood up abruptly, having chosen her moment to leave, nice and dramatic.

Rausery rolled her eyes briefly and scribbled something with her stylus. "Games are ways to waste the time away," she called at the sorceress's back. "And don't forget you said you'd bring Shyntre."

D'Shea nodded without looking back. "He'll be with you soon, Elder."

******

Varessa didn't return to her room immediately, but stopped to follow-up on the tasks she'd given Corpora Thena and her three charges the previous cycle, finding them done adequately, if not perfectly. None of them spoke or moved until she nodded and considered these finished. Then she gave her next series of tasks which would not only keep them busy for half the cycle, but would improve the Cloister's functions.

"The jade?" D'Shea asked Panagan before allowing them to break formation.

The archer reached into a pouch and withdrew a rather well-made arrowhead probably crafted over the last few weeks, which would be perfect for a hand crossbow. D'Shea could sense the warmth of a weak enchantment between her fingers, and she focused on the spellcraft for a few moments.

"Muscular seizure," she said. "Nice choice. How long since you placed it?"

Panagan seemed hesitant to show any pride in front of her Sisters, though she should. She had earned it.

"Only a few cycles, Elder."

"It's weakening too soon for the store-spells, then. But it would work in the field under pressure, you've got that much down." She handed the piece of jade back. "Either release this one and begin again, or let it drain out and I will demonstrate when I have time what you must correct for the effect to hold almost indefinitely until you use it."

She could tell from the first look; Panagan would wait for her to be shown again and do nothing on the jade until then. Gaelan would have practiced, even if D'Shea had to step in later. A bit of a disappointing difference between them. But then, there had been a reason D'Shea had thought the Red Sister better suited to Rausery's leadership at the start.

Phaelous's words about their magic getting weaker without more and various fertility rituals haunted her thoughts as she gave several more orders on her way back to her quarters. 

Hope for the future, however, was almost tangible as she stepped inside to close and ward the door behind her; it felt so strong that it almost suffocated her. She had to place her hand on the door to steady herself and concentrate on the familiar routine of giving herself quiet and privacy before she could return her attention to the two auras in the room.




Surfacing Ch. 13



*Sweet Spider Goddess...*

The room was spotless, the same as it usually was, the scent of water and soap having removed any hint as to what might have happened last eve. The two males sat on the edge of her bed, clearly at a loss what to do with their hands as they both watched her nervously, and with the barest tinge of guilt. 

She almost laughed in delight. The connection could not be clearer: their auras were partially fused, and more powerful together than they had been separately. Had she known for what to look before now... Oh, but her son had to know her ward's real name; she would bet her title on it.

It could work. Especially now, it could work, and she did not need the Headmaster's direct help. Phaelous had trumped the queen's compulsions, and the boys had trumped the Priestesses' ultimate control. D'Shea should feel threatened by that—if they were this intelligent and this determined, what else might they do? ...and yet she felt more proud for having the opportunity. Eager to use the unexpected talent in her unexpected freedom. Her mate and her blood had opened this door for her. 

D'Shea would have to be careful to keep these two apart around other mages, which shouldn't be hard as long as Auslan stayed here. But...oh, it could work!

She had eight more cycles to convince her son to try, before she was required to give him back, and she decided right then that Tarra couldn't have the Consort any time soon, if at all. The Sanctuary owed the Sisterhood a lot of children; D'Shea would start with a Priestess's son, Rausery's grandson—and she didn't care if the Priestesses would deny the Sisterhood's claim of blood. They had lost their right to the Sisterhood's offspring, and it would never be reinstated if she had anything to say about it.

"You looked refreshed, Auslan." She found herself smiling, excited and uplifted, and it clearly worried him. "Were your dreams quiet ones?"

Auslan opened his mouth to answer because he had to, glanced at Shyntre, and finally said, "...they were pleasant, Elder."

Pleasant.

"And you, my son? Did you rest?"

The young wizard smirked a bit. "Like the dead."

Auslan gave him an odd look, and D'Shea couldn't be sure whether it was a shared joke, or a solitary one. It did seem a bit prophetic for what his parents had just been discussing, though. Where could Shyntre go, what would be left behind for him, if his powerful, treasonous parents were discovered too soon?

Well. If Phaelous's divination proved correct, then that spider had at most only seven more months to live by its enchantment, and it could come far sooner than that. Not a lot of time to worry about where Shyntre would be when she might have Illithids on her hands. Phaelous could be wrong, but what else did she have to work with right now?

The sorceress could seek more on her own, starting with these two before her. She wanted to begin negotiations for their cooperation, to expand on the idea she had planted last eve in their heads...but it felt too soon. Her son had his guard up so strong it was spilling over onto Auslan.

"I'm here to take you to get some food before reporting to Elder Rausery for the cycle," she said.

He relaxed. Just a bit. "And where will I sleep this eve, Elder?"

"That is open to discussion."

"Between you and Elder Rausery?" he asked with skepticism.

D'Shea smiled. "Yes. But we'll take advice into consideration."

Auslan would clearly like to have him return but he said nothing, and D'Shea genuinely didn't know how duties would turn out in several marks, anyway. Sometimes they could get a little chaotic. She could plan for one thing and then have to change it, so she would rather wait for more detail to come to her, as it always did.

The boys shared a last, coded look as Shyntre prepared to leave, and D'Shea did them both a favor by allowing no lingering near the door. The two were out and Auslan was still within, safe and protected, as soon as she could manage it.

D'Shea did not press Shyntre to speak as they moved back to the mess hall to get some warm food. He glanced warily at some of the other Sisters present, but they ignored him in favor of giving D'Shea her ranking gesture of acknowledgment. For their own good, they did not blatantly stare at their Elder's only son, even if some may have already known him before and been tempted to remind him. Any whispering or signing would have happened only after they had left again with their trays.

She received confirmation from Qivni that Rausery had left the strategy room to oversee some combat and stealth practices, so she decided to use the private strategy room to eat before delivering her son.

Mostly private. They had gotten most of the way through a silent meal when the Prime let herself in. D'Shea had a split-moment of warning as the ward was lowered, and meditated on a few words to control her heart and body heat to perfection. It was an old habit. She stood up to bow to the Prime, gesturing for Shyntre to do the same. 

His physiological reaction was perfectly normal and a marvelous distraction from herself. He was terrified, but he bowed and kept his eyes down after he'd straightened back up.

"Varessa." The only golden-haired Red Sister approached her with a placid face, perhaps even apathetic. She noted Shyntre with a glance but then ignored him.

"Yes, my Prime."

"The Valsharess asks how went Her Consort's first duties?"

Shyntre's heart pounded harder, and it was almost distracting to her. His thumb worried a little at the silver ring on his finger.

"Satisfactory, from what Elder Rausery said," she answered as she ever had to the Prime.

"And his behavior within the Cloister?"

"Exemplary."

"Has he been asked to serve any of the Sisters?"

"No, my Prime. He is untouched by the Sisters, as promised."

"When will he be taken to the Tower, and who will be his escort?"

"That has been to be determined," D'Shea answered coolly. "And Elder Rausery will likely make that selection."

The Prime nodded once. "The Valsharess has instructed that Shyntre will not interact with his former Headmaster while he is there."

D'Shea offered an interested, curious, but obedient look. "As She wishes, my Prime. That is a change of procedure, isn't it?"

"Shyntre is no longer of that Tower," the Prime stated flatly. "His loyalties will not be confused with past bonds."

"I understand, Prime." She bowed, let a beat pass without sound. "Are there any other orders from the queen?"

"Not at this time." The Prime's cold-fire eyes narrowed just a bit in her fine-lined face. "Although I would know why you left the Cloister for all of last eve, Varessa, and where you went."

The Elder nodded. "My quarters are safest for the two males, my Prime, but it was crowded. I went to visit Phaelous in his quarters, and decided to rest there."

D'Shea knew her superior well enough by now to be able to see it in her face; the Prime had already known that and was testing her subordinate. It had been quite a while since she'd so obviously done that. At hearing the proper answer—indeed, the honest confession— from her subordinate's lips eased her suspicions a bit.

It shouldn't have; that was why the Prime was not as good as she was gaining information.

"Old feelings resurfacing, Elder?" the Prime asked with a rigid tilt to her head, her gloved hands settled on her belt.

D'Shea nodded once. "Yes, my Prime. Old memories, suppressed by Wilsira. Tarra needs them to help us correct the imbalance. I believe they will serve the queen well."

The Prime relaxed a bit more. "Very well, then. Continue to visit the old mage if it helps. You'll report to me anything you learn from him, or that you tell Tarra."

The Elder had already dissected the orders and deeper within her, she found it interesting that, unlike before, she felt nothing. No urge or strain to find a loophole, when the Prime ordered her to report anything she learned from Phaelous. Not until it was gone did D'Shea realize it had ever been there. She, of course, would not report everything she learned from him, unless she simply wanted to be placed into Auranka's tender care this very moment.

As for telling Tarra, report anything told her... but not Phaelous. Such an obvious oversight, as the male was the one most likely to hear it first. But then, how long had it even been since the Prime knew any male with any passion whatsoever? Perhaps the withered warrior had stopped talking to males entirely, long ago, and it did not occur to her that D'Shea might actually tell Phaelous far more than she would tell her liaison-ally. Just last eve, that would have been true, but now a lot had changed.

"As you wish, my Prime."

D'Shea signaled her son to silence even after the Prime had left, and she finished her food even if Shyntre seemed to have lost his appetite and merely pushed it around with his utensil. They waited for Rausery to finish up.

When the other Elder finally did arrive, it was no small relief to them both. D'Shea had other things to do, and Shyntre was more than willing to go with his sponsor.

"When will he go to the Tower, Rausery?" D'Shea asked.

Rausery shrugged. "Later. Lots of notes yet to transcribe, it could take two or three cycles with interruptions. Might as well do it at once, hm?"

She nodded in agreement, liking that plan. "And his escort?"

"Me." Rausery watched her for any sign of dissent. There was none.

D'Shea said, "The Prime relayed an order from the Valsharess that he is not to interact with Phaelous at all in his time there."

The other Elder—not nearly as unbending as the Prime could be—narrowed her eyes as she turned that over. "Acknowledged. Anything else?"

D'Shea smiled. "That is all. I would check in with his progress toward the end of the cycle."

Rausery nodded, still watching her thoughtfully but keeping her council in a room the Prime had only recently left. "Drop on by."

With that, D'Shea passed her son to her peer's care, and left to get some more warm food to bring to Auslan.

******

"Before we get started," Rausery began, touching her privacy runes as Shyntre prepared his writing and preservation supplies and the Elder tugged out her well-used, ratty leather manuscript, "a few questions about last eve."

"Of course, Elder."

"Right. And we can find out later how much D'Shea expected you to say to me."

The wizard gave her a skeptical look but didn't outright question her certainty.

"Did you suggest anything to your mother about the interrogation training I mentioned?"

Shyntre blinked, but shook his head. "No, Elder."

"Nothing explicit. She still may have read you."

The wizard looked a bit uncertain all of a sudden; clearly he hadn't expected that. "We never talked about what was happening with the Nobles at the Palace, or my training."

"Okay." Rausery put up her belt and cloak. "What did you talk about?"

The Elder was surprised to see that Shyntre was hesitant to tell her for a moment, and she felt an aggressive heat build suddenly. Doubt? Was his loyalty actually shifting away from her? 

Then she forced it down; that wasn't her lean at all. No; knowing him, it was more likely that something he cared about was under threat, as it often was in his life, as he had very little that he dared to care about. It was obvious to her who that had to be.

She did understand him better than D'Shea, after all.

"D'Shea going to do something unpleasant to Auslan if you tell me?" she asked plainly.

"Ah...no," he admitted. "I don't believe she will hurt him for that reason. He's valuable to her."

Good to know.

"Then what is it?"

Shyntre swallowed. "The...Prime. She visited us in the strategy room."

"Ah." Rausery took her seat across from her own desk, looking at the young male's hands tremble from too much adrenalin and no outlet as he lit a heatless candle. "You worry how much I will tell her?"

Shyntre nodded.

The Elder started to smile. "So D'Shea is up to something."

As if that wasn't a given. But now there was something concerning her son and the Consort that Varessa wasn't letting the Prime in on yet. 

The Elder also recalled how D'Shea had even given her a big, deliberate hint in their conversation just a few marks ago. She wasn't talking to the Priestess Tarra about it, either. 

About damned time.

"Both of us have some leeway to determine what other information must be collected before we make a report, Shyntre," she said, which wasn't always true, but would uphold his understanding well enough. "I could wait quite a while on saying anything if I agreed that D'Shea was managing it right for the Sisterhood. I don't have to get involved if I don't see a threat. D'Shea's the contact with the Sanctuary, after all."

Shyntre absorbed this but still sat watching her with those gold-flinted mage's eyes. After a moment where they didn't move or speak, Rausery leaned forward and put her weight on one arm on her desk.

"Talk to me, boy. Tell me what you discussed at dinner. That is the order."

The mage took several breaths, perhaps sorting his thoughts as his eyes swept over the parchment. She could hear his heart; he really was scared.

"I'm...I—" The wizard had an unusual reaction; a hitch in the gut and the throat that usually preceded a closely-guarded secret. "I am name-bonded to that Consort, Elder."

She quirked a brow slightly. "What does that mean?"

"It means our magic is connected. If he should die...I don't know what will happen to me, or my magic. You...saw what happened to Wilsira when her Draegloth died. It's kind of like that. We bolster each other just being alive."

Rausery's eyebrows went pretty high on her forehead. Not at all what she was expecting to hear.

"And your mother knows this," she said flatly.

"She does now," he admitted. "She did not say it, but I could read her face. She was glad to confirm it."

"That was the reason for the dinner last night."

Shyntre nodded, looking at her as if he expected her to change her attitude suddenly and start hitting him closed-fisted, or something. Rausery didn't see the point, or the affront. Males could be quite like females at times, she already knew that better than any sheltered, haughty Noble. All anyone had to do was spend some time with almost nothing to one's name on the City streets.

"Alright," she said. "What else? Just that?"

The wizard slowly shook his head. "No, Elder. She wants...um...what she really wants is Sirana's progress on the Surface. But I don't know what good it would do."

The Elder grunted. "Sure wouldn't do any good I can see, and she isn't gonna get that anyway. Only a report after the fact, if the novice returns."

"Well..." Shyntre backpedalled a little. "Maybe not so much progress as...contact."

This caught the Elder's interest. How often had she wished for exactly that when she had been on the Surface, or lately as she considered the three virgins up top and their miniscule chances for impossible tasks? Contact, support, something other than completely marooned in a strange, distant place.

"Auslan's value to her is...possible contact with the Surface," Rausery repeated slowly, unsure she'd understood as she said it aloud. "With Sirana?"

The young wizard seemed he might pass out from hyperventilation. "Th-the Prime and the Valsharess can't know yet..."

Rausery chuckled and tilted her head forward. "Breathe slow, Shyntre. And no Drider shit, that would get D'Shea gutted faster than a gnome by a Hook Horror."

Shyntre blinked and stared at her. He did not speak for several moments though he did slow his breathing enough to suit her. 

"What?"

"I agree with you, Shyntre. This definitely needs more information before we can act. It's too soon to know, isn't it?" 

She grinned. She heard him swallow, and his heart slowed just a little bit. She gave him time to get a grip on himself.

"So. You would pump up the beauty's power, and he would make the contact? How?"

Shyntre shook his head. "We never got that far. I don't know."

"You confessed his connection to you—what's the Consort's link to my Red Sister?"

"Magically speaking...that's complicated, Elder."

"So simplify it for me, mage."

The wizard rubbed his face. "Mm. A baby with divine magic like his. I think."

The Elder's expression hardened somewhat as she absorbed what that had to mean. "Sirana was pregnant by the Consort when we left?"

Shyntre nodded. 

"How the fuck did that happen?"

"When he healed her, after Kerse almost killed her, Elder."

Rausery scowled harder. "He had to fuck her to heal her?"

Shyntre was fiddling with his writing instrument. "Actually, yes. He had to cleanse her of Abyssal taint, first, or no healing would work. His particular magic is fertility magic, sex is how he focuses it."

"His cock's a purifier?"

The wizard actually flushed. "In...specific circumstances."

The Elder remembered Jael's report to her about Sirana's condition after Kerse had raped her; there had been blood and lacerations everywhere, especially where it would have counted for sex with a magic male. Interesting to think the Consort hadn't gotten all squeamish and could still perform under pressure like that. Must have hurt like blazing fire for Sirana at first. Rausery could admit she was a bit surprised that Auslan had the guts. Maybe he wasn't as useless as she'd assumed.

And Sirana had said not a thing about it that whole time training on the Surface. Had D'Shea known? If she had, then the novice was definitely still loyal to her Elder.

Rausery felt herself sigh in irritation, then she chuckled, low and brief. "Damned cunt. She hid it well." She chewed the inside of her cheek a moment, thinking over her last conversation with D'Shea. "Auslan's been 'unstable' lately. What does that mean exactly?"

"It means he's been having a lot of troubling dreams, Elder. Some of them of the Surface, and some of them about Sirana."

"Ah. Got to hand it to your mother...I can never keep up with her on magic things. So, you know any details of those dreams?"

He glanced at the Valsharess's silver ring. "Just one."

Rausery had caught the glance. "Okay. Talk."

Shyntre explained briefly about the Valsharess's words as he had been made to wear the ring, then compared it to what Auslan had told him about the large male on the Surface holding Sirana's wrist and—

"Wait. Hold it right there," Rausery said gruffly. "Say that again."

Shyntre blinked but obeyed. It wasn't the first time she asked him to repeat a detail when they spoke like this. "Instead of this silver one, it was a gold ring with a firebird symbol on it."

The Elder was staring at him, and he looked as though he had something tingling go up his spine as he suppressed a shiver. She said nothing.

"What?"

"That didn't really happen, did it?" Rausery finally asked.

"I don't know. Auslan seemed certain it was symbolism."

"Fuck me with a Drider leg," she murmured, looking to the side as imagery that had been very familiar to her for centuries replayed in her head.

"What is it, Elder? Do y—"

"Shut up." 

She shook her head as she felt that familiar pain in her head, and her throat, touching gloved fingers to her forehead. Shyntre champed his mouth shut and expressed no weakness at her brusqueness.

"One question, Shyntre. Your thoughts on maybe going along with D'Shea on this? Maybe confirming if Sirana's still alive and who she's met?"

He had some serious doubts, but soon enough he nodded. "She might be able to do it, but only with Auslan and me helping. And...if the Valsharess learns—"

"Yeah. Trust me, unnecessary drama." Rausery smirked. "So, would you, then?

"If...you order me, Elder. I will."

"Consider the order on stand-by, but that's good to know. Enough talk for now. Start scribbling."




Surfacing Ch. 13



*******

Auslan hadn't been expecting her back so soon, but he did want the hot meal. Indeed, he seemed to have a greater appetite than usual after she'd set the tray down and he'd straightened it.

D'Shea wanted to start talking as he began eating to save time, but she waited for him to get most of it into his body before possibly upsetting him and causing him to lose his appetite. The only reason she did this was the fact that Auslan wasn't using his genteel manners and dining as if he for her viewing pleasure. He was eating as someone who needed serious replenishment, and with fewer of his recently-developed quirks.

She wanted to chuckle in thinking that all the Consort had needed was a good, satisfying fuck to set his head straight again. It was a pity the effect likely wouldn't last.

The urge to laugh faded as she thought about her own parallel with Phaelous. Did she have her head straight again as well, after a similar reunion? And would both rekindled fires merely serve as weapons against them once they were found out? D'Shea did not see how it could be otherwise, but they could also be tools to prepare somehow for the Illithid attack.

At least, that was most certainly how she would explain it, to herself and anyone else who forced her hand. For the first time in her life, D'Shea wasn't looking into the next two or five or ten or fifty years. She had perhaps six months. And beyond that...?

It depended entirely on who was left.

She needed Rausery's expertise in this; the older Drow was the one who handled a year at a time on the ground and could organize their focus quickly as changes occurred, usually taking D'Shea's information into account. She was the one who had handled the bulk of the Purge; D'Shea had advised and manipulated a few important details that she needed to see happen, or not happen. 

Rausery, more so than the Prime even, had acted quickly to shut the City down and minimize escapes, to hit their targets as quickly as efficiently as possible. Meanwhile, D'Shea had been planning for the next few years following the Purge, capturing Curgia, give cover to Auslan's disappearance, covering Sirana's tracks.

D'Shea had long been the Prime's and Rausery's Right Hand, providing connections, strategy, intelligence, and magical support and tools. It remained that Rausery was, by necessity, D'Shea's effectual Left Hand, her general, even if Jaunda—her "official" Left Hand for her teams—hadn't been tasked to leave and go so far outside the City so frequently.

Auslan had finished eating and glanced respectfully her way, leaving an empty and precisely placed tray, placing his hands in his lap and waiting as she came out of her thoughts.

"Tell me something you remember about Juliran," D'Shea said quietly.

He was caught completely off guard; he jerked and looked at her. "W-what?"

"Your Priestess. The one who initiated you to serve, and was the first female to mate you and hear your name."

If Auslan caught the gender qualifier, he didn't show it. "Do you seek something particular, Elder?"

D'Shea shook her head. "Just talk, Auslan."

The Consort looked at his empty plate, used his napkin to wipe up a few crumbs, and put it down again. He seemed to be trying to recollect something relevant. "In hindsight, she treated me well. Better than Wilsirathon."

"How so?"

"She wanted more for me; powerful Matrons, status and refined magic to increase my value. She said she did not want me 'retired' before three-fifty if she had anything to do with it."

That was no surprise if Juliran was aware of this Consort's blood relation to her. Which was an interesting thought; had she been aware? Were all the Priestesses, or just some? Tarra had needed to work for decades to get close to the "how" of Wilsira's methods, but could Juliran and others have been aware of the theory? Aware enough to know their own sons when they saw them. 

Perhaps it was not even necessary to be aware; D'Shea would like to think she would recognize Shyntre, even if she had not birthed him.

"My Priestess would talk to me," Auslan continued, "tell me more what to expect inside and outside the Sanctuary, indulge my questions. She was tolerant."

"Is that why she died?" D'Shea asked. "Did she give you too much knowledge?"

Auslan shrugged. "Perhaps they did not know if I was left alive after her."

"What kind of information did she share that perhaps she should not have?" 

There was a pause. The Elder Red Sister nudged him harder at his hesitation. 

"Consort. There is nothing you can tell me of the past that will change the fact that you have high value to me at present. The Priestesses have lost you, to their own detriment, and the old way has been destroyed. Speak. Or you leave me, as your protector, at a disadvantage to those Priestesses still alive and wanting their old status back."

That seemed to convince him.

"She told me about the Draegloth, how they grew, how they and the Valsharess and the Sisterhood maintained the balance. What would happen if one of them was killed, and who would perform the execution."

D'Shea smirked. "Irrelevant to your function, wasn't it?"

Auslan nodded. "Just one of the many things we talked about, Elder."

"Your innocent face must have been very disarming to her, Consort."

Or perhaps she was vain enough to be thinking she was looking into a mirror.

D'Shea chuckled as he flushed again. "What about the forming room?"

He recognized it and nodded. "Some about that, too. Where I came from."

The Elder shifted in her seat, straightening a bit. "What do you know of where you came from, Auslan?"

"That I wasn't formed by natural breeding, Elder."

"Is that all? So you know specifics?"

He shook his head in the negative. "I could have been floating in a magic bottle, for all I know. Most Consorts—if they ever ask the question, even to themselves—assume one of the Priestesses carried us, at least until we discover the scars and meet the Draegloth. And some of us think differently."

"Thinking isn't encouraged."

"No, Elder." He was completely serious in his answer. "But I could not help it. Shyntre changed me as much as I changed him."

Indeed. The beauty was as inquisitive as both herself and her boy. Interesting to consider that he was this way because of the Red Sisters, quite indirectly, and no one except perhaps Lolth ever knew.

"So you could talk to Juliran in a way unique among Consorts," D'Shea mused, and he did not comment. "I can somehow imagine a Priestess's weakness, having both a beautiful son and one able to speak back in some intelligent way. It only clarifies why those would hybrids hate you so. Kerse would have been quite willing to kill Juliran on Wilsira's behalf."

Auslan flinched and looked away, stubbornly adjusting his napkin again. His voice was surprisingly firm. "I was away from the Sanctuary when she was killed, Elder, though I felt it. Wilsirathon visited me at House D'Verin and simply announced my Priestess's death and that she was my new Priestess. Kerse was not happy, but he obeyed her, as always."

She arched a sardonic eyebrow. "Almost always. How did Wilsira learn your name?"

"Extracted it from my first Priestess, I would assume."

"She did not hear it from you?"

Auslan shook his head. "I felt the magical pull to her only once she stood before me, but I never gave it to her willingly. She never bedded me."

"Interesting. Was the bond weaker as a result?"

He nodded. "It was, Elder."

"Compared to Juliran?"

Another nod. "In time I could speak and act against Wilsirathon, give Sirana information she could use when she and Kerse were trying to trap her."

D'Shea grinned suddenly, delighted to know that. "Marvelous. What about Shyntre? How does the bond with him compare?" She glimpsed the absolutely stark fear just before he covered it up. "Just answer me, Auslan. I've seen how your aura has changed since last cycle. I know you are bonded to him."

He swallowed. "Shyntre is strongest."

"Did it just happen?"

He was quivering slightly, staring at his plate. "Uhm...no."

D'Shea nodded, glad that he hadn't tried to lie about that. A lot of things were making more sense in retrospect. "Were there any others like you that you knew about in the Sanctuary? A Consort bonded before a Priestess claimed him? Or bonded to another male at all?"

He shook his head. "Neither. Not that I was aware of. But everyone keeps secrets."

"Oh, yes. And yet it hasn't made either of you unwilling to bed females. Or made you infertile."

Auslan actually lifted his eyes to look at her. It wasn't a question, so he did not offer a response but he was uncertain with her point at first.

D'Shea smiled. "Just as you said in our very first conversation, after solitary, if you recall."

He unstuck his lips. "I do, Elder. Clearly."

"And now that you've had him again? Do you wish to forego females entirely and never breed again?"

His face became very, very warm and there was some sort of turmoil inside him. He shook his head.

"What was that?" she asked. "I can't hear you."

"No, Elder. I still want Sirana. So does Shyntre."

"How do you know that?"

"He has told me."

"No other female would do?"

Auslan shrugged. "I would not speak for him on that, Elder. I have already told you I would rather have no other, and this has not changed sitting here in your quarters."

D'Shea smiled shrewdly. "Then you would want to help in any way you could, should you have an opportunity to know Sirana could come back at all. You would help her again, as you did before."

He saw the trap too late but after the initial rush of emotion—as he no doubt thought of ways to escape—he seemed to come to terms with his fate and simply face her on it. 

The Consort nodded. "I would help her, Elder."

"Even work to convince Shyntre it is necessary?"

"I would not lie to him, Elder," he said firmly. "But I would offer to be willing to try."

"Excellent. Your wit and will pleases me, Consort."

It was clear on his face that he had never received a compliment like that from a female before.

*****

Jaunda was glad to be back at the Cloister, even if it wouldn't be for long and she probably wouldn't have much time to have any fun. She saw her ripe-smelling and exhausted team released only after their equipment was seen to, and felt a tiny twinge of envy as she saw Kirin walk off with her hand on Berayla's ass.

The Lead still needed to report to Elder Rausery. Maybe if Kirin took her time and didn't wear Berayla down to a nub, she could join them later.

Qivni would only interrupt her Elder for Jaunda's return, though D'Shea's Lead was a bit shocked when they now, all of a sudden, had to decide what to do with her Elder's son.

"Send him back to Elder D'Shea?" Qivni asked Rausery, who shook her head.

"No. She'll be joining us."

Both Leads stared for several moments before forcing their eyes down. Really? Both Elders at once? She hadn't been expecting that, not now especially as she had something tangible on her hunt.

"Back to her quarters, Elder?" the Collector suggested.

Rausery seemed to note Shyntre's body language at the suggestion. "He can stay here and continue scribing. He'll never finish otherwise. We can go to the strategy room."

He seemed to relax a bit at this idea.

"Alone, Elder?" Qivni said with a touch of the territorial in her tone. "Unsupervised?"

Rausery shrugged. "D'Shea does it with the Consort. And I don't trust anyone else here to watch him and keep their hands off."

"With all respect, Elder, it's by order of the Valsharess that none touch him."

"Yeah, but why tempt them, hm?" she replied with a small chuckle. "Some have more libido than sense."

"So why protect their weakness, if that's the case, Elder?" Jaunda was smiling a bit and had asked with a smooth, somehow inoffensive curiosity that she had no doubt learned from working with D'Shea.

"Because I can't risk losing more bodies at this time," Rausery told her flatly. "Sometimes we have that luxury, to weed out the weakest of us. We don't right now, so I'll not waggle a familiar cock in their faces if it's not necessary."

Jaunda nodded with respect. "Will the Prime be present for this report, as well as my Elder?"

Rausery took a second, closer look at her while she stood at attention and met her eyes for a few moments. The pause was pregnant with what she intended to say—but not yet. The Elder got the hint.

"Hm," Rausery grunted. "No. But it's just a routine report, right, Jaunda? You didn't suddenly break into the Illithid conclave."

Jaunda refrained from laughing. "Not yet, Elder. My report won't take long."

"Alright. I've also got business outside the Cloister that has been waiting on me for a while. Maybe you can come with me to save time." Rausery shifted to Qivni after the other Lead agreed. "Pick up where you left off and report to me, later, Qivni. You'll be able to sense of anyone tries to get in this room to Shyntre and message me."

Qivni dared to quirk a confused eyebrow but nodded. "Always, Elder."

"Let's go, then, so Shyntre can concentrate."

Rausery didn't like to rely too much on message pellets in general, especially figuring those magically sensitive like D'Shea and Gaelan could tell when they were used inside the Cloister. However, she used one now to call D'Shea, because the Prime was only barely more sensitive than she was.

This should be interesting.

*****

Rausery and Jaunda ended up taking the lizards outside the boundaries and farther out into the Underdark, and D'Shea caught up with them on her own some time later. Jaunda half-expected her Elder to be really annoyed with her, but...instead she seemed to have been expecting this.

*What has been discovered?* D'Shea signed to Rausery, as blunt as the other Elder typically was.

*Don't know yet,* Rausery replied in her usual abrupt, abridged sign that nearly matched her speech for its missing words. She motioned to Jaunda. *Waiting on you.*

D'Shea was clearly surprised at this, but looked at her Lead. Jaunda nodded and made a subtle sign that was code even from Rausery that it was truth.

*Alright. Begin. We cannot be gone long,* D'Shea signed. *Our reasoning barely holds and the Prime is watching for the Valsharess while Shyntre is in the Cloister.*

Jaunda itched to ask exactly why he was there in the first place, but she followed the order first. *I found two things of note.*

D'Shea called her on a minor hesitation; she knew her too well, it seemed. *Two?*

She grimaced. *Three. Apology, two are closely related.*

*First?* Rausery asked.

*Closely related,* she reiterated. *I found the edge of Illithid territory—*

Both Elders pinned her with their gazes, even in the dark.

*--and it is very close to what I think is a Dragon Ward.*

She paused to let that sink in, and it wasn't even the discovery that was closest to them. The two Elders looked at each other; perhaps they were disbelieving, or dismayed. She wasn't sure.

*Explains why we never got close before,* Rausery commented.

*How did you identify each?* D'Shea asked.

*I saw thralls working a field for food. My ring told me Illithids were near though I didn't see one,* Jaunda answered. *I did not get close enough to be detected. As for the Dragon Ward...you can't help but feel that one in your bones.*

Rausery was smirking; D'Shea caught it.

*I've never felt that,* her Elder admitted. *What of you, Rausery?*

She nodded. *Memorable. Makes you forget you have an oath to any queen for a moment.*

*Yes,* Jaunda agreed, glad that she would not be doubted on this or sound weak in describing it. *You only think of survival.*

*And you can pinpoint this Ward and field on a map?* D'Shea asked.

*They're not on any of our maps, but I could extend it out, I think.*

Her Elder nodded. *Tell me more of what you witnessed. Details.*

*Like what led you there in the first place,* Rausery interjected, seeming for a moment to want to bump D'Shea with her shoulder to get her to slow down. *Start over, Jaunda.*

The Lead did, recounting the run-in with the Ward, her flight, her eventual return, and noticing the sign, which she used to track to the alternate cavern.

D'Shea was frowning. *What left the traces? You seem to think it deliberate.*

*It was.* 

Jaunda had thought for a long time on her way back to the Cloister, and in the end, she could not see herself being anyway but straightforward and entirely truthful. She had no loyalty to that mystery group, even if they were helping her, even if they said she had been "selected." 

She was a Red Sister; she would tell her Elders about this male and female and their implied group. What else could she do that would not see her immediate execution upon its discovery? What if the Illithids attacked with the help of this group and Jaunda had withheld vital information from her Elders as if she should be making the decisions?

The Lead was not one who enjoyed playing the really complex games; neither was Rausery, really. D'Shea was, and she was here. It was really quite perfect, as the Lead had wondered whether Rausery would somehow interfere with D'Shea's knowledge of this, or miscommunicate it, after hearing about it from her first. She was very generous with the details the first time revealing it so that both Elders would have the same information.

Both Elders were clearly stunned when she described the one female and one male Drow who had not only already found the Dragon Ward but also had worked well ahead of time to dig that entry from beneath which led to the fields. They had anticipated Jaunda reaching that area eventually.

How? Why? It was a very unsettling leak.

*They had one of Sirana's bracers,* Jaunda told them. *And a piece of her cloak.*

*The cloak the Illithid took.* D'Shea caught that much faster than she had. *They could have been thralls themselves. Or illusions.*

*They were real,* Jaunda insisted, and explained why. *But I admit I do not know how well a thrall may act independent of their Illithid master. I've only seen the combat forces, and they are like sleepwalkers on rage-moss.*

Rausery nodded. *My thought: if mindflayers had thralls that good, we'd already be dead.*

D'Shea seemed inclined to agree. *So these are independent Drow, seeming to act on our behalf, yet explicitly deny loyalty to 'our' queen.* She refocused on Jaunda. *And they said 'you have been selected'?*

Jaunda nodded.

*This is the first time you have seen them.*

*Yes, Elder. No hints before that.*

*Implying they have been watching you. Or that they want you to think so.*

The Lead shrugged, a bit helpless on that. *They could be bluffing. To think they are not bluffing means they have contacts inside the Sisterhood.*

*Or it has more to do with the Dragon in the area,* D'Shea signed slowly, thinking on more angles than either of them could keep up with. *They could perhaps belong to it. You said the male looked like a commoner from our City, and their sign was familiar.*

*They were well-trained,* Jaunda repeated. *Could a Dragon teach them that?*

*Possible,* Rausery gestured. *Proximity of a Dragon with Illithids is worrisome enough, though.*

*Could they come to a deal in some way?* her Elder mused.

*Again, if that were the case, why are we still there?* Rausery asked.

*Maybe we find that out soon enough.*

Rausery and Jaunda stared at her for several moments.

*What do you know, Varessa?* the elder asked with real irritation, dropping some of the formality in front of their subordinate.

*I do not know,* D'Shea answered in smart, final gestures.

*Then what pile of shit in front do you think we're about to step in?* Rausery refined her sign with a mocking lilt. *This is kind of important.*




Surfacing Ch. 14



Author's Notes: This story is erotic fantasy written by Etaski. I reserve the right to be listed as the author of this story, wherever it is posted. If found posted anywhere except Literotica.com with this note attached, this story is posted without my permission. (c) Etaski 2014.

I mentioned back in Chapter 3 that it was a "talky" chapter. So is this one, but it is double the length. Please, take your time. :)

*****

I was not really used to peeking out of windows. The square or arched or even circular holes cut in the Surface shelters were an interesting concept when I thought about it. They could be covered with wooden shutters or glass or metal mesh; these covers could be removable, or sliding, or attached by hinges meant to swing them wide on nice days. They could also be permanent, a way to look out or breathe fresh air while still having that minimal boundary between the viewer and the outside.

It also seemed a fine way to frame oneself perfectly as a target. While it might be a fortunate alternate escape route once in a while, who would stand in front of one of these things just to watch the street?

"Think there is trouble?" Mourn murmured very low. 

He was still lying nude on the rumpled bed. I didn't know if his head still hurt as mine did, but I'd removed Shyntre's sapphire almost as soon as I could stand up, placing it with my equipment as I should have done the first time. The mercenary hadn't commented on my tentative gait as I waddled away—*Smart half-breed*—and he remained perfectly quiet as I had become aware of the window and the outside. My mind had felt oddly numb, my thoughts haphazard, and the window was a simple curiosity I could handle.

I shook my head now. "Not really. Just a lot of activity."

"You do not have to crouch on the floor."

I cast him a look. I had my finger tucked between the heavy canvas shade and the molding, lifting the former slightly to peer out through the glass into the night. There was no backlighting as there was no light source in our room, and I could see well enough. My field of vision was still restricted by the angle, however.

I said, "Either I crouch and be a short target, or I stand to the side and be a very long one."

The merc chuckled. "And this is so important you do not even take time to dress?"

"Until you take the time, I'm not worried." I looked outside again; there were so many lanterns, so much sound and movement. "Is the noise level normal for this area at night?"

"No. They are celebrating with music, dance, and drink in the street."

That sounded dangerous.

I squinted at him. "Celebrating what?"

"I am not certain," he admitted. "Could be seasonal, could be religious, political, or historical. There are times I can't keep up with the variances. Festivals are similar among Humans regardless of the occasion."

"Festivals," I repeated, sampling it. The word had the sound of the Common tongue, though we were speaking Drow.

"Would you like to see it directly?"

"My appearance would make that difficult. I don't have another potion and can't shift like you can."

I sensed him smile at the ceiling; it was evident in his voice. "Is that a yes?"

*Sigh.*

"Meaning this isn't a problem," I said.

"If you trust me to leave the room to send a message, Baenar, then it is not a problem."

"I don't have to trust you. You're under contract to keep me well and free."

"Indeed. I suspect you must cling hard to that every time you might be tempted to think otherwise."

"You try to rile me."

"Perhaps."

"You do. For two likely reasons."

"Which do you prefer to claim?"

"Both."

"I am listening."

There was a quiet moment as I listened to the music outside and took another peek. I was having trouble imagining what kinds of instruments could make those sounds. We had instruments back home, and there was probably similar form for similar function— those for striking a beat, those to pluck or strum, those to control one's breath—but no sound we cared to make underground ever sounded this vulnerable, this energetic or this...ecstatic? 

I wasn't sure that was the word I sought. But it was like a divine orgy without the sex and demons and blood, replaced almost entirely with song and group movement. People were laughing and crying out their calls for attention. Their singing wasn't that good as a collective—many were unpracticed or off in pitch—but it was enthusiastic.

"You rile me now because you understand how it engages me," I said. "That it arouses me."

"And?"

"You want to talk."

"We should talk. And you do not have to crouch on the floor."

At least he hadn't said I was huddling on the floor. That was more what it felt like to me, now that the numbness had begun to wear off at last. I was curled up on the floor, recovering after taking a metal rod to my head a few times before my cunt was fucked with it...

Well, no. It wasn't nearly that bad. My pussy felt swollen and plenty stretched; it was an odd feeling, engorged flesh regaining its usual shape a moment at a time, but I wasn't hurt. Mourn hadn't hurt me. I could even be good to do it again later on. My insides, as I subtly probed my abdomen again, had been shifted from their usual positions, but there were no sharp pains, no injuries. And the headache was my own damned fault; I could just be glad I'd avoided the nosebleed.

In the following silence, I reflected that mostly...mostly all that I remembered from our link were abstract thoughts. I had the clear image of Mourn's sire and his Matron-Priestess in my head, and also the recent, quite relevant memory of Gaelan. 

The rest was a blur. Impressions and fleeting emotions. Sometimes there hadn't even been anything visual to go with it what I'd heard or felt. I had been left with a sense of his essential mind, but not every detail or memory of his life. I just knew without doubt what kind of being Mourn saw himself.

He was Morixxyleth. He was balance, but not stasis. He was a rebalance or a counterbalance, as needed, but he never assumed parity or justice for all as that was not his goal. He was a natural adversary to the powerful, but not a champion for the weak unless it was by chance. He was still a mercenary and an assassin as he'd begun at his earliest, but one that had learned the value in trust and loyalty and charity, as long as the balance remained active between him and his allies. The children of the races were not to be preyed upon, born or unborn, and he did not break this rule. He did not rest much, and sometimes he had no choice but to do so.

I was well and truly afraid to consider how he saw me now. He'd called me a rare hybrid; he wasn't angry about the psionic tie though it had been without his consent or my control. So that meant he knew at least about Kain and Kerse, and why my aura was so warped. It answered questions for him. He knew about Auslan, too. Who else did he know? What else did he know? Had he added to the pile of male personas in my head?

I swallowed, feeling a tightness in my throat. Maybe Cris and Mourn both had changed my mind as well with those "wild magic" surges, when I'd lost part of my will in the moment, as I had with the Duergar and the Draegloth. Intense pleasure, agonizing pain; it seemed to have the same result.

Mourn had had almost five hundred years to figure out who he was; I could be sure he was balanced. I didn't know so well who I was. Not right now. I definitely wasn't balanced, and now he knew that.

Maybe I shouldn't have sex with magic users anymore. Or at least not while wearing the sapphire.

*Wait. Was that how it was?*

Who had I been with when I had been wearing it? My eyes narrowed in concentration. Kerse had ripped it off as he prepared his ritual. It had still been gone when I'd been placed with Auslan to heal, the gem waiting to be retrieved in the rubble by my Sisters. But with Shyntre and Jaunda and Rausery, yes, it had been around my neck. Jaunda and Rausery both hadn't even known a link had occurred, and Shyntre had given me no indication he'd experienced anything different, though he had been aware of the possibility at one point.

Cris-ri-phon? No, the sapphire had been with Mathias at the time. Bohai, I knew he was fine; I'd taken it off, and he was non-magical anyway. Yet with Mourn, I seemed to have gotten a little attached to it when I should have known better...

I shook my head. I felt like I needed Gavin's help; maybe he would see the pattern. Although... I'd apparently affected him as well, even without having sex with him. And I'd been wearing the blue stone then, too.

Maybe I did need a teacher, like the necromancer suggested. A Varasa. I didn't know what to do; there appeared to be no consistent rules though it wasn't completely random, and I was still changing. I wouldn't know how all this might affect my baby, either, until it was already done.

My forehead came in contact with the window frame as I considered how much longer I would wait before I eventually took Mourn's suggestion to talk. I was already thinking far too much anyway, then numbness was gone and my head throbbed. Would I wait for the headache to go away? For my knee to go numb against the floor or get a cramp in my foot?

When my stomach growled, I rolled my eyes upward. Or until it was time to eat.

Mourn had already begun to shift his form into his previous Noiri again, getting up from the bed to slip on the pants and shirt, both still damp but probably pleasantly cool in this room. He slipped on the boots he wore only while in Human form, or they'd never fit.

"I will get us something."

"And send the message for the illusion potion, if you would," I murmured.

He nodded once. "Secure the door behind me."

For a password, I suggested the Drow word for a tiny, albino frog native to the Underdark. 

While he was gone, I finally thought to "call" gently to my spiders, wherever they were in the room, and I soon spotted them in three different corners when they answered. They were content hunting, killing, and eating the termites and roaches of the inn; I decided to leave them be.

I had gotten off the floor and taken over the sex-scented bed, still naked, when Mourn finally returned to whisper to me. It had taken longer than I thought it should have and I was more anxious what else he had been doing, but I reminded myself that he would not be the cause of harm to me, if not because of our agreement then at least because of my unborn.

He would do no harm that he could prevent.

I hid behind the door while allowing him in, sniffing the hot food on the tray and instantly forgiving him the time he'd taken to run his errands. I pointed at the used bed as I secured the door; he quirked a Human brow but walked with me there so I could settle down and take the tray, placing it in front of me as I sat cross-legged and Mourn stripped down again, slowly shifting back to his hybrid form. I smiled, glad that I hadn't needed to ask; I preferred his birth form to the Human ones, by far.

We ate in silence, and my mercenary seemed to have endless patience and little need to push me to talk. He didn't need to; he had to know that I couldn't leave two particular topics unexplored.

"So, do you already know all about my City now?" I asked. My stomach was comfortably full of lake-food stew, bread, a helping of vegetables and a mound of seasoned bean paste with cheese, and lots of fresh, clean water. Now I was ready to talk.

Mourn shook his head. "No. But enough to substantiate what you told me yourself, through your own experience of it."

"Like what?"

"Your Noble House and the elder sister who was quite the sadist, even for Drow." He paused to pull a small fish bone from between his sharp teeth. "Though you never mentioned the demonblood hybrids in our talk of Priestesses."

I shrugged. "Intricate part of the power structure. Why would I?"

He grunted. I supposed it was an agreement.

"What do you know of them now exactly?" I asked.

Mourn shook his head. "Only your entanglement with the one whose name you know, but I received...impressions beyond that. Who he hated, to where he was trying to escape, why he intended to hurt you. But only as you know it. I knew there were others like him, brothers, and that he was the first to rebel. I know he is dead, and you are alive after suffering at his hands."

It seemed there was some pitch whining in my ears and I shook my head.

"So your city did not have them," I stated. "The Draegloth."

Mourn shook his head. "No. It's a disturbing agreement to have with the Abyss."

"Oh? Do you see much difference between paying either Demon or Dragon to use his cock upon command to seed us?"

He tilted his head a bit at my aggressive response. "Well...there is the volume to consider. How often denizens of the Abyss are called here. There are not many To'vah to bargain with at all."

I suddenly didn't want to continue this. I knew it was arbitrary, but I didn't care. I had limits, and that whole Draegloth plan wasn't my idea anyway. I chomped into a remaining purple root because it was there, chewing with gusto. "Tell it to the Valsharess."

He grinned suddenly, pulling apart bread between his taloned hands and offering me part of it. "Only take me there, Red Sister, and I will."

I scowled harder at him, tempted to refuse the food, but I took it just to be obstinate. "Fuck you."

He nodded and chuckled, fully expecting that response. "What of my past do you recall, other than meeting your Gaelan and knowing my true status within the Guild?"

I straightened, seeing her maddened eyes again in my head, forgetting to eat the bite in my hand. "Where did you take her? Who are the Wilder? You thought they might be able to help her."

Mourn shook his head, even though I'd already confessed the limit of my knowledge on that specific memory. "No. You answer next, I have given you what you asked. What else? Do not lie to me, Sirana."

I swallowed, not truly wanting to recall or remind him of his distress at being sold by his Father, or the others attacking him too soon, and too often, until finally—

"I saw your first meeting with your Aunt-Matron, your separation from...Lethrix." I paused to let him react, if he was going to.

He did. He looked disturbed.

"I don't know where he is," I told him. "I know what he looks and sounds and smells like. I would recognize him, if I were to meet him."

Mourn nodded. "Anything else?"

"When and how you killed your Matron," I muttered.

He hissed softly, golden eyes shifting to the side and narrowing before he looked back. His vertical pupils had expanded and he looked intense. "You will not share that with anyone."

I met his intensity and tone easily. "And you... won't say *that* name aloud again."

"Agreed." His voice rumbled deeply, definitely a growl. "And you?"

"I won't share the details of that killing."

He nodded once. "Anything else you know?"

I let out a breath. "Just...impressions. As you said. I know I can...believe you are what you say you are."

Mourn smirked. "And I can trust you in what we shall attempt. You have no motive except to succeed as you have stated. To get Jael back."

I nodded, pausing. "Do you still want to hear about the shared dreams as your payment?"

The hybrid nodded immediately. "Yes. I know now those are real."

I looked down and finally remembered the piece of bread in my hand, and I took a bite. Mourn demonstrated his calm enough to take another bite of his meal as well. It was a good way to draw a truce.

"So...what do you know about the 'sire of my child'?"

The mercenary gave that his usual deliberate thought. "He is one of the two males 'back home' whom you think about. You call him the Consort Auslan, though it is not his birth name, and he is a healer and a visionary." Mourn took a moment to eat more of his fish soup. "A very unusual Baenar. He must have protectors, or else he would have been killed and consumed long ago."

I nodded. Auslan still could be "killed and consumed" even now. D'Shea was protecting him now, though, at least I knew that much. She was using him, and Shyntre...but it had been to talk to me. My Elder would protect them as she could; I couldn't be anything except content with that, given how far away I was and could do nothing about it myself.

Would they contact me again? Would it be at a particularly bad time, given what I was about to do? Was Shyntre with the Valsharess, then, or not? Was the attempt to contact me by the queen's order? That was...worrisome in some way that was hard to pin down.

All my Elder had said was to confirm the fate of my Sisters, as I could. And to return to the Underdark. That was it.

"What troubles you, Sirana?" Mourn asked. He'd been watching most carefully.

I shook my head slightly. My mouth was too dry for the rest of the bread. "When I go back...there is no way I can keep him, or the other male that I... or..." I stopped, took a breath. "I have nothing tangible, no wealth or home, no connections but the Sisterhood. No way to compete for or support my own male consorts. If any powerful female decides she wants them, I can only watch as they go to serve another female elsewhere. I belong with the Red Sisters, I love my function, but..."

The half-breed tilted his head. "It would be hard to watch this?"

I nodded. "Unless I willed not to, as they moved place to place, until we were killed. What happened to them would ultimately be out of my hands, and if I took any action, I could only do as well as the most powerful female who supported my ideas or requests. That is, only if it was beneficial to her and I could pay her price. Plus, she would know my weak spot, which would bind me to her, or it may threaten my place as a Red Sister having that weakness. Also, my males would change with their fate and treatment, and we could become enemies as much as anything else..."

When I stopped talking, I realized I had certainly made my own case that it would be better for all of our welfare to just forget about them.

"Do you not expect any you know to become an enemy?" Mourn asked.

"Well..." I shrugged. "Yes, but some...only to a point. Sometimes it's better to remain allies, if it's balanced."

Mourn nodded. "A question, if I may?"

I gestured for him to go forward as I breathed out some tension.

"Let us say you return soon enough to give birth in the Underdark, as you wish to do. What would happen to your child, if you are part of a barracks?"

I knew my left hand started shaking before I stopped it by clenching, and the only emotion I was aware of was...hate. "The Priestesses would adopt her. Or him."

Mourn's ears tilted back and his eyes narrowed; I felt his aura swell and leaned back instinctively. The tip of his tail slapped almost by reflex against the sheets. "No."

I blinked and felt an unexpected bubble of laughter rise up at that. If I hadn't quashed it, I might have sounded a little off. "No? What possible consequence could your opinion have in that circumstance, Mourn?"

The half-dragon breathed out slowly; his tail still flicked now and then but he calmed down and nodded. "Forgive me, you are right. However, I cannot imagine any fate worse for a Drow youth than that. It was my fate, and I know you do not want it for your offspring."

No. No, I didn't. But I did not see a solution, except...maybe to give the child to someone else of my choice, and it would have to be outside of my City. The only two options even within possibility in this moment were Cris-ri-phon or the Guild. Mourn or Brom. And I'd have to stay up here for much longer to give birth before going back.

The sorcerer wasn't truly a serious option in my mind; I knew with him would be slavery for the infant as much as with the Priestesses. In that case, I might as well give my baby to the Sanctuary, as at least I would be nearby. I just didn't doubt that Cris would accept a Drow infant, if offered. He already thought the baby I carried was his blood.




Surfacing Ch. 14



Mourn and Krithannia and Talov, on the other hand...well, I already knew they could raise an independent, self-sustaining Drow-blood on the Surface, and Mourn would outlive even Krithannia unless he was outright killed. Independence like his... that was more what I wanted for my child. It was an outlandish option, but possible. 

If I wanted to become even more outlandish, hadn't I already considered that Shyntre would rather escape to the Surface as well? If I birthed in the Underdark rather than the Surface, would he take my child—Auslan's child—with him? Could Shyntre leave and possibly join and survive within the Guild, with Mourn as guidance for them both? The wizard already knew the trade language, and he was determined. He was a survivor and had an incredible will with a lot of magic at his disposal. He would be valuable to anyone.

Could my wizard be away from his name-bond like that, or would it hurt him in a way he would not survive in the long term? I didn't know. I only knew Auslan could not leave; he likely wouldn't survive if he tried, and Shyntre might only leave if I was in the City to protect Auslan in some way. The trade between us would be to see my child safe up top, even if I had to abduct my own offspring from the Sanctuary.

It was an interesting idea. Risky and deadly, of course. Both the Valsharess and Elder D'Shea would never allow it. If such an escape could not be done by pure stealth, untraceable and with Mourn's complete cooperation, then it would only get me killed and damn my child worse than before because I would not be around to do what I could on her behalf.

I smirked to myself, tearing off crumbs from the uneaten bread. This was, of course, assuming I somehow found a way to keep Soul Drinker out of the Underdark entirely; that I did not bring Innathi back to meet her sister. I could not just abandon the dagger up here, much as I might like to—it was too powerful to leave my hand without any sort of plan. I was not quite that oblivious of the consequences of my actions.

Which was why the ancient sorcerer was still, unfortunately, a resource for me as well. Perhaps a necessary one. He had probably known that upon giving the relic to me in the first place.

No solution could ever be simple or straight forward.

"So who are the Wilder?" I murmured.

Mourn breathed in and out once more, as if still calming himself from hearing the fate of any Red Sister offspring. "Like my Father, you do not know their location?"

I shrugged. "North from where we were, within forest, and magical beings you thought of as 'shamans.' But that's all the impression I received."

The half-blood nodded. "I am sorry, Sirana, but I cannot tell you more than what you sensed. Those who seek them uninvited do not return. They see to it."

I spoke firmly. "If they might help Gaelan with magic and live in a forest, at least confirm they are not Noldor druids like Tamuril."

"They are not Noldor at all," he answered without hesitation. "I told you the Pale Elves do not trust me, if they even acknowledge me. That is true. I believe the only reason those few who know have not hunted me is the To'vah blood."

"Alright," I accepted, finishing the shredding of my bread into crumbs onto the tray. "Is there any way for me to know what happens to her?"

Mourn nodded. "We must focus on Manalar first, but she will be as safe as she can be until then. Her fate is in their hands for now. I will gain that information for you afterward. It is part of our contract, remember?"

I blinked. Oh, yes. The caveats just added. I would have the Guild's help discovering the whereabouts of Gaelan, and in exchange...I would accept the offer to continue the contract into whatever deal I had with Gavin and his Mistress. Gavin could actually be pleased with that. I wondered how he and Graul were getting along in the library? 

As for now, I felt drained, but the headache had receded enough with food and drink. I was still wide awake though it was not yet midnight outside, and Humans still played music and sang. I noticed most of my concerns had been spoken or considered or otherwise placed somewhere where it could wait a while. More of my muscles were relaxed, and I became aware of my pussy again; pulsing subtly with blood, probably puffy on the inside, certainly on the outside. Sore, but in a good way.

I looked at his flaccid, night-purple penis, seeming so content on the bed of his scrotum. I inhaled and became aware that neither of us had done more than a cursory wipe with a dry cloth; we both very much smelled like the other, it was only that the warm food and our empty bellies had temporarily overwhelmed that. Mourn had to smell us even more than I could; his mouth was slightly open, his tongue pressed to the back of his fangs, as usual.

The corners of my mouth drew back almost without conscious will. "So...up until the headache, for which I apologize, did you enjoy your first proper fuck with a Drow?"

Mourn blinked once, but straightened slightly and I heard what might have been a brief flex of the spines on his back. He also smiled, closed-mouthed. "Less scratching than I expected."

"Oh? Were you hoping?"

I liked the low chuckle I heard. "No. More prepared. Your presentation more than made up for it."

"You like my ass." I glanced down and saw his member twitch at the memory, sensing his nod in my periphery.

"Very much."

"I can do scratching but I think biting is more your area, am I right?"

Mourn shrugged slightly, breathing out and flicking his tongue. "Well. I was not thinking."

"Mm-hm, I could tell. It's nice for a change, isn't it?"

Now there was a tilt of the head as something that should have been obvious finally became a possibility in his mind. "What of your headache?"

I rubbed my chin, looking over at my pile of equipment. "Well, the stone is over there. And nothing happened with Bohai."

Mourn quirked one brow. "He is not magical."

"Alright, if you insist." I cleared my throat deliberately. "Mathias had my sapphire at the inn. I made no mind link with the sorcerer then, either." I almost guffawed at his expression; there was clear irritation, but he also knew he'd asked for that. "Oh, come now, Mourn, I'm simply asking if we can try one more time, so we both know the limits with your magic and my...whatever."

His cock wasn't twitching or getting any thicker at the moment.

"Just a trial?" he rumbled.

"No." I took the initiative to lift the tray and carry it over to place at the floor by the door. I was sure to bend over far, and take my time doing it before straightening up and turning around. "I want to couple with a squad mate who will watch my back. Preferably without the skull-splitting aftermath this time."

I stood still and let Mourn's eyes drift over me, keeping plenty of distance as he absorbed what I said. 

He smirked, tapping a talon on the mattress. "You choose your words precisely when it suits you."

"All the better to get the point across, wouldn't you agree?"

Mourn nodded, and I could see him thickening a little more between his legs as he imagined something that he liked. "The point is clear. I wish to 'try again' as well."

Finally, a yes.

I smiled and padded over to him, signing for him to hand me one of the pillows and put his feet on the ground. *Like last night.*

He blinked but did not question, and he opened his thighs for me as I set the pillow between his feet and kneeled, getting comfortable. A few muscles in his thighs twitched as I spread my hands on them, feeling the contour and firmness, and he tilted and lowered his head slightly to inhale the scent at my neck, flicking his tongue out to taste the dried sweat.

I hummed. "May I continue what you stopped earlier, my not-so-little cunt tease?"

He nodded, hissing out short laugh. "As you wish."

The triangular head had grown out enough to prod at my belly, so I reached for it without looking, appreciating the soothing heat and the harder density of his shaft as it grew with a few more strokes of my hand. I leaned forward to put my nose near his neck, inhaling with my eyes closed, adding my other hand down lower so they could work together pulling gently at his cock, going hand-over-hand a few times, bringing him full.

In our first coupling, I hadn't gotten near enough to smell him this way. It was attractive as any male Drow scent I enjoyed, but there was definitely an exotic, earthy presence that normally would have told me to reconsider getting close to this particular creature.

Mourn made a sound then before he tongue-flicked the long ridge of my ear, which was incredibly pleasurable, and yet I could have sworn I heard something unusual, a muffled flutter or hollow rattle somewhere deeper inside his chest or throat. I had to assume that was not made with Drow anatomy. Maybe like what he'd described the tiny, ancient drake could do with air?

"How do I know if you're preparing to breathe?" I murmured.

The sound stopped and he opened his eyes; I opened mine as well once I sensed that, so we held gazes as he spoke an answer in a thick voice.

"You wouldn't. That is why the secret."

"Ah. And that sound, just now?"

His eyes half closed again as he looked down between us. "Your hands are... skilled."

I grinned; fortunately I had not stopped completely and I put more focus into it now, hearing again that low rattle. It wasn't instinctively a pleasured sound—at least, not to me— but now that I knew it was, my confidence boosted.

I chuckled. "Yeah? Where does it feel best?"

He grunted with a slight, single shake of his head. I took it to mean that he didn't know, or maybe all of it. Regardless, he could not articulate it with any precision right then.

I experimented a bit, using the pads of my fingers in successive taps and circles in between luxurious strokes as my palms acted as an ever-adjusting sheath. When clear, slippery fluid began leaking out of the tip, I used it to coat the head and allow firmer touches and focused attention on and just beneath the sensitive glans without being too rough. His unconscious rattle changed to a more deliberate purr, using his throat. 

I also found a place which forced a different sound of delight from him; it was on the underside and two finger-widths down from the crown. He liked pressure held there with my thumb as I continued smearing his pre-cum over the head, and I watched his claws dig into the mattress as he braced himself, his tail sliding around and approaching me as if it was lonely and also wanted attention. For now he kept it just hanging over the side.

My mouth had become wetter in anticipation, but I waited a bit longer as I explored some of the knobby areas farther down as soon as the fluid on the tip became too tacky to slide easily. He had begun to swell toward the base again, and I cupped that with both hands, gently exploring with my fingers.

He grunted again. "Not too much."

"Understood."

Mourn's serpentine tail seemed, to me, just a bit agitated as I explored his knob where the skin was tightest. When I left it alone and teased with fingers and palms higher up, on his other uneven spots, the tail flicked happily and the sounds he made seemed to match.

Interesting. From what I remembered, Mourn had climaxed as soon as he'd pushed this bulb in and it held fast, locking us together. Perhaps the even, hot pressure all around and squeezing tight was a natural signal his body recognized to start spurting. My hands and tongue probably wouldn't help much; it was too little, too inconsistent compared to an all-enveloping cunt.

Overall this was a good thing. I couldn't deep-throat him anyway, so we weren't missing out by avoiding the bulging root of his cock.

I leaned down and closed my lips tight over the sticky, semen-scented head, nursing it as I cleaned him with my tongue. I could still smell myself mixed with him, all around his crotch, and Mourn's taste was definitely tangy, and even burned a little—probably what caught little Dandan off guard. It reminded me more of certain kinds of pollen or spore mixed with a raw spirit or liquor. I hadn't gotten to this far before, when he interrupted me.

As far as his scent, his taste, his form, it was non-Drow in far too many ways for me not to think Mourn had taken on much more of Lethrix than he had his mother. Say the Matron-Priestess had gotten him to breed successfully...what would her House children look like now?

I put that out of my mind as I focused on using my mouth and both my hands on him, letting more of my saliva leak out from between my lips so that the servicing became slipperier and slipperier. If Mourn was prone to talking at all during sex, which I did not think he was, he did not seem to be able as it became more intense.

I opened my eyes at one point. I liked that he was quivering in a way that he hadn't with the girl virgin; his toe claws were digging into the wooden floor, scoring it, and the hind spurs seemed to be moving slightly as well as if seeking purchase on something. His tail finished its journey off of the bed and, as I'd have expected, it coiled around my nearest thigh and snugged itself as high as it would go against my oozing sex. I knew he wasn't unaware of this because he didn't squeeze as tightly as I knew he could have.

"Did not ask you yet," Mourn growled tightly as I felt him rubbing back and forth along my slit, coating the fine scales in my slickness. "Too sore?"

His tail wasn't as controlled and precise as a hand could be, but it was enjoyable nonetheless. And when I moved my hips as I liked, it was even better.

I didn't want to take my mouth off him to answer. I had too nice of a rhythm going. I surrendered one of my hands to sign, *Not stopping. As you like.*

I sucked harder, holding and stroking his erection with one hand now as I reached down to better position his own offering against my clit, and my admittedly sore pussy. It wasn't much different from riding the ridge on one of my Sister's thighs.

Well...except for a decidedly prehensile tip poking and nudging at my soggy folds. Then it found the source and dove inside about a finger's length.

I squealed very much like Dandan had around his prick; it was almost embarrassing. Mourn couldn't laugh at me but he could hiss to communicate his mirth. Defiantly I widened my stance, barely missing a stroke as I slobbered on him, the slickness coating my hand and now running down my forearm. 

There were quite a few sloppy sounds coming from both my mouth and cunt; it was satisfying. I kept a wider section of his tail pressed firmly to my crotch, and as the tip writhed and teased, my sore flesh burning from the earlier heavy use, I thought I could climax like this, although I might not have enough time.

If I was reading Mourn's signals right, he was much closer. The hybrid blew out a large breath of air from his broad chest, grunting and, to my surprise, moaning as his hips moved more. I heard fabric tear as he destroyed more of the bedding in his grip. His voice was laden heavy with lust as he managed to speak one more time. It almost made me lose my stride.

"Rrrh...your ass, too?"

Oh. Well, fuck, yes.

My hand swiftly left my crotch and I reached back to tug on the tapered end buried in my snatch. It came out willingly with a subtle slurp, and he allowed me to place the slick tail against my netherhole as I simultaneously relaxed, inviting and accepting his offer. He possessed just enough fine control to push the tip inside, a bit less than a finger's length, but becoming deliciously thicker where my ring clutched eagerly around it. 

I grabbed my buttock with my free hand and spread myself as I could, arching my back a little to help. Mourn must have been able to see better as his tail adjusted its grip a little on my thigh and he gave me one last, nice shove, going deeper and I felt real friction and stretching. 

I moaned loudly enough around his prick to make it vibrate, sucking with enthusiasm. I went back to using the rest of his tail to masturbate my clit for a moment as his tail reamed my asshole. I could definitely peak like this; in fact, with the way his tail was moving, I didn't need my hand at my crotch at all, and I reached instead to cup his sack. It had drawn up tighter and much closer to his body. 

Cradling the tender, egg-sized organs inside, I pressed my middle finger between them and massaged the engorged, spongy ridge just behind them in firm, small circles. Mourn ripped the mattress a little more.

"Rrrssss...Sirannna..."

Oh, yes. He liked that.

*Keep fucking that ass.*

We didn't climax together, but it was only moments apart, almost too close to in any way be graceful. I heard Mourn draw in one, deep breath and hold it; next he was spurting a heady, male mixture into my mouth. He didn't roar this time but hissed deeper with his mouth open wider, and his tail writhed in unpredictable jerks in my ass for a moment before he drew partway out and thrust it back inside, as deep as it had been before. Then he did it again, quickly pushing me over the edge.

I jerked my mouth off him so I didn't inhale and drown, semen spilling messily down my chin as I opened my mouth to cry out my pleasure. The flared head was pointed at my chest, finishing its hot jets of cum onto my chest, and I had one elbow braced on his thigh as I kept a looser grip on his pulsing cock, only enough to aim it. My other hand clutched at the tail squeezing around my thigh to keep it pressed it hard against my contracting cunt. My ass fluttered and clutched gratefully in its penetration; soon I was on a glorious ride down.

Panting hard across Mourn's stomach, I groaned as I came out of it. My head hurt a little, but it felt physical this time, the return of my earlier headache from blood pounding too hard. Otherwise I felt normal. No magic surge; it was a regular, fun orgasm without any weird backlash.

I took one last deep breath and exhaled as the panting nearly stopped. Marvelous.

Mourn pulled his tail out of my ass first, then I straightened up from being slumped on my arm. I looked down, admiring the spray of milky, male essence on my skin and dripping off the purple nips of my breasts. I raised my eyes and Mourn was staring hard at my chin and my chest, golden eyes caressing me almost as if he might consider getting hard again if his prick would cooperate.

I grinned. "You like that, hmm?"

He nodded without remembering to smile back. "I believe so."

"Just don't spurt into my eyes, and we're both having fun."

His mouth finally quirked into a fang-touched smile and I carefully got to my feet, my knees a little stiff despite the pillow. My white fur was matted down with juices and the room was warmer than ever. I had sweat rolling down from my pits.

"Another bath?" he asked.

I nodded and became aware of the festive noise still outside. "Maybe some fresh air, as well?"

"If you want to learn a chantey or two."

"A what? I meant just open the window."

He got up, quite relaxed in the shoulders, his tail seeming as flaccid and content as his penis. "Do you dance?"

I blinked. "Um...what kind of dance?"

"You'll see." The hybrid smiled. "You must do one or the other at a festival. Sing or dance."

I folded my arms, pressing my cum-stained breasts together for his enjoyment, which he definitely did. "What, you don't have the potion already, do you?"

"I do."

"Huh. So that's what kept you."

*******

Mourn's potion made me a darker brunette this time, less memorable than the blue-eyed redhead of Talov's choice, from what he said. Although any Human face looked strange to me in a mirror. 

The features were considerably heavier than an Elf, and the blunt, round ears were not appealing to my vanity, but at least I trusted that the illusion wouldn't send Human Men recoiling from me. If I was not immediately desirable, I could not also be revolting; the purpose was to be inconspicuous. 




Surfacing Ch. 14



I liked the darker skin this time; I was brown, a bit like Cris-ri-phon, and my eyes were a light brown with a touch of gold. Very earthy, and it seemed to suit the Surface somehow. My outfit, as well, changed in appearance to be simpler, not much fancier than Elana's thick, ankle-length skirt and sturdy work blouse, though these sleeves weren't rolled up. The cloak was there, but the black armor and weapons belt would not be there to see plainly whenever it should open up. They would see a muted blue and light brown mix of a skirt and an off-white top.

My eyes drifted again to the talon-torn bedding and the gouges in the wooden floor beside the one bed. I smirked. "They'll think we sneaked a beast in here."

"The proprietor won't ask questions, and the Guild will give something extra for mending."

I raised a brow. "Pay for the repairs? I suppose if you plan to use this location again it is a good idea, but the innkeeper seemed to have a healthy fear as well and would not likely refuse future requests. Unless you do this sort of thing often and it is costly to him?"

"Mm. No, not often."

He was normally in better control of himself, or he just did not have a lot of good sex. That was definitely satisfying. "Well, then. He may not bring up the damage."

Mourn shrugged and was concentrating, preparing to shift from what I knew. "Up to him if he does or not."

He adjusted his shape and face this time to a Paxian Man with lighter, Sunny-brown hair with a mild tan. His eyes were a muddy mix of brown and green, and compared to those that I'd seen so far, this Man's face was less refined than Mathias and perhaps more forgettable. I imagined us entering the slow flow of people down and outside.

"I should not dance," I said to him. "Contact will make this illusion waver, won't it?"

"You would have to use one of your tools or weapons against another to make them realize you are not what you seem," he said. "You could dance, if you wish."

"Well. Do you dance?"

"Sometimes."

I tried to picture either of us and shook my head. "I do not think will. I will observe."

"Perhaps you can clap in time." He started to smirk. "And sing."

I almost snorted. "Drow don't sing. Too much noise."

"What about your rituals or ceremonies? There are chants, are there not?"

"Well..."

He nodded shortly. "You can chant, you can sing the chanties."

I knew I had a stubborn set to my jaw then, even with a Human face. "You first."

I noticed his Human forms always had strong, straight teeth when he smiled. Did he ever form a Human with crooked or rotting teeth, as I'd seen? Certainly when necessary, or he was too vain to be a good assassin. Maybe he was just trying to remain appealing to me.

We had already missed the highest point of festivities; it was getting late and those who remained were the stubborn and the intoxicated, the childless and those who had no work for morning. The air was filled with lingering, aging scents of food and drink, smoke and urine, scented oils and all-too-Human exertion. 

The constant noise was still something I did not enjoy, but if I focused past the worst of it, I picked out those who were raising their voices in a repetitive pattern and seemed to be swaying in time before a few Humans playing what actually looked like somewhat familiar instruments. They were mostly male. It had a simple, catchy rhythm.

It's all for me grog, me jolly, jolly grog

It's all gone for ale and an herbal twist

Well, I spent all me tin on the lassies drinking cane

And across the western Lake I must wander

"What is grog?" I asked Mourn over the volume as I stepped around a pile of something that, while I didn't know exactly what it was, I didn't want to come in contact with it.

"Diluted spirits," he answered.

I made a face. "Uh...like diluted ale?"

"As I said, they get safe water somehow."

"Poison and water is safer? No wonder they do not live long."

He chuckled.

Mourn seemed to choose the place for us to stop weaving through the slightly less dense crowds, keeping us at the back of a group all watching a seemingly popular performance. I already knew by now that he was simply showing me many things in Augran, to form my own opinions without commenting himself. So what did he want to show me now?

Focusing past the long line of lanterns, which still interfered with my sight and made the tracers a bit worse, I realized they were three female Humans on a raised platform. They were dressed in almost ridiculously bright skirts, partly lifted and secured at their waist to show their brown boots and bright, white stockings. Their off-white shirts were off their shoulders and they had no cloaks. 

This was the first time that I realized I had seen females who showed this much skin, and I could see they were well-fed and looked particularly soft. A colorful, wide band, possibly related to the Yungian garment Dandan wore, was secured tightly under generous tits, pushing them up and together to rise just that much more above the bust line of their top.

There was a pale blonde as I'd seen before, a deeply tanned brunette with more red in her hair than I'd ever seen before, and a rare one with pure black hair and dark brown skin. They had a seemingly haphazard array of ribbons holding their hair up to make it seem more voluminous, perhaps echoing the effect of their boosted, voluminous breasts.

They looked like a clashing field of flowers, and if the choice of custome wasn't some kind of bizarre, deliberate, Human mating signal to watching, fertile males, then I'd eat my boot leather.

I looked around us. There were a whole lot of males here, actually...and some other bolder females who seemed to be having fun, drinking and swaying and singing along. That was a first in my experience.

One of the Women on the platform, the blonde in pink and yellow and green, stepped forward and made an exaggerated gesture, placing her hands palm-to-palm immediately beneath where her breasts came together. She projected her voice well, to my surprise, and at least she was on key.

I wish all the young laddies were pipes in the yard

After I drained 'em, they'd still remain hard!

I heard loud woots and bellows of approval from some intoxicated sailors, and a lot of laughing from the females present. The auburn Woman in orange and white and purple stepped forward to join her, seeming to sing to the blonde but winking at the watchers, and they both pantomimed some kind of seamstress in the next verse.

If all the young laddies were needles and pins

Then I'd be cushion to hold their pricks in!

More catcalls and pumping of fists in the air, and with a bow and a twiddle of fingers at a few of the audience, and the darker beauty in red and blue and gold stepped forward to join the other two. Her voice was higher but just as loud and bawdy.

If all the young laddies were puppies full grown,

Then I'd be the ground where they can bury their bone!

A few of them seemed shocked but were laughing all the same, and I observed the clapping and weaving when all three of them sang:

If all the young laddies were boats on the ocean

Then we'd be the waves and we'd show 'em the motion!

Roll your leg over and roll your leg over

Roll your leg over, it's better this way!

Mourn was chuckling and applauded the young females with the rest of, following suit with the Men; he even tossed them a coin toward their stage. It almost seemed to me the coin would strike and bounce off the middle Woman's breasts, but she saw the glitter in time and brought her hands up, trapping the coin against her tits with an exaggerated look of surprise on her face, her red-painted lips open in a nice "O." 

As the singer made a show of retrieving it from her cleavage, showing just a bit of her nipple and digging her hand deep, she next displayed the coin and gave the watchers an enormous, infectious smile. This bought her a swell of happy sounds and a few more coins tossed from closer Men who'd gotten the best view.

Interesting.

"Good aim," I commented.

Mourn shrugged. "She's a good catch."

"So...they're dancing and singing for pay?"

"Humans will take a moment's entertainment in trade for coin, yes."

"And the breasts? I take it they do not reveal them in public often. Do they signal to mates?"

"Probably. Those that have more coins to offer this night."

I blinked and grinned. "Oh! These are the 'prostitutes' you mentioned!"

Mourn was amused at my response. "Not all are this talented and playful, but yes."

We watched a bit longer, and though the Women did tease in showing more skin as they performed, I thought it a bit falsely meek at times and clearly they did not intend to give away a view of both their breasts at once, and their mounds not at all. 

I had enjoyed the ribald and creative double-speak more than the visual tease, now that I knew they had been speaking of fitting a hard cock into a wet pussy. I understood innuendo and coded intent quite well, but the imagery was so ludicrous and surreal that it gave me the impression that Humans could find a link to sex in just about everything they looked at, if they tried.

My sense of smell was not very helpful in this environment, too many pungent bodies and substances, but my other senses still worked quite well. A subtle sound and intangible sense was why I looked down to my right—Mourn standing on my left—to find a disheveled, clumsy Man believing he was being sneaky and reaching for the skirt which my illusion only told him he was seeing. Of course, he wouldn't be able to grab it for real.

Odd that I didn't question why he reached for it at all in the shadows by the ground—it seemed obvious after watching the singing prostitutes with their raised skirts—but I stepped on his hand with the heel of my boot and pinned it. He yowled and tried to jerk his hand free; with some focus, he would have been strong enough to do so... but he wasn't focused.

"Problem?" Mourn asked in Common, observing the Man crouching on the ground, only beginning to sputter curses as I twisted my heel to hurt him more.

"You knew he was there as well as I did," I said, listening as the Man began to bluster and slur, promising to make himself a nuisance very soon.

Mourn observed. "He's incapable of fighting."

I shifted my weight off the drunk's foot but only so I could swing a kick up the side of his head, knocking him over. He was poisoned enough already to pass out easily. 

"Now he is incapable of crawling."

"He's still breathing."

I answered in Drow. "Feeding his blood to my dagger will break the illusion as much as his grabbing at the skirts would."

"Is that all that holds you back?"

I thought about it. I actually didn't see behavior like this at home; no Drow male believed he would get away with it and any male was too smart to crawl for surreptitious peeks under a female's gown. Often, he didn't even have to; a female would be glad to show him if he just flirted the right way. But imagining that a male Drow did this then... yes, I supposed he might be quickly and easily killed.

It didn't make sense in my culture, though; it was much more likely that the one reaching to look under another Drow's clothing—especially if under the influence of mushrooms or spirits or wine—would actually be the female molesting the male. I'd done it before at Court; it was my privilege, and I had no reason to try from the ground.

Surely I had never looked this silly in trying, had I? No one had ever hurt my hand. I could lift a male's wrap standing up if I wanted.

"I don't understand," I said, noting as most revelers present ignored the Man unconscious on the ground as we took a few steps away, then began walking.

"Understand what?" Mourn asked.

"If the Men are dominant here over the Women, why crawl on the ground to scratch at a female's ankle at all? Surely he does not have to. Back home, that would be a good way to ask for any other female to challenge you."

"If you were seen doing it. Say you were not, and it was exciting to you to evade detection?"

I looked up at him with narrowed eyes. "Do not tell me Humans would miss such a clumsy attempt as that."

"Some would. They are creatures of habit and often ignore details that do not fit their routine if it would add stress."

What? "That is...foolish."

"There are some who do not feel under constant threat in communities. They believe they are safe with the support of others. It conserves energy and helps focus to do their part to maintain that belief."

I was speechless for a few moments. "Safe with the support of others?"

"Until proven otherwise."

My mouth was open for a few moments before I closed it. I tried to tie it back to the previous incident. "So the drunken slug is one to take advantage of that...group security? Sneak in and hope the others don't notice."

Mourn nodded. "About right. You do not see this behavior among our own because we do not have that social security amongst us."

"So... he's a scavenger with little hope of mating a female of worth."

The half-blood grinned. "Also about right. Although sometimes even higher-ranked Men behave so. I do not always understand it."

"You have been living among them for over three centuries and still do not understand?"

"Correct."

That didn't bode well for me.

Someone struck a metal rod to a bell very near us, startling me and I reached for a blade as I covered my left ear, most injured by the sound.

"No," he said, moving brazenly close; he was assuming I would not use the dagger on him and he could be a shield to the others.

*Foolish...*

I had to consciously take my hand off Soul Drinker's hilt, shaking a bit and breathing in deeper. The sound of the clang still echoed in my ears. "What was what?"

"It is an hour past midnight. We must return to the library before sunrise."

I thought about how far we had traveled on foot during the previous day. "I do not think we can make that."

"We can. Come with me."

It was only after we walked down several streets away from the festival that I confirmed the small groups of armed men keeping watch on events with some subtlety. It was a bit like my having been assigned with some of my Sisters to watch over the last worship ball, to be visible only if warranted. That had been when Auslan was given to House Itlaun and Kerse had found me alone afterward; only somewhat over two years ago, but it felt longer.

As I would have noted myself as a guard, these Men noticed the stragglers or those on the fringe, certainly looked for furtive behavior. But I thought perhaps it was their lack of any magical sense kept them from looking too closely at a taller Man and shorter Woman walking together. 

Or it was perhaps that the presence of me as a Woman that convinced them we were...hm. Harmless? Maybe less risky. In our wandering of the crowds, I hadn't missed that clusters of similar-aged Men with no Women or children among them felt more threatening than any other particular group. They were not unlike the guards that way, and the two would be natural opponents if they disagreed on a matter of conduct.

"Do not resist," Mourn murmured, drawing my attention to him.

Then he took my arm and looped it through his own, kept us moving when it seemed one guard was tempted to approach us. I looked away and stepped up my gait a bit to match his longer stride, not too fast but not too slow. It was annoying; I had to grip his arm harder and almost fell against him a few times as my balance was challenged.

"Good," he said.

Hm? Good, what?

Soon there was enough distance that the Man guard changed his mind about convincing his fellows to follow us. They moved on. I thought I understood; I may have looked smaller and more helpless there for a moment compared to my escort. If I had just watched a female dragging a hapless male from the ballroom, and him trying to keep up, I wouldn't have followed, either, unless I intended to abandon my post to harass them for fun.

"Hm," I said. "Now what?"

"We need a quiet rooftop."

The ones around here weren't as flat as some of the others to the South, but nor were they as steep or curved as those in Yong-wen. I noted good quality overall, but not particularly inspired. By the smell of things, we were getting closer to the Lake itself by the time Mourn found a dark building that seemed more for storage and did not also house the proprietor. There were, however, a few hired watchmen but they were easily avoided in this darker area; one of them was even asleep this late at night.

Mourn removed his borrowed boots, attaching them to his harness, and we climbed up on the far side, both of us capable of silence when opposed to Human hearing. Mourn finally had his flat rooftop. I looked out to the North, and could see the Great Lake much closer now beneath the sliver of light of the smaller Moon. The shadows of the ships adrift near the shore seeming to blend together. Closer to the docks, there was more noise, more people awake, but we were in a quiet zone between the festival and the shore.

Judging from the placement of the low Moon and a measure of the darkness to which my senses grown accustomed by now, I did not see how we would make it back to Yong-wen before Sunrise. Unless Mourn had a transport circle up here.

*Keep watch,* he signed to me.

I genuinely tried to do so, using mostly my ears, nose, and skin, as my eyes were distracted. He not only removed his cloak, the boots, and the harness in order to remove his shirt and his pants, but when he shrugged back into the harness, he'd made a few deliberate shifts to his posture and muscles which somehow changed the placement of the straps holding his sliders. I hadn't realized it was adjustable, but I also didn't see how it would help. The harness now fit all wrong.

His sliders and two smaller blades on his back had been drawn to his sides where they would interfere with his arm movement and be awkward to draw. I frowned but resolved to wait and see rather than calling this out too soon. He was better trained than me, and I hadn't seen nearly all his tricks, I was sure.

The half-Dragon began shifting again, losing his Human form, regrowing his horns and spines and tail, his claws and teeth and golden eyes in his night purple face. He grunted and exhaled softly with the effort, and I noticed again the scent of physical stress as his body magically adjusted itself. 

However, it wasn't quite his birth form that I saw, as his hind legs quickly resembled something much closer to one of the big felines I'd seen in the mountains, capable of strong launches and leaps forward, not straight up as when he was in his standing form. It almost seemed he was about to double over, but the curve of his spine changed dramatically and his hands landed on the ground before him with intent.

I probably wasn't keeping guard as well as I should as I stared. The hybrid had a quadruped form.

Mourn looked a bit more like an actual Deep Dragon—as I could say that now, having seen Lethrix—but without the wings and serpentine neck. He possessed more of a snout now; he retained his Elven ears but looked a lot less exotic and far more bestial. His shoulders and neck and forelegs were compact and designed for quick, powerful running and springing. 

His harness, as well, not only fit perfectly in this form, but the sliders in their securement rode lengthwise, parallel to his flanks, and would be out of the way of a sprint. They also wouldn't likely get caught on something above him during a jump. His tail would be an even better counterbalance, and his talons would dig into any surface he clasped to. He could climb as well as jump and run in this form. 

Now I understood why he wore his pants notably loose like the Yungians, or he'd be constantly stripping nude or ripping the cloth to shift like this. As it was, he could still keep his pants for convenience. It also explained why he didn't bother with boots normally.




Surfacing Ch. 14



"Mm, my mount, I presume?" I asked quietly.

He looked at me and hissed a laugh, his tongue—long as ever—flicking out to taste the air as he padded over to me. His shoulder blades nearly reached my chest and even if I didn't include his tail, he looked more than twice long as I was tall. He was about the same mass as before, just redistributed. Could he talk in this form? Was I really going to ride a Deep Dragon back to Yong-wen?

I was smiling. That was only fair, wan't it? He'd already ridden me, and I was still sore.

"Will your spines come up as you run?" I asked, clearly seeing that I was to lay flush on my belly along his spinal column; there were places on his harness for me to grip.

"Would threaten bargain," he said more gruffly and less distinctly. Maybe he wasn't used to talking much in this form. "Bundle shhhirt and boots in cloak and lie on them."

Not bad. A bit like a saddle for my chest and belly.

I secured his clothing as directed and didn't see reason to linger; I mounted him easily as I had many an Underdark lizard. Leaning forward I hooked my bracers through his harness, holding on and squeezing my thighs to him; I was pretty much horizontal and had one slider on the outside of each thigh. 

"Mmm, nice ride," I hummed, and he chuffed.

I could feel that I was hardly any burden to him as he stepped around to face the nearest rooftop.

"Never panic," he growled. "You will throw us if you do."

"Check." 

I settled myself down as I felt his muscles bunching, anticipating a very fast and very intense ride. Not at all like riding a horse, whose strength of running came only from evading prey, like the guarro. Riding a predator had a distinctly different feeling. The prime difference was that I wouldn't be steering the direction. At all.

Mourn surged forward and took that first running leap to the next rooftop, slowing and leaping to the next on in a way that I knew was to get me accustomed to leaning with his jumps, not against them. I was already getting the feel; it was almost exactly as I might imagine riding one of the mountain cats, but with the familiarity of a lizard mount and the precision and sure-footedness of the guarro landing on uneven rock.

"Fun," I commented.

He held back less on future jumps—if I didn't know better, I'd have said he was testing me, trying to throw me a few times or make me gasp in alarm.

Ha.

I breathed evenly as I could, held it through leaps, and avoided smacking against him during the landings. Soon enough he picked a place where we landed on the ground in the street, and that was where he took off. He ran faster than any horse, claws tearing up the dirt as one large shadow whipped through those around town.

No doubt this was where some of the demon tales about him came from. A few times we were glimpsed by a guardsman or street dwellers; we scared away a number of dogs, cats, and rodents. We were moving too fast for anyone to get a good look or a good shot at us, and Mourn did not stay on a straight street for long before changing to the next.

My heart pounded and wind sang through my ears as all my muscles worked continuously just to hold on and stay on through the turns. Grit and a few night gnats stuck to my teeth or tongue as I was probably grinning more than necessary, and I spat from time to time.

Mourn drew air into his lungs in deep rows, blowing and snorting a few times; soon it seemed his forceful heartbeat overwhelmed mine. The heat he emitted was not only intense enough to make my thighs sweat, but it almost tasted of magic. Augran swept by at a rate I had never expected to witness; it had never occurred to me, even on horseback, to imagine going much faster.

It did come to me during that ride that this is probably how he got Gaelan to the Wilder and made it back in time to confront us near the Warpstone cannibals. He could move very quickly when he wanted; if he'd had wings, I could well imagine him leaping up and soaring into the air at any point.

If he'd ever had wings, there would be less doubt in the stories about what he was.

My eyes could detect just the barest hint of fading darkness by the time Mourn carried us well over the wall into Yong-wen. He didn't bother being stealthy this time; two Yungian males on the wall both saw him, and one exclaimed a cry that I couldn't decide between fright and joy, but he'd called on the enclave's Dragon Spirit in welcome, for certain.

I was glad, at least, that Mourn didn't pause to return the salutation. My arms and shoulders especially were burning by now and I had had my fun. Time for the ride to be over. We took a few more rooftops on our way to the safehouse.

Mourn scared the road apples out of the horses in the stall this time. We only passed by on the way to the cellar, but their shrieks were distressed and I heard a few kicking at the wooden walls, waking the stable boys, no doubt.

Beneath the ground and away from the rising Sun, Mourn blew rather loudly with flared nostrils, scratching the cool dirt with his claws. Heat billowed off him and his scent thick in the air as I got off stiffly and removed the bundle of clothing so he could start shifting back. He soon stood in an ill-fitting harness and sliders after he did, only readjusting the things on him and leaving me burdened with the rest.

"Going to blind me again?" I asked.

"Of course," he puffed.

He did have enough magic left to Call Darkness and shift us into his lair properly. Paying more attention this time, I would have said it definitely had something in common with the Drow transport circles, but wasn't exactly like it. Shyntre might have been able to explain the difference to me.

Warm light filled the underground library, and it smelled like someone had been tending to himself properly—mainly due to the lingering scents of a recent meal and less any particular body warmth. Gavin wasn't corpse-cold, but he wasn't exactly radiating normally anymore, like myself and Mourn.

We had only a moment to observe with our return. I was not surprised to see Gavin hunched over a book and several scrolls spread over one of the tables. What was a surprise—but also pretty cute—was Graul curled atop the back of Gavin's chair and reading over his shoulder, the white-whiskered chin not quite resting on the necromancer's robed shoulder.

It got even more amusing when the ancient drake blinked at us and slipped onto the table, doing well to avoid slicing parchment with his claws despite his aging gait, and yawned disinterestedly with his back to Gavin, his tail flicking across the papers as if to intentionally annoy the necromancer. 

As if that hadn't been the image of a near-perfect truce between him and the scholar just then.

"Si ocuira batobot, Graul," Mourn said, still catching his breath as he showed his fangs in a smile, and the drake purred and blinked in mock innocence.

I looked at Gavin, who had his elbows on the table and fingers threaded thoughtfully as he looked at us. I could see more of his pale arms than usual, and was reminded of the many scars he possessed as I noted a purple line on the left outside.

"Have fun?" I asked.

"I would hazard a guess that you did."

"What makes you say that?"

"Just a sense of things." Gavin looked at Mourn. "My gratitude for allowing me use time down here, Mourn. It has been enlightening."

The hybrid had been setting a few things down in their places, his sliders among them, but now he looked more closely at his guest. I had noted the tone as well and tried to catch where Mourn was looking on the table but it was pretty quick. 

Mourn focused on Graul. "Kii batobot ir?"

He hadn't raised his voice and did not express plain displeasure, but I was keeping one eye on his tail, and it was just flicking enough to suggest he was agitated. The ancient drake seemed to me to be smirking, puffing out his throat slightly in defiance, although I would have liked to think I could recognize maliciousness if there was any. I didn't think there was; it felt like a well-established balance, familiar and close.

"Tagoa'coi tawuraic ," Graul squawked impishly, his voice small like his chest and almost exactly how I'd imagine a particularly devious little gnome to sound.

Gavin and I both blinked, unmoving for a few moments as Mourn answered the little beast with an elegantly skeptical expression.

The death mage leaned back slowly in his chair, eyeing the smaller reptile. "Hm. So you can speak."

Graul turned an ear back and shifted his head only enough that I'd think he could see Gavin with one eye. 

"Yesss," he hissed in Surface Common. "Thanks for the treatss."

I found myself snickering now, imagining some of the game that must have been going on in our absence. "He speaks two languages?"

"Three," Graul said to me in Drow, lowering his long neck slowly and bringing his tail about as if he were trying to be as menacing as a full-sized Dragon. "As far as you know, Baenar."

It would not do any good to take bait from the small drake; the creature was intelligent enough to wait for a good moment to speak, for whatever impact to us or benefit to himself. I smiled and decided to close my mouth and observe a little longer. His accent was odd in the way Mourn's was, but that was to be expected if he had remained a close companion to the hybrid for centuries.

"Well, at least that makes more sense," Gavin muttered; if he was cranky at having just found this out, I could not tell it from his normal demeanor. He looked at Mourn. "This is a drake from the Underdark?"

Mourn nodded an affirmative, moving toward the service elevator, presumably to prepare a request of the Yungian kitchen above. "A shadow drake. He began following me on my journey through and out of the Underdark. By the time I found a way out, there was no way I would rid myself of the sticky little thief, even in Sunlight."

Graul hissed in annoyed insult at the remark and chuckled immediately after. I heard the layered affection in Mourn's tone and by Graul's expression, I took it that the beast was far more pleased than not with the summation of his connection to the big mercenary. When the drake had been young and spry, he must have been quite the asset. I remembered how he'd blended in completely in the shadows, and I had only seen his red eyes first when he opened them.

"Interesting that he would suffer the Sun as you did," I commented to Mourn.

"Not so hard," Graul commented flippantly. Then he was looking down toward the floor as if contemplating jumping down.

"It did not scare you away?" I asked him directly, coming closer.

Graul blinked at me as I approached, fluttering the lavender pouch at his neck. "Surface has shadows, too."

"Uh-huh. Not nearly as many. Need a lift down?"

He puffed air out of his nostrils and into my face at the heavy sweetness of my tone, but didn't outright refuse me. His breath smelled of Yungian spice and well-aged meat.

"How heavy are you?" I asked, looking him over. "You are a bit large for a lap pet."

Graul's tail slapped briefly against the table leg as he raised his chin, and I could see that devious glint in his cloudy eyes. "Find out, female."

Mourn was leaning against the wall waiting for a response from upstairs; he had folded his arms and did not say one thing. He even kept his tail still as he watched the interaction.

"Well, if you are inviting," I said, then spoke to our host while keeping an eye on the resident. "Best way to pick him up, Mourn? You didn't recommend it to Gavin before."

"I still do not. Your choice, Sirana."

Graul grinned and adjusted his little talons on the wood of the table. He glanced toward the soft chaise, where he wanted to go, and the tip of his tail flicked playfully. I could detect that he was overall stiff and his joints probably pained him, but no matter how I attempted to lift him, he had the sharp points in the right places to cut me anywhere. There was no picking him up without risking my smooth skin.

Shrugging, I stepped over to the chaise and pushed that toward the desk instead, until it was beside the desk and a very small leap for Graul to the soft landing point. Gavin smirked and remained as he was at the desk. 

Graul blinked again, his tail going still in disappointment, but I'd trade that for the almost cute grunt as he jumped, and the tiny coughs of air which spoke of contentment as he walked in a small circle on the chaise. Then I simply dragged both him and the chaise back to its original spot.

"I'd say you weigh about as much as a decade Drow child," I assessed, and Graul coughed in haughty defiance, lifting his nose up as he began to settle down in comfort.

"And how much is that?" Gavin asked, purely curious.

I shrugged. "Maybe as much as Elana's younger girl?"

"Ah." The necromancer nodded. "A six-year-old. Interesting."

"Who is Elana?" Mourn asked from across the room.

"The sorcerer's cook," I answered. "A mother of two without a mate. She's grateful to him for giving her work, food, and shelter."

Mourn just nodded, not giving away anything particular in his thoughts on that. Eventually, Graul yawned with his dark mouth and purple tongue wide open again, the most visible part being the tiny, off-white teeth; he turned around again and curled up into a ball on the velvet, apparently at his limit for playing games with me. I could imagine he might have been exhausting in his prime. Or perhaps he had tired himself out with Gavin already.

"Do you have any treats left?" I asked the necromancer with a grin.

Gavin deigned to smirk; did he actually have some fun with the beast? 

"No. In the end I was required to give them all up, one at a time. But he served as the nose to lead me to texts that might have taken much longer to find, had I been browsing one by one."

Interesting. "Such as?"

"Those written in an older dialect of Manalar, not Common, but a script I have learned."

I perked up. "Really? Anything to help us now?"

Gavin touched dried fingers to the dried page; I would have thought it almost affectionate, if he was the sort. "Probably not directly. More giving me insight into the history of the Church, sometimes from the inside, as often from without." He looked toward Mourn. "I trust Graul was not supposed to lead me to an old journal detailing a Guild member's early involvement with Manalar?"

This was a surprise for me to hear in that first moment, and yet it shouldn't have been at all. The rivalry between the Guild's home base and the city of the Sun God was well-aged, I already knew that. I just wasn't thinking; too much sex now instead of too little, perhaps. 

Still. Why would Gavin imply that he'd just uncovered a secret Mourn might not have shown us himself? I looked at the half-blood to see how he responded; the drake himself seemed to be only lightly dozing as his ear shifted in Mourn's direction when he spoke.

The mercenary shrugged. "Graul does as he likes. He wanted to show you that journal and I have no protest, what is done is done. It is a valuable document, I am sure you realize."

"Indeed, I do," the mage agreed, reaching to lift an ordinary, unmarked, leather bound handbook laid at his left. 

He opened carefully to a page, resting it flat on the table and minimizing his handling. He was clearly accustomed to archiving and preserving records; his hands were kind of like Shyntre's that way.

"Which member?" I asked him, deciding to sit on the opposite end of the chaise with Graul and get off my feet. "How 'early' are we talking about?"

"It doesn't say." Gavin reread a few sentences, his brow wrinkling a bit in concentration as he translated words in his head. "The chronicle is as if he—or she—is speaking to a scribe, and the scribe is recording it exactly, in an old Manalar dialect. The speaker's name is not given. It is the context alone that tells me it is likely a member of the Guild, and our host just confirmed it for me."

The hybrid did not look at all chagrinned hearing that; I was suspicious. Either Mourn was good at covering a gaffe, or he knew exactly where he was leading us. 

In this case, I thought either was possible; the hybrid was extremely intelligent and good at planning, but not all-knowing, nor could he anticipate everyone all of the time. It would be a folly for me to start believing that, especially as I really did think that first interaction between half-blood and drake when we first arrived was genuine—Mourn had been questioning him, Graul had been defiant. 

For all I knew, Mourn had also had too much sex to be thinking with clarity around someone like Gavin, from whom we weren't used to expecting sleights of hand in his own wording. Perhaps the mage was learning from me as well; he was cunning in his own way.

Mourn's meal appeared then and immediately filled the library with that wonderful, exotic smell which made my mouth water. I looked over to judge whether he had enough to share, as it wasn't until I smelled it that I realized I was hungry. 

He had a large pile of food on a tray, which he lifted to carry over to the second, unoccupied table next to Gavin's. I didn't doubt that he might be able to finish all of it himself, especially after that intense run, carrying me all the way from the Great Lake's edge in a few hours. As when he had caught and devoured the pig by the river, he needed to replenish what strength he'd used.

However, Mourn looked up now and needed no request from me; he gestured for me to come retrieve the two, generously-sized hand pies—my favorite—and I did not need further encouragement. Gavin watched us eat for a few minutes then focused on me.

In between bites, I gave him direction. "So how early? Even if not exact."

"Starting before Manalar became a theocracy," the former monk murmured, though it sounded like he had been waiting to say just that. "Historical details are frustratingly vague. This was written as a reflection, not a record, but I know well the name of the first Archbishop of Manalar, Iarmod Tefornin. In this recounting, he is a mere cleric in service to Lord Nikro Rophan."

I couldn't quite read Gavin's expression here. My mouth and hands full of pie, I glanced at Mourn. He was eating with his sticks—I wasn't sure why, no Yungians were watching—and he was listening but felt no need to contribute, it seemed.

I finished my current bite. "You had an odd look about you, Gavin, mentioning that Lord. Who was he?"

"In the scriptures I was taught that he was the failed sinner, who in his hubris brought down the 'final wrath' of Musanlo and allowing the priests to show his people the 'true way.' Lord Nikro's purported level of debauchery and cruelty to his people included inviting in demons and challenging the Lord Chaos itself. Frankly I thought it exaggeration to make the current believers think life is better now than it had been." He shrugged. "Either that, or Lord Nikro truly was one of the largest threats to the fabric of our existence."

Mourn chuckled softly. Gavin paused, but continued speaking to me.

"In either case, he was never seen dead, and though it was presumed by some, others thought it evidence that he walked right into the levels of Hell to take his reward for bringing such threat to Musanlo's land." 

"He was a man," Mourn broke in gruffly. It was said with such finality that I believed he had likely spoken to the long-dead Human Lord at one point. "He was a leader who made some mistakes."

"Yes, so I have read now," Gavin responded. "This is much simpler and, to me, rings truer for it."

"What does it say of Nikro?" I asked, finishing up my first pie.

"In essence, that he ran afoul of some ambitious and unforgiving members of the Guild, and publicly challenged this new, unseen influence in his city in an early attempt to drive them out." Gavin was careful as he turned a few more of the softly crinkling pages. "The Guild did not have the reach it has now, and Lord Nikro saw it then as an unwelcome, illegal operation skimming riches from his people and causing unrest and fear in his lands. He was responsible for their security, and in that he was failing them."




Surfacing Ch. 14



"Just defending his territory?" I asked, shrugging. That was indeed simple.

"Simple, yes, but the devil is in the details. Lord Nikros managed to identify and arrest a top-ranking Guild operator, a woman named Halete Ebtryne." Gavin lifted his nighttime gaze to me. "He made her public execution particularly gruesome as a warning to any and all who would further the Guild's goals, whether they were a member or simply coerced. His mistake, it seems, was attempting to be more intimidating by creatively torturing a Guild member. A female one."

"Why would the gender matter, if she was performing a crime that either male or female could do?" I asked. "Would the message not have been as strong if it had been male?"

Gavin and Mourn both nodded in agreement, and it left me baffled for a moment, but it was the necromancer who continued.

"There are males competing and vying for status, and there are challenges to the status quo, and this is acceptable," Gavin explained. "If I am not mistaken, the clergy are all male at this point in time, and so are all the landowners. The only females mentioned are this one Guild leader and the occasional wife or sister or daughter who bear no consequence except for gossip, marriage, and breeding."

"I will also add," Mourn spoke, "at that time, while the priests did not revile women as openly as they do now, they carried little respect for them and were reluctant to train the rare female with magical potential. Better to keep them uneducated, safe and docile, by convincing them they were weak and dependent by happenstance of birth."

I covered my mouth with my gloved hand in thought, remembering any recent, public deaths of male Drow back home. Intent to scare other males into obeying? Absolutely. Intent to reassure us that we still held the power? Oh, yes. Because they were automatically weaker and dependent just being born male...?

Well. They were smaller. And I knew plenty of Matrons and Priestesses who would have looked at me like I'd been dropped on my head as a child for musing that they might be equal in strength. Certainly Callitro and Auslan were as they should be; submissive, seductive, obedient, graceful, easily intimidated... 

Shyntre, on the other hand, was not; and yet he was no less enjoyable to me. In some ways, more so. Just in a different way. Was it just entertaining to me when he demanded something else than his meeker brothers were content with? Entertaining, because I knew he would never get it and it was like watching a very angry fly trapped in a web—?

Maybe that was what it looked like for those Men watching Halete?

I was jerked from my wandering reflection when Gavin spoke directly to me.

"So a female Guild leader within the city, whether to the Lord or the clergy, was..."

"Someone blatantly questioning her worth," I considered, realizing I was halfway through my second pie. They were definitely filling. "And someone had trained Halete to challenge that worth."

"Indeed. And it seemed she had magical potential as well," Gavin spoke while skimming, "tricks I know for certain are spells. This means someone had trained her in magic as well, and it makes her a witch in the eyes of the priests."

Mourn nodded, and I looked at him. 

"Did you know her? Halete?"

"I did," he answered frankly.

"Did you train her?"

"We did. The Guild was smaller, starting out, we were learning. Halete had a troubled past with her family, but what she learned drove her to accept risk and turn against her Lord, both of state and of Sun. She was exactly what we needed to make inroads into one of the strictest, most devout cities. For several years, Lord Nikro thought he was looking for a man."

"Because no woman could be so competent," Gavin smirked, again studying his page. "She caused quite a bit of organized fear, didn't she? Terrorizing those who resisted."

"Her 'men folk' taught her well, from what I learned." Mourn pushed a few bites of meat into better position before clasping them with his eating sticks. "Though these methods likely made her death that much more vicious once she was caught at last. We did not have the time to recapture her ourselves, as she did not spend much time in prison. The message to the Guild was received in the tales and gossip, and in view of her rotting corpse in their courtyard."

I was finishing up my meal, listening well to the story. "So Lord Nikro drew the Guild's wrath."

"Not immediately," Gavin said. "According to this, the Guild gained back all the fear it had been building with interest over the next ten years."

I blinked. "A decade? What did they do?"

"It began with unexplained deaths in Lord Nikro's extended family, cousins and the like," the necromancer recounted without any apparent emotion. "Unfortunate poisonings and accidents, sometimes a violent death but easily explained by brigands or burglaries gone wrong. Soon the sheer amount of dead created a noticeable pattern. That each death was getting closer and closer to Nikro's family, and mutterings of the witch's curse spread quickly amongst the populace."

My eyes fell on Mourn as Gavin talked; he wasn't giving me any visual cues, but in this part of the tale, I saw the work of a Drow as plainly as the Sun in the Sky, whether or not they blamed it on the dead witch's "curse."

"Despite these deaths, or more likely because of them," Gavin said, "Lord Nikros clasped only more tightly to his power, becoming less lenient and creating more laws to enforce. However this did not dissuade or halt the Guild's actions. He was in his forties when his last heir died and his wife poisoned herself. By then he was nearly broken and the clergy had stepped forward taking on more responsibility to keep the city running. Nikros finally put out a message to meet the Guild master, and was granted an audience."

Mourn had finished eating and pushed his tray to the side, leaning back to watch and listen. I did not know whether Mourn had been the active Guild leader at that time or not, but I knew that he was a founding member with Krithannia and Talov, and the planning would have been his. He glanced at me but his face was like stone, and he looked back at Gavin. 

I did as well, and Gavin chose to read a passage aloud when he had my attention again. He had a good reading voice, enough inflection to avoid sounding like he was droning on, though absolutely none of his personal emotion—if he had any—was apparent.

"'Lord Nikros submitted to our requirements in meeting a Guild member face to face; he was searched and stripped of all, given back that which kept him decent and able to concentrate on our words. His hands were bound and he did not fight. He kneeled when pushed down, and his head hung.

"'Pray you, stop,' he pleaded. 'I know it is the Guild behind the destruction of my lineage, my entire family. I know it is vengeance for the execution of the traitor witch, I know this. I may regret the manner in which I punished her, but not the spirit of it. I could not stand by and watch you corrupt the peace of my city. Surely even you can see this.'

"He spoke thus as he still believed, even now, that stasis was worth preserving at all costs. He had been important in this balance. Now he was not important; his people despised him for failing them, his loved ones died for his choices.

"'I acknowledge your ruthlessness and see why other Lords have made pacts with you. You do not play by public law but you must play by some law to have grown so strong, to be an invisible, invading army in so short a time.

'Let us make a treaty now,' he begged. 'I know I must be next. Spare me, let me rebuild Manalar and regain the faith of my people as the last of my legacy. Help me bring them wealth and safety before I die, and perhaps... I may have another young son who will continue our mutual prosperity after me.'"

Gavin turned a page. "'The Guild need not make 'treaties' with powerless opponents, and Manalar was exposed and ripe for the taking. We dreamed of an unprecedented shift in the land, a city where Guild business was in the open and the old ways to which the Lords clung in their city-states must break and reform into something else, something in which the worth of individuals within the next generation brought true change. Birthright and religion did not determine whether or not any daughter or son could develop their talents, and leadership was forged in the fires of need, not thrust upon the next one birthed, regardless of their ability.

"The Guild planners believed it to be the right time, and we killed the last Lord of Manalar then. We did not need to bargain, and thus the city became the first to have no one left at all to make a god-blood claim to the throne.

"Lord Nikro never returned to his city. His words and his offer would haunt us, however, as the next leadership did indeed forge itself in the fires of need. It already had, in secret, and Bishop Tefornin was a mage well-prepared and powerful, ruthless as the Guild and flawless in his timing to reveal the blessings of Musanlo to a people hungry for stability and prosperity beneath the sun. We saw the face of our next opponent then, and it was much worse than Nikro."

Gavin paused and lifted his eyes to look at Mourn. "The Guild is responsible for Manalar becoming a theocracy, by gutting the nobility."

"We are speaking about three centuries ago, am I right?" I said. "When a certain half-Drow and his partners had a plan?"

One corner of Mourn's mouth lifted, this time in chagrin, as he watched me with calm, reptilian eyes. "Not as much of a plan as we believed it to be, as it turned out. A plan for gaining power and influence, not much plan for what to do with it. But regardless, watching the rise of the Witch Hunters persuaded me that I need not act on my Drow blood at its most aggressive any time I am challenged. There are other ways."

The necromancer caught up to us quickly. "The Guild master mentioned in this chronicle, who met with the doomed Lord, is you."

"Are you surprised, Deathwalker?"

"Not really. I only did not want to assume so on very little fact. But it seems Sirana has figured that out."

"She has. And it seems Graul wanted to give you a hint. He likely recognized your accent."

"Curious to I consider that I am speaking to someone that affected the course of my youth so greatly."

Mourn shook his head. "One of many, I will grant you, but your Ma'ab side has had as much effect as the theocracy."

"Not to mention the Grey Maiden," I added.

Gavin shrugged. "None but the gods can truly see the scope of how one's life came to be, I suppose."

Mourn smiled. "A pity Krithannia is not in on this conversation."

"Mm. But a very few of these texts are what I believe must be scribed in Elfish."

"They are. I am keeping them secured for her."

"She is hiding them? Naughty Pale Elf," I commented with a chuckle.

"You might enjoy a conversation with her as well, Baenar."

"Mm-hm. Did she steal them from her own people?"

"Perhaps."

"And was she involved in events with Lord Nikro and Halete Ebtryne?"

"She was."

"Interesting."

Gavin was listening but also quietly drumming his fingers, contemplating another scroll at which he had been looking when we had popped back in. During a lull, I refocused on him, able to read his face.

"What else is on your mind, Gavin?"

"A few of these manuscripts...the ones chosen by the drake." He paused. "They will take time to translate completely, but I found references to some of the same old passages I had once read at the monastery. Encouraging to find them in a second and third source, it means they are much older than I thought."

"Which passages?"

"I have recited one of them to you before," he told me. "When my skin I first darkened in sunlight, after we left the inn."

"Would you recite that again?" Mourn asked.

Nodding once, Gavin quoted, "'Ye shall know the shepherd, for he shall be as a light in the dark, but also the darkness in the light.' It is not exact here...I cannot tell yet if there is a significance to the changes or if it is simply due differences in translation, but it is similar to what I read before."

"And what is the reference in these passages here? What do they speak of?"

I got the barest feeling that Gavin's hesitation and slightly shift in gaze toward me was because this could lead somewhere personal. My instincts were on high alert as I recalled the mention of some records which had somehow escaped being burned by the monks when Gavin was young. Something related to his mother.

"The guides who walk between two worlds," he said, keeping his eyes on the letters. "As your Elfish handler spoke to me, of the Deathwalkers. She has read these as well?"

Mourn nodded. "Some, as she can understand, or have the time."

"She has studied Manalar's history for decades, at least."

"Yes. Best to study well the history of one's enemy."

"Wait, that's a Manalar text about Deathwalkers?" I asked as something finally clashed to me. "Is it not written in the Ma'ab language?"

Gavin looked at me. "No. Very old Paxian, I think."

I shook my head, trying to chase my thought to its lair. "Is there anything in there that mentions the Ma'ab? Any encroaching influence from the North or some other place far away?"

"Not that I've found as of yet."

"But you have told me that the Grey Maiden can only speak to you through your Ma'ab heritage. Don't these 'Deathwalkers' have to come from the Ma'ab?"

The monk Gavin had been became a little more apparent as he showed me a few more of those same nervous tells from before, when we had stood together down in Brom's cellar amongst the Witch Hunter corpses. He was feeling stress at finding it difficult to both share knowledge and block me from personal memories in any predictable way.

"There is no mention of the Ma'ab," he said flatly, as if he didn't really want to say it. "Only a 'grave mother' and the sun god, both worshipped by whoever wrote this down, implying a people behind it."

I jerked my head. "Musanlo and Nyx?!"

My voice went high enough that Graul started and growled in sleepy irritation before puffing a breath, adjusting his position to curl up on his other side, and going back to sleep. The little beast certainly didn't seem invested in the conversation he had planted with this little "treat hunter" game.

"You follow my thoughts," Gavin commented blandly. "And my surprise. Manalar's ancestry was not always monotheistic."

"Meaning your heritage as a priest to the Greylands exists on both sides," Mourn said with obvious deep thought. "Your sire, as well as your dam."

Gavin shook his head just a bit, enough to hint that this idea did not please him much. I thought I could guess why; he had come to some kind of peace in his understanding that his gifts came solely from his mother, a Ma'ab witch, whose people Nyx herself had told him came from the Greylands. He had never known his mother to grow to hate her, as he still loathed his "magic-less" father, even after poisoning him.

"Did Nyx ever hint that the Ma'ab ancestors used to be her slaves?" I asked curiously. "Before they escaped."

Mourn straightened up noticeably, keeping his mouth closed as his ears perked up, while Gavin blinked at me. 

"Uhm. No. But then, it hasn't been a subject I thought to broach with her, either."

"So they could easily have been from a different Greylord."

"Easily, yes."

"And yet Nyx once held sway in the ley-line worship of Manalar," Mourn rumbled, seeming to catch up even though he was not privy to our conversation in that early morning by that mountain river. "The Deathwalkers by this perspective were native to this world through a god-bond with its people. But you know the Ma'ab have come by a different way?"

Gavin confirmed that for Mourn.

Similar but unrelated death magic? Converged into our time now, and perhaps a long time in coming. So what did this mean? Hadn't Gavin thought that the Ma'ab had brought necromancy to this plane? I guessed he was wrong.

I was beginning to understand Gavin's expression earlier as I realized we could not know anything but what was here with us and in front of us. I knew the necromancer had been just as tempted as I was now, when he had first realized that the Guild master in the journal—Mourn—had been instrumental to the rise of Manalar in its current form, and thus... the circumstances of Gavin's own birth and his treatment as a child. 

The temptation to think or believe one had all the pieces to put a history together, at least the important ones, was great indeed. One had only to simply ignore whatever didn't fit.

"I am only speaking of power connections, Gavin," I said to him now. "Having knowledge of these bonds only makes the web more apparent, when otherwise you only see a strand at a time as it loops around you, eventually binding you blind, to be consumed."

Gavin grunted. "Poetic. I trust that must be an early lesson for Drow children?"

"It is," Mourn confirmed. "And she is right, as far as that goes. Your mistress may only care for the Ma'ab as far as it allowed her to reach you. But you are a monk of Musanlo and, if this text is genuine, you always have been. A resurgence of a previous god-bond lost for some unknown time."

"Does Krithannia know more, then?" Gavin asked. "Of the Deathwalkers? Do you remember them existing?"

Mourn shook his head. "It was before my arrival on the Surface, likely long before. I have never heard talk of a Grave Mother or her Walkers outside of whatever stories Krithannia has collected."

"Have you not read all you possess in your library, then?"

The half-dragon now looked a bit chagrinned. "I have not. I have been busy collecting more than I can read in my travels. In time, perhaps, I will get to them all."

"What language was the passage you read before, at the monastery?" I asked abruptly. "Also old Paxian?"

I'd struck something personal again; I could tell just from the expression of brief anger Gavin flipped at me. I was right about something again. So what was I right about?

It seemed just a bit easier for Gavin to answer this time. "It was in Ma'ab...but translated from something else. By my mother."

I couldn't help but watch every tick on his face. "She discovered stories of the Deathwalkers in her time living with your father?"

"So it would seem." Gavin shifted uncomfortably and wouldn't look at me; he returned to the refuge of his books. "She never named them as Deathwalkers, however. But... she had written it down so as not to lose it, though I do not know what she intended to do with the knowledge. Her own words were joyous but... mad. Incoherent ramblings and delusions."

"Perhaps not all of it," Mourn commented. "You still have her writings?"

"Of course," Gavin said with obvious insult. "Rewritten in my own grimoire. Unfortunately she never specified her exact sources for anything she copied. Your library is actually some of the first physical evidence for me that shows they weren't simply scribbling spawned by an unsettled mind."

Huh. No wonder he sought tomes.

I considered, then, the dagger at my belt and the fact that Innathi had known of Nyx by name, knew it was she whom Gavin served so faithfully. I wondered...would she tell me more of that time, if I asked? What would be her price?

The other two were following their own private thoughts as I glanced between them. Mourn flicked his eyes at me but Gavin wasn't making eye contact with anyone, staring hard at some of the script before him.

Eventually Gavin did raise his gaze to look at me, though; his irises seemed cold as always, and for a moment, I thought he might wish to ask about Innathi as well, remembering as well the connection between his mistress and the ancient Drow...but he also seemed to remember his agreement not to share that with Mourn. 




Surfacing Ch. 14



Of course, I had agreed to give that same information to Mourn as part of his payment anyway. I only hadn't had the time. Now wasn't the worst time to bring it up...

"You are thinking about the relic at my side," I started, and that ended up being both the wrong and right thing to say.

"Are you reading my thoughts?" Gavin asked, too seriously for me to pass it off as a jest. Fortunate that I'd already decided on this path. Or had it decided for me.

"No. Or," I hesitated, "not consciously. If at all."

Mourn grunted with interest. "How long has he known, Sirana?"

"Since you released my compulsion and he saved my child. We became...uhm, linked."

I received a brief nod as Mourn added that to his thoughts. "Pleasure or pain can form the link?"

Gavin didn't miss that. "Did she tell you that, or have you experienced that link firsthand?"

Mourn didn't blink of waver as he shifted his gaze to my ally. "Firsthand. As pleasure."

"Fortunate for you. May we all be on the same page, then? Keeping track of what not to say around the two of you is getting rather difficult and seemingly pointless."

"Please," Mourn lifted a hand in welcome. "Tell me where we stand."

Gavin looked at me first, and I shrugged, starting it for them, and me. "Mourn knows of the 'trauma' with the psionic enemy, and the existence of the red sand dreams, and their source in Underdark, the one with whom I am bonded."

"Oh, good," the grey mage said without smiling or truly sounding pleased. "That will save us some time."

"Where do we begin from there?" Mourn asked.

Gavin pointed back at me. "She was correct, I was thinking about her ancient Baenar relic in regards to the Deathwalkers. I have a question I want to ask the soul inside."

*Ssso ask...*

"So ask," I invited. "She can hear you..." Then a frank chill rose up along my spine, a few of my muscles locked up in response and I gasped. "Wait!"

Oh, goddess, Soul Drinker had been so quiet, I almost forgot!

I stood up quickly and took off my entire belt, not daring to touch the dagger right now. There was a high, faint whine of protest as I placed it down on the other side of the room and came back to sit down on the chaise next to a blinking, groggy Graul. Mourn had a few of his spines up—though I wasn't sure he realized it—and Gavin was watching me very carefully.

"What?" he asked.

I was breathing too fast; I made the conscious effort to slow it down. "I will need to talk with her soon or I will not get peace, but...I've been trying to limit how much she learns about the Underdark."

"She," Mourn said. "The dagger's persona is female?"

"Actually, it is sexless. Just hunger and thirst, really. But 'she' is an ancient Drow soul who still remembers who she was, trapped inside the dagger. She is the one who talks to me. Sometimes."

The half breed looked intrigued and wary simultaneously. "How ancient?"

"Maybe two millennia? I'm estimating. But this is part of your payment."

"In what way?"

I took a breath. My heart still hadn't slowed as much as it should. "She is the connection between my queen and Brom. Her name is Innathi."

Mourn blinked slowly. "You have learned some of the sorcerer's history through the dagger?"

"Confirmed by him," I added.

"Why would he confess such a thing to you?"

"He likes Drow females. Innathi had been the Baenar queen once, and the sorcerer you hate now was her Consort and her General, then known as Cris-ri-phon. Innathi was assassinated by Ishuna, and...I believe he still wants revenge even now for her death."

I had managed to stun the Guild master completely; Mourn sat unmoving as he absorbed this. When he became "unstuck," I noticed first that he looked at Gavin, who nodded that he did know of this before now.

"But," Mourn said very, very softly, "you do not trust Innathi. I have seen you remove the dagger several times when you did not want to feel its influence. Is it just her?"

"No, it is both," I said. "I...they can be very seductive. Especially together. The relic belonged to her, when she lived. Now they seem like one at times."

Both the dragonblood and the mage nodded sagely as if this made a great deal of sense to them; I was relieved I did not have to convince them of the impressionable power of the relic.

"I did not find any other compulsions on you, Sirana," Mourn said. "Did the sorcerer, this 'Cris-ri-phon,' give you any instructions with this dagger?"

I shook my head. "Only that it called out to him to be returned to its people. I almost believe him here, the dagger had been shifting its hilt toward me no matter where it was moved in the room. Like a lodestone."

"He must know his queen is trapped inside," Mourn growled. "And would send it back the Underdark—"

"I am not certain he does," I interrupted. "He gave me no sign. According to Innathi, she still hides from him and the only voice he knows is Soul Drinker. She begged me more than once not to reveal her presence to him. You even said the aura was masking itself, mimicking my sapphire. It does not want to be found or sensed."

"Right now it masks itself. Soul Drinker could change its mind at any time. And if there are two wills directing it..."

I noticed his spines beginning to rise again along his spine, and wondered if that could be a fear response as well as anger.

"Two wills fighting over it," I corrected. "Soul Drinker is simple, it only hungers. Innathi retains her Drow mind with all its complexities. Their wills are very different. Besides, what would you have me do? You even told Talov we could not treat it recklessly."

"Talov?" Gavin asked with a raised brow. He was sitting back and listening.

"You will meet him," Mourn said. "A dwarven Guild leader from Taiding."

"Excellent," the necromancer said with a wry smirk and ironic tone.

Mourn breathed out, stopping the discussion a moment as he got up to send the tray away and adding a pitcher for something to drink. I could appreciate the need; my mouth was tacky, too. We each stayed in our own thoughts for a while, and Mourn came over to the chaise to sit and I made room for him. He reached to scratch Graul gently between the shoulder blades and around the base of his wings, and the drake grumped and rumbled in appreciation without opening his eyes, flicking his tail.

The hybrid was watching me, however. He looked troubled. "I think I must ask for the details of your encounter with the sorcerer, Sirana. Or it will be hard to know the risks."

"You aren't going to like it," I said. "You are asking to hear every detail surrounding more than one rape, according to your own limits."

"I know. Unfortunate, but necessary. If you will, describe it to me, and answer my questions."

I could, I thought; more easily than it would be for him to hear it. A glance at Gavin told me that he wanted the information, too, even if he likely wouldn't react in any way to the fucking. I did not really have to describe the first two couplings, just what I learned before, during, and after them. The only one that needed more detail was the third one, when I'd been struggling against not only him, but his former wife and Soul Drinker as well. I'd lost the battle of wills, and had woken up fucked and afraid.

That proved a little harder to retell than I first assumed, but I did not stop. I'd already decided there was a high possibility that the sorcerer could show up at Manalar. He had said he would be able to feel such an event as we planned all the way at the inn. Would Cris really just stay away from such a powerful collision of conflicting interests? Would he just expect me to return to the inn afterward, as I'd agreed to do?

Not if he had figured out by now that he couldn't track me by my baby, because it wasn't his as well. And if he could not track Soul Drinker, either, and yet he felt Gavin's and my own success at the temple...well, he would know exactly where we were.

Yes, the risks were going to be hard to anticipate; so yes, I had to recall every detail that I could of the incident that left me very wary of the Archmage and anxious enough to seek a way out of that inn.

Simply put, my hired bodyguard needed to know this in order to do his job.

We talked for a long time, well through the next two pitchers of tea, as I not only described to both my male allies what had happened while I was kept in the sorcerer's bedroom, but also some of the dreams I had been having on the Surface, as I might as well follow through on my part of the bargain while I could. I made the links where I saw them, though there were a great many places where I did not have any links or explanation for the symbolism. I included my encounters with Innathi as well.

"Kurn still exists and could be questioned," Mourn murmured toward the end. "Though with some risk to you."

I nodded. "True."

"Interesting," Gavin murmured. He had only drunk half as much liquid as Mourn and I had, but he seemed content. "And in that queen's time, Nyx was a known entity."

"So it would seem. As you said, I would have to ask her about it and any Deathwalkers, or if they came sometime after."

"Perhaps they were not widespread enough for a desert queen to hear about them. And there will be a price." The necromancer nodded slowly, thinking over the rest. "I had not realized that the one you shared the visions with was also the father of your child, Sirana, but of course, I did not ask. And you do not want Innathi to know this yet. Why?"

I shrugged. "Mainly because...I realized she could read my thoughts."

"That is common when communing with a powerful consciousness directly," Gavin said, as if he was teasing me with the obvious. 

But then, he would also know exactly what that was like, wouldn't he?

"Makes sense," I granted then added, "I want to test the limits. I don't want her to read all about the Underdark from me, no more than I would spill all that information to Mourn because he asked."

The half-blood grunted, and I wasn't sure what that was supposed to mean. Gavin was inexplicably quiet while Mourn seemed to be in a light meditation as we continued talking; there was a lot of heat rolling off the dragonblood and I assumed he was controlling his unsettled aggression over the fresh description of the sorcerer's personal "tastes."

"I admit a deep curiosity about these hybrid children that both Innathi and the sorcerer claimed to exist once," the necromancer continued. "Drow and Human. Quite the fertile pair to have produced so many, but a pity that none survived. It would have been interesting to know how long such a race took to age or whether it was fertile to continue on. Even more curious, where did their souls go? The Greylands? Wherever Elven souls go? Moreover what would the significance behind their 'final' destination? It raises many interesting but also troubling questions; perhaps I see why Ishuna took such drastic steps to correct it."

Mourn had lifted his head from his thoughts and gazed at Gavin contemplatively. "No more troubling than all magic-born hybrids." He paused and looked at me. "We should speak with Krithannia before you risk interviewing Innathi about the Deathwalkers."

I straightened up. "Are you going to tell her why we ask?"

"Everything but the Baenar queen and the sorcerer, for now."

"For now?"

He didn't blink, not even the secondary lids. "I retain the freedom to judge when my lieutenants need information to complete their tasks, Sirana."

I bristled. "How do I know...no, how do *you* know she is not just passing all this information about the Guild and about me, Manalar, Gavin and Jael on to the Noldor?"

Mourn looked as insulted as Gavin had earlier when asked about keeping his mother's words, but the mercenary took a breath before speaking much more slowly than I had. 

"I trust her. And we should speak with her now. Let me call her and retrieve her. We will be safe talking here."

Mourn patted Graul and muttered something, receiving a sleepy churr in response, and stood up to walk toward the almost bare wall that he had told Gavin was the one way out. We watched him pass right through the wall, and even I sensed the pulse of magic. I knew I was sulking a bit.

"May I ask about your time out?" Gavin said to me, somehow remaining in his chair even as I was so stiff I had to stand up. "What of the Yungian family you visited?"

"Very orderly," I commented. "But capable fighters. Good food. Lots of daily rituals. Somehow that helps focus their life aura in their hand-to-hand."

"Oh? In what way?"

"I'm not sure. That's what Mourn said. You might be able to say more if you saw it."

"Interesting. But you did not spend your whole time there, or you would not have mentioned a dwarf by his first name."

Oh yes. Talov Baradum.

"He's a ruthless old greybeard," I said, trying to frown but I ended up smirking, unwillingly. "Asking me about my limits as a torturer. I think he was already considering ways of using me."

Gavin actually smiled, just a bit. "He seems an odd contrast to our mercenary."

"Talov called him 'kid' several times. I got the impression he was referring to his relative youth as a dragonblood."

The necromancer nodded. "A kid is a baby goat. Dwarves have been known to keep herds of goats and sheep in the hills. It's a cultural reference."

"Hm."

"And after?"

I shrugged. "He showed me that the Guild employs Witch Hunter-Hunters."

Gavin raised a brow without speaking.

"Just what I said. Men whose focus is to defend or avenge Women who suffer under Witch Hunters, and those Men like them."

"Knowing what I do now about Mourn's involvement with the city's history, and what he said about there being other ways...this makes a great deal of sense. An equal and opposite reaction, perhaps."

I supposed that it did when he said it like that. "And the story Jacob told me about the devil with gold eyes that harassed the Witch Hunters..."

"Yes, I remember," Gavin nodded.

"You heard?"

"I was reading his lips. Something I did often at the monastery."

I smirked. "Well. Stories going back decades, he said. At least. And always sending one back alive to tell the Archbishop, whoever that was at the time."

Gavin considered. "Perhaps this only made them more deadly in their resolve. An odd thing, given Mourn's knowledge of his role in their coming into existence."

"Perhaps it was opportunity, mostly," I said. "Even a patient Dragon would not always be able to hold back what a Drow would see as the right moment to act."

"Indeed. An interesting conflict. He seemed to imply he was acting more Drow when he first reached the surface world. Perhaps the Dragon only came forward later."

"Or the balance shifts with events."

"He seems more 'To'vah' now, although..." Gavin tapped a few of his fingers as he completed his thought, "the implication that he experienced a psionic link with you with pleasure, not pain...?"

I smirked. "Unintended on my part. The link, not the sex."

"You pursued him?"

"Yes."

"And he finally accepted."

"With rules."

"Of course." Gavin paused; I knew he wasn't wondering about the functionality at all. "So his Drow side does still come to the foreground, if the mating instinct is there."

"Mm," I considered. "Close, maybe. But remember that he told us pureblood To'vah can shapeshift into almost any form, and could breed with any race with enough magical boost and enough time."

"Like the sorcerer's 'wild surge.'"

"Yes."

"Curious. I noticed he did not question that part of your description with Brom. Does that mean all dragons could experience a mating call with all races? Or find species mostly irrelevant in the question of sexual lust and desire?"

That sounded weird, somehow. "Well...possible. Although, the Drow paid Mourn's sire in riches, remember."

"Ah, yes. Then I suppose I can only go with your experience, Sirana. Was he more Drow or Dragon in accepting your advances?"

That was a good question. I thought about it.

"I'm not sure," I said finally. "Both were present. He wanted to please me and was almost revering my form; that is an aspect of male Drow. But a few things he did were...definitely not Drow."

"Supporting what you said to me before. You do not understand all his 'signals.'"

"Still true."

"Perhaps these instinctual drives have merged in his mind, then, and the Guild master in this journal is not the same being that we see now. Somewhat as you seem to be merging with those personas that you've unconsciously pulled into your mind. Though your merger is much more unstable at present."

I said dryly, "Thank you, Gavin. What about you? Has your Ma'ab necromancer merged successfully with your priest of Manalar?"

He frowned at me. "I had thought the one was dead. In light of knowing my Mistress was once revered in the temple we are set to destroy, it does give me some things to reconsider. Not that it changes my intent. Only perhaps the reasons behind them."

Indeed.

Mourn returned before long in a swell of darkness before dispelling it, and he stood beside his handler-lieutenant-partner. I noticed he had waited just long enough to note whether they were being targeted upon entry, as if Gavin or I might attack. This was possibly an insult in the right circumstances, but if one was going to appear in a pop of air in the middle of a room without warning... maybe he wouldn't blame anyone for reacting with self-preservation in mind.

The Noldor Guild mistress was still dressed in her black, silver, and blue colors, this time wearing her long boots and her blade weapons. Her long, dark hair was loose now instead of braided—an interesting choice if she expected at all to get into a fight—and her iron eyes were steady on me as she nodded a greeting. 

She also noted my missing belt and seemed to know right where to look: by a bookshelf to the side, about equidistant between us. I had the urge to dive for it and knew a move toward it from her would start an immediate fight. She deliberately and slowly turned her back to where Soul Drinker lay.

"Good to see you both well," she said. "Have you enjoyed your time with the Guild so far?"

Gavin and I glanced at each other, and we each nodded.

Gavin added, "Enjoyment is never expected with any group, but pleasant enough when granted."

Krithannia smiled at him. "And enough to make you suspicious."

"Not much to be suspicious about when goals overlap. No one tells everything."

Graul had awoken upon their arrival and had been taking his time stretching out his legs, neck, and wings with a slightly distracting, massive yawn. As the Pale Elf nodded in acknowledgement of Gavin's statement, the drake padded carefully over to the edge of the chaise and squawked softly; Krithannia responded by stepping over and scratching him under the chin. It seemed to put the little beast on the edge of ecstasy as his eyes and throat fluttered.

"Shiangala," the Noldor crooned at Graul in what I thought was probably genuine affection, confirmed as I glanced at Mourn and saw him smiling without showing his teeth.

There was a long history here, and the three were still allies despite their differences. Four, if I included Talov. Much as I still did not appreciate the Pale Elf complication, I would tread lightly. This was why I did not tend to become possessive about males I had bedded; I did not always want to expend the energy facing off with an elder female once I had gotten my fun.

Challenging the Noldor now for some sort of ill-defined sexual status between us, with Mourn in the middle, was doubly foolish now. First, I could not allow an overly-aggressive cunt—my own—to determine whether I had the help I needed to find my Sisters. Second, I truly doubted Mourn would be anything but irritated at the thought that two bickering Elves would somehow decide his preferences for him. If he was not the kind to enjoy watching such competitive games—and I knew he wasn't—then we would agree it was an unwelcome distraction.




Surfacing Ch. 14



I might even wonder just why I had been so stone-headedly stubborn to have him in the first place. Was it only because he had been reluctant, a challenge, and now that I had had him and was sated, and sore, I wouldn't want him again? It wouldn't be the first time I'd quenched my own fire that way.

Although, there was that tongue of his. If I wanted a challenge, he would remain a difficult one to simply command into bed, yet we had proven we could have pleasure without the mind link or magical surge. I really should know myself well enough by now. Once I was not sore anymore and felt randy once again, Mourn would be enticing, especially if he was nearby.

I could see wanting to play again, yes, but how much would it matter to me if Krithannia did not approve and chose to stand in the way? It could be interesting to see...but I was no longer at Court in the Underdark. I was no longer a bored Noble. Other actions may be required of me to fulfill my goals, regardless of old habits and instincts.

"'Shiangala' sounds familiar," I said. "What does it mean?"

Krithannia blinked her rather large, grey eyes at me but smiled. "It means 'evening shadow' in my tongue. You say it sounds familiar?"

"Just the sound of it," I answered. "The root, perhaps. Shadow. S'sianne. We do not have 'evenings' in the Underdark, but we have many shadows."

Krithannia tilted her head slightly and looked amused. "Do you try to sound mysterious, Sirana?"

"If that appeals to you," I grinned back, knowing there was a mischievous edge to it because I couldn't really help it when she made it so easy. "But it is also self-evident, is it not?"

The Noldor nodded gracefully, still scratching lovingly around Graul's head, and looked at Gavin. "You have done an impressive job teaching Lady Sirana to speak like an articulate Manalara, Master Gavin. This will only help us."

The necromancer, I knew, was not one susceptible to praise. He only shrugged. "A natural consequence of my upbringing. Not planned. Although I can see where it may help." 

He looked at me standing. I only leaned casually against the table where Mourn had eaten earlier, resting and crossing my arms comfortably but still in a direct, unobstructed line to my tool belt. I was content to at least be present for this conversation, to know what the Noldor said to him. I need not direct him.

Gavin considered the patient Pale Elf again as she sat next to Graul and looked up at Mourn, who seemed alright with standing as well, observing the room from an angle to see us all, but to also be farthest away from my tool belt with obstacles in the way, some living, some inanimate. 

I understood the non-verbal efforts both Guild members were affording me in exchange for my not having most of my weapons right to hand as we spoke. The circumstance was accidental, considering the reason I took it off in the first place, but worked very well here. I almost thought we were each as relaxed as we could be.

"I take it you have read many texts here?" Gavin asked the Noldor first, and she nodded.

"Not at will, only when I am allowed to stay. This is still Mourn's lair."

"Sometimes you read them before passing to me to secure for you, Krithannia," the half-blood said wryly, and she did not look irritated as any Drow female would have been at being called on that. 

She winked at him instead. "Of course, would you not do the same?"

He grunted in good humor. 

Gavin waited, expressionless for a beat, and tapped one of the opened books near him. "And this passage? Is there anything else like it?"

Krithannia stood up and stepped around the table, keeping her hands in plain view as she leaned over with some of her dark hair falling over her shoulder. Gavin withdrew his hand so the lock wouldn't touch him, and the Noldor did not react to that as she scanned the page.

"Ah. Graul showed you this."

The drake purred and chuckled almost at the same time, hearing his name. He looked very satisfied with himself.

"Is there anything else like it in this library, that you or Mourn know of?" Gavin asked more exactly, ignoring the drake and staying on topic. I was impressed.

"A small bit more, not much," she granted and straightened up to search the shelves.

The Noldor withdrew one scroll, noted whatever it said on the light metal rod around which it was wrapped, and put that one back without unrolling it. She selected a few more and finally seemed to find the one she needed. She also pulled out a book after gently running her black-gloved fingers over the spines, finding that one much more quickly.

Gavin scooted his chair over, shifting his own selections carefully to make room for her to stand and spread out hers. He looked at the inked symbols and frowned.

"I do not know this script."

"Elder Noldor. Why Graul did not point to these as well. No Human I know can read it."

Indeed? I was curious myself and sidled over to take a look at my cousins' written language. Would I be able to read it?

Krithannia allowed me to look, and at first, the answer was no, I could not read it. But...I almost thought with enough time, I might work out the gist of it. One of the scholars in the Tower, even faster, perhaps once he figured out the patterns. The two Elfish languages were clearly related, though not using the same system, and there were plenty of foreign symbols.

As I stepped back, the Pale Elf asked me, "Thoughts, cousin?"

I suppressed the urge to feel too surprised by the familial reference. "Familiar, but not. Like the word you spoke."

Krithannia smiled. "Does that suggest anything to you?"

Only what I'd already figured out without books, even before meeting Cris-ri-phon. The Drow had once lived on the Surface, and like the different colors of Humans, we may have traded with each other over shared land.

"Could you think our races might have spoken a common language long ago?" she asked.

"Not so long ago, if the roots are still apparent even to a young fighter like Sirana," Gavin said, and I could almost imagine his patience fraying like cord between his skeletal fingers at waiting for a translation about the Deathwalkers. "To'vah has much stranger sounds."

"I would agree," the Noldor answered, "but time is relative to us all."

I waved my hand at the script, channeling Gavin's impatience for him. "So then please translate for the Yun-gar."

I chuckled at the look Gavin gave me as I stepped back. Mourn sighed and shook his head slightly. Krithannia showed beautiful teeth and delicately placed her fingers on the parchment. She also had an attractive reading voice, neither dramatic nor droning, although I still might have started mentally undressing her if it went on too long. I often had my male tutors back home; it was a habit avoided only with the necromancer.

"All that blooms from ecstasy must also wither, transform and return to the pool of Our Niraj, to be reformed in seed and granted a time to bloom again. So it cycles and change is time. Yet always the Parents' seeds will be sought, torn and eaten beyond the nest, or buried to be without time."

Gavin and I looked at each other and I could only hope this made more sense in his understanding of the Common tongue. Krithannia smiled as if she understood and made no apology for her recitation.

"The Eyes and Ears of Niraj will know all patterns to offer the Tasters. The Hands of Niraj will challenge the quick and the bold to reach far outside their Nature, and this way may be found, and may be lost, in as many ways as the Empty Fourth may be exploited. Upon plea of the Eyes and Ears, Guides will walk the borders of light and dark for the steward, forming the river passing to that which is given back to all life."

"And that's just the scroll," I muttered, sounding as baffled as I felt.

Krithannia chuckled. "There are a lot of words that do not translate well to Common, but I did the best I could, and this is abstract even in elder Noldor."

"The Guides walking the borders is your mention of Deathwalkers?" Gavin probed, frowning deeply in concentration.

"It is, but there is other passage is a little easier to translate, and it is newer."

"Wait, what is 'Niraj'?" the grey mage asked.

"Miurag," Mourn said from across the room.

I blinked at him. Why did that sound so familiar...?

"What?" Gavin shook his head. "I don't—"

*...the sound of my breath and my pounding heart filled my ears as I ran on four legs with Gaelan's limp form strapped to my back. Running as fast as I could North. She barely weighed anything at all...*

Running on the Surface of Miurag.

"It's the world," I said. "The whole of it, above, below, the Lake and the Sky is Miurag."

"All this and the ocean," the dragonblood murmured.

"It is real, then," said Gavin. "You've seen it."

Mourn nodded, and I was starting to notice my head spinning suddenly. I had to lean against the table or I would fall. I put my hand to my forehead and waited for the spell to pass. That was odd. Pregnancy, or something else? I would have liked to ask about the "ocean" but the moment had passed me by.

"Miurag refers to the world in To'vah, yes," Krithannia said, not quite managing to hide her surprise at my knowledge of this detail. "But in elder Noldor, it is Niraj."

I nodded.

"They do not sound dissimilar," Gavin commented.

"The Elves learned some of their first magic from the To'vah," Mourn said. "Inevitable that some of it would meld with the spoken language."

Gavin was rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Mm. But it is a different name for this world in every Human tongue I have heard."

"That has been the way of it from the beginning, as my sire taught me. Faster changes when the Yun-gar came into being."

If I did not know better, I would have said that Gavin did not seem impatient anymore; instead, I would have been surprised if he couldn't scribe every word from his conversation into his grimoire later. He seemed to carefully absorb that much of it.

"And the more recent passage?" he finally asked Krithannia, though still without looking her directly in the eyes.

She shifted her book closer to her, bending over it, her eyes jumping over the ink. "This is a record of an unnamed Elf describing a Human ritual of passing to death, as he was able to observe it. It did not mesh well with our own understanding of nature and our own teachings, so he dismisses it as superstition and theater performance along with a lot of Human oddities, and the skeptical tone is present throughout it. But listen to this:

"'They cry long into the night, and my best translation is to beseech the Maiden of Shrouds to send one of her ferrymen to carry the essence of their cherished one to the land of eternal sunlight. I asked a child why they needed a boatman; could they not swim or walk on their own through the Grey Woman's land? 

"This child did not seem to understand my jest, and she answered with a pout to say that it was not the Grave Mother's land anymore, and there were nightmares awaiting with cages and teeth to prevent them from ever seeing their god's Light.

"'You would not send a first-time traveler without a scout, would you?' she told me with such arrogance. 'Mayhap if it was an old soul returning once again and already knew the way, but there are not many of those yet.'

"As she told it, it was as if the Humans had discovered their own way to rebirth, separate of this world and reliant only upon some sun-being, something not even the Dragons and Elves had yet to do. I would be insulted if I did not know it to be wishful tales of a people fearing death too much in their short time.

"So it be, that when I saw a Human woman glowing pale and standing in robes as she exited the forest, as she seemed to talk to spirits that were not there, and as she turn around again as if to expect them to follow, that I have never laughed so strongly at night before. If only I had a coin to toss to the actress."

Krithannia stopped reading and studied Gavin, who was still and silent, staring at the book.

"Where do you get 'Deathwalker' from these passages?" he asked.

"Not from these, but from that one, which you have already studied, I trust?"

"Only words such as a 'shepherd' or 'guide.' And now there is 'boatman' or 'ferry.'"

"I seem to recall you describing the Greylands as the bridge over a river," I said with a smile. "Not impossible to swim across but safer to follow a forged structure, hm?"

"It can be difficult to describe what lay beyond our plane, especially if few have seen it and returned to say," Krithannia said. "I am thinking now, perhaps, that it was a word Mourn used once, in an earlier conversation, and I liked it myself so we use it between us. But my point remains that there were once druids or priests of the Greylords who walked these lands."

"Before the Ma'ab?" I asked bluntly.

"The Ma'ab are recent," the Pale Elf turned to me fully and seemed almost...almost upset. "Very recent. Do you think an empire with their level of aggression could exist as they are for a thousand of years or more, and only hold influence in the northwestern part of the continent?"

Gavin nodded in agreement. "Meaning you suspect the Deathwalkers to be older."

I smirked, wondering a bit about Innathi and Cris-ri-phon's empire, and how aggressive they had been? "When did you first hear of the Ma'ab? Within your lifetime?"

"When I was a youth," the Noldor told me.

"So that is...?"

"Less than five centuries. They began as a cult we wanted nothing to do with, as they dealt only in undeath for their chosen ones. It took time for them to grow in the northeast and venture out, and they fought both Musanlo's Army and the Kurgan at different times, which was fine with us. It has only been in the last century they have become worrisome."

Right around the time they were reported to have captured a Drow Priestess and her Draegloth. But now that I had a better idea of the land around me...our portal to the Surface is far West. How did the Ma'ab find her if they were based far to the Northeast?

Gavin grunted. "Hm. That is recent, I suppose. And these texts? How old are they?"

"Without giving them up to obscurity to the Noldor scholars, I would not find out exactly," Krithannia said with a stubborn line to her back that—all of a sudden—I sort of liked. "At best I could once compare similar language and suppose they were written in the same century or so. Now it is only my memory, as I have not been back to our libraries recently as I am unwelcome."

How very interesting.

Gavin had lifted his gaze up. "So how do they compare?"

The Guild lieutenant—also a linguist and historian, who'd have thought?—exhaled and told him, "All that you have read, excepting the elder scroll, may be placed between eight and twelve centuries. They have been imbued with magic to preserve them but they are relatively recent accounts of something older, long before the Ma'ab. 

"The scroll is considerably more ancient, but I cannot even guess here. Elder Noldor goes back five millennia that I know of, and ...well, I am not an expert in translating it, and I no longer have easy ties to do so."

My grey mage was very quiet following that, seeming to turn inward on his thoughts very far, very quickly... in a way I had seen before. Krithannia seemed inclined to talk further but I nudged her shoulder. She jumped and looked at me and I shook my head, stepping away and toward Mourn and gesturing in the Silent Tongue for her to follow. She blinked, but understood it and obeyed.

"Leave him be a moment," I said softly, waiting until the three Elf-bloods were in a triangle with Graul curled up again but watching us through a cracked eyelid. "Talk to me instead about Jael. Have you heard anything new?"

The Pale Elf breathed out and nodded. "We will be moving soon. We are only waiting for the message that all who have been called are here to meet us for the briefing."

I stiffened. "Is she still alive? Is the Godblood?"

"Yes. For now. Soon, Sirana. Tonight, we leave." 

It was obvious Krithannia had more to say but would not until that briefing. I felt my stomach tighten and could only be thankful that Mourn had given me so many ways to pass the time between then and now.

Meanwhile Gavin had pulled out his own grimoire and was rereading a passage near the beginning, a long finger curled like a claw and pressed to his lips. He muttered quietly to himself, an almost harsh whisper. Krithannia shot me an inquisitive look and I shrugged.

"You do not seem put off by his aura," I said. "You know he works in undeath and blood as well."

Krithannia nodded. "Mourn has observed him. His service to another is genuine, and I suspect you know this better than any."

I tilted my head and narrowed my eyes. What did she mean by that?

She continued. "Knowing this now, do you have any guess why the Ma'ab are coming for Manalar at this very moment?"

I had not anticipated the question, but now that she brought it up... "Well—"

"The ley line has not moved in centuries," Gavin said suddenly from his seat, eyes on his own written words. "Yet the sacred pool is as unstable as its clergy. The Manalara have also forgotten about the stolen relics in their crypts, possibly from before the theocracy, which even now call to those of Ma'ab blood...or so my mother wrote of her one pilgrimage to the temple."

While pregnant with him, or not? I wondered to myself, but I knew better by now to interrupt something like this. Not when it still mattered to me and we were to leave on our own "pilgrimage" when the Sun went down. Fortunately, the Pale Elf was starting from too far behind to interrupt then, either, but I saw her mind working.

The necromancer slowly closed his book, looking off to the side. "The site is ripe for conversion, I think; you say death magic of some kind has been at Manalar before... and with this ley line and those relics, the Ma'ab would be impossible to route quickly if they took a readymade stronghold in the south."

"Yes. Exactly. Positioned perfectly to meet Augran next," Krithannia said as if haunted, and though some of this seemed like new knowledge to her, it probably fit perfectly with her study of their adversaries. "Then it would be Taiding. And the Ma'ab would spread from there."

"What is this about relics, Deathwalker?" Mourn asked immediately after her, straightening his back.

Gavin shrugged. "Spoils of battles in their former Lords' tombs, I suspect. Kurn did say he was looking for a scepter to win his father's approval."

Oh, yes, I remembered that now. Kurn might even know more about that. What about a crown, though? I did not recall any mention of that, not anywhere except Gavin's birth mother and her lingering words.

"And...your mother, Gavin?" Krithannia asked, as I knew she must. "She kept words for you? Who was she?"

As I expected, the necromancer answered her with absolute silence, reading his text with extreme concentration. I waved briefly to draw those strange grey eyes to my hands, and I signed:

*An enemy sorceress, she traveled alone. She joined the Sun god's flock and stayed to bear a son to one of his priests before she died. The mage will not talk about it, he says they are the memories of his Mistress of Shrouds.*

Krithannia was frowning at my hands, and again, I could tell my sign wasn't exact, but Mourn had taught her enough. Or rather, he had taught the Guild. 

I had used only simple words, and yet it felt somehow strange to see confident comprehension in her pale, somewhat familiar face as she nodded and signed back, *Understood.*

I caught Mourn looking at me, then, and I was sort of shocked to see apparent approval...and something else. Gratitude? Not as if he had been anxious, but rather as if he was still watching me to see what I'd do in a given circumstance, even off the streets of Augran. Maybe it was pride.




Surfacing Ch. 15



Author's Notes: This story is erotic fantasy written by Etaski. I reserve the right to be listed as the author of this story, wherever it is posted. If found posted anywhere except Literotica.com with this note attached, this story is posted without my permission. (c) Etaski 2014.

Even if it's almost always about the journey, not the destination, it's still damned satisfying to finally make it to Manalar with this chapter. It's been one year writing to this point. 

This is Act One, and it is long; another record. Please take your time and thank you for reading. :)

******

I relished watching the Yungians and pale Men alike after we, the four "mystics," had sneaked aboard the ship. Some of the pale Guild members were acting—and acting well—as part of the crew, clearly having some experience sailing, but they were aware of us as much as the others, and I could feel the excitement building and noticed small, subtle gestures from most at different times—mostly when they focused on Gavin, Mourn, or me.

Whether it was a pendant, a tattoo, a ring, or weapon, they all had something to touch and murmur their goals, wishes, and prayers. Some of those symbols even had the feel of magic within them—though I had to calm my breath and concentrate to guess which ones, and even then I wasn't trained enough to say what the purpose might be.

Mourn was in his birth form, but cloaked, when we went down below to stay until we got out of the densely populated area. This led to each and every one of our large team to find some reason or excuse to come down below and get a good look at Mourn/Whisper/Lung-jinshen; over half of them had the force of will to speak to him, if only to say they admired his skill and were pleased with his presence. He was inspiring, I realized, and that was a good thing. He would certainly be a rallying point if we needed it, though groups of stealth operators didn't exactly behave the same way units in an army would.

Likewise, Gavin's new reputation brought a few down to approach him, though far fewer seemed to have specific words in mind and even they seemed more unsettled as they looked at him in the dimly lit hold, sometimes enough to make them change their mind about whatever they might have said.

Curious, I watched this play out a few times, and I tried to see Gavin as they were. He was a deeply shadowed figure, quiet and very deliberate when he moved, though only doing so when needed. The rest of the time, he seemed in deep thought or as if he was listening to or watching things that weren't sensible to others. He did not make this obvious in that he did not react in any appreciable way; I just knew him well, that was all.

I could not deny that this made him a strange, aloof figure, but I thought that every Human was seeing something else, something more, that I was not. They were bringing their own stories with them, no doubt, and it had the effect of layering them on the Man in front of them, obscuring him just as an illusion potion would.

It was far less that way for me. Krithannia's likeness and my gender was enough that, though they recognized and respected my weapons, though they believed that I knew how to use them, they would look at me a bit more like a painting or a finely crafted sword. The half-smiles were unconscious most of the time, and my face could have frightened them, but did not. They were fascinated. 

It would have been easy to use this to instill fear in them—all they had to do was stare too long and I would do something threatening and unexpected—but I did not. I let it be because I wasn't the one leading these Men; Mourn was. They were going to help me find Jael, and quickly. Fifteen extra pairs of Human eyes; this was more than worth being stared at like a pretty accessory to Mourn and Gavin, and all the better to surprise them later if I needed to. 

This was good; this mission could be done. Unlike my little Sister's task, this was not suicide. Elder Rausery might even say I'd done it right, collecting competent mercenaries who knew this world so much better than I did. It had been one of her earliest suggestions.

This attention did have one other effect, which I attributed to the successful channeling of my nerves as I breathed well and pictured success in my head: I became aware of my gut and crotch relaxing, the blood flowing more easily, and sensitivity inviting me to touch through my leathers. Anticipation; the desire for release of tension. I had a while yet sitting on this boat, doing nothing.

It probably wouldn't go this way, but nonetheless I imagined showing Jael my delight in her survival afterward, exalted in pulling her out alive and whole. It would probably just in a copse of trees somewhere. I would strip her down and check her over, apply whatever healing was needed. Maybe we'd talk, maybe we wouldn't; her fierce eyes would answer that part for me.

Like in the Cloister, I would hold her a while if needed until she relaxed more, or even slept, but this time I would probe at her orifices, tease her for a long time. Slow. With rising heat and slick, wet noises to accompany her shaking breath and soft gasps. When I rolled her over onto her back, she wouldn't fight or be at all anxious as I spread her legs open and nuzzled her white curls—

"Yo xiou jingku," said Peng Lok to Mourn as he walked by us with a nod, and he averted his eyes when he noticed my hand between my legs.

Well. That was distracting. Why look away so quickly? It wasn't like I was leaking smelly pus from my crotch, nothing of which to be disgusted or afraid. *Bah.*

I looked around and spotted quite a few dark spots in the hold that would provide cover, and I got up to walk farther back and away from the entrance. It was almost Underdark black back here, and I preferred it. The privacy would be nice, too, as I had already observed Humans in Augran avoiding the deepest shadows at the festival. 

I set down my pack and started to remove my belt, both Soul Drinker and my spiders reminding me they were there as I set them down gently.

*Don't worry, I can still reach you.*

The hairs stood up on the back of my neck then and I spun around, founding myself looking up at the half-blood. My eyes had shifted colorless by now; though I could no longer tell his eyes were gold, I could sense the outline of his body and feel the space his tail took up whenever he moved it. I could hear that his mouth was open as he had drawn in a scenting breath; I heard this even with the hiss of the water just outside.

I raised empty hands first, showing no weapons, then signed. *Did I invite you?*

His body language seemed odd, as if he was in a lighter mood over his more brooding one. *As your body guard, I would offer assistance. To keep you well.*

*Very funny.* Then I put my hands on my hips, considering, even as I groaned inwardly at the loose interpretation of our deal. *I just want to climax.*

He nodded, and added, *If you wish to coax yourself alone, Baenar, just sign me away. I will leave."

I stared at his less distinct expression and began to truly notice the intense life sign that he emitted. Again, in the Underdark, most creatures would run away from him, and here he was offering to service me at my will.

I couldn't really tell if he was playing me or just being direct; he didn't normally initiate humor like this. Then I wondered if it mattered; I could be suspicious but I would wind up in the same spot as always: our basic agreement was to aid and guard me.

*Do you get much sex?* I asked him forthright, and he answered as frankly without pause.

*These days, no. I was more curious once, and in her generosity of spirit, Krithannia taught me.*

Some of that early training showed, I thought. Good thing she was up above on the deck at the moment; I certainly wouldn't be interested in her inviting herself in on this as well.

*Do you not want her anymore?* I asked. *Or she, you?*

*Our bond has matured.* He stopped signing, and I realized that this was all he would tell me.

I briefly crossed my arms, then uncrossed them. *But you want me here and now.*

*Yes.*

At least my back was covered there; he had agreed. 

I inhaled, and his scent certainly backed up his literal sign of interest. He smelled good, and I liked that he was keeping this simple. Yet I was willing to bet now that if I had even thought about pressuring him into sneaking back in the dark to service me, he would have been more resistant. 

I had been intending to quickly rub my pleasure out and then return, get it done quickly, but he had followed me. He wanted to play. Interesting how this worked when it was his idea, but it made me wonder just how easily persuaded he thought I was in this regard. Or maybe I was.

Oh well. More important to me in this moment was that I'd regret refusing an offer from him if we ended up dying on this mission.

*Quick, and quiet. No knot, no link.*

He nodded and signed an affirmative. *Best remove your pendant.*

My stomach fluttered as I did so to add to my pack; the sudden nerves heightened the excitement, as I couldn't be sure I wouldn't get linked or knotted. Now this felt more dangerous, beyond being caught by Guild eyes. I kind of liked it; better than huddling on the ground looking out the window.

I wanted to take charge, at least at first. *So sit on the crate, 'body' guard. Trousers down.*

I could tell he was grinning as he decided to take the order as given, keeping the silence even as he lifted and adjusted the crate forward; this way he could keep his sliders crossed at his back and had space for his tail and spines behind him. Like me, he removed his belt and the gear attached in order to lower his pants, but he still wore his harness and his cloak.

This was fine with me; I still had my leather armor and my own cloak, which I swept to the side after I'd turned around to sit on his lap with my back to his chest, my legs wide and on the outside of his. His bare erection was growing fast, hot and harder and longer as it pressed against my leather-clad ass. I wriggled slowly against it, earning a happy flick of his tongue along the ridge of my ear, which made me shudder.

We each took one side at my hips, tugging and loosening the leather ties, and though our breath was deepening, it remained quiet. I squirmed in his lap, his thick arms on either side helping to keep me in upright, and I enjoyed the feeling of my ass slowly exposed to the cool, damp air as I pulled my leathers down...only to be met with the heat of an engorged erection pressed to my cheeks like a branding iron.

Yes, this would be better than rubbing myself alone...

Now I just had to get that thing pointed toward the front side. I lifted my legs to brace my heels just above his knees, intending to lift my ass up—and I was quite glad that if he had to wear his harness that I hadn't removed my top armor.

As he prepared himself for me to shift, and I had just barely lifted my ass up, I felt Mourn's broad, dry palms and the light dragging of his claws run along the back of my upper thighs and my skin seemed to tingle. Then both his hands cupped and squeezed my rump greedily as he held me up, which surprised me though the added support was welcome. I could more easily reach between my thighs to drag his pole forward and settle back down, snugging his length along my snatch and rubbing it for him, using him to rub my clit and netherlips. Oh, yes.

Mourn started making that voiceless, airy rattle in his throat again, and it still didn't sound like anything except a threat to me in the dark, but I could suppose it would keep curious sailors away. I felt hot breath puffing at the back of my neck, and every so often a soft lick, and tiny bumps burst out and spread over my thighs and ass as his tail coiled slowly, very slowly, around my left leg as if it was an Underdark water dweller catching sleepy prey unaware. My heart sped up and my breath shook a little as I had to focus harder to keep myself quiet.

The tail would inch closer to my center over time, I knew, but he still avoided using his hands near such tender flesh, never in the habit of fondling a female's crotch with those thick, taloned fingers. No doubt a lesson from Krithannia. The pads of those fingers might be rather nice, though.

I reached for his right wrist, knowing his right hand was dominant; he resisted a moment, probably confusion or needing to come out of his pleasure. He let go of my ass and allowed me to bring his arm around me and his hand to where our sexes were mashed together, his cock slimed by my cunt as I anticipated taking it inside.

I felt a swell and a pulse inside me which turned into a fine and familiar ache, and though Mourn first used his hand to stroke his own knobby arousal, stimulating me indirectly, I tapped the back of his hand a few times, peeling his hand off his cock and placing it directly on my hot slit. The half-blood inhaled slowly at my neck but otherwise held still, waiting on me to instruct him, and I covered his hand—partly—with my own and pressed on his fingers to move them around in a very slow circle.

His claws were ever-present, occasionally prodding or scraping along the flesh of my spread thighs or mounted ass, and the tiny twinges and stings were rather enjoyable. My heels were still braced above his knees, my pants down to the knees and my back leaned back against him. I used his hand to pinpoint more exact pleasure to my swollen gash until he started repeating a few of the patterns I'd shown him on his own.

Ha. He did know how; he had only been holding himself back. Maybe he had thought the two Elves were more different—and with his memories, I could see why— but he'd massaged pussy basically like this before. I turned my head and smiled, moving my hips against him, my eyes closed as the heat and musky humidity began to envelop us. Mourn surprised me by nuzzling my cheek, inhaling my scent again as he moved his hand slowly between my thighs.

I didn't think we had made any appreciable noise yet, but I was starting to notice the movement of the ship more as we worked a bit harder to remain upright and balanced.

Finally I reached between us to stroke his erection again, tugging away his slick fingers with my other hand, and pushed myself off his knees to lift my hips up, wedging the head up just up inside my twat, prepared to sit down again and take in all of him that I could...

I stopped as Mourn wrapped his arms around my ribs and beneath my arms, supporting me and holding me still at the same time. He pushed up to sink just a little deeper into me, not a hard jab but a slow, careful press. It had not been that long since I'd taken his knot and his tail, and I felt some stinging as my pussy stretched around him again but that only added spice to the sensation.

One large hand cupped my buttock again, the other still around my middle, and as I tried to press down to take more, he countered some of my effort even against the movement of the ship, and only another finger-width when in. 

I realized through my haze of lust and growing frustration that Mourn controlled a lot more of the pace, even with me on top, but only because of his strength. I wasn't really used to anyone being physically capable of using me as a life-sized stroke toy. It was possible he could bounce me on his lap until he came before pulling me off, and that I would have no more control than I'd had with Cris. 

I stiffened a little at those thoughts, but Mourn breathed a soft hush and lightly tickled my other ear most pleasurably with his tongue, edging it in a way that made my nipples hard beneath the black leather. He did not try to force my body to act any particular way, except in that he braced it above him and the next time I pressed down. He was merely slowing the descent again, fondling my ass at the same time. 

I could get agitated at being held back this way...or I could focus on the tease and the deliberate meeting of wills, knowing it wasn't anything I did not already enjoy with my Sisters. 

Especially in silence and stealth. I remembered wearing Gaelan's Feldeu and being buried in her ass as Jaunda knocked on the door, the intense pleasure and slow penetration then.

...okay, so why the hurry to take him all at once?

*More,* I signed clumsily with one hand, and pressed my hips down to take just another finger-width of cock before squeezing my muscles around him, and he puffed another near-scalding breath into my hair, his teeth clicking subtly near my ear.

Working together, rolling with the water, I thought we had taken the longest time in my memory filling my pussy; I would have never been able to maintain the strain to hold myself suspended above him like this without Mourn's added strength. Our mixed scents were so thick around us that I genuinely did not understand how someone had not already followed his or her nose to find us here. 

We trembled against one another and my eyes drooped with the languid saturation of my senses; I had to think even our auras were somehow in sync by now. If not the scent, then surely the taste of magic was noticeable to those beyond our concealing shadow...

Yet no one entered the dark.

The first time Mourn helped lift me most of the way up in one long stroke before letting me settle as far down as I could go—this first, full-length thrust in what was probably my least-frantic coupling I could recall—it forced my breath out and I wanted to hum in approval for how good it felt!

I kept silence, however, and initiated another such stroke; Mourn finally seemed ready to fuck, as he not only allowed it but I felt the tip of his tail flutter against my bare thigh before it coiled further around and shifted higher, as I knew it would as his excitement grew.

The slick sounds from my pussy as I rode the beast were unavoidable, but the slower pace made them minimal. Anyone capable of seeing in the dark would probably see a vibrantly wet rod pumping in and out of view between splayed legs. I bit my lip as I pictured this, keeping the accompanying chuckle solely inside my mind.

I could feel that the base of Mourn's cock was fully flared by this point, snugging up against my lips as we moved together, and for a few moments I reconsidered taking it in again. It would be hot, and so intense, added on top of what I felt now. I tested a few thrusts to try to hint, to encourage him to go farther, but not only did he start countering me again, but he growled so low in my ear that I thought I felt the vibrations in my teeth over actually hearing it.

Hmph. Game spoiler.

I started messing with his tail, then, tugging and pulling at it as I turned my head to one side, leaning to nip him on the tip of his nose. It was enough of a sign that allowed his tail to be pulled loose, and I next tucked it beneath my ass. He wordlessly agreed to give me a little more as the tip tickled my netherhole, running around and around the rim between my spread cheeks. He also bit the hair at my nape again and we fucked a bit harder, making just a bit more noise.

The rise of sensation in my gut seemed unavoidable, hurtling to overtake me just the way I liked it. I prepared to come. Mourn was breathing harder through his nostrils, muffled a bit by my hair, and he sounded, and felt, close as the triangular head inside me flared a bit. The hybrid climaxed just before I did, taking a firmer bite on the base of my braid and his entire body tensing. His aura swelled as he kept his silence, his breath stopping as his cock seemed to flex inside me. I imagined his seed pumping and spurting as violently as he had in my mouth and all over my chest earlier that day.

This only made my peak that much better.

My pussy clutched down on him in rhythm as lights seemed to flash behind my eyes and I strained to wring every bit of pleasure out of his very fun, male form. Part of my elation as I began to come down, feeling the heat bleed off me as I caught my breath, was that I was sure I felt the satisfying buzz of mingled auras and strong magic...but my head didn't hurt.




Surfacing Ch. 15



We hadn't linked, either in body or mind. It had been mutual pleasure; not forced, uncontrolled bonding.

Mourn had probably been right to refuse to stuff his knot into me again; he had an annoying amount of self-control, even during sex. Or maybe he was more likely to lose control if he did that. Maybe he'd been as unnerved from the mind link as I was but was better at hiding it. At least we both were stubborn enough to try again and again to see if we could couple without that happening.

Two out of three times said we could.

I exhaled nice and slow, patting Mourn's arm still around me as his cock pulsed softly, slowly beginning to shrink inside my twat. Oh, goddess-of-fuck, I had needed that.

He nuzzled the back of my neck again; I thought he might have kissed it, but it was too quick to say. We waited until he'd slipped out of me before I eased stiffly to regain my feet on the rocking boat. I nearly fell with my pants around my knees, but Mourn caught and steadied me. Damned water.

I had the spare cloths in my pack and handed one to him to wipe off as I did the same. When I reached out for it when he was finished, he refused.

*I shall clean it and return it to you,* he signed to me.

I quirked a brow but remembered a few other cloths with male essence on them that could be used in magic—he knew exactly what Kerse had done, after all—and I nodded agreement. Maybe he was only being careful.

Hm, maybe that was even why he didn't have much sex nowadays?

*Spell component?* I signed, testing him.

*Possible,* he granted. *I try not to leave large, easy collections of my body fluids about, usually blood but certainly seed.*

For the first time, I wondered how likely it was that Mourn had been watching me watching Kurn masturbate that one time? Had he seen me collecting some of the Ma'ab spunk from the tree? I almost felt embarrassed, since I really didn't know why I did that. Yet another reason Mourn may have delayed or had even decided to avoid coupling with me.

*Did your Priestess-Matrons ever use them for spellcraft?" I asked.

He nodded but said no more, and I focused on righting my clothing rather than broaching more old memories. I let him keep the cloth to wash on his own, as he'd been doing even at the inn. The one with Kurn's spending on it was still at the bottom of a pouch at my belt.

Hm.

Mourn gestured for my attention again, which took me a moment to give him, but I soon wrenched my thoughts from that as I donned my belt.

*I remember the last time you communed with Soul Drinker,* the hybrid signed, *you were very aroused coming out of it.*

I shrugged briefly, resetting my belt again after an adjustment. Finally freeing my hands, I answered, *Only because Innathi was. Not my idea or my choice.*

*But you had not had release before that. You were frustrated.*

I started to be suspicious. *I suppose.*

Watching his face in negative light was interesting when he wanted me to follow his trail of thought; it reminded me of Graul somehow, shadowy and impish, but without the smirking muzzle.

*I am satisfied now,* I signed, following the logical path. *So what are you saying? I can commune with better self-control now?*

Mourn nodded once. *If Innathi knows anything of the Deathwalkers at Manalar before the Ma'ab, this may be your only time to speak with her in safety, without dangerous distraction.*

I sensed pure welcome at my side as my hand got close to the hilt with my own thought to draw it. I had "promised" the long-dead queen I would return to her willingly, and I had told Mourn that in his library just before the briefing. Agreements were always to be honored, according to him. It still depended on the situation for me, but...I knew very well there was an inevitable cost for breaking this one.

Innathi had been rather patient so far as well; the dagger itself always tempting, yes, but not once had the two wills reached out to threaten me as they had before, or to try to compel me to draw, not since my conflict with them the last time I'd been on a boat.

"You might also ask Kurn about the Ma'ab relics still on the possession of their enemies,* Mourn added.

I couldn't really deny that practicality, either. With a fuck and a few signs, Mourn made any further procrastination of drawing the dagger an exercise in fearful futility.

"You planned this,* I signed simply.

*You walked here on your own.*

*Mere opportunity?*

*Call it fortune.*

*Not when Drow blood is involved.*

He smiled a bit. *But Dragon is only fortune to the young races.*

*So say you.*

Though I was almost pouting, I knew Mourn was right nonetheless; I did feel relaxed from the sex. I felt good, any tension was gone for now. Maybe this was the time to do it, to make sure that if I needed to draw Soul Drinker during the coming mission, then they would be less likely to turn on me.

I nodded after I considered. *Very well. Will you watch me? Do not touch me, but keep me from doing anything regretful with the dagger.*

He nodded. *That is why I am here.*

Alright then. I could do this. 

My mind returned to the cloth with Kurn's seed on it again...and I wondered...

I pulled that long-forgotten stain out of its pouch, unfolded the stiff material, and considered it a moment, wonderful if it mattered where it was. I'd never tried anything like this before but Cris had said, with this relic, most of everything came from the will of the user anyway.

I wrapped the semen-stained cloth around the hilt as I stepped away from Mourn, and I focused a few moments before drawing the blade once again in complete dark, after such a long spell of avoiding it.

*****

If, in the elder Noldor text, change is time, then I knew why I disliked communing with the dagger and the reigning soul within it. There was no apparent change where it should be, and I felt cut off from time like a blade cutting a leather thong. I had all the time I could desire—I could live multiple lifetimes and still return in time to save Jael—but it didn't guarantee that I would remember any change worth having.

It made me wonder if that might be why Gavin seemed older, quicker in making far-reaching connections, and at a mere twenty-six years old, when some of the Guild members going with us were that age and younger and yet seemed...so different.

They lived their life fully in their time; Gavin lived part of his outside of it.

I stood again over blue sands at night with Stars above me, my feet bare upon sand-brushed, flat stone. Though I was not wearing the tight, bed-slave wrap of before, neither was I wearing my uniform, red or otherwise. The gown was again silky, white, and long, but for showing my arms bare to the shoulder. There were no slits on the side, affording my form more mystery to the eye, but also less flexibility and the skirt would get in my way in any struggle.

I thought my belly was showing my pregnancy a lot more than it should have been. I looked more than half-way through my time, the bump of my belly firm and obvious beneath white silk, if not shifting my center of weight quite yet. 

"Welcome back, my warrior. You look beautiful." 

I turned, and Innathi smiled at me, lifting herself up from her chaise with hypnotic grace to gain her feet.

"Thank you for returning. I believe the dragon child is a good influence on you. If I may say, he is a marvelous choice, Sirana. I approve. He is a powerful source of strength to have by your side. He even reminds me a bit of my own Cris when we first met."

My mouth quirked. "I'm sure the 'dragon child' would be delighted with the comparison."

Innathi's face was relaxed, pleased, even humorous. Much more beautiful than it had been the last time we talked. "Ah. Aware of my once-husband, is he?"

"With adversarial intent."

Innathi chuckled as she approached me, stopping several paces away, as she always did. I looked around atop the pyramid, but we were alone for the moment; Kurn wasn't here. Not that I could see or sense, anyway.

"Well," she said in rich, regal tones, "Cris always did draw challengers. Mostly of some power who refused to serve him in some capacity. Only so many males can snarl within a ring before they begin culling each other. I see no reason for this to change over time."

I tilted my head at this. "Drow males, too?"

"Of course." She didn't blink, but she did smile, a playful dimple appearing on one cheek. "Always to impress and draw a female's choice. Only so many children to be born out of so many wombs, Sirana, they know this; as often as they can be ready to couple, his role is finished once he plants the seed. 

"As for us... why settle for a weak sire to make weak children? You already feel the beginning, but the longer you carry, the more you will discover the true cost of bringing forth new life, something the males will never understand. I do hope you chose your sire well."

I narrowed my eyes and focused only on her beauty, keeping my mind blank on the entire subject of sires. I spoke only when she showed some small smirk at her ruse failing.

"Your General would have given me no choice on this, your grace."

"Ah, yes." She lifted one wrist to slowly spin an arm band so she could see the serpent's jeweled eyes; her face was no longer smiling. "The other side of the balance. Force and trickery, when the male is finished waiting on the female to choose. A high risk attempt to breed, and foolish overall. The female can and will reject any offspring from forced coupling, born or not, and the easily distracted male often does not care after having won a single encounter."

She looked up at me with a frown. "An immense waste of resources, something we could not afford in a desert. I enjoyed adding royal punishment to such short-sighted stupidity within my people."

Satisfying to hear, but I couldn't help but wonder how the Drow of Innathi's time would define "force and trickery" to blame the male taking the choice away from the female? Certainly sometimes the crime would be clear, but other times...it would not be. I knew how stories and perception could vary. It seemed very flexible.

But I smirked; even as she condemned Cris's actions on me, she had also forced me to take advantage of this as his "weakness." It would cause me lingering trouble, I knew, but I could only hope it would be less than any unwanted child left in my womb. 

Neither of these powerful minds had acted well, from where I stood. But then, I had not been strong enough to overcome the two of them together; they had won that single encounter. Punishment for that waste was one thing, but it did not change that there would always be those where the most appealing option was to test the limits, and it would not change the costs for all of those who survived.

I still wouldn't know the real cost of that clash to my full-blood Drow baby for some time yet.

"Are you calling your long-lived sorcerer a short-sighted idiot?" I asked with pleasurable irony.

Innathi smiled again; it was almost a grin. "Perhaps I am. He was not so before, but he has become complacent. The time will come when he loses a challenge from a younger male. Perhaps your dragon child, if he does not act too soon."

"How soon is too soon?"

Innathi only smiled at me and did not answer. There was a pause where I had time to think, and something else kind of bothered me about what she had said of royal punishments...

"Single encounter," I said. "Pregnancies came so easily, then?"

The queen's smile lowered some and she reconsidered her own words. Finally she nodded. "It could be so, surely. It only required a successful and powerful enough surge to blend the auras to create a new one. There are ways to cause dissonance in the song, of course, likewise to prevent it, and that was part of the challenge for us as a race."

"Meaning if a male forcing her was successful impregnating her, then she must have wanted it and was not fighting it?"

Innathi shook her head. "No. Only that his will and aura, his magic, dominated for long enough to overwhelm hers. I believe you have experienced that. Two auras blending does not assume consent. Had you not already been with child, Cris would have impregnated you for certain, and we both know you would not have wanted it." 

At my resentful pause, she asked, "Pregnancies are not easy for our kind now, then?"

I shrugged. "It can take multiple attempts with a chosen consort. I don't know that magic is necessary. I was taught to be aware of a fertility cycle in physical signs."

Innathi looked confused. "Odd. We are a magical race. It does take magic to breed more magic, Sirana."

I shook my head. "The more powerful of us use magic to enhance their chances, as I understand. But we do not have to. They are spaced a decade or so apart, though."

"Not by choice?"

I shook my head. "No, just how it happens from constant effort. And plenty of coupling."

Ishuna's sister did not look pleased as she absorbed this, breaking out her gaze to look out across the Moonlit sand. I tried asking a following question, but she ignored it, and the quiet went on long enough that I sighed and decided to get to the point for which I came. 

"The necromancer had a question for you earlier."

The ancient queen nodded, looking back at me. "Yes, I know."

She gestured me an invitation to sit upon the gilded, blood-red chaise. I watched as a separate seat appeared out of thin, dry air and a brief swirl of sand. It wasn't a straight-backed throne as I might have expected, but a cushioned cradle suspended at four corners by golden poles.

I watched Innathi recline, the slits in her skirt allowing the material to fall between her legs and leave them bare up to her thighs. She was alluring and very elegant. She sighed and gestured again, a simple open palm indicating the chaise.

"Will it take a very long time to answer, then?" I asked lightly, accepting the seat even as I hoped for an answer in the negative.

"No," Innathi said, "but I have not yet decided to answer."

I dropped a hand down onto my thigh. "Oh, fuck me..."

"What was that, Sirana?"

It was odd watching her disapprove and want to laugh at the same time.

"I think I've been away from Court too long," I said, trying not to sound snide or sarcastic. "So, what do you want in exchange for your answer, your grace?"

Her dark red eyes seemed to reflect the Starlight in the way they twinkled. "You wish to forego courtesies to a guest?"

"I am your soul warrior," I reminded her. "I am to fulfil your ultimate desire. I am no guest. So yes, if it pleases you to skip—"

Innathi had already shrugged by this point, and I stopped as I saw a large shadow out of my periphery. I looked to see someone walking up the steps of the pyramid; hollow, shrieking voices seemed to cling to him like wisps of smoke, but those faded as soon as his big foot landed on the uppermost platform. His dark eyes were vacant, and he was as pale and nude as the last time I saw him.

"You do not mind if I claim some of those niceties for myself as we talk, then?" Innathi asked, and she snapped her fingers, which almost cracked like thunder, just not as loud.

She stretched out her bare, left foot adorned with a single toe ring, and Kurn kneeled down on all fours so that she could rest it on his back as he sniffed and nuzzled at her dangling right foot like a curious puppy. His cock was still pierced with the blue-stone ring, and it was flaccid at the moment.

She petted the white skin and hard muscles of the Ma'ab's back with the soft inner sole of her black foot and murmured a word to him which sounded a little like Cris had uttered while fucking me on his bed. Only then did Kurn open his mouth and begin gently sucking on her toes with his eyes closed. I checked to see if his prick had started to swell yet; it hadn't.

Innathi looked at me, seeming proud, and as thought she felt genuine pleasure at what my old adversary was doing for her. "Now...your question? What would you ask?"

"What was Nyx's role during the time of your empire?" I asked.

Her eyes fluttered a bit with the toe-licking but her chuckle was for me. "Very good, Sirana. Very precise. But that is what your Gavin wants to know. I would bet you would rather know how I knew it was her in the first place, trapped here as I am."

I paused; it was tempting to ask for both, but then I could be drawn easily away from either direction. "You are correct, your grace, but that is not the question I am asking now."

She arched a brow. "I hope you asked a good price from him. Truly, you want the ancient past over present day?"

"Until now, you have been unable to discern much difference, royal queen."

She stiffened and frowned at me, her toes digging a little into Kurn's back. Her face smoothed quickly, however. "Meaning you doubt my motive in counseling my warrior."

"Meaning I depend on my present allies to see me on my way home. Which also benefits you."

"I wager you were taught it unwise to 'depend' on anyone during a mission, Red Sister."

"I have found some missions require it, your grace. Any means necessary."

She deigned to smile again. "You have found the child of Ishuna's line, yes? Jael of House Aurenthin. You were searching for her, now you've found her."

I stroked a hand over my more distended belly unconsciously. "I know where she is. I have not laid eyes on her. And I will not succeed in recovering her without the necromancer or the dragon child."

"Hm. And will you hear what I will ask in trade for your question?"

I breathed out, watching Kurn draw back his lips to show his teeth nibbling on Innathi's big toe. "I will, your grace. Like for like, only. Knowledge for knowledge."

Again the queen wasn't pleased, seeming to have almost forgotten about her licking servant polishing her toe rings. "I want knowledge in exchange for an action."

"No. You already have that."

Because even Gavin had known there would be something.

"Can you do without an answer entirely?" she asked testily.

"If necessary."

"Then so be it. I have decided. I will not answer it."

"Very well. I may ask Nyx myself at some point, then."

She blinked, then shook her head as if she had misheard. For whatever reason she decided to take me at my word. "If you mean through the 'Deathwalker,' the Maiden of Shrouds does not speak plainly as I can, Sirana. She is forever reading the skeins of fate and caught in the endless loop of birth and death, speaking through oracles like that mortal boy she claimed once but has allowed to cross back over. I suggest again, you are asking the wrong question."

"Then may your soul warrior ask another question, Innathi?"

"Certainly."

"You have my gratitude. Kurn, how many Ma'ab relics are at Manalar?"

He stopped sucking the elder Drow's toes long enough to glance at me. He said, "Two. A scepter and a crown."

The rage on the dead queen's face was immediate, and powerful. Her power flared. "Da'Simayshi!"

"Head down, Kurn," I added.

He obeyed either, or both, female voices as we overlapped; he shivered and looked at the sand-sprinkled stone. I smiled at my hostess. She was sitting up straighter in her suspended cradle, and the difficulty of doing it gracefully was probably something she rued.

"How have you done this, Sirana?" she hissed.

I shrugged. "Similar to how I invited myself here the second time after you threw me out. Do you remember what happened the third time, when you demanded to speak to me again?"

Her eyes narrowed and she stood up out of her chair entirely, waving a hand so that it dissolved into sand and blew away before sitting directly on the Ma'ab's crouched form. He braced himself against the added weight but did not complain.

"You did not want control of him then," she said in a low, hollow voice that reminded me of some of the competing females back home.




Surfacing Ch. 15



"Control of Kurn is not what you offered, as I recall. You wanted control of us both."

Innathi looked a little bewildered and said nothing. Had she simply been crazy then, influenced by the influx of disintegrating souls until there reached a new equilibrium in this "elsewhere"? She seemed much more in control now.

I shrugged. "You granted that I could ask another question, your grace."

She smirked. "I am out of practice in ways of the Court as well, apparently."

"And this question is very much present day."

"So I deduce." 

She crossed one leg over another and straightened her back, moving her hips to adjust against Kurn's spine as she laid her palms on his shoulder and the small of his back. She couldn't have been more possessive if she'd simply told me, "He's mine."

Neither of my allies would be pleased if I pissed off the queen in the dagger enough to come out of it with nothing, but they had both acknowledged the risk to myself in doing this. The last time I had been pressured to accept a meeting and an agreement, I'd also been controlled and molested, nearly raped. In that situation, Mourn and I would both agree on the word, no matter that I was "very wet" when I came out of it.

The consequence of that use of force had been to agree to bring Innathi back with me to the Underdark. I did not yet have a good plan to avoid doing so.

"I go now to recover Jael and to destroy Manalar," I said, breaking the moment of silence. "After that, pending any necessary tasks, we will be free to return to the Underdark. Will you and Soul Drinker help see me successful if I call on you, or will you distract and obstruct me, thus killing me in battle?"

Innathi considered me in silence before answering.

"We must help you, child," she said, more softly as her anger seemed to have settled. "You are the carrier of the dagger. Feed it, and Soul Drinker will be content. Take me to my sister, do not betray me, and I will continue to protect you from its worst influence, as I have been doing."

I nodded. "Then until I can return, your grace, our agreement stands."

I willed my true body to sheath the dagger then, not knowing any more of the ancient past of Miurag than I did when I'd drawn it.

But I had learned two things, nonetheless. I could influence Kurn in that elsewhere and, if nothing else, I could walk away.

******

We disembarked a good six hours after we'd left, and though I had no real way to know how far South we had sailed down the river. In that time, Mourn had taken a very serious role in teaching Gavin basic Guild hand signals, and I watched, so I would not only know some of my mage's new vocabulary, but...so I could be quite impressed with how quickly Gavin seemed to be picking it up.

It was still deep into night when we left the ship, and more than one Guild member thanked the solitary dwarf mage on board for "sending us at speed." The short male nodded acknowledgement but remained behind as our teams collected onto shore in clusters, via the smaller shore boat.

I looked around as we waited, having been among the first to land so Mourn could watch for trouble. There was nothing here, no buildings, no dock, only a sparse number of trees amongst lines of thick bush and tall grass. The Stars were bright overhead and only the smaller Moon was starting to rise.

There was also no other light, and not one lantern had been lit as it had been the last time we had hauled Gavin's mare through water and aboard a ship at Port Fortnight. The one, single magical spell known by every Guild member chosen for this mission was the magical ability to see in the dark. Just has Mourn had "instructed" Gavin, the half-blood was no doubt the source of its use in the Guild, and this told me that they definitely favored recruiting Humans with magical potential, long after Halete was killed.

Each and every assassin present would have had some mage training, and had worked to earn an incredible advantage over every non-magical Human alive. Perhaps that was why these fifteen Men were primed for promotion. I wondered what else they knew how to do?

The first skill I saw in practice was purely physical, yet impressive nonetheless. The horses promised for our use weren't here in this spot; we would be jogging through the night to hit the hidden location protecting our "burner" horses. It was becoming harder to come by the animals as tension had risen in the region, as settlement routines were disrupted by approaching war.

Gavin would ride his mare, and that was probably the only reason this part of the plan was feasible; everyone else would be going at a sustainable jog in the dark. The timing of the boat made a bit more sense to me now: not only would fewer eyes witness this first leg of our fast track, but if we had them waiting for us here, riding fast in the dark would probably just mean a lot of broken horse limbs and thrown riders. We'd have to sit until Sunrise and make no distance.

I hadn't realized until after we started that Mourn hadn't insulted me by asking if I needed to be carried, either by him or Gavin's mare. This was primarily because of the looks I got from Reprisal as they watched me run. The Human Men had longer legs, sure, but I had been climbing around in the thinner air of the mountains for months, and I was well-fed. Baby or not, I could keep up, though after we'd gotten started, I was the first to get hungry. Stubbornly I just munched a pressed travel mix and kept going.

The warm scent of the night was lush in a way I had not experienced yet. Many of the bushes were in bloom and I saw whole carpets of nighttime shades in blue, purple, pink, and, I dared to think, yellow which implied many more patches of wildflowers. I heard no songbirds this time of night, but there were still insects aplenty working, sounding for mates, and being eaten by bats and chirping frogs. I spotted several small rodents hunted by night-hunting raptors with strangely round heads. My spiders even seemed excited by all the activity in the wide expanse and density of this wilderness.

*Quiet night,* one of the Guild signed to another, breathing broad and deep.

*Yes, empty. A good thing,* he replied.

My jaw nearly went slack. Gavin's mare definitely was making the most noise—although it was still considerably less than a living, breathing, and snorting one would have been—but it certainly wasn't quiet out there even had their boots not been carrying across the earth. They weren't that deaf, were they?

Then again, I reminded myself, I often heard notable sounds well before Gavin or Rithal or the Ma'ab ever had. My ally had even considered me an advance warning tool. The only other one now who would compete with me on that level was Mourn.

The hills rolled us by, not as flat as the Midway but not nearly as tasking as the mountains. The air moved to cool us and the Sky remained clear for us as Moons began to rise. Mourn handed me a piece of dried meat at one point, similar to one most of the others pulled out at some point, and I did not even check it for poison before holding it between my teeth to soften as I jogged, enjoying the salt and spiced flavor of the preserved flesh. I slowly grounded it down into mulch and we'd crossed four more hills before I'd swallowed the last of it. It seemed to rejuvenate me more than any single bite should have.

When it did come time to stop and eat and drink properly, the Sun would rise within the hour, and we had reached our destination.

I still saw nothing, until a patch of golden grass shimmered and a Man dressed in simple, dark leathers opened one half of a broad cellar door that led down beneath the ground. I heard the stamp of hooves and caught an immediate whiff of their manure through the hole in the ground.

Impressive. I liked it.

Mourn and Gavin with his mare all stayed upwind of the open door and a little apart from the denser group as we finished more than just a snack out of our packs. One Man from each team followed the horse tender down to check over our rides. The rest of us were given some time to rest; a good handful of Men even lay down in the grass on their backs to close their eyes. I asked Gavin how he was holding up as we sat down on the ground.

He nodded. "Fine. Though I'd have little reason to tire since I did not have to cover this distance on foot. Even so, I no longer feel exhaustion as I once did."

Deshi was near enough to hear this and I saw the brief thought and rethought in his posture before he broke his vigil and approached us to kneel on the ground, glancing at Gavin's mare as he had several times already during the jog, before looking at Gavin himself. My ally shot him a surly, somewhat hostile glance, but Deshi lifted his chin and kept his eyes up one heartbeat as he answering the challenge before bowing and holding out a black-sheathed dagger in both hands.

"Winter Ghost, will you bless my blade in the name of your Grey Lady?"

Mourn straightened up and I heard his tail tease several patches of grass; he did not say anything yet, but I had already seen warning signs not unlike when he had watched my behavior at the Patriarch's house. Even I knew as well that such a request, if granted, would likely have all the effects of a true magic spell. I did not see Gavin speaking any blessing on behalf of Nyx and not meaning it.

The necromancer frowned deeply at the younger Man and looked to Mourn, who said quietly, "Only no harm to him, Deathwalker, now or later."

Gavin seemed to think this over before holding out his pale, long-fingered hand for the blade, which Deshi placed reverently in his palm, perfectly balanced. The mage drew it carefully, and I saw that it was a matte blade that did not reflect light, far more like those I had brought with me to the Surface. It possessed a well-sharpened double edge, part of an oft-tended weapon.

"Mordanta shenti rue," Gavin murmured lowly as I could feel the temperature immediately around us begin to drop and, as I expected, his icy, blue irises showed just the barest shimmer under the Moon.

One of the horses neighed rather loudly as Nyx's messenger closed his hand around the naked blade and allowed it to bite into his flesh, black blood welling up to stain the metal. One streak of blood overflowed and dripped off the back of his hand, but Gavin caught it in the palm of his other, not letting it touch the ground.

"Ursuren palniti unvushhh." 

Gavin shushed the last of his words, or his prayer, I wasn't sure, as he smeared black blood over Deshi's blackened dagger. His voice had the tone of speaking with the dead—and I had already heard that once—and I listened harder as he got quieter, as it got a little colder, and I thought I heard his mistress's name. Among other things. The dagger did not remain blood-stained as the mage rubbed his thumb over the flat of the metal and it disappeared before our eyes.

Deshi's eyes were wide and fixed on his weapon which had cut Gavin's flesh, and the necromancer held up his wounded hand so that the Guild assassin could watch the cuts close in the dark.

"Hakgwei speaks true," the Yungian whispered.

Well, of course I had. 

Gavin slowly sheathed the dagger and offered it on the same palm in which Deshi had placed it, and the Yungian made some kind of earnest, ritualistic gesture across his head and eyes before bowing his head again and lifting the dagger up with both hands to claim it back.

"While you are here," Gavin said, reaching into a pouch and lifting out a tiny wrap of cloth, handing that out to the younger Man, "do not lose these. Wear one around your neck, let it rest over your heart, and give the others to your brothers."

Deshi took the wraps and revealed three pieces of bone each etched with black runes, bored through, and threaded with a black cord. We all knew what they were, and Deshi nodded and signed over his eyes again.

"Sheh-sheh, Winter Ghost. Your blessings shall guide our way."

Gavin at least made the attempt to hide a skeptical sneer by looking at me, and I couldn't help but smile.

"He's right, 'Winter Ghost.' You help focus the will of another young mage."

"What of the dagger's blessing?" Mourn asked Gavin. "It is a new tool, now untested."

The necromancer shrugged. "Those killed with that blade will be marked so that the Grey Maiden or her servants may find them quickly in the Greylands. They will not be lost, nor will they go to feed other denizens there. Deshi will strengthen the Grey Maiden with every kill."

When the Yungian's back straightened and his chest puffed out some as he nodded solemnly, I guessed that the youth liked the sound of this task.

"Will it behave differently?" Mourn asked.

"It carries the weight of the grave," Gavin said.

"It does, Winter Ghost," Deshi confirmed, studying his favorite blade. "It feels so cold."

Mourn grunted. "Effects on the user or target?"

Gavin shook his head. "Far too much to ask of a simple blessing with only a few drops of blood in the middle of a field. At most, the chill is distracting until he is accustomed to it."

I wondered if Mourn would have been quite that paranoid about Gavin's abilities if it weren't for the presence of Soul Drinker? Or maybe it was that last confession of meeting the sire of my child in order to pass him a message for his mistress...

Meanwhile, Gavin had reached into his pouch again to offer Mourn a protection charm as well. "Nothing ill will come of the dagger on this plane. It will only help identify to whom the souls belong on the next."

Mourn nodded once, pocketing the charm in a pouch for now, focusing on Deshi and calling him by name. It grabbed the young Man's attention immediately.

"Yes, Lung-jinshen?"

"Bring your brothers here."

Once he was gone, Gavin offered me two protection charms. I glanced down, a question clear on my face; even in the dark, Gavin could see it. He only gestured to my belly, and I nodded, feeling stupid for a moment as I took them. Mourn glanced around to see if any of the others were watching. I thought we were good.

It was an unspoken agreement that the Guild, outside of its founders, not know of my pregnancy. It would fuck with a lot of expectations, legends, and private concentration, particularly with Reprisal. Krithannia had been so subtle as to not even acknowledge it since we had stood in Mourn's lair, and presumably, Talov knew as well, but one would never know it from the lusty looks of elderly appreciation he had been darting my way. 

I considered where to put my charms; I already had a pendant around my neck. It was going to get crowded...

"You said they would burn up, Gavin," I began, as he gave me his attention once again. "Any physical effect? Should I wear it next to my sapphire or is that a risk?"

The grey mage blinked slowly and considered this, looking at the ground for a few moments. "I don't know. Perhaps the bone outside, sapphire inside. Wear the second on your belt."

I could do that.

The next moment, Peng Lok, Nianzu, and Deshi slipped over from just across the way, kneeling down as the youngest had before. I could make out the black cord already around their necks, the bone hidden beneath their leather jerkins. When they saw mine out in the open, they followed suit. I almost let out a guffaw; Gavin didn't care enough to correct them, assuming there was something to correct.

Mourn had moved up to a crouch on the balls of his feet, his tail counterbalancing him. The claws of his toes dug into the soft ground as his elbows rested on his thighs. This way, he was taller than every one of us.

"Lung," he said, and the three Yungians straightened even as they kneeled, "you three are assigned as bodyguards for the Deathwalker as you ride to Manalar. The horses will not tolerate my presence and I will be scouting ahead—"

This was an obvious surprise; it had never been brought up.

"—and I will be taking the Black Ghost with me. She has talents I can use."

In scouting? Ha, Drider shit. There was nothing I could do in scouting that Mourn could not as well. The real reason was that he couldn't leave me behind; he was *my* bodyguard.

I realized the next moment that I would be riding Mourn again in his quadruped form, but this time there wouldn't be any people or buildings or walls in the way. It would be all grass and rolling hills, in broad daylight starting as the Sun rose. Dear Goddess... I was smiling at the thought.

"I will brief you all soon, before they bring out the horses," Mourn continued, "but you three have your additional task."

"Huixia," each of the three said, bowing his head in acceptance the orders. They made a hand sign each that I didn't quite understand. "With pride and..." Something.

Krithannia came over as the Yungians left to prepare their things, sitting down with a longer sigh on Mourn's other side. I looked across his broad chest at her.

"Nice stride the whole way here," I said with a grin. "Glad you didn't wear your blue and silver. You're the most disheveled I have seen you."

"Thank you," she said wryly. "Harder to tell with you. Although with your height, I didn't expect you to go so long, especially carrying your pack."

"I wager I've carried this pack longer than you've carried yours. And height has nothing to do with endurance."

"But it does determine your total footsteps. Your tick and wear is well above us."

"So catch up."

"Elves," Mourn said.

"What?" I asked. "We're just measuring bush hairs."

Gavin snorted; I had almost heard him laugh. It was absolutely worth it, especially as the Guild mistress made no complaint about the nature of the banter. Mourn was even starting to smirk as my teeth showed in stark contrast to my face.

Then Krithannia leaned back to stretch her long legs out, leaning on her arms and crossing her ankles. She didn't look bad that way. She looked at Mourn. "So, are they white, too?"

"It matches," the hybrid answered, probably without thinking that through all the way.

"Want to see up close?" I asked her, grabbing lewdly at the front of my leathers with my right hand.

Mourn put his forehead in one hand. I could have told him it was a mistake to answer that question in front of me. 

"Oh, come now, how about bush for tit," I demanded. "Are the nipples pink, Mourn? Or are raven-hairs something else? Red, perhaps, I'm sure that would be stunning. Or even blue! Hm. Maybe when she only gets really cold?"

The half-blood kept his trap shut rather than just blurting it out about the Pale Elf as he had me. As if that was balanced.

The Noldor smiled at me, then laughed. "Where were you three centuries years ago, Sirana?" 

"Is that a serious question?"

"No." She looked up at the Stars, admiring them even having seen them for her whole life. "But it might have been nice if one of us could have given Talov a run for his gold in crude talk. I heard about your insult to him. Impressive."

"He deserved it."

"Oh, I agree. Although it only tends to arouse him when a female flings such words at him. He considers it flirting."

"Really? Hm. Could be fun. Bet he's quite stout down below."

I loved her expression right there. Apparently it had never crossed her mind. Mourn made a "cease and desist" gesture to me, though he was smiling more, and I stuck my tongue out at him, forgetting that this was possibly flirting as well for a dragon. Sooner or later I had to drop it or I'd be propositioning Gavin next.

Still. "One of us." She had said that, and it remained in my mind. Mourn had smiled and kept his peace after his gaffe and let things run its course. I wasn't exactly sure where we stood, but the other two moved on to business, as now we could see pink in the East. Kind of like Tamuril's nipples.

Krithannia sighed and said to her Guild partner, "So. Pearls to determine the gathering point?"




Surfacing Ch. 15



"As always," he said. "We'll send back what we see; you respond accordingly. Goal is still to make it within half a night's jog to Manalar by sundown."

The Pale Elf nodded. "The weather is cooperating, but it will still be a hard ride. Some of the horses might go down and that may slow us."

"We won't be keeping them even should they make it. I may be able to pick up one or two horseless Guild if necessary, but not more than that."

In the briefing a few minutes later, the Guild members only needed one aborted demonstration on how one horse responded to Mourn's scent and proximity to be convinced of his plan. The gelding about lost his mind, rearing and screaming, jerking the horse-tender from his feet while three Men from Vim grabbed for the reins, halter, and saddle with astonishing speed for Humans, hauling the horse back underground as soon as possible.

"Any questions why we do it my way?" Mourn asked the rest of us.

There were none. I couldn't wait to mount the dragonblood again.

*****

Mourn ripped up turf behind him as he galloped full out, boosted by his To'vah magic. Without the frequent turning down streets and alleys, and without the buildings themselves, the wind literally whistled in my ears and I had to close my eyes more often as not only the Sun became brighter but the air dried them out horribly. Gavin's charms were both tucked in a pouch for safe keeping, as there was no way I would leave it out to be battered by the elements as I was.

I did not have the opportunity to become overheated before the air whipped the sweat from my skin, but I did have to be mindful to drink now and then as it was easy to forget how much moisture I was losing. During one rest stop, I succumbed to this new, strange kind of Surface stress on my eyes and wrapped them tight before mounting up again.

The scents were pushed into my nose even on an exhale, concentrated and lush when I breathed in, and I wondered at the many layered whiffs of growth, decay, and living animal that I could not identify because we were moving too fast for me to explore it. It created a collectively whole scent that was the equivalent of a single, detailed image woven into a tapestry: this was the Prairie. I felt I would know it instantly even if I was blind.

The broad rise in the landscape was subtle, ignoring the immediate hills going up and down, and maybe only possible to detect at this speed, I thought. I possessed old habits in the Underdark of being ever aware of the ground rising under my feet, but without a ceiling above me, it wasn't as easy to use. I might not have noticed the cumulative effect except for how quickly Mourn propelled us forward. 

We had to stop twice to tend to bodily needs, but it almost felt disorienting standing still, and at first out of my periphery when I removed the blind wrap, it still seemed the earth tilted now and then. My skin tingled from the abrupt stop of the wind blasting my face, and the base of my braid had a pretty nice tangle nest forming. Any larger animals stayed away from Mourn, and I could see nothing but gold and green wilderness around us, as we were staying far away ourselves from any known Man-made path.

As I ate during the second stop, I watched Mourn contemplate one of the small pearls in his palm, and after a short time, he merely nodded, putting it away.

"All is well so far," he said. "No encounters and they are making good time. Our Deathwalker and his mare are making the other mounts a little nervous but he is suppressing both their auras. Lung are staying near him at all times."

"I'm sure he's enjoying that," I said, my mouth pulling into a grin.

"This will not work without him."

"I know that well. I picked him out before you did." I took a swing of water, indicating his pearl just as he put it away. "That's how you told Krithannia to start looking for Jael before we got to Augran."

"It would make sense."

"How did that conversation go?"

"She was very interested. She wants as broad a view as possible on all happening around us. Giving her a direction often brings faster results."

"She didn't think you were favoring your own race over her?"

"I did not ask, and those are her thoughts. If she has a concern, she knows to broach it to me directly. I might recommend the same for you, after your display of jealousy this morning."

I chuckled, feeling no regret whatsoever for that. It had been hilarious. "There's a difference between jealousy and testing a boundary, Mourn. Not to mention a little healthy competitive banter."

"You might be surprised if Krithannia accepts a challenge, Baenar. She chooses her engagements well and has learned meditative focus."

I shrugged. "Then I would look forward to her trying. All she told me of Noldor was that they tend to do nothing."

"Which is why she left."

"And her weapons are nothing out of the ordinary."

"They need not be to be effective."

True.

"Is she hiding anything? Keeping anything back?"

"I will tell you if I may speak to her openly about what's on your belt."

"Ha. Haven't you already?"

He smiled. "No. Though I am certain she senses your guardians as much as the relic. Come, we burn our light. Time to leave."

On the whole, we climbed higher than we dropped back down; the air got ever so thinner as the Sun rose almost to its zenith above my black cloaked body, and Mourn's constant effort against the ever-present downward force was evident in the way his breath rolled into my ears. I couldn't see them, but knew that we were approaching the low mountains around Manalar.

It was only midday. No wonder Mourn thought he could go back and get a few Guild members if they should lose their horse.

I heard the snap of brush and downed branches as my mount's motions evaded more obstacles more abruptly and frequently—tree trunks and stones, by the smell of it—and I felt the Sun was blocked by branches above us. It smelled wonderfully cool. He slowed down enough for me to start to hear the song of birds again, and I inhaled to smell a new mix of leaves and undergrowth, different from the western mountains. Wetter, with more moss, mushrooms, and mulch.

Before I knew it, Mourn's claws gripped the ground and pulled us up a very steep incline—I heard talons scrape rocks and mud squish—and then we dove out of view of the Sun entirely, into blessed blackness. One furry creature—a small bear, maybe— was flushed from hiding and shot out of the cave, giving the ground to its new inhabitants without a struggle.

Nice. Now I just had to get my hands to release their grip...

My crotch and inner thighs were moist with shared sweat. Mourn's body was giving off so much heat I might have thought him ill with fever if not for the pure scent of exertion filling my nose. I plucked out my leathers wedged in my crotch and readjusted things as the hybrid morphed back into a biped. I watched as he turned to the cave's opening to roll a convenient, if heavy, boulder to block the entrance, and set some kind of ward.

It would have taken five or more Human Men to move it, even assuming they could dispel the protection, and I knew that the leverage to do so didn't exist on the outside. I imagined this place was also far off any road or path, rather like the den area he'd settled in near the river soon after we'd first met him, although that one hadn't really been secure, just remote.

This was secure, because it wasn't that remote from Manalar.

*How many of these dens do you have?* I signed when he finally turned my way. My eyes had adjusting to the darkness and closed stone entombing us. I felt myself relax.

*As many as I can find or make. They change with time. I rarely use the same one twice when in an area.*

*Will we scout about as promised after a break?*

"Yes."

I decided to set down my pack, remove my cloak and belt with weapons, getting comfortable since it was clear we were resting here. However, soon I realized the pause after his answer had been laden with an unspoken thought; he was still mulling it over as he removed his weapons, including his sliders, and then his entire harness, his spines flexing out briefly as if glad to be unrestrained. I blinked.

*What else is on your mind?*

He seemed to consider as he finally caught his breath from running, removing also his loose black pants, lifting his tail through and out of the hole in the back. My brows shot up and I inhaled deeply as a surprisingly inviting scent wafted my way.

"You're a hornier slit than I am," I said aloud because he wasn't looking at me. It was barely audible for a Human but plenty enough sound for a Drow.

He looked confused for just a slight moment, and I saw him reach as if to touch his scalp, and I remembered that he had literal horns just beginning to grow up through his black hair, arching back along his skull. Then he understood the context and smirked.

*May I ask assistance to comb out and plait my queue?* he signed.

I grew suspicious, even as I knew by now that a nice bone groomer was among his tools. It had fewer broken teeth than mine did by now. *Only if you comb out mine first.*

*Agreed.*

Watching him move fluidly, uninhibited by any stiff leather or pack or bundled cloak, and I did feel envy then. I removed my bracers easily enough, and it barely took anything to get Mourn to help me out of my leather armor. I removed my boots and stockings, wearing only my shirt and pants, and that was good enough to start, even if my crotch was still hot and not just from the ride.

The hybrid was gentle tugging the tangles out of my hair; he was well aware of his strength and didn't try to rip off my scalp. It was just a basic smoothing before I was satisfied, signed "enough," and quickly braided it up again. I turned to gesture for the comb, which he gave me before turning around and sitting, shifting his tail to the side, still entirely nude. His penis wasn't erect; the distal half of his tail coiled about lazily on the ground, and his scent was warm and relaxed.

Why did it feel as though I still didn't understand all his signals?

I had the chance to unwrap the very fuzzy queue, which had been rubbed into a wild fray beneath his harness, cloak, and me during the run. He had multiple black bands that were normally invisible, and I needed to tug those out and place them where I wouldn't lose them before I could unthread his long hair. It was so much longer than mine, if not as thick; it was practically a rope. Unfolding it fully, as it was looped back on itself a few times, it touched the ground and I could still coil it into a circle next to his ass with the spare length. 

"Why so damned long?" I asked. "Isn't it impractical in your profession?"

"I was never to cut it when young," he answered. "Male fighters show their experience and obedience to the females by hair length. Cutting it by any length is a punishment reserved for a female commander."

I was silent as I was again trying to compare that to back home.

He huffed a short, ironic laugh. "I take it you have never been impressed by the length?"

"Uhm. Well, it is impressive, just in that you made the effort never to cut it. It takes care and maintenance, like a weapon. It is also quite a handle to get hold of in a wrestling match."

"Another reason for it. Females in my units all had short hair; they had nothing to prove but to each other, and grabbing hair was beneath a challenge between females. Though being hauled forward by my queue was not much of a problem once I grew so much larger."

"I can imagine. So why keep it three centuries after you left?"

Mourn shrugged slightly and did not answer then. "What was your standard?"

"There was none. Whatever suited us, really," I said. "Some wear it short, others long and bound up according to popular style, maybe whatever the First and Second Houses were doing, they would be copied. Males with long hair are usually merchants, wizards, or consorts, indicating they do not work out in the field. Male fighters or laborers tend to have shorter hair, exactly so it is not easy to grab, though their ears are just as effective to make them kneel."

Mourn grunted, pondering that just as I finished up loosening the last few snarls to where it could be plaited smooth again. I began doing so, dividing it into three pieces and beginning a tight weave at the nape of his neck. Muscles in his back tensed as if he was very surprised by this, but he remained still. It took a while before I could tie it off at the end.

"Females do not tend to do that," he said quietly.

"You didn't stop me." I handed part of the black hair-rope over his shoulder to show him. "Isn't it good enough?"

"It is very good. I doubt any of my former unit females had ever learned how."

I smiled proudly. "So now how do you loop it? Show me. The Yungians do it, too, don't they? Like Bohai."

"Yes, but this way, only in Yong-wen. It changes with the leaders in Yung-An." 

He demonstrated the fold, which did seem very deliberate, very ritualistic, and I used the bands to get it back in place. Now it would ride his spine beneath his harness and he'd still be able to turn his head as much as needed. I also wondered how much he adjusted it with his shape shifting ability...

Mourn turned around then and gently touched my breast through my shirt. My tits still felt hot and heavy, the nipples very sensitive, but he wasn't rough in any way. He also felt for my pendant between my breasts, and I felt just the tiniest pulse of heat from the sapphire, as if the dragonblood had just fed it some magic.

"I have a proposal, Sirana. A chance to test another limit, should we need it in our battle to live through Manalar. You now know a link need not be made while coupling. What of you tried for an intended, focused one?"

So that was why he'd gotten naked. 

"You mean...try to repeat what happened the first time?" I couldn't decide if I sounded dismayed or wary.

"Not exactly."

He massaged my breast a bit more through my shirt, and I didn't stop him. I thought that was telling, and wondered how long I'd delay.

"I would give you a very specific memory, but nothing else. You tell me if you see it, or anything else."

"While we fuck?"

"Unless you prefer pain as the trigger."

"Well, let me think, no, I'd rather fuck."

He exhaled a hiss, amused, as I shrugged and lobbed the comb to the side near his things before crossing my arms to pull off my shirt. Mourn showed his support for my choice by spreading both his palms and fingers out across my torso and exploring the skin, and flicking his tongue out to far enough to lash one turgid nipple almost like a tiny whip.

"Oo. Nice."

He did the other one without being told; there was no need to make it jealous.

It was only a matter of course from there to strip down until I wore only the sapphire, which was glowing softly as Mourn focused his aura. He had chosen a relatively flat bit of packed dirt in the den upon which to sit cross-legged, his tail curled around him, his spines having plenty of room to rise if need be. He invited me to sit in his lap, facing him. 

His prick was getting hard already, and I hadn't done more than cop a quick feel we were changing around our positioning, which was soothing to my pride but didn't ease my nerves as I became aware of them.

The last time I'd done something like this was in a Noble House with a Draegloth and his unspoken efforts to bind me to him, learning my aura a little more every time we fucked, and got tied together. Bumps broke out over my skin as I thought about it; wasn't the point this time to try to link up again? This time with both of us knowing what was happening. Would that make it better, or were we about to fuck up our wits just before infiltrating Manalar...?

"Maybe this isn't a good idea," I said, stopping myself mid-crouch, having been about to crawl onto Mourn's lap. "What if we incapacitate ourselves? Maybe this is the wrong time—"

The hybrid reached out to take both my arms and tugged, encouraging me forward. He could have yanked me right forward, forced me into his lap, but that wasn't what he was doing. He was trying to get me over the hump with the momentum I already had before the doubt had struck.

"It is possible, Red Sister, but there will not be a 'right' time. You know how to accept and minimize risk to fulfill an objective, this is no different."

That worked well enough, along with his grip on my arms, to settle me the rest of the way in. My legs wrapped around his waist and my hands held his shoulders—probably a bit more tightly than necessary—and a hot, semi-erect penis squeezed between us. I wriggled some against it, almost unconsciously; maybe my female pride couldn't allow only half an erection to exist right next to my pouting netherlips.

I breathed out slowly; my heart was beating harder than it should have been at this point, and I floundered for a moment about what to think. The sex? The purpose? The danger? The battle scars on Mourn's chest?

Mourn cupped my ass with one hand as he shifted to get comfortable, and rubbed his palm up and down my outer thigh. "Look at me, Sirana."

I could do that; I was a bit annoyed with myself that he had needed to say it. This was a bit different; Kerse had always averted his gaze after only brief moments, even when we'd been sitting more or less like this.

Mourn wasn't hard to look at by comparison; proper, pointed ears and cheekbones, a lot less craggy, no bristles of bestial hair, no muzzle. The brow and horns, the fangs and eyes and patches of fine scales still made me think of a very large and intelligent hunter reptile, however.

"Have you hidden from this ever since it came into being?" he asked, and I flushed almost full-body hot hearing this.

Had I? Not with D'Shea there to guide me; but she was such a powerful mage, and my Elder. She was why I had made the attempt I had against her compulsion, and later with Jaunda, to protect my Lead from a lesser compulsion, which was still a long-term solution to a short-term problem. Just suppressed a memory for a while, and let it return on its own...

I had done that, hadn't I? It had worked. I'd done it because it was necessary, and I had to prove to D'Shea whether I could do it or not, and I didn't have the time for trial and error.

Kind of like right now.

It was, I thought, powerfully magical males that had been throwing me off on the Surface. Gavin's presence, I didn't know if that had any effect, to be sitting on the same horse touching him all day, every day for weeks. There was that strange incident after watching Kurn spurt onto a tree. And Cris had certainly caught me completely unaware; he'd battered me badly. Innathi and Soul Drinker weren't helping.

And it had been my negligent accident with Mourn.

Was I really that male-crazy, or had I just been taking their tempting power for granted all these years?

"You have done it before," the half-blood said now. "I can see it. At least once, you maintained control over your gift."

I nodded slowly. "But it's...grown since then."

"Or your awareness of it has."

"My overall awareness of many things has grown."

"Making it hard to focus," he supplied. "The more you see of the Surface, Baenar, the less you are certain of the limits."

"Maybe." I tightened my thighs around his waist and massaged his shoulders with my fingers; these were familiar, pleasurable, small things I could be doing. He hummed briefly in approval, his cock pulsing once as it grew a bit more.

"I have taught magic for many years, Sirana," he said, squeezing my ass again and running his other hand up and down my back. It felt good. "You are bonded with its rules, even if you transform the power to something else. I am not afraid of what you can do, only that you remain afraid of it for much longer."




Surfacing Ch. 15



He was assuming my fear so I wouldn't have to admit it. That was annoying and yet...well, trying to exert pressure on me to me say it aloud was just a game of control anyway. He was suggesting a different kind of control—mine, over myself.

Mourn kept touching my skin, mindful of his claws, and I'd been slowly moving my hips as I considered these things, idly riding the under-ridge of his cock as things became hotter and moister, our crotches mashed together.

Really, I almost wished I could go back to fucking with absolutely mindless intensity, to not have to consider any of the consequences. No magic surge, no babies, nothing but awkward waking-after. As a Noble, perhaps I would have only gotten away with that for so long. 

As a Red Sister and a pregnant survivor of multiple psionic and ritualistic attacks...that wasn't an option. I knew that, and I didn't *really* want to go back to being the blind youth I'd been in the Valsharess's Dark City. I only wished I could know then what I know now. I might've done it differently.

I chose the moment when to rise up, my tits almost in Mourn's face as I braced my forearms on his broad shoulders and moved my hips to work the pointed tip between my lips. Mourn reached between us to help, aiming his cock and keeping it steady, and I slowly lowered myself down. 

I wasn't wet enough to impale myself all at once, but that almost made it better; I would wet my toy part of the way down, pull back, go a little farther down, up, and take a bit more. I wasn't sore anymore for having taken one of Shyntre's pellets in preparation for a day-long ride, and my cunt was relaxing quickly to stretch as much as needed.

"I get to take your knot this time, right?" I murmured, my breath deepening with my rising pulse. 

I had my eyes closed but hadn't remembered closing them until I only sensed Mourn nodding; he was quivering subtly, and when I opened my eyes, his face was barely lit by the sapphire; he had closed his eyes in concentration as well. It wasn't really necessary to see anything anyway, and I took half a moment to move the pendant to hang around the back. I didn't want it blinding both of us being in between like that. He did not protest.

I leaned and sucked on the salty skin of his throat, feeling the strong blood-pulse beneath my lips and inhaling deep musk into my nose. I began to ride him for my pleasure, and focused only on that, and my senses; if the Surface had too much to see and think about, then this one thing that could be the same anywhere.

My successful link with Jaunda came back to me as well, and the motives that had been behind it: determination, protection, preservation. Rrespect. My Lead didn't have to be altered permanently to get me safely out of the City; I didn't want to see it. I hadn't asked her consent, it was still without her knowledge, and I knew she wouldn't have been happy with me about that, but I'd been leaving and... the meaning had been well.

There hadn't been a magic surge, either; Jaunda wasn't a mage. It had been just me and whatever glow the sapphire had already drawn into itself. Enough for me to control. But I'd bedded Shyntre and Jael and Gaelan quite a lot after that...and nothing happened like what had been happening lately.

Maybe it just showed me how powerful Gavin, Cris, and Mourn really were? I hadn't had a chance to bed Auslan again after he'd healed me...but I would think something strange might have happened if I had.

"Moving fast," Mourn murmured, his breath hot and shaking; he was hard as steel and I could feel the bulge at his base was almost full size. "Mind wandering too much. Focus."

"I like to fuck!" I hissed, feeling the challenge as my pussy gripped him harder. "We did it very slow...your way...on the boat!"

I fucked him harder as I spoke, and he growled low and long, claws digging a little into my ass as he cupped me with support but not restraint. I could move; I could take him as I wanted. I became more aware of his aura, like a barely-physical presence pushing out, pulsing and throbbing in time with his blood and his cock. The sapphire was definitely warm against my back, and the cave wasn't as dark as it had been starting out.

The mercenary didn't instruct me further as I adjusted my grip on him and snugged closer, the tips of my fingers brushing against his spines, which had definitely risen up off his back. I felt his tail next, which had curled lovingly around my left calf and ankle at the small of his back, squeezing but not constricting. Kind of like my pussy was squeezing him.

I was very slick, fully adjusted, hot and spongy, and I was taking him easily now, except for the last bit. The tease of the knot simply shifted my focus and my goal, and I relaxed my back and legs and cunt as I could, threading my fingers behind his neck as leverage to press down and feel myself begin to spread even wider. I felt a twinge of pain inside and adjusted the angle, trying again, and feeling that reasonable, physical limit. I moaned, really starting to stuff all of him inside me, but no, it was too much to go all the way. I had to stretch a bit more, then try again...

"Eyes," he said tightly, with that telltale rattle deep in his throat.

Fuzzily, I realized it was a command.

Eyes?

Did he mean look at him again? How often did I make eye contact while fucking? I knew I didn't need it to make a link...

"No," he growled at me, showing his teeth and enunciating every word. "Do not think. No fear, Red Sissster..."

No demons but us.

I lifted my gaze, kept my eyes open and trained on an intense set of golden dragon's eyes as I fucked him for few more strokes before trying again to push that tight, fist-sized bulge into my cunt. I could feel every stretching movement, every small tear as the pressure grew extraordinary; I had only to relax and let it come, I could not think that it wouldn't fit, oh, it would...it had.

Golden eyes and vertical pupils still filled my vision as I slipped past the point of no return and became locked once again with his body. My mouth was open but making no sound for how tight and full I felt; something burned at my back, and my fingers clutched at hard muscle. Mourn kept his eyes open but blew out a hard breath and an aggressive, almost angry sound as my cunt had caught his knot. His hands and tail squeezed me tightly.

My body flooded with sensation and it was trembling, but I wasn't in the throes of orgasm when my body guard began to spurt into me. He'd lost focus with his direct gaze, I didn't think he saw the shape of my own eyes or my brows or nose or anything...but he saw something else.

Unlike the brutal, battering wave during our first coupling, this time the link was more like riding on the back of the half-Dragon when he had submerged, smooth and quiet, in that mountain river to stalk our dinner. I was passing; I was floating.

And I was in the Underdark again.

******

Vian.

Eallo, Ilse, Jahn.

Saida and Kerym.

I knew each of their scents in the dark, and our scent as one. One of us was bleeding.

"In formation! Stand your ground!" Vian bellowed. 

Silence was useless now; our hands would soon be very busy, and our very thoughts gave away our presence.

Outnumbered by thralls, ambushed for trespassing, the puppets were too hungry and our positions too deliberate for them to have coordinated a crippling attack on our squad, despite their masters' will and the thralls' speed, anticipating the need to chase and cut us off.

These creatures were used to hit and run tactics from us. I doubted that they had ever heard these Baenar say, "Stand your ground." There weren't enough of us to be able to do that. Not like those in the City.

Now we were in formation, and it was only a matter of time. The thralls would fall one by one, and their masters would have to get closer or abandon their prey. It had worked before; mindflayers were physically weak and not very fast. The decision whether or not to engage us directly should the thralls fail had to come early, or we would hunt it down as it retreated.

The strength of the formation wasn't solely dependent on me and my ancient weapons, though my size drew the most ire as the enemy assumed this to be the case. Vian had said in training that as eyes and ears focused on my sliders, they would instead be caught by what she affectionately called my "boot daggers."

At first I did not understand. I never wore boots. They had never fit right.

My sliders were new; I'd just finished crafting them, though I had tested their balance and their edge long before now. My elder master was satisfied; they had only to be attuned to sing for me, as his old ones did.

Vian knew how far to stay out from my reach, and she directed the others until we were a tight ball of slashing, stabbing metal and magic in constant motion. Attempts by thralls to enter a gap in our defense proved too narrow to penetrate before they lost a limb. We relied on Jahn and Saida to deflect the area attacks, Kerym and Ilse to return from range. Vian, Eallo, and I cut down the closers.

Our squad leader saw them first, even before the thralls were dead; three mindflayers, and they had decided not to run. 

"Gems!" Vian shouted, reaching for her larger emerald around her neck, and I could taste her magic on my tongue as it pulsed inside the tunnel.

It wasn't a command; it was a warning to be prepared. The rest of us had our matching, much smaller gem as a stud pierced through the edge of our left ear. She had based her idea on my dragon pearl, but made it her own. She could send missives to each or all of us, and we could talk back in limited fashion.

Vian had wanted to try something new against the Illithids for a while; now it was necessary for survival. I braced myself as her magic tapped the confusion and pain inside me. I allowed it as I needed to protect my squad; they all knew these thoughts were there regardless, because we had practiced this before now. These six Baenar felt no desire to breed me, and they never used anything like a whip in our sparring and playing. They knew what it felt like. 

And if the Illithids wanted our thoughts, they were welcome to them. No secrets, no plans, no relations. Just the fear and rage and pain of a young, dragon's blood slave. We would force them, all at once, down their beaked throats.

It took much focus, and deep reserves, but it ended fast and sudden as it had begun. Overwhelmed by us, our thoughts returned en masse, their quivering bodies could not evade a simple sword. Vian and Eallo sprinted forward to sever their tentacle heads from their too-thin frames as they struggled with the force of singular passion funneled through seven, individual, highly sentient minds.

It had worked, at least this once. Vian would be elated, I knew; her magic and her tactics were proven against mindflayers. This was why we were the best.

As always, it was too quiet after Vian dispelled our magical link. We would look around us, each of us alone and separate again. The first time we'd survived a pitched battle like that, no one spoke of the one vulnerability. Only one of us had to believe we could survive without the others, and fail to keep us together.

It would be like reaching to draw that boot dagger, then fumbling it.

"YES!" Vian gasped, sounding very pleased despite her nosebleed, and proud in a way that warmed my ears and my chest. She was not like my sire, but she would see me grow beyond what I was, as he had. 

"Good work, everyone." 

We picked over the remains to claim anything useful, even if mindflayers were not known for carrying valuables. I was weak enough to wince when my leader squeezed my shoulder. The harness hid a fresh lash mark high up.

*They are rubbed raw, Mourn,* she signed to me, kneeling down to my level as I harvested. *I gave you something to put between. Put the pads back.*

*Not allowed, Prime,* I answered her, suppressing further anger as it had no use until next time. *Part of the punishment.*

Vian frowned in a familiar way; she tended to curse my Aunt-Matron a lot. She was helpless as I; if she overrode the Priestess's word in favor of her own order, Miz'ri would be able to tell by the rate of healing when I next reported to my House.

She growled low, a quirk she'd adopted only recently, and used her own waterskin to rinse the new wounds from scabs ripped off during our encounter.

*I can smell the fester,* she signed, still scowling deeply. *It endangers us. I will talk to her.*

I only nodded. I trusted her.

*****

I rose up again, became aware of myself—underground but only barely, with the Sun still just outside. I was trembling, badly. 

Mourn was rubbing my back and arms, trying to keep me warm as he held me close, my chin against his shoulder. My head throbbed again and I was coated in sweat and still naked with his bulge occasionally pulsing out against my guts. I was shivering enough to make it very difficult to relax and let his cock out of my body, even though the lust had passed and I was more than ready to get it out.

"Sirana?" he asked, and he sounded a little intoxicated.

"Mm."

"Are you returned?"

"I'm f-freezing."

"Yes." He paused. "What did you see?"

It felt like I had sand in my eyes as I blinked; they were so dry and gritty. "Um. Vian and your squad. And mindflayers."

I felt him nod. "Good. That was what you were supposed to see. Anything else?"

"No...I-Is that...who I remind you of? In your old squad?"

"Yes. The one good part of my upbringing among the Baenar."

I bit my lip rather than ask why he had showed that to me. It seemed obvious; if he was trying to show me a psionic link could be deliberate and controlled, why would he pick memories that were chaotic, painful, or regretful?

I also now knew why he wasn't more disoriented after our first psychic bonding; he was fairly well practiced linking minds magically among Drow, thanks to Vian.

Though these other Drow hadn't seemed strange-looking at the time, seeing them as Mourn had been, both his House and his squad, I recalled their faces now and had to acknowledge that they were very foreign to me. There was no way those Drow were from my City, maybe not even near it, though they had some of the same problems.

How would I even describe the appearance...? A mix of the lower Houses, including Jael's House Aurenthin, and some of what I'd seen of Noldor in Tamuril and Krithannia but without the height. They still had the copper and red eyes, and they were still the same dark skin and white hair color.

I let out a slow breath and felt my pussy finally start to relax as the base of Mourn's cock had shrunk a little more. I was tingling inside again, my pussy trying to regain my former tightness, but it was too soon. I also realized what another part of the discomforted pressure was that I felt...and knew we'd be making a mess as soon as we separated.

"Is there *any* way to clean up without having to use our waterskins?" I murmured. "Or will I go through this mission with my leathers glued to my crotch?"

Mourn rumbled chuckle. "There was a stream just outside, a few years ago."

"A few years ago."

"The land changes."

"I know that."

I squirmed in his lap, trying to stretch stiff muscles, and exhaled again to relax. I managed to bear down enough to push the much smaller bulb back out of my snatch with a grunt of surprise from Mourn.

"Oops. Is it all over your sac?" I asked, my lower lip trembling.

"You want to laugh, Sirana. Just laugh."

I did, but part of it came out as a groan as I crawled off of him and to the side. My arms and legs were burning from effort and tension, and my back was all knotted up; my head and my pussy seemed to throb in unison with my heart.

"Come," he motioned me toward the boulder. "Leave your things."

"What?"

"They will be warded."

"I would bring my spiders.

"If you must."

It had been quite a while since I had confronted a ward; it would probably be longer before I would attempt to break one. I couldn't risk it while I was pregnant; it was a definite weak spot for anyone who knew about it. Kind of like Gavin's now-permanent avoidance of silver. Mourn had passed through Brom's ward around the inn without alerting the sorcerer, however, and once he checked the outside and gave me an all-clear, he could let me pass through it now after shifting the boulder just enough for us to crawl out on all fours.

It was middle afternoon and the day was very warm. Even under the shade in the forested hills edging Manalar, the air wasn't moving and humidity hung heavily. I didn't really need clothes to stay warm, although flying insects were already becoming interested in our ripe, sticky nakedness. I swatted a few dead on my skin as we padded through the underbrush, and it did not take much concentration to listen and know that the stream was still there.

Lucky us.

I remembered approaching cold running water while naked before; my spiders hiding in my hair as I prepared to wash off a great deal of dirt and sweat from travel. It had been beneath Moonlight, and Kurn had approached me, surely wanting to accomplish what I looked like now: semen coating and leaking out from between my puffy, well-worked netherlips. Although I was much more pleased with my choice of male donor than he would have been.

I hadn't had Soul Drinker then. That had been mere weeks ago. Kurn was still inside the dagger, and he could speak to me. I wondered if he could lie? Or was he more like Gavin's souls when he held them in his grip and forced them to speak beyond their time?

Mourn watched me use my hands to wash off as I crouched in the stream; his tongue and ears were probably doing the majority of the guarding at the moment. I was starting to notice now that, unless something was close by, Mourn did not tend focus with his eyes. I had rarely caught him training on anything in the distance, as Krithannia and the Humans did. Like me, his ears, nose, and his skin told him what he needed to know directly around him, and I could only imagine what his tongue sensed, if it could even tell one metal coin from another with a flick.

I could appreciate the horizon more now than I could when I first stepped upon the Surface, but I hazarded a guess that I was not as keen of vision at a distance as many daylight creatures, but I could hear faint sounds on the wind, even over a bubbling stream, and catch scents on the air.

I stood up and turned toward the North, sniffing, and the only description of which I could think for the stirred dust, manure, and much else was...density. 

Mourn's tongue lashed out and he nodded. "Many travelers in a small time. All with carts and livestock, following the same trail. If the wind shifts, we may sense the Ma'ab to the East."

My feet were cold in the stream and I stepped out onto a patch of Sunlit grass, dripping to dry. I slowly shook my head in confusion. "Why bring all one's belongings to the place about to be laid to siege? Why not take them in the opposite direction?"

"If I am not mistaken, you are doing just that, Baenar."

"Fine humor, To'vah. You know what I mean."

"By order of the Mage-Priests, they are to join them" he answered, also stepping out to dry in a patch of Sun. "Musanlo will protect them."

"They believe that? They could lose without our interference."

Mourn was smirking a bit. "Their army and magic, and their Godblood, will do their best. Also consider there are no schools of magic outside of the Guild and Manalar in this area, Sirana, and even those two are very different. Tales of wondrous blessing and miracles abound among the farmers and common folk about their central city."

I harrumphed. "But tales of the Ma'ab contain as much magic, and of a sort to cause any Witch Hunter to piss himself in a fearful rage."




Surfacing Ch. 15



The hybrid smiled wider, seeming to enjoy playing the advocate. "Then they have faith that Light will be triumphant over Darkness, and the Sun will not give way to eternal Night."

"You sound like you are reading from Krithannia's scrolls."

"You will likely hear speech like this."

"But I don't know Manalara. You and Gavin and Krithannia speak it."

"Remember what she told you; your accent is excellent, and you sound wealthy and educated for a woman. With your illusion, they will assume you to be Noble, which will gain you privilege and less suspicion at a glance. Speak in the Common Trade tongue and you will not be out of place. Many of those coming from farther out of the Temple City speak Manalara in a very different dialect. Some, including yourself, will be more comfortable communicating in Common."

I nodded, and thought over the briefing and all parts of a mission that had too many variables to account for them all. "You said you wanted us to form a link on purpose, in case we needed it. And you show me a link within a link, in memory of Vian...but I doubt we'll have time to fuck to orgasm on this mission."

"As do I," he replied with a smile. "But you know it possible now."

"The chances are much greater the trigger would be pain, Mourn, not pleasure."

"Agreed. I would share that pain if necessary to defend your body. I find it lessens the burden."

Even as this also left one's memory and personality vulnerable, I knew. All of a sudden, it made a great deal of sense why Cris-ri-phon did not like to practice mind links, though he had the power to master it with time. He seemed to know only the one way: forceful and overwhelming, controlling the other to get what he wanted. Compulsions, as the Valsharess liked to use, or seduction. He'd never allow a flow of thoughts to come from the other direction. Neither would She.

Mourn would, but carefully chosen. What in the Abyss did he plan to do with me once our contracts were fulfilled? I knew far too much about him; I knew some of his weak spots and plenty of his secrets. He knew the same about me, but...it would be either "kill the witness" or...

Shit. The To'vah had been a lot more subtle binding me to him than the ancient sorcerer had been; Cris didn't even know I had been pregnant, much less about the psionic splicing from a dead Duergar, nor about whom I actually tended to dream lately. But that was only because Mourn had been willing to surrender some of his own defenses in return, making me less aware of my own vulnerabilities until the trade was done.

Now I wasn't sure I could ever get disentangled from him and the Guild. Even down in the Underdark. It was intentional; Guild leaders would never miss such an opportunity; no doubt Krithannia and Talov approved.

But they had done it a lot differently than Cris had.

Mourn took the following quiet moment to use his Dragon Pearl to contact the bearers of the other pearls once again, possibly including Talov still far up North in Augran. It did not take long, and I watched his pupils expand to the widest I had seen them as he stared at nothing. I had time to cradle my spiders and see them fed as I again fed myself.

"How far out are they?" I asked when his pupils thinned out to slits again.

"They will make it to the road north of us before dusk, but it will be full night before they reach here. I will have to retrieve Wolf; his horse has gone lame." He met my eyes. "I can trust you to protect your mission and remain inside the cave behind the ward while I am gone?"

I tried not to think about the fact that I would not be able to get out without risking my baby if Mourn did not return for some reason... 

"It is necessary, I suppose." I looked around the woods. "How far are we from Manalar? Half a night's jog?"

"Not quite."

"Will we be resting here?"

"We will be late for our contact. That would not be good."

"Did you not build in some time for delays?"

"Yes. We're using it."

"But there is no way to speed it up once we abandon the horses for the hills. What happens if we are late?"

Mourn smiled a bit. "You might underestimate the endurance of those we've chosen. We may be a little more tired, but we will not be late."

"Pure endurance after a day of riding? Ha. Ten to one that they have a drug to help them."

Mourn tail flicked playfully. "A few. With recovery potions, or the headache afterward is like being clubbed in the face by Talov's mace."

"And you seem to know. He's done that, has he?"

"We were debating ownership of some gold ingots at the time."

*****

Mourn dropped Brian Wolf off not even two hours later as the Sun reached a deep marigold and moving toward setting orange, then said he had to return for a second whose horse had collapsed a while after he had carried away the one Guild member. I had some time alone in a cave with a young Human Man with an interesting internal intensity, but who did fuss or chatter at me. He said little except to apologize but insist on setting out a glowing stone so he could sharpen his weapons as he waited for his brothers.

I was glad the Human sense of smell was so dull; he did not seem to notice the scent upon entering, though I could tell there had been recent coupling in his place. If the light had been better, he might have noticed the scuff marks in the dirt and wondered, but I had already erased the cum puddle by covering it in dirt and them spreading it around. Even if he had noticed, he would have had to wonder about the substance.

Thinking about the last time I had been alone in a confined space with Human Men— one interrogator working on another in an outbuilding—I got to wondering about a few things. Mathias had known about and even seemed familiar with Augran; he had said it was a good place to "disappear." Elana had said that he tended to keep on the move, and Brom's Inn was right in between Augran and his father's lands out West.

It almost seemed possible, intuitively logical... and I decided to break the silence.

"Do you know many names in Augran, Wolf?"

Brian blinked at me. "What do you mean, Lady Sirana?"

"If I gave you a name of a Man, a mercenary, do you know many of those?"

"It depends. Is he Guild, or not?"

"I do not know."

Brian shrugged. "Slight chance of either, Lady, but if you want to give me the name, I would answer."

"And you will be truthful with your answer?" I waited for him to ask his price, but he only nodded. 

"Yes, Lady. Ask."

Well, if I could get it for free... "Mathias Briar."

Brian went still at the mention and he could not have lied about recognizing the name if he had changed his mind about his truthfulness. However, he nodded. "I know of him. How would you come to hear of him?"

"I may be able to tell you, or I may not. First, how does the Guild know him?"

"We occasionally hire him as an interrogator."

I saw exactly how that fit. "For Reprisal. He is willing to torture Men as they have tortured Women."

Brian nodded, straightening his back and not looking to have any shame about the tactics. "Not many of us can or will, but Mathias is known to us. We keep his secret so he is not hanged in Augran. Sometimes it is necessary to use him."

I was very interested. "Give me an example."

The Man-hunter did not have to think long. "A girl had been abducted, but we could not find her. Her abuser taunted the mother that she was still alive but would die very slowly before anyone found her. We abducted him away from the local officials, and hired Mathias to break him. Completely." Brian swallowed though he kept his face stoic as he could, but he was feeling something. "In much less time than any of us could."

"And the girl?"

"We got her back. It was worth it."

I tilted my head. "Worth it? Did you watch?"

"Not all of it." He did not say more.

"Hm. And what if Mathias was to attack a Man who has hurt no Woman? Or perhaps even a Man-child?"

Brian frowned. "He knows better than to try in Augran. If the Guild hears of something like that, we will come after him."

I could believe that. "How did the Guild first come to know Mathias Briar was for hire?"

The assassin gave me an odd look. "Something tells me you have a guess."

I smiled, and it seemed to unsettle him just a little bit. "I do. But Mourn might be upset with me if I tell you without confirming any link at all."

Brian shrugged. "I can't confirm it for you, Lady. I do not know a name, only that Mathias worked for another of the Guild's contacts, and that was how we found him."

"A contact in Augran?"

"I don't know where."

I nodded. I would think that Brom had never come up as a name of note with Reprisal, because they would never be tapped to harass a sorcerer about his tastes; ironically, tastes passed on to Mathias and used as a tool by the Guild against Witch Hunters and the like...approved by Mourn. 

Did the half-blood know that Cris had trained Mathias in Drow-like interrogation tactics? He must. So how did he compare that to his known hatred of the sorcerer? Mourn obviously wasn't against using the same tactics within the Guild; it was only a matter of balance, return upon the other what that one had already done with their own hand. Live by the sword, die by the sword...although something about that made me wonder if it was an endless circle, and that was where the balance lay.

So how had Mourn come to hate Innathi's former husband, anyway? It was long before I showed up at the inn, this was for certain.

"May I ask you a question in return, Lady?" Brian asked after it was clear that I had settled my curiosity.

Ah, there was the price. I noticed younger Human males did not always remember to ask for payment before talking. It was entirely on my grace at this point. This could be amusing.

"Yes, you may."

"And you will answer it?"

"Not if it endangers me or mine."

"Fair enough, Lady. The Yungians call you 'Jan'shi,' not Sirana as you have offered in the briefing. They called you this even talking to the Deathwalker during walking spells."

That must be Deshi, at least.

I nodded, but waited. Did he want a translation? I hoped not. I wasn't completely sure myself, since the original title "Warrior Maiden with Eyes of Water" had been longer before and I did not remember it.

"Jack told me you introduced yourself as 'Jan' the first time, and he thought you had an odd accent. Yungian, almost."

Well done. Very good. He almost caught me.

I tilted my heat and frowned. "I did? When was this?"

For a very brief moment, Brian seemed to doubt himself. 

"You are not Janette, the redheaded woman accompanying Roewn, and whose sister is still at Manalar?" 

He made solid eye-contact, and there was recognition again. Maybe Talov had kept my blue eyes a little too true. The assassin nodded, again sure of himself. "Jan. Jan'shi. Janette. I am sure it was you."

I knew Mourn's form of "Roewn" would likely be spoiled confirming this, but then again, Brian had shaken my shoulder when I'd been dreaming; he could have been spider-bitten for that. Maybe he recognized a weapon, even. I'd hidden Soul Drinker, it was too distinct, but Talov hadn't given me a very powerful illusion potion, given how it faded too soon from my wearing the sapphire.

So a rather clever young Man might have uncovered one of Mourn's faces, the one he used to hunt Witch Hunters with his Guild members. Brian had been chosen to go; I was glad to see he was not oblivious or meek. If we were successful in this mission, then there may be no more proper Witch Hunters, though there would always be those predators among the field.

Regardless, the face of the land itself was going to change, one way or another. Maybe that was why Mourn was now showing his real one to those chosen to come with us. Including Brian.

I smiled and shrugged. "Well done. Though I am no redhead."

"But you have bad dreams, like the rest of us?"

"That was...a vision," I said, not liking the look of satisfaction on his face. "I saw the Archbishop in his chambers with a Woman. I felt some of her pain. She was redhead."

That silenced him immediately, and Brian looked at his blade, studying the edge and clearly imagining using it on the Archbishop.

"You have visions?" he asked quietly. "Have you seen anything for us, Lady?"

"Nothing clear," I said honestly. "My sister is perhaps more dangerous than she was before, as the actions of her captors have unlocked a new power in her. Do be wary, Wolf."

He nodded. "I will be, Lady. I believe you."

Well, that was something to be gained.

*****

All the surviving horses but Gavin's had been let go by the time night had fallen and Mourn led our teams into the hills to meet up with us and let Brian and me out of the cave.

*Thank you for being cooperative,* he signed to me as I crawled out after Brian, the hybrid's body blocking the sign from other Guild members.

I quirked my brow, not sure if I should be insulted. Had he expected me to get illogically anxious and try to find a way out of the cave to roam around and get in trouble, as if I could storm the keep on my own? No one was that lucky.

*Our deal. My Sister. Why be stupid?*

Mourn just smiled.

The teams rested as they could by the stream, drinking their fill and replenishing what water they would carry. We could not stay long, and I was right about the drugs. Everyone, including Krithannia but excluding Gavin, placed something thumbnail-shaped beneath their tongue at one point, some of them moving their arms as if to keep them limber and ready to go. It did seem to rejuvenate them; their eyes somehow seemed brighter in the dark. I shrugged inwardly and placed one of Shyntre's pellets beneath my tongue; I might as well not have any lingering soreness either. Particularly in my crotch.

"Your mare will make too much noise from here and could be sensed," Mourn said to Gavin, who nodded.

"I know. She will be close enough that I can reclaim her at some point."

We watched as the grey mage removed just a few tightly-wrapped kits to be packed in the smaller satchel normally resting on his back. He also removed Kurn's sword to cross the strap of the scabbard across his chest. There had been modifications; it was matted black now, non-reflective, and the previously metal bits what would have jingled, I noticed, had been replaced with...tendons? Or ligaments. Something strong and taut and fleshy.

I didn't ask in front of the others if Gavin could even use that piece; it was probably better than the spade he'd used against the Witch Hunters at the inn. As long as it was quiet to carry, and he could suppress the magical aura, which I knew he could, then so be it.

"Do you want this back, or shall I bury it with the horse?" Gavin asked, offering me a long dagger that I didn't recognize by the sheath...but then I saw the hilt.

Gaelan's dagger?

"Bury...with the horse?" one of Vim asked quietly.

"Yes," was all Gavin would say. He was waiting for me to decide about the dagger.

"You found a new sheath?"

"Mourn did."

Mourn had probably cleaned the dirt and blood off as well. Oh well, I no longer needed it to solve the mystery of her disappearance. I'd forgotten about it among Gavin's stuff, and had even left one of my standard issue daggers back at Mourn's lair, having Soul Drinker and one other at my belt so I wasn't overloaded with my hand crossbow.

I could think now that if Jael no longer had her weapons, I could give her Gaelan's to use. Now all I needed for her were a good pair of boots...

I accepted the dagger, back to having that third extra across my back. It was alright; another Red Sister would get to use it again soon. I nodded in thanks to Gavin, and then to Mourn after I'd checked the edge, which was clean and sharp. Perhaps he hadn't slept the entire time I had just before we left.

The Guild members and I then had the privilege of watching Gavin bury his horse and those of his belongings that he could do without. Including his spade.

I can admit I stepped back along with everyone else after Gavin had cut himself and drew a symbol on his mare's brow between her staring, dark eyes before covering it with his wide, pale palm while chanting in his mistress's language. The mare dug her hooves into the earth, stamping and pawing at the soil and leaves as the ground seemed to loosen and crumble like stale bread. It left much larger scars in the earth than a live animal's actions would have.

"Yunic'swegshar," Gavin murmured, still pressing down on the undead horse's forehead. Her front legs buckled and she lay down in the scarred earth almost as a live horse would have before rolling onto her side and becoming still.

That was when the ground seemed to flow up over her like so much muddy water, she sank down further into it, and she was covered. Buried. The earth, though darker in color now, almost seemed back to normal, layered in rich earth and brown leaves, but with a few new toadstools sprouting up which hadn't been there when the mare started stamping.

I blinked. I had seen this before. Tamuril had called it "spoiled ground," and it indicated we were near a working necromancer. Had it been Sarilis or Gavin's work when we'd passed by? It had been almost a day's walk out from the Tower.

So...what was there beneath the earth now?

I didn't have time to ask as we soon formed up and headed out.

***** 

Mourn had been right about the wind shifting and with it the distant scent of invaders to the East, very different from the clusters of animals on the road to the North. But I still thought it might have been Gavin who sensed them first; his Greyland eyes seemed trained more often on something none of us could see—even as we could all see in the dark at this point—and it was always to the East.

We were moving too fast to be able to pass the time talking so I could not ask, although I was impressed how Gavin could keep up with us even without his horse. The determination was present, he was stronger than he had been, and he was not giving off the same heat the rest of us were. He breathed, and sipped water occasionally, and seemed to take great care not to stumble and scrape his skin as just a few of the others had done. Perhaps it was a far greater risk to leave any of his blood behind, marking his path.

Especially with the Ma'ab in the same hills.

Our focus quickly grew instead to be wholly on avoiding Manalar sentries and scouts, with Mourn farther ahead in the hills sending back warnings through the Pearls, until we reached a quarry. The fresh, bare stone beneath Starlight came up suddenly beneath our feet, at the edge of a cliff, and from there we were instructed to wait in the trees. 

It was well past midnight, and hours before the dawn, and the quarry had been abandoned only recently after hurried collection and in preparation for the siege. According to Mourn, there were traps left for the Ma'ab as well. We kept well back from the edge and low to the ground. I could barely detect the glow of several small fires above the tree line and over the next hill from the quarry, pushing weakly against the backdrop of the Stars. I could also smell the crush of people and the scent of a deeply entrenched settlement.

I could also smell fear and agitation, although that seemed deeply entrenched as well, not just an effect of imagining the Ma'ab crashing through the hills as well.

I did not have to sign anyone to follow my lead in wearing the bone charms beneath our clothing, though I kept the sapphire next to my skin and the bone between shirt and leather. It was also time for Gavin, the Yungians, and I to take our illusion potions, and we would have twelve hours from now before our true forms were revealed. Possibly less, in my case.

Krithannia, instead of drinking a potion, used a spell mastered long ago, very much like Tamuril's. She would look like a male Human version of herself, with short, dark hair and grey eyes, fitting in quite well among the Noiri Men. The taller, lanker ones, anyway.




Surfacing Ch. 15



Each of our foreheads was dotted with perspiration, except for Gavin, and we checked over our equipment one more time before opening the vials and, with an added gesture of good fortune from our three from Yong-wen—returned by a few of the pale Men, I noticed— we downed them.

Cris's concoction was bitter, as I expected, but it warmed quickly in my middle and an image came to my mind. Human, female, her face not stunning as I would see it, but still fascinating in a subtle way, with pronounced cheekbones and a full, pink mouth like Tamuril's. The nose was long and straight, the ears almost too small for me to think she could hear much of anything. 

Her hair was basically blonde, but shaded as if she had spent weeks rinsing out a deep red dye and the gold was only now coming back. She had blue eyes and skin white as milk; one could detect the deep blue veins in her arms and they were quite clear at her wrists. The skin was flawless, her fingernails clear and healthy, her rich blue gown clean and velvet and covered by a charcoal grey cloak.

She wore a sapphire pendant around her neck, the blue stone settled between generous infant-sucklers, and a golden ring around her finger on her left hand.

*Arrogant sorcerer,* I thought, having opened my eyes and become aware of my own hands. I did not see my black gloves, though I felt them; I saw naked, pale, Human hands. The ring with a tiny bird mark stamped into it. Not a firebird, just a bird. At least he hadn't gone that far.

But now it made me wonder if he had somehow just sensed that I had drunk his potion? I was relying on Talov's dwarven mages that it was useable, but it was a little too late now if there was an unseen cost.

The next twelve hours would be interesting.

I looked over at where Gavin and the three Yungians were crouched, and, assuming they hadn't changed positions, I saw them each now as Men fitting in well with the other twelve dark- and sandy-haired fighting-age males. If not for the fact that they were four strangers in our group, I might not have been able to tell them apart at a quick glance from Drive, Crux, or Tag.

I was studied Gavin's new face—significantly less memorable and rather bland, a bit as Mathias had started out to me, with his brown hair and brown eyes—but soon became aware of several of the Guild studying me in turn.

I looked at them. *At what do you stare?*

They blinked at the sign, but had understood. They looked at the Noldor first.

Human-Krithannia smirked and signed, *Very nice. The sorcerer's potion is not subtle.*

*Meaning what?*

*Too beautiful,* Wolf signed, his lips pressed tight.

I could easily see where this was a problem as several of the others nodded in agreement. I pulled up my hood and scowled.

"What do you say?" Gavin asked quietly. "It is a bit beyond my vocabulary at present."

"We agree the disguise is not a good one," I said.

"Well. It is as memorable as your true form, yes."

Krithannia shrugged. "I will not worry. We can use it. She may even be able to distract from the presence of all of you." She smiled broadly at me. "How good are you at playing on false promises, Sirana?"

"Fairly good," I answered, understanding her meaning. If there was one brightly-colored bird among a flock of brown hens, which one would some aim to capture alive for its visual appeal? It would probably keep Mourn a little busier...

Krithannia looked pleased. "And you speak Common very well. You will do fine. Trust your instincts, and trust Mourn and me. We will watch out for you, and you will watch out for yourself."

She added an exceedingly subtle motion near her belly, and I understood: *Yourself and your child.*

"Agreed."

This was all the Noldor said on my new appearance, and the rest of the Men seemed to relax as we waited to hear from Mourn.

I had understood well enough the theory once it was explained to me, but even better now that the timing had been important: after the setting of the Moons, but before the Sunrise. With the ability of all these Men to see by magic as I could normally, it was too dark for sentries to spot us. We would have to be very loud and very clumsy.

Mourn was anything but loud when he slinked back in amongst us. Gavin had the advantage, as always, in sensing his life aura even with the magical one suppressed, but without the grey mage actively watching for Mourn and giving me a hint where to focus, I would have had a difficult time picking up on Mourn's scent or his sound before he was close enough to see. At which point it would have been too late if he'd been on the attack.

The merc must have slipped just that once when he had gotten too close to Gavin by the waterfall in the canyon. He knew better now, but he still wasn't practicing something to dim his life aura as well. No doubt he would correct that after this mission. 

Mourn had no apparent reaction to my "disguise," only flicked his tongue at each of us, as if confirming our identity. He signed that our contact awaited. *Follow me. Mystics first.*

It was in a crease of the deepest shadow that we were to scale down carefully to a ledge and enter an area hollowed out of all its softest stone. We only went two at a time in case someone slipped, and while it wasn't a long climb, it was steep and one had to go over feet first. Nothing I had not done before in the Underdark, but the open Sky was distracting as if I somehow had farther to fall, which was not true. I volunteered to go first, just on account of that annoying moment of self-doubt.

I detected the presence of a hidden passage almost as soon as I landed, and saw a gaunt, hooded Man standing near it, his face covered with hood and cloth around the nose and mouth. He bowed his cowled head to me but said nothing, and Mourn in one of his more forgettable Paxian shapes wasn't so forgettable as he climbed down next with ease, Gavin holding to his back. My necromancer didn't seem very pleased about this but was not held captive for longer than it took to set his feet on the ground.

Krithannia followed with Lung, Net, and Vim while I watched the silent Man for hidden moves, and overall I was pleased with the stealth so far. The covered Man wasted no time motioning for us to follow; the illusion hiding the crevasse was subtle, not warded, and not powerful enough to draw attention from a mage not looking for it.

We could only squeeze in one at a time, and I looked at Mourn to confirm, and he went in first after our guide, subtly guarding me as I came through, and the rest followed in a similar order as our descent. The rock was dusty outside but this had been chipped out long enough ago to have let water from the forest above seep down and make the place dank and chill. It was wide enough for two Humans to walk touching shoulders, if they wanted to occasionally scrape their outside shoulders raw against the stone.

I quickly oriented myself to being in an underground passage again, silently inhaled air to know that it would not go on too far—perhaps undercutting one or two hills outside. My ears picked up on a great deal of footfalls and drips and breaths that I thought we were making far too much noise not to give something on the opposite end more than enough time to arrange an ambush for us.

Mourn's scent and motions were calm, however, and as we walked in pitch black, I realized that they did indeed think they were being quiet. The hybrid indulged them their skill, and so too must I. It really was very good for Humans; stealth was relative to the target, wasn't it? I did not want to become complacent around Humans, but then, as long as Mourn still had his tongue, I wouldn't be sneaking up on him in the dark, either. Not without a better tool or tactic over raw skill.

My inner dwarf scoffed at some of the weak spots of the tunnel, reflecting that the first part of this passage could not be more than a few decades old, if that. As we moved farther, however, we came up to a tall, narrow stone mimicking a door, which had been moved recently so we could slip one by one into an older passage. This one smelled in such a way to almost make me homesick.

It had been here for centuries.

To our left the path was an incline and, my senses told me, Manalar. I had been told that it would take us beneath the very walls to a Noble Man's home, where we would surface in his cellar. To the right was a decline heading elsewhere, and it was not obvious to me how far it went, or where it ended. However, I remembered from the briefing that it was one of several ways out, if one could reach it. Some of us might be running down this way following our success.

Mourn remained up front and just behind the cowled Man, and so far, things seemed to be going according to plan. I could even tell when our very last leg would prove true, as it involved shimmying up an old trap door on knees and elbows and follow the odor of onions.

There were plenty of onions when I poked my head out into my third cellar on the Surface.

"Oh, Lady, allow me—"

My eyes hurt in the sudden torchlight and I couldn't see, but I swatted his hand away and got out of the hole and on my feet, well out of the way of the next in line, before I realized the Man's accent had actually sounded somewhat like Gavin. I blinked as my eyes watered a bit and I made out a Human male about Brom's age, with silvering dark hair, darker skin, but dressed in fine, green robes. He wore a bronze sunburst symbol around his neck.

Uh-oh. Not a Priest...?

"Ahm, it is late," the Noble whispered to Mourn in Common, glancing at my face—or maybe lower—one more time before forcing his attention back to the taller Man. "You have half an hour before the change of watch near my domus, but we have many new arrivals bedded down in the streets as the houses, inns, and stalls have filled. I am housing some renters of my own, take care not to wake them. With so many strangers, the Templars only watch for disturbances and clusters of men up to no good."

Mourn nodded, his mouth quirking at the irony as more Guild members popped up out of the hole. "We will be leaving a few at a time."

Krithannia had been right about one thing: if the Man in green robes were to be pressed to describe those who had arrived in his home later, he might only be able to describe me and Mourn's Human face. He barely looked at the others; perhaps he wouldn't have even paid attention to me if it hadn't been for Cris's choice of image.

Still not good, but as the Noldor had said, we would have to work with it. I pulled up my hood farther, but my breasts—appearing to be well-supported in dark blue, with a clear line of cleavage where a smaller sapphire rested— were still drawing the Man's eyes until I closed the cloak in a deliberate snap. He blinked and looked away, seeming shaken. Mourn gave me a curious glance, as did Krithannia, and I had a bad feeling about this illusion.

"Are you well?" Mourn asked his contact softly.

"Strange," he said, glancing at me again. "Beautiful, but strange. Who is she? Why is she alone among you men?"

Mourn frowned. "Best you do not know."

Uh-oh.

The original plan, before the Warpstone cult, had been to command my way past checkpoints on the road and through the gates with my "bodyguards," a platinum drake, some passwords, and...bold arrogance, I supposed. Given the Ma'ab appearance even if they disguised their outfits, and given Gavin's ugliness plus dragging along a red-haired dwarf...had the sorcerer figured I would need something "stronger" than a mere attractive appearance to succeed in such direct tactics?

Considering it better now, I wondered that Cris hadn't simply laughed at us. Or perhaps he had been, silently. Maybe he never expected us to succeed even if, with his potion, I did seem to draw the eyes of a Manalar Man and hypnotize him with my illusory tits. So why hadn't the first guide underground been struck by me the same way?

I looked again at the cowled figure and, in the better light, I saw it immediately. She was taller, and not full-figured like those I'd seen on the stage at Augran...but our covered guide was Human female, and it would seem she did not lust after fellow Women.

She had been able to see in the dark like the rest of us, though, and when she looked at me now, quite indifferent, I could see the family resemblance. Huh. The Noble Man helping the Guild had a "witch" for a daughter.

The first Woman of Manalar I met never said one word the entire time as our teams filtered out into the city, and Mourn left both of them alive.

*****

Lung waited to go last, given that our team had the only apparent Woman with them. The hybrid and the Noldor had quickly worked out a slight alteration to the initial plan of locating pathways leading underground, and that was to take advantage of my appearance and distracting aura.

According to them, I might be able to escort Mourn and Gavin right into the temple, even this late, given how many people now swelled the city, and we could have a look around before the Sun rose. We could not despoil it too soon—the Ma'ab had to be here—but we had not expected to get the chance to scout the temple in advance to note its state under threat. 

The Guild leaders had a lot of confidence in their potions to suggest it, this was for certain. But then, I'd long since learned that half of gaining control in any situation was acting like I was certain of what I was doing. Wavering would only get me revealed and captured.

I kept my hood up and remained wary of making eye contact, which Mourn signed was good, as Women of "my" status did not stare at those lower than her, nor did she act to lead in any way. Much as that rankled, I could agree. It would not do to draw the figurative dagger too soon...although the literal dagger of concern had remained quiet and, according to Mourn, concealing itself quite well.

The cooperation from Innathi and Soul Drinker was fortunate, despite our abbreviated conversation of before. I had needed to act in control, then, too, or the queen would not think me more than a puppet to bargain for more tasks. Of course, once things got more threatening, we would see how they responded.

With the majority of Manalar's regular population filling up the fan-shaped foothills below us, and the temple and oldest buildings—the very seat of power—snuggling up against a single high mountain above us, the city required walking up a mild to moderate incline to get to the temple, regardless of where one began.

Drawn carts from the surrounding lands, covered and uncovered, lined the cobbled streets of Manalar and filled the allies between districts, apartments, and markets. The buildings themselves were made of stone and wood like Augran and Yong-wen; less like the metropolis and more like Yong-wen, the homes were built mostly up, not out. Open, rectangular courtyards with potted plants in the center of the moderate and nicer homes seemed popular.

The lines of the architecture were very straight, with only the occasional arched window or doorway; most were square. This mimicked the roads, which tried to be as straight as possible as well. There were no curved rooftops like in Yong-wen, only perfect triangles to shed rain and snow. The roof tiles themselves seemed of an earthy or reddish color, different from the dressed, grey stone standing at attention, but I could not be sure at night.

I saw very little art in comparison to Yong-wen, but there were Sun symbols aplenty: over doorways, atop the very point of their roof, stamped into window shutters. The air was warm even at night, as we were full into Summer now, and those camping in the streets probably considered themselves lucky the weather was so nice.

According to the maps I'd seen, the enormous, defensive wall surrounding the city simply ended, half-way back, built firm and deep into the mountain where the land itself stopped. The far side of the mountain had seen a massive rockslide sometime in its history, leaving sheer, vertical, naked walls that—after most of the loose stone had been harvested for building the Human city—made for an excellent rear defense. 

No army on foot could truly approach from the rear in enough quantity to overwhelm the Man-made defenses overlooking the slide, which could also handle anything that might fly, be they magical objects or creatures. And yet the Ma'ab were getting closer to that rock slide.

There had to be plenty of chokepoints in the steep forest around us that would slow and thin any army trying to flow around to the populated side of Manalar's mountain...although I wasn't trained to be a strategist quite on that scale. I would handle a smaller goal, and leave the orders like that to those like Captain Isboern on the wall...although if he'd stay on the wall, we might have an Abyss of a time finding him.

This was why the Dragon Pearls were so important; the teams were already spreading out to hear word and locate my Sister, excepting Net with Krithannia trying to locate and keep tabs on the Godblood and Tamuril. If Captain Isboern did not answer a call to the temple as planned, or if he did not come on his own, then this was when a few magic tricks would be needed.

I could hear a cacophony of Human mutterings and movement even in this coolest part of the night beneath a Moonless Sky, and I was forcing myself to become accustomed to the dense smells of smoke, cooking, body waste, hard work, and anxious waiting. For the first time, I wondered if my pregnancy would see me become nauseous, despite my training to overcome weaknesses such as this? So far the Underdark had provided slums and settled rot much more rank than clusters of Humans tended to be, but it would get worse with time inside Manalar, as blood started to flow and clean water became scarce.

Hopefully we would be gone by then.

Lanterns shined at regular intervals and armored soldiers were present, walking in groups of four at least, keeping the populace calm enough with their presence as whispers of what the dawn would bring repeated themselves in various, creative ways. Some said the Priests would call down the Sun to burn the Ma'ab army with holy fire; or the undead would turn to dust as soon as they stepped on hallowed ground; or demons would fly over the walls and dive into the city, and only the temple priests could drive them out and banish them. Overall the expected outcome seemed fairly optimistic.

I did not hear much about offensive or defensive planning among the people, however, but what would I expect of commoners which were mostly the infirm and the young? 

...and the female. There were a lot of healthy females who could be working on defenses. I even had a few suggestions.

Bah. I refocused on my traipsing up the street toward the tall, grey stone temple at the height of the city. It, too, was surrounded with a wall—not quite as tall as the city boundary—but carts and tents and people were clustered up against those walls as well, reaching as far as I could see and presumably continuing past the corners.

Of the temple itself, windows upon windows lined the long sides of the square building; watch towers situated at the four corners that I thought might be the cardinal directions. The largest Sunburst of all stood impaled upon a golden pole at the very top of a dome of brightly painted glass. Directly below that, we knew, was the sacred pool of the temple.

"Say they let us in," I muttered quietly, and Mourn turned his ear toward me to indicate he was listening, keeping his eyes forward. I checked again that none were watching us. "What happens if we speak to a Priest?"

"I would recommend flattery and seeking gossip."

I nodded. "I can do that."

"Offer a donation to the cause."

"And how do I do that?"

He quietly passed me a pouch containing coins; it was not stuffed with anything to keep the contents from chinging against each other, and the scent of the pouch was nothing like him.




Surfacing Ch. 16



Author's Notes: This story is erotic fantasy written by Etaski. I reserve the right to be listed as the author of this story, wherever it is posted. If found posted anywhere except Literotica.com with this note attached, this story is posted without my permission. (c) Etaski 2014.

The Second Act.

*****

Chapter 16

We picked the largest set of ornate double-doors on the right, which could not but lead us deeper into the temple. The carpeting was still plush and red, unsoiled by Hellhound's bloody boot prints and telling us that however he had come in, the Hellhound had not come from the temple center.

Though he was going to follow us this way. And soon.

Three very short sets of marble stairs with smaller, dead-end wings and consecutively smaller rooms eventually led us down another proper level and much closer to the noise of the crowd, though such a design could not be for anything but rank and decoration. It was hardly practical to have a floor of Bishops' quarters divided into thirds. I recalled the Wizard's Tower back home, wondering momentarily why it was designed the way it was. I had to shrug.

*Only mages,* I thought.

The rooms all seemed empty, however, and wards were avoidable because they were so inconsistent. I thought it was a good sign that the clergy of Manalar had probably underestimated something fairly important about this attack. They had known this was coming; they had had plenty of time to prepare, and yet the obstacles were not anywhere near what they would be in the Valsharess's Palace. Maybe this was an example of the short-life experience of the Humans in practice.

How long had it been since the Ma'ab and the Manalara had last fought in a large battle with high losses, something beyond skirmishes along the borders of the Kurgan lands? Where had it been set? Considering Gavin thought the necromantic relics were forgotten in their crypts, had they last clashed before the Guild became a problem and altered their way of rule? Had they met at all within the last century, after the Ma'ab had gotten hold of a Drow Priestess and her Draegloth? 

Krithannia would probably know the answers to all but that last one...although she and Mourn could easily be keeping that to themselves.

It still seemed to me as we moved that the Ma'ab were far better prepared, especially being the aggressors. Had the mage-priests had grown complacent? Were they working with outdated information of their foes' newest source of magical knowledge from the Underdark or the Abyss? Unless Manalar had also discovered a new source of power for themselves in the last century, they had no chance.

Given how they suppressed and killed half their magical potential and imprisoned and constricted the rest in dogmatic isolation—meanwhile training and supporting Men like the Witch Hunters to operate and destroy oddities outside the city—I did not see how they could have discovered anything new. They were stagnating. We might as well open the rift to the Greylands; the entire city was already dead.

I smacked Mourn's shoulder when we reached another door and took the time to stop, listen, and test before opening it. *How long before that Hellhound follows us?*

Mourn was holding one slider and had to sign one-handed. *Soon. Expect more than one. Pool spoiled, truce ends, we will be targets.*

Truce?

I blinked, recalling Kurn's ruby and Castis's ear on Talov's desk the first time I'd met the greybeard. *The dwarf's doing.*

The half-blood smiled. *Ma'ab paid well.*

For a task which we were going to do anyway. 

I glanced back; quite a few of the Guild were smirking while reading this. It was probably where Talov had collected most of their pay for this mission.

*They agreed to keep Hellhounds off our back until then?*

*Yes. But only until then. Be ready.*

I moved back, next to a silently observing Jael, as Mourn and Peng Lok worked the door, signing what they heard and could expect to meet. Right now nothing was close; we had just a bit of time to collect ourselves. When I looked at Gavin, who had now covered his head with his hood, I frowned.

*He will come for you,* I signed, more simply since the grey mage was a beginner. *He knows.*

Gavin nodded, his long, bony fingers as brief and abrupt as his voice could be. *I know.*

His undead Witch Hunter servant shifted slightly in the back of the group, drawing my eyes very briefly before I thought of a question to ask.

*From distance?*

Mourn answered that one, *Have magical defense, plague close up.*

No one liked to read this.

*Silver?* I signed.

Gavin shook his head. *Not anymore. Of this world.*

*Evade until the rift is open,* Mourn signed. *Lead Hellhounds toward Temple Guardians.*

*Temple Guardians look like...?*

*Gold armor. Obvious.*

*That's the best you can do?* Jael broke in, her aura almost vibrating with tension.

*Entire plan,* he responded calmly. *Open rift, escape.*

Jael's eyes were wide and she looked to me for answers.

I shrugged. *Ma'ab loathe Greyland creatures. Let them fight each other.*

She wasn't convinced. *And how will we defend ourselves against...'grey-land' creatures?*

Gavin held up one finger, drawing her attention, and he pulled one of his tight-bound bundles from his back, unrolling it quickly and gesturing to Deshi to give something to his brothers. The Yungian withdrew two tarnished daggers from his belt and handed one each in their sheaths to Peng Lok and Nianzu. They accepted but were baffled.

Mourn, Jael, and I had been focused on the ward on the Priest's door at the time—and her likening his disguise to a giant gnome—but I realized that Deshi had had plenty of time to gather the customary silver daggers from the three dead Witch Hunters, if he'd been given the hint. He had been, but not to Mourn's knowledge.

Gavin had certainly waited to the last moment to show what he carried.

*From the inn,* I signed, glancing as the Yungians kept ears out for anyone coming upon us. *Nine Witch Hunters.*

The necromancer smiled to show his black teeth—odd that I had kind of missed seeing them in his disguise before— and he stood back with a spread of his hand for each of us to take one of the nine presented. Mourn took two, and Gavin even accepted the lone remainder once each Guild member, me, and Jael were all armed with silver.

*Spirit-bodies, no extra harm,* Gavin signed. *Pure creatures this metal harms more.*

Not as eloquent as he was in verbal speech, but we got the point. We'd just be stabbing possessed bodies with a dagger, but a true denizen of the Greylands could be killed with silver.

Hellhounds meeting the Guardians meeting the Greylands. It could be fun to watch if we got out of the way... I wasn't the only one to double-check for my bone charm.

*Hoods up,* Mourn signed, *Sirana, Wolf, go first. No pearl near mages. Locate Captain, warn of Bishop treachery. Message back. Lung and Reprisal spread out, Jael and Deathwalker remain with me.*

Jael stiffened. *Why her?*

*Tested illusion,* he answered. *Captain and Pale Elf will believe her.*

I reinforced the sign for her to stay with Mourn, and when Brian came forward, I wrapped my arm through his and signed, *Mated, if met.* 

The young Man blinked, but immediately nodded his understanding. I didn't know the Guild sign for "married," so it had to do.

Slipping through the door and closing it behind us almost felt like cutting adrift from the shore. The noise rose sharply, but there was at least a short passage to approach the upper-level balcony of the enormous chamber. We remained close to the wall and crouched lower, staying out of sight to see what we could. We had an excellent view of the people and layout below.

What I'd thought had been the sounds of something big happening right now proved to be just the sounds of many Humans crammed into one spot. The tension there, but the trigger was not. So we still had some time.

From long habit in the Valsharess's City, I focused on the altar first and swept my eyes and senses back into the congregation. The pool itself was encircled with a fence made of golden-tipped spears, the height too tall and smooth for a heavy Man to be able to scale without risking impalement somewhere. No doubt they were warded as well, though I could be quite glad the poles were not made of silver.

The water in the center was unbelievably clear, its surface moving gently, peacefully. I could make out the circular, white-washed vessel, circled with cream-colored tiles carved with blue runes. The depth went down more than my body height before my angle, coupled with the smokeless torchlight of the inner chamber, simply was not enough to let me see the bottom. 

There was, however, the stained-glass dome in the ceiling directly above it, and when the Sun reached the height of its climb most days of the year, some part of colored Sunlight would touch that pure liquid. There was no doubt a good reason why Mourn and Krithannia had not suggested coming in through that skylight. I could see the dawn strengthening, however, and imagined the Sky turning blue through the Sunburst and bird wing designs in the glass.

Positioned evenly around the golden fence about two paces apart were nine large, male guards who could only be the Temple Guardians. Their armor shone brightly golden, and each stood at attention with a halberd capable of keeping anyone approaching the pool more than a body's length away. If any of these Humans possessed magical weapons, it would be these Men. They would be outfitted with the best.

There was another fence, this one made of wrought iron, drawing a firm but decorative boundary between the guarded altar and its people, stretching the width of the chamber and keeping the congregation well buffered from the pool. This was also where the balcony stopped and the pool-end of the chamber had no access from above except for that skylight. I had expected an altar to be more elevated, but it only rose up three small steps from the floor. Those faithful standing at the back would likely not be able to see anything of note.

Then I noticed the reflective surfaces between the pool and the Skylight—squares of highly polished metal bolted to the stone walls. Studying the angles a moment, I deduced that someone farther back in this chamber, even at ground level, would be able to see the glittering pool and any standing around it. It was also a way for those standing by the pool to be able to see what was going on at the back of the chamber. Interesting.

The mirrors hadn't been mentioned in the briefing, though everything else matched the designs of the layout I had seen before. Were they new?

My eyes took in quick details of no less than eight hundred people, possibly more, all standing room as any seating benches had been shoved to the side and stacked or taken elsewhere. They were of all ages, and clustered mostly in family groups if I had to take a guess. The same enormous double doors I'd approached in the dark from the outside were now partly open as more Humans were coming in, a sliver of Sunlight telling me it was a direct exit. 

A good thing for the hungry dead.

The females inside the temple were easy to pick out because they had their heads covered with scarves and hoods, and some of them covered in drapery that only revealed their eyes. It was the wholly-covered Women who were being targeted by Witch Hunters as they searched the crowds for hidden threats among the congregation.

One young female and her mate both reacted as if the Witch Hunter had stripped her completely naked in public when he wrenched the material down to expose her blonde hair and pale face. They were mortified and completely distracted by this one thing; I doubted they could think of anything else. 

The Witch Hunter threatened them both, getting too close, breathing in their faces, and they made holy signs and probably recited prayers, and the Witch Hunter moved on searching for witches. The female buried her face in the male's chest, covering her hair with her hands and looking very distressed. She could not focus on anything around her and I noted her lips constantly moving in a repetitive fashion. Praying.

I thought it was pathetic. As much as my instincts always warned me to keep an eye on the females, in this place it was the males I had to watch most. They were the ones with the swords and daggers, with the will—and permission—to use them. The Women were no more dangerous than Consorts in a fight.

Regardless of how much the females were covered, the clothing of the males was of better quality than all the travelers I'd seen on the streets. I had to assume the Bishops had allowed only the wealthier congregation to enter this place. Unfortunately Brian looked entirely average, like a common Man or a servant, even as I could pass for a Lady.

*Not mated, bodyguard,* I retracted, and Wolf was intelligent enough to see why as he agreed immediately.

I did not see Captain Isboern or Tamuril yet, but we could not remain here for much longer. There were other Temple Guardians than just those surrounding the pool, and we would be coming from a forbidden direction if we were seen too soon.

Looking around the corner and down the path of the long balcony lining the chamber, it was still carpeted for just a few steps before it went to polished stone tile. We were lucky that a few of the Nobles had made their way up—the ones who particularly disliked crowds, perhaps, or the ones to take advantage of the limited seating. There was one Guardian with his back turned to us, speaking to one of them with a strong opinion about something.

*Now. Blend in.*

Hoods up, we slipped out in the direction of the others upon the balcony. We stayed nearer the wall—why give more people than necessary the chance to notice us from down below?— but we walked normally. Maybe just a little nervous. That was normal.

*Latrine was on second floor,* I signed to Wolf, and he smirked.

We were able to join the collection of anxious Manalara just before the Guardian turned his helmed head with a frown. Brian stood between me and him as I kept my head down, acting demur, and the Guildsman sidled up to the Guardian and said something sheepishly in his native language.

Meanwhile, I noted the sword and dirk beneath his red cloak, and as well as the green stone around his neck, mounted in a heavy brass setting, so large one would hope to make it a tool, not a decoration. He was well armored with only a few weak spots though he would not be fast unless the enchantment of the armor addressed that. I could sense the magic on him only standing so close, even if I couldn't do more than say there was a fair bit of it.

The Guardian, already frowning with the one opinionated Noble, looked more stern as he curtly gave Wolf some kind of direction, for which the Guildsman bowed his head and recited something, almost an apology. Nodding and motioning for me to follow, we started making our way through the clusters of people and toward the stairs leading down.

*Tools are magic, mage he is not,* Wolf signed to me, and I affirmed.

That was good; it would be difficult to find a spot fifty paces from every golden Guardian in the chamber to use the pearl. They were easy to see, and I counted another fifteen of them doing crowd control. Interestingly, their main task seemed to be to calm the wealthy crowd after the passing of a Witch Hunter, all of whom were still looking for insurgents. I could not count the "justices" as easily once we reached the main level, being short as I was and how drab the Hunters were dressed, but I had counted twenty of them from the stairs, most of them in pairs but a few individuals.

Somehow I thought if I asked Brian about the odds of five to one with Reprisal, he would say that he liked them and would ask for more targets.

The scent of Humans was thick, their constant drone of rising and falling voices and close, nervous movements rendering any useful information I may have gotten from senses other than my eyes difficult to pinpoint. I wondered how Mourn would manage? He must be accustomed somehow.

Wolf palmed his pearl, his hand low and close, and we found a spot where he was able to pass on numbers and obstacles to those still standing behind the door. I was jostled a few times though no one reached as if to steal from me, and I made eye contact with a few of those present, mostly young children who did not know any better but also a Woman or two. They were all confused, ignorant, and simple waiting for what would befall them.

Personally, if the Valsharess were to ever call all her Nobles, Priestesses, and Red Sisters into a single, large chamber like so many bleating gaurro, I'd expect something like what was about to happen. One way or another.

So. Where were the Bishops, anyway? They weren't in their quarters, we'd checked; two had been killed by the Hellhound, one by us. That left six. Weren't they nervous, missing their mage-brothers during this time of defense? Where was Captain Isboern? Was he on his way?

The main temple doors opening wide and allowing full daylight to spill in, to make my eyes ache, answered all those questions. A wave of people moving back rippled from the door to the wrought iron fence, and Wolf moved closer as a physical barrier between me and the crab-stepping worshippers.

They cheered to such a decibel that hearing the same among Drow would have convinced me that a public ritual had just made its prize sacrifice, or someone was getting fucked on the altar. Certainly the arrival of the Valsharess Herself did not demand such noise, She did not want it.

"His Holiness!"

"Your Grace!"

"He brings the Sun-touched!"

"We are saved!"

"Have the invaders been vanquished?!"

I felt derision at that last one. Were they kidding? The full brunt of the battle hadn't even been felt.

Standing on my tip-toes like all the other short Women and using the Guildsman's shoulder as balance. I recognized Archbishop by sight—by virtue of my dreams—and he looked exactly the same with his ruddy jowls and fine blue and gold robes. So, too, did Captain Isboern look the same as when I'd last spoken to him. He stood just behind and to the right. If I did not know of the Godblood's true origins, it would not be difficult to think there may be a family relation between the older male and the younger. The Archbishop was taking full advantage of that likeness in front of the Nobles.

The two prime persons of interest were led by two Temple Guardians and the other five Bishops followed regally, all in blue and gold, both younger and older than Keros. Five soldiers I recognized as Templars followed after that. If any of the Bishops were nervous, they weren't showing it—but Isboern and his Templars were very aware of their surroudings, taking nothing for granted.

Hm. No squire. Where was Tamuril?

The people split down the middle, again crushing Wolf and I back against more bodies, creating a path down the center of the chamber. All Guardians, but for the nine around the pool, moved forward to stand in a line between the crowd and the mages with the Godblood. Now I could easily count them; eighteen, plus nine at the pool.

All of our primary targets were in a cluster midway between the door and the pool. If I were a Hellhound waiting for a moment to attack, I would have chosen this one. Of course, now the most powerful magic-users in Manalar were nearly within fifty paces of us. Wolf wisely slipped his pearl into the palm of his glove for now, and we both concentrated harder on suppressing our aura.

The only thing I did not know how to suppress was whatever psionic the Godblood used to detect anomalies in a crowd. I only realized that was what he was doing when it was too late. 





Surfacing Ch. 16



Isboern was scanning the crowds with his eyes, and as they swept over where Wolf and I stood, he hesitated in his gait, his attention held in one place for just long enough for his Templars to respond by spanning on either side up closer to the Archbishop and their Captain. Then our eyes met, blue to blue, and I heard a whisper of recognition barely brush the surface of my mind.

Damn.

The Captain's behavior gave the Archbishop plenty of direction, and he lifted one thick, alchemy-scarred hand to touch a broach on his robes. A strong, sudden pulse swept through our quadrant of the audience, and Wolf and I both jolted as nerve-flaying pain hit us. We didn't cry out, we were both well-trained...but our physical reaction was just that much greater than the mundane around us. Our auras flared, just for a moment.

"Sun's Enforcers," Kero's smooth voice boomed in Common, and he indicated his targets with a casual gesture to his Witch Hunters. "Bring them to me alive."

"Do not fight yet," I hissed at Wolf.

His fist clenched. Now we'd see how much we both trusted Mourn.

The Knight Captain's jaw tightened but he did not challenge this as no fewer than ten of the rabid dogs came to surround us. All other people quickly got out of the way. Three Witch Hunters almost fought over who would drag me forward, two of them seeing a need for mauling my chest as they snarled and hissed lewd curses in my ear, and Wolf was not treated gently as he was kicked and punched a few times as they got hold of him.

I saw one pulling out thin, barbed wire to bind his wrists, and I changed my mind about not fighting. Those would open his veins and he would he crippled if he survived. Wolf realized it, too, and kicked the one holding the barbed wire in the crotch.

"Witch's slave!" another bellowed, drawing a dagger.

"NO!" Captain Isboern shouted, also in Common so all would understand. "No unconsecrated blood spilled in the temple at this holy hour! Bring them forward!"

Most of the ten Men trying to control the two of us shot the Knight Captain a hateful or resentful look, and Archbishop Keros frowned ever so slightly at the younger Man. However, he was well aware of the faithful mass watching him. He nodded and raised his hands. 

"We knew there would be assassins ready. Musanlo's light has revealed them before they could enact their plan. They will be removed to the dungeons once the Sun's Blessing has neutralized their dark powers! Bring them forward to face God's holy judgment!"

I detected just a hint of blood-lust in the buzz of the crowds as they made yet more room for the new excitement, and the red-cloaked Guardians surrounded the lot of us, keeping the Noble worshippers back.

Keros smiled down at me as two Witch Hunters held my upper arms and wrists, keeping my belly open and my breasts on display. He studied my face and my body for a few moments, ignoring one Bishop who asked what they were going to do with the devils. I wasn't sure if Keros was seeing my real form or not.

"Have I dreamed of you before, my Lady?" he asked in Common. "Was that a warning from God?"

I tilted my head with a smile. I was curious, too. "You wish to pour arousing oil on red fur once again?"

Despite his question, it was obvious to me he was not expecting that as answer. I could sense his aura strengthen, as it had when he'd become excited in that dream touching me, only this pulse was more sour. He could not explain it any more than I could, and this frightened him.

"Thank you for making your confession so swift and easy, witch," he smirked.

"You should not stare," I replied, arching my back in the Witch Hunter's clutches to where I knew the pale breasts would be even more obvious. "Only for feeding newborn sons, correct? Or are you hard again, Archbishop, as I leak the devil's saliva?"

The crowd made sounds of fear-tinged disapproval, shocked and quickly repeating what I'd said over and over to each other. The Witch Hunters holding Wolf weren't focused on hurting him at the moment, but were seriously tempted to charge at me instead. Keros wasn't smiling anymore but he was still trying to see past Cris's illusion. Given the way he pursed his mouth, I would say it was without success and I was still a redhead in a dream to him.

"What is she, Knight Captain?" he asked flatly. "You have a sense about these things. What challenges have the Ma'ab sent ahead of them?"

"We killed one at the wall already, Your Grace," Isboern answered obediently. "Strong black knights, infiltrators touched with disease. This one is a female assassin."

Both Keros and I seemed to have the same thought about that answer: *Tell me something that isn't obvious as a stallion's long cock.*

"A succubus, like the other captive," Keros decided.

He turned and murmured low enough that only the Bishops and Isboern—and I—could hear him. And he hadn't switched languages yet, and he still shock glances at me. "But this one is powerful enough to have invaded my dreams not a week ago. She speaks and poses as one of us. She must be purified now. Her cleansed blood will be the sacrifice to strengthen our people's fervor and faith in our victory."

That sounded oddly familiar.

Isboern made eye contact me with again and I heard his voice in my head. It was similar to Lana, but somehow gentler.

*I am sorry, I cannot help you.*

I smiled and pictured in my mind the bloodied Hellhound coming out of the priest quarters, and the Captain's eyes widened. Our thoughts passed faster than any words could in such a short amount of time.

*You know they aren't allied with the Drow, Willven, but they are inside now. The temple will fall from your priests' complacency and it will spread to the walls from here.*

I felt his denial for a moment, the only first response that would have been a natural one. *You are not allies. But do you oppose these plague-carriers, Sirana?*

*Tamuril has taught you something. Not until they kill Keros for me.*

He didn't like that answer, but he did not deny that the Archbishop may very well die. Interesting.

*And then?*

*Then I do oppose them, Captain. I oppose the entire Ma'ab army.*

*You will help me stop them? You and those with you?*

*Yes. We will help you, Willven.*

*You swear by whatever you hold holy, Elf of the Underdark?*

I did the mental equivalent of a smirk. *I swear by my desire to see my baby born alive. That is the best I can offer.*

Isboern could not help but feel the bald truth in that, though I was further impressed by his next question. 

*Do you seek my death as Jael does?*

At least he knew that providing him aid and aiding his survival were two different things.

*No, and I have told her to stand down. Keros seeks your death in the coming chaos, it is why you were called away from the wall by the now-dead Inquisitor.*

Another bloody image for me to focus on—it had been my first true assassination on the Surface as a Red Sister—and in return I saw several faces of those soldiers and officers that the Godblood left behind on the wall. I felt his regret now for thinking he could guide the Bishops with reason in this last moment. I didn't like the way it felt for a second as if someone was gnawing on my heart with grinding teeth.

*The mage-priests will never allow change while they hold power,* I urged, holding on to that feeling a little longer. *Let this place fall, and rebuild when they are gone.*

*No, it does not have to fall! We can help these people, they're innocent—*

*You can't save them. The Guild of Augran knows the Ma'ab weakness, they have been studying for centuries! They will stop them. Your true strength to Musanlo lies after the fall of Manalar.*

*No...*

Again, another thought of denial, and the first touch of anger I'd ever felt from the Godblood. 

*How do you know this?!* he demanded then. *How do you dare to say such a thing when you do not worship him?*

Our eyes were still locked and I hadn't blinked. *What did you see when you touched my consort's hand?*

I recalled for both of us holding Auslan's hand, seeing him reach out to the blond Man. I felt Isboern withdraw from me then, shuttering his thoughts and emotions from that moment. He wasn't ready to share it. I couldn't be sure I would ever learn the answer to that question, but it broke his certainty in what he had to do.

*Musanlo cannot...cannot be calling on me to help destroy his own temple.*

*The Ma'ab will do that for you. You just survive. You'd best tell Tamuril to escape Manalar now, wherever she is, or she will die here. We do not have much time.*

Isboern swallowed then jumped when the Archbishop called his title a second time, much louder. 

"Captain! I said stand back!"

Isboern was alone in this crowd and he wasn't sure what to do. He'd seen this kind of ritual before and though he did not agree with it, Musanlo had never seen fit to diminish the Holy Body's power over their people, or those within the temple.

He took a single step back from me, making room for the Archbishop.

"Well, Captain," Keros said with satisfaction, "if you do not think it a good idea to spill unholy blood within the temple right now, then we must purify her before offering her up to show our devotion to the battle against evil. We can never suffer a witch to live."

The Archbishop drew a ceremonial dagger that nonetheless looked quite sharp; he also withdrew a familiar bottle. It was the second one from my dream, the one that had already caused so many scars on his fingers as he would thrust his fingers into a virgin's cunt. It was the vial that had sent me awake screaming.

Coming fully back to myself, I realized only now that the Witch Hunters had tightened their grip considerably, and a third one had taken hold of my hair. The next moment, he yanked my head back to expose my throat and my chest.

"EVIL! EVIL!" someone in the crowd was screaming. 

I did not know what was happening in that bundle of panicking people, but I did recognize a Ma'ab thunderstone when it went off. I imagined Gavin's creeping bones underneath someone's clumsy feet.

Even as the distraction must hurt me, it was perfect timing.

The stun was bad and I couldn't see or hear a damned thing, but I could still sense bodies around me, desperate as I was to focus. Wolf and I knew to draw back out of our equally blind and deaf captors' grip.

Another one burst twenty paces from the first, closer to the altar; I already had my eyes closed for that one. I sensed the chaos rising in the chamber as people staggered from the blinding light and echoing crashes of sound. The Guildsman grabbed for me, but I elbowed him back as I was too busy drawing Soul Drinker.

"SIRANA, TWO HELLHOUNDS COMING!" Wolf bellowed loud as he could, still muffled through my numb ears.

How in the Abyss would he know that? He couldn't see...

Oh. The Dragon Pearl.

If nothing else, my nose told me I still had a Witch Hunter right in front of me. I slapped my glove on his shoulder, but I had no idea where anyone but Wolf was. People were not running, and I'd been in an open area before this started. Only the sheer number of fine vibrations hitting my ears told me they were screaming louder than the low caws I heard at the moment.

*Use him! Use him!* Innathi's dagger cried. *Many shallow cuts. I wear him down, he will shield you if you command!*

Not unlike what I'd done to the Witch Hunter who'd killed Gavin when I got angry, and this one had held me to be sacrificed. I grabbed his collar and drew several cuts across his face with the relic. It wouldn't kill him, tempted as I was to go lower to the throat, but I could feel him shivering and jerking, and with each cut, he moved less and less, until he was just a Human shield still standing.

It still wasn't good enough; there was no one else around me, and that meant I was an open target to those who could regain their sight first. I hauled the Witch Hunter back closer to one side of the chamber, then jerked him down by the collar onto his knees, crouching behind him as I enveloped myself, my living shield, and Wolf into a magical globe of darkness. The senior member of Reprisal was smart enough to crouch down near me as well, and we could wait for just a few more moments to collect our senses.

I seemed to regain my hearing more quickly as my eyes rested in the dark. Several blind, panicking people bungled into my realm of influence, but the Guildsman was just as good at lashing out at them with a swipe of his blade as I was, and it kept them running somewhere else. A few random items rolled or bounced or clattered near us, and one struck my Witch Hunter shield with a thud, but so far, no Hellhound.

"Can you hear me?" Wolf asked.

"Yes. Finally."

"Here," he said, pressing something hard and smooth against my neck and holding it there with his bare, magic-warm hand. "He needs to talk to you."

The far-away echo of that Pearl was even stranger than speaking to the Godblood without words; it was as if voices stretched between the very Stars themselves...and there were quite a few of them talking at once.

*What d'ye mean Tamuril's gone? I thought ye found her.*

*She wouldn't leave with us! She ran. She's trying to get inside the temple to Isboern.*

*Pretty slick, Krithy.*

*Shut up, Talov. It is getting bad out here. Vim and Net are getting out now to the rendezvous point. Mourn, find her if you can, and tell her from me she's never been so stupid!*

*We'll see what we can do. Right now the Captain's proving too effective of a shield. Wolf, report.*

*Got her, Mourn. She can hear you.*

*Sirana.*

*Um. Yes?*

*Isboern's blocking the Hellhounds. They aren't attacking effectively, it's as if they're drugged. His Templars are working to capture without killing. The Ma'ab shields are holding now but won't if they can't defend. We need the Guardians to engage. They're holding back at the Archbishop's orders as they regroup at the pool. Everyone is still at least partly affected by Deathwalker's thunderstones except for us.*

*You mean except for you. Where are you?*

*Wait. Do you have anything that would disrupt a psion's concentration?*

*Choking powder.*

*Non-lethal?*

*In low doses.*

*Do it. We're ready. Sirana, out.*

Wolf took the Pearl away from my neck then, and I mentally sighed. I had my directive. "Stay out of my dark sphere or you may choke, Wolf."

"Yes, ma'am."

I concentrated in the dark as I let go of the Man's collar only long enough to dip a single finger into the correct pouch before synching it closed again. I could hear Captain Isboern and five other Men engaged in combat as well. Despite what Mourn had said about the Hellhounds' effectiveness, it still sounded strained on the part of the Templars. But that was because they were trying for live captures with magical defense.

"Stand up," I ordered at the back of the Witch Hunter's head. I felt Soul Drinker's hilt warm through my glove, and the Witch Hunter got off his knees and to his feet, still staring blankly forward. "Now run straight. Don't stop."

With a push on the back of his neck, the Human puppet's boots began to pound the temple floor as he pitched himself right at Isboern's group. It was only when he left my sphere of darkness that I heard a warning cry from a Templar within a second.

Not bad.

I ran forward as well, the Darkness following with me. As dedicated and skilled as those Men were to their Captain, there was only so much they could do against an Underdark hit-and-run. Likewise, their mind-reader leader either had to turn to reach for my intent without eye contact, or continue his focus on scrambling two Hellhounds' senses and keeping them off balance.

Even an Illithid might have had a bit of trouble with the choice.

The weakened Witch Hunter kept the Templars' weapons engaged high, and I moved in low, rolling between two Men's legs and springing up in front of Isboern in Darkness only long enough to slap him lightly on the face before tumbling back out.

Then, mostly, I ran.

The Godblood started coughing uncontrollably, and I almost...almost heard an anguished cry of betrayal as he reached to link with me. I shook my head and tried to refuse, but it would seem that once the mental path was made, he did not need eye contact but proximity. Oddly, my black globe faded as if my concentration was no longer sufficient to keep it.

*Sirana, what have you done?!*

*We ARE helping! Get the fuck out of the way and let the Guardians guard the temple!*

*But I can protect—*

*They're all dead already! The Hellhounds will get you! Run!*

*I WILL NOT RUN!*

Mourn offered a solution to that stalemate as I glimpsed what it must have looked like from the outside when he had shifted me and Gavin into his lair. The sudden strike was like his capture of the boar by the river, starting with a powerful leap from the balcony over a crush of people and a final, short, four-legged sprint to tackle the Knight Captain before they both disappeared in a puff of wispy smoke.

Appear. Capture. Disappear.

Still an Underdark predator.

The Templars were in a rage. "Captain?! CAPTAIN!"

The Hellhounds still hadn't spoken any word that I could tell, but the two were shaking their clear-shaven heads side-to-side, dazed but quickly covering from the Godblood's psionic attacks. I recognized the one that we'd met in the hall. We only had a few moments before those chains, now being unwound from their arms, would be in full use.

Meanwhile the crowd was mostly crying in their native tongue, though I could understand a few words hurled at me and Gavin and Jael as Lung protected them coming down the stairs.

"Witches!"

"Devils be among us!"

"Holy graces! Guardians!"

"Please stop them!"

"Help us!"

"Save us!"

My Sister, fully embracing the "demoness," was slicing down indiscriminately those who got in her way, and before long the civilians were learning to move more quickly to a less dangerous spot on the floor. Gavin had given Kurn's sword to his Witch Hunter servant, who provided a buffer even as he was surrounded by Lung. He carried the severed hand from the inn in one hand, and his regular dagger in the other. 

For the most part, Jael scared the Nobles in front to keep moving out of the way, and Lung defended the necromancer's sides and rear. If any of those "normal" looking Men were threatened, the undead Witch Hunter did not hesitate to stab and slash at his own former congregation. They had reached the bottom of the stairs and were moving back toward the pool-end of the chamber.

The rest of Reprisal had joined up again with Wolf and they engaged clusters of living Witch Hunters, using magical tricks that I wanted to watch but couldn't focus on safely at the moment. Whatever they were, and whatever foreign phrases that Reprisal were shouting at their adversaries, they further antagonized the zealots, causing them to die while very angry. Viper was laughing loudly at one point; it was nice to hear someone was having a good time.

I noted the Guardians in gold writhing with their own inaction; they looked at the Bishops again and again, waiting for the signal. It was not given. It was obvious to me why this was.

The barrier to the pool was impossible to assault straight on. Halberds, swords, armor, magical protection, and powerful mages standing right behind them. If the mage-priests had honestly been concerned for all the civilians trapped in here with us, they would have dispatched a few of the Guardians to open the main chamber door and empty the temple of the families.

No golden Guardian moved toward that barred chamber door, and the Templars were fully blocked and vulnerable to the Hellhounds. It remained exceedingly crowded inside; high-pitched screams of fear accompanied scents of urine and feces, and finally some of the Humans were desperate enough to try doors and halls in the balconies. Most were locked, and of those that weren't, I knew they wouldn't find a way out.




Surfacing Ch. 16



But they would be farther away from the devils for now.

I struck one Noble male in the nose with Soul Drinker's pommel when he tried to hit me with a banner pole he'd found somewhere. Then I stabbed him with the dagger. As no one could see anything but a pretty, pale, blonde Lady killing grown Men with her bare and delicate hands, the terror bought me some time as those watching either froze or forced their way back into the crowd away from me. 

Continuing to move around, I took the opportunity to see whether the Templars had died yet by the suicidal Ma'ab who'd volunteered to trap themselves here and see the sacred pool sullied.

Huh. They had not all died.

The Templars had retreated before the Hellhounds as a unit, clearly not desiring it as they were not afraid to stand their ground. It was as if they were following orders. Only their Captain could have given that order in absolute silence.

So they knew what he was. Or at least, they trusted his blessed voice in their heads.

The Hellhounds grinned at each other as the way opened up, and one lifted his gauntleted hand, put something small to his lips, and whistled a shrill, grating blare. Someone up on the same side of the balcony where I'd first entered the chamber now tossed a body down right on top of the closest Guardians.

I wasn't sure who the body had been—I only saw a flash of red— but given that there was a third Hellhound inside the temple, and the Bishops all had a definite vocal reaction, I was betting on it being either one of the Priests or the High Inquisitor.

Still the Hellhounds did not say anything—that whistle had been the loudest noise any had made—but they did signal something to each other. They stood in their element; no civilians would get near them, for good reason, and Mourn and the Guild managing to remove all obstacles except for the Guardians was the bait we hoped both sides would take.

If there were any more Hellhounds yet to be revealed, however, we were likely all going to be killed from plague at the very least. I could see them impaling themselves on the halberds of the Guardians on purpose just to make sure.

Witch Hunter and civilian bodies on the ground had grown worse in obstructing all those still engaged in combat or seeking a way out. Reprisal had taken on all of those Hunters inside the chamber, trying to prevent them from reaching either the Hellhounds or our group of bodyguards surrounding Gavin. I noticed that all four Guildsman favored attacking the eyes and the testicles of their targets amid the insults, and more than one had a punching dagger on his fist. The Guildsmen were mutilating the Witch Hunters without hesitation, and looked about as joyfully bloodthirsty as Jael.

My Sister also took her guard duty as seriously as the Yungians, though hers wasn't so much a matter of honor as it was the opportunity to release all that rage on convenient Human targets. I managed to read one curse on her lips, and it was a pretty vile one. I realized that Mourn's and my disguise must really rub on her nerves; she loathed all Humans right now. Maybe Gavin just didn't look Human enough and that probably earned him a pass from her.

Peng Lok signaled a stop to their advance, likely at a pearl-word from Mourn, and that was when two Hellhounds signaled each other once again. The one on the balcony opened his mouth wide as he flexed his upper body, croaking as if the sound itself took true effort to force its escape. I could not make it out as a word beneath a deeper growl.

The muscles on his neck stood out like taut sailor's ropes as his tattoos started to glow a similar, eerie blue to some of Gavin's magic. I wished I was near enough to see what Gavin had said to Lung, but they helpfully signed over their heads: "Priest attack."

Even not being the primary target, that didn't mean any of the Guild or I was getting any closer.

The Hellhound on the balcony, in all ways, acted as if trying to bring up something thick and viscous and painful from deep within his throat. When he finally forced it out, it went much farther than a good, slimy expectorant would have. It was black and just liquid enough to spray while mostly holding together for the distance. About enough to fill the average drinking cup, it went over the Guardians and the first barrier fence, splattering very, very close to the pool.

I couldn't quite tell if the Bishop who threw himself in the path of the black ichor had done it on his own, or if he was pushed.

"Musanlo Salyesam!" he cried, clearly in pain, but amid the burst of magic from the altar coupled with the frenzied activity around me as the two Hellhounds on the floor used their shredding chains on the nearest civilians just for fun... I could not see what had happened.

Just after I wondered whether the Ma'ab had just done our job for us to taint the holy water, the third Hellhound pitched himself over the side of the railing, following the same path as the body he'd thrown before him.

"MATALE!" Keros bellowed, pointing up.

Suddenly there were a lot of sharp things lifted into the air upon which the Hellhound could land, and whatever that order had been, I knew it hadn't been to catch him and keep him safe and sound. I started backing up; staring, terrified people forgot that I was a witch for the moment and they let me pass.

"JAEL! Back!" I cried in Drow as both Hellhounds on the main floor finally moved forward to engage, swinging their favored weapons over their heads before and tossing them forward, the moment their brother landed amid the Temple Guardians.

My Sister obeyed my call, shoving at Gavin rudely as he sent his undead minion to take point. I heard the wet, heavy crunch of the muscular body hitting metal, and small hairs on my neck arose as something undefined was released into the temple.

"Fethos Lorit!"

I was glad to hear Mourn's voice right then, spreading and falling like rain across the high ceiling. I still didn't see him or couldn't pinpoint from where his voice had come. The To'vah effect of those words, however, was that of a giant, razor-edged, invisible bowl slamming upside-down onto the impaled Hellhound and two unfortunately entangled Guardians. It wasn't unlike Shyntre's magical shields in how it shimmered subtly with magical energy, though the borders couldn't be as precise again moving targets, I thought. One Guardian lost half his leg when the circle closed, severed and laying outside the shell of magic.

As ranged protection spells went that was impressive, though the Archbishop was prepared to do one better.

"Abri-ignata consumitri ana!" his well-trained voice boomed from over the still-pure pool.

I couldn't see much where I was, but at a glance I knew Keros's priest-brothers were each facing the pool from just outside the golden fence—including the one who'd been struck, though his robes were discolored and damaged—and they were surrounded by the same nine Temple Guardians on the other side of the wrought iron barrier. Keros repeated the chant, joined by five more voices, and their power rose quick and urgent.

The spell effect was almost exactly like Mourn's, except that it trapped the threatened Temple Guardians inside with the Hellhounds, and blocked all of us from being able to approach the pool from the ground level.

"Keros!" Captain Isboern cried, bursting forcefully out of the very same hallway where we had entered, and where the third Hellhound had revealed himself.

*Popular place.*

I had the fleeting mental image of Mourn, that third Hellhound, and Isboern all facing off in that wing. I was sort of surprised something else hadn't blown up.

"Ques eoshi ekata!" the Godblood shouted from the balcony, looking truly upset before his expression turned to true horror as he watched the Temple Guardians struggle inside the trap.

I could see why; everyone could. Not only were some of the Sun God warriors being tangled and shredded by the magical chains, but we all got to see exactly how fast those links could churn and grind around its captive. Even enchanted armor wouldn't last forever against unending assault like that, and more than one Manalara was tainted with something black that was eating their flesh. The shouts inside, though muffled, were getting more desperate as they began to act as if there was not enough air to breathe.

"Release them, release our men!" Captain Isboern shouted in Common, turning red in the face. "They do not deserve such a death!"

A calm, firm response floated up to him, only just reaching my ears.

"They are tainted. They know it. All must be purified."

I was moving constantly to evade panicked bodies, altering my view as I looked to the remaining nine Temple Guardians standing on the steps around the pool. They were watching their brothers' struggle inside the magic bubble, but they did not move. They were like statues. 

I felt the weight of Isboern's gaze then and looked up at him. He gripped the balcony railing and had picked me out of the crowd, looking directly at me. I felt his grief, and his concern for those loyal fighters. Even if they were meant to die in the line of duty, he would not want them killed because his superiors trapped them in a poison air lock with no defense or escape. It did not give them the respect they had earned with their service.

*Let the temple fall,* I thought through that grief. *You survive. You rebuild.*

*You are with the Ma'ab!* he accused, the thought almost sharp as a blade and I flinched. *You and your Guild leaders are helping them!*

*Only until we kill Keros, remember? How many of your soldiers will the Archbishop sacrifice to defeat the Ma'ab? How many die on the wall right now since the Inquisitor called you away from them, only to be a martyr for your people here?*

The Knight was trembling, and I could feel that he was afraid he knew the answer.

*You know the mages will only protect their own power. They have no plan of preservation except that pool. The Guild does have a plan, and the Guild has a way to beat the Ma'ab. Do not obstruct us. We will help you. We have already helped you!*

*WHY?!*

*Because you saved my Sister! Because you took my consort's hand when he offered it! Because, unlike the Witch Hunters who serve your Bishops, YOU do not fear what else lives on Miurag with you!*

"SIRANA!!"

Someone hit me so hard from behind it knocked my wind out when we landed. I forced a roll to the right so that I wouldn't crush my spiders with my hip. The scent of fear and rancid oil told me it was a Witch Hunter, even before he began bellowing obscenities in my face and grappling for my throat. I saw sweat and spittle on red, bleeding lips, and wild, bloodshot, hazel eyes; I smelled rotting teeth. He drove his knee up into my crotch, which was startling, but not quite as crippling if I'd been male. 

Soul Drinker refused to be released from my hand; that was the only way I could explain why I hadn't dropped the dagger. However, the manic, fevered male grabbed the correct wrist by sheer luck and I could not stab him before he stabbed me with the holy pendant jerked from his neck. The rough, jagged edges of the iron Sunburst struck part of my leather armor as he tried to stab my breast, but the struggle caused it to slide up and gouge the flesh at the base of my neck.

*Lolth...fucking...dammit!!*

His weight was too heavy for me to push him off, so I didn't even try. I had to choose how best to use my free hand: stopping him from grinding the pendant deeper into my flesh, or releasing my spiders at last.

As if I wouldn't love to see him frothing at the mouth.

*Only one, you bite him. Then all of you come to me.*

They were only too eager to obey as I gritted my teeth against the purely physical burning and stabbing pain as he put more weight behind his arm. He seemed to barely notice the bite itself, but as my baby jumped over my wound to join its partners in my hair, the wild eyes of the Witch Hunter finally blinked, and his next curse caught in his throat.

Two of Reprisal caught up then and hauled the Witch Hunter off of me.

"Leave him!" I cried as I got up. "He's dead, don't make it quick!"

Hawk noticed the nervous ticks just starting to show on his baffled face and he smirked before nodding once at Shark. They both dropped him to begin his venom fits and swelling upon the floor as they refocused on aiding their Guild brothers, who were nearly finished with the remaining Witch Hunters.

Efficient team.

"Lolth damn it, Sirana! Watch around you!" Jael shouted my way.

*Obviously obvious, Sister.*

I glanced up at the balcony. Isboern was gone, but Mourn was there. He signed the same thing Jael had said, minus the curse.

*You're welcome,* I signed back, moving for the moment to a less populated area. It wouldn't be less crowded for long.

Isboern had regrouped with his five Templars, and they left Reprisal and the Witch Hunters alone. Most of the Guardians trapped inside with the Hellhounds were dead or down, but the Ma'ab were somehow still standing, if obviously bleeding.

At least they were bleeding red like me, even if they were somehow getting around the need to breathe clean air.

The Bishops were chanting louder and louder, and I could feel their power rising and falling with some instability. Mourn or Isboern, I would have guessed, were interfering somehow.

I blinked as I saw Gavin draw close to the bubble, apparently on purpose; it was close enough for him to reach out and touch it with his bare fingers. His bodyguards all had body language that suggested they thought him mad, and just knowing him as I did, I could tell even from my distance that the touch was not a comfortable connection to make. He held the severed Witch Hunter hand forward, he spoke low, and the relaxed fingers of the corpse hand suddenly twitched, then clutched into a fist.

Two black, spiked chains appeared inside the bubble, similar to the ones the Hellhounds used but definitely not of iron. One each wrapped and tightened around a Hellhound, slowing their movement, though they didn't fall the way I'd seen the cannibals fall the last time Gavin had used this spell. The feared infiltrators remained standing as the chains jerked and twisted tighter around their bodies, drawing not a whimper or cry from them even in their viciousness.

The Ma'ab both focused their black gaze on the necromancer and roared so loud that the two or three barely conscious Guardians within clapped their gauntleted hand over their helmets, as if to cover their ears.

"Sssu'hiridan..." one of the Hellhounds said.

That one actually spoke wasn't comforting; it was a caustic hiss that promised unending torture to those who heard it.

Gavin ignored them and kept his focus on whatever he meant to accomplish by drawing the specific attention of the Hellhounds. I had to give him credit where credit was due. He and I both knew the Hellhounds would come after him immediately after the pool was soiled. They knew he was a "slum" necromancer of their own race, and they knew he wasn't part of their army. He was of the lowest caste, and an unknown.

If they didn't kill him, they would take him prisoner to bring back to their masters. So why not attack them first when they were trapped by the Sun priests? Even if it meant foregoing their help in killing the Bishops.

Jael, and Lung remained around him watching for outside threats, occasionally forcing back part of the screaming crowd that got too close.

I kept moving, one eye on Mourn and his tail, which was lashing so hard it would cut skin if any of those people on the balcony with him were stupid enough to get close to him, and I knew him well enough by now to almost be able to see his aura. He and the Godblood—now on the other side of the chamber from Mourn— were definitely concentrating on whatever was building at the pool behind that bubble.

From a better angle, I watched Gavin tuck the fisted hand into his belt as he reached for his dagger next, keeping his hand fused with the bubble. I only heard a bare whisper of his unsettling Maiden's speech, and he moved his dagger in a slow, deliberate draw, as if he was slashing open a Man's chest on an altar.

A large scythe made of black smoke appeared in front of the Hellhounds and cut through their middles, passing through them and out the other side without a visible wound. The first one from the hall trembled and his dark eyes flashed blue very briefly before he strained more against the mystical chains, calling his own magic chain back to throw it right at Gavin. Only the Sun shield stopped it, and my heart landed in my throat for a moment.

"Harima!" shouted the Hellhound, his pale, bald head not turning red but instead becoming a sickly greenish. "Harima mafous!"

Gavin smirked but did not reply, only whispered again to send the black soul cutter through them again. The first Hellhound ducked when the scythe struck his brother once again, forcing that one to his knees. He still wasn't down, though, and one had evaded.

Finally, Gavin said something that drew Jael and Lung's ears, and they all glanced around the crowd until they landed on me.

Deshi signed first, *White Ghost needs you.*

I didn't want to get closer to that pressurized confrontation of black magic. It wasn't good for my child. Of course, Gavin being struck down or captured by Hellhounds wasn't good for my child, either.

Breathing out, I moved toward Gavin and Jael. I supposed there was not anywhere else to go that wasn't full of bleeding obstacles or panicked, pissing children. Though Gavin's eyes were locked with the Hellhound, he knew when I was there.

"We must wear down their essence, Sirana," he murmured, almost too quiet to hear amid all the noise. "Their bodies may not burst when they die." 

"May not?!" Jael asked.

Well. I didn't have a better idea, and at least they were isolated from the free air at the moment.

"Your suggestion?"

"Test if Soul Drinker can pass through the shield. It should; its magic only must just exceed the power given to the shield."

That filtered into my brain quickly. It meant that Gavin matched the Archbishop's power, but the Hellhounds did not. Sobering.

Was there where I thanked the Maiden of Shrouds for her generosity?

I tested his theory, placing the tip of the blade gently against the nearly invisible bubble. It began to pass through, sinking as if into a body. My arm vibrated, and I heard a strange buzz in my ears. This wasn't going to feel good at all.

"Good," Gavin said, allowing only a pause before he formed a careful word: "Che'zantac!"

Both specter's chains yanked their way back to their master, slamming the Hellhounds back-first against the inside border of the bubble. The black scythe slashed again at the weaker Hellhound, finally drawing a moan that hinted at dismay. Gavin didn't have to tell me to stab the other, healthier one in the back.

*Slow!* I told the relic. *Wear him down slow!*

I realized immediately that I had not even understood what I'd just commanded. Soul Drinker was only too happy to oblige, but it was not a quick or painless process; the Hellhounds were fighting us on a level I didn't fully understand, and waves of sickness washed over me until I doubled over and vomited what small bit was on my stomach at this point. 

The Ma'ab didn't feel their physical wounds, but they fought with obsessive determination to keep their curse. That was the only way that I could describe it.

They wanted, needed to die quickly, to let their rage burst out all at once and release their mistress's magic upon their enemies. They wanted to take the low-born traitor with them, if they couldn't haul his body of flesh back to face the judgment of the high-born. Gavin and Soul Drinker were slowly dismantling them, neutralizing the explosive element of their curse by removing their essence in torturously small pieces. Basically, we were emasculating them, removing their venom and their plague a little at a time. Taking away their identity and their purpose.




Surfacing Ch. 16



And letting them feel every inevitable moment of it.

I shuddered, down on one knee and heaving the entire time I felt Soul Drinker do this. My wrist moved by itself, twisting the blade to keep it in. It was worse than what had happened to Kurn or the Chaos giant, when I'd been connected to them.

I was going to have some bad dreams about this. 

Jael reached out to touch me in concern at one point, "Sirana—"

I screamed something unintelligible at her, kicked at her to force her back. If Soul Drinker hadn't been in such bliss already, it might have become aware of her...

No.

Finally I heard a sound like suction being released, and the Hellhound slipped off of my blade and fell limp to the temple floor. He was still whole. Sweat coated my forehead and I was shaking, my stomach roiling with nausea; the wound at my collarbone throbbed. Gavin's eyes were closed, and I watched him breathe in slowly; I realized his hand was now through the bubble and gripping the back of the Hellhound's neck, touching him skin-to-skin.

Shortly, the second Hellhound slumped over as well. Whole.

The rest of the Guardians had suffocated or bled out during that time; they were all dead. Slowly I became aware that Isboern was in a shouting match with the Archbishop from across the wrought iron barrier.

"Mourn?" I asked, voice trembling a bit as I wiped sweat from my forward with my glove. I probably only smeared it.

"Here. Good work, Sirana. Secure your dagger."

There was one false start as I hesitated doing so, but soon I had it back in its sheath for the first time since this had started. Only then did the hybrid help me to my feet. He was emitting a lot of heat again, and he smelled good.

"Isboern hasn't given up hope of talking sense into them," Mourn commented.

That surprised me. He had nearly been convinced after the bubble had been erected; seeing what he saw had caused him such pain.

"What? Why not?"

"The Noldor showed up. Now the Bishops are crying heresy."

*Oh, Tamuril...not now.* 

Although this was more Isboern's fault than Tamuril's. Personally, I would have thought that my superiors threatening a...a "friend," as the Noldor would call it, would further convince me to rebel against them, not push me to suddenly try to justify the alliance or negotiate with them.

Certainly it said something about his superior's ability to adapt to circumstance if he shrieks so loudly about change when he was already losing the battle.

Gavin snorted, sounding invigorated after defeating the Hellhounds, rather than worn as I was. "Wait. I will show them true heresy."

Mourn smiled. Reprisal had joined us next to the bubble as well, bloodied and satisfied, and most of the civilians were now in a crunch on the far side of the chamber. I finally focused far enough out to see multiple Men trying to lift the iron bar keeping those doors shut. It wasn't budging. There were scars and marks upon the hardwood as the Nobles used anything they could find to batter at the doors.

They were trying to get out, and they couldn't.

"Did the Bishops—?"

"Yep," Wolf said darkly. "And their people know it. They aren't quite that stupid for a city of woman-haters."

"Magically sealed," Mourn said. "No one is leaving."

I had a feeling the Valsharess would be proud of the Archbishop's choice. This had all the feeling of a good Purge.

"The Ma'ab are inside the city," Peng Lok said solemnly. I didn't have to ask how he knew that. "We must call on the Ma'ab enemies or they will take the magic of the pool for themselves."

Gavin nodded, looking around the chamber, and I wasn't sure I wanted to hear his thoughts right then. He was counting live bodies as well as dead ones. I checked for both my bone charms again.

"Stand back," Mourn said.

We did, but before the dragonblood had the chance to do anything, Archbishop Keros had finally had enough of the Captain's interference and his words, and sent enough power our way to not only dispel the bubble, but to physically force us back with the spare power. I tumbled but controlled my fall enough to roll and get back up. Most of us did except Gavin, who did not seem any worse for wear as he stood up last.

"You have released the Harlot of Hell into our sacred chambers!" Keros exploded, pointing at Jael as he called out to Isboern. "You have lain with a demoness of the Wild!"

He was pointing now at the Noldor as she stood beside him, and behind a protective wall of thorny vines. There was burn damage to them, so I had to assume the Bishops had attacked them as I was writhing with Soul Drinker and the Hellhound.

The Noldor was not wearing any disguise; she looked the same as when I'd last seen her—of forest colors and flowers with her bow on her back, though her blond hair was tied back tightly. I would have said that her back was a bit straighter. I did not see Pilla, but it was probably unwise to bring that over-protective bird inside this place anyway. 

Wait. He had lain with...?

"Did the Captain confess fucking Tamuril while I was busy?" I asked Mourn.

"No. Keros is presuming."

"Think they did?" Jael asked.

"I do not care."

Keros continued his rant, and Isboern like the fool he was tried to speak as if he would be heard, no matter how loud he was.

"This has been your plan all along, Isboern! You play the temptation to the poor and impressionable with false pretenses and they call you 'Godblood.' You have proven the lie! Musanlo's Faithful shall now know of your treachery, Knight Captain, we will begin fresh. As the Earth needs the Sun to grow, so, too, does pure the Light of His Grace cleanse the wicked soul!"

"SHAH-ALAH IGNOMINI!" cried the five other Bishops in unison.

Whatever we anticipated from those words, I did not expect them to shatter their own glass dome but I immediately saw the use for those angled mirrors. More Sunlight streamed in to reflect off them and hit the pool directly, even it being early in the morning. Isboern hauled Tamuril away from the falling glass, and the Templars backed up just as quickly, unsure how to best support their leader in the face of the Archbishop's accusations.

The Bishops didn't care if they were cut by the glass. I saw some bits of red appear on ecstatic faces as their power swelled within the chamber at an alarming rate.

"Everyone rally to the Captain!" Mourn shouted, startling the Abyss out of us. "Get shelter, don't be a target!" 

I was just in position to catch Mourn's sign to Gavin: *Be ready. Will open the way.*

It was obvious what he meant about clearing the way. The nine Temple Guardians were finally moving, coming forward a few steps and bracing to catch anyone who might threaten what must be the ultimate cleansing spell for the Bishops of Musanlo. I dragged Jael with me as Lung and Reprisal obeyed Mourn. Captain Isboern looked toward us as we approached, appraised us, and signaled to his men, who did not attack. Instead we were all out of the direct line of sight of the pool.

Tamuril didn't recognize me—she gave me an odd look, since I did not fit in with the rest—but she looked at Jael and swallowed.

"Krithannia says you've never been so stupid than to run back inside a burning trap," I said. "And I agree. You should have gone with her."

The blonde Elf jerked her wide, green eyes to stare at me instead. She had definitely recognized my voice, as well as the name of her dark-haired, Noldor sister.

"S-Sirana...?" She looked at Isboern, who told her something with his gaze. "The Guild?"

She didn't look as surprised that the Guild was here; she wouldn't be, having met Krithannia out in the city somewhere. It was me being part of it, and then it was the look she gave Mourn in the next moment as he prepared to speak. She was seeing him for the first time in his natural form. Perhaps she'd just put something together.

There was time for nothing else, however, as Mourn shouted. "NIF'KOUS-SHAK!"

Pure force ripped down the center of the barriers guarding the pool, all of them.

The first fence ripped in two and each piece shrieked its way to the side; the Guardians looked to be caught by an invisible juggernaut colliding and sweeping them to the sides, to roll uncontrollably until they struck the side walls with enough force to make their metal armor sing. Four of the golden-tipped spears snapped in half, though the pool itself pushed back against the metal debris landing in it, and the nearest Bishop with the Hellhound-stained robes shuddered and stumbled back from the pool, temporarily weakening the mages' bond. The rest—with whatever defenses they had around themselves—held fast on their feet.

Gavin was already moving with his Witch Hunter servant, drawing out the soul shard for what we hoped would be the final time, leaving his backpack on the floor. I noticed the pale skin of his hand already darkening in the natural light. Once Mourn caught his feet after expending that much magic all at once, he also stepped forward, drawing his sliders to defend the necromancer's approach.

Keros had lost his concentration only until he remembered how angry he was. "No! Uganta tenlous NOMILU SANCJI-MOC!"

The cream tiles of the altar lit up and burned as stone should not be able to do, spreading quickly like spilling water to surround the Bishops and the pool. Eventually it flared beneath the trespassers' feet, clearly causing them pain as Mourn and Gavin cried out and the undead jerked erratically, unable to control its movements. For a moment, I almost thought the floor had turned to burning white sand reflecting heat, as if the very Sun itself had fallen upon Miurag.

I couldn't do anything to help. This was beyond me.

Mourn hooked his broad arm around Gavin's ribs and hauled him backwards off the platform before he collapsed. He wasn't wearing boots; his feet were definitely wounded, and I saw his mouth move as he focused to heal himself. The Bishops took the moment of weakness to follow up with a tight arrow of light that struck the shaking Witch Hunter body, and continued toward Mourn. It smashed into the fastest-growing thorny vines I'd ever seen, splintering those and sparing Mourn's spine from the same damage...

I glanced at Tamuril and saw both her and her Human psionic concentrating on Mourn and Gavin while holding hands. Neat trick.

"Thank you," I murmured.

"What can they do?" Tamuril asked. "What are they trying to do?"

"Take away the Bishops' power," I replied. "If they can get close enough."

Isboern shook his head. "They can't now. That spell is protection for the sacred pool of Manalar. Only Musanlo's priests can walk upon it or even fly over it. Even I cannot go there."

I narrowed my eyes on Jacob's shard as Gavin stood up again. He reset his fallen hood to shield his eyes somewhat as he turned a fast-darkening face toward the light once again. I could see his back, and even with the chamber washed with white light, something glowed blue under his robe, high between his shoulder blades. At the same time, something golden shined in the same place beneath the robes of Keros and his Bishops.

"What determines a priest of Musanlo in this ritual?" I asked.

Isboern blinked at me. He didn't know.

I glanced at Gavin again. "Do they all have Sun brands given to each other, one priest to another?"

The Captain gave me an odd look, as if I'd said something lewd. "I... believe so."

Gavin walked fearlessly again onto the glowing floor, into the very well of light reflected over and over off the polished plates with punishing intensity. He staggered a step but kept going; I was sure now it was the Sunburst brand seared into him by his father that I could see through his clothing. 

I was not sure the five remaining Bishops, in their magical trance, realized Gavin was there. Nor did they seem to realize that their one fallen Bishop was unconscious and unprotected against the light. The power was swelling again and I had to think they must have their eyes closed as the chants continued and no damaging beams shot out again. Maybe with four mage-priests missing from their circle of nine, their ritual would welcome another priest with the same scarring.

"Gavin!" Mourn called.

The necromancer ignored him, placing one smoking foot in front of the other. I almost thought the Sunlight was causing him to waste away. He looked thinner all of a sudden.

"Mourn!" I called back. "Let him! Pull back!"

The hybrid glanced my way, looked back at the Deathwalker, and I saw his tongue flick out...and whatever he smelled caused the spines to rise on his back. He paced the barrier of light briefly, as if searching for a weak spot. He only broke his guard and rejoined us when he didn't find one.

"What's happening?" I asked.

"He's burning up!"

Oh. So that was the scent...

"But he can walk on the hallowed light of the pool," Isboern said softly. He was staring at the brand as well.

"Better hope he makes it," Jael muttered, and I realized she was talking to me in Drow, pointedly ignoring the Godblood. "You only have one of him, right?"

It was a fair question.

"You're not a priest, Isboern?" I asked. "You seem close to Musanlo."

His jaw tightened. "I am a soldier of the Sun God, Sirana, not a priest."

Auslan and Gavin had both said differently, but I ignored that for now. "Have you ever tried walking on it?"

"No. I have respected the order of the Bishops."

"Until now. Why save Mourn?"

"Tami asked me to help."

Well, Krithannia would be happy to hear that. If we survived to tell her.

"So you could try to walk on it now. You've already broken your oath."

"No!" Tamuril cried. "That's pure magic! Willven is not a mage!"

"If Gavin drops the shard, Isboern may have to pick it up," Mourn rumbled.

The Noldor was definitely ready to argue with the Guild leader. I wondered if it would help if I hit her in the face?

Another wave of magic caught us, and even indirectly it weakened our knees and made our heads throb. Heat shimmered in waves, rising toward the broken Skylight, and as I looked up again I could see the barest edge of the Sun cresting the opening from my angle.

It only made our headaches worse.

Soon I could smell what Mourn had said; Gavin's burning flesh that did not smell like normal cooking meat. I pursed my lips. Was my grey mage as suicidal as the Hellhounds? Would he destroy himself to spoil that pool? While it was exactly that determination the Guild needed from him, and I thought what I knew of his devotion to Nyx might seal that thought into being, it would definitely alter some of my plans. 

First, I would not be obliged or able to assist him in taking the Tower from Sarilis. Nyx would be giving up that Ley intersection. Would she? Would Gavin's time on this plane serving the Grave Mother be so short, after the many gifts she'd given him and after the centuries she had been exiled from here?

Maybe neither of them had planned for this. Maybe they had underestimated Musanlo's own servants.

"Your God broke his word."

I jumped to hear Gavin's normally soft, scholar's voice fill the chamber. It was him, but didn't sound exactly like him. 

His voice continued. "His faithful have corrupted his teachings."

I squinted at the punishing light again. The grey mage was on the first step leading to the pool and taking the second. It was hard to see more than the black figure with the Sunburst shining blue on his back.

"The Godblood has heralded your time of judgment," Gavin said, his voice now hoarse and grating. "You were warned."

He sounded like a Greylord might.

The Archbishop wheezed, stuttering at the wasted, walking corpse now facing him. "N-nomuli sancji...it's not p-possible..."

"Musanlo has abandoned us..."

"Silence, Ocu!"

"His back! Look! The s-sigil!"

The light wavered. I could only assume the Bishops of Manalar had nothing left to throw at us.

Gavin lifted an entirely black, skeletally thin arm, taking that last step onto the blue-rune tiles. "Now... be judged by the purity of your chosen champions. Morningstar bless the rapture."

I barely made out the black shard dropping into the pool. Unlike the broken poles from earlier, nothing rose up from the pool to prevent it from breaking the surface of the water. I wondered if everyone heard the tiny "plop" like I did. 

The light upon the floor immediately began to fade. Wailing began at the back of the chamber where the Noble families cowered on the floor praying. The light shifted above us and I looked up to see grey clouds rising to block the Sun from entering the Skylight. The well of light at the altar became as thin and wispy as smoke from a campfire, until only the torches again illuminated the temple.

I focused on one of the mirrors, now that I could make out a reflection again and my head didn't hurt quite so bad. The water was no longer clear and clean; it looked like someone had spilled a jug of wizard's ink into it. The darkness was spreading out from Jacob's soul.

"NO!" Keros screamed, his face contorted in anguish and fear. "I...I shall exile you from our very WORLD, devil!"

He cast...or, tried to cast. I witnessed a fast and complicated series of gestures and words, complete with a final apparent thrust of will. 

But nothing happened. It was quiet, and I could see no rift about to open up either. Gavin watched Keros curiously for a moment then he stepped back off the steps and began walking away, leaving the five surviving mages looking at their useless hands.  

I sucked in a breath when I saw my necromancer's blackened, shriveled face; there were glimpses of his teeth as if they showed through lips burned off, and I couldn't make out his eyes at all in his corpse-like face. He only took enough steps from the Bishops before he sank down to his knees, the ravages of the holy light taking its toll. Gavin looked as dead and grotesque as Deshi's tattoo... and make no mistake, the young Man of Yong-wen made some kind of sign across his chest as he moved up into my periphery.

"Black Ghost, we should kill the priests for his goddess," he murmured, still holding his Nyx-blessed dagger and saying it loud enough for Mourn to hear him. "Maybe it will heal him?"

Deshi's leader nodded, signing that they secure the Bishops and await his sign to kill them, and Lung and Reprisal both surged forward to surround the rulers of Manalar.

*Me, too! ME, TOO!* Soul Drinker cried. *Give me the Archbishop of whom you dreamt!!*

*No,* I thought sternly, moving forward to Gavin, gesturing for Jael to follow. *He is for Nyx.*

*Curse NYX!*

*Shut up. Just shut up.* I moved forward, Jael keeping close, her body language protective, as Mourn stayed with the Godblood and Tamuril for the moment.

I could feel my spiders nesting in my hair, aware of the magical quiet as well but responding to my own nerves and the constant vibrations from the people droning as they kept as far from the altar as possible. Gavin had sunk further down as lay on his side as I approached. 

I didn't touch him—I could see thick and black ooze causing his singed robe to stick to his wounds in many places—but I crouched and spoke to him.

"Gavin? What will heal you?"

I wasn't sure if he could hear me at first, if he was just thinking, but he made no answer, and I couldn't make contact with eyes that were no longer whole. Jael sniffed once and plugged her nose; I might have to do the same if my stomach didn't settle.

"Deshi will give the priests to Nyx," I said. "Will that help you?"

There was the barest shrug from him, and I could only just tell that his ribs expanded. Was he breathing? Oh, goddess, that had to hurt...

Mourn had approached behind me and was observing next to Jael; he took the opportunity with my glance to sign me a question.

"The rift hasn't opened," I said. "What do we do?"




Surfacing Ch. 16



Gavin signed with one nearly-fleshless hand: *Wait. Coming.*

Mourn immediately looked to the Guild. "Make the Bishops unseal the door."

"NEVER!" Keros spat. "None of your foulness will get outside this temple to infest others. I will surrender to Musanlo before I will allow a breach anywhere!"

"Implying you can do it alone? We have weapons that will steal your soul and block you from ever joining your God, even if he would wish to see you after all you have done in his name."

"No!" another Bishop cried, panicked. "Th-the Archbishop needs us! We all created it, we must all live to undo it together!"

Keros's face turned to stone. Glancing at the one dead Bishop, coupled with something he saw in their faces, Mourn decided he didn't believe them.

"Send all of them but Keros to the Grey Maiden."

Keros was shocked when Wolf punched his throat and slammed a fist into his crotch, sending him to the floor. Meanwhile, the rest each grabbed a Bishop, two on one, to hold the helpless mages still until Deshi came along to stab them through the heart, one after the other.

I noticed that Gavin only signed to me again after hearing some death rattles. *Blood in pool?*

I looked up again at the mirrors but really had to squint. I could see bright red along the edge of one tile, staining the blue rune purple and dripping down the edge.

"A little."

Gavin made a small sound. "Heh."

Then he signed: *Move back.*

Something very, very low droned beneath us, and the first peel of thunder sounded above in the grey Sky.

Shit.

*Leave me,* Gavin signed. *My pack. Charms.*

Oh, by the bloody Abyss. 

"Mourn! Call everyone back! The rift!"

They didn't really need my direction on this, they heard and felt it, too, but a little urgency never hurt. They tried to drag Keros with them but the Archbishop struggled desperately for an elder Human, making a lot of undignified noises. He managed to twist free and sprinted farther into the chamber, stumbling and scrabbling over the suffocated and shredded bodies of the Temple Guardians which lined the barrier.

"Leave him!" Mourn growled.

The Guild didn't want to, but they obeyed, limberly jumping over bodies themselves to follow us.

"Gambling on him opening the door to save himself?" Jael said cynically.

"Yes."

"I would, too."

I seized Gavin's unscorched pack and fumbled inside for something that felt like a pouch of bones. Sadly for any urgency, there were three or four of them. I had to open them all quickly to locate the right set of bones. The spares he'd made weren't necklaces, but they had the hole drilled already. I counted. We had nine spare charms; Gavin had made twenty of the damned things. Not quite enough for all of the Guild who'd gone on this mission, but two teams weren't here and we had more than enough for the Manalara we wanted to live.

"I need string or wire!" I called as I picked a doorway that would be my protection.

Peng Lok and Deshi responded first, handing me both, and I quickly cut generous lengths, not threading them but ready to hand them out with the charm.

"What are you doing?" the Knight Captain asked, clearly feeling the changes building. "What is happening?"

"Do you trust me when I say we want you to survive?" I asked, looking up at Isboern and Tamuril both as something very unsettling rumbled again beneath my feet.

Tamuril looked stunned. "Trust...?"

"Yes," Isboern answered firmly.

"Good. Take one each and put it around your neck, then take cover."

Tamuril dropped hers the moment it landed in her palm. "No! I cannot wear that!"

"Tami—"

"No! It is undeath! I cannot!"

"I noticed you aren't saying they can't." I indicated Isboern and the Templars.

There was much confusion and fear in her leaf-green eyes, but she nodded. "They can. I cannot."

I looked at Isboern and gave him the one intended for her. "Set it by her feet, at least. Better if it's near the heart."

"I can help that." The blue-eyed Man focused his gaze on it. Silently, it levitated up from his palm. He smiled, and I caught his meaning.

May that work if he cared for his Pale Elf more than she cared for herself.

Everyone including Isboern, Tamuril, and the Templars managed to find cover in doorways and around corners, out of the direct line of sight of the pool. Like with the Chaos cult, it probably wasn't a good idea to look straight at it when the first wave happened. 

I crouched low to the ground in a doorway with Gavin's pack to my chest, pulling up my hood to cover my eyes and bracing myself. I checked for what must be the fiftieth time that the second charm was still tied next to a pouch near my womb. Jael and Mourn followed suit to crouch, my Sister pressed to my back—not as comfortable as it sounds since we were both wearing weapons and tools— and Mourn loomed over both of us.

I had already noticed the hybrid was blocking both of us from any potential flying debris like a good bodyguard, but it got better when he murmured To'vah quietly and Jael gasped when she felt his magic seal us in a small bubble, as he'd done with the first Hellhound corpse.

"Can we breathe?!"

"For a little while. I sense this will not take long."

He also signed in front of her face: *Keep silent. Breathe slow.*

I loved the look she gave him; she couldn't argue without acting stupid, but she definitely didn't like taking orders from a male. Especially one bigger than her, easily the size of a Draegloth. With fangs.

The new bubble reminded me to look at the place there Mourn had trapped the bloody contagion of the Ma'ab, keeping it from spreading upon detonation. The shield was now gone, and that place was still a spoiled spot which would be bad to fall into, but the flesh and blood of the Hellhound now created a near-perfect circle on the temple floor. It would be was easy enough to avoid.

The rumble had taken on a different tone, and I peeked ever so slightly around the corner and through Mourn's shield to glimpse the sacred pool now boiling like a black hot spring. Tainted water dripped down the stairs and seeped toward where Gavin's wasted body still lay unmoving.

I honestly didn't know whether Gavin had asked to be left behind because this process would help him or finish the kill. I still didn't know if he meant to remain here or wanted to join his mistress in the Greylands. I only knew that he knew his craft, and he trusted his mistress. I had never questioned his knowledge, his purpose, or his faith in his goddess, because unlike most everyone else I knew, he had never given me reason. I wasn't starting now.

Although if things turned out how Gavin had theorized, I wondered how we would get out of here without him.

*Nyx. You must still want him here on this plane. Have him stay.*

I was not expecting an answer.

Mourn looked toward where Archbishop Keros was making a lot of noise around his followers, trying to bring them together in their faith, but his magic still wasn't working. That was both luck and unlucky, in that he couldn't attack again but also couldn't open the door. The people clutched at his robes, something he clearly hated, as the Nobles begged to be saved from Hell's gaping maw. Or so I guessed; I could not make out a word they were saying.

Keros disentangled himself, offering a weak prayer or two before getting the idea to head back toward the pool and Gavin, making all of us watching tense up. The change was too close; we couldn't break cover even if he meant to act against this somehow.

The Archbishop almost made it back to the line of dead Temple Guardians when the pool finally burst upward with incredible force, spewing the blackened water straight up toward the Skylight. I wasn't looking directly at it when that happened, but I watched Keros's expression, and the way that grey and blue and white light reflected off the terrified pallor of his face.

"THE RAPTURE!" he screamed over the tumultuous rumble, his voice breaking once to go much higher. "IT IS THE RAPTURE!"

If that was what he wanted to call it. I was still fervently hoping for "Unpleasant Surprise for the Ma'ab."

Whatever leading force first struck all of us trapped inside the chamber, no one was left on their feet, or even on their knees. The sound accompanying the burst deafened me. I lost consciousness after it struck, and all I knew were swarms of hungry, desperate shrieks and layers upon layers of hands pawing at me, covering me like a blanket before someone finally whipped it off and away from me, taking all those little tiny claws with it.

When I opened my eyes, the torches had gone out and temple chamber was lit with blue light. Grey mist was rolling in from the altar to spread silently across the floor. Jael had collapsed against me, and Mourn had fallen to the side against the wall, only now shaking his head and moving again.

Soul Drinker was silent, and my spiders moved around in my hair to let me know they were still watching over me. They were relieved I was awake and had not suffered from the same unseen assault that I had. I smelled something like ash right beneath my nose and reached up to touch my chest. My fingers brushed the bone charm, and it instantly disintegrated to powder.

Did that mean it had worked?

I reached down to my belt, and found only the thread where the second charm had been. It had already fallen to dust. For one brief moment, regret and fear swelled up into my throat as I covered my abdomen with my gloved palm.

*Did they get you?*

I prodded at myself. I couldn't feel anything different. Was that good or bad?

How would I know if my unborn still lived? How would I know if something of the Greylands had reached inside my womb to take its place, in spite of the charm? I needed Gavin to tell me; he couldn't be gone...

"S-Sirana?" Jael moaned softly, shifting against me and putting her hand to her forehead.

"Here," I breathed. It almost seemed too quiet to speak louder than that. Who knew what would hear us?

My Sister stared at me, her copper eyes the most welcoming I had ever seen in her; I'd almost have thought we were naked and alone in my room in the barracks. I realized that I couldn't see my own big, pale tits anymore; I saw my black uniform. And my gloves. And weapons. Cris's illusion had been stripped away.

"You look great," she whispered. "I thought I might never see your true face again if I bit the ball."

I smiled a bit. "You already did that. Don't do it again."

There was something to be said for small favors, and Jael took hers in the form of a quick kiss. She still smelled like herself, even if the stink of battle clung to us all. She didn't smell like the Greylands.

Jael and Mourn's charms had fallen apart as well, and even the hybrid seemed a bit unsettled with whatever horde had lunged at us just a moment ago. He looked out and around the temple floor, flicking his tongue and his tail, and I saw his ears turn back slightly as he growled very low, very softly.

The Human Nobles were all down, lax and laying in piles unmoving, and they were slowly being covered by the grey mist, obscured from our view. Keros was already gone from sight, assuming he was on the floor like the rest, and there was no added sound in the temple from the glowing spike of light rising from the pool like a dagger turned Skyward. The Sky outside the temple was full overcast and much darker than it had been at dawn.

"Lung," Mourn said quietly, and even then his voice echoed in the unnatural quiet.

"Huixia," Peng Lok answered, and again from Nianzu, and then Denshi.

"Reprisal."

"Crow." That was Wolf.

"Mourn." Hawk, Viper, and Shark all corrected Brian, but without attitude.

I worked some saliva into my dry mouth and asked, "Captain?"

"Sirana."

"Tamuril?"

"Not awake. I have her." His metal armor shifted. "Templars, sound off."

I heard five variances in short order, answering in various accents, "We are with you, Captain."

Everyone intended to make it past that "first wave" had done so, unless Tamuril didn't wake up. The only one we were missing was Gavin. I started to get up, gently disentangling my dagger's hilt from one of Jael's drawstring pouch with her help.

The mist was cool and feather-light as it swirled around me, a bit of a relief following that intense light and punishing heat. Mourn grunted softly and moved forward, signing, *Stay,* to all others. Jael ignored him and followed me. At least she was being quiet.

The first movement other than us was from far too close to that portal. After a moment, though, I thought that nothing was coming through yet. I saw no shadows, no shapes, even as I was hesitant to look into it too long, worried that it was like staring into the Abyss. The movement wasn't exactly where I thought Gavin had fallen, but it was close enough, and the rising figure was the correct height, with limbs long and lean.

He was pale, with dark hair that looked freshly grown, and not as greasy as normal.

The three of us slowed to a stop. It looked like Gavin, a fully healed Deathwalker with his eyes and most of his face shadowed by the light behind him. The aura was powerful and unsettling even from a good sprint away. 

He walked a few steps to where his Witch Hunter servant had fallen, leaned down, and lifted up Kurn's sword before turning toward us. I could see the tendons Gavin had added to the hilt and cross guard of Kurn's sword now slide and wrap around his arm, becoming like an extension of him. The runes on the blade almost visibly pulsed with energy.

"Who are you?" I asked.

He didn't answer at first, tilting his head slightly. He sounded amused. "...did you take a blow to the head again?"

Not bad, but he hadn't said my name. Why hadn't he?

"Tell me your name, your calling, and whom you serve."

As before, he acquiesced. "Gavin. Deathwalker. I serve my mistress."

"You serve who?"

Gavin glanced behind him at the portal. "It would be unwise to blurt it aloud this close. Shall I come forward?"

Mourn drew both sliders and nodded to me.

"Yes."

Gavin was unruffled and unoffended by our caution, and he anticipated something else before I had prepared myself to ask. He was concentrating below eye level as he drew closer. He looked healed, as he had been before but...perhaps even a bit more grey in his dry skin, and a bit stronger. 

He lifted familiar ice-blue eyes to ours once he was within reach of Mourn's sliders, and he stopped as an easy target as he kept the tip of his Ma'ab sword pointed toward the floor. He whispered, "The charms worked for you all, including your child, Sirana."

He sounded just a bit pleased, but in Gavin it would be more due to his charms proving so effective. I could always hope that any otherworld creature taking over a new vessel wouldn't know my weakness so well and so quickly...because I probably wouldn't see it coming if it did.

I swallowed, wanting to believe him but we had to be sure.

"Say your mistress's name," I demanded evenly. "Swear that you serve her still."

He nodded once, his voice still quiet. "I serve with my whole devotion the Maiden of the Shrouds, the Grave Mother, Nyx of the Greylands, once stewardess of the Winter Throne before Musanlo barred her from this realm. Now and through eternity, I belong to her and will see her calm, guiding hand return once again to balance the scales of Miurag."

Jael looked between Mourn and I, unable to tell if these were just the dogma of an obsessed zealot. It was a bit more than I'd been expecting, but it matched everything in Krithannia's records and all that Gavin had said before. Plus a bit more. What was a Winter Throne?

Gavin smiled to show his teeth. They were still black. "Oaths of this nature cannot be spoken upon the Greylands unless they are true. The dead do not lie, Sirana."

Was he dead, then? Or was he trying to say this sacred site had just turned into an extension of the Greylands? It was certainly quiet and grey enough in here for a land of the dead...

The necromancer's smile dropped as he looked back directly at the rift then back at us. Something cold crept up my spine as I heard the first moan at the other side of the chamber. Someone was standing up. 

"Do we still have Deshi's dagger?" Gavin asked.

Mourn answered. "We still have Deshi."

"Call him forward. Tell him to stab as many of the Temple Guardians through the heart as he can."

"The full plate is in the way," Jael pointed out.

"Then I'd suggest helping him. Keep your silver handy but don't waste it on the dead or any we recruit to our side now. Mourn, we need the main door open or we may not get the results we wish to see from this plan."

"Agreed."

Mourn did not waste time sending Reprisal and Lung to work on the armor already damaged by the Hellhound chains, though they had to find bodies first by nudging their toes around in the mist, and it wasn't an easy chore.

Jael took her moment to stare at the Yungian Men, who had also been stripped of their illusions. Now everyone was in their true form. They were shorter and more lean than Reprisal by direct comparison—a bit more like our male Drow—and their eyes were more like...well, more like Jael's, if less like mine. She spared a glance at me with a raised brow and I smiled.

*Would be better with pointed ears,* she signed.

I shrugged. Perhaps. There was nothing wrong with their enthusiasm, this was for certain. Then, to my slight surprise, she went to go help them remove some of the plate armor.

Gavin asked me for his pack, and I returned it to him. He'd lost the severed Witch Hunters hand and his dagger in the holy light from what I could tell, but he retrieved a sharp scalpel from inside one of his kits. 

Donning his pack and the new tendon straps making it so he did not have to release the Ma'ab sword entirely though he could still use his hand, he next whispered and spread out his palm before him. A wind that I could not feel began to sweep the grey mist before him, revealing the floor of the temple. He focused on locating Keros's body and those of the two remaining Hellhounds and the Temple Guardians. The Guildsmen grunted in thanks and were able to work that much faster.

I watched the necromancer roll up his sleeve and kneel by Keros to cut strips of skin from the Archbishop's left arm. Gavin demonstrated a skill in doing so without damaging the muscles underneath, and he did not take more than he needed as he quickly made another little skin kite like the one I'd seen above me while the Witch Hunters were "interrogating" me. I had to assume the other one had been left behind or burned up in holy light.

"When did you learn to do that?" I asked.

"Before we met," he said brusquely, letting the bloody thing go to flap its way up along the wall, avoiding the rift and trying for the shattered Skylight. "Though as of more recently, it is better refined."

"How so?"

"Instead of being a mere disgusting distraction, now I can see through it. I wager you knew that after you own personal inquisition."

So it had seemed at the time. Lucky for me.

Now he wanted to see what was happening outside. That wasn't a bad idea.

I watched its progress for a little bit before Gavin unintentionally drew my eyes back by wiping off the scalpel before cutting himself deeply on his sword arm, much more so than I'd ever witnessed before. It was viciously harsh and he clutched the hilt tighter as he absorbed the pain. I took a step back, watching the tip of that sword for a moment.

Black blood—shimmering ever so slightly in blue—started dripping onto the floor and on his feet, even as he secured the strained scalpel hastily within his belt and pressed the whole of his hand over the wound, collecting as much of his blood as he could. 

He focused on the two whole Hellhounds first, drawing runes on their bald heads and the sides of their necks, muttering deep and fast. Then he went back to Keros, and then to the Bishops closer to the rift. I looked up again at the kite, then around to see what the others were doing.




Surfacing Ch. 16



Deshi did not question his particular orders as he held his new favorite blade with both hands and ritualistically sank the blade straight into each Guardian chest opened to him by the other Guildsmen. He was very skilled getting between the ribs.

I heard more shuffling at the far end of the chamber and a voice which drew my attention, though Mourn was already watching with keen attention.

"Don...donti ekavo?" a Woman's voice asked. She sounded on the verge of weeping. "Ekavis Fiernal?"

The Knight Captain answered her, soothing and calm. "Neh-vis Fiernal, signala. Venshika."

He motioned her toward us, and it was only then that I saw Tamuril was awake and standing. She looked shaken as lone survivor amid the congregation, but the Knight Captain had saved the druid.

"Gavin, is it a good idea to bring that Woman closer?" I muttered as he worked.

The necromancer grunted in familiar irritation at the interruption and glanced down toward the Godblood, then where the Woman was having difficulty stepping or climbing over bodies. Now she was weeping, muttering "Fiernal" over and over in a variety of phrases. Her face was not covered, but the rest of her was. If not for her voice, I could not be sure the Human was female.

"It would be possible to survive the rift opening by natural constitution and resistance alone," Gavin said. "Given the number here, it is not unthinkable that such an individual would be among them. A pity it wasn't someone of more use."

Mourn and I glanced at each other as Gavin returned to claiming dead bodies. Someone had withstood the rift without charms...? But the one who had would only pose an unfortunate distraction for Isboern and the Templars.

"Captain," Mourn said, moving toward him. "Help me open the doors. Send the survivor to the side, behind your Templars."

Isboern and Tamuril stared at him.

"You...you mean to release this out into the city," the Godblood said, his voice reflecting the sorrow and distress I saw on Tamuril's face.

"It is either that, faithful son of Musanlo, or we remained trapped here, and the Ma'ab necromancers have the warning and time to build an offense. They have already breached the wall."

"Yes, I know," Isboern said very softly. "But not even the guards may know what—" 

"You assume," Gavin broke in more loudly as he walked back toward the Guardians with five new servants following him, "that a ward meant to halt use of a door fully contained that magical eruption, or was any kind of barrier for hungry spirits seeking new flesh? Even if the pulse outside didn't kill more people beyond the temple, the battle already in progress has provided corpses enough for the lost souls that were sucked out by the rift."

Mourn took full advantage of Isboern's speechlessness by encouraging that line of thought. "And what of that magic, Deathwalker? Would it have strengthened the Ma'ab army while any blessing of the Bishops is now mere vapor?"

"Indeed, it would have done exactly that."

At this, Gavin left the debate as if it was settled and began to work with the Guildsmen to claim more Guardians. The look on Isboern's face made me wonder if he would break. He looked away from Gavin and Mourn and focused again on me.

Why did he keep doing that? What did he expect?

"You said the Guild had a plan, Sirana. This...this will somehow stop the Ma'ab?" Isboern indicated the rift.

I nodded. "Yes."

I felt something brush my mind gently, and the Captain nodded, even as the sorrow had not lifted from his face. At least I understood now: he could tell most easily with me if I was lying or not.

Great.

Mourn took a step closer to the Captain, drawing his focus away from me. 

"The rift leads to a place the Ma'ab fear," Mourn rumbled, his tail waving left. "In the end, 'Godblood,' it is not deciding whether or not to let this 'evil' out. It is choosing whether or not we are caught between here and the door, before they get out regardless."

Isboern held Mourn's eyes in response to the challenge, though I could tell he was not used to threatening a link with one of dragonblood. Psionic or not, his will was still a very young one compared to the To'vah, and Mourn at least knew what it felt like with me.

"But... the Ma'ab will not just walk into this place that they fear," Isboern said. "Something must come out to get them."

"True. We open the doors, Captain, or they will take us first."

The blond Man's face was haunted, as was Tamuril's. "My soldiers—"

"You cannot save them."

The Godblood's pale face flushed. "I must do something for them! I will not sacrifice all of them like the Archbishop did the Temple's Chosen!"

The covered Manalara Woman emitted a short scream and yanked her foot away, stumbling and suddenly crawling on all fours as fast as she could. "Algi asirame!"

I heard something I fully recognized by now: hollow, trapped air escaping lungs as a body shifted long past its moment of death. There were several of these hisses and rattles in quick succession around the chamber, in front and above, even as I heard more behind me as the Hellhounds, Keros, and several Guardians in mutilated armor began to stand back up as well. 

Gavin, Deshi, and the Guildsmen were still working furiously and ignoring the other sounds in the chamber for now as they added to the line of defense. Every whole body turned to Gavin's control was one more against...well, anything that came out of that rift, and everything now standing up inside the temple.

Captain Isboern drew his sword and started forward; Mourn blocked him, his spines rising on his back and his tail lashing. His teeth were bared.

"Use your talents to open the doors!"

"Get out of my way! Something grabbed her!"

"You are their leader! You focus on the greater good!"

"There is nothing good about this! I'll not kill my men! You open the door!"

"This is more than just you," Mourn hissed. "The Bishops and Witch Hunters are gone. The Ma'ab are all that remain to prevent you from building something better!"

"Oh, Goddess, stop talking!" Jael shouted. "Look!"

One of the former congregation nearest to us—a dark-haired Man with a full black beard—twitched in fits before lunging for the shrouded female. He caught hold of her skirt and she screamed in terror, taking hold of the fabric as well, trying to wrench it free. One of the Templars sprinted forward without an order and used his sword to lop the hungry body's hand off at the wrist, grapping the Woman's arm and hauling her back with him.

Such an action would have worked if the one handless Man was the only body moving. Or moaning. There was new movement on the balconies as well, and the Templar and the Woman were blocked again.

"OPEN THE DOOR!" I shouted at our male leaders. "They're getting up! All of them!"

For a moment it looked as though Captain Isboern had been shocked by one of Shyntre's spells; his gaze went far away and he stumbled back from Mourn. Tamuril was there to catch him, and she was quivering but as she cast her vine spell, wrapping and trapping three more moaning, writhing bodies in thorns and woody ropes, at least allowing the Templar and the Woman to evade being dragged down before they could make it back.

Her magic seemed weaker than I remembered, and it wouldn't hold the undead for long. I wouldn't doubt if her nature magic was hampered, surrounded by so much that was not of her nature, but at least it still worked for her, unlike Keros.

I moved back and behind Gavin's growing barrier of undead servants, as did the Templars. The Woman's very vocal distress was quickly becoming annoying, and Tamuril said something to the Templars as one helped her move a barely-standing, catatonic Captain closer to us and a more defensible position.

"What in the Abyss is wrong with him?!" I hissed at her.

"Communing," she said flatly.

"What?! Now?!"

A tear actually escaped onto her flushed, pink cheek. "I am sorry. Sometimes he does this, he cannot always pick the time. Sirana, please help me protect him until he returns to us!"

I nearly snorted in disgust. Worthless. As bad as the wailing Woman cowering behind the Templars. And I had actually thought the psion reasonable earlier! 

Yet I was likely the only one here she could have asked who would believe her right now. Gavin, Auslan, and fucking Isboern; I'd seen all three of them in trances, where they were elsewhere. What would the Godblood do when he rose to consciousness again? Was Musanlo ready to see his temple fall on account of Nyx—whom he'd supposedly banished from this place— and by the hand of her servant, whom she'd sent for purposes of...what? Wrath? Revenge?

I doubted if the Sun God would stand for it. Maybe that was why the Captain was resisting. Another reason to watch the Godblood, so he didn't attack my own *effective* males' backs when it mattered most.

I tried to think of something I could do, but...other than draw a silver blade, I didn't have anywhere near the power to get out by myself. I had to rely on everyone else to survive, too. That thought while estimating how many bodies were now moving, while hearing how the snarls and groans and other noise was now rising to a fever pitch caused such an abrupt wave of fear that I nearly vomited again.

"Jael!" Mourn shouted in mounting frustration. "Forward!"

She bristled, but I had a thought what he needed her for.

"Like Gaelan and D'Shea. Go, please!" I said urgently.

She looked as at ease with this as situation Tamuril did, but she moved forward quickly, stuffing down any fear she may have felt. I couldn't hear what Mourn said to her but I saw a familiar strength enter her back as she stood beside him and allowed him to take hold of the back of her neck. She shuddered as he did something kind of similar to what I'd witnessed with my Elder, except...well, D'Shea didn't have a tail to wrap low around Gaelan's hips, snugging across her leather-clad ass.

"What the fuck, dragon!" Jael barked.

"Hold still!"

The pulse of pure magic from the two felt like a granite boulder striking the ground. Jael's spine arched back and she probably couldn't speak if she tried. Mourn put his other hand forward, muscles bunching in his neck and back as his spines rose up again as his tail tightened on my Sister.

"JIKMADA!"

The boom of the main chamber doors being struck by an invisible force sent vibrations through every corridor of the vast chamber. The thick, banded wood visibly warped and I heard some splintering, some strain of metal being torn, but the door was still firmly in place. The possessed nearest to the door stumbled and fell from the shockwave, and those farther away looked behind them in confusion for a moment before turning hollow, hungry gazes in our direction.

The congregation looked like normal Humans except for the eyes glowing dimly blue. Even that would change once they attacked and they ignored their wounds, like the blackbeard with only one hand. The loss of blood hadn't caused him to stop moving. Sadly, the Witch Hunters weren't gone...they were back in full force, minus most of their testicles and eyes, standing up again.

We became aware of one more survivor up in the balcony only when we heard the screams as the male youth, pulled at and bitten by those around him, clambered over the railing. He threw himself over the edge but it didn't save him, as more hungry dead were there to catch him. They fell upon him to start feasting. It was clear that fresh blood sent them into a frenzy.

Somehow I was glad the Godblood wasn't aware to watch that.

Gavin and the Guildsmen hadn't stopped "recruiting" yet, but now they were struggling to pierce the hearts of moving targets with Deshi's blade, and Gavin had cut himself several more times to simply start flinging his black blood over whole clusters of the hungry dead as they approached us from the right. They wailed as the black ooze stuck to their eyes and landed in their open mouths, causing them to slow and sink to their knees as if waiting to be further marked. 

"Claim the west exit to have at our backs!" Mourn called to Gavin as he shifted that way, pulling a slightly dazed Jael with him by his tail. "Undead out front. Lung, spells to collapse the balcony above! Once the doors are open, we may be able to reach the undercroft!"

Which was flooded, we knew. Maybe the undead couldn't swim? Maybe it didn't matter if they didn't even breathe?

The Guild and Gavin finally broke off collecting our defenders. I counted the two Hellhounds, Keros and all his Bishops, all twenty-seven Guardians with their formidable weapons, plus sixteen more civilians. All were directed by Gavin to surround us in a semi-circle facing outward.

The hungry dead threw themselves forward, caught by sword or halberd or grappled by hands as they bit and clawed at anything within reach—even each other before Hellhound or Guardian could cut then down. Of the ones who'd been alive when they were taken, I noted that enough damage to the chest and head was enough to put them down once again. Of the ones who had already been dead when the rift opened—like the Witch Hunters—they needed to be beheaded. It was the only thing that stopped them. This was something the Guardians were particularly good at. 

The bodies of the Sun priests proved astonishingly valuable as Gavin directed their hands to cast for him, channeling pure necromantic power that was being channeled either through him or from the rift. Either way, it forced huge numbers of our attackers back and prevented them from overwhelming the Guardians and Hellhounds that remembered most of their skills in their own attacks. The Ma'ab chains flew once again to grind and twist unarmored bodies in half, spraying blood and leaving parts flopping and floundering about to be stepped on by the rest.

Mourn had been more right than he'd realized; our plan wouldn't work without a powerful Deathwalker. Or at least, it might have, but it would have been suicide from the start, and we could have even looked forward to servitude in undeath to a Greylord. I could think now we might have a chance to live, since Gavin clearly wanted to be able to leave the desecrated temple as well.

*Thanks, Nyx.*

Soul Drinker hissed, waiting for its turn to be useful.

The Templars were at a loss, at least beyond shifting with us in defense of their Captain or the last Manalara Noblewoman. They saw what the others were doing but could only protect the one survivor and look to Isboern for direction, who was still in a trance. At least Tamuril was pushing him as well to keep him with us; it was if he was sleepwalking backward. She had her mouth firmly closed and wasn't talking, but at least she wasn't completely impractical.

Another boom accompanied by a splintering crack sounded as a trembling Mourn and Jael again tried to smash the door. We could see just the barest sliver of natural light in a split at the top, and the bar across the door was badly damaged.

Maybe just one more hit like that last one...

Most of us were probably expecting to hear something other than the groans and uncontrolled cries of the possessed at some point, and at last we heard something coming directly from the rift now to our right.

It was a jubilant howl, echoed by many more throats.

*Please... get the door open.*

The bodies piled up quickly, not unlike the cannibals in the forest, making it more difficult for new attackers to climb over. I wasn't against this; we might have a barricade ready to retreat into the west wing...

So long as we didn't forget to look up as well.

"Bengkui'ya!" Peng Lok cried, focusing a gem. Nianzu and Deshi quickly followed suit, chanting in harmony.

Their combined effort had a similar effect to Mourn's To'vah word to break, in that it shattered and allowed to fall several large chunks from the ceiling to crush the moaners who were looking down at us from the balcony. Several jumped to avoid the stone block and get at us, not caring that their ankles and legs would fracture upon landing. This at least gave the Captain's Templars something to focus on; they didn't need silver to destroy these ones.

"Cut off the head or stab through heart!" I ordered, just avoiding the curled fingers of a Woman who'd landed and broken her legs. She was covered in dark blue cloth with wide green eyes, shrieking at me on her knees before leaping up again. I punched deep in her gut with Soul Drinker, who drank greedily and chuckled.

*Still here,* the relic cooed in delight. *Their hosts are still in here!*

I didn't think about that too long. Another thing Isboern didn't need to know about what was happening to his people.

*Give me MORE!*

That proved no problem as I worked to keep balcony-droppers off the Godblood, Tamuril, as well as Mourn and Jael as they tried once more under great distraction to break the creaking chamber door. When Mourn needed to release her from the clutches of his tail, I knew they needed to regroup. Every single one of the formerly-faithful were throwing themselves at us, and Gavin's self-made wall of bodies and the damaged and staggering undead Guardians couldn't hold it back forever, even with the occasional reprieves offered by the power of the Bishops.

If we didn't escape through the west exit soon, we may not get the chance. At the same time, if the door did not open and there was no other way for the hungry to go, they would simply follow us into tighter quarters and overwhelm us anyway.

As would whatever had finally stepped through the rift.

At first glance, it was primitive. Tall. Muscular. Grey-skinned, of course, and standing on two legs, with wiry yet powerful arms reaching longer than its torso. It had no eyes; it was as if that tough grey skin had been stretched smooth over the sockets where any possible eyes could have been enormous. I could guess at a sensitive nose as it lifted a long jaw and muzzle into the air and immediately turned it toward us, its sharp teeth on clear display since it lacked lips of any visible sort. The creature possessed long, frayed grey hair growing down a blackened back, and in this hair was the only bit of color. Streaks of muted red and yellow were bound into a queue with the rest of its grey mane.

It possessed no metal that I could see. Partial armor—meant only to protect its shins, forearms, groin, and the one shoulder on the arm that held its weapon—were made of bone and leather, and some other kind of hard, organic plate I couldn't identify. It almost looked like those plates had been pulled off a giant insect and repurposed, reshaped to fit the thick-footed brute.

Then there was the sharp club it held in its large hand...except that description didn't quite do it justice. It looked like two flat wooden swords had been bound together by tendon, with many long pieces of sharpened, black flint jutting out from the center. Primitive, but I still would make it my goal not to be struck by such a thing.

"What—?" Jael began as we were temporarily free of jumpers and the Guardians were still blocking those on the floor.

"Ma'lok," Gavin answered. "A Blood Runner."

"Which means?" Mourn grunted, beheading one of the crawlers at his feet.

"More Blood Runners will soon follow, as well as at least a Harvester. My...guess," Gavin jabbed Kurn's sword hard into the mouth of another clambering over a Guardian, "is that they will want the Godblood first."

"Why him first?!" Tamuril blurted; I hadn't realized she'd been listening.

"The most powerful, pure human soul present, Noldor. He will make a very pretty shard on a Greylord's crown."

"You mean...like Jacob?" I asked, smashing a hand with my boot heel before stabbing through the neck, much to Soul Drinker's gleeful satisfaction.

"Exactly. But far more powerful."

"I take it this 'Ma'lok' doesn't belong to your mistress," Mourn growled.




Surfacing Ch. 16



"I'm afraid not. Neither will the rest of the pack. Get the door open."

Jael wasn't too keen to drop her guard in the middle of this, but she traded out Gaelan's blade for the silver one and did not resist when Mourn stepped behind her to wrap his tail around her again, just above and below her belt. She squirmed a bit more than before, as if her skin had grown more sensitive with the magic.

The halfbreed put his sliders out in front of her, ready to defend her as well—something I was glad to see, since there was a real possibility she could be as drunk afterward as I'd seen Gaelan before. She was holding up pretty well from earlier; maybe she was feeling the same surges for pure survival as I was, with or without magic.

Gavin's guess was correct; the Ma'lok kept his eyeless face pointed straight at our group and it began to stalk forward, assessing the situation through senses I would not be able to describe. There were masses of bodies between us, but the Blood Runner was large enough to cut a path through them if it wanted to. By quick estimate, it was perhaps Mourn's hand width taller than Mourn himself. At least.

We wouldn't know how fast it was or how far it could jump until it did so, but that weapon it held would do devastating damage to any flesh with such a long, strong arm behind it.

"Gavin, silver against the Ma'lok, right?!" I asked with a definite sharp edge of concern in my voice.

"Yes," he grunted irritably, his concentration focused now on building a power surge with the four Bishops he had remaining behind the line of weakening Guardians.

Every Guild member drew his Witch Hunter's dagger, most of them trading it or simply dropping whatever else had been in their hand. Deshi had both Nyx's dagger and his silver one out, nearly vibrating with energy and anticipation. I looked at the Templars and Tamuril, but didn't think they'd heard what I'd said.

"Noldor!" I shouted, and she started but glanced at me, her forehead sweating, before looking back to the balcony to confirm her own handy work. I looked up again as well and now saw why she'd been distracted.

She'd just woven a thick and tight wall of thorns from out of the wooden railing, and attached it straight up to the holes Lung had caused in the ceiling. The hungry dead were, for the moment, screened off from right above us. If they wanted to hurl themselves off the balcony now, they would have to land behind the front line.

"Good work," I granted her, feeling the lift of that immediate pressure for the moment. "Anyone have any silver?"

"Pendants, rings," she said, her voice sounding a bit hollow.

"Magical?"

"No."

"Weapons?"

"Precious metal to mere soldiers?" one of the Templars asked bitterly in a thick accent. "No, fierna, we do not!"

He was listening to the female Elves talk; why was that a surprise to me? Maybe because they'd never spoken out of turn until now.

I looked around for more Witch Hunter bodies. Most of them were upright, unfortunately. "Witch Hunters carry silver daggers," I said. "Target them, scavenge their weapon. If it comes to it—though pray it does not—press any piece of silver against the grey beast. It will do harm."

They did not acknowledge me even though I knew they were listening. Their Captain was still standing useless and now the largest target in the vast room. Tamuril untucked a Sunburst pendant from beneath her Captain's shirt; it looked like silver.

Gavin and Mourn let loose their power right on top of each other, though I did not know if that was intentional. However, three-quarters of the pressing bodies were hurled back again, a cluster hammering into the approaching Ma'lok and nearly knocking it off its blunt feet. Mourn's timing right afterward was perfect as he had the opportunity and clearance to target the door one more time. I heard my Sister cry out this time at whatever Mourn had needed to do to use her as his conduit. It wasn't a cry of pain.

"Jikmada-KAI!"

*YES!*

The door finally shattered, natural grey light spilling into the temple as the shockwave threw many more bodies located in the far half of the chamber off their feet. The Ma'lok had kept its feet but took a moment to look toward the new exit. It lifted its jaw again and scented the air deeply, and I started to hear a short, piercing shriek from its throat, repeated several more times.

Some kind of signal to others, I guessed, since it cut through the unnatural quiet of the Greylands and would have travelled some distance. 

Soon I could smell the air from the city outside, but it wasn't fresh. I could smell fire, and the drone of living noise touched my ears once the boom of Mourn's magic had passed and the last chunk of massive, iron-banded timber fell to the stone floor. Some of the hungry dead nearest the broken door not crushed by it were staggering outside, though not nearly fast enough for me. Fortunately, fewer of those Gavin had just pushed back for a second or third time were approaching our wall again. They had turned toward easier opportunity outside.

Unfortunately, the Ma'lok was still more interested in us than it was the battle noises. It just wasn't attacking quite yet; it was watching us...though how it was doing that without obvious eyes, I had no idea. No matter, I still didn't like this demonstration of deliberate and considered tactics.

"Jael?" I asked, as she still stood but was weaving slightly.

Mourn responded by pulling her back with him and stepping in front, unwinding his tail. "Catch her."

She would have tipped over had I not caught her beneath her arms, but the stubborn Drow still hadn't let go of her daggers, nor had her knees buckled. She mumbled something that sounded like, "Fuckin' Priestess," but I wasn't sure I'd heard right in all the noise. Her body was very warm, however; easily as warm as Mourn tended to be when using magic. Or when fucking.

She turned her head and bit the tip of my nose. 

Horny slit.

"Jael, focus! Undead! Lots of them!"

"Right," she mumbled, pulling away from me and shaking her head, trying to collect her wits. At least she still had her weapons.

The Guildsmen had managed to pilfer three more silver daggers on behalf of the Templars, passing them back quickly before cutting down more of the lessening crush of attackers. I only then realized that Mourn was preparing to break the line; he was about to jump. I'd seen it before sparing with him at the Patriarch's house. Gavin was already shifting bodies to fill it the hole.

*What are you doing?*

I had an idea even as I thought it. Mourn was going to engage the scout while there was still only one, test it for weaknesses, I hoped. Maybe test the silver. A pity we couldn't have done that before it had uttered its cry through the rift, but I wasn't the one who could jump more than my body length straight up from a standing position.

He easily cleared both the fallen bodies and the thinned line of possessed Humans, using his sliders to cut down those that followed him, then he roared, gaining the Ma'lok's attention. The Greyland warrior roared back.

Jael had mostly recovered and was back on defense, snorting softly as she looked enviously at the beginning fight. "So when's it our turn?"

"Soon as Isboern wakes up."

"Fuck Isboern, let him get chewed up and sucked out into a shard if he's going to pull this Drider shit!"

I decided I was glad we were speaking in Drow and Tamuril hadn't understood that. We didn't need the in-fighting. "Protect him anyway."

"Not if it means one of us gets taken instead. You're the one who's pregnant."

Again, glad we were speaking in Drow.

"Fair enough. Try not to let everyone here know that, hm?"

Mourn was in his element, finally able to engage an enemy without any allies around him to get in the way. The Ma'lok were only too thrilled to swing that crippling weapon at him, and as Mourn was close enough to deflect with a slider, I confirmed that the Greyland warrior was indeed the larger of the two by a head. It was clear to a practiced eye that the Ma'lok was testing Mourn in return; I could not be certain about its body language, but it almost looked curious.

"Interesting," Gavin muttered, spraying his black blood from a reopened wound on his arm, catching several more encroaching possessed in his metaphysical clutches. His command tossed them back onto the smelly pile where they were forced them to climb back over the barrier and attack the others with bare hands and teeth.

"What?" I demanded. "What's interesting? Spill it, mage."

"The Ma'lok doesn't recognize Mourn's essence."

"Meaning?"

"They do not hunt for Elven or To'vah souls in the Greylands. Perhaps they are less likely to target you unless you attack them."

Perhaps.

"What about you?" I asked.

"They'll take me if they can. They know I serve another Greylord."

"Prisoner of war?"

"More or less."

He sounded nonplussed about that possibility.

Mourn was holding back the silver for some reason, testing with his regular blades. He was far more dexterous and, happily, faster than the Ma'lok; so as long as he was not caught by that unnaturally long reach, he would be fine. The creature's chitinous armor made strange chiming sounds as metal struck that organic plating, and the grey skin was extremely tough. It barely bled—though it bled black—when the sliders sliced the unprotected shoulder. The Ma'lok seemed only a little irritated.

"Black blood?" I barked at Gavin.

Jael and the Guild were listening to every word; I could tell even as they continued our defense, dredging up reserves of energy and at least one quaffed a potion in a brief moment of opportunity. If the Templars were smart, they were taking mental notes as well.

"Probably not poisonous," Gavin said.

"Probably?"

"Not like mine. The Harvester will be the magical one, smaller. Be wary of that blood."

Mourn rolled to come up behind the Ma'lok and managed an excellent piercing move up and beneath the ribcage that normally would have ruptured a kidney—if the creature had one. It did not behave like a living creature receiving such a wound; which would have been shock and intense pain to start with, likely before collapsing. The Ma'lok roared angrily, spinning around as if it had only been poked in the ass, nearly yanking the slider from Mourn's grasp in the process.

It actually said something to the Guild leader, in a penetrating, harsh whisper.

"They can speak?!"

"Of course they can. The howls and such are for quick communication."

I wanted to know when Gavin had learned all this. I wondered if he'd seen these creatures before in one of his restless sleeps. 

"What did it say?"

"It thanked him for showing it where to strike."

The dragonblood was not surprised that vital organs were not in the usual places, and he backed up to lead the Ma'lok further from us but unfortunately closer to the rift—which was the only direction where the Ma'lok would willingly follow him if it wasn't collecting Human souls yet. I saw the dragonblood's chest expand as if he'd taken a deep breath.

"Ixen bakmada," Mourn growled, and breathed out.

A vaporous, orange fire engulfed the huge warrior from the hybrid's mouth, and finally it felt some pain. Not nearly enough, though; perhaps it was only more upset that its yellow and red queue had been scorched. It smelled terrible. Its armor remained unchanged and when Mourn struck at it again, it repeated that strange chiming sound with no apparent weakness.

I began to wonder for what we were waiting, more Ma'lok to come? Wasn't it time to try for the closed west-side door, where no one had come in yet? It may have been my nerves, but I thought I saw shadows inside the rift.

"Mourn!" I called. "Speed it up!"

It would seem he agreed with me. They danced a bit more, the Ma'lok trying to force Mourn closer to the rift, while the Guild leader managed to secure one slider to his back and draw a silver dagger. The Ma'lok inhaled deeply, some of the grey bristles on his black dorsal stripe rose up, and it hissed another threat in the Dead Tongue, brandishing its teeth with menace.

I would have said it could smell the naked element quite clearly; the Ma'lok switched to full defense as Mourn pressed it back from the rift with a weapon much smaller than his slider, and the creature would not allow a careless moment to open a hole in its defenses. 

The new dance reminded me of myself trying to reach through Mourn's defenses back in Yong-wen; it was going to be very hard and Mourn might have to accept a blow in return to land one hit. I didn't think it was a good trade, and neither did Mourn. It was enough for us all to witness just how cautious the huge fighter was when facing a small weapon barely the length of my forearm.

Tamuril claimed the next silver dagger directly from the body of a Witch Hunter after one of the Templars cut off his head. She and another Templar put the dagger, with its sheath, on Isboern's body, muttering breathlessly in Manalara to each other.

Good to know they were still so focused on survival like the rest of us.

Again Mourn and the Ma'lok were getting closer to the rift when suddenly the grey warrior disengaged and jumped back inside the rift. The dragonblood was tempted to throw the silver dagger at its back and had that split-moment opportunity to do so. But in the end, Mourn did not risk losing such an important tool. 

"We have problems," Gavin said.

"Truly?" Jael laughed, jabbing a screamer in the eye. "I have not noticed!"

"Just talk," I grumbled, about ready to hit the Godblood over the head if he was going to remain catatonic much longer.

The state of the Knight Captain, unfortunately, was one reason we hadn't run yet. I doubted we would get far dragging a full-grown Man in plate armor who couldn't defend himself or even walk. How far would Mourn go to fulfill this part of the Guild's plan? There would come a point where I would have to leave him and Tamuril behind rather than condemn myself and my baby to whatever the Greylands had against Elven souls. 

Maybe it was too late already.

Gavin finally stated our new problem. "The Manalar army is in full retreat and a number of them now head straight for the temple."

"How the fuck do you know that?!" Jael demanded.

I glanced upward where the skin kite had long since disappeared out of the Skylight. "He has eyes elsewhere, Sister."

"Are the pearls working again yet?" Mourn asked Peng Lok and Wolf, after leaping again over the body barrier to rejoin us. He was winded, which said something about that fight with the Ma'lok.

"Yes, sir," Wolf grunted, wiping bloody sweat from his forehead. "Now they are."

"Report as you can."

"Fuck reporting, we need to get out now!" Jael said, breathing a bit harder than necessary as she stared up at him.

Wisely Mourn fully acknowledged her, though without her umbrage. "We agree, Red Sister, we need to leave." 

Mourn looked from the shorter Elf to the Godblood, and that was when I noticed it as well: the psion's nose had begun to bleed.

"Sirana, can you wake Isboern?"

I blinked. I hadn't thought to try. Immediately I knew I didn't want to. I remembered what happened the last time Gavin was "communing" with his Grey Maiden and I touched him, and what had happened when Auslan had touched the Godblood in a mind link.

"No. I will not."

For an instant Mourn looked like he would argue with me about not even attempting it, but wisely let it go when the first two Ma'lok did not simply step from the rift as the scout had, but came through running. Three more immediately followed. 

We were definitely out of time.

There came a flood of howling, excited warriors, most of them moving straight for the open door of the temple, knocking the possessed out of their way. Some Ma'lok hacked at them with their bound flint clubs, burying in half my hand's width deep before ripping out huge swaths of flesh if the reanimated bodies moved too slow.

That strange foreign weapon wasn't all they carried, though, and most of the basics I recognized: barbed spears, harpoons, clubs, barbed and hooked nets, and a strange pole that had a spiked, open circle that looked like it could latch shut like a collar around somebody's neck. Several also carried stout crossbows and bone arrows that possessed the same types of "helper tendons" that Gavin was using to keep hold of Kurn's sword.

Those were all highly crippling weapons; if used properly, they did not have to be lethal but they would remove most threats very quickly. They wanted prisoners, as many of them as they could take down, even if they had to come back to collect them all. The chances were most caught with those wounds wouldn't be able to get far.

Or maybe the Harvesters were the ones that were supposed to collect after the Blood Runners. Smaller Ma'lok—though not by much— arrived close behind the Blood Runners, armed with those collared poles and carrying unlit lanterns. They were able to keep up the pace and were as excited as the rest about being unleashed.

Wait. Lanterns?

"Soul traps," Gavin corrected, as if he was the one reading minds. "Die in sight of one and you'll find out who these Ma'lok call master."

Shit.

We had a major problem with only silver daggers against a force like that. Unlike the hungry dead, we couldn't defend as well in a huddle like this. The Ma'lok reach was extraordinarily long and they would get far too close and hit several of us at a time before we could stab them if we remained in a cluster. We might have to spread out as individuals and evade as best we could...

And yet I had a feeling that was how they loved hunting best, chasing down one body and collecting one soul at a time, one-on-one.

I could actually hear Mourn's heart for a moment as he assessed the threat, as an entire pack of Ma'lok focused on us—or more likely, on the Godblood. Mourn sheathed his silver and refocused on me. I couldn't read what he intended—I thought him mad for putting that dagger away—but found out what it was the next instant.

He kissed me on the mouth. Firm, oddly textured lips barely protected me from sharp teeth as he sucked lightly on my much softer lips. A branding tongue flicked hot and tangy against mine, dexterous enough to enter my mouth with or without my opening wider. If I had considered before now what it might be like to smooch a Dragon, this was pretty close but with a more compatible shape.

Not only was I quite surprised but this prevented me from seeing where his free hand went as it had firmly grabbed hold of my crotch. He let his aura flare, and the effect was similar to Shyntre and his intense, pleasurable shocks he had often given me in the library, with his fingers on my breasts or in my cunt.

I was immediately aroused.

"WHAT THE FUCK, MOURN!"

Jael had shouted that, but she was probably not the only one thinking it. I only knew my heart was racing even faster than it had been. I felt his magic soaking me like a storm, and my body recognized and welcomed its potent flavor. My sapphire seared my skin beneath my armor, and it felt I might squirt into my leathers.

"Link us!" he hissed.

He had grabbed hold of Jael, too, constricting his tail around her thigh as his other hand still clutched one slider. She squealed, trying to pull his tail from her but I knew there was no getting the python loose once it had you.

Link us...?

"I-I..."

"YOU CAN!" he shouted, tightening his aura around us further. The sound Jael made caused me to wish she was naked.

But...but...

"Do it now, Red Sister, link with me! Embrace us!"

I struggled to find direction in the disorienting flood of emotion and magic that was hurled at me from the two of them. A storm didn't cover it now; I was being swept away downstream, toward an inevitable fall, working as hard as I could to stay afloat, to stay breathing. Mourn still had hold of my crotch and I may have groaned as his roiling flow shined all around me. Then I felt another pulse and my own had perception reached its limit. I could not contain it, control it; I could not even comprehend it anymore.




Surfacing Ch. 17



Author's Notes: This story is erotic fantasy written by Etaski. I reserve the right to be listed as the author of this story, wherever it is posted. If found posted anywhere except Literotica.com with this note attached, this story is posted without my permission. (c) Etaski 2014.

The Third Act, though mostly the aftershock. Character shifts coming out of this chapter will show themselves more in Chapter 19. Enjoy!

*******

Chapter 17

"Careful, careful, now! Get 'em inside. Quick like."

I made the mistake of trying to open my eyes while lying on my back but a certain cantankerous old dwarf must have saved me from myself. A black cloth had been bound tight around my eyes. I could feel direct Sunlight on my face, could just barely detect it through the cloth, but I wasn't rolling around in agony.

Instead, I rolled over to vomit onto the grass, and Talov laughed.

"Nngh," I moaned in misery; my head felt it was going to burst.

"Come on, lass, that wee jot couldnae been that bad."

"F-fuck," I managed—not really a relevant answer. I was poured out onto the ground not even close to being able to gain my feet. "Where...? What...?"

"C'mon, help ye up."

My spiders barely twitched in my hair, letting me know they were coming aware again, and I repeated in my head desperately: *Ally. Dwarf ally. Let him be.*

Talov's large hand and thick fingers took hold of my upper arm, and he probably could have yanked me to my feet under his own strength if he'd had the notion to do it. He probably decided it wasn't worth risking me hurling actual liquid bile on him directly.

"I'll explain, but we gotta get underground."

I loved the sound of that but, much to my annoyance, I really did need the Guildmaster's help to gain that cool, dark place where I could rest. My limbs felt like overcooked vegetable stalks, my head wouldn't stop spinning. I doubted I could keep anything down even though I was hungry enough to feel sharp, stabbing pains in my side, and the vertigo made it difficult to tell just how many other dwarves there were around me. It seemed like quite a few.

I inhaled slowly as Talov started leading me across the grass, kindly not letting me stumble across shrubs or run into tree trunks. I welcomed the shadows of the trees as it broke the intensity of the Summer Sun. I smelled clean air and rich soil and plants. No hint of smoke, fire, or death. I caught a whiff of a burning hot half-Dragon, and of my Sister. And the Knight Captain.

I wasn't surprised I didn't catch Gavin's scent—his body temperature and lack of normal sweat after the change at the inn meant he didn't tend to produce much body odor anymore, and I didn't even know if he was technically living after being "healed" by the Greyland's energies.

Jael cursed softly, sounding a bit worse off than me in clarity, and I wondered if she had never even been inside a transport circle back home, much less whatever shifting Mourn had done with To'vah. I also had the sneaking suspicion that Mourn had taken us much farther away than could any circle back home.

"Jael?" I said aloud.

She shifted, yelped, and I heard a brief struggle before she went still.

"Jael?!"

"Reached to draw," Talov grunted. "Ye said she'd be dangerous, my boys were ready."

I swallowed. "Ready, how?"

"She's jus' sleepin.' I'm sure she can use it."

Great. She wasn't going to be happy when she woke up, but I couldn't fault the Guild their precautions. Especially after what I said.

"Looks like you an' the grey mage are the only ones awake now," the greybeard continued. "Ye up fer an interview?"

*Not really...*

"Where's Mourn?"

"He's gonna be out fer a while. Every time he pulls this trick, it puts him down. Not a bad aim this time, but he still missed."

Missed?

"Where's Krithannia?" I asked. "Or the other teams?"

"Ain't made it yet, but still in contact. Yer the first back." His heavy, plodding gait changed up when it seemed he looked around at his dwarves. "Good job gettin' the boy out. He's not gonna like us much fer what we done, but he's alive."

Boy...? Oh. The Knight Captain.

I shook my head. "Mourn got us out."

"What the kid was sayin', ye were talkin' sense to him or the Captain wouldnae left by choice."

"It hardly made sense. Even at the time."

I heard a leather-creaking shrug. "He's here. Yer sister's here. I measure tasks first by results. We got results, now I need details. Yer awake and talkin,' so yer talkin' tah me."

I suppressed a groan. I didn't feel any injuries yet though I knew I would; what struck me first after emptying my stomach of what little it had was that it needed to be filled again. The quick flip from hunger to nausea to hunger again sometimes make me head whirl, though this time it was probably the To'vah circle. 

"I need food and water before we talk."

I heard him turn his head toward me again and he lowered his voice significantly. "Still got yer wee one?"

I stilled my hand before it went to my abdomen by reflex. "As far as I know. Is that contingent if I get fed?"

"'Course not, Elf. Jus' curious. Can ye mount up?"

I had to pause and consider that. It seemed any and all reserves I had were depleted; my limbs were still shaking just walking. "If you can keep me falling off the other side."

The Guildmaster chuckled. "Exaggeratin' or just swallowin' yer pride, Elf?"

"The second one."

"I knew I liked you."

Talov assisted me onto a fairly short, round horse—one more comfortable for him to ride, I thought—and made no other comments on my competencies though he probably wanted to. He did give my backside a subtle squeeze, though.

"You could ask, if you like it that much," I mumbled.

"Impulse," he said with a grin. "An' would askin' be that easy? If I were even half a century younger..."

"Don't pretend you're harmless, greybeard." 

A few other short horses whickered, stamping hooves and shifting beneath heavy burdens as the Taiding dwarves tied all those unconscious to a mount to carry them wherever we were doing. I had a difficult time imagining a horse being willing to carry Mourn...even a comatose one. They should be screaming in panic right now, wouldn't they?

"Where's Mourn?" I asked again as Talov mounted the horse behind me and kept me upright just using the reins.

"Don' worry 'bout him. We got him."

"Where's Gavin, then? You said he was awake."

"Already walkin.' The horses wouldn't carry him, either. Reports said they only barely tolerated him before Manalar, then he went an' transformed on ye."

*Again,* I thought to myself. It was shocking when I thought back to the skulking, ugly, but still ordinary mortal Man he'd been at Sarilis's Tower. The old flirt was in for a bit of a surprise. 

Then I wondered what it was about me that made some of the oldest males in this game act so frisky?

"So what do you need me for if you were in constant contact through the pearls?" I asked.

"I'll tell ya once we're safe."

We rode briskly, and I needed to lean over so the short male could see better in front of us, which pressed my rump back against him and he seemed to be enjoying that very much. My joints began to hurt again as I was bounced around on the back of that pony for a fair distance, and I became aware of the throbbing puncture wound from the Witch Hunter's holy symbol. I started to sweat heavily beneath my hood and if my eyes weren't covered I would have been suffering some serious vertigo. Finally multiple dwarves muttered some magic and we turned in the middle of a field to enter some heavy brush and trees. Eventually, we rode partway up a steep hill and the ponies proved their surefootedness.

Abruptly I could smell deep earth and cool underground accompanying a nerve-tingling wave of magic; I had to figure we'd just entered a protected bunker, but I hadn't sensed it coming until I was upon it. We went in pretty deep, it seemed to me, the ponies able to walk in two abreast, and I could smell the healthy soil all around me, as well as some stone and some kind of plaster that seemed newer.

"This is the rendezvous point to the South?" I asked.

"I could say 'twas and ye wouldn't know different, Elf."

I felt suspicion, immediate and familiar. "An odd thing to say."

Talov seemed to shrug again. "Ye made it, an' Mourn brought ye here with him direct, so I'll tell ye the Guild rendezvous was changed after the briefin'. If ye were captured or proved a traitor in action, ye'd be sending enemies in the wrong direction." 

Annoyed as I felt in that first moment, I actually understood this quite well. Gavin and I still weren't Guild. It was smart to protect those who were.

I fell quiet, my head still dizzy at points as Talov kept me steady, though . With the previous point I'd been shown on the map, on horseback over the Surface, it would have taken over a day's hard ride to the South. Anyone escaping on foot had three or four days ahead of them, if they had the stamina and the luck. Mourn had gotten us all to a different place in one spell, but that didn't tell me how far away from Manalar we were, or in what direction.

Of course, Mourn was also in a coma, from the sound of it, so it had to be a fair distance. A last resource the hybrid wouldn't use unless he could trust someone on the other side to come get him and those he'd brought with him.

"How long...?"

"Don' know," Talov said, anticipating my question. "The kid always slept erratic. Burnin' himself out takes time tah come back."

"Not even a guess based on past experience?"

The dwarf shrugged. "A day. A week. I've seen him sleep fer a month before, Elf, remember who his da is."

*As if I could forget.*

Still. A month...? I was going to have to seriously consider what to do next, and when, if it took that long for Mourn to wake up. Gavin and I didn't have to wait, did we?

Well. There was the caveat to our bargain from the inn at Augran, of my giving Mourn the option of extending his "bodyguard" duties to whatever Gavin and I had planned after Manalar. Now it was, indeed, "after Manalar," and Mourn had completed his task successfully.

Now, like with Cris, I had the opportunity to leave and didn't have to depend on him. Also like Cris, the hybrid would probably make the attempt to track me down later if I did.

For a moment it felt like a thin chisel had been jammed into my brain and I winced at the headache, covering the throbbing spot with my hand, and that was when I recalled Gaelan. I'd added the part of the bargain where the Guild would help me recover her as well, and that was a task unfinished. He'd also said she was in a place well-protected where the "Wilder" didn't allow the uninvited to enter, and I had the single advantage of knowing it was truth and he was not playing me for a fool. I just had no idea where she was.

If I truly wanted to find Gaelan, I would be foolish to leave, even if it took a month or more. I still needed Mourn; he'd seen to that when he saw fit to take her North.

Lolth damn it, how did my Elders use so many others in the Underdark without the risk being bound and blocked at every turn? Maybe the answer was: They didn't, and it had just seemed like they weren't beholden to others as they made their bargains and saw the consequences of completing them, or not.

While I was withdrawn and thinking as far forward as I could, Talov helped me off his mount—keeping his hands at my waist this time—and guided me firmly but not too quickly down a tunnel. It was a welcome relief how quickly my underground senses seemed to be coming back with my eyes covered, and I knew the subterranean hallway was wide enough for three dwarves shoulder-to-shoulder, and there were a least three branching halls off to either side before he took me down the fourth and final one to the left. 

This place was big, and made to dwarven specifications, with magic supporting it in subtle, protective ways. My inner Duergar was impressed; it was the first place on the Surface that felt even remotely like home since I was in the underground portion of Sarilis's Tower. Also dwarven-made.

Talov spoke a few times to a few dwarves, in a dialect that—like him when I'd insulted him—I thought sounded familiar but still couldn't understand it. It had a lot of throaty, rolling consonants and round vowels, well-suited to their barrel-like torsos. They did not seem to be discussing me much, if at all, but the Guildmaster was giving instructions.

"Our necromancer has been asking to be left alone," Talov said. "What're yer thoughts, Sirana?"

"On what? Agitating him by refusing?"

The dwarf chuckled. "Threat assessment to us in doing so. Likelihood that he'll try to leave."

I shrugged irritably. "I don't know... He has reasons to stay here. He'll need to commune with his mistress soon and write in his grimoire, and it's protected here. Accommodate him and I think you'll barely know he's here."

Talov considered it then grunted something brief and guttural to his men, who then left promptly. He next led me into a nearby room with a heavy wooden door—one thing that definitely did not remind me of home—and asked, "Ye gonna take off your blind? We've been out of the sun for a while."

"I know that," I snapped. "It's been...uhm."

"Comforting?" 

"Soothing my eyes."

"Same thing. Set yer relic down on the floor somewhere, if ye please. I ain't gonna touch it, but it ain't gonna be on ye while we talk."

Talov walked to one side of the room and I heard glass clinking as he poured something to drink, then stepped so clearly over to a desk, setting down two cups with a blatantly thump that I now knew how large the room was and where to go next. Forward and slightly to the right was a place to sit, and I was willing to bet there was a place to lie down farther back on the left.

He was doing that on purpose.

I walked forward, removing Soul Drinker and gently sliding it along the floor away from me to one side, noting exactly where it was in the room. It made no protest or comment. Next I found the generous, leather chair with only a little bit of searching with my fingertips; the rich, appealing smell was certainly strong enough to guide me. Setting my pack next to it, I nearly disappeared in it when I sat down; the chair was so wide for my frame; definitely designed for dwarves. Or maybe a half-Dragon.

Talov chuckled and pushed the glass toward me. "Ye look so cute and tiny in that thing, Elf."

The only thing to come to mind was another Duergar slur, so I bit my tongue for now and pointed forward. "What's in the glass?"

"Not gonna smell it yerself?"

"If it's spirits or ale, I'm not interested."

He lifted his glass and took a few deep gulps, which made my mouth seem drier. He slurped some moisture from the hair around his mouth. "Mountain water. Mourn mentioned ye hesitate even tah drink the beer in Augran."

Without further delay, I lifted the glass, smelled exactly what he'd claimed, and down the entire glass. It coated and cooled my throat and spread into my empty stomach like an elixir. Oh, Goddess, it was wonderful.

Talov refilled my glass, then pulled open a drawer and I went on full alert.

"Easy," he said, "jus' pullin' out some proper alcohol an' a cloth fer that rip in yer skin. Ye should clean it."

Also a good idea; I gave the damp cloth a sniff after I'd accepted it, detected nothing but dwarven spirits, and tucked it just beneath my bloodied shirt and armor. It stung sharply but it was a welcome sensation, entirely distracting...

"So. Any particular reason ye don't want tah make eye contact while we talk?"

*I don't need to.*

I sighed, finished cleaning my wound, pretty sure I was frowning. I left the cloth in place as padding to protect the raw flesh from rubbing against my sweaty, dirty garments. And because I wasn't giving it back to Talov to keep. Then I drank another half of the glass as I considered a verbal answer. 

Talov didn't wait for it. "Fine by me. So what happened at the very end, Sirana? Mourn's last message was kinda garbled."

My stomach turned cold, even as I still felt the hunger pangs. I didn't let him forget. "You said I could have food, Talov. I need it, now."

"Sure. It's comin'. Ye'll need to start where ye met Vo'Traj. I got everythin' I need up until that point."

I was silent for a moment. "You know who she is?"

"Was." He sounded amused. "We just bought a whole heap o' trouble, there. I been the go-between for the Guild and the Ma'ab fer the last few years, an' she's been part o' the moving army for decades. I ain't bargained with her direct, but I know her name. She worked close with the Hellhounds in dispatch and recon. To protect the Guild, I need tah know what happened in that crypt and why she's dead."

My stomach clenched, gurgled with all that liquid now sloshing in it, and I winced. I tried to think where to start but genuinely couldn't. I needed food.

Talov grunted. "Fine. We'll wait till ye've eaten."

We sat in silence until someone knocked and Talov said, "Inntrig."

I could smell the food immediately; it was hot, moist, savory with herbs. I almost couldn't believe it; I'd been ready to make do with cold trail rations. I clutched the arms of the chair to keep from standing up or reaching for anything while the entering dwarf set down a tray on Talov's big oak desk and moved back. He smelled like onions.

"If ye can bring double fer me, please," Talov said pleasantly.

The dwarf hesitated just a moment but answered in the affirmative and let himself out.

"He'll be back," the Guildmaster continued, pushing a particular bowl toward me and pulling the other toward himself. "Underestimated yer appetite, Sirana, I can guess that right now. Start eating. I promise ye I'm not gonna poison or sedate Mourn's current client before he's closed his deal. I know how he gets when that happens."

He sounded like he was on the verge of laughing, and my habitual caution was promptly crushed under my urgent need to feed. I dug in, barely taking the time to appreciate the tender meat and vegetable stew and dense bread for what it was as I dunked the latter into the broth almost before I'd finished chewing a spoonful of strew, eating with both hands. I didn't say anything as the onion dwarf returned with another large serving to set in front of Talov, but he did pause as if he was amazed at how much I'd already eaten in the time he'd been gone.

Talov waited until his Guildsman had gone before pushing the second bowl toward me, just as I was finishing up the first. He ate slowly from his own bowl, and I knew he was watching me keenly the entire time. I was still glad to have the blindfold on.

We didn't talk at all until I'd finished eating everything offered me, and while I knew I was going to be a little uncomfortable while the food settled, I also knew it wouldn't take long. My body seemed to burn through sustenance almost as soon as it landed sometimes. Talov removed the empty bowls, wooden spoons, and tray from the oak desk entirely, setting it well out of easy reach before returning to his chair.

"I don' know where yer puttin' it, Sirana," he commented, still smiling. "Got a hollow leg?"

"What, your females don't out-eat you when they carry?"

"They do, an' it's arousing as all Hell. But they got a frame twice as heavy as yers, easy."

I shrugged. The panic of my need was finally gone; I not only began to relax but considered whether I could convince Talov to let me nap next. I decided against asking when it came back to me that he just said he was turned on watching pregnant females eat. He'd already squeezed my ass, so I didn't figure my being an Elf put him off much.

I was extremely annoyed that my thoughts drifted briefly to wondering if he was as big around as Kain, though I also wasn't too surprised. Eat, sleep, and sex; those were the basics.




Surfacing Ch. 17



"Something sourin' yer tongue?" he asked coyly.

I reached up to finally remove my blindfold before he could bring it up again, blinking slowly and feeling how gritty my eyes were as I rubbed them gently, which felt for a moment almost as good as sex. The lamp light in the room was incredibly low, so low that I was surprised a Surface dwarf could see at all though I wouldn't complain.

I was right that this was a living quarters not only with the desk, table, and chairs, but a stout, low bed with a few wool blankets and large storage chests nearby. It wasn't complicated or personal in its effects, nothing here was decorative, and my guess was that it could be abandoned at any time with no particular feeling of loss. Nonetheless, it was comfortable, even luxurious compared to the barracks back home.

"So...what was Mourn's last message?" I asked.

Talov shook his head. "Nope. Jus' tell me what happened when the ghost led you to the Ma'ab."

"Did Mourn say who the ghost was?"

He pulled on a braid in his beard. He was wearing fewer rings than the last time I'd seen him in Augran. "Not sure I understood that part. Who was she?"

"A former servant of Vo'Traj, a Ma'ab 'slum' necromancer of the lowest caste."

Talov waited. "And?"

"That's not enough?"

The dwarf smirked at my false ignorance but just waited.

"Gavin's mother."

The dwarf nodded; he had known that, the bastard. "Gavin had been a monk, right? He was born at a monastery." Another smoothing gesture on his beard. "So how did his mum make it that deep into enemy territory?"

I shrugged. "You said yourself Vo'Traj was traveling for decades with the army. At one point Ada must have run away from the camp and made it to a cloister of Manalara Men and convinced them to let her stay."

Talov's beard moved with his facial expression. "Ada."

"Yes."

"Know where that place is?"

"No."

"But Gavin would."

"It goes without saying. He may not say, however. He alluded once to poisoning the entire monastery before he left."

The dwarf grunted with another nod, not shocked or surprised or even seeming to judge the grey mage, hearing this. The next moment he blinked in recognition and smiled to show his teeth through his beard. "Ha! I heard of the lad before. Maybe ten years ago now. He's had a price on his head fer that little stunt, signed by th' Archbishop himself. Killed all but two or three of the floggin' bastards."

I felt a smile pulling at the corners of my mouth. "I guess no one can claim that reward now."

"Pity." He winked playfully. "So. The ghost mum led her son to her former mistress. Then?"

I began to recount Mourn's actions on our behalf negotiating, repeating what I remembered of the necro-mistress's words, I dutifully described the Hellhounds and undead when Talov asked, but he noticed when I grew more uneasy in my chair. Certainly I was aware that my heart was beating harder and I felt a sick bubble of nausea just beneath my lungs. I hated that it came unbidden.

"Then ye sensed something invisible stalkin' ye," Talov said, trying to lead me when I stopped. "Somethin' serving the bitch, and ye forced it to reveal itself. What was it?"

Mourn hadn't known about the demonbloods that the Valsharess was breeding until we'd linked that first time. I wasn't sure if he had told Talov or Krithannia at this point. The Guild leader had said he would share everything with his Lieutenant but Innathi inside the dagger; I just didn't know if he'd had the time to do so and Talov had already made it clear he had certain knowledge already and was testing my answers. 

Was it any worse if I informed the dwarf about Draegloth myself? Was it any different revealing something integral about my City to this Guildmaster or the Guild Leader himself? Even if Mourn hadn't told Talov yet, he would...

"Yer shakin,' Sirana."

Only barely. 

The dwarf was watching me like Tamuril's hawk. I did have trouble drawing my next breath, though; the air felt heavy going into my lungs.

"Tell me what you saw." His voice was firm but not hostile as he repeated himself. It reminded me a bit of D'Shea, the way he sat, reading my non-verbal cues as much as listening to my answers.

"It's called a Draegloth." I took another breath. "It's actually male. Half Drow, half demon of the Abyss."

Talov cloaked any reaction or judgment to that whatsoever. He merely nodded. "And why would a Ma'ab sorceress have control o' one of those?"

"Because she stole him from us. Captured him and his Drow Priestess on the Surface, about a century ago."

The Guildmaster let that set for a moment as he leaned back in his chair, pursing his lips. "Do they still have the Drow Priestess?"

"No. They killed her."

"Ye sure?"

"Yes."

Talov watched me. "Tell me why yer so certain."

I focused on another breath; the simplest answer was that Vesram had told me and his rage had been real. But I wasn't going to go with an emotional answer here. "If his mother was alive, the Ma'ab witch would not be able to command the Draegloth."

The dwarf smiled as if I'd given the right answer. "Ma'ab do have known practice in summonin' and bargainin' with demons. I take it Vo'Traj bound this half-blood to her?"

"Yes."

"And when ye'all killed her, what happened to him?"

"He was free," I said with a damnable quiver in my voice. "He ran."

Talov cocked a thick, iron grey eyebrow. "An' ye let him go? Or Mourn missed, maybe?"

I looked for my water glass, drained the last little bit and Talov refilled it again, still staring at me. My heart was continued to beat in my ears. There wasn't too much point in lying about events; once everyone was awake and talking, it would come out anyway.

"I told the others to let him escape," I said.

"Ah." Talov turned his own glass around in place twice on his desk, nodding. "Ye 'told' 'em. An' why did ye do that? Fer that matter, how did ye tell 'em?"

Now the tremble was bad enough that even I noticed; my stomach felt hard and clutching against my meal; there was a pain in my chest and my eyes were hot. Soon I was focusing all my will on keeping my breathing steady...and it wasn't working.

Shit.

I started to stand up. Talov anticipated it and stood before me to come around the desk, pressing down on my shoulder to push me back into the leather. He kneeled by the chair so he was looking up slightly at me, though he kept his hand on my shoulder. My two remaining spiders were starting to move in agitation, my body's panic soon to override my earlier command that Talov was an ally.

"Don't touch me..." I whispered.

He smoothly lifted his hand without argument, setting it on his knee in full view. 

"Mourn said ye collapsed," Talov told me quietly, "and ye didn't or couldn't help against the Hellhounds or the Ma'ab witch, or any of it. He described it as some kind of shock. I'm old enough and seen enough by now to know that ye've run into one o' those 'Draegloth' before, and whatever happened wasn't pretty."

Fuck, I didn't want to hear that. I didn't want to remember, nor did I want everyone to know how useless I'd been. I didn't even know why I didn't allow Mourn and the others capture or even kill Vesram for me. If I hadn't interfered...

"Easy tah see ye were hurt, Sirana," the dwarf continued. "Was it the one in the crypt who did it?"

I shuddered and my throat hurt. I could only shake my head in the negative.

"It wasn't Vo'Traj's Draegloth that hurt ye?"

I shook my head again.

"Okay. How long ago was this? A year? More?"

*Less,* I signed, and his eyes glanced down to read my hand.

"Less than a year? Ye've been doing pretty well, then. Is he still alive?"

*No.*

"That's somethin.' Ye kill him?"

*No...*

"Have nightmares? Or wake up with yer face wet and ye don' know why?"

A couple of times. *...Yes.*

He nodded slowly. "Have ye wept when yer awake?"

I lifted my head and stared at him. I knew I was scowling, even as my lower lip trembled. His craggy, dwarven face was placid. He kept talking.

"I remember the first time I was there when the kid remembered somethin' from underground. Still not sure what triggered it, it wasn't obvious as a monster o' the Abyss. But I know yer kind do some mighty vicious things to each other down there, Elf. Some things are gonna stick, and when they do stick, ye gotta cleanse it before it rots or the buzzards come tah pick at ye while yer still kickin'. Or until ye off yerself."

I was holding tightly to the leather chair and realized my back hurt; I consciously tried to relax it. "What...is a 'buzzard'?"

Talov smiled. "Bird scavenger we got up here. Big, got a bald, wrinkly, red head, black feathers. It can see a wounded or rotting body from cloud-level. It circles for hours, a full day or more sometimes, jus' waitin' until yer too weak to defend yerself when it comes to prod and tear at ye. Got scavengers like this down below, don'tcha? An' some walk on two legs?"

I nodded and felt some of the tension leak from my back. This was making some sense to me. I could imagine the Surface buzzard quite clearly. I'd seen them high in the Sky before, I knew it—Rausery had called them "vultures"—but I had never witnessed what happened when they finally landed.

"Ye get me meaning, don'tcha, Sirana? Some Drow can't handle what sticks—'cause something always does. No matter how much you seen, there's always somethin' or someone worse. Always someone older or more clever."

He paused, so I nodded. I wasn't sure why I wanted to keep listening.

"An' those that rot get picked clean. Some make it quick fer themselves, some linger. But you ain't one o' those, Elf. Ye walked in tah the battle just now and walked back out with yer baby still in yer belly. You ain't gonna let buzzards pick at ye." 

I nodded again. This appealed to me more than the "don't give up hope" offering from Isboern. What was that even supposed to mean?

"Now for the bad news," Talov said with a grunt as he got to his feet and moved to sit on his low desk, facing me. "The flashbacks like ye felt don' go away. It's like a survivor's mind creates a new shortcut to respond to a threat it never knew before. Something triggers that shortcut an' yer there again, even for a second, responding the same way as ye did then. That's what happened, isn't it? Ye were there again. Ye weren't in the crypt, ye were in the Underdark."

Maybe. Sort of. Yes, I was, but Vesram was also talking to some sliver of Kerse that he'd left inside me...and maybe he couldn't have done that if I hadn't made eye contact.

My eyes drifted to the side and Talov grunted in response. "I'm wrong? Or only partly right? Talk tah me, Sirana."

I didn't at first. I wasn't aching to tell him how it was. I got caught up thinking about going back, about how integral the Draegloth were to the Valsharess's power structure...and maybe I even saw why I'd been sent away immediately after "surviving." Was the Sisterhood going to tolerate inconvenient "flashbacks" like what happened in the crypt? No. How could I go back?

Jael, I knew quite intimately now, was afraid that she was stuck on the Surface. Thanks to the Godblood who changed what she was in an instant, if she wanted to continue living she believed she would have to watch me leave her behind. If she wanted to go back, it would be to make a quick death or slowly be picked apart by buzzards; she wouldn't get to choose which one unless she did something like the Hellhounds did. A suicide attack as a final vengeance.

The last I knew, she hadn't decided yet.

Maybe more of us died from that "rot" Talov was talking about than I ever thought. The Red Sisters didn't talk about those who were gone; they were just gone. Something got them. We were of the strongest wills in the City...but not unbreakable.

Certainly the novices like Jael and me were most vulnerable, and Kerse did more damage than I'd known.

I wondered about D'Shea and her self-released compulsion...her hatred of Wilsira which had definitely "stuck," and she was reminded every single time she became aware of Shyntre. Had she been trying to cleanse the rot so she didn't get picked apart? Or was it too late? Maybe I'd never know. I suddenly couldn't see going back and successfully hiding a "trigger" as big and obvious as Draegloth. I'd get eaten by vultures. 

I may have to stay up here, with Jael, which might make her happy, and my baby would have to live up here, the first Baenar in over two thousand years to adapt to the Sun almost from birth. Maybe Gaelan could stay with us, too, if she ever healed from the Chaos taint. Maybe we'd join the Guild as assassins; what else were we skilled at? It wasn't a bad idea, maybe...

I was, of course, ignoring Musanlo and Innathi, who both wanted me to go back to the Underdark. Fuck them. What had happened in the crypt might never happen again if I stayed up here. There weren't any Draegloth up here... except one. Maybe the Guild could hunt him down for me, kill him like I should have let them do before.

It would mean that I'd have to leave Auslan down in darkness, and Shyntre would not see me return. When Auslan died, as he would eventually, the wizard might suffer and die as well, if he couldn't fight off the buzzards as well. I might dream about that...

No, I definitely would. I knew the Consort's name and he knew how to call to me from that other place. Whether I stayed up here, the Underdark would still call to me. Maybe I wouldn't survive either way.

I swallowed with a suddenly dry mouth and took another drink of water. 

"The Guild can't let members keep workin' if they suppress their shit an' don't deal with it," Talov spoke, bringing me abruptly out of my thoughts.

"I'm not Guild," I said without thinking.

The old dwarf smirked in amusement. "Let me finish. We have a support system. Ye can imagine the boys like Reprisal probably have some triggers. Main thing is none are allowed to keep secrets, they all have to talk tah someone or they don' work. Isolation leads to rot. Some only need talk once in a blue moon, they have physical things they do that help or they have some deep devotion like the grey mage. Others do better with regular contact and confessions, but they all manage somehow. 

"If they wanna stay Guild, they all learn how tah recognize that moment their body remembers, even if their brain doesn't. They learn how to channel it or dissipate it...but none o' them are allowed to hold it back. It's gotta come. Not even the damned Guild Leader holds it back, Elf. Ye get me?"

I didn't respond at first. That Talov seemed to be claiming to know Mourn's weaknesses...I supposed that didn't surprise me, but he was basically saying that talking about it somehow made it stable? It certainly made one vulnerable.

"Does Mourn seem weak tah you, Sirana?"

I looked up and blinked. "Hm?"

"His actions. What ye know 'bout him so far. Weak? Vulnerable?"

I shook my head. "No."

"How about thinking he has things that haunt him? That he's made mistakes."

I shrugged, looking down. I remembered his Aunt-Matron's murder; that still haunted him. He considered the theocracy of Manalar to be one giant mistake of his he'd been working for centuries to see end.

And it just did, today.

"Can ye believe that he has practiced over three centuries to channel those triggers to stay on his game? Think ye can grasp that concept, Drow? I bet some o' the more successful ones down below do somethin' like this, that's why they're on top. Ye see why the Guild can't allow nightmares tah be squashed?"

"No demons but you?" I asked with a wry tilt to my mouth as I looked up again.

Talov considered that and shrugged. "Guess that works. Difference is the Guild doesn't ever ignore the other demons, even if we can't allow them tah run our lives fer us. Yer still young, Sirana, I don't expect you tah know how, that's why I'm askin' that you talk. Just talk. Tell me somethin' what happened."

After a moment, I decided to try.

"I was...there again," I said softly. "Not in the crypt, but in the Underdark, like you said. I couldn't move, like I couldn't before."

"Ye were bound?"

"No...will-bending. He...commanded my body."

Talov narrowed his pale green eyes in thought, not aggression. "Can all Draegloth do that?"

"No. This one made a talisman keyed to me. He knew me."

"Knew ye how well? Was he a lover?"

I felt a small wave of nausea. "He...wanted to be. Sometimes he seemed to want to favor me over his own mother. That's...very unusual, and I think we normally kill them when that happens, but this time we didn't do it quickly enough. He only wanted me because he wanted to be free..."

"Cut the apron strings, eh?" the Guildmaster nodded. "Exploited a connection. Tying ye up with rope wouldn't make ye panic, but ye've been trained tah have a strong will, an' he broke that in yer head, changed ye from who you were before."

I was silent, not sure how the old dwarf could be so blunt and somehow not sound insulting or derisive.

"Did he laugh at ye, or show any regret?"

I blinked, almost flinched when I saw Kerse's face so close to mine as he leaned over me. "He said he was sorry..."

"But did whatever he was gonna do anyway."

I nodded.

"Didja ever think at any time that he wouldn't hurt ye?"

I felt a flare of hatred as I nodded. "Yes. He helped me, kept secrets from his mother for me. I...I did think...idiot..."

"Does no good tah blame yerself now," Talov said softly; he had his arms crossed loosely, relaxed and calm and helping to keep me more stable watching him. "But he's dead. Yer alive. How did ye survive, Sirana?"

"Jael," I answered. "Others...came to get me. Stopped the ritual and pulled me out."

"An' saved yer life." The Guildmaster looked surprised, but pleasantly so as he smiled the next moment. "That's why ye went intah Hell at Manalar, faced off with Witch Hunters and Grey creatures tah get her out? If yer still capable o' feeling that, Sirana, then yer gonna be okay. Ye know that, right?"

His swell of admiration caught me off guard and I tried not to squirm. He was doing that on purpose. He tilted his head at my expression.

"Unless yer pulling these dangerous stunts only long enough tah bear yer wee one before finding somethin' tah kill ye off?"

I jerked in surprise, gritting my teeth.

"Ya know. So yeh don' have to live with people thinkin' yer weak? That yer not the fighter ye used tah be, huddled on a crypt floor?"

"Coc'sha, Driekensau," I growled, aware that he was also doing this on purpose.

He laughed, and it was a deep, booming one. "Yer gonna cry, too. Whether ye like it or not, if ye really want tah keep goin', Sirana, yer gonna find a time yah cry at least once over what happened. Then yer gonna learn how tah channel those panic moments, let 'em flow out like so much dirty water. Mourn would help, ye know. Any time. He admires ye. Tells me yer not like the worse of the Baenar. Somethin' keeps ye from delving deep to be like them. Maybe you an' he had similar youths?"

My jaw hurt from how hard I was clenching it. "I don't know. What was his like?"

"I think he told ye already. I know even yer kind have to nurture yer children or your race would be gone already. They didn't believe he be a true child, lookin' at his body. They expected him to think and act like he was grown. He got adult training, adult tasks, adult punishments for failure, adult violations when it suited them. He wasn't what ye see now when he escaped an' came up here, I can tell ye that. I still have th' scars." He grunted a low laugh. "But he didn't want tah be like them, only what they'd taught him. Krithannia's patience was legendary. Still is. We showed him how it could be different."

Talov let me absorb this a bit before asking, "Can ye imagine it, Sirana? Even a bit?"




Surfacing Ch. 17



I nodded. If there had ever been a Drow who "kept me" from wanting to be like her, it was my oldest sister, Juarinia. Adult tasks, adult violations, as the dwarf had said...

"I think he knows that ye can. An' that's why he likes ye."

"Not a good thing for a mercenary to 'like' his client," I murmured, unsure how to take that.

"Don' worry. He's not the clingy type." The greybeard grinned. "Not like that Archmage. Lauds fer foolin' him like that an' helping tah get rid of him. I got a Helluva laugh after 'twas over."

"You were essentially there the whole time?" I asked. "That part about a garbled message was spider shit, and you know why the Ma'ab Noble is dead."

"Yep. Ye proved yerself tah the Guild in this task, Sirana. Every one o' us has our haunts. Yer not gonna be spat at fer stumbling once. But ye gotta deal with it, and if it kills one o' us other than you in the future, we may have a different kind o' talk."

"Is that a threat?"

"Nope. Jus' saying we don't ignore demons around here. They don't get to stay in the shadows, we pull 'em out in the Sun so they can dry up. It's one good thing we learned from Varasa. It works on us as well as it does on them."

I started in shock. "Wha—? Wait, you've met some?"

"Aside from the Captain, a few more over the centuries. They can't keep honest emotions from each other for long, as I understan' it, 'specially between lovers. They also have a tendency to expose things bein' suppressed, an' they earn their enemies that way."

No shit. Between Jael's suppression of her magic and mine of realizing that I did know Auslan's real name, Isboern had already earned some bad blood.

"'Course, that's only because those enemies choose to be enemies, usually 'cause they can't deal with their shit when they face it," Talov added with definite glib, and I frowned at him. He shrugged. "The Captain did Jael a good turn, if she lets it be so. Up to her, in the end. Jus' don't let her impulses drag ye down, Sirana."

Before I could reply—or insult—there was another knock on the door. I winced at Talov's booming reply then another dwarf, one of the red-headed magic users I recognized from the debriefing at Yong-wen, poked his beard in. After an exchange and the door closing again, Talov slipped off his desk and sat down in his own chair, putting the desk between us.

"Ye want tah talk more while we're here, jus' let me know. It'll be a while as the others start tricklin' in. Now, though, Gavin's askin' fer ye. I told Kellan tah wait fer ye."

I blinked yet again. Gavin was...? He'd never done that before; I'd always gone to find him when my curiosity grew strong enough. What could he want?

I stood up slowly, reclaiming my pack and Soul Drinker from the floor before heading toward the wide door. I paused before I opened it and I wasn't sure why, but Talov smiled when I looked once more at him.

"Yer welcome," he said. "Now be off. Yer sister is in the room next tah Gavin. There's a spare pallet in both, take yer pick."

My immediate thought was that I would probably choose Gavin's, even if he didn't like it.

******

Kellan looked back and up at me a few times as we moved forward in the underground hideout, closer to where we'd come in. He wasn't too nervous, but he was appropriately cautious, and being a dwarf mage, he had less armor interfering with his gestures than some of the others I'd heard in this place, and I thought he might actually trim back his beard to keep it as neat as it was. Unlike Talov, none of those bristles touched his lips and the lines were remarkably straight, as if the sensory distraction when speaking words of magic could not be tolerated.

He had blue eyes like mine, and it came back to me again how Mourn had said if my eyes had been the usual Drow color, I'd not have had the opportunities I had among the Yungians. It was probably the same for the other races with Sky eyes in their mix; I'd be willing to bet they would treat Jael and me differently simply based on our eye color. I was more familiar, less threatening perhaps; they might look to me more without consciously realizing it.

I certainly hadn't seen any races at all on the Surface who carried the various shades of red and copper in their irises. Were we the only ones? What did that mean if we were?

Dwarven guards ahead made it clear where Gavin and Jael were being held; they stood straighter and turned as we approached. I kept my back straight as well.

"Is my Sister awake?"

"Nay," one dwarf said as another shook his head once. "Still sleepin'."

"About how long? What was given her?"

"Standard Guild sleeper," he grumped. "About four hours unless they are taxed. Retrieved prisoners sometimes sleep longer, but 'tis no worry. We have healers that check on 'em if they don't wake up in a few hours."

"I'd like to see her before I visit the necromancer."

It eased my concerns when they just shrugged and one moved to open the door without a key or any obvious locking mechanism. In theory, Jael could open up the door from the other side when she was awake.

I looked inside—it was purely dark—and felt my eyes shift to see her form lying still and peaceful on one of three pallets, her cloak covering her like a blanket and her items nearby.

"Leave the door open," I murmured, getting a nod before I stepped inside. Yes, I was testing them, maybe they'd shut the door on me and I'd have a lot to consider if they did, but regardless I had to make sure Jael's vital signs were normal and she wasn't worse off than they said.

I could smell her and detect a normal amount of body heat for the hour or so she'd been in here. I heard her lungs drawing in air normally, if at an unusually slow rate for her. Kneeling beside her, I noticed they had left a spare blanket, a water canteen, and some rations within reach. 

I took off my gloves and touched her face, brushing fingers across her forehead, watching for any ticks or twitches telling me she was about to wake up. She didn't react; her body temperature was normal without fever, though I felt plenty of dried sweat and clinging dirt from her time in Manalar's dungeon.

Taking one of my own cloths from my belt and the last bit of water I had left in my own travel skin, I used it to wipe down her face and neck. I thought I heard her sigh once but wasn't sure it hadn't just been a spare breath from the unconscious stimulation. Oh well, I hadn't done it to wake her up, not really. This might be my only opportunity to do what I craved without her throwing a punch at me. Or looking at me in betrayal and disgust.

I lowered my nose to her neck and trailed it up to her ear and her temple, inhaling her familiar scent, still tangy and sweet but now with an alteration that reminded me of Shyntre, something which had always been like a warm spice settling on the back of my tongue. I opened my mouth slightly and dragged my lips across her forehead before pressing a kiss in the middle.

She didn't come awake suddenly, yelling at me.

Drawing in more scent, my mouth watered and I pressed more kisses to her grit-free face; her temple, cheeks, and jaw, before moving without hesitation to her entirely relaxed mouth. She was breathing through her nose and I wasn't sure I'd ever felt her lips this soft before when she was awake; all tension was gone and I knew well this was proof that she wasn't faking her sleep.

My heart rate had risen as I nudged open her slack mouth to take a few deep kisses while I could, dabbing my tongue at hers and along the inside of her cheek. I did miss that there was no reciprocation, no reaction. It was not as if this was my preferred form of sensual tasting; it was just better than the nothing I could expect for a long while once she roused. 

Still, the longer I went on, the more this felt more like a scavenger taking advantage, like what Cris had done to me in his room. I may as well have been asleep, despite the screams of pleasure I remembered filling my ears, kneeling with my knees apart as his magic flooded me. If only I didn't remember any of it...but then I may have hesitated in my choice just today. He may have fooled me, again.

It was why I wasn't truly tempted to go much farther with Jael as she lay unresisting. I could reassure myself that she was alive and had made it out of Manalar, reward myself in some small way, but much more and I might as well let her wake up naked with her own dagger's hilt wedged inside her ass. 

I rose to my feet and nodded my satisfaction to the dwarves waiting for me; we closed Jael's door and Kellan knocked on Gavin's. I was aware of an odd, small ripple as he'd done so, as if there was a spell on the door. Maybe it was a sound-dampening one, because it did not seem as if Gavin had been aware of us standing out here, despite the talking earlier.

Still, he grunted and stepped back slightly, wide enough to allow me to be able to slip into the room sideways but narrow enough that he could prevent a dwarf from trying. I nodded to Kellan and entered the room with Gavin, where the necromancer promptly closed the door with a thud. 

It was cooler in here than it had been next door, just a bit. There were three pallets in here as well but also a small desk with a lamp that was lit—both of which looked to have been hastily added, as one of the pallets was shoved to one side, slightly overlapping another. 

Gavin's belongings were spread out and he had been cleaning and mending anything in his pack as well as his Ma'ab sword, though he wasn't finished. His grimoire was closed upon the desk, and by the stains on his hands and the scent in the air I was guessing he had been writing furiously in that first and probably only just started on the sorting and mending of his kits after he had asked to see me.

Assuming he had truly asked.

Looking over him in the dim light, with his aura more settled now and in a quiet space, I saw his robe was almost in tatters; there were holes in many places, under which I could see the worn and now damaged leather armor of his usual attire, and even part of his monk's undergarments where the black spikes had ripped through. All of it would have to be replaced, along with his boots which would fall off his feet on the next journey. His belt was gone entirely, and there were still a few black spikes poking up on his shoulders.

His hair was long again and partly covering his face, and his long-fingered hands were to his sides, curled and flexing slightly now and then. He wasn't watching me directly, he was looking down and slightly to the side, as if he was thinking about something other than where he was and who he had just allowed into his temporary sanctum.

"You asked for me?" I prompted.

Gavin blinked deeply shadowed eyes—I could only tell when the icy blue glint winked out for a second—and he nodded. "I need another set of eyes to describe...changes for me, before I miss an opportunity."

There was something changed about his normal speaking voice, I noted quickly. It was still recognizable but it wasn't quite as hoarse. Sort of like the opposite of what had happened to Kurn's vocal cords after being healed by Amelda.

"Alright," I agreed. "Tell me what you want me to do."

"Just describe what you see that is different from before I stepped onto the sacred light."

"Yes, what happ—?"

"No," he interrupted, staring at my face. "Sirana, no questions until we've finished."

I shrugged and shut my mouth. No leading the conversation this time, apparently, but I could be glad he was including me at all, instead of asking one of the Guild or something. I stood still and quiet as Gavin began to undress, removing the ruined boots and monk's robe, setting them next to his pack. He neither needed nor wanted assistance removing the worthless leather piece as well, adding that to the small heap on the floor. 

It left only the long, linen shirt and braies, each split with holes in places where the spikes had punched through, those few on his shoulders still currently filled with that black, bony material that reminded me of his teeth, fingernails, and toenails. 

I wasn't sure how he wanted to do this—he hadn't ever shown an entirely nude form in the months I'd known him; even bathing in the various rivers he kept his long shirt on. He was now, at least, willing to remove the top and keep on the bottoms; I heard more linen tear as it caught on the shrinking spikes. He was facing away from me and I saw two things that made my breath catch in my throat.

"What?" he asked harshly. "Describe it."

"Your spine is blackened," I said, "the same way some of the Ma'lok were. And the Musanlo brand is gone. So are all of your scars, the whip marks."

Gavin reached back with long, black-tipped fingers to touch his spine and also where the brand used to be. The skin was not really smooth or youthful; it was still grey-tinged and somewhat dry-looking—plus there were new bumps as if his skin was hiding bony protrusions—but the lack of those old, badly-healed lacerations did wonders for his overall appearance of health and strength.

"Anything else?" he asked. I mentioned the bumps, and he nodded, his breathing heavier as he contained most of his thoughts. "The spines receding. What else?"

"Turn around."

He did so more reluctantly, and even though he should be able to see everything I could, I still described it for him. "Scars are gone. Your two lower ribs are blackened like your spine is, and they connect in the back."

He lightly touched his ribs. "A discoloration of the skin?"

I shook my head. "No. Like something's rising up out of the skin, a film or a shell, not just a discoloration."

Gavin grunted in agreement, pondering this as he studied his torso, touching only lightly and only when needed; he was not prodding at himself in distress or pain that I could tell.

"What about your legs?" I asked.

"I do not need your help for that."

"Very well. Can I touch your rib, or one of the spikes?"

He looked at me with a narrowed expression. "Why?"

"Curious. And you asked me to describe it to you."

He still wasn't comfortable with the idea of being touched; that hadn't changed.

"Come, Gavin. I have a theory, I want to see if I'm right."

"I could probably tell you."

I didn't reply to that, just folded my arms and waited, keeping my face placid as his as I appraised him. I still hadn't replaced my gloves from when I'd been touching Jael. As I'd kind of suspected, Gavin shifted awkwardly being stared at by a quiet female. I thought maybe I had probably talked far too much in the past, allowing him to have that to struggle against, an excuse to keep my attention roving to the next thing. 

I wondered if Nyx tended to watch him without speaking. He certainly wouldn't be watched all that often by Human females, certainly not asked if one could touch him; by their standards, the half-blood was far too ugly. It was a good thing he didn't crave it from them.

Finally, the mage hissed softly and turned one shoulder my way, covering his left-side ribs with his large hand and showing me exactly where I could touch on his shoulder. I didn't waste time as I stepped forward to close the gap, reaching to touch what had probably been one of the largest black spikes I'd seen when he'd been levitating in the courtyard, easily four times the length that it was now.

It felt hard; it wasn't pure bone, nor was it metallic in any way; it was more like rock, but a glassy one, like obsidian or heat-tempered flint. Touching it brought back a memory from when we'd been defending against the Ma'lok in the temple chamber; Mourn's memory. How both the black flint in the Ma'lok's weapons and later the bones protruding from Gavin's flesh had felt across his draconic tongue.

"This is the same material as in the Ma'lok weapons," I said.

"Laced with it, certainly," Gavin admitted. "Are you finished?"

I was close enough to note his spine and ribs had been partly converted in the same way the bone spike had been, though some of the skin along his spine was indeed discolored now, adding to the stripe down his back. His entire skeleton would be black beneath his flesh. Anyone collecting skulls who managed to get his would have a one of a kind on this world...

I nodded and took a step back, folding my arms close to myself again. "What is it?"

"Pneuma flint."

I waited, staring at him, then asked, "What is that?"

"One of the primary elements of the Greylands," Gavin said quietly and seemed reluctant to tell me more than that as he turned to put his holey long shirt back on.

"So...are you dead? Or undead?"

"I have had hunger pangs since being brought here," he murmured, sitting down at the desk and opening up his book to look at a few recent pages. "I have had the urge to sleep, and I am still breathing by necessity rather than habit. So I can neither be a corpse nor one animated by will and magic."

I looked around and noticed a tray set by the door; it would have had the same bread and stew I'd had, and it would seem that he had eaten all of it, and drunk from the pitcher of water still on his desk.

"But silver would still be dangerous to you as it was to the Ma'lok."

"Yes, but not as extreme, I think. I am still of this world, they were not."

"Hm. And daylight?"

"Still darkens my appearance."

"Well...then what are you?"

"I don't have a point of comparison." He made a note with his quill, letting the ink sit as he leaned back, watching the wall, or something beyond it. "I can liken it to some form of hybridization, but that's not entirely accurate."

I smirked at that, rolling my eyes upward. Another hybrid? 

"So you're not saying exposure to the Greylands changed you to a half-Human, half-Ma'lok, correct?" I said, not really believing it.

Gavin actually smiled a bit at this suggestion. "Correct, on two points. For one, Ma'lok are living creatures of the Greylands, just as Ma'ab were. They are bred, they are not golems created from the dirt."

In my mind, the incongruence of a "land of the dead" giving birth to "living" creatures made me squint at the mage...until I remembered that wherever Elf essence went, it wasn't the Greylands. So, something was flexible about all this.

Gavin continued. "For two, I had already begun this change at the inn. I needed to die once to complete my mistress's ritual, but up until then had not had the courage to pierce my own heart."

I blinked. "Wait, that struggle I heard, trying to keep that from happening...?"

The Deathwalker shrugged slightly. "It was a silver dagger. If I had to die to be reborn... as it was, I would prefer more ideal terms. Unfortunately I couldn't convince the Witch Hunter to use something other than that knife."

I rubbed my hand over my face, grumbling or laughing or a mix of both.

He actually turned to look at me then; at least his eyes were the same icy night color. "What the rift did, I believe, was provide near-unlimited energy for me to channel as the Grey Maiden's willing servant. It sparked and fanned my regeneration well beyond what I was capable of before, to the point additional growths were erupting from my frame. Any other mage attempting to channel so much energy would have caused irreparable damage to their body, but I'd already destroyed mine and rebuilt it with that abundance." 

He tilted his head in thought. "Now, away from the source of this power, I'm starting to bleed off the excess. Though by your observations, I may have transformed further and more permanently."

I narrowed my eyes a bit. "But you hadn't changed that much until after Brom captured me. I didn't recognize you at first in the courtyard."

Gavin nodded slowly. "Part of a speedy plan after you were taken. Three men from the inn remained behind after Mathias used something to escape us. We killed them so I could question them quickly and without lies. Thanks to Mourn's tracker pearl on you and their confirmation, we knew you were in the Archbishop's quarters. Isboern led Mourn an alternate way back to that hallway where we met the first Hellhound, and they would duck down below again to find that hinted secret passage to that room. 




Surfacing Ch. 17



"From the sound of it, a psion and a Dragonblood were the two best bloodhounds we could have. I doubt the sorcerer was expecting us to close so quickly. He'd have been better off taking you from Manalar entirely before gloating to himself."

I remembered Cris had been staring lovingly out the window at the battle at the time. "That doesn't explain your severe change, Gavin."

He shrugged slightly. "I would be helping to retrieve you from a very powerful sorcerer. Call it a change of necessity."

I frowned. "Why not just leave me? Why risk him as an enemy?"

"My deal is with you Sirana, not with Mourn and not your sister. Without you I would have to make a new deal."

"Would that be so hard?" I asked wryly.

He blatantly ignored that. "Moreover Brom knows where the Tower is through Mathias and likely has an idea of my intent to take it. Considering his proclivities, do you think he would have been content to simply let me do as I please? No, he would seek to control or destroy me. In the end, destroying him was the best route, though of course not the safest."

My stomach tightened a bit. "Does anyone know that he is dead?"

"My sight ended when my crawler destroyed the vial."

And none of us would have been able to witness what happened next regardless. 

"He's said he's come back through the Greylands before."

"Yes. There is a title for him in the Greylands... The Deathless. But accomplishing what he said takes time, perhaps even beyond your lifetime, Sirana. The Maiden is aware of him."

The Deathless? Appropriate. "How is she aware of him?"

"She has not told me. I'm not sure if he is from before or after her exile from Manalar, but she has seen him in the Greylands."

I straightened at the mention of banishment. "Yes, that. You called her something different after the rift was open. Stewardess of the Winter Throne, barred from Musanlo's realm. Stewardess...not Queen. Is that what you meant?"

Gavin nodded. "Exactly what I meant."

"Is Musanlo a...I'm not sure, a Steward of a 'Summer' Throne?"

"No. He is King of the Summer Throne. He is not a Greylord, Sirana, he is a God. Try not to make that error in front of His Chosen. I'm sure the Knight Captain would be quite offended."

I frowned again, tightening my arms crossed before me as I shifted on my feet, thinking this over. Gavin did not seem in the least bit jealous or annoyed that his mistress was a mere caretaker of a throne while Isboern was the paladin of an actual ruler.

"Who is the Queen of the Winter Throne, then? One of Musanlo's missing sisters?"

"There isn't one." Gavin froze, abruptly turning his head to look straight at me. "What did you say?"

"Musanlo misses his sisters," I repeated flatly, feeling some of that earlier anger again at the Godblood's presumption. "That's what Isboern told me. He wants my consort because he and his 'God' think that a male breeder Drow knows where they are hiding."

Gavin mulled on that for quite a few long moments. "Hm. And you told me your consort is sent dreams and visions by more than one entity, Sirana, and has been for most of his life. They are female?"

I felt a cold flush pass through my middle, remembering my earliest dreams in the Cloister, when I'd been stabbed by Soul Drinker and Gaelan had to wake me up. "As far as they've shown themselves. It could be trickery or illusion, I've never gotten a good look at them. Silhouettes and burning light and voices. But what hints I've seen, they have always been in Elf form, not Human."

"A good thing to bear in mind, then," Gavin agreed. "It's not unusual even for devils and demons to take a form their target is familiar with. Still. Interesting."

Demons. The word still hung in my mind, but I thought instead on their extension to my City, their own Matron, where the Abyss was directly linked to the Drow: Lolth.

"Lolth is the Spider Queen...she couldn't also be a Queen of the empty throne, could she? We've been in hiding all this time, like Musanlo's sisters..."

Even as I said it, it didn't sound right, I wasn't using all the information I had, and Gavin even shook his head after a few moments. "She may like to take it, Sirana, but that is one thing my mistress may be trying to prevent, despite the Sun God's pride obstructing her."

I thought more on that conversation with the Godblood. "And Isboern said the Spider Queen would kill Auslan once She knew 'what' he was..."

Gavin nodded. "I would imagine if you wanted to take a throne, the one who could lead the rightful ruler back to the kingdom would not be someone you want to keep drawing breath."

I hated that there was no argument there. "And if that connection to the Sisters is severed?"

"Uncertain. They may yet be able to try through some other connection, unless the balance of things has tipped too far now and this is a last chance to arrest some unfathomable fall." Gavin did not seem to notice my scowl. "I wonder if Brom was meant to help restore the balance once. If so, he must have failed, or Isboern and Auslan and I would not be as we are, millennia later."

I felt my mouth go slack; it felt as if a small pop had just created a void inside my skull where I couldn't but think of a desert and the spanning centuries of shifting sand in utter quiet. 

"What...?"

Gavin looked at me again. "He was a ruler at the time the Baenar disappeared from the surface world, wasn't he? And the chosen sire for half-blood Elves, something I still wonder about, given the absence of Elfish essence in the Greylands. He has been trying to find your race...but why? To fulfill a task long past its time, given to him by some god or goddess who now speaks to others? His task failed long ago, but he's been unable to move on because of the power he has. The Deathless should have died long ago."

"That would make him insane," I commented.

"I doubt anyone would be recognizable after so long, Sirana. At two thousand years, do you believe you would think and act as you would now, at one hundred? In your race such a lifespan would be closer to natural. The Deathless was once a mortal man and his mind was meant to live a human span on this plane."

"But his essence wouldn't be restricted to one mortal life, would it?"

"No, but it's never transformed as it should. After so long such a one might fracture and break, or change to be truly alien to its home world, even not recognizing the fact. Perhaps that is why Innathi does not speak to him. He is no longer the man he once was, for that man had ended long ago."

I almost reached to touch Soul Drinker by habit, but just stopped myself. I still felt nothing from the blade. It wasn't speaking to me, either.

And V'Gedra was...what had Cris said...was "not much changed" from when it fell.

Just as Manalar had just fallen.

We weren't repeating a gauntlet already passed through by my Valsharess and her contemporaries, were we? The very idea made me want to scream in denial; there was no way I could see that far around me, no matter what. I couldn't see it all at once the way Nyx could. It was too big, too much, I had to believe I was trapped up in a collective insanity to believe this all not only had a purpose but could easily fail again...

Especially since my only part may be to decide whether Auslan dies down in the darkness due to my own "trigger" and refusal to return...

Gavin tilted his head as he watched me for a few moments. "Sirana?"

Something tickled my face and I wiped my cheek; my bare fingers came away wet. My throat hurt and I couldn't speak well but I croaked out, "I think...I need to cry..."

The former monk considered that and nodded, turning around in his chair and setting up his things to start writing again. He did not react with my first few sobs or when I curled up on a pallet, and after a time I forgot that he was there. 

I discovered the rolling pattern of shakes and heaves, of drawing breath to start it over again. My eyes drained as if they were flushing a toxin, as did my nose, and for a long while I was in my bed again at House Thalluen, with my mother oblivious or ill, waiting for my two elder sisters to come drag me out to the barn, where I would eventually see one of them killed by my design.

Where it all began.

The part of me that watched with disappointment as I lost control with Gavin in the room also became fascinated when the tension and the chest pain started easing on its own. My eyes stopped dripping and they blinked curiously at the wall as my vision cleared. I took a deeper breath, one that felt lighter than any I'd taken in recent memory, and my body was exhausted but cleansed as I relaxed, as my breathing settled, my face no longer aching from a grimace.

The crying had just stopped on its own; I didn't make it stop. Was that how it was supposed to work?

My mind was quiet for once, and I just let it be. Enjoy that rare silence.

Soon I fell into reverie.

******

...it wasn't pain I felt, but fire.

I was flushed, hot, sweating. Someone was with me, on top of me, lying between my thighs. His prick was inside me and he held my hips to the mattress with his weight; my legs clasped tightly to him, my ankles hooked on his thighs.

*Ta'suil...! Ohh, Goddess...!*

No longer out of reach, blocked by other females. I could have him. He was right here. As I'd always known, he wanted me to take him.

I clutched at his back and dug in my fingernails so he couldn't get away, and he moved faster inside me, thrust harder; he kissed me, gasped for breath and moaned quietly. I licked at his mouth and gathered him closer for a deeper kiss, his long hair spreading across my hands. I moved my hips against him... I was not sure I'd ever cum so hard as when he gasped a passionate cry and spurted inside me.

I rolled us so that I could be on top, and he made an adorable, encouraging sound as I straddled him. I grabbed his wrists and pinned them by his head and he arched his back eagerly beneath me.

*You have Chosen, Ta'suil. She is your champion?*

"Yes," he whispered, staring up at me.

*And you, young warrior? Will you fight for him? Defend him and his brother, and see them where they must go?*

*Fuck, yes!*

*Do you accept his gift?*

"Give me more," I demanded aloud, equally breathless as I locked with his molten red eyes.

*Then let hope be reborn...*

******

I jerked awake abruptly, groaning, not sure to put my hand on my head or my crotch. I was breathing as hard as if I'd been fucking, and I knew my netherlips were puffy and probably pretty slimy inside my leathers.

I didn't feel content, though; I had the suspicion I'd been interrupted again.

Rolling on the pallet, I remembered where I was fairly quickly as I saw Gavin at his temporary desk, not writing but carefully tending his tools. He glanced my way, aware I was awake.

"What did you dream?" he asked bluntly.

"Mm, not sure you want details," I mumbled, sitting up slowly. "A memory. The coupling, when I conceived." 

He grunted, watching me without expression. When he didn't say anything, I smirked in humor. I couldn't help myself.

"You know. It was messy."

He quirked one eyebrow. "Indeed. Was anything different at all from before?"

My smile lowered and I looked down at my belly, covered it with one hand, still only the barest bump under my armor. "I think I made an oath..."

Gavin turned in his chair, taking his hands away from his tools to face me. "You think?"

"I don't remember the other voice from before," I said. "But then, I barely remembered that time at all..."

"You dreamed about conceiving but barely remember conceiving the first time? Why is that?"

I wasn't sure how to answer that without giving a lot of details I didn't want to give. Gavin had never questioned how I became pregnant before, and I always appreciated that. This time, however, I knew it had to do with the dreams to which he himself had a direct connection. He wasn't likely to let it go as easily now, so I wondered how to explain this on my terms.

"You said the rift spurred your regeneration with near-unlimited energy," I began slowly. "It was maybe a bit like that. I was injured...very badly."

"How badly?" Gavin interjected.

I hesitated. "Gutted."

The necromancer nodded and motioned for me to continue. As if I really wanted to.

"And... Auslan used a lot of magic to heal me. As much as he had, probably. But his magic has always been for fertility... so I caught a child as well."

"Life magic," Gavin repeated, looking as though this made sense to him well beyond what I'd said. "Quite the opposite of mine. Perhaps you had truly died, Sirana, and when he brought you back with child, that was how the Grey Maiden found him."

I did not like this thought at all. My mind instantly rebelled against it. "Elf deaths have nothing to do with the Greylands, remember? And she said in your vision that it was *your* faith that allowed Auslan to be 'found.' She must have meant your faith in joining me on this journey, in keeping a deal with me long enough to discover the connection between me and the Auslan."

"I have learned never to assume what she 'must have' meant," he replied blandly, tapping his fingertips against his chair in thought. "You would recall we have spoken before on trusting such assumptions, and we agreed that it was better to consider all options rather than blindly accept it as a fact."

Maybe so. Except when he wanted to talk about me as if I was a resurrected servant, like him.

Gavin's thoughts had already wondered elsewhere as his eyes drifted to the side; his expression was of simple curiosity. "I dare think if Tamuril were ever to meet your consort, she might be awestruck if she could see past his skin color, or perhaps even more because of it. Her natural magic is a form of life magic, but his would be the base essence of hers in creation."

Given what Jaunda had done to the blonde Elf, I thought it unlikely. Still. Tamuril...and through her, Isboern and Musanlo. All three of them seeing value in my Consort? It didn't have to make *that* much sense.

"What vow did you make?" Gavin asked, again not seeming to notice my glower. It made my answer very sour.

"It was just sex talk. I wasn't repeating any vow."

"Sex talk?"

The tone and look on his face told me he had no idea what that entailed. 

"Hmph," I grunted, sort of resenting having to explain it. "When pleasure rises in a good mating, words can come out. They are usually just sounds."

"Like what?"

"Like...'yes.' Or 'Goddess.'"

"Yes, Goddess?" Gavin repeated, as if trying to make sure he understood me. "You answered a possible deity's question with sex talk?" 

I shrugged helplessly. "Or it was just a weird reverie and not a memory. Or a trick, some ironic worry of my mind. I've had them before."

"Given your past visions, Sirana, I consider that unlikely. What was the question, if not a vow?"

I took a moment to recall, repeating it without the virtue and passion of the other voice. "Will you fight for him... Will you defend him and his brother, and see them where they must go?"

I could have sworn I saw an odd glint of excitement in Gavin's eyes. "And you said yes."

I threw up my hands in massive irritation. "I was fucking! I said 'fuck, yes.' And don't tell Isboern any of this! He wanted a pledge like this at Manalar."

"I have no reason to tell him." Gavin wasn't laughing, fortunately; he just tilted his head. "Who is his brother?"

I growled my answer. "A Drow wizard."

"Just a wizard? You've never mentioned him."

"Why should I have? You haven't seen him in any dreams, I'd wager."

"Probably not. Is there a reason he would be mentioned in that vow?"

I paused to catch my breath, giving it some thought but not much. "They are linked, by essence, I think. It was a magical bond forged over two centuries ago."

"Interesting. In other words, if the wizard dies, the Consort likely will, too."

*Goddess damn it...*

I nodded.

"I think I understand why your consort has not broken under the visions of two goddesses, Sirana. It is that wizard. He must be channeling what is bleeding off the other, perhaps being more obvious in his potential." Gavin thought this over. "He may be the sole reason your Valsharess and her Spider Queen have not realized this consort is a threat to them."

I lifted my head suddenly and blinked rapidly. "Bleeding off...? But the two males are hardly near each other."

"Your dreams have proven distance is a small matter, and their bodies are both in the same city, correct?" He continued at my nod. "They may be symbiotic at this point. The voice in your dream is correct. If you would see one where he must go, the other must be there as well." 

I stared at Gavin, momentarily distracted when a scar I'd been used to seeing on his cheek wasn't there anymore. It reminded of where he'd been, and how far he'd come.

"The last I knew," I said soberly, "the wizard was in the Palace. As the Valsharess's new consort."

"That sounds dangerous. From what I've gathered of your culture, such a position would be temporary and terminal."

In most cases, with most Matrons. There was, of course, Phaelous as the sole exception...

"Look for signs of time in your dreams, Sirana," Gavin said, drawing me out of my thought. "Such things may be the only way to tell when these actions take place, which will warn how much time you have left."

I stared; I couldn't believe it. "So now you agree with the Godblood?"

"We're still missing the youngest mother and the ancient child," he said. "I may be able to find the latter, as she is near death, but the newest mother hasn't been chosen yet. I believe that choice is your consort's. My task to prove my ability to serve the Maiden was to form the soul shard, transforming one through death. Perhaps Auslan's task to prove himself to the Sisters was to bring true life to one who had lost it."

I frowned down at the ground, unhappy being reminded again; my stomach was roiling even as I became aware of hunger yet again. If that was true, then Auslan had not just brought back a life but created another and I knew that was all him. My womb had been shredded for the second time in my life, and I had nothing left to offer. 

Quite a task to prove one's abilities.

Gavin leaned a bit closer to me when I didn't reply. "As I made Jacob to be my strike back the imbalance at Manalar...perhaps Auslan made you to strike back at the imbalance in the Underdark."

*You have Chosen, Ta'suil. She is your champion...*

"I must leave, I'm going to lose my meal," I said, and got up to leave the room as smoothly yet quickly as I could.

******

The dwarves made room for me when I stepped out into the hall and I breathed slowly, standing still to let the nausea pass. Jael's room was still quiet, and I asked Kellan after her health.

"Healer says she's fine. Might wake in the next hour or so, but Elves can be unpredictable."

I tried not to smirk. "What about the Knight Captain? Where has he been?"

"Meditating."

"Where?"

The short mage gave me an odd look then started over. "He's been awake for a couple hours now, but after he got that everyone was recovering, now he's just sitting. Isn't moving or seeing us, but his vitals are normal."

I thought that over with immediate concern. "He is communicating with someone outside your secret burrow."

Kellan nodded. "Talov says they've made a deal, and the Knight Captain has sworn not to reveal our location in exchange for being left alone to watch over his men and the Elf druid. We already know the man stands by his word."

I looked down each hallway and my first impulse was to go right, farther down from where I'd come. "May I see him?"

Kellan looked suspicious. "Ye dinnae need to."

I noticed more that his enunciation tended to slip now and then for a scholar, but it was far better than Talov's.




Surfacing Ch. 17



"I think he would like to see me," I said with confidence. "He may come out of his meditation if he senses me." When Kellan didn't answer and the other dwarves shifted on their feet, I added, "Or did Talov place restrictions on where I could go?"

"Only that no one leaves the compound and no one bothers Mourn until he wakes," Kellan answered. "Ye can move around as ye like inside, but put harm to anyone here and we're to put ye in chains."

I smiled, tempted to think they could try but then deciding that they'd probably succeed. Where had I to run, anyway?

"Well, then. I'd like to see the Captain, please. No harm to him, per my hosts."

"'Tis only polite?"

"It's convenient to agree. There's no reward to me for harming him."

With some lingering reservation, Kellan led me away from the others down to my right and just around the next corner. He knocked on a third door to give warning, but there was no answer and the Guild mage opened it a crack to look in. 

He shrugged and whispered, "No change. If he doesn't come awake to talk with ye, I can't leave ye alone with him."

"Fair," I said, motioning my intent to go inside. He allowed it, and I had to leave the door open as I had with Jael while he remained outside.

The room was as sparse as Jael's with three pallets and a basic table along the opposite wall, though I did notice two chairs as well and wondered whether Gavin hadn't so much demanded the writing furniture as he had simply moved it to his preferred place within the room, which was next to his chosen pallet on the same side of the room.

It was becoming clearer that these rooms could be used for resting Guild members as well as a possible infirmary where some quiet and privacy was possible, certainly some isolation if there was any communicable disease or captive to be held. As it was, the Guild had simply placed three non-Guild in their own rooms as we waited for others to arrive. It would probably become much more crowded in here over the next few days.

For now, though, I approached the Knight Captain, who was sitting straight-backed and cross-legged on the far pallet. He was out of his armor, which had been cleaned and tended, now free of blood and undead bits and set next to him. His helmet was off and set aside with the rest of the plate mail and his new shield, his blond hair in need of a wash but was nonetheless combed back smoothly, rather unlike my own tousled, fuzzy braid. He wore a sweat-stained, off-white linen shirt of some quality and dark brown leather trousers, also of quality and made to fit well. His gloves were off; his boots were on but had been wiped down and were free of dust and dirt.

His eyes were closed, however, and he did look to be in some kind of trance.

Isboern looked like a young Captain, I thought, if I'd known what a male one was supposed to look like. He'd cleaned himself up to be presentable, like the ranking officers among our own fighters, and certainly like Elder D'Shea and the Prime. Elder Rausery was probably a little more lax inside the Cloister, but she'd earned enough reputation to where it harmed nothing. One thing she would be harping on me right now was not having gone over all my equipment yet. But then, I hadn't been left alone since I arrived.

I walked around Isboern in a circle one time, noting where everything was before setting Soul Drinker down on the middle pallet, not out of reach but a good lean away from me. Then I sat cross-legged as well, facing the Human. 

I waited, reassured my two surviving spiders when they moved again at my nape, and considered what I'd say if he actually sensed me. Not a lot, if Kellan remained outside listening as he was. There was no silence spell on this door the way there had been on Gavin's, and it was still open in any regard.

Isboern's eyes moved beneath his lids and his chin tilted slightly. My ears listened keenly for a change in breath, which there was, just before he opened Sky blue eyes. He smiled as if he was glad to see me, and I couldn't tell if he had any concerns for those he'd left behind. Surely he must have.

"You look better, Sirana. You've rested?"

I frowned but nodded. "What is happening with Tamuril and your Men? You made a deal with Talov."

"They aren't in my range to speak yet," he said with obvious regret. "But when they are, I already have permission to do so, and Master Talov would also give me a partial update since he is in communication with those with them."

"Very well. What is that update? I don't have even that."

"The Guildmistress will get here first, and soon; she has two wounded who won't make the journey by normal means. I've agreed to help if I can. The two teams from the temple, with Tami and my Templars, are moving more slowly. If they make it to a certain point, Talov and Krithannia may be able to help shorten their journey, but they are mostly without horses and they still have the civilian with them."

"Are the Templars and that Woman coming here?" I almost didn't believe Talov would allow it.

"They have nowhere to go except where I am," Isboern said soberly, that earlier sadness beginning to creep into his tone. He'd just fully remembered again that his city didn't exist anymore.

"What about the rest you contacted on the wall before the rift opened?" I asked. It was interesting to think that haunted look on his face might've been similar to what Talov had seen on mine earlier.

"I cannot tell you specifics. It would be a danger to them."

"Tamuril said you were 'communing,' not just giving orders," I said bluntly. "Then you come out of it, help save me from being abducted, and in return beg me to bring my consort to the Surface on behalf of your god. What else did you see while we were fighting the undead and defending your body?"

Isboern's mouth turned downward. "That is between me and Musanlo."

I smirked, keeping my voice low. "But it concerned something you want me to do. I will tell you I cannot do it. I will be killed on sight if I go back."

Isboern whispered as well. "They would not with a babe in your belly, surely."

I shrugged. "Very well. Captured, imprisoned until I birthed then baby, then killed with the cord still attached. That might even be the preferred outcome to my queen deciding my new talent could be of some use to her as well."

The Godblood's eyes widened in horror, but he also looked at me as if he was testing me for untruth. I continued since I had nothing to hide there, and he looked ill for a moment that this was a real possibility for me.

"Same with Jael. What you did to her, you've condemned her to exile. That's why she wants to kill you."

It was far too easy to make him show regret on his face.

"I know. I am so sorry for how little I can help with that."

"So tell me about your communion in the temple while the dead were rising."

"That would not earn me forgiveness from either of you," he said, still calm but his tension was beginning to grow as he'd risen above a whisper. "You only seek to coax from me a confidence I have already said I will not betray."

I pushed harder. "Your god wants something from me that will have a high cost to me, for his own benefit."

"I was only telling you what you already know. That oracle, your 'consort,' will die if you do not rescue him. You can choose to do nothing, Sirana, but your inaction will condemn far more than just the father of your child. It is for the greater good."

I scowled, knowing quickly why the anger flared as it did, and I didn't want to go in this direction quite yet. "Perhaps, but what my Sister? You opened a wound and let her bleed for days."

His square jaw flexed and he swallowed. "She wouldn't allow me to help further. I cannot force her."

"You had no idea how to handle her, so you chose to do nothing as well!"

He blinked and I felt an involuntary pulse from him as he finally scowled. "I was preparing for an attack and siege on my city!"

I was so glad I had gotten him to raise his voice. Kellan was still outside, and I shifted to where I could roll out of my position and to my feet quickly if necessary. Isboern was gripping his pallet, keeping his hands flat; his face quickly became flushed but he wasn't going to swing first.

I leaned forward, hissing caustically, "You did the worst thing possible and, by sheer chance, ruined any option I had to reveal what I am now to Jael in a way that wouldn't make her hate me!"

"I did not force you into a link with her, I am not even aware of how that happened."

"It was still an arrogant mistake, Captain. You made several of them! We were unable to leave the chamber sooner because you wouldn't break open the damned door yourself. Remember, you told Mourn he should do it, even though you *could have* helped and Jael being forced to use her magic before she was ready would never have been necessary!"

His face firmed up like stone and he stared right at me, threatening a link that we both didn't want that.

I spoke forcefully, knowing Kellan would hear every word. "We couldn't drag you out surrounded by the dead as we were, either. I had to link with her by force to save your useless 'communing' ass from the Ma'lok, who wanted to slaughter you and drag your bright and shiny soul to the Greylands so you could be a gem in a Greylord's crown! That's why I asked what was so fucking important that you couldn't help us!"

His eyes filled with tears and he made no attempt to prevent them from dripping down his cheeks. "You asked me in the middle of that chamber to let my soldiers die, to let my people and all their children be possessed by spirits, to *eat* each other, to be slaughtered and scattered by the Ma'ab, and any survivors exiled from their home of centuries. You and your leader said it was the 'greater good' to prevent the Ma'ab from gaining our city, and to dismantle its government at the same time."

"And you know we were right," I said flatly.

He nodded once; he was trembling and he looked away at the wall for both our protection. "You received what you asked for, Sirana. Now I've told you what you must do to gain my forgiveness for what you've done. You have no right to ask anything else of me. Jael is still alive. Blame me for it if you want, but it is up to her now to face the rest of her life, and you, yours. It's more than most at Manalar will have the chance to do."

Isboern turned around then, spinning on his pallet to put his back to me; a monumentally stupid thing to do on a Drow, most would say—and I did have the very real urge to pick up Soul Drinker and stab him in the back. But he wasn't an ordinary Human.

"Please leave me," he said.

I was more than glad to do so; the bastard. I picked up Soul Drinker and gained my feet to walk away before I could consider any actual harm. I was glad he would suffer thinking about the battle we'd escaped.

After I swept by Kellan and he started following me, however, it came to me that, as far as accusations of not helping when one could have, the Knight Captain hadn't brought up what had happened in the crypt when I'd given him the perfect opening.

******

I roamed the underground compound a bit more escorted by Kellan, mapping the place in my head without effort though I still had the scowl on my face. The movement helped purge some of the excess anger.

The scent of heavy sweat was fresh as I rounded one corner and saw a bundle of Guild dwarves guarding a door; they weren't the ones sweating. My sensitive ears picked up a female voice I knew and I genuinely wondered just how Krithannia had made it into that removed room without my having heard anything coming through the front entrance. Had it been while I slept in Gavin's room? I didn't think so; the sweat and exertion seemed as if she and several others had literally just stumbled in. 

I approached with deliberation, keeping my hands clear and empty as the dwarves watched me. Ultimately they didn't stop me from looking in over the tops of their helmets. It became clear why; I only saw stone wall. The door didn't lead straight into the room, there was a sharp turn to the left and probably another fifty paces to go.

When I breathed in again through my mouth, not only was there the heavy sweat, dirt, and heat of hard-working bodies, but blood, metal, dwarf-oil, and magic all seeming to lace around my teeth and sliding along my tongue like gel.

My nose wrinkled at the heavy scents clogging my throat; I didn't know why I'd actually done things that way. Was that something Kain or Kerse might do? Or Mourn. He breathed in scents through his teeth all the time. Although I did remember Draegloth doing that on occasion as well. I didn't know which I preferred as the origin of that particular tick; I'd try not to do it in the future.

I shook my head once, ignoring the look one dwarf gave me, and signed, *Let me pass.*

They blinked, hesitated, but ultimately obeyed the Guild's Silent Tongue. Kellan followed me in.

Krithannia coughed something out of her throat then asked tersely, "Is Mourn awake yet?"

Talov's gruff voice answered amid shuffling footsteps and shifting equipment. "What do ye think?"

"It's been eight hours."

"It'll prob'ly be days."

"Who is guarding him?"

"The puff lizard with the bad attitude."

I blinked. *Graul was here?*

"Damn Highwater," she muttered as if that was a curse, albeit it pretty mild one. She sounded distracted and tired. "So be it. Cage and Ardor need healing, fast."

"My boys been ready. Move and let 'em work. Now...ye need something, Sirana?"

I'd just stepped into the room but not into the torchlight; I was still-well shadowed but didn't waste time being astonished or wondering how he'd known. His dwarves at the door hadn't spoken a word but that didn't mean they couldn't communicate. 

The Noldor and greybeard both turned to look at me; Krithannia was badly in need of a bath and clean clothes. It looked like the whole squad had fallen into a swamp, covered in rotting vegetation. To the side, both her teams were complete but two were down, dirty wounds being exposed as the Guild signed between each other.

*-caught a drop in a cut on the wall. Nothing was wrong till—*

*-barbed spear tip in the thigh, had to break if off , can't—*

"Sirana?"

I looked back a Talov, then behind him. I only saw a wall. How had they all just arrived? Another transport trick like Mourn's?

"Wanna be useful and carry some equipment?" Talov asked, though I could tell it wasn't a request.

I smiled. "Sure. If Krithannia can show me where to clean up as well."

I wasn't the freshest coming from Manalar; I could hardly judge the new arrivals. It was also satisfying to see the two were just slightly surprised by my request. Slightly.

Krithannia nodded once; she was still frowning. I put my gloves on and stepped to test-lift a pack kit, deciding I could carry only one if it wasn't far. It had been taken off one of the full-grown Human Men, after all, and they could pack more on their backs. The equipment was coated in an algae-heavy slime as well, and I wondered just where in the Abyss they'd been?

"Where to?" I asked.

The two Guildmasters exchanged another look and, though the Pale Elf likely would have preferred to go straight to see Mourn, I was guessing that Talov convinced her to take the opportunity presented to clean up and find out what I wanted. They didn't need words, expressions, or hand signals; they still had the Pearls...

A moment later, I rethought that. It would mean everyone else holding a Pearl would hear it, too. So maybe it really had all been non-verbal?

"Follow me," Krithannia said brusquely, confidence lining all of her tall, lean body in a familiar way as she signed another Guild member to come with us.

She strode past me and into the hall past the dwarves, not looking back as one of Net—Pitfall, I thought—followed and brought the other pack. I was correct in assuming Krithannia had been here before; she showed me first to the equipment room where I was to drop the pack of one of the injured Men. Pitfall began to break down both kits as soon as I'd gotten my hand off mine. The ordinary-looking Noiri had his face set in stone and his focus entirely on his task.

"Debriefing after you've all cleaned up and eaten, Tag," Krithannia said. "Collect the others."

He nodded. "Yes, Guildmistress."

Whoops. At least I had the correct team.

The dark-haired Pale Elf showed me next to a small, mostly clear room with the same broad tiles not only lining to floor but the walls as well. To one side there was a stout bench set in the middle and, like the pallet rooms, one table set against a wall, though this one was stocked with supplies. It held what I assumed were various suds-makers and cleansers, as well as drying towels, enough for more than just the two of us. Talov had truly been prepared to meet us here and provide for many Guild members at once.

"Remove your boots," Krithannia said in a clipped tone as she did the same. "Leave them by the bench."

She was irritable but I couldn't tell if it was primarily my presence or not; she could just really want to get clean. I decided to do as she said while I looked around.

On the other side of the room, three spouts stuck out of the wall at even intervals, seeming ready to guide water into a metal bowl with many, small holes drilled in it where it would flow out like a small area of rain straight out of a cloud, or maybe more a trickling, underground spring. I also counted three drains in the floor and reflected on the fine construction. 

It wasn't unlike the bathing rooms in the Cloister, actually, though it looked a bit rougher still and more appropriate for consistently taller bodies. Everything, that was, except for the little colored stones set at dwarf-height. Krithannia leaned down to push the opaque blue one. This started the water flowing on one of the showers and straight down onto her.

"Will Vim and Net join us here to wash?" I asked, curious primarily because there were only three spouts and eight very dirty Men.

Krithannia shook her head. "There is a larger room for the men."

She didn't seem to care that she was getting her dark, Guild clothing soaked as she stood underneath the water, looking up and letting it wash off her face first thing and dampen her sodden hair. She undid her tangled braid to let the length lay on her back then began stripping, roughly scrubbing off the worst of the muck as she removed each article before tossing it aside onto the tiles. She was still scowling.

I watched for a while, wondering how far she'd go with me standing fully-clothed, if bootless, when it became clear that she would go down to the skin. Despite her appearance the first time I'd met her, being so well-dressed and elegant back at Augran, I could recognize in her movement another Elf with field training like the mine, or like the Men.

She was filthy and had been through a day-long battle and a long escape, and right now it seemed she didn't give a fuck that I was watching her. I hadn't expected this frank practicality from Noldor, somehow. I could admit it was a little arousing and reminded me of home.

"So what do you have to say to me?" she asked bluntly. "I am tired, Sirana, and still have much to do."

"Mm," I grunted. At first I'd thought to probe her a bit about the mission or about Mourn, or about anything that caught my fancy that could be useful, but now that she was acting more or less like Jaunda after a multi-cycle mission, I abandoned the tactic.

"Good work, Noldor. We did it."

She turned to look at me with iron-grey eyes, clear, cool water still streaming down her head and naked shoulders, rivulets of water flowing across her palm-sized breasts, hardening her rosy nipples. I had long since answered my own question; she was pale and pink all over like Tamuril. Only her hair was dark. Above and below.




Surfacing Ch. 18



Author's Notes: This story is erotic fantasy written by Etaski. I reserve the right to be listed as the author of this story, wherever it is posted. If found posted anywhere except Literotica.com with this note attached, this story is posted without my permission. (c) Etaski 2014.

At last we return to see what's up down below. ;) Thank you for the notes of support as I got this done despite work, illness, and travel. I hope you enjoy it.

*****

"When will he wake, D'Shea?"

Shyntre had asked her that before he had left for the Palace, and now Rausery, after almost a full cycle doing what she needed to do to recover and protect what had changed after visiting Phaelous. The Elder wouldn't talk to her about that. Yet.

The sorceress had already been to visit Tarra to put off any actions with Auslan and the forming room, and many more mundane things had needed to fill her attention for the next two cycles after that.

Auslan remained in his trance and his Elder was truly nervous now though she would not admit that to Rausery. It had been almost five cycles since D'Shea had seen the place of sand and the white walker, since she'd communicated briefly with Jael in the dungeon and with Sirana.

It had taken some troubleshooting to figure out how the best maintenance spell and apparatus to feed Auslan's body the fluids it needed while he was not awake to drink. She'd fashioned a modified water-breathing mask to place over his nose and mouth with a tube connected to a waterskin. He lost very little moisture breathing out as it was all magically recycled and added to by the waterskin, which she refilled as needed, as he literally breathed in his water rather than drinking it. Similarly, she fed a small healer's tube into his penis to empty his bladder into another skin before he could soil her bed. 

Auslan had not eaten since falling into this deep reverie, though, and his body wouldn't continue forever without food even though her healing spells could lengthen the amount of time he could spend in a coma without any lasting damage.

She was not used to being a tender of any kind, but she could trust no one else in this. It was a good thing Shyntre wasn't here; his anger wouldn't help the situation. Had she made a mistake in the strength of her spell? Was this somehow Auslan's own doing, his will? Or had he become lost and needed help...?

Breathing out slowly, D'Shea sat on the edge of the bed once again, staring down at his half-masked face, watching for any twitch, any sign that he might be coming out awake.

"Where are you, Consort?" she murmured, lightly touching his temple, smoothing a bit of his white hair back. "You must return to me. Soon."

*****

Rausery hadn't been sitting long. First they'd needed to see to Jaunda; the Elders were sending her out alone this time to meet up with her two shadow stalkers with a few specific orders. With D'Shea's assistance, they'd been able to shorten some of the trek, to get their Lead quickly to the edge of known territory. 

Next there was following up with Qivni, checking on the rest of the Sisterhood, reporting to the Prime, the usual song and dance. As soon as Rausery was alone, however, she had to test something.

She wanted to write, using her awkward, sharp scratches that only Shyntre was willing and able to decipher with reasonable speed. A few times in the past, before she'd given up from the swell of pain in her head, she had tried to write it. The problem was she couldn't write it without thinking it, and the very thought of passing on the knowledge in any form triggered the migraine.

It had begun before with a feeling like someone was tightening down a vice inside her skull, pulling down and compressing her brain—and this just from picking up the reed quill with the idea of writing it down.

She'd picked up the quill now. So far, so good.

Elder Rausery dipped the tool into her ink bottle and adjusted her grip, putting the tip to the parchment at the proper angle.

No pain.

She smiled a bit and wrote, "Blade song."

Sitting back, she waited. Nothing.

*Fucking Headmaster.* How had he done it? It had sure as fuck hurt enough at the time when he was doing his thing, but now...

Rausery leaned over her desk and wrote several more words, suggestive, subversive hints of her true thoughts.

"Brom."

"Crypt."

"Grandmaster."

The Elder chuckled, blotting out her notes so they were illegible. 

*Phaelous, you old cuntsucker.*

She had only to wait for the beauty to wake up.

*******

Ta'suil remembered the shocking pain after the paladin-priest had accepted his open hand. It had been a pure, impulsive offer; he hadn't intended any pain or any harm. He had merely recognized the light-skinned, male Human as the third priest that the Deathwalker had told him they needed to join them on the red sands.

The Consort had tried to take the Human there, right in that moment.

It hadn't worked. His God was still angry. And hurt. He did not know where they had all gone, or why they had abandoned Him, why the grey mistress and her walker now plotted against Him rather than seek new connections elsewhere.

The Brother had hurt them because Ta'suil didn't have the answers to His questions.

Sirana had been there with him, speaking with the paladin in another language as if trying to negotiate with him. They'd all been separated when the Brother's anger surged, powerful as a solar flare.

Now...

Now. The Consort turned around slowly, looking around him.

He was surrounded by three-story walls and orange columns, once red but faded by exposure. Open-air patios, balconies, and the small courtyard where he stood implied the space and the decorative vessels had been intended for living gardens, though there were no plants here now. Smooth sandstone steps, wide and shallow, lead to the various shelters, barely worn and still showing the gradients of color and layers which had formed it.

He could not see outside of this place without climbing up and looking out from an outside window, as he had so often in his life. The true border walls of this place—the ones where guards would be posted—must reach farther out and would protect him and provide a world inside in which he could be kept, to be an object of value, as the rest of the chaos and wilderness outside continued on without him.

The Consort explored cautiously, walking the borders of the empty courtyard, placing his bare feet carefully, silently, and listening only to silence in return. The walkways needed to be swept, the corners cleared of collected red sand and dirt, the water well needed to be unsealed.

The windows—arched and square, round and oval, depending on where in the manor they could be seen, and their relative size—all were missing drapery, glass, or shades. They were wide-open like so many staring eyes, carved, curved stone their only adornment giving them any beauty. Unfinished or undone, the place was built but not lived in. It was the same with all the doors and entries, rectangular or arched, reinforced or functional or elegant.

Perhaps this was how a Matron's House might look on the Surface, if it could be built with no rock overhead, if it were able to withstand the constant blowing grit of the dunes. That was one thing that was missing: the wind. No specks of sand blew into his eyes or stung his ears. Nothing moved inside those beckoning, darker areas shaded from the Sun, though he thought if anything at all lived here still, they would be out of the high source of heat overhead.

Trusting his ears and a honed sensitivity to even semi-sentient movement, he knew was alone. Ta'suil sought to rest his eyes from the brutal Sun, climbing the steps to the West for no particular reason. The first, ground-level, deeply shaded room he entered had no furnishings, though it was spacious, the ceiling generously high and the still air just a bit cooler. It was dark for lacking any windows and the walls being thick, with only a single door leading to the next room, much smaller, with an empty, stepping-stone depression that had probably been a pool at one point, capable of holding multiple bodies. The smaller room possessed only one of the smaller portals to allow in natural light.

Its placement baffled him; a bare room just off the prime location of the front courtyard, linked to a small bathing room with a single, high window offering only indirect light to spread out over the earth-tone ceiling. None of the Matrons with whom he had ever stayed would put an empty utility or sparring room and wash room so close to what must be the main leisure area.

The Consort sat down on the edge of the large, empty bath; had it been filled with water, he'd be in up to his hips, his feet and legs at a comfortable angle to sit and socialize, probably with something liquid in hand to sip, watching for signs that his mistress might want to seduce him. He looked up, contemplating the shade of Sunlight filtering through the stone—gold and at its brightest during the day—and reflected that the color of this room would change with the time of day. With the setting Sun, there may be days where the walls would look to be set aflame.

The quiet was unnatural, even for the empty desert he'd visited so many times now. Insects, rodent, and reptiles had often shown up if only to remind him some creature was always aware that he was here...except for in this place.

Not even a fly came to bother him with its whining buzz.

He missed them; his champion protector, and his brother, he missed them. He wanted to speak with the walker again, or with the paladin. He still had questions.

Or if none of them would be able to reach him right now, he wanted to return to Elder D'Shea. He just wasn't sure how; he'd always simply "awoken" before, but now he felt no pull back to where his true body lay. He didn't imagine he would have to walk the whole way back to the Underdark...but he wasn't sure how to get there.

He'd never gone this far afield before. Perhaps if he simply slept and let his mind be still, as he had yet to do, he might wake up again in the Underdark. This place was so quiet, though, some part of him wondered if he should sleep here, would he ever wake up, if there was nothing to disturb him? Would he become part of it, part of the stone and the stillness?

He didn't sleep, but nor did he feel the time passing as the angle of the Sun changed, as the shades of light and stone became deeper shades of gold, fire, and blood. What would the Night look like, with the Stars overhead in such utter silence? He kind of looked forward to it, provided the grey mass of the dead did not show up as well.

The sandstone ceiling finally shifted to true red, the Sun's angle low and late, when there was a noise.

A tremor.

Tiny bumps spread out on his skin, and beneath his wrap he felt his scrotum draw up closer to his body as his heart sped up. The sound was incredibly low, just within what his ears could pick up, but mostly he felt it in his bones and teeth.

It had come from the East, behind him, and after it next rose a droning swell like something might have burst up through the sand to send up a cloud so enormous as to block the Sun and alter the fading light in this room for a moment. The sense of underlying, penetrating pain that touched him was voiceless.

Suddenly he was afraid for the Night to fall.

*******

Vik and Halena still hadn't been back to any civilization since Jaunda had last seen them. There was enough water available for basic hygiene and for keeping their scents down, but that was just it: the Lead could only barely distinguish their scents from the rest of the environment. They blended in just that much better than she did.

This appealed to her on a primal level. The Lead hadn't thought before what it might be like to be out here for months at a time, maybe only visiting the City twice a year, if that. She had never cared too much about keeping up with Court politics, and within the Cloister she was required only to be tactically smarter and physically tougher than those she lead. But she'd been watching Elder D'Shea and her plotting for over two centuries, and now she wondered what she herself might like to do when someone eventually came along to challenge the Lead for her place—at a time when Jaunda no longer cared enough to fight for it.

She knew better than to indulge in those thoughts for longer than the moment it took out in the wilderness.

*She tell you?* Jaunda signed when they met up near to—but not exact—where the two had first revealed themselves to her.

Halena nodded. She wasn't wearing her mask, and the Red Sister could see a similar ear-shape to the male, Vik, as well as a face that really could fade into the background as a servant in a Household or trader on the street—no one would look twice. True to form for the City, Jaunda could see her for the commoner she had been born, not quite as refined or exotic-looking as Sirana or Jael, or her own Elder D'Shea for that matter. It didn't matter on a personal level; it just helped things along when the details matched the story.

The story being right from Elder Rausery's mouth, which in itself was persuasive.

*Unexpected so soon, but welcome,* Vik signed. He seemed more at ease than his female partner, who rolled her eyes.

*Welcome?* she signed. *That the Illithids may attack sooner than anticipated?*

*Welcome that our Elder has decided we will combine resources when that happens,* he replied.

Jaunda couldn't tell which was the eldest between them and she was unused to seeing males as confident and calm as Vik. Part of her liked what she saw, what Rausery and her training had made of him...and another part of her wondered what it would take to make him nervous, and how he would respond. Would it be different than how a female tended to respond? Would he last less time than a Red Sister?

Halena did not comment and instead gestured for them to follow her. Jaunda recognized where they were going—bypassing the Dragon Ward and approaching the Illithid territory from the shifted rock underneath again. It was a different time of the cycle, much earlier, and Jaunda wanted to see what—if anything—was different in the slave fields.

The Lead's ring hummed inside her head again, as designed, indicating the presence of psionic energy, and the trio was as cautious as before, Jaunda with her hood back up and the shadow Drow covering their white hair though not their faces. The field itself, however, was empty and quiet without the sound of tools. That might suggest there was no Illithid present, just the psionic ward itself.

Fortuitous. Should she try to plant the gem now or wait another cycle to see if it was the same, if there was any sort of pattern to the field work? Jaunda had taken risks and opportunities aplenty before in the City, but the consequences had to be something she and her Elders were willing to accept.

D'Shea would not, and Jaunda could not imagine even Elder Rausery thinking it a good idea taking any notable risk with Illithids to save an extra cycle or two. The only time limit was a nebulous one given by an old wizard.

*Watch for a while,* Jaunda signed, and both shadow Drow nodded once.

Once again Jaunda lay to one side with Halena on the other and Vik in the middle. The shadow Drow were good; patient, still, alert but not anxious, or at least not in any way she could sense. Jaunda already knew these two would outlast Kirin and Lawret in this task; her excitable interrogators were not designed for long observation without action. Had Rausery simply chosen well, or were they all like this?

Jaunda breathed in slowly, paying close attention to the types of mushrooms and crops being grown here. She recognized a general "food and medicine" quality of the air, and knew at least some of them had short regrowth times, so it would be tended regularly, if not every cycle. It was possible the first group she'd seen, however, were harvesting some of the plants that took longer to grow, so perhaps they wouldn't need twenty bodies again very soon.

She could hope.

After two full marks of silence and little activity by anything larger than a bat, Jaunda heard a sound strange and foreign bounce along one of the tunnels. She glanced first at Halena, whose face was like stone. When she looked to Vik, however, he was smiling just a little.

*Amused?* Jaunda signed.

*Encouraged.*

*Why?*

*I know which cavern leads to their center.*

It was true there was more than one way to enter these fields, though the cavern dead-ended on the side where they'd burrowed up. Jaunda thought she counted three tunnels on the other side, based primarily on shadow depth and to subtle sounds of echo.

*On the right?* Halena signed.

*Correct,* he answered.

Jaunda looked between them. *And you two are so sure, because...?*

The cheeky smile she received from Vik could have been irritating, offensive, an excuse to push him around later or try to intimidate him. The thought did cross her mind, but it didn't stay long because all she had to do was imagine that same smirk on Beralya or Sirana's face instead...and it was an invitation to play.

Well. In that case, she wondered if he would take it up the ass like they would?

*Fine,* Jaunda signed with one hand as her other gave the male's fully available backside a very firm squeeze. *Tell me later.*

He didn't panic, shift, or jerk away, which at least showed her his training, though his eyes widened a little in surprise and his female companion tried to scowl the Red Sister's hand away from his tight bottom. Jaunda gave it an extra, silent pat for good measure before she returned her previous, more comfortable position and waited.

They listened for any change in the cavern first, and when there was none, Halena signed first.

*I tell you again. He's not yours.*

*All work and no play,* Jaunda signed back, letting her teeth show in a grin before closing them again. *Is he yours, then? Does he ever speak for himself?*

Halena was becoming agitated too easily, and Vik reached out to rest just his middle two fingers on her wrist, holding them there until the female looked away from Jaunda to meet his eyes.

*Red Sister,* was all he signed.

After a beat or two, the other shadow Drow nodded and made a conscious effort to relax and focus on her surroundings again. Jaunda felt the tension drain and made a mental note. She might not guess all the connotations her status had for these two, but Vik's actions were clear to show at least one of them was that he expected and accepted that a Red Sister would test his nerves once in a while. A butt-squeeze was barely a test.

Or it should be, if Rausery really did have an effective, second team on the side.

*How many are you?* Jaunda asked, not expecting an answer.

*If Elder Rausery didn't tell you,* Halena answered, immediately and predictably, *then we cannot.*

The Lead shrugged and nodded, putting her two middle fingers on Vik's wrist until he looked at her. *What ratio is male? At least tell me that. No harm there.*

Vik considered, ignoring Halena's expression, and signed, *One in three.*

That many? Interesting.

*If this is so strange you cannot get past it, it distracts you,* Halena signed. *That is not impressive, Red Sister.*

Jaunda laughed silently, again showing her teeth. *And I distract you, shadow. You protect him as if he can't protect himself. You speak for him, then tell me I am distracted by his gender? You are no better. What would you do if I decided to try him out?*

Halena's tension returned.

Vik put his forehead in his hands as a gesture of frustration and jerked one hand tersely, *No more. Not here.*

*Sure thing, sweet meat,* Jaunda signed, easily the calmest of the three. *How often do you interact with Drow of status or power? Not often, I wager, if you are this easy to shake.*




Surfacing Ch. 18



*You are correct,* Vik signed before Halena could respond. *We are street survivors. We have never been to Court. We avoid those with power unless it is to act against them under orders. When we do, we are not to speak or sign at all.*

*But this is the same as anyone testing your territory on the streets.* Jaunda looked directly at Halena. *Getting under your skin, watching for a soft spot.*

Again, Vik nodded. *No different, Red Sister. But you will not disappoint your Elders costing us this entry point to the Illithid lair with an impulsive fuck. You will not mount me here and now. Halena only must remember that.*

*Not here,* his companion answered. *But later.*

*Maybe,* Jaunda said, enjoying herself still. *He did not say no.*

*Only the present counts. You know this,* Vik signed to Halena, frowning at her, holding her eyes until she actually did look away first.

Now Jaunda could tell finally which one of them was the elder Drow, if not in age, then in experience. It was Vik.

They waited less than a mark before five sleepwalkers began wandering down each of the three passage ways, entering the fields and carrying their tools with them. About the same mix of races as before, perhaps even the very same bodies. There would be more coming.

Vik signed, *Your ring?*

*Strong warning,* Jaunda answered. *Maybe more than one this time.*

*Let's go while we can.*

Halena and Vik both pulling up their hoods and lower face mask, they eased out and down the way they came in, covering the hole with a thin, black cloth—much quieter than shifting a stone—and all three focused only on silence and retreat until they were well away from the Illithid farming fields.

The plan was to find a safe place to rest in the wilderness—something Vik and Halena excelled at—and return again at similar times to discern any patterns where the field might be open to a little lingering surveillance long after Jaunda returned to the City to report.

They had managed to come in from a different direction than Jaunda's first time, a way more direct the shadow Drow had found. However when they sensed something larger than them rooting around in the passage ahead, they had no choice but to take an alternate way down to safer territory. Jaunda recognized it well enough and knew they would have to pass through the tunnel with the Dragon Ward again, but all three knew its limits and would not come too close. 

Halena dropped into the Dragon's tunnel first, then Vik, then Jaunda. As soon as her boots touched level stone, the Lead knew something was different about the place, but she couldn't decide what. The smell? A different creature passing through recently? Her eyes scanned automatically the ceiling, walls, and floor, seeking in the dark any sign of fresh gouges, tracks, or scat that would mark up the more consistent waves of the Underdark around her. She didn't think she saw any.

*Keep moving,* Vik signed, indicating the direction away from the known Ward.

Jaunda and Halena both nodded without argument or concern for gender or status. Something was giving Jaunda the holla-jins, sending a shiver up her spine she couldn't suppress. If they were being stalked, better to confront it farther away from the Ward. They kept moving.

It worried Jaunda that the feeling in her gut didn't recede even as they rounded three bends in the path, as the tunnel itself grew closer and too small for most of the larger predators to follow them. Vik was moving a little too fast for her to reach out and catch his shoulder to stop him, but she didn't want to make any unnecessary sound. And she couldn't shake the feeling.

Jaunda simply stopped, waiting to see how soon the shadow Drow would notice. It was impressively fast, another four paces before they each looked back. She signed.

*Being watched.*

They seemed to agree, yet all three knew they weren't exactly in a good place to stop or seek it out.

*Defensible position, up ahead,* Vik signed.

Cautiously they moved forward and the tunnel widened again, the right wall drawing away to create a small cavern before returning to continue the tunnel. When Vik started leading them into it, Jaunda grabbed his shoulder to force him to stop.

*Dead-end is defensible?* she signed with a harsh, disbelieving expression.

*It's not dead-end,* Halena signed first.

*Believe us,* Vik replied, but neither explained.

Jaunda let go of his shoulder and inhaled deeply. There was something sweet-smelling here. A sporing mushroom circle? Watercreche? In either case, there had to be a spring or pool nearby, and they were each a little low on water.

Rausery's commoners continued to lead Jaunda into the small cavern where they climbed only a short way before ducking into a low passage that didn't quite require crawling on all fours, but close. Jaunda could smell the water strongly now, but still didn't know what that sweet scent was. She couldn't fault the other two for the pace and caution with which they approached the end of the passage; they did as well as any in the Sisterhood, including herself. 

This made the prone figure they discovered by the pool that much more startling.

No one moved for quite a few moments as the details slowly filtered in. Drow. Male. Mostly naked, only a long, silk loincloth twisted between his legs, barely covering his groin and buttocks. No jewelry, no shoes, his feet bruised and cut, hot from running, and...manacles? There was a metal band on each of his wrists, but only a link or two of broken chain attached to each. He looked to have been drinking from the pool and perhaps had fallen unconscious from exhaustion.

Where in Lolth's name had he come from?

*Run?* Vik signed, suddenly less certain of his plan.

*From that?* Halena asked him with an arched brow. It didn't take her long to look back, her eyes lingering on him.

*Makes no sense,* Jaunda said, ready to simply leave and assume this was an illusion or something.

*Yes, it can,* Halena said but Vik elbowed her hard enough that it clearly hurt.

*Oh?* Jaunda challenged. *An escaped prisoner this far out from the City? Impossible, those cuts are barely a cycle old.*

The two shadow Drow shared a look that was almost equally blistering as they silently argued about something. Looking between the Red Sister and the unconscious Drow, however, Vik's shoulders lowered some as he finally conceded.

*Might not be from the City,* he said. *Heard from some of our captures that a few Drow may be in hiding from the City, and the Valsharess.*

Really.

*Does Elder Rausery know?*

*Yes.*

Another thing she wasn't mentioning to the Prime or Valsharess. She was entirely serious about what she planned to do with D'Shea.

*You should not tell—* Halena began.

*I know nothing of it,* Jaunda answered, frowning at the unconscious male.

So he could be real. Now what? Their mission couldn't make room for tending a pleasure slave who could easily get them killed or captured by Illithids. Better to leave him before he awoke. If he escaped from his mistress, the onus was on him to survive somehow. It wasn't their concern.

The only other option was questioning and then killing him, something Jaunda already knew either Elder D'Shea or the Prime would have ordered. She wasn't entirely sure about Rausery anymore, knowing what she knew now. Bringing him to the City would not only require her to abandon a timely mission but would open a whole new bottle of pincer worms that maybe neither of her Elders were prepared to have out into the open yet.

Maybe forget the questioning and just kill him right now, before he could cause any trouble or wreck what she was trying to do.

Something was wrong. She knew it.

The two Drow with her did not have time to react when Jaunda drew her dagger halfway out. The unknown Drow awoke suddenly, sensing the danger. 

His movement was hypnotizing in its inherent grace, even groggy and disoriented, perhaps weak with hunger. He had to be somebody's pet, like Auslan. He certainly had the beauty, but it was a strange kind of beauty. When he breathed in and lifted his exotic face to look their way, Jaunda knew she'd not only never seen the like but instantly believed Vik and Halena that there were other Drow in the Underdark, dwelling far outside the City.

Such an obvious thought. Why had she never had it before now? Had she really believed the Valsharess's power was absolute over all of their race?

The male sat up, slowly and smoothly, watching them with wide, curious eyes. There wasn't any light to see the color, but they were both wide and tilted upward. His ears were notable as well; not only flared in the middle before drawing to a point, but the point curved backward and extended past his skull, much farther than any Consort, all of whom possessed the "designer" qualities in the City before the Purge and its aftermath only left one of them alive.

No City female would be able to complain about the refinement of this one's face, or the proportion and balance in his lithe body. Jaunda wasn't easily swayed by male beauty, she preferred her female Sisters for her leisure, but even she had to admit he was eye-catching and somehow this made her hesitate.

Jaunda might have thought him twitchy and ill-suited for being out here alone and essentially naked, but except for his freshly injured feet he wasn't in bad shape. No whip scars left as punishment blemishes, his hair was decently long and not grimy yet, the few decorative braids only a little frayed. He was perhaps a little thin but not due to long-term underfeeding or malnourishment, yet he had those metal bands on his wrists, as if he was kept in a dungeon. It didn't quite make sense, unless his mistress enjoyed peculiar games.

"Who are you?" the exotic male asked aloud, his voice smooth and quiet but it still make all three of them flinch after so long holding their silence. "From where do you hail?"

*Do you understand Silent Tongue?* Vik signed, and the male's eyes fell on his hands.

The mostly naked Drow frowned, squinted, and tilted his head. He moved one hand gracefully. *Little.*

Only a little? Had he never learned? Or...maybe he knew a different set of signs.

Jaunda shook her head. What did that matter? She had been set to kill him a moment ago, before he moved. Now she only wanted to stare at him, and that worried her even more. At least Vik had offered himself to her scrutiny to determine if he was real. 

Jaunda drew her black dagger fully out of its sheath.

*What are you doing?* Halena challenged.

Vik looked uncertain for long enough as to not get in her way as Jaunda lunged forward, refusing to get distracted again.

The Drow male swiftly gained his feet then, seemingly well for a well-groomed pet running barefoot in the Underdark, and Jaunda heard Halena growl just before she rammed into her from her the side, tangling up their feet as they stumbled. Growling back, Jaunda smashed her elbow into the shadow's face, striking between the eyes and sending her off to the side to regain her feet much closer to her target, only a few paces, but it was too late to try again.

She froze. 

The Drow was a bit shorter, unarmed and kept his hands at his sides, but as he smiled up at her some intangible warning surged through Jaunda's chest. She knew if she tried again, she'd be dead. She dropped her blade to the ground.

The beauty chuckled, but then looked curious, tilting his head. "What is happening now that my dreaming should be disturbed?" 

*******

With the distance the Consort sensed between him and that deep, foreboding noise, he wondered if he could ignore it. Perhaps he had missed whatever had changed just now, and there would be nothing to find if he went searching. Perhaps whatever it was would not find him here if he stayed where he was and did not move.

Dusk had fallen when Ta'suil had to admit something had changed whether he who choose to ignore it or not. He heard a strong breeze enter the courtyard and blow in to caress his back with warm air. It didn't stop, the stimulation was constant, and when he eventually got up to step outside of the dry bathing room, he got a speck of sand in his eye.

It was as if the living desert was only now catching up to him, that he'd simply out-paced it before.

Blinking as his eye watered to flush out the grain, he knew couldn't just sit and meditate on his solitude any longer. He had to leave now, though his caution remained as he moved toward the wide, arched front entry to look outside.

The manor was upon a rise—not a dune but solid rock—and he would have to walk down an open, dirt path with no cover to join the larger road which would lead either East or West. He could see several more Houses like this one dotted about the wide valley that had not one sprout of vegetation, but to the East were higher walls still, and in that same direction he could see a dim glow lighting up the darkest part of the evening Sky.

Fire? No, something else. It was a little blue...and a little white. Ta'suil swallowed; the walker and his legion of the moving dead, perhaps?

"Do not fear passing," he whispered to himself, and stepped out, leaving the security of the walls behind. "It is balance..."

As had happened before in reverie, the distance did not remain constant for him. A few steps could change the scenery quickly, and it did so now as he became aware of the Palace walls rising before him long before he would have felt any fatigue. Even the Night seemed just begun as the Stars strengthened in their white pinpoints of light. No Moons had yet risen; it was dark as his eyes might wish it to be outside of the Underdark. 

His destination had been built upon a steep-sided crest; the outer, protective walls were sheer and extended the incline even higher into the air, almost blending in as it cast the largest shadow in the desert. The architecture of the Palace in Night colors resembled that of the Valsharess's below ground in several subtle ways, with its high-reaching levels and organic curves, with many places to hide from sight and attack in ambush. The multiple spires rising above all else reminded him more of the Wizard's Tower and the stalagmites back home, but the outer walls weaved back and forth around the fortress like a sand snake. Loose, sliding rock filled each dip inward while the outward curves of the walls seemed to push out against unwanted visitors.

The blue-white glow came from inside the Palace, and the Consort came to a stop as he watched the way the light behaved like visible air and fire melded together, hot and rising high before seeming to cool and fall, flowing downward to roll off of the fortress in waves.

This light was affecting the rest of the valley; there were subtle noises behind him now, as there hadn't been before. Even his footsteps seemed less muffled, and he felt the hardness of distinct stones beneath his feet. Now fatigue came as he began the long, steady climb up the stone-paved road which led to the main gate. There was so much empty space all around him that he could not help but think there must have been much more here before. Stone remained, but all else that couldn't weather the Surface's constant change had long since been worn away.

The gate was merely an open archway and the Consort had no obstruction to entering the desert Palace. A wide, open space, paved with fine-cut stone, spread out before him; the glow was centered at the far right corner, distracting him from most of the other detail around him. It rose from a body; not a Drow, he was certain, even though the hair was light and the skin dark.

Large boned, muscular, not unlike the paladin. Was it Human...?

No matter. There was someone else here. He should leave; he should not draw its attention. He had no way to defend himself.

But where would he go? Back to the manor to sit and watch the Sun rise for the fifth or sixth time straight? This change was the first sign of any vision he'd had since he lost contact with Sirana and the Sun-priest, and it was obvious enough to light up the Night Sky. He would be foolish to ignore it, wouldn't he?

Ta'suil moved closer to the wall which enclosed the wide, flat space, slowing his movement enough to be less obvious. Above his head, he realized, was a second, open-air walkway lining the low, empty area, braced with more columns lighter in color than those farther down the valley. The elevated path had a roof to cover it, providing deeper shadow even under Starlight, and if he stood upon it, he would be able to get closer without standing right next to the creature.

Looking around, he spied the stairs that would lead him up to that level and padded upward, keeping one eye on the body lying flat on its back. The Consort thought he saw something dark seeping out from beneath the body, staining the light stone. Was it hurt?

The wind picked up further, piles of sand hissing as they shifted in the dark. It took several minutes to cover the long side of the walkway with any stealth. He wasn't nearly as good at stalking as a Red Sister, but most Drow learned how to approach something upon which they wanted to spy. The body twitched a few times, and Ta'suil heard a familiar, frothy gurgle, like someone suffering from a poison or venom. 

As the Consort finally got close enough to make out better detail, peering carefully over the edge and down at the body, he felt his heart pound to confirm that it was Human, a rather large male. His hair was white like a Drow, but though the skin of his face was dark it was not nearly as dark as his own. His eyes looked to be swollen shut, not simply closed. Both his biceps had been cut deeply by blades through his off-white shirt and the blood leaking out was what caused the dark stains on the stone. The blood seemed to shimmer for a moment beneath the glow as Ta'suil stared at it, and he jerked his eyes away.

"In-nnathi..."

The hoarse, agonized groan made the Consort duck farther back from the edge and cover his mouth to make sure he made no noise. All he could sense from the wounded figure was danger, perhaps more so because he was wounded.

He was bleeding pure energy.

When the Man forced himself to roll over, coughing out blood and froth, one arm was shaking uncontrollably before he slapped it palm-down on the stone to still it. All his muscles quivered from the strain and effort of trying to rise without success, and Ta'suil's eyes widened to see the phoenix ring on his finger.

*No...*

Why was he in this place?

Run. Run!

The Consort quivered a bit like the wounded sorcerer at first, crouched down and afraid to move. A moment passed before he heard oddly-formed Drow words in a strange accent pass through those stained lips.

"Wh-who are you...?"

Ta'suil bit his lower lip, saying nothing though his eyes were wide.

"Y-you unders-stand m-me? Sayy-es..."

He was speaking in Drow. How was he speaking in Drow? How did he know?

For a moment the Consort wondered whether to answer the Human; they could communicate, and he was no longer alone in this remote valley. But he kept his eyes on that phoenix ring. He understood on deep instinct the threat this sorcerer was to Sirana.

"F-famil-liar," the sorcerer said, spraying droplets of blood and froth before lifting his head to turn it about, as if he could actually see with those puffy, blind eyes. "Au-ura...h-help...c-cauterize..."

Ta'suil drew in a breath that was a little too loud not to betray his fear, but at least he had broken out of his freeze; he began running toward the main gate.

"S-STOP!"

The Consort had seen many spells erupt from a mere gesture during his life, but never one so chaotic and poorly controlled. The flowing energy filling the open stone yard seemed to act as liquid accelerant as the sorcerer screamed in agony when a mere spark jumped and streaked haphazardly, following the glow to the main archway. Ta'suil's head hurt at a sudden change in the pressure around him as energy collected into a pinpoint...




Surfacing Ch. 18



Then the stone itself exploded, shattered, destroying the archway and blocking the exit from the stone yard.

The Consort ducked low, covering his head and holding his breath as dust enveloped him and pebbles stung his skin. The roof of the walkway protected him from anything worse falling with heavy thumps and cracks, and before long he could lift his head again. His ears were numb from the burst of noise and he could only hear a high whine along with the fast pounding of his heart; he couldn't smell anything but crumbling stone and sand, could only taste sour energy lingering on his tongue.

He had to rely on his sight, and he half expected to see the Man upright and stalking toward him when he looked up.

But no, the sorcerer remained down. He sounded just as wounded as before when he said, "C-come...talk...wh-wherever y-you are..."

*Help me, someone help me,* he thought, pleading but knowing somehow Sirana and Shyntre were both awake and couldn't come to his aid. *I don't know what to do...*

Navigating the subtleties and complexities of the female Drow in the Underdark, all of whom saw him as harmless and wanted to keep him alive to serve them, he understood how to handle that challenge. Honest communication with his brother, holding firm and calm in the face of this wizard's powerful anger and centuries-old hurt? The Consort could do this, too. Even submitting to and enduring the Red Sisters when they just wanted to use and degrade him...well, it could have been much worse.

Ta'suil had no idea how to handle a strongly magical, non-Drow male threatening him with physical damage and death, even if he did "come talk" to him. He could only think to avoid this Man as he had from the Draegloth before in the Sanctuary, but even seriously injured, the sorcerer had blocked the way he had come in. The Consort may be trapped if he went deeper into the ghostly Palace, but it might be his only option.

The sorcerer also wasn't in full control of his abilities; this much was clear. What might happen if they did talk? Would Ta'suil be snared, the way Sirana was? Or struck down before he saw it coming? Could he think he might turn the situation in his favor somehow, the way Sirana had? He wasn't like her. He did know her well enough to think she would probably try to discover more, to learn more given this opportunity, but... she was much braver than he was.

The Consort took a few moments to calm himself, to slow his breathing as he tried to focus on what the wounded mage had said just before the explosion. 

Help cauterize his aura.

So he did know what the sorcerer wanted, but the sorcerer didn't know who he was or what he wanted. Among other Drow, Ta'suil would have the advantage; he only had to keep it, and keep his distance. Maybe a way out would reveal itself if he only didn't run away from this. Perhaps it was the vision that finally came to him and would take him home.

It was only a vision. Wasn't it?

He retraced his steps down the elevated walkway, soon able to make out the detail of the wounded Man again—he now lay on his side, his right hand gripping his left bicep as if he was trying to hold the gaping flaps of muscle and skin together, realizing how deep the cut actually was. The name Ta'suil sought in his dreams returned to him as he placed himself partly behind a column for protection.

"Cris-ri-phon?"

The sorcerer twitched in recognition, jerked and tried to lift his head to turn it in the direction of the voice, still blind, though the froth seemed to have receded for the moment after his desperate, uncontrolled spellcast. "Wh-who ar-re you?"

"A visitor," the Consort murmured. "As are you, I wager. I came to see this place. How did you come to be here as you are?"

Cris-ri-phon laughed bitterly, blood pouring out of his wound over the firebird of his ring. "Th-his is m-my home, tresp-passer."

Ta'suil paused, surprised but trying to think why that seemed...right. He refrained from wringing his hands. "Your home? No one has lived here in centuries."

"L-longer," the sorcerer wheezed, and Ta'suil couldn't tell if he sounded angry or...tired.

"How long?"

"No...y-you help m-me, and we will t-talk."

"How do you know I can help you?"

"I r-remember...!" The sorcerer writhed, falling onto his back once again, groaning as he failed to cease the flow of shimmering, dark blood and stop the tremors. "K-kill them...I will kill th-them..."

Shifting a bit more behind the column, the Consort swallowed. He didn't want to heal the sorcerer, he wasn't sure he could, or that he himself would still be alive afterward. Was there even anything he really needed from this? He should never have started talking to the Human. Back home, he had been quite adept knowing when to keep his mouth shut.

Now? He'd have to just walk away, hope for the Man's death, but also risk his wrath if he somehow survived. Ta'suil knew he couldn't kill the weakened Human directly. He didn't know how, and he'd never killed anything larger than a pincer worm.

"What do you remember?" he asked quietly, floundering for a direction. "Why should I help you?"

He was extending the Man's torture by dangling assistance he had no intension to give, he knew that. The difference between him and his past mistresses was that they wouldn't have thought twice about this fact.

"H-healer's au-aura," the sorcerer rasped. "As s-strong...as wh-when I ruled here..."

"You can see it without your eyes?"

"S-sense it. Sense your m-magic." At his next breath, he choked again on bloody froth broadly staining his face. "A-ask me...any s-service or tr-reasure for your help, h-healer."

He had nothing the Consort wanted. Nothing tangible, anyway. Ta'suil chewed on his lower lip, considering. If he asked for what he really wanted, he'd have to claim a connection... would that be a fatal mistake, or simply a necessary trade? 

"Who do you say you will kill? Who did this to you?"

"T-traitor bitch," the sorcerer growled. "H-her mercs."

"Traitor bitch? Is she Drow?" he asked.

Cris-ri-phon paused to draw a painful breath. "T-the first...I've seen...s-so long."

Uh-oh.

"Is she with child?" he asked, and the sorcerer seemed surprised, even with his blind face mostly in a lasting grimace of pain.

"Yes. Y-you know S-Sirana..."

For one horrible moment, Ta'suil felt sure he'd slipped in his control revealing that. Except now he also had an opening at last. His earlier hesitation to leave Cris-ri-phon alone without help disappeared the instant he imagined this Human aiming to kill Sirana and her child. He felt stronger, knowing for certain what he would do in that case.

"Yes, I know her. I will not heal you, Cris-ri-phon. You can bleed out here."

Walk away. Just walk.

"Y-you...No. C-come back!"

No.

"I-I will sp-spare her!" Cris called. "Sirana...and her unb-born."

The Consort slowed. The next response seemed natural to him. "What about the others? Her mercenaries? None of them, not injury, death, or enslavement by you. And you will not harm me in any way. I leave under my own free will."

Cris gnashed bloody teeth in his general direction; perhaps it was supposed to be a smile. "N-Now...at last... we barg-gain. W-What else?"

What else. 

"Tell me about this place when it was living. What happened."

"D-done."

"Sirana, her child, and those fighting with her, you will not seek vengeance against them for this if you survive. They bested you. Leave it here in the sand."

Cris-ri-phon coughed and laughed once. "...Done. Th-though should they ob-obstruct my p-purpose again...I will n-not be s-so res-strained."

Ta'suil frowned at the underlying arrogance. "I must think you wanted to watch them if you did not kill them when you could have. You have lived long and you are bored. I have seen this before. That was your mistake, not theirs. That is why you are here."

The sorcerer would have been looking up at the Night Sky if his eyes had not been burned with acid. He was quiet a moment before agreeing, "S-so it is. Never ag-again."

Another pause.

"Wh-what'll it be, h-healer?" the Man asked.

It returned to Ta'suil then that he had never healed a male before, much less a Human...and sex had always been his focus before. That wouldn't work. His stomach felt cold and sick.

"Just... 'cauterize' your aura?" Ta'suil asked.

"R-right. B-black vial...d-destroyed..." The sorcerer shook again and cried out in pain.

He didn't have to finish; the Consort could actually see the damage done to his magic, never mind his body. Blue was tainting and eating white, breaking down to appear like an inert sludge as it flowed away from the sorcerer, draining away with his blood. Maybe only the smallest shimmer of distress would be visible to Sirana, but the Consort could see it as if it was a gaping evisceration.

Most any other mage suffering a wound to his or her essence like this would have been dead and burnt out by now, the aura gone out and dark like a fire doused with a bucket of water.

"H-hurry..." the Man whispered.

Either Cris's strength was failing, or he was a good pretender. Ta'suil wasn't sure which one, though his healer's instinct pressed him to move quickly, urgently, before it was too late. He slipped over the side of the walkway, lowering himself down as he gripped the stone edge before letting go. He fell the additional leg-length to the stone and landed well in a crouch. He rose up and took a step forward.

And stopped.

What was he about to do? Keep a threat to Sirana alive, where the sorcerer could easily act against them again. But wasn't he also preserving knowledge lost to most, particularly the Drow, magical, martial, historical...? The Consort had no doubt there were things that only this sorcerer knew, but who would he tell? And how was this any different from a thought of "preserving" the Archbishop or Sarilis because of what they knew? Was it only the sheer length of time Cris-ri-phon represented, or could the world do just as well with the loss of him?

The sorcerer was well aware of his hesitation. "Ch-chaos will r-return...and in-nertia will f-follow the Drow even where you hide, t-take that h-home from y-you a-again. W-without me...you will n-not re-regain...wh-what you have lost..."

"Tell me something specific," Ta'suil murmured, stiff and afraid to get closer.

Cris turned his head to cough out froth and blood, spitting, though most of it still flowed across his face. He seemed to consider. "Th-the powers behind...Ish-shuna and Yi-von w-work to-together..."

Ta'suil felt his stomach tremble. "Who is Yivon?"

Cris-ri-phon chuckled. "N-Noldor queen. The Pale E-Elves."

"The...two queens work together?"

"N-no." The sorcerer's next breath rattled. "Th-they have been...fooled...tr-trapped by th-their c-contracts...Sp-Spider Queen..."

Ta'suil swallowed. "Lolth?"

"Y-yes. A-and the...other." 

"Who?"

"He will be...p-pleased the D-Drow, m-my allies... killed me...f-for him." Cris-ri-phon forced a single, cracking laugh. "He-heal me. O-or...lose me."

This seemed like a very poor time to admit that Ta'suil wasn't sure how. Something quite unexpected happened the last time he had "willed" someone to be well when she should have died...

His heart pounded hard enough to feel light-headed as he moved forward and slowly kneeled down beside the wounded Human. Cris-ri-phon reached out and took hold of his forearm briefly, as if trying to hold him there and make sure he didn't slip away again, but his grip was weak and the Consort could slip free if he wanted to. Even without the venom—for now the Consort could see the deep fang-marks in his shoulder close to his neck—those deep cuts in his arms assured he had no strength in his hands.

The Consort could just let him die and not bother them anymore, it was still possible. But if the sorcerer told the truth and both Elf queens were bound by allied entities, a god and a goddess...Ta'suil wondered whether those deities may know where Musanlo's Sisters were? Might this Man, the former consort and General-sorcerer of a Drow queen, know a weakness of theirs to exploit?

This was the one place in the web by whom none other could fill but Cris-ri-phon. And he knew it.

With a little concentration, the healer picked out the Man's faltering heartbeat, watched the lively magical essence still converting to something mundane and at rest once it left the failing body. If Ta'suil was to try to "cauterize" anything, he would need his hands and something very hot to seal the metaphysical wound. 

There were a few places where magic tended to collect and center within the body—head, the base of the spine, the groin, but the Consort thought the poisoned heart might be the place to try first. He leaned over from the side first, placing both his hands together directly onto the Human's sternum. He wasn't used to how thick the bones felt, or what to him felt like exaggerated muscle mass no pure-blood Drow possessed.

His knee knocked against the open wound on Cris-ri-phon's arm and the Man blurted an aggravated wail and genuine Drow curse at the shock of pain. Ta'suil winced, flushing at the curse; it sounded so natural the Consort could believe Cris-ri-phon had lived a long time with the dark-skinned Elves.

Silently the Consort chastised himself for choosing the clumsy angle; if he was any kind of healer in truth, he shouldn't be causing unnecessary pain as he worked. Working from either side wasn't good with the injuries, and he didn't much like the idea of leaning over while kneeling at the Man's white head; it was a little too similar to how he'd seduced Shyntre.

The Consort balanced lightly on his fingertips using the Man's chest as he shifted to straddle the sorcerer's waist and be able to see his tanned, bloody face right-side-up. The sorcerer didn't protest; he just waited for the assistance promised.

Ta'suil still didn't know how he was going to provide it.

Again he covered the struggling heart with both hands, concentrating on one of the strangest wounds he'd ever seen, imagining he scooped up the hemorrhaging essence, replacing it within as he applied pressure to slow its continued escape.

Now he just had to "cauterize" it...

He wished there was some sign he was doing the right thing.

"I will bring you back if you are there to serve the Sisters when we need you, Cris-ri-phon," he murmured. "When the moment truly matters, you will not betray them. You will not be able to."

The sorcerer's body still trembled from the venom; his blind face turned slightly to the side, as if raising one ear to listen better. 

"...Who?" Cris-ri-phon asked.

Ta'suil swallowed. It had been even longer than She had once hinted to him.

"The Sisters. I get a boon, to call upon you once when I need you. But only for Them, for the Sisters. Nothing else. And you stand by your earlier agreement to not seek vengeance for what happened just now on Sirana, her child, or her allies who fought with her. You let me leave alive and well. Understand?"

Cris-ri-phon's face was becoming oddly pale despite his coloring. He shivered, shook, and nodded minutely. "If y-you...k-keep me from the G-Greylands...n-now...s-so be it, h-healer..."

"Yes? To all of it?"

"Y-yes. I s-swear."

The Consort felt energy surge through him then, at last. He *wanted* Cris-ri-phon to survive, to live again. The sorcerer's formidable power and knowledge would serve to help his quest. That was what made the difference. 

Heat and magic coursed through all centers of his body and he focused to force it into his hands, to distill and concentrate it down into one white-hot star just between his palms. He rose up taller on his knees to brace his arms and put his body behind his action as he deeply compressed the sorcerer's chest, squeezing the blood out of the failing organ and pushing his own energy in at the same time, searing and sealing the wound so obvious to his eyes.

When Ta'suil lifted his weight off and Cris's heart filled with his own blood again, the big Man's body jerked underneath him and went into a seizure, thrashing and shaking until the Consort lost his balance and fell partly atop him as he tried to crawl off and get out of the way.

The sorcerer somehow sensed this and grappled him around his torso, stopping him from escaping. Why he did this became obvious as Ta'suil felt more of his magic being drawn out against his will. More than he wanted or intended to give.

"No!" the Consort shouted, feeling anger first, which surprised him.

"Heal m-me!"'

"I cauterized your magic! That was the bargain! Heal yourself!"

He struggled harder to get away but the sorcerer was gaining strength quickly while hurting him, weakening him, and Ta'suil instinctively knew he'd already passed the point where he might've slipped the Man's grasp. The balance of strength had shifted quickly and the Consort strained and cried out as he was fed upon.

Scavenger. Parasite...only interested in taking and procreating. One of Ta'suil's visions had been correct; if he hadn't impregnated Sirana first before this Man could, if he had only healed her... she'd be nothing more than a doll now, taking Cris-ri-phon's seed whenever he wished, her belly swelling multiple times over as a breeder sow.

The Consort wanted to punish him. Just...punish him. Somehow.

Writhing and turning back to face him, the Drow Consort planted a hard, aggressive kiss on the Human consort's lips, gripping his longer hair with one hand and pulling on it while his other hand cupped the sorcerer's well-endowed crotch. Biting and sucking the swollen spot on his lower lip, Ta'suil noticed the stubble of the male Human immediately. That was an entirely new experience.

The Consort focused his healing energy back into his hands and he could also taste the returning health of the sorcerer and the uncontrolled, swelling response of his cock as it hardened to steel in Ta'suil's grasp.

Cris-ri-phon ripped his mouth away with a roar and punched him in the gut, knocking the wind out of him as he forcefully shoved him away. Ta'suil would have laughed if he'd had the air to do so; if he couldn't escape, he'd give the Man a reason not to hold on to him.

"Waste of semen," the Human growled furiously, wiping his mouth; he was shaking still but the Drow couldn't tell if it was from the continued healing of his aura or from anger. Perhaps both.

"Sired...more Drow... than you," the Consort shot back as soon as he could suck in some air. He scrambled backward to gain distance even as his limbs took an extra moment or two to obey him completely.

Cris-ri-phon blew out a derisive laugh. "Oh? Multiple, proud, Drow females would choose a frail bootlicker like you?"

"Frail? Was it not you who said you 'remember' how powerful my aura is?"

The Man grimaced. "They must not know your true tastes."

Ta'suil was on his feet again; Sirana's knowledge came to him when he needed it and he shook his head. "You are not so selective, Cris. You trained Mathias in his talent, among others. Yet like me, you are still fertile and quite male."

"Gave it, perhaps." The sorcerer still needed more time to gain his feet. "I never take it."

"You've lived long and I know of those blank spots in your memory. I'd question even that."

"And would Sirana approve of you?" the sorcerer retorted with a wicked grin as he finally pinned the Consort with open, bloodshot, grey eyes.

The Consort took a step back, grasping most strongly to any feeling of confusion, not fear, not shame. He had no reason to be anything other than baffled. "Why would I need her approval?"

"You know her. You know she's pregnant. You bargained with me for her life and her baby." He got unsteadily to his feet and took a few steps forward as the Consort backed up. "Drow do not tend to do this unless there is a personal stake. Are you the sire?"




Surfacing Ch. 18



"The what?"

"You heard me. Perhaps Sirana just enjoys throwing you around?"

The Consort didn't reply to that one. There were broken, drying blisters around the sorcerer's eyes from the venom but he could see now. His gaze focused on the Consort's chest, gliding until it seemed he studied his hair. 

"I see some similarity to that of her unborn, but not..."

"On that bargain," the Drow interrupted with a scowl, "you also agreed to let me leave unharmed. You will do this if I am to call upon you later for my boon."

The latter part enraged Cris-ri-phon more than the former as his chest expanded and his face darkened and contorted, baring his teeth. His mending arms allowed him to flex his fingers but he could not cast quite yet. Ta'suil's mouth tugged up into a smile as he sensed that the sorcerer now understood what was inside of him: the tiny bit of divine magic that Ta'suil had given freely. It answered from within, and it confirmed that boon, that promise not to be broken.

"Not you," Cris growled. "I am NOT at your beck and call!"

"One time." Ta'suil lifted his first finger with a nod. "You are. You made a bargain. You owe me for saving you from returning once again to the Greylands."

The Man kept his deep, hate-filled scowl, centering his balance as he contemplated what the Consort had done. His eyes closed as he breathed in once, letting it out. He smirked, opening his eyes again. 

"All I have to do is give it back, healer."

"You can't."

"Yes, I can."

Ta'suil chuckled. "Try, and I will kiss you again."

That was the wrong thing to say.

Cris guffawed, taking another step closer, and the Consort felt instantly ill as the body language changed—not only was the sorcerer's body now stalking like a predator, but there was the growing bulge in his leathers.

"Maybe I'll give it back as Mathias would. You'd like that, wouldn't you, Consort? I held down Sirana like that, split her open for me. I can do the same to you. You can take back your 'gift' as I ram in. Over. And over. And you can accept *my* gift instead as I slime your sore. Little. Cunt."

Ta'suil felt a tremor as Thena's face flashed in his mind without his bidding, as he unwillingly imagined the sorcerer sodomizing Sirana, hurting her, and as he remembered what it felt like. His heart kicked into a sprint as he backed up quickly but dared not turn his back to run. He believed the sorcerer would do what he said; the ugly truth was clear on his cruel, smiling face.

*Help. Someone help me...*

If not Sirana nor Shyntre... nor D'Shea... What about the Walker? He couldn't sense him. The Consort expanded his senses desperately, searching. 

There was one other who was asleep. He'd never talked to him before; he could not be sure this other would hear his call.

But he had no choice. He had to be heard.

Cris had healed enough to break into a lunge, and Ta'suil barely evaded being seized right then and there. He ran toward the stairs leading to the elevated walkway, thinking only to get inside the Palace. What he would do when he got there, he didn't know, but maybe—

The powerful Human tackled him just as his bare feet touched the steps, dragging him down, bruising and scraping his knees, legs, and arms. He knocked his chin against one of the steps, his teeth clacked together barely avoiding his tongue, and he was dazed as the sorcerer grabbed his hair, turned his head, and pressed his temple painfully hard against the edge of the stone. Cris-ri-phon used his knees to keep his own wide apart, and his other, broad hand dove beneath the Consort's wrap to grip his scrotum.

"No—!" he cried just before the Man squeezed and light burst behind his eyes at the intensity of the pain.

"Convenient, all you're wearing is a towel." The sorcerer laughed near his ear, clicking his teeth loudly with the promise to catch hold of the pointed tip soon. He eased the pressure on the Drow's testicles but didn't let go. "You have no business getting hard with what I'm about to do to you. Don't worry, I'll leave you alive. As we agreed."

Ta'suil struggled desperately but ineffectually, in pain and so deeply afraid, even more than when Sirana or those other Red Sisters had used force to fuck him. He knew that, unlike the females down below, this male Human had no reason to hold himself back in any way. 

Not simply a power game, this would be uninhibited torture. Ta'suil understood now what Cris meant; he could undo the fresh promise by destroying the will of the one who would enforce it. Even if Cris-ri-phon indeed left him alive, which was entirely up to him, the Consort wouldn't have the will to face him again. The Man would have gone back on their bargain; he would be free of his obligation. Perhaps nothing would stop him then from taking his revenge on Sirana and the others as well.

*STOP HIM! PLEASE, STOP HIM! HE CANNOT BREAK HIS BOND!*

The sorcerer chuckled low and sinister. "Giving up already? Just as well I don't have to start breaking your fingers already, you little catamite. But we'll get to that as well." 

Cris released his balls at last and jerked his head around to the other side; Ta'suil felt he would vomit from the pain radiating from his crotch. He was only vaguely aware of the sorcerer jerking the belt at his waist to open his trousers. 

"Do you want to spit on my staff first or shall we just go dry?"

The Consort heard an answer...at last...a presence shifted inside him, sluggishly at first and so far away. He called again, and to whatever Cris-ri-phon said to him right then, Ta'suil could only groan in response, pain increasing everywhere as his temple was mashed harder against the stone.

A moment later a large figure flew over the Palace yard on wide, leathery wings, black even against the Night Sky as it blocked the Stars. The pressure on his temple eased as his attacker looked up at the Sky as well.

The creature dove quickly, able to land in the wide, open space very near the stairs where they were. The very Palace shook with a voluminous roar of pure rage, and Ta'suil felt the sorcerer release him as the Human regained his feet quickly to deal with the enormous threat. Talons scraped across stone as the creature turned in place, whipping a long, coiling tail around to smack Cris-ri-phon directly in the face; it knocked him back hard enough to send him rolling halfway across the yard.

Shaking with fright, the Drow scrambled up the stairs to the next level, stumbling on reaching the top. The sheer presence of this creature replaced every previous moment of the sorcerer's threat in Ta'suil's head. When he looked back at his deadly savior, he realized too late he was now at the perfect height to be snapped up into its jaws.

The To'vah locked gazes with him instead, golden eyes shining in the dark as snake-like pupils expanded, its head crowned with an elegant spread of horns. It was huge, larger than any single creature he had borne witness to in his life even without the wings; easily enough strength and size to tear down any Matron's estates with its bare feet. The scales were a deep, purplish black, and a row of long, white spines had risen up along its lower neck and between its wings, as if to accentuate how angry it was and to make it seem even bigger.

The puff of breath that came out of the long, serpentine neck was low, deep, and burning hot as it billowed out upon hitting the stone. Hot, but also...sour. The Consort slowly realized that it had refrained from using its most powerful weapon first... because it hadn't wanted to kill the Drow together with the sorcerer in the first attack.

It had held itself back.

"Escape now, Priest," the black Dragon rumbled, then turned to where Cris-ri-phon had regained his feet, his face still covered in blood. "A deal once made is seen complete, ancient one. You will keep your bargain with the Goddess Seeker."

The Man didn't answer, and he began to cast at the Dragon. The next call of challenge from the enormous beast was piercing and echoed far across the sands as the Consort clapped his hands to cover his ears. When the Drow could at last get to his feet, he ran, the adrenalin helping him to ignore the throbbing ache of his balls.

Ta'suil didn't stop running until he'd thrown himself into the pitch black doorway of the abandoned Palace as magic exploded behind him.

******

Auslan awoke with a loud, distressed cry inside his water mask; it came so suddenly it even startled D'Shea. 

She had been at her desk, thinking and going over a few plans when the Consort shattered her concentration. She could forgive him for that in the next moment; he was awake. At last.

"Auslan," she said, moving over to her bed to sit on the edge and hold him down as he thrashed as if being attacked. "Auslan! Stop! Listen to me! Hear my voice, you're in my quarters! You're safe!"

Moisture leaked out of his eyes and ran back to soak into his temples; he struggled now to breathe in the mask, and D'Shea took it off quickly, tossing it aside. His hands gripped her forearms as she held him down again by the shoulders, and he continued to shake, starting a true seizure of some kind as his eyes opened but then rolled back. D'Shea jerked her arms free of his hands and quickly released and drew out the sash holding her robe closed; she doubled it and put it between the Consort's teeth so that he would bite down on it rather than his own tongue.

Was this a side-effect of the spell she'd put on him? Or...something else? Where had he been? How far had he travelled alone without either her or Shyntre there to protect him?

She tried to call him a few more times but it seemed to make no difference and she could only wait and make sure he didn't hurt himself further. Slowly, the male's body calmed down, lying sweat-soaked and burning hot on her rumpled bed, breathing heavily through his nose and mouth both, drooling into her sash.

The Elder supposed he'd been lucky she'd been here when he came out of his trance; he not only could have bit his tongue off and bled to death all alone, but he could have ripped out the catheter as well.

His eyes fluttered again and she could tell when he finally, at long last, focused on her face. He tried to speak but it was muffled and he looked downward, becoming aware of his mouth filled with spider silk. She removed the sash from his mouth and tossed it to the side beside the mask.

"How do I call you?" she demanded. "Say the name. Now."

The Consort blinked at her, appearing truly bewildered for a few moments as she waited to see who looked out from those bright copper eyes.

"What is your given name in my quarters?" she asked again, focusing her gaze on him.

It took another few moments as he tried sluggishly to move, as his head lolled, but he eventually collected his will just enough to speak.

"You...c-call me Auslan."

"And who am I?"

He wetted his lips and swallowed. "Elder D'Shea."

"And your name-bond?"

His stomach seemed to clench as his lean middle tightened up, showing the muscles defined for a moment, as his pulsed showed in his neck for a beat or two. Interesting.

"Shyntre," he answered, very softly.

D'Shea nodded once, adjusting her robe to keep it closed without a tie as she turned from him and shifted down, leaning her body on his abdomen. She reached for the tube collecting his urine into a waterskin. She planned to make its removal from his bladder smooth and quick, before he even became aware of it being there. Though it would be uncomfortable regardless.

"Wh-wha—? AUGH!" he screamed as she felt his body jerk beneath her.

"Be still!" she commanded firmly, and he obeyed as best he could, trembling as she removed the tube from him, now just barely tinted with fresh blood. Probably from his thrashing around. He swallowed a whimper.

"Very good," she breathed, getting up and collecting the water mask and sash to place in her along tub with the bladder tube and skin. She'd get to the clean-up later. For now, Auslan needed to eat something, if he could.

The Consort had curled up on his side holding his genitals; there was no modesty that she could see, just pure misery.

"I made it quick," she said, as if that was sufficient explanation.

He shook his head once but didn't speak. He looked exhausted, as if he hadn't already been sleep for nearly a week. D'Shea wanted to question him now, immediately, or bring in Rausery and see what she could do with him. She'd even heal him up, feed him, and they could talk and discuss while the details were fresh.

She tilted her head a bit. "Something stinging your eyes?"

He turned his head and buried it in her pillow, hiding his face. She heard something like a muffled, "Leebmeealohn."

The Elder frowned, straightening as she took a step closer. "We do not have time for this, Consort. I need to know what you saw—"

"IT WAS A BAD DREAM!" he bellowed, catching her completely off guard when he rounded on her. Fresh tears flooded down his cheeks. "It will do you no good! I...I cannot...tell you...just leave me alone!"

His face dove back into the pillow and D'Shea seriously considered that a punishment was warranted here. If she'd been any closer, she'd have struck him already. How dare he shout at her at all, much less as if she was a spoiled younger sister instead of his Elder? This wouldn't become a habit for certain.

She saw his stomach clench in a sob he tried to stifle, and she wanted to sneer. What reason had he to weep so? As if—

...something had broken inside his head. She frowned deeper. Much as she wished otherwise, that particular memory with Phaelous was still fresh. It was why she didn't want to hear Auslan weeping now.

Crossing her arms and breathing out slowly, D'Shea thought on an alternative to the punishment he should have expected. She didn't want to shatter him beyond use; he was delicate compared to the Sisters she was used to commanding. But not *that* delicate, she'd thought. She barely even recalled his eyes moistening much at all after Thena and her crew had abused him.

"You will drink what I give you," she said, "and I will let you be for long enough to summon Elder Rausery. Again, we do not have time to wait. You will acknowledge this."

The Consort sniffed and took only an extra moment before lifting his head enough to nod and say, "Yes, Elder."

Nodding, D'Shea retrieved the nutritious slurry in a drink pouch which she'd already collected from the stores. Fermented and preserved, already partly digested by the tiny flora selected specially for the tangy flavor they produced, it was a very handy first meal for anyone just awoken from any lasting unconsciousness, one who needed energy and healing without magic. D'Shea would not attempt to use any more magic on Auslan for the time being.

"Don't smell it, drink it quickly," she recommended, handing the pouch to him. "It is an acquired taste."

Auslan didn't reply, but he sat up and did exactly as she said, upending and drinking quickly. His expression told her he didn't care for the aftertaste and he held his middle as his stomach tried to decide if it would keep the liquid food.

"Don't you dare vomit," she said.

He burped. "Ugh. No, Elder."

She waited and saw some tension leave his frame as his stomach settled; she nodded and set to changing out of her robe and into the most basic pieces of her uniform. As impatient as she felt to seek Rausery out right now, she couldn't be drawing attention to them by walking the corridors in her open robe looking for her peer, because she'd never done such a thing before. She dressed in silence.

"I will return shortly with Elder Rausery. You have that much time alone to collect yourself and your memories. Make notes if you must, do not forget anything."

He spoke up only after she had turned toward the door. "You do not wish to question me first, Elder?"

She narrowed her eyes, still facing the door. "I wish you not to question me, Consort."

He silenced himself, and she left her quarters without a backward glance.

*****

Vik had moved forward to pull a severely disoriented Halena back and away from Jaunda and the unknown Drow, leaving the Lead to answer his question.

"What is happening now that my dreams should be disturbed?"

While his voice did match his size, he an odd accent, even as he was fluent in her native tongue. She would have called it "formal" but she didn't quite understand why. She also couldn't think of an answer; no thought came to her except that she wasn't sure she was ever going back home.

She never thought she'd have that thought while staring at something that didn't appear to have any claws, sharp teeth, or venomous stinger. She also couldn't believe she'd just dropped her blade and hadn't drawn another.

"You mean...just now?" Jaunda asked.

Again the strange Drow chuckled before tilting his head and leaning a bit closer, studying her face. She noticed he breathed in slowly through his mouth at the same time. His own scent was that sweet smell she couldn't identify earlier, though she wondered if it only cloaked his actual scent?

He lifted his left hand and arched it just so, calling a soft, blue light into his palm, gently lighting the cavern and letting them all have some time to adjust before the blue slowly shifted to a yellow shade resembling candlelight.

Or Sunlight.

It hurt a bit more despite the slow change, and Jaunda had to blink away tears before she could make out the mysterious male's eye color. It looked disturbingly close to the Valsharess's memorable, tawny gaze. Jaunda felt her heart try to climb into her windpipe.

He smiled again, and it was far too beautiful. "Am I familiar?"

"No," she answered. "You aren't."

"Ahhh. True by the word, hm?" 

He chuckled again. His laughter seemed to grow more musical each time he used it, though this time she thought she had caught a scent as if he'd recently eaten meat. His royal eyes caressed her uniform before he looked back up. "Red. Lovely. One of my favorite colors."

Jaunda's body registered the subtle implication of a threat as she felt a hot flush pass through, though her mind couldn't decide which kind of threat he meant right then. His own scrap of silk was white, in stark contrast to his skin, and far, far too clean.

"Are we trespassing?" she asked.

He shrugged elegantly, still holding his light. "Constantly. But that does not matter anymore." 

"May we leave?"

"Not yet. We have not made a bargain." He looked up to the ceiling as if he was listening to it with his longer, curved ears. "I think you must have not been born the last I bargained with your kind."

Bargain? Her kind... Jaunda's mind could switch gears easily enough, though the idea of negotiating with this creature didn't set her any more at ease. That fact that it wanted anything at all from them couldn't be good.

"I should like to know with whom I would make a bargain," she stated boldly, and he looked particularly delighted.

"Certainly. I am Iskomitneh. What is your name?"

"Jaunda," she answered.

"And where are you from, Jaunda?"

"The Drow City."

His white hair weaved slightly as he shifted his weight, giving her a contemplative look. She's completely forgotten he still had the broken manacles on his wrists until he raised them up to rest his chin in on and his elbow in the other. "Is this the 'City' ruled by the Valsharess?"

It couldn't be good that he knew that title, yet she nodded.

"Ah. You are a servant of hers?"

"I am one of Her Red Sisters."

"Loyal to her?"

"And the Sisterhood."

"So, others. More than just her." He nodded his chin over her shoulder. "And those two who have been trying to sneak away?"

Jaunda didn't look behind her, she maintained her gaze; the creature seemed almost impressed. She had to assume the shadow Drow hadn't managed to evade this one's senses, for whatever reason.




Surfacing Ch. 18



"Vik and Halena. Commoners helping me explore this territory."

"Commoners. Perhaps that is why they do not stand tall as you do? No matter. Why do you explore around here?"

"Illithids, mostly."

Tawny eyes narrowed. "Hm. Only three of you. You seek them now? Strange. Something has indeed changed." Again he casually looked about him, studying the rock and the water. "What is your goal?"

Jaunda literally bit her tongue to keep from answering; she yelped, but tasted no blood, and Iskomitneh laughed a bit louder this time.

"Aww. You resist? Impressive, but temporary."

"Not without a bargain, as you said," Vik spoke up suddenly, surprising them all. "What do you want?"

Iskomitneh's smile changed a bit, seeming to become sharper though he lost none of his beauty. He looked down at Jaunda's left hand, and she could have sworn his tongue barely flicked to the back of his teeth. That tongue seemed lavender rather than pink.

"I could bargain for your ring. It is quite stunning."

How in the Abyss would he know that? Her gloves were still on and she wore it underneath on her skin. Yet it was clear he could sense it, either the magic or the psionic of the enchantment. Was he an Illithid wearing an illusion, or something...else?

"I need this ring to complete my mission," Jaunda said, her heart throbbing more strongly now.

"And that is?"

"No!" Vik and Halena both said together.

"What are you?" Jaunda asked, her voice thick and her mind and body both seeming sluggish. She knew she was under some kind of seductive influence that she couldn't seem to back away, but an Illithid would have just ripped open her skull by now, wouldn't it? Or blanked out her mind and made her walk to their nest?

Wasn't the silence of her ring proof that Iskomitneh wasn't a mindflayer? Or was the fact that he wanted to take her ring proof that he was, because without it, she'd be fully vulnerable and it was only her Sisterhood training keeping her talking right now?

"You're quite worried, aren't you, queen's warrior?" the beautiful male cooed, taking one step closer so their body heat was shared. "It is no mystery who I am, I have told you. I have been disturbed from my slumber. Wasn't there only one Ward you've all met defending a sleeper's den?"

"Oh, goddess," Halena whispered, though Jaunda could still hear the near-panic in the sound. 

"Oh yes, I remember you, too," he said to her.

She made a small sound. It was well earned. No matter their training, none of them had anything against a Dragon. 

Iskomitneh waved one hand with nonchalance and looked back to the Lead. "Come. If your magic ring is too dear to you, Jaunda, let us start with what you would ask of me, and I will tell you what it is worth."

"Must we bargain with you?" Vik asked.

Iskomitneh arched one eyebrow at him. "None of you are mages. Unless you have rare metals and stones to offer me in tribute, commoner, you would do better to indulge me."

"You keep bargains?" Jaunda asked, clenching one hand nervously. "Or do you merely toy with us before dinner?"

Their lithe host laughed aloud then, and though the sound maintained its earlier tenor and beauty, it seemed so much larger as it filled the smaller space near to bursting. His tawny eyes glittered with amusement as he looked at her face. 

"A peculiarity of mine, warrior. A deal once made is seen complete. You are in more danger leaving with no bargain at all. You are not traveling traders then, but prey."

Shit. She believed him, but neither option could truly be in her favor.

"Do you have a bargain with the Illithids already?" Jaunda asked.

He shook his head in the negative. "Mm. No. This Elder Mind has moved in recently."

"What is 'recent' to you, if I was not even born the last time you bargained with any Drow?" Jaunda asked.

She received that same gorgeous grin again in return. "Since I last bargained with Drow. I most enjoy how unapologetically lustful your race is. For power. For pleasure. More than any riches, unless they bring you more pleasure, more power. A wonder you remember a few centuries ago as a collective."

"Curious to hear from a creature who sleeps just as long," Vik said.

Iskomitneh shifted his eyes to the male Drow with a smirk. "Never confuse my sleep for mere unconsciousness. You cannot comprehend. You might give thanks to your goddess that I have already eaten and am willing to play instead."

Play.

"Would it amuse you to watch a confrontation between Drow and mindflayers?" Jaunda asked.

His eyes returned to hers. "Your City is preparing one?"

Jaunda nodded. "So are the Illithids. We took one of them, they took one of us. Now we are spying on them to see who learned more from their captive."

Those strange eyes crinkled a bit at the edges as he smiled. "Delightful. I have awoken at the right time. And your ring?"

"Warns me if they are too close."

His tongue flicked out. "It is nicely powerful."

"It is not for trade," she reminded him.

"Of course. So what do you want? I will tell you what it is worth."

She drew in a breath. "Your help planting a special gem as close to their Elder Mind as possible."

Iskomitneh grinned. "Ah. That must be the other thing in your pouch. What about the odd length strapped to your back, beneath your cloak?"

Jaunda felt her face flush again but she reached back slowly with one hand, holding her other out in plain view, and detached her Feldeu. The exotic Drow eyes widened with interest and plain curiosity; he held out his hand.

"Not for trade, either," Jaunda said more tersely than she meant, pulling it back.

She received a sly smile and another chuckle. "I am happy to see sign so personal, Jaunda. I only wish to study it. I will return it to you within the time it would take to you tap your foot forty times."

Though it was better that a Dragon would actually give her an exact time like that, it was one of the oddest things she'd heard in the last decade. Maybe she didn't get out of the City enough.

She handed her magical toy over to him, disliking having to do so, and she watched carefully for any lip movement or gestures toward it or her. Iskomitneh seemed to ignore her as he handled the life-like cock, sniffing and flicking his tongue at the air around it without concern for what it represented; she was fairly sure he was reading the magic in it somehow.

"Fascinating," he said. "Well made." He looked up at pinned her with his gaze again. "Is this item common in your City?"

Jaunda shook her head no. "Red Sisters only."

"You are pleasure servants, perhaps?" He seemed a bit confused there as he looked again at her garb. "The way you carry yourself suggests something more intimidating."

"We are. That's for punishment."

She received another chuckle. "Humiliation? Submission?"

"Sometimes."

"And other times?"

Jaunda shifted uncomfortably, remembering many of those other times in vivid detail. She still answered. "Making another Sister cum."

Iskomitneh exhaled soft enough to be a hiss. "Mm. You train others, perhaps? Do you feel pleasure through this magic, Jaunda, when they clutch and cum around your cock?"

"...Yeah."

"Like a true male's pleasure? Anticipation of a burst of release so divinely pleasurable you cannot wait to bury your entire length into a hot and slick orifice, to thrust again and again?"

She swallowed. She felt hot in her leather, and her heart was still pounding harder than usual. "Yeah."

He offered her the Feldeu back, and she took it. It would have been about forty taps by then.

"If you need your ring and your gem in order for me to keep my part of our bargain, Jaunda, then I have another price you may pay. Then I will help you."

*****

A familiar touch came to Elder Rausery from a message pellet, and she smiled at the timing. She reached for her own pellet.

*Yeah, I got a bit of time. Coming.*

She got up to head toward Elder D'Shea's quarters, using a longer, less direct route. A brief invisibility spell would allow her to walk into the other's quarters silently and unobserved, with permission this time; no pesky ward to break first.

Elder Rausery thought D'Shea's quarters smelled like an infirmary at first, though it was fading and she could tell the Consort had freshly bathed himself. He was washing the bed sheets in the tub now, new ones already pulled tight on D'Shea's bed. When the door opened only briefly, he spun around, eyes sweeping the entrance but he did not see her at first. 

D'Shea sat at her desk with fresh meals on a tray that she must have picked up on her way back from summoning her peer. She was nibbling and oddly relaxed. There was enough food for three if they divided the two over-generous portions, though D'Shea had not risked getting an extra plate to arouse any suspicion.

Eating off the same plate, either with D'Shea or with the Consort. Rausery wasn't particularly picky—plates had been a premium possession on the streets—but she had to chuckle at the mental image it gave her given the high paranoia of the well-to-do about tainted food. Auslan's eyes fixed on where she stood, based on her laugh, and—interestingly—relaxed when he realized who it was. He'd been told who to expect. Duly noted.

"Welcome, Elder," D'Shea said cordially after dismissing the cloaking spell, then resetting her ward and privacy spells. "Are you hungry?"

"I could eat. That's a lot, though."

"It's more for him." She nodded toward Auslan, who was hurrying to finish up laundering the bed sheets.

Rausery observed him doing it and observed D'Shea's nonchalance about the task. "He's gotta finish his chores first before he eats?"

"More that he will regardless, and he's used to cold food."

"Meaning you haven't made it a condition on eating."

"No, I have not."

"Huh."

Rausery watched Auslan a few moments longer, able to read that he was highly aware of being talked about and even somewhat embarrassed, but he didn't stop what he was doing, now wringing the extra water out and preparing to hang it to dry in the back. The Elder shrugged and lifted the spare chair to set on the other side of D'Shea's desk so they'd face each other, pulling the tray her way to test then take a few large bites. She didn't mind the short break, frankly.

Soon enough, however, she could also tell when the Consort was finished that task that needed to be done—she even approved getting it done as quickly as he had—but then he got to fussing over straight lines just a little too much, already trying to tug or smooth out wrinkles.

They'd be here all fucking cycle.

Rausery raised a questioning eyebrow at her peer, tossing her chin toward the Consort.

*Try,* D'Shea signed back.

"Auslan," Rausery said aloud, projecting her voice to fill the chamber. "Stop. Kneel by the desk."

D'Shea smirked at her and watched with interest, putting her chin in her palm and saying nothing. The Consort did slow his actions, but soon got distracted by another wrinkle.

"Auslan!" her voice boomed again. "Stop. Kneel."

His hands stopped, but when his feet shifted to begin stepping toward them, they hesitated, shifted, turned around.

"AUSLAN! Stop! Kneel!"

He flinched, took a deep breath, and forced himself to come to them. He was shaking, wanting to look behind him at the hanging sheet again, she could tell.

"Eyes on me!"

She got his eyes looking at her chin, and it was good enough for Court but not enough to keep his mind where it should be. She slammed her gloved palm down on the table and stood up, towering over him. "EYES ON ME! YOU LOOK AWAY AGAIN, I'LL HOOK YOUR EARS TO THE DESK TO KEEP YOUR DAMNED EYES OFF THAT BACK WALL!"

The Consort swallowed. And kept his eyes on her. He was even thinking about the Elder right then.

"Very good," D'Shea commented, suppressing her full smile into a wry one. "Auslan, do only as Elder Rausery says while she's here. My courtesy."

He blinked, disbelieving for a moment. He began to look from Rausery to D'Shea when Rausery slammed down her palm again, shaking the tray and the desk, making Auslan jump again as she put her face mere finger-widths from his. She could hear his heart pounding now and he kept his eyes on her nose, still unable to look at her eyes.

"You're not kneeling."

Auslan got down immediately, hands flat on his thighs, back straight, now looking at Rausery's boots. He'd clearly done this before.

"You done wasting my time, Consort?"

"Yes, Elder," he answered promptly.

"You think when it's between me and a wrinkly sheet, you should be paying attention to me?"

"Of course, Elder."

"Your actions don't say so. I even gave you a bit longer to finish up your task. I was a secondary concern to a pretty sheet. That's stupid, Consort."

"I apologize, Elder," he whispered.

"We back to being smart?"

"Yes, Elder."

"Are we? No more Uroan shit?"

"Yes, Elder."

"Holding you to that. Mind and body together while we talk, Consort, no drifting off into lala-land."

D'Shea gave her a very odd look then, and Rausery signed, *What?*

The sorceress shrugged and waved her hand for her to continue. She wanted to observe further. Odd that she didn't want to try to direct this, but Rausery considered it a good sign that her peer did know when to step back from time to time.

"You hungry, Auslan?"

"...No, Elder."

"You will be. You let me know when, *before* I hear your stomach speak for you."

"Yes, Elder."

"You don't want what'll happen if you disobey me here."

He swallowed again. "Yes, Elder."

Again D'Shea had that odd, contemplative look on her face as she considered the both of them; Rausery would love to know what she was thinking about.

"You were pretty good reporting the facts to me last time," Rausery said. "I want you to do that again."

The touch of added firmness that came over his expression was fascinating. He'd changed since she'd first met him. Or maybe since spending time with Shyntre. Still seemingly weak, timid, obedient when he wasn't getting obsessive about something disorderly...

But he'd healed Sirana somehow after she'd been torn to shreds. He'd dreamed about Brom and that desert ring. He had that look Shyntre sometimes had when he was steeling himself up inside for a questioning he'd already decided he wouldn't be spilling everything.

Auslan wasn't as weak as most females would assume him to be. The fact was what he had done when it really mattered defined him better than any Priestess's training. He had some irritating qualities and he would act his role well enough, but she saw a toughness there he shared with the wizard.

Rausery bossing him around even now didn't get her high, as if she thought she was actually controlling him every second he breathed, the way some Nobles seemed to believe. She knew far too much for far too long to make that simple, stupid mistake. Nobility was a crock as a concept, anyway, though she granted that it often came down to resources and control of knowledge between competitors.

It was exactly the reason Auslan obeyed her now; she had the resources and controlled more knowledge than he did. All he had to work with was what he wanted to keep for himself. He'd have to give her some of it now, whether he liked it or not.

"So, you saw a Human force a firebird ring on Sirana's finger in a dream," she began bluntly.

D'Shea broke into a broad grin, and that expression she could actually read. She knew the compulsion was broken.

Rausery signed at her, *Fuck you and him both with a mushroom shaft.*

The sorceress sniggered and leaned back in her chair, resting her forearms on the rests, not saying a word in return, not speech or sign. She just looked at Auslan, whose mouth was hanging open a bit. The good male hadn't turned to his gaze away to look at the sorceress, but he could read Rausery's hands just fine, even if he didn't comprehend their significance.

"Am I right, Auslan? You saw the firebird ring and Sirana."

"...Correct, Elder."

"That the only time you've seen this ring, or this Human, or has he shown up again since?"

His expression—his distress—was too fresh, too clear to think it had only been one time. D'Shea's continued amusement was clear on her face.

"What happened the second time you saw him?" Rausery asked.

Auslan couldn't help himself; he looked at D'Shea, almost pleading for guidance, or maybe leniency, Rausery wasn't sure. She drew a dagger and slammed it point-side-down into D'Shea's desk, right in his line of sight, as if she was severing the invisible link between them. He looked back, and she could hear his heart again.

"What did I tell you about looking away? You want a new set of earrings?"

"F-forgive me, Elder."

"Thank you, Rausery," D'Shea said, crossing her arms beneath her breasts and looking for mild irritation at the fresh gouge in her desk.

"Welcome, Varessa. You're wasting my time again, Auslan. What. Happened?"

"I saw him injured, but still wearing the ring," he whispered. "And I healed him. For a price."

D'Shea was dead silent and Rausery leaned forward a bit, her grip still on her dagger. "You have to fuck him to heal him, like you did Sirana?"

That question made him flat-out shudder. He shook his head with urgency. "No."

The sorceress sat up straighter; her eyes had widened enough for Rausery to know that answer was significant. More mage shit. Maybe it meant he would be able to do that in real life one day? Heal without fucking?

Rausery let go of her dagger and let it remain sticking straight up out of the desk. "What was your price?"

"That...that he wouldn't trap Sirana, hurt or kill her or her unborn for what they'd done to him."

"That's all?" 

"Yes, Elder."

Stupid, she thought. But then, not only was he inexperienced with non-Drow threats, but Rausery didn't really know how much or how little Auslan cared about the baby he'd sired on D'Shea's favorite novice. By his age, the Consort probably already had fifteen or twenty offspring he'd never met; he probably didn't even know if they were still alive or if they died before or during the Purge.

Sirana wasn't likely to carry to give birth to it anyway, unless she made it back to the Underdark pretty fucking fast.

Like in the next six months. And didn't face off with the Illithids with the rest of the Sisterhood. An Illithid battle didn't lend itself toward that child's favor, either, unless its mother simply stopped being a Red Sister, and Rausery didn't see Sirana being able to stop. Not after how far she'd come in such a short time.

*Shit.*

"Wait." D'Shea couldn't help herself; Rausery had wondered how long she could keep quiet before asking something. "Sirana injured him?"

Auslan nodded without turning his head away from Rausery. "Her and those she hired."

D'Shea leaned back and went quiet again, nodding slightly to her peer. Rausery was a little irked she seemed to be getting more out of this dream-talk than she was.

"Is this really happening?" Rausery asked.

"I don't know," he whispered. "Something is happening. Right now, on the Surface. Something Sirana is involved in."

D'Shea was tapping her chin, now. Goddess, did Rausery recognize that expression. What far-off connection was she making now? What would her expression look like when Rausery made yet more for her?

"So... the Human is still alive, and Sirana did meet him in truth?"

Auslan's expression changed subtly as he actually looked Rausery in the eyes for a few seconds. He nodded once. "Still? Should he be dead, Elder?"

"After this long, yeah. He's not, though."

Rausery got that glorious change in D'Shea's expression she had wanted.

"Have you been searching for him on the Surface, Rausery?" D'Shea asked quietly, her eyes almost blazing with her thoughts.

Her peer's face made her smile. 




Surfacing Ch. 19



Author's Notes: This story is erotic fantasy written by Etaski. I reserve the right to be listed as the author of this story, wherever it is posted. If found posted anywhere except Literotica.com with this note attached, this story is posted without my permission. (c) Etaski 2014.

And now we return to where we left off with "Retreat."

******

As Gavin led us toward his claimed room, I saw Deshi hover out of our periphery, hesitating a moment before finally leaving with his two brothers—as he should—to go wash, eat, and sleep. 

It had finally dawned on me—after far too long to be truly impressed with myself—that the young Man wasn't just overly fascinated with Gavin in particular, or with death in general, and that my ally was aware of this. Gavin had asked Deshi to close his eyes during Peng Lok's surgery; it wasn't because of any gruesome, bloody sight, but because of the blue light and whatever other intangible thing he might sense. I was sure.

Gavin walked in front with Mourn, and Krithannia and I behind with Jael trailing just a bit. I looked at the Noldor and murmured to her.

"Do you know Deshi is a necromancer?"

Krithannia nodded solemnly, glancing at me with direct, grey eyes. "The potential is there, but only known by us as of six months ago. Unfortunately, the Guild has no one at this time to teach him that focus. Death magic is rarer than you might think outside of the Ma'ab, particularly considering the battle we just fled, and they will not deign to tutor outsiders even if they will contract with the Guild."

Gavin glanced over his shoulder—he was scowling, of course, probably waiting to be volunteered by me to teach Deshi—and Mourn's left ear had twitched back to listen but he kept his eyes forward.

"You know about Sarilis," I wagered, keeping my focus on Krithannia.

The Pale Elf shrugged. "I would trust Deshi's own instincts as he learned magic in general over making any deal with *that* slippery, old man."

Gavin had looked forward again and resolutely ignored any talk about his former "master."

"His being drawn to Gavin," I said, a slight tease in my voice meant for my ever-surly scholar, "shows very good instincts, hmm?"

Krithannia smiled at me, understanding what I was doing but said nothing to fan the flame. Still, Gavin made a decent lecturer if one asked the right questions, I knew, and he had given Deshi a suggestion in the first place. I would have to ask him why, if he scowled so at the mere mention of teaching.

"Should we invite him?" I tried.

"No," Gavin grunted as he approached his door, dispelling the ward before muttering a word that allowed the handle to be turned again. 

I watched and considered. That lock wouldn't have stopped anyone here determined to get inside, but it might have made tampering evident, at least to Gavin, even had they used magical means to unlock the door.

I had to assume Soul Drinker was still inside, but I would know soon enough.

"Talov will join us soon," Mourn said, looking at Gavin as he led the way.

I walked over the trunk before I considered doing anything else, placing my hand on it and concentrating. I didn't hear the familiar, genderless whisper in my head, but I could sense a general feeling of eager welcome.

"Sirana?" Mourn asked, sounding concerned.

"Still here," I muttered, pulling my hand away and straightening up. It should stay there, for the duration of...whatever we were about to do. I looked at Jael, then, noticing Mourn do the same.

She frowned back and signed defiantly, *What? Will not touch it.*

It was telling that she knew exactly what was inside the trunk, though whether from basic deduction or something more primal, I couldn't be sure without asking. I chose not to with Krithannia present. She already seen the results of the scuffle, of course, but Soul Drinker's particular effects on Jael, and the reasons behind them, were not something I wanted a Noldor to know. 

Gavin had put away his surgical kit and turned to straighten up some of his desk from where I'd interrupted him, collecting a few new things from his pack before sitting in his chair, which was turned so one hand could be on the desk as he watched us about the room.

"Who do you want to die tonight?"

Mourn and Krithannia exchanged a glance; both of them smiled, just a little.

"That is usually our question," the Noldor said.

Gavin shrugged, and waited.

"You claim a way to assassinate from afar," Mourn prompted, "to assure the Ma'ab retreat and give up Manalar."

Nyx's servant nodded slowly, considering many details he was not telling. "Shall we wait for Talov? I do not relish explaining things twice."

Krithannia made a gesture to Mourn I didn't quite catch from my angle, but he nodded and spoke to Gavin.

"We want a minimum of four to die. Vo'Traj is dead and will not return. Now we need Vo'Reye and Vo'Kyahn to join her. In addition, their two Commanders, Lingell and Chottinvah."

The necromancer didn't ask for more details yet; he just nodded.

I was curious, though. "What about Hellhound Divigna?"

"The price of those four will have to be low to consider him good value to add," Krithannia commented.

"Wise," Gavin said.

"Why?" Jael asked bluntly, saving me the same show of youthful curiosity.

"The Hellhounds are elite but not the backbone of the army," Mourn said to her, turning to face her properly, his tail barely skimming the stone of the floor. "Divigna is extremely dangerous once you are in proximity, but he manages the smaller side missions that help the mass as a whole. Taking out individual pinpoints of power within that mass is needed to break that whole."

"He saw us escape the crypt," I said. "No matter you left Brom's sword in Vo'Traj's chest, he may still believe the Guild responsible. He will tell his superiors."

"All the better that we assure ourselves they are dead, then."

"Who will be elevated in their place?" I asked.

Both Guild leaders shook their heads, and Krithannia spoke. "It depends who survives to return North. But they will not muster enough strength to continue their campaign without those four figures, even if they leave someone like Divigna behind to dissuade the Knight Captain from retaking his city. The Guild will have time to force them the rest of the way out if this is the case, so long as their top military leadership and most powerful sorceresses do not remain at Manalar."

Well. At least we were thinking. I hadn't had the time to consider that Hellhounds could stay behind to take out as many of those returning to Manalar as possible, but it made too much sense not to assume the Ma'ab would try it that way even with their leaders gone.

Assuming we did indeed assure that the main army would retreat.

"And you're so sure Gavin can just lop these specific heads off for you?" Jael challenged.

"We will hear him out," Mourn said. "If not, others are already moving."

The necromancer just stared at us; he took no umbrage at the show of doubt and did not explain until after Talov finally knocked on the door.

"Sorry," the greybeard said, holding a small, clanking bag over his shoulder. "Took a bit to get 'em settled."

He coughed briefly into his fist and took a place to stand and watch the rest of us. Mourn nodded his head in welcome to him, then looked back to Gavin as the pale mage shifted in his chair to face us just a bit more, looking at me first.

"The Yungians call you 'hakgwei,' Sirana," he began.

"Yes, Black Ghost," I replied, translating more for Jael's benefit.

"While I can't say some stories involving your kind didn't influence the legend of the hakgwei, I do not believe that the Baenar are the origin."

I looked to Mourn, then, as one I was sure had been to Yung-An in his years, and he nodded in agreement.

"So what is a hakgwei, if not a Drow?" Jael asked.

"Assassins of the spirit world," Gavin answered, "which can be summoned with a curse blade, to strike down a driven man's enemy. The stories are all ghost stories, highly ritualized, cautionary tales describing obsession and supreme cost in vengeance."

I knew Mourn's tail well enough by now to be able to tell Gavin was right; Krithannia noticed, too, or knew some of the stories herself to be sure.

"How would you know, if I may ask, Gavin?" Krithannia shifted her weight on her legs as she tilted her head at him. "You are correct, but... Have you spoken with Deshi, perhaps?"

Gavin shook his head. "I merely listened while we were on the boat. Others were rather curious about the Yungians' confidence in Sirana's presence guaranteeing our success, and asked them about the hakgwei. I listened to some of what the Yungians described. I will admit as well, my...restoration has left me with some new knowledge I did not earn on this plane, and I made a connection just recently. There are such entities in the Greylands, and they can be summoned to assure a death."

Talov frowned at the distant look on Gavin's face, which I agreed was unsettling, but I had known Gavin could not be the same as he was before the rift opened, just as he had not been since the Witch Hunters killed him. He had even chosen to show me this, blatantly, by disrobing and asking me to describe his physical changes for him.

"We are listening, Deathwalker," Mourn said. 

Gavin looked somberly from me to the three Guildmasters. "They are called the Shae'goth. If you would accept the risk, I could summon them. They can be in position to strike faster than your agents, and with a higher chance of success. However that is all contingent on if you can meet their price."

World-class assassins hiring spirit assassins to do their job. I wanted to chuckle and would have if the overall feeling in the room was not so serious. The mention of any price of the Greylands was enough to keep all of us quiet and contemplative for the moment.

"Shae'goth," Mourn repeated, testing the word on his tongue. "In what do they trade for their service?"

Because we'd just assume they were real, and that they could be defined like a neighboring site or merchant trade. Krithannia and Talov even nodded a bit.

I reflected that Gavin—whether he realized it or not—had earned the benefit of the doubt from the Guildmasters with his actions at Manalar, to be treated if not as a trusted equal, then as a high-ranking diplomat or representative afforded every courtesy. All this because his actions had stayed true to his purpose and without one hint that he would be tempted to break his agreement with me or bend his service to his mistress for his own gains.

I got the feeling Mourn respected this quality more than anything else, but I wasn't sure if Gavin had noticed or if he was too distracted—by his mistress, by whatever dead whispers he always heard, whatever spirits he once told me he saw—to consider the dispositions of those living around him. 

I couldn't see how he wouldn't notice, though, given his treatment by others up until this point. He had learned how to sense when someone meant him harm. As a child, he had hidden and stayed scarce. As an adult...he had ripped out a sorceress's heart in a fit of fury.

Yes, I decided. Gavin had noticed. That was why he was talking now.

"They trade in rare metal and weapons," Gavin nodded toward Talov, with what I assumed to be his sack of silver daggers, "and, as you might expect, they trade in souls. According to legend, the hakgwei could be summoned by any person with the knowledge and drive to do so. This is true."

This struck me as odd. Any person? Not just a mage, or a necromancer?

"Like...Layne, back at the inn," I asked, "if he had the knowledge and wanted it enough to defend his mother from insults?"

Gavin nodded. "Perhaps not a wise reason, but if he had the proper tribute and made the payment, yes. The Shae'goth can be invited onto this plane like many others."

"But they *are* Greyland natives. Do they have a use for those souls themselves? Or do they claim them on behalf of a mistress or master, like the Ma'lok?"

Gavin smiled a little. "Very good, Sirana. They operate on behalf of their mistress. My mistress."

I should've known.

"We'd be making a contract with the Grey Maiden," Krithannia said flatly, and I couldn't tell whether she was displeased or not. Maybe just understandably wary.

"Not directly," Gavin said. "Your contract would be with the Shae'goth. But they do answer to her. Some contracts they will not take. Either the price cannot be met, or if it can, they will not, for reasons known only to her. I already know your Ma'ab targets are ones they would take."

Talov was shaking his head. "Ain't any 'souls' here I'm willing or able tah bargain away, 'less it's every Ma'ab currently at Manalar they want."

"They usually claim the summoner as well as the target," Gavin said, and that stopped everyone for a second. "Hence, the cautionary tales."

"We can't do this," Krithannia said immediately, looking at Mourn with worry; his tail flicked in response.

"Wait," Jael said, narrowing her eyes at Gavin. "You said you would summon them for us. What effect does that have on your soul?"

"It's already claimed by the very Lady for whom they would collect it," Gavin said, and the mage actually smiled to show his black teeth. I hadn't seen that in a while.

"So all we need are some silver daggers?"

"Not that simple, Jael, they may ask for something else valuable in place of a summoner's soul. But you would have the rare benefit of flexibility when dealing with them, having that off the table."

"You speak like you are only a puppet or gatekeeper in this deal, Deathwalker," Mourn said, drawing the mage's attention with his change of stance, which was equally direct as his voice. "Despite the effacement, you are the one holding this pearl in your hand. Answer me this: Would using the Shae'goth be a road for the Guild to have stronger connection of equal benefit to you and your mistress, if that was what the Founders of the Guild desired?"

Talov brightened and grinned wide through his beard; Krithannia actually relaxed some, nodding thoughtfully as if reminding herself of their goals, and I finally had to snicker at the look of pure surprise on Gavin's face. 

So. Mourn would make a contract with shadow assassins, as the Greyland reflection of his own organization, to make a bond between Gavin and the Guild? I believed he would.

Diplomat or not, my death mage did not seem to realize that he was becoming more than a servant outside of the Greylands. He could not seem to accept that he was desirable in any regard and expected others to downplay his contributions, despite his growing power and confidence. If the Guild wanted a binding deal with him first, before anyone else had the chance to court him, I thought Gavin not quite savvy enough to plug all the holes in an agreement, especially against these three. 

"Ah," Gavin began, reconsidering a few new possibilities. "Perhaps. But the Shae'goth are wholly separate from my dealings here."

Talov stroked his beard and caught Mourn's gaze, signing something to him even I did not understand, but the half-blood nodded, looking at the Pale Elf. Her face shifted to a firm stare I had seen in Jaunda sometimes when faced with necessary risk, and she nodded.

"Perhaps not," Mourn said. "As the summoner, you would defend us from the legendary cost of such a contract, correct?"

"Yes," Gavin answered, and by all anyone could tell, he was being truthful.

"But something of equal worth would have to be offered, to both you and them. I accept that."

Jael and I both narrowed our eyes at him; what was he getting at? Mourn ignored us and kept his gaze on Gavin, whose glance at me didn't lessen his wariness.

"Do you have something in mind?" Gavin asked.

Mourn nodded. "With any construction based on loyalty and incentive, there are those who at some point decide the payment is not worth their loyalty. Those outside who cross the Guild always pay a price, but those who *betray* the Guild from the inside do not live long past doing so.

"This is something we have been dealing with for three hundred years and always will with Humans, Dwarves, and Elves living their lives. The Grey Maiden could benefit by this inevitability, Gavin, as we could offer the Shae'goth to be the ones who hunt and kill those Guild gone rogue and claim them for Nyx, once given the name and permission by the Founders, for a set amount of time, as a beginning between us."

Jael's eyes were wide, as were mine. If Mourn had wanted something else that would add to his own fearful legend among the "Yun-gar" upon the Surface, especially in Yong-wen and Augran, this would certainly do it once his own Guild associated the hakgwei with their leaders. Assuming Gavin and Nyx accepted. If the Shae'goth accepted. 

It almost made the four leaders of the Ma'ab they wanted killed seem like an afterthought. It felt appropriate for someone who was half-Drow, and half-Dragon.

On the whole, I thought, looking to the other side, it could be very good for Gavin to have an ally in the Guild when I eventually left him, since I knew Mourn honored his contracts. With only a Tower, a horde of undead, and ghostly, feminine whispers in solitude, my necromancer may otherwise become more like Sarilis: a meddling loner separated from the world, with no real purpose other than to indulge himself and his mistress in his tinkering. As the puppet he might see himself at times.

The Guild would keep Gavin active and relevant to the current world as it changed, especially if my guess was correct in that "Nyx's boy" was now more like Cris-ri-phon in how long he could exist on this world. Mourn could live just as long. I approved of the half-blood's forethought.

"So, what say you?" Talov asked after a long pause as Gavin had been staring at a point on the far wall before returning to the Guild leaders. "Will ye discuss it? Gotta be a reason ye wanted to talk to us about these ghost hitters."

"Agreed, we have mutual targets," Krithannia added, proving the three were still on the same page. "You said so in the arrival chamber, Gavin."

The necromancer exhaled and brought his hands together, threading his fingers and resting his elbows on his thighs, frowning and closing his eyes. Perhaps he was trying to block them out to listen elsewhere, even just for a moment. Or he was praying.

Jael elbowed me and signed from a more private angle, *Why would a Noldor want a deal with death? The sun-hair could not even touch his bone in the temple!*

I smirked at the innuendo, intended or not, but answered, *The night-hair can touch it, and she deals in death already. She is also a scholar, like him, and he has knowledge she wants. A longer deal is in the Guild's benefit, given how Manalar fell.*

At least, to me, Mourn's library showed a hoarding of knowledge as much as treasure.

"Whacha sayin' over there?" Talov asked and we both dropped our hands to look at him.

"Private," I said.

"Yes, on that," Mourn said with some care. "I must say the same, Sirana."

I blinked in true surprise. "You jest."

"Be assured any deal we make now will not affect the one you already have with Deathwalker, nor will it be any alliance against you or your City. Will you leave so we may talk?"

"Gavin hasn't even said he will yet!"

"He has. He accepted while you were signing."

It must have been only a nod. I felt stunned. They were asking me to leave? Even Gavin? I looked at him.

"There is some danger in this," my mage said to me. "Being present at the summoning, especially if you have no intent to be part of the agreement, could do you or your Sister harm. And one part of you is still especially vulnerable than most of us to entering spirits."

Goddess damn it...he was going to bring up the baby? Again?




Surfacing Ch. 19



"There is little point risking you and Jael, Sirana," Krithannia said a bit gently. "We ask nothing of you, but you also cannot have this at no cost. It is Guild business."

My expression turned surly. Didn't I already know that?

Jael made a scoffing sound but touched my elbow. "Come on."

I felt so strange, so hesitant to leave. It was as if I still wanted some say in what Gavin did, who he made deals with, especially out of my presence...and that was so patently ridiculous that I didn't even know where it came from. Perhaps only in that he'd been at my side nearly every important discussion or bargain since leaving Sarilis's Tower. He felt too familiar, perhaps.

And Mourn. Well. We had our own contract, and I did believe him that he wouldn't be double-crossing me with Nyx now, especially since I already had one with her as well. But that was just the thing...if we were all bound to each other, why specifically exclude me now? I'd only wonder how it affected all else in my time on the Surface, I could be suspicious and paranoid. He wasn't the "clingy" type, so of course he could just send me off as he continued what he'd been doing for the past three centuries while I...

Fuck.

Fuck it.

*My son,* I thought, deliberate and explicit. That was really all it would take to convince me, wasn't it? Maybe Gavin was manipulating me, my softest spot, and maybe he wasn't. But I could not take the risk either way when I had little to gain and more to lose. Being greedy and controlling wouldn't help my son now.

I just wasn't part of the deal. I knew it.

"What about Soul Drinker?" I asked.

"Do you want to take it with you? Or I will ward the chest, if you wish," Mourn said. "None of us here will touch it."

But there would be more strong magic, a summoning "with risk." Even Gavin couldn't predict everything, how it might affect everything in here. I clenched my fist and went over to the chest to open it and retrieve the relic, taking it by the sheath—and the thing felt contritely welcoming in my hand.

*Had enough time in your corner, then?* I thought.

*Wielder has returned! Happy...*

*Oh, are you?*

*Content...*

*You lying dung squirt.*

Soul Drinker giggled, and that good, soothing feeling remained as I returned it to my belt, skeptical of the affection I felt toward it. The dagger certainly wasn't making it a chore to reclaim the burden. As I'd agreed I'd do... while excluding everyone else present in that high risk deal, too, and not sharing the details, just by the nature of it.

*Bah.*

The four of them were watching me very, very carefully, perhaps seeking any sign that Soul Drinker was rebelling again. I frowned at them. I was fine. I looked at Jael; she seemed fine as well, standing with her arms crossed and her chin up, ignoring the dagger.

"Will you find me when you're finished?" I asked Mourn.

"Any particular reason?"

"Yes, we can discuss Gaelan. And whether you even need to be involved in the rest of Gavin's and my agreement."

Talov chuckled and muttered, "Careful, lad."

Mourn's tail flicked at the tip and he shot a brief look at the old dwarf before nodding to me. "I will find you."

I nodded once and led my Sister out of the room; both of us could feel the ward being set after the door was closed. It was abnormally quiet afterward, no sound or voices on the other side. I hadn't really even decided where else to go when Jael spoke in Drow.

"So...what is the little beast?"

I blinked at her. "Hm?"

Jael moved down the hall, coaxing me, and I followed her. "The tiny reptile who sat in Mourn's lap."

"Graul? He's a drake." We never had actually introduced them.

"Graul the drake. Hm. He's intelligent, isn't he?"

"He can speak," I answered. "Just doesn't, most of the time."

"So why is he here?"

I thought about it. Other than sleeping?

"He has been a long-time companion to Mourn, since he left the Underdark. There is genuine affection, I'm sure you could tell."

"He seems old."

"He is. Three hundred or so. Older than us."

"How long do drakes live?"

I shrugged. I hadn't really even seen many in my life, just glimpses of one or two kept as pets among the Nobles, and I knew much less about their life cycle. "About this long, it seems."

"Or less for a natural one, if a bond with Mourn is actually extending his life."

My brows climbed. "What brought that to mind?"

"The druid's bird. Same thing, or so she said one of the times she was trying to get me to talk. She'd talk about pointless things, trying to get me to lower my guard like a fool. But one interesting mention was that her falcon is older than Isboern." 

Who was aged twenty-six, I knew, the same as Gavin. "That is interesting..."

"Yes. I asked her how long those birds live in the wild. She said about a decade."

And Pilla was at least three times that age and still hunting. It might explain why she was so cranky, though. Graul certainly was.

Jael grinned a little. "Shall we ask him about drakes, if he can talk?"

"I don't think it's a good idea to wake him up," I said. "I was warned about that."

"What if he's already awake?"

Small chance of that, and there might be a ward on the door. I sighed and shrugged, which Jael took as acceptance, and I did not have a better idea right then other than be present if Jael was going to fuck with something of Mourn's. It had been a while since I acted my age, with good reason, but Jael certainly would if I didn't watch her.

We ignored some of the sounds and scents coming from the side halls—including humidity and falling water, which brought to mind all those Humans naked in the larger male shower room—and moved quietly back toward where Mourn had slept before the fight with Soul Drinker had ripped him awake. There wasn't a ward, which was telling of something. Certainly that there wasn't anything of Mourn's looted goods from the crypt inside—which meant Talov had moved them elsewhere, or just that they expected Graul to be more than enough guardianship for them in this particular location.

What had Mourn said was the drake's defense...? Oh, yes. Air.

I said in my Underdark voice, "If you hear a sound like a sheep's bladder filled with air, trembling so fast it hums...um, retreat."

Jael gave me a strange look. "I've never heard that."

"I'm told it's unique. And it will hurt."

Her frown turned to amusement. "Got it. You go first."

"What? Why?"

"He knows you, right? That Mourn's mated you."

I rolled my eyes. "I'm sure he can hear us now if he's awake. And he understands Drow."

"Good. Then he knows it's you and we just want to talk."

"You were the one who wanted to—"

I stopped as we both looked down the hall; we could clearly hear the dwarves though they were still a distance off. I took the handle opened the door a crack, and didn't hear any humming. That was good. I signed to slip inside and we did so in the next moment, closing the wooden door behind us but crouching down close to the ground—about Graul's level, if we wanted to hear better what he was doing while our eyes adjusted to the pitch black.

He was yawning. And stretching.

"Hello, Graul," I said, speaking in Drow.

He blew air out of his nose like he was huffing out dust. "Hello, female."

Jael looked at me, and I signed, *At least he answered back.*

"Jealous, maybe," Jael said aloud with a grin, but I hissed at her and signed to desist.

Graul's throat fluttered as he breathed in, then out. "Why are you here, females?"

"Bored," Jael said.

"Curious," I said.

I could see the small drakes tail curl up and then out and around as he shifted stiffly on his drake-sized pile of furs. "Curious?" he said in his impish voice. "Me, too."

"Yeah?" Jael asked. "Can we trade curiosities?"

"Got treats?"

"No."

"Pffpht!" he snorted in disapproval. He turned as if to curl up again with his rear end facing us, prepared to ignore us and return to napping.

"But we could scratch those hard-to-reach places," I offered.

Graul's head came back up and he looked over his shoulder, his wings flat to his back. "Hhrrrrmm," he hummed in thought.

Jael knew to be silent, as did I, as we waited in a reasonably comfortable crouch. It didn't take long.

"Okay," he said.

My two spiders stirred for the first time in hours—or maybe I was only finally paying attention—and I thought it a good time to let them out on the other side of the room to hunt. I remembered what Mourn had said about how hard Graul could lash his tail if agitated and didn't want him hitting my pouch by accident. One crushed spider was enough for me this year.

*Hunt. Stay high, away from the beast, he'll eat you.*

He *probably* would.

I received that indescribable little chime in my head that told me they would do as I said, and I hurried to catch up to Jael as she approached Graul. We both kneeled down, and I could have sworn the small drake was smirking in a decidedly self-pleased manner.

"So where are those 'hard-to-reach' places?" she asked, but I wasn't sure if it was for me or the drake.

Graul rolled so his head was pointed toward Jael's lap and his body was beside me; he lifted up his wings and moved a stiff hind leg to show me where he couldn't quite reach anymore; certainly on the flank beneath his wings and on his shoulders, perhaps the whole area where his wings connected to his back.

"Scratch around his ears," I suggested.

"What about trading curiosities?"

"Treats first."

"What?" She stared at me. "He could just take the treats and not trade anything!"

"True. And we'd be in no worse position than we are now."

Graul chuckled that I was doing his arguing for him and shifted toward me to make it easier to scratch. I gave an experimental, circular rub with my gloved fingertips around the joint of his left wing, and he shivered; somehow it triggered a yawn and his teeth where very close to Jael's fingers before she pulled them back. He purred.

Jael exchanged a silent look with me as I kept rubbing and scratching, as Graul's tail became more active and he writhed a little. I could feel his body heat through my gloves but much more than a general "smooth scale" texture to his hide, and I thought he smelled like a warm-blooded creature. I indicated Jael should scratch his nose and behind his ears.

*Overload him?* she signed with one hand, almost as mischievous as Graul.

I shook my head and spoke aloud. "Just treats. Mourn will sense if he is in distress."

"Clevver fffemmale," he cooed, lifting his chin as Jael's fingers began lightly scratching beneath his jaw as she stroked over and behind his ear a little like she might an Uroan.

"So we *could* disrupt the deal going on without us," she said with a grin as she did a pretty good job answering Graul's cues on where to scratch, sending him into a state where his left hind leg almost seemed to move on its own. "Say...if Graul just takes the pleasure and stiffs us."

I pursed my lips, noticing how stiff his tail actually got before he slapped it a few times on the edge of the furs. I stopped rubbing, straightening up and frowning at her. Graul moaned in disappointment and tried to curl his tail around my wrist to bring it back to his shoulders. I tugged it away and he puffed a small cloud of air in disapproval.

"What?" Jael asked me, looking bewildered. "He dismissed you. They both did. I saw your face, you were insulted. The half-blood deserves a little distraction."

"You were at Manalar, you saw it," I said sternly. "They're talking about inviting something from the Greylands over again. Something that could harm you and me just standing there."

"And the ugly, dead Man is confident he can get them out of the worse of the payment," she replied, stopping her own scratching. "That means he's got something else up his sleeve he's not saying, even I can tell that!" 

I expelled a breath. "They asked us to go for our protection."

"And said it was 'Guild business,' and we couldn't have it for free. They were looking out for themselves, as if you expect anything different, Sirana—"

"So you want some comparatively tiny vengeance to soothe my pride for me?"

She shrugged, looking down at the Dragon kin. "Just testing his concentration."

I looked Skyward. "Jael, I don't want him distracted in this! After seeing the Ma'lok, you would think this a light matter?"

She scowled at my scolding. "Then what the fuck were you 'curious' about in the first place? Why did you want to come here?"

Graul looked between the two of us, his hazy, red eyes still glinting with cunning. He settled on me. "Third sisster?"

Jael and I both looked down at him, practically pinning him to the furs with our gaze.

"What?" Jael demanded first.

"Curiouss about the third sisster?"

I narrowed my eyes. "And what would you know? You were in Yong-wen that whole time."

A drake's grin was hard to describe; it looked threatening at first with so many sharp, little teeth, but the way he flickered his forked tongue just barely out the very front of his muzzle, as well as the intelligent, playful spark in his eye, made it look just jester-like enough to tempt a smile in return. But tempt, only.

"I have been there," he said with his mischievous gurgle. "I likes it. Want to go back... before I die."

My Sister and I frowned.

"You are...aware of your age?" Jael asked.

"Of course," he said, shifting with a grunt to rest his chin on her thigh. It was clearly manipulative in that he looked so harmless and in need of a good scratch again, but it didn't make a difference as Jael began doing just that.

"And how long do drakes live?" she asked.

Graul shrugged, stroking my hand again with his tail, and I gave in and stroked and rubbed his back. He sighed, closing his eyes.

"Don't know," he rumbled softly. "Wasn't aware of days until brought into Sunlight."

"Do you think it's longer that others like you, being bonded to your mage? Do you benefit from his long life?"

His eyes opened again and he looked directly at her. "You a mage now, yes, female? You find out."

The expression on Jael's face told me the drake had hit a lot closer to what was bothering her than I realized. I felt a little stupid for being focused on what my male companions were doing without me when my Sister still had no answers for her new path.

"How do such bonds happen?" I asked.

They were almost non-existent in our City, I thought, unless one wanted to count the Draegloth...but those were actual children of our bodies.

"When it becomes," he said, waving his tail again in approval as I continued to scratch a particularly twitchy patch of scales. "It is...familiar."

Jael exchanged a baffled glance with me but had her attention drawn back down to the drake fluttering the flap of skin on his throat and puffing air enough to ruffle her shirt. He sniffed, whuffled and sniffed her scent again right through the leather on her thighs, seeming to enjoy it on some level. At least he hadn't thrust his muzzle into her crotch. He studied her again before turning his head to give me the same study. Eventually he settled his head down on her thigh again.

"Tonopar'iejir di To'vah," he said, and it almost sounded like a chant; I felt something run up my spine and Jael shifted uncomfortably.

"What was that?" she demanded.

"What about a Dragon?" I asked, at least understanding the one word.

Jael had stopped but I kept scratching him, focusing on making it as pleasurable as possible. Apparently it was enough so that Graul's voice was caught in his throat more than a few times; he coughed once and exhaled, long and slow, before looking again at me. I had my hand resting just beneath his right foreleg against his ribs and, oddly, I could feel his heart beating quite hard, as if he was distressed—but nothing else about his behavior suggested he was.

"Blood bond," he said.

"What?"

"Tonopar'iejir." Then he fell silent, blinking once at me, and I watched his vertical pupils expand slightly.

*Distracting us,* Jael signed with another scowl.

He sure was.

"What about our third Sister?" I asked. "You said you've been there? Where is it?"

Graul chuckled like the squawking little tease he was. "Can't tell. Want to go there. Master grows stronger, me weaker...tonopar'iejir may be released..." His eyes slide over to my Sister. "...and remade, Jael-newborn."

It felt like a full minute, I thought, before either Jael or I could make any sense of that. He didn't sound like he was jesting, yet I could not take anything he said at face value, could I? Then again, the drake had helped Gavin in the library, and was reading over his shoulder when I walked in. He was not just a lazy pet looking for scratches.

My Sister had begun trembling in anger, her breath faster and her face turned full to indignance as her anger flared clear to my eyes, even in the dark. She scooted back to get to her feet and Graul barely caught his own chin to keep it from flopping down against the floor. He blinked and looked up at her with an atrocious innocence. Something he'd implied had gotten to her.

"I hope Mourn does get distracted with the Shae'goth right now," she seethed. "You can *both* die!"

"Jael, no!" 

I didn't even think about it, I just read in her body language. I dove into the way to bodily block it. My Sister had a really hard kick.

"And fuck you, too!" she blurted and sped out of the room before I'd even gotten my breath back.

Damn it!

I got to my feet, was about to run out the door after her when my spiders trilled at me and I hesitated before calling them and gathering them up. I looked outside...and Jael was long gone.

"You really had to tell her that?" I gasped, glaring at the drake and holding my aching shoulder.

He blinked at me, then smirked. "Sshe took it seriouss. Thankss for the block."

"You're not welcome. She's not an animal to be bonded to a mage, no matter how strong you say Mourn is. She will be a mage herself someday, maybe with a companion of her own!"

Graul snickered. "Then sshe has no need to anger."

"You're a shit."

"Sso is sshe. Came here to causse trouble for Master."

I gave up the argument right there; no matter who had provoked whom, or that I was a little ticked she'd spoiled a chance to probe Graul about Gaelan's location, I had to leave and find her. There were too many Templars and Guild about, and Jael was as impulsive as ever.

Partly blinded by the torches outside, I focused mostly on her scent and the fading heat through the first part of the hallway, but as soon as it became mixed with other very recent bodies, I had to stop and listen intensively, trying to decide quickly which hallway to take.

The left hallway was eliminated as a possibility as I heard two Templars coming; they were whispering to each other as if they hadn't seen anyone rush by them. Between the other two, I picked right because...

Because something had feathered my instincts. Nothing more.

Unfortunately, that intangible otherness hadn't been sensing my Sister's aura at that moment, and I drew up short.

*Isboern. Fuck.*

He was out of his armor still, and much quieter than the Templars behind me, just the sound of tough leathers and strong cloth with thick boots. No metal. By the unhurried pace, I knew Jael hadn't been in this direction, either. There was still plenty of time to back up and go the other way, and I was about to do just that when he called out to his Men, knowing they were there. Sensing them, perhaps. Maybe he'd already sensed me?

"Isil Templara!" he said, and I flinched from the sound as he came around the bend. He was alone, and he stopped, staring at me a moment before collecting himself. "Ah, Sirana. Good. Uhm. I am looking for Master Talov and Mourn. Or Krithannia, if she is available."




Surfacing Ch. 19



"They're busy," I answered, my back itching as the two Templars closed off the escape down the hall where Jael had to have gone. I glanced back at them warily.

The Godblood made a barely visible attempt to be patient. "I'm put off again? How long will they be?"

"I don't know," I answered shortly, feeling embarrassed again that I was on the outside of matters...kind of like Isboern was. And the last time he and I had talked, we hadn't been on friendly terms. "Have you seen Tamuril yet?"

Isboern couldn't hide the concern in his eyes. "Why? Are you looking for her?"

"No, I..."

I huffed. I'd "promised" Krithannia and Mourn that I'd give the Knight Captain and the Noldor some space before pushing their boundaries again. But I hadn't been trying for this, we just sort of stumbled onto each other!

The two knights closed at last, saluted their Captain but kept a wary distance from me as I was trapped between them. I put my back to the wall and gestured.

"So move on," I said impatiently.

"Nishuco prilumati'te," Isboern said to them, and there was a brief exchange back and forth as they filled him in on something.

Then, after a final, subtly threatening glance at me and another nod from their Captain, they turned around to return to the crossway and head down the last hall where I thought Jael must have gone. I tensed.

"They are going to stand guard outside Lady Verina's room, nothing more," the Captain said, almost soothing.

"Why?" I asked bluntly.

"So Tamuril can tend Pilla outside. They will need the trees and the fresh air."

And to be away from disturbances like me.

The next moment I realized Isboern had no intention of following her outside. Why not? Had they even talked since her arrival? Did he really want to stay here and keep watch on me until the Guild and the Deathwalker deigned to fill us in? I could make him very sorry for such a poor choice if that was the case.

I took a challenging stance. "And... you're just standing here in the hall, sending her relief indirectly, through messengers, while looking at me?"

He looked confused for a mind-reader. "Talov promised more news soon on what to be done with Manalar and the Ma'ab still lingering there. I was searching for him, but have found you instead."

"There's no news yet," I said. "Why don't you go outside with Tamuril, while you can?"

"I'm sure she would rather be alone."

I put my hand over my mouth before I laughed in his face. "Where did you get this idea?"

He frowned at me. "She has been surrounded by Humans and stone walls for months, with only brief intervals alone. She is normally alone most of the time in the forest. I would give her what she needs most to gain strength, as she will need it."

I smirked back, facing him full on with my arms crossed. From what I could tell, he was entirely serious. "You missed the look she gave you back at the arrival room, didn't you?"

Isboern didn't answer that, but his face did flush. Just a little.

"You need time alone with her, don't you? Away from your Men?"

He looked offended at the suggestion. "That is not your business, black Elf."

Ohh, the list of brazen, explicit things I was going to bring up right then...

"Sirana," he said with some force, attempting to reclaim the "black Elf" comment, finally using his wits to see what was coming. "Do not go where you are not welcome."

He didn't know Drow very well.

"Fine. I need to search for Jael outside, anyway."

I turned around and walked quickly in the direction of that last hallway; if Lady Verina's room was that direction and I hadn't sensed anyone coming this way once the Templars arrived to relieve guard duty, then presumably there was a way to the hillside in that direction. That, or Tamuril got lost. One of the two.

The Knight Captain caught up quickly. "Leave the druid alone, Sirana."

"I'm looking for Jael, Willven."

He did not react to the stress I put on his first name. Instead he tried to eschew the topic. "How did you lose her? I saw her standing with you after your fight. Surely she's accepted you despite your fears."

"That is not your business, pale face," I sniped.

We stopped talking as we passed by the two Templars I'd seen before, now guarding outside a close door, and they answered Isboern's question in the positive, indicating the direction I was heading.

Good.

I kept the pace brisk as I began to recognize the area now and how to get out of here and up top. As I inhaled I caught a familiar scent, of sunlit, scented wood and leaves—a particular Surface scent that didn't even belong to Krithannia as a fellow Noldor. Tamuril must have bolted as soon as she had the chance not to have to "tend" that Human Woman anymore. I didn't blame her.

Isboern grabbed my upper arm to stop me. His voice was a harsh whisper. "Stop! Tami's suffered enough under your kind!"

I rounded on him and jerked free, getting close and looking up into his heavy-boned, scruffy-haired face. He leaned back a bit.

"Don't touch me, psion," I hissed. "You're lucky I didn't put a dagger in your belly!"

Even now he seemed to have no fear or concern for himself, as if he would see killing intent coming if it had been there. "You won't kill me, and I know where you're trying to lead me. It won't work."

I smirked and started moving again. "Then don't follow."

*Swear you'll leave Tamuril alone!*

I shunted to a stop, shocked by the intimacy of the voice and felt my heart kick up in a threat response. I stared at him in that hallway, crossing my arms to keep from drawing Soul Drinker. *Swear you'll do the same... because you *know* she'd rather be alone with her bird in a forest than be with you. Just like you've seen for your whole life whenever she was present in it.*

He didn't swear that. The look on his face was hard to read, but the following silence—in voice and in mind—was plenty loud enough for me.

"Telling." I bit off the word like a chunk of bittersweets, whirling around and determined not to stop again until I was outside.

Two dwarves were looking at the smaller exit out when they both turned to see Isboern and me coming as well. One grinned.

"Busy bees, eh?"

I nodded. "Are they waiting?"

"They are."

I cast a smirk of triumph at Isboern—both Jael and Tamuril were outside—and made my way to climb out; the dwarves allowed it, and the Knight Captain followed out after me, helpless to continue any argument right then that he didn't want to be public knowledge. There would already be plenty of gossip anyway.

Coming out on the side of the hill during the day wearing my uniform and black cloak proved hot and uncomfortable compared to my same exit just the previous evening. The shade of the trees was a blessing but not enough to take the pain away from my eyes and head. I wondered where Jael was out here? Would she have gone to the pool? What if Tamuril did the same, would there be sparks here very soon?

"So, are you trying to protect her from me or do you really want to see her in private but won't admit it to me?" I asked.

"With you here, it won't be private."

"Just answer the question, Isboern."

He was exasperated. "Both."

I turned to him, smiling without showing teeth. "There. Not hard. Now know that if you hadn't been so stubborn, I could have kept my agreement with Krithannia not to push you to be this upset again until you'd had your time with the druid, oh, but no! You have to make me lead you right to her so that I can *eventually* have my own discussions before it's time to act again, *Varasa.*"

Isboern finally scowled. "I see what you are trying to do, and you may not blame me for not acting on your time scale, or for your own choice to act against your word. That is on your head, Drow."

"As if I care. I can blame you for not acting at all when you have such short time to live as it is, you blind fool."

"I have responsibilities, unlike you, who only seek conflict—"

"Fuck what you say! Your Men are not infants or like that frivolous veiled 'Lady' that—!"

"Willven?"

We only unlocked our heated, blue gazes when we heard her voice. We both turned to look at Tamuril, who was standing much farther up on the hill, leaning against a tree trunk. She nearly blended in with her mended outfit. She looked taller than I remembered.

"Druid," I said brusquely. "Have you seen Jael?"

The blonde looked carefully around her, up through the leaves and around, but eventually shook her head. "No. I have not."

"Where is Pilla, Tami?" Isboern asked.

"Hunting," she responded, almost too quietly as a breeze rustled some of the brown leaves in the underbrush. "She will return."

The following silence was heavier than the humid air itself, and the naked need on the Noldor's face was really all I required to know what to do next. Despite the psion's thick-headedness, I could still keep my agreement with Krithannia. There was also a fairly obvious trail I could follow, of someone recently running through. It would take me away from both blondes.

"Right. I'll be hunting as well."

Telling, also, that they allowed me to leave with no further protest, and Isboern stayed outside while the Noldor slowly made her way closer to him.

How could they both be so stupid?

******

It had been a while since I needed to traipse the forest in the daytime, and Jael's trail became less obvious as it seemed at some point she had gained control of her temper and used her training. I hadn't forgotten that she had managed to cross two mountain chains, the Midway, and the wide stretch of rolling hills to reach Manalar. Traveling alone at night had been her best and fastest option, and she'd been focused at the time.

Now a decrepit drake using her inexperience in magic to imply Mourn could snare and enslave her like a "familiar," and that getting to her, causing her to run outside like this... Well, it gave me a hint that something particular had "stuck," as Talov might put it.

Jael didn't really fear that could happen, did she? Mourn wouldn't—

Ah. But then, he did say he would do it again, if needed. And Cris certainly could have, and would. He had seen with his eyes that Jael existed before Mourn blinded him. I couldn't know what the ancient sorcerer had seen in her aura in those few seconds before we'd attacked him. I could hope he was dead and gone, Sarilis's vial destroying him once he arrived on the other side of the portal.

Maybe I was just accustomed more to being used than she was? The differences in our trials had been stark; she would take more punishment over being used freely, and when I considered her upbringing compared to mine...near the bottom but yet not a commoner, she was just tormented, not worth even being used for any value. Entertainment, certainly not ignored, but not much more. Meanwhile, my House somewhere in the middle and with the older sister I'd had, I was born to be used for other's gain. 

Despite the Sisterhood's training, it hadn't yet stuck with Jael that she could be used and come back from it. She was still afraid of this and probably felt vulnerable as a molted crab, her newborn magic obvious to others but soft, her previous hard shell displaced as she grew out of it. She wasn't wrong in believing this to be a constant, new danger against which she had no defense.

Really, thank goddess Cris hadn't gotten hold of her. But would...could...anyone teach her? That was one area I couldn't help her, at all. Would she just run, then, and act out this way? Maybe she was taking her cue from me. A few times, my head had hurt so much, or the edge of the cliff had been so black, I'd wanted to do the same.

Although Talov had a point about allowing such worries to dry up in the Sunlight. I might get her to talk again rather than cursing and kicking me, and if the greybeard was even half telling the truth about Mourn's disposition a few centuries ago and the effort it took not to hide from it or be constantly subject to anger in thinking about it...

Well, that was why I was out here looking for her.

I stopped walking and slowly turned in place, scanning as I could with eyes aching, seeking unusual shapes or colors that broke the forest patterns. I strained my ears, filtering through the endless insects, daylight birds, and rustling creatures and inhaled slowly, the Surface scents fragrant and rich as always.

I figured there was at least one of the Guild out here watching, if not more, with four of us out of the tunnels and crawling over the hill. I hadn't been trying to hide or evade, and sooner or later, that might make whoever was watching me a bit lax.

I didn't have my pack or my waterskin, however, and by the time I had followed the trail halfway around the enormous hill, I realized I would need to break before long to get some water from the falls up top. I sought a stubborn, often uncooperative, novice Red Sister, yes, and I felt genuine concern the longer she was out... but I had the disadvantage of not being able to ignore my body's needs for very long at a time.

It no longer felt like I was being weak and giving up far too soon, even though my endurance was undeniably less. I simply would not reach the point of weakness if there was a solution; I had no desire to test my tolerances when I didn't have to. I still hated the martyr mentality, and I was pretty sure my son would agree.

I climbed straight up, careful and quiet but constant; my thoughts were singular at the moment. Get to the water.

There was, however, a slight scrape of wood off to my right, far too heavy for a bird and didn't sound like any paw I'd heard thus far, and I smiled to myself, deliberately not looking in that direction.

The trees became brush and thin saplings as the crown became stonier, and the gritty rock was warm to the touch from the morning Sun as I kept my vertical rise, though thankfully it was past high noon and I was on the shaded side of the hill. The exercise felt good, the blood flowing free through all my limbs, my chest, low down in my middle, and I felt strong without a hint of disconnect from my body. It felt like when I'd first been training on the Surface. It was a nice change of pace being so grounded, and proof Mourn had kept me very well fed over the last several weeks, just as he'd agreed.

I slowed to a stop as I came within view of the falls, peeking through the brush. No one was there at the moment, but not only was there the Man to my right and behind me, I also sensed Isboern, that same feather-touch that had caught me off guard in the hallway.

Okay, so where were the knight and the Elf?

After satisfying myself that they weren't right by the pool, I crawled low to get a long, indulgent drink from the clear, cold water, loving the fine mist that sprayed my hot face. I waited, looking around, took another long drink, then scooted low back into the brush. I could imagine the Guildsman watching was also smirking to himself at my attempt not to be seen, but I wasn't staying low for his benefit.

Something made me look downstream, and I forced the Guildsman to choose a different vantage point when I moved back and to my right. Halfway down the steep slope, I climbed laterally toward the bend in the rock, where the stream continued down the hill before most of it disappeared underground and it became a mere trickle upon the soil.

I found Tamuril and Isboern near the water, not the most private choice although Jael and I hadn't cared much, either. They were close enough to be touching, and at first I expected them to be naked as well. It wasn't until I'd managed to find a level enough spot to relax on my belly that I could study the scene. The Guildsman behind me, by contrast, would not be able to do the same unless he became fully visible to me or got too far downhill for it to make a difference. All he could see was me watching something around the rocky corner.

Tamuril and Isboern weren't close enough that I could make out their expressions, but I could tell broad things squinting against daylight, which seemed bright to me even in the shade of the hill. The druid and paladin were each fully clothed, just as I'd left them, and they did not look disheveled as if they'd only gotten dressed again.

*A little disappointing.*

It was an odd scene to me. Was Isboern's head resting in her lap? He was nearly but not quite on his back, his feet at a right angle to hers, his head was turned toward her belly while the druid sat with her back leaning against a tree. Was he sleeping? Why?

My sensitive ears picked up Tamuril offering a soothing shush as her hands combed through blond hair which was darker than before, damp from water I would bet. The Man shifted and turned onto his side, his back turned to me and his face buried in Tamuril's middle as he put an arm around her waist. She shifted to allow it, cuddling closer to put both her arms protectively over him as she bowed her head almost in prayer.

I wished I could make out her face. Was she smiling? Was she sad, as usual, feeling guilt over long-ago failures?

Of course, I was supposed to be looking for Jael. I could leave before Isboern was awake to sense me, before Pilla might return and see me from above, as she had before, and squawk to her mistress. But I knew Jael could survive for a few hours out here, and I wasn't sure I'd get this chance again.

It might be boring, where they didn't move from that position and he slept until someone disturbed them and they went back underground. Or...he might wake, and it might be enough for me to hear what they might choose to say, here and now. I breathed slow and deep, shifting my focus into one of an expected long wait. The Guildsman had better settle in as well—nothing that he reported here would surprise Mourn—and even my unborn had best be a little patient.

"Mui soan riynel," Tamuril murmured, and it was encouraging how well I could hear her from here, even if the nuances of her face were blurry.

Isboern didn't stir; he seemed to be deeply resting, lax and unmoving, though the way he held on to her looked to me as if he clung to a floating log in the middle of a lake and he was unable to swim. Tamuril simply watched him sleep, also the most relaxed I'd ever seen her.

I thought about what Krithannia had shared with me of the blonde's past; essentially, that she became attached to a Human family in the mountains—somewhere not even Krithannia knew where—and watched over them for a few generations. The short lives and early deaths of some had a punishing effect on the druid, bringing her sadness and also pushing her to risk going into the Underdark in the first place to try to save one boy-child. 

Isboern's son, about whom I hadn't caught even one glimpse or thought during the battle and the time following. If there had been a child at one point, there must also be a mother somewhere. Maybe a "wife." Tamuril had said she protected their location, and Isboern had to as well. I believed the Pale Elf that the Godblood had enemies who would target his family if they knew where they were. 

There was at least one thing about that early conversation of ours that had come to pass, I was sure, just watching this: Isboern had forgiven her, as she feared he wouldn't. I smirked, recalling his pompous statement that now it was my turn to earn his forgiveness for the fall of Manalar.

It had been set up to fall regardless of my being involved. The only thing that truly bothered me about that conversation was knowing the Knight Captain had Auslan's name. Unlike his hidden family whom I couldn't touch, the Man had a way to reach my...my... 

Not "family," exactly. If he had a way to target or torment my blood family, I doubted I would care too much. But Auslan...he was "mine," but Isboern might eventually make it into the dreams that linked us. And I hated the thought of that intrusion. What ideas would he put into Auslan's head, especially if the Human made demands of me the way he had?




Surfacing Ch. 19



My brooding evaporated when I glimpsed a thin, dark figure peeking out from behind the tree Tamuril leaned against. She wasn't aware of it, still bowing her head. I tensed before reaching for my hand crossbow, the surge of energy calming at satisfying speed as I brought it forward and loaded it efficiently, focusing on a shot I could make if there was any threat to those two.

I couldn't make out facial expressions or weapons detail on the tall, thin figure, but I could hit center mass of something that dark standing in the shade of the tree. It reached out, pointed fingers far too long to be Human or Elf; there was no weapon I could see but it was close to touching the top of Tamuril's head. The lines seemed to blur around the edges as I drew in a breath and steadied my arm.

I pulled the trigger and the bolt struck the tree, barely missing the shadow as it pulled back and disappeared around the trunk. Tamuril gasped and looked up, seeing only the small bolt, I was sure.

*Fuck,* I thought, already pushing myself up to move forward. My cover was blown anyway. I quickly reloaded.

Tamuril looked briefly to the sides but had her green eyes pinned on me as soon as she detected the movement. She held Isboern a little firmer, who had not shifted and for all I could tell was unconscious.

"Sirana?" she whispered.

I pushed down my hood so she could answer that for herself but put my finger to my lips, signaling for her not to speak again. She frowned, saw the loaded crossbow in my hand and glanced back up at the bolt stuck well above her head, so far up that she had to presume I was either a horrible shot or she wasn't the target. Considering I'd once caught Pilla out of midair with my web pellet, I hoped she wouldn't think it was the former.

I saw her reach for something in her boot as I got closer, and I let my cloak fall open to place my free hand on my womb in response. The uncertainty I saw as I successfully drew her eyes down was enough for me to be certain in my approach. It was very much like the last time we'd parted ways; she couldn't deliberately aim for my gut with intent to harm, she just couldn't do it.

The crossbow was up and aimed as I stepped quick and silent as I could in a wide arch around the tree, all my senses were wide open to give me a hint what had just been there. It was gone, of course, no longer behind the tree trunk. Had it not somehow sensed my releasing the bolt and pulled back, it would have been struck somewhere in the ribs as it leaned over.

I saw nothing, but what was more disturbing was that I also smelled nothing. The relatively still air and the humidity wouldn't have erased all scent so quickly, even if I wouldn't be able to feel lingering body heat as I might down below. I studied the ground, looking for crushed leaves and prints in the soil, some kind of trail left behind. There was none, and nothing else out of the ordinary—perhaps most indicated by the fact that Tamuril was sitting with Isboern's head in her lap. I was the only threat she'd sensed.

My eyes hadn't just tricked me, had they? A Sun mirage? Was it too hot...?

But I'd seen a tall, thin, dark shape reaching for the Noldor. In plain daylight.

I shook my head slightly, and we stayed still for a long while, watching and listening to the forest as it continued its normal song. I eventually began to wonder why Isboern hadn't awoken yet. Wouldn't he have sensed me and thought he and "Tami" were under threat? The Guildsman would be in position and watching us by now as well; he'd done a good job not giving himself away while I doubted my own instincts. The trade-off would be, if he had taken a position similar to mine or even the same one, that he wouldn't be able to hear us very well, but he could probably make out the expressions on our faces.

Tamuril's expression right then was cautious...and resentful.

"Say something," she whispered.

"Guild's watching, mind your voice and face," I replied, not a whisper, but that smooth, low, Underdark murmur that didn't tend to carry very far and wasn't nearly as harsh as Surface dwellers tended to make their whispers. Mourn was just as skilled, and he'd taught more in the Guild—another advantage they had.

Schooling her expression was going to be extraordinarily hard for her as I observed her trying to bring it to one of placidity. It wasn't working very well. Her pale skin subtly shifted color with her emotion; her eyes and mouth remained extraordinarily expressive, communicating her distress loudly, and her leaf-green eyes glittered with building moisture that never seemed to drop onto her cheeks but gave depth to her gaze nonetheless. 

"Why did you shoot at me?" she asked.

I paused a moment, taking that moment to tug my bolt out of the trunk and reclaim it. "Not at you. Thought I saw something behind you."

Tamuril slowly shook her head. "I can sense living hearts that close, animal or civilized. I sensed nothing."

I grunted softly, unhappy I had no answer or proof why I acted. I looked down at her. "Your Common has become better."

"So has yours. You have practiced." 

"Did you forget a lot over a mere two years in your shack?"

She frowned at me and did not answer that. I looked down at Isboern, his face buried to where I couldn't see it; I could hear his breathing, though. It was in sleep.

"Why is he not awake?"

Tamuril looked away into the trees. Her jaw firmed up.

"Would he wake if I kicked him?"

She looked back immediately, her eyes widening in anger. "Do not touch him."

"Would he wake?" I pressed. It was easy to stare her down from a standing position; for once, I was taller.

"Maybe not," she finally admitted. "I told you...sometimes he does not have a choice."

So he was vulnerable with only the druid watching over him? His Templars would be thrilled.

"Oh? Is he 'communing' again?"

"I do not know for certain, Sirana." She wetted her pink lips, seeming to think on that in one direction or another. She mimicked my Underdark level of speech. "So...when you asked me to lead you to the necromancer tower, you never wanted to kill the master. You wanted to gain the apprentice."

Would she believe me if I said that had been an accident? Would I rather her think that, yes, I'd planned just that and really knew exactly what I was doing? I wasn't sure; that would mean I had a lot more expectation to live up to.

"What makes you certain of that?" I asked.

"Your baby. Willven told me there's a connection between Gavin and the father, and it has something to do with his own quest. Were you looking for Gavin on behalf of your baby's father?"

Absolutely not; I'd had no idea, and Auslan hadn't even factored into it at the time. That had just...happened. If Lolth wasn't playing the game with me this time, and if Musanlo was only now getting the hint, then Nyx and some other was surely ahead.

I finally shook my head, again wary of my expressions in case the Guildsman could read them. "I told you true when I asked you to lead me to the Tower. My queen wants the necromancer dead."

"But you did not kill him."

"I will. I had the chance to find Jael first. I took it. The apprentice was, at the time, a convenient addition."

Tamuril stared at me, her face holding a depth of emotion I wasn't sure how to read; it included sorrow but wasn't limited there. "I cannot believe this was chance, you finding me, my leading you to..."

I smiled playfully. "I've been told directly it was not."

Despite her own words, she pursed her lips and did not look happy about that. "By whom?"

"Nyx, I think. Though she is very hard to understand." I paused at her expression then shrugged. "Strike that. Perhaps it wasn't direct. I am not a visionary, Tamuril. You may know more of any 'quest' than I do since your psion has a hard time lying."

She may at that, but as she pursed her lips I saw she wasn't ready to share the details. However, she did say, "Is it true...you have some potential as Varasa?"

My smile lowered.

When I didn't answer immediately, she added, "I am so familiar with the feeling, Sirana, I know you did not use any talent on me as we bargained. You do not have the control to be that subtle, and I was left to my own will. Was it latent when we last talked?"

For a while, maybe it was. The last I had used it was with Rausery on the mountain, then I wasn't around any magic for a while to make my sapphire glow again, and after I was, the stone was out of my possession until Mourn showed up.

Yes, very little progress on any "talent" until that damned Dragon-blood showed up with magic as potent as Brom's.

"It must have been," I answered.

"Wh-where did it come from?" she asked, and it was plainly obvious why this worried her.

I scratched my chin, a gesture I hoped would make it plainer I was considering a trade. "Tell me where Willven's comes from."

"And...you will answer if I say?"

"To the degree that you do."

Tamuril was skeptical. "Tell me first if it is hereditary. An ancestor of yours had the gift?"

I shrugged. "No. Now you."

She looked startled. "No?"

"No. Why? Is Willven's hereditary?"

"Yes," she answered. "Not every child. His grandmother was the last one. They have stories of such gifts going back as far as they remember."

I smiled a bit. "How long is that?"

Tamuril frowned and didn't answer. I thought it an odd question over which to get stubborn.

"What? Four generations, five? Maybe two or three centuries."

The druid busied herself by combing the Human's hair with her fingers some more. "Why is yours not hereditary?"

I sighed. "Ritual sacrifice."

Her head jerked up and her eyes were wide with horror. "What?"

I turned with my back toward the hidden Guildsman so he wouldn't see how I was trying not to laugh. "I doubt it could be repeated, Tamuril. We haven't figured out how to bestow new magic and psionic talents on anyone at will."

"What are you saying, it was a...an accident?"

I nodded. "A psion died under unusual influence, and part of what he was exists in me."

"Then you have no one amongst your own to teach you," she whispered.

I studied her face. "Why does that frighten you?"

She was breathing faster; she was frightened by what I said. "I...ah..." She swallowed, looked away to the left as if trying to decide how to explain. "Someone with magical potential does not always become a mage, but they may live their life being untrained. At most, they may have a few odd incidents happen in their lifetime. It...it is not that way for psions. Left untrained, they will eventually go mad, develop separate persons in their head, or become comatose."

I stared at her. "Among Humans."

Tamuril considered then shrugged helplessly. "I have only known Human, true. But I have seen it once, and this is what they tell me." She bit her lower lip. "There are psions down below?"

I narrowed my eyes. "You seem so certain none of them are Elves. I only said none of my ancestors had the gift, not that there were no psionic Drow."

"Now you splinter words to make me doubt?" She frowned. "I trust Willven. He said there was nothing in your understanding of your power, no history. You've never seen it in your own kind before."

I scowled. *Fucking Godblood.*

"So where have you seen it, Sirana? Who was the sacrifice?"

"Oh, Willven didn't lift that detail as well?"

"He's empathic," she stated firmly, and I had no idea how that made her point, or even what that meant.

"Empathic. So?"

She looked kind of cute when she was exasperated; I still enjoyed watching her face flush. "He senses your mood and emotions better than visual detail. He does not flip through memories like a book!"

I raised one skeptical eyebrow. "Does not? Or cannot?"

"Does not," she repeated. "Unless in dire need. His oath not to abuse his power. He is much stronger than his grandmother was."

Oath not to abuse his power...?

"You must be jesting."

"It costs him to break it!" she said, much more loudly than I thought wise.

I winced, putting my finger to my lips again and flicking my eyes to the left. She seemed to recall we were being watched and she forced herself to settle down.

Tamuril looked down, shook her head and made a sniffing sound, smoothing through the drying, blond hair again. I couldn't believe Isboern was still unconscious; this wasn't normal.

"Why is he not awake yet?" I asked again.

She shook her head again without looking up. "I do not know."

"What happened before I arrived?"

Now she looked up. "Before you shot at me?"

"It wasn't at you," I insisted. "I thought I saw something sneaking up behind you."

Tamuril's eyes were a lighter green than the Summer leaves above our heads, more like what I'd seen in Spring, when I first met her, but somehow they were piercing as Gavin's icy stare was at times.

"Perhaps you should ask Willven for help," she said. "It may be a symptom of..."

I glared as she drifted off, unwilling to speak of a mental break down for me. "I would have brought up an oddity like... perhaps I was trying to help you."

Her expression changed; it actually softened and perhaps she was a bit embarrassed. "A good point. You made to defend us, whether what you saw was there or not. I apologize, Sirana."

Damn. It took all the challenge out when these two just rolled over and let go of the bone. I expelled a breath. "So. What happened right before Willven became like this?"

She looked away. "That is...private."

Not helpful.

Then she said, "But I would add that you must believe in our connection if you would act to defend us."

"Or maybe because I hadn't yet the chance to ask how your bottom healed."

She remembered then she really shouldn't let down her guard after conceding a point with me. Didn't she know how this worked?

"My bottom is well, thank you," she answered, lifting her chin and releasing her breath slowly.

I was grinning. "No scars?"

"I cannot really see."

Too easy.

"Want me to look?"

Her eyes began to tear up and overflow. I was stunned...She wasn't about to weep on me, was she?

She did just that. She completely befuddled any further fencing in a sinking bog of tears. Down below, this would have been the signal to escalate the pain, to begin breaking her down now that her tolerance had so suddenly reached an end, and she would tell me anything I wanted. I wouldn't get away with that here, so I was left standing awkwardly and wondering what to do next.

*This is less fun that it used to be.*

Some of her tears dripped off her chin and landed in Isboern's hair and she shuddered quietly, holding in as many of the sobs as possible while gasping for air. I was kind of tired of not getting anywhere with her. She blocked me at every turn. What was most effective with her?

"What about the jynitha myotcee powder?" I asked, grasping for something to distract her from whatever I'd said that was so horrible it had made her cry.

She sniffed, willing to be distracted. "Genetha myocete?"

"Yes, that."

Tamuril nodded. "I have it still. I have used it for three of Willven's men with lung fester. It has helped."

"Worth the trade?" I was just curious.

She shrugged, lifting her face just enough for me to tell they were reddened again, but from just the tears, not any venom. Interesting.

"I do not know that they live, but it allowed them to defend Manalar. Given what you found at the necromancer's tower...I suppose it was inevitable."

"Just as well you received something for it, hm?"

She nodded.

I shifted my weight slowly, crossing my arms. "Was that medicine used before Jael arrived?"

Now she looked up warily, her wide eyes thankfully drying but cheeks still wet. "Yes."

I smiled. "What did you think of the city Willven was trying to save?"

It took true effort on her part not to look down again. "I knew he could not save it as he hoped to, but that was for Musanlo to reveal to him in time. I only planned to stay with him as long as I could, to help him through it."

I watched her long, pale fingers run through his hair again. "Hm. Do you worship Musanlo?"

She shook her head.

"Whom do you worship?"

She pursed her lips. "I will tell you what happened when Jael appeared, what I witnessed, if you cease asking me about what is personal to me."

For now, I added silently. We were only trading the one time. And I definitely wanted what was offered; I needed whatever would help me understand what had happened to Jael.

I nodded, taking to lean against a tree standing up, relieving just a bit of the pressure from my legs and protecting my back from interference from the Guildsman. "Very well."

She nodded and closed her eyes, breathing in, then out. She opened them and looked at the leaves of the low bush to her right and then back at me. "I had joined Willven as his squire, appearing a young Human boy to others without magic, and this fact—along with his dislike of the Witch Hunters—kept us outside the city walls as we prepared through the season to stockpile and to train."

I knew this already from several sources—Krithannia, Mourn, Auslan's vision—but I kept quiet to see how close Tamuril's version was. Interesting that she said "we prepared," though. She clearly allied much more closely with the Humans than her own race. But then, her own race had given her reason to, not only Tamuril herself telling me they thought her "tainted" for being raped by Drow, but the separation had begun much earlier than that, from what the dark-haired Noldor had said.

"Even out on the flats, the Hunters would bring him 'reports' from the Bishops, we saw them once or twice every day," she continued. "In the days before Jael's capture, Willven was anxious, his dreams strange, and he could only tell me he sensed something lurking at the trees' edge. He doubled his watchmen."

"He didn't go out searching?" I asked.

Tamuril shrugged. "He is not reckless in his responsibility to his men, and he knew it was only one mind. There have been other attempts on his life. He would draw a killer out in a crowded place, not single himself out hunting him down and give the assassin a better opportunity to isolate him from those under his command."

Much to Jael's frustration, I was sure, as Isboern kept himself behind a wall of a hundred Men. She would have liked him to jump on a horse, take a few bodyguards, and come out to challenge her. It would have been something she might have done in reversed roles. He probably would have died in that case.

"Eventually, Jael made a mistake," the druid said. At my expression, she said, "She stalked our camp for twelve days, Sirana. She did not have a good source of clean water so near a Human city and an army, and she had to keep moving to avoid patrols, which were frequent and changing pattern every day. She likely did not sleep for long, if at all. Willven simply waited her out. Sooner or later, if she did not retreat or move forward with a plan, she would be too tired to keep up her stake alone."

Much as I didn't like it, Tamuril was right, and Isboern had been cautious and smart in handling my Sister. Jael would have had to make the choice to retreat, and she didn't, likely spurred by the Ma'ab imminence and her desire to return home. That was why she was caught.

"What happened then?" I asked. "Describe it to me in detail."

Tamuril nodded. "I was awake watching over him as he slept when a Templar arrived. He reported a scuffle going on near the edge of camp, the Witch Hunters chasing a cloaked figure. Willven wanted to be able to question the assassin so we knew we had to get to them quickly."

Her eyes drifted away to the side for a moment. "When we arrived—"

"Wait," I interrupted. "How quickly?"

"What?"

"Something happened in between. What was it?"

The druid exhaled and looked up briefly. "Willven's mount is known for moving very quickly when the need is great, it no longer disturbs the Templars. They see it as a divine gift from Musanlo."




Surfacing Ch. 19



I grinned. "Magic horse, hm?"

That reminded me, I would have to ask Gavin about his undead mare...

"In this case, my spell," she glowered.

I nodded. "Ahh. Very well. Continue."

"When we arrived," she repeated with lingering irritation before her tone softened, "they were beating her like the brutes they are. Their words...I can only be thankful none of them ever possessed magic to channel that hatred."

Perhaps. But it was Men of magic that had twisted them to such extremes, encouraged and rewarded such myopic focus. I listened.

"Willven ordered the Templars to intervene, telling the Hunters he needed the assassin alive. There was great argument...but I saw the white hair and the dark skin in the torchlight, and..." The pale blonde looked up, her eyes glistening again. "I thought it was you. I thought about your baby, and...Willven sensed my distress, linked with me to ask me what was wrong, and I t-told him..."

She stopped, swallowing with some difficulty.

After a few moments, I prodded, "Told him what?"

"Told him...that I'd lied. That it was not a sorcerer who traded me the Genetha powder, but this would-be assassin in front of us. That I had seen this Drow on the surface months ago and it was she who made it necessary to leave the forest to find him.

"I asked him to save you and your child."

I didn't respond, but couldn't help but feel astonished that Tamuril had been telling me the truth on that hillside with her bow drawn. She would not kill a pregnant enemy, even one actively attempting to kill her cherished Godblood. Apparently, she would not even do nothing, would not let it happen if she could stop it.

I still didn't agree. Even now, even knowing that had perhaps saved Jael and put some urgency to Isboern's efforts to claim the Drow away from the Witch Hunters. Even knowing that had it been me in her place, it would have worked to my favor.

I didn't agree because, down below, even if we were officially forbidden from targeting unborns to get at the mother...this did not allow a pregnant Matron or Noble to threaten her rivals with impunity. She would likely end up in a Palace dungeon for the duration of her pregnancy, unless another was forced to kill her in self-defense. This strained balance had the effect of making pregnant Drow very cautious and protective of their freedom when they were most vulnerable.

Had I been directly targeted by an assassin I knew, and also knew was with child at the time...it may be that I would have to kill her to save myself. In fact, it was too dangerous despite my deals and my bodyguard to let myself believe that *no one* up here on the Surface would follow through on killing me regardless if they knew I carried. That was far too foolish to assume, even having met several who would let me live because of my pregnancy.

"And he did save her," I said lowly. "At what point did you realize it wasn't me?"

"She regained consciousness as Willven was arguing with the Hunters," Tamuril said. "She was being held by the Templars. I got closer, saw she wasn't you, but had to know if you were connected. I said your name to her, and it surprised her so...she went berserk and hurt herself further trying to get at me. I did not understand her but saw she knew you."

The druid swallowed again, and her fingers moved with some subtlety from his hair to just beneath his jaw, and I thought she might be checking his pulse. Apparently everything was fine, as she continued.

"There was some small injury between Templar and Witch Hunter as Willven did his best to calm them. Jael was badly injured and in poorer health from her stalk and would not survive until dawn with the Hunters, but her own shrieks in a strange language did not help. I...all I could do was summon a wind which remained strong and stole away voices so Willven could influence them with his peace, without their words further enraging each other, and, at last, the Hunters conceded to wait until the morning."

Tamuril stopped talking and looked up at me directly. After a few moments, I grunted.

"Thank you."

"Do you really mean that, Sirana?"

I nodded.

"Why did you not simply follow me if you would delay killing your own target in favor of finding Jael? You were weeks behind her."

Fair question.

"I thought about it," I said. "I could only focus on one. I chose to go to the Tower."

That pink mouth frowned further. "But then left again."

"Because I found the apprentice, and a few others, who would bring me farther than I would get on my own stalking a Noldor with a bird's eyes in the Sky."

At the mention, Tamuril did look up at the Sky, as did I, but Pilla hadn't returned yet. I was glad.

"You found the Guild to help you," she said flatly.

I felt satisfied at that, so I smiled and nodded.

"I knew Krithannia was in it," she murmured. "I knew of her Elfblood companion, but never...never saw him as..."

I waited. As what?

She breathed out. "He showed himself to me only once, and as a Wolf-shape Elf, but he was large, and the voice was the same. It is him, I know. I...am not sure what he is now, or if that is his true form."

I stared. She couldn't be saying the Noldor bred with...? "Why, of all things, would he show himself as a beast-Elf to you...?"

"There are old stories," she began, then stopped and her eyes widened as she put her hand to her mouth. "Oh..."

"What. Stories?" I wasn't leaning against the tree anymore and my stance widened. "You started it, don't you dare stop."

Tamuril's regret was blazing on her face and in her complexion, but she said, "Stories of Elves that never joined the old societies. Their magic was based on becoming part of their environment in a way culture-builders will never know."

"What do you mean?"

"They are said to have been so skilled with shapeshifting, one could not tell them from a true animal by any means, not scent or spell or true sight. But also, sometimes, they remained in that form so long that they retained those qualities even shifting back into a true Elf. Krithannia introduced me to an Elf with wolf qualities. I...I assumed he was one of these..."

"Living in a city," I pointed out.

"Yes, I know. But he was an exile, like her."

"And like you."

The druid frowned. "You as well, Sirana."

"I may yet go back."

"But it cannot last. You must seek teachings from a Varasa. Unless a race down below will help you?"

Not likely. She could probably read my doubt.

"But your Willven wants me to go back," I almost sneered. "Didn't he tell you about the part of his 'quest' that requires his God to interrogate my Consort? That they want me to go retrieve him for them from the Underdark and only *then* will he help me avoid going mad?"

Tamuril looked horrified and she held her knight just a little closer. "He...he would not say..."

"He was linked with me, he meant it," I said, putting my hands on my hips. "And I think I have my proof that you have never bedded Isboern."

She did a double-take. "Wh-what?!"

"Something he said about not being able to hide what he is with lovers."

"He has a wife!" she blurted, her face flushing a deep rose as her eyes teared up again. "He's lost his son! How dare you!"

How dare I? I noticed she failed to say she didn't want to, if he was available. Although Krithannia wasn't going to be happy with me, was she? This was probably exactly what she meant about giving them time.

Now the Godblood was finally waking up as well, rolling slowly, sluggishly, so that he was on his back again with his head cradled in her lap.

"Tami...?" he whispered, a hand coming up, shaking before falling back down, as if he was half-paralyzed. "What's wrong?"

She plucked up his broad hand before it landed and brought it back up too her lips as if she was trying to keep more words from spilling from her mouth; she was shaking, squeezing her eyes shut. She'd be crying again very soon.

*Fffuuuck.*

I wasn't staying for this. I'd been here too long, I didn't know where Jael was, I didn't know if Mourn and Gavin were finished, and I felt like testing how fast that Guildsman could move if he maybe wasn't expecting me to turn right toward him and return to my original hiding spot.

Move he did as I paced back, but not quietly enough for me not to locate and glimpse the dark leather of his boot as he vanished upward. If I had been hunting him right now, I'd be far too close for him to get away. But I wasn't, and if I wanted to go further in this direction, I'd have to climb. Either up or down.

"Sirana, wait," Isboern croaked.

I shook my head and stepped into the shadow of the hill. I'd climb down. It wouldn't take long and Tamuril wouldn't leave a logy Captain alone to chase after me in the woods. I crouched and found my points of contact as I turned toward the ground, scaling down as smoothly as the Guildsman had been going up. There were handholds and plants growing out of the rock with strong branches to grab if I didn't mind a little more noise—which I didn't since I was more interested in speed.

It was about halfway down that I caught a glimpse of something in my periphery on the other side of the branch I held. It was far too close to be anything other than a rock or swell of ground I hadn't registered fully...except then it moved.

My head snapped to the right, and I stared at a face as black as my own. It wasn't Jael. I saw a lipless, ear-to-ear grin deep in shadow and my gaze swept up from there to see the eyes were not gold but blue, and glowing slightly. The pupils were crosses, expanding and contracting slightly as it registered my own somatic response, and it opened its mouth to laugh without voice. The thin, sharp, teeth were black as the rest of its face, its maw glowing a faint blue like a magic stone thrown far down into some abyss. The small hairs on the back of my neck stood straight up.

I couldn't smell anything, I heard no breathing and no heartbeat, but I sure as fuck could see it. Thick, black tendrils sloped like a mockery of hair off the back of a ridged head that was like a skinless mix between a cat and a drake. Its body was long, gangly, and so dark it seemed to blur around the edges in the shade, except for tiny points of blue on its chest and arms which seemed to form a pattern. 

Without conscious thought I drew the dagger I could reach without letting go of the branch; it wasn't Soul Drinker, but my Sisterhood dagger. The creature drew as well and crossed its dagger with mine in a faint chime. Somehow it did not have to hold onto the side of the hill as it raised a familiar, long finger up to its mouth in a deliberate mimic of what I'd done to signal to Tamuril to be quiet.

My eyes hadn't been tricking me. I had seen something when I shot my crossbow.

Sweat had popped out on my forehead but I had yet to make any significant sound; I was vaguely aware of Isboern's and Tamuril's voices. Should I call for them, involve them? With our daggers braced, I noticed the one it held was familiar. Silver. Tarnished. It was a Witch Hunter's dagger.

*Summoned with silver.*

It had to be a Shae'goth. Even the blue of its eyes and mouth were like Gavin's. Jeez fuck, why was it here? Had Gavin and Mourn bartered a deal to assassinate me in my absence? I should have insisted on staying. What about Jael? Her, too?

The Shae'goth disengaged its dagger first, drawing back and looking very amused. It did seem to have some kind of belt and sash around its skeletally thin waist and from there long fingers plucked up a pale, white mask I hadn't noticed before, which it then attached to its face. I watched, stunned, almost hypnotized, as the appearance of the mask changed, taking on precise features and shades of real color.

Human. Dark eyes and hair, pale skin, somewhat familiar, delicate features. Ma'ab female. It looked a little like Vo'Traj. Or maybe like her sister, if she had one.

Maybe she did.

The Shae'goth blurred then, losing all feel of solidity and becoming incorporeal. It moved. I flinched and let go of the branch, skidding quickly down, hurting my hand as I missed one hand hold and grappled another too tightly as I tried to get more distance between me and that ghost. I looked up and around then, holding on, my dagger drawn though I knew I'd have to drop it and go for my silver one if need be.

Like before, it was gone. Just gone. I saw nothing, smelled nothing, and the feeling of something cold touching the back of my neck had receded. My heart throbbed in my ears, making it difficult to discern other subtle shifts.

*Fuck. Fuck...!*

A Shae'goth wearing a mask which looked like a Ma'ab sorceress, one I was willing to bet the Guild wanted dead.

The ritual was done, then.

I scrambled back up the hill, only now hearing the Godblood calling down.

"Sirana! Are you alright?"

"Back inside," I gasped, huffing as I realized my muscles were burning from the strain and tension of the confrontation.

"Sirana—"

"You wanted news of Manalar," I said, coming up over the edge.

Tamuril stood apart and to the side with her arms wrapped around herself; she looked calmer, but wary as she heard and saw me.

"Yes," the Knight Captain said.

"There's news. Let's go back inside."

"What about Jael? Did you find her?"

"Guild's watching her. I have a bone to pick with a certain Deathwalker."

On cue, my stomach growled and I heard a testy falcon cry overhead.

******

It was satisfying that with the speed with which I moved through the tunnels and the look on my face, no one tried to question or slow me; they just moved out of my way. I noted which of the elite teams were definitely down here and so wouldn't have been outside watching me—and now hopefully watching Jael—though it was only three who were eliminated: Nianzu, Hawk, and Pit. Add Peng Lok and Brian Wolf to that for likely still recovering from their wounds, and I'd only slimmed down the choices by a quarter.

Isboern kept up as he could with Tamuril taking half the total distance to catch up, as she had waited those few extra moments for Pilla to join her. I had reconsidered briefly whether I wanted them present, then accepted I didn't have the time or place to stall them and it may not be all bad, as Gavin had either made a very odd deal with Mourn just now or he had less control over the summoning than he suggested.

Isboern and Tamuril wouldn't stand back if something had gone wrong with my allies which led to a confrontation—if only because of my son—but I wasn't walking in with that assumption already in place. I just wanted to know what had happened, and I wanted to give them as little time as possible to think up a lie.

I banged on Gavin's door. There wasn't a ward, but the sound was oddly muffled. I saw the look on the Captain's face.

"Silence spell affecting only one side," I said. "It's warping the sound."

The Godblood nodded and said, "Allow me."

He closed his eyes, and it took all of five seconds for me to feel the spell dissipate and I heard Mourn's low voice say something as Talov replied. 

"A moment," Mourn said aloud as they shifted stuff around.

*Oh, fuck, no.*

I tested the door, found it locked, and knelt to pull a few of the small tools I had from my belt. Time to see who finished first.

The mechanism was a little different from what I was used to, but it was dwarven made and there actually was something vague familiar about it. It seemed Isboern and Tamuril faded into the background as I worked on it, and I opened the door wide as soon as the lock popped, standing to put my boot out in case they tried to close it again.

I noticed the smell of extinguished candles and something else indefinable in the air first, adding to that a subtle, layered mix of sweat and blood as Isboern and Tamuril closed the door being us. I recognized Mourn's scent to be sure, and perhaps the cool tang of Gavin's blood as well. Maybe that was part of the undefined. They hadn't had time to move the desk and chairs and pallets back exactly how they had been, but most of a drawn circle had been scrubbed away.

Gavin was getting to his feet with a stiff brush in his hand, and Mourn's white spikes rose halfway up along his spine as he stepped on the few remaining symbols and his broad feet and tail hopelessly smeared them. Krithannia was on her knees, arms bracing her middle and her head down as if she was dizzy or nauseous, and Talov was breathing heavily in the nearest chair. I could hear the old dwarf's heart most clearly in the moment of silence; his was most distressed.

*What the fuck, Guildmasters?*

Pilla's irritated, high-pitched chirp startled me and hurt multiple pairs of ears who weren't expecting it, but Tamuril pushed forward past Isboern to drop next to the Guildmistress and take her by the shoulders. The falcon turned on her shoulder and spread her wings out, fluffing up the downy feathers on her head as if to make herself bigger and rattled her throat threateningly at the others.

"What happened, what have you done?" Tamuril whispered, not able to suppress the shiver down her back, though she brushed Krithannia's cheeks with her palms as if to comfort her. I noted that the dark-haired Noldor allowed it.

"I'm...I'm fine," Krithannia said, though not as strong as her voice normally was. "I'll be alright."

Isboern was looking around the entire room, including over the ceiling, his eyes wide but I wasn't sure what senses he was using then. "What just left here? It...hasn't been more than a few minutes."

"Yes, remarkable timing," Mourn commented, looking directly at me. "Any earlier and it would not have been safe."

I smiled at him, on some level comforted by the gold eyes and distinctly solid body compared to what I'd just seen. However, I resented being excluded, I hated Tamuril saying that what had happened in the crypt would happen again no matter what I did to "talk" as Talov suggested, and the leftover surge from coming face-to-face with the Shae'goth made me hungry and nauseated at the same time. There was a lingering feeling inside my limbs that threatened to make me shake. I wasn't comfortable, so why should any of them be?

More than that, though, instead of showing my unease, how would they react if I was playful instead, like I'd been with Wilsirathon? What had I said before? Fully half of gaining control of any situation was acting like I knew what the fuck I was doing. Would Surface-dwellers react any differently or were they the same?

Shifting my gaze to Gavin, I approached him. He set down the brush on the desk and turned to face me, expecting to be spoken to as he did nothing peculiar with his hands or fingers. I grabbed his chair to place it swiftly behind him, turning to take hold of his shoulders and letting my legs give so that I used all my weight to "encourage" the tall mage to sit down in it. He released only a very small grunt of surprise and landed with a heavy thump, solely because he hadn't been expecting it. I could feel how firm and dense he was which made sense as I knew what his bones looked like now.

"Sirana," he grumbled, but stopped, stiffening when I put my arms around him from behind.

I folded my gloved hands over his heart and pressed my decidedly warmer and slightly sweaty cheek up against his cooler, dry one. Smiling, I planted a light kiss, noticing his black-tipped fingers tightening against the wooden arms of the chair and a slight drop in the temperature around us. Just what did he think a kiss was going to do to him, anyway? He didn't smell remotely Human anymore though nor did he smell like a rotting corpse, but just... "other," as if he came from some place far away. Given the dangers of his blood, I could be glad his flesh did not feel parchment-thin beneath my lips.

"Gavin, do you and I still have an agreement?" I asked sweetly, nuzzling my ear and cheek against him. I could feel his heart beneath my hands—it had picked up a bit—and I heard him breathing, steady and deep. Those were two things the Shae'goth definitely didn't do.




Surfacing Ch. 19



"Yes."

"Do we? What agreement?"

"Do you want me to speak it aloud?" he asked, looking either straight forward at no one, or slightly over at Isboern, then Mourn.

I couldn't read Mourn's face beyond the fact that I had his full attention, but Isboern looked baffled and slightly uncomfortable, like he wasn't sure if I intended to keep my hands above the waist.

I considered that, and nodded. "Please do."

That was part of Mourn's bargain anyway, it might as well be now, and I would like Tamuril to hear it directly from someone's mouth besides mine. Yes, I intended to kill Sarilis, as she had accused me multiple times I wouldn't do.

Gavin seemed vaguely surprised at the affirmative and he hadn't relaxed one little bit since I'd made contact, but he answered succinctly. "We will destroy Sarilis and I will claim his Tower."

Tamuril exchanged a glance with her knight, who was probably thinking a bit more strategically than he was a moment ago. The three Guild met gazes as well and it would seem Talov had stopped caring about subtlety at this point as he grinned in obvious approval.

"What has caused you to doubt me now after these months, Sirana?" Gavin asked, trying to lean forward to hint that I release him.

"First a question of my own." I held on stubbornly, my eyes pinned on Mourn as I spoke to all of them. "Did your discussions just now involve me, or any of my race, in any way?"

Mourn raised one eyebrow and crossed his arms, his back straight and arm muscles bulging; his spines were lying flat again. He wasn't wearing his harness but he hadn't bothered to put on a shirt. "No, it did not involve any Baenar."

"None at all?"

Gavin shook his head, his skull knocking my ear a bit. "No. It only concerned those in this room at the time."

"And the Ma'ab."

"Yes. As targets. Nothing has changed between us, Sirana, unless you have decided it has."

I heard a subtle, hollow echo underlying his voice not unlike when he'd been talking to the Bishops in the temple, or to Vo'Traj when he'd said she didn't own him. In addition, the air immediately around us felt as if I'd touched my cheeks and fingers to a snowmelt stream. I released him at last, slowly straightening up.

The mage had allowed physical contact with me for far longer than I had expected, and it was satisfying to me on some level, as I didn't think anyone else in this room could have gotten away with that. But it would be foolish to push farther. Stepping around to look at his face, I saw as I expected: his eyes had gone mostly black, and he breathed more deeply as if he was calming his aura.

Mourn peered closely at me, rubbing his chin with one clawed hand. "What brought you to this room at this time, to ask these questions?"

"First let me describe what was just in here," I said, and while the three Guildmasters expressed combinations of surprise and curiosity, while Gavin seemed wary. "Entirely black, like pure shadow given a body. Glowing blue spots, blue eyes and mouth. Its pupils are crosses and its teeth like a lake fish. Its body is long-limbed and thin, like Gavin if he were starved for weeks. It has a silver dagger and a pale, white mask that can take on the faces of the living. It can vanish from view in an instant."

Tamuril was wide-eyed and covering her mouth as Isboern moved close to her, opposite of Pilla. Krithannia blinked slowly but otherwise kept still as she watched me; Talov had screwed his face up in thought, and Mourn loomed thoughtfully.

"That's damned specific," the greybeard commented lightly.

"How did you see it?" Gavin asked.

"How? Try where," I huffed. "Outside. On the shade side of a hill during the day. It appeared as if only to startle me, let me see it, then it left."

"It simply...appeared to you?" the death mage asked.

"Yes. Why did that happen, Gavin?"

He did give it some thought, at least, but ultimately shook his head. "I confess I do not know why it would show itself to you that way."

I looked at the Guild. "Was I mentioned to them in this room? Even indirectly?"

"No," Mourn repeated firmly. He seemed damned sure of his answer.

Gavin shrugged. "The Drow share in a legend with the Shae'goth in Yong ch'hai. Perhaps it was just curious, Sirana."

"Just curious? Are ghosts curious?"

"About the living? Most definitely. You live and are infinitely curious about a number of things, why should that quality depart from the dead? In many ways they are no closer to the answers."

I scowled. Just curious.

"Wait," Tamuril said. "Was this also at what you shot?"

I nodded, answering her before I address the others. "It was behind you. So I didn't see a mere illusion. And when the mask changed to one of a Ma'ab sorceress, I knew the deal must be done."

"What deal?" Isboern demanded. "What of these shades and the Ma'ab at Manalar?"

"We're gonna finish what we started centuries ago," Talov said, strong and commanding despite the fact he was sitting down. "We're gonna make sure what's left o' the Ma'ab army retreats from that sacred site, without askin' more o' anybody but us."

The Godblood was quiet for a moment, his tone far less demanding when he said, "But that is exactly what I would see done. Why did you not include me? I have been wanting, since I was brought here, exactly news of this kind. As you are my hosts, I waited for you to open negotiations. Now I find I can in no way affect what happens next?"

"It costs beyond what we could ask of you, Captain," Krithannia said soberly, "and we would not see you break your bond with your patron god if there's another way. You needed to see to your own men as well, they needed you."

Isboern shook his head, and I realized he was upset when I felt my own heart seemed to shift and squeeze in my chest, like his sorrow was bleeding over onto me. I hated it. I took a few steps back from both him and Gavin. Tamuril moved to hold his arm, and he allowed it, as if she would hold him up.

"So... you make further dealings with the Grey Maiden and her messenger, and send Sirana to distract me."

"Not true," the dark-haired Elf said urgently, stepping the closest of any of us to Tamuril and Isboern. "Sirana was supposed to leave you alone, Captain. We asked her to. As for further dealings, we will need you to rebuild Manalar from its ashes. Your part begins after the Ma'ab have been expunged."

The psion needed to pace a bit; he pulled gently from Tamuril's grasp and moved closer to the door and back to her as he clearly grappled with his thoughts. "My men and I...we need to be involved in that. If you want us to rebuild anything, we need to see our city be cleansed of our enemies. We couldn't simply walk in after Gavin and your men have done everything out of our sight and believe we'd earned a second chance, or that we even truly reclaimed that holy ground and are not just holding it in trust for the Guild and the Maiden."

Mourn rumbled, and instead of peeking at his stone face, I glanced at his tail. It coiled and uncoiled once—thoughtful, not angry. Well, the Godblood had a good point, and surely the half-blood had planned to leave plenty of interesting items in place before letting the Templars back in. When Mourn glanced at me, I thought it might have been because not only I had agreed to stay away from the two pale-face blonds and did not, but I certainly wasn't supposed to have led them both here to complicate unbalanced deals.

I moved on that thought. "You never did bargain with the Captain as you have with Gavin, Mourn. As I recall in the temple, you just gave him orders and expected him then to act how he should, as you do now. Why is that? Because his 'code' is predictable and he'll only live half a century more, while Gavin is likely to live much longer?"

Tamuril turned away slightly, toward Krithannia and the wall, and neither Isboern nor Mourn thanked me for that one. I felt much better.

"Soldiers often respond best to direct orders under pressure," Mourn began slowly, but one side of Isboern's mouth rose up wryly and he interjected.

"Not when you aren't in the chain of command, Guildmaster."

I caught Tamuril's face as she glanced at Mourn, and I recalled what she'd said about first seeing the wolf-Elf, and how she probably now saw a snake-Elf mixed with...what? A hairless, semi-scaly bear?

"That's the problem," I commented with a smile. "Dragons have a way of assuming they are always in the chain of command."

Both Captain and druid snapped their attention to me. I could read the moment it finally sank in. When slowly dawning awe was the first thing on their faces, I was surprised, not only wondering what kinds of stories about Dragons they'd heard, but whether this might have been a good idea for Mourn to have brought up sooner. But then, he'd not really had the time.

Nonetheless, the half-blood glowered at me, and I felt so delighted I could almost spring off the wall. I felt the tension break in the psion as Isboern and Tamuril looked back at Mourn, no doubt seeing an entirely different beast. Whatever it was they felt, they weren't doubting me, which was nice.

"They're real...?" the Captain spoke. "You are a Dragon?"

"Half," I added helpfully. "He is a Dragon's son. The Drow bred him."

"The Drow know a Dragon in the Underdark...?" Tamuril breathed.

The druid was spooked again; this time I didn't enlighten her about the limitations of our contact, and interestingly, neither did Mourn. I might guess the Noldor didn't have a similar connection. At least, not one Tamuril knew about.

"I'd thank you not to spell this out to any of my men or yours," Mourn growled to Isboern, and shot me another dirty look.

I flicked my tongue at him, mimicking him, and it was definitely a flirt. "Oh, come, Mourn! You told Gavin and me much more straightly."

Now his tail swished; both Krithannia and Talov made sure their limbs were not in the way. "Privileged information."

I shook my head once. "You're overdue."

"I choose my time, Sirana."

"How much longer? You should make a contract with Isboern just as you have with Gavin. You need him, just as he needs my Consort. He's the third priest."

At least, now it seemed Auslan's words finally made a bit of sense.

This time Isboern gave me a disapproving look, and Mourn's ears twitched, his golden eyes almost glinting in the torchlight as he realized the turn I'd just taken, what I'd just given him in the discussion. Talov's belly was shaking with laughter, though whatever smirk was there was buried deep inside his beard; Krithannia stood almost entirely still, listening.

"Musanlo 'needs' a Drow?" Mourn repeated.

"Sirana—"

I held my hand up to Isboern and focused on Mourn. "Why do you think the Knight Captain was not more resistant to our appearance inside his temple? He reached for Auslan's hand in my dream, remember?"

"And you woke screaming," Gavin muttered, his fingers threaded together close to his mouth.

"And I confirmed Isboern remembers the same moment as he lay poisoned."

"What in Dorelen's Eyes are they talking about?!" Tamuril exploded, much to Krithannia and Isboern's surprise.

The Godblood turned and cupped her jaw—he was just barely taller than her—and whatever he shared then as their eyes locked was entirely private. It seemed to help, however, as Tamuril's wide, green eyes gained some kind of understanding and she touched her fingertips to her lips before touching his cheek. When he dropped his hands, he looked back to me next and I wasn't sure I liked his expression. It was entirely too soft.

"Since you force us all to be more open, Sirana... I will reveal that I heard what you said to Tami outside, just before I woke. That you believe I would leave you to suffer a splintered mind if you did not do as Musanlo has asked."

I folded my arms, defensively I'll admit, but said nothing as the Captain bowed his head, looking discomforted by the spoken words.

"I apologize for trying to pressure you into a trade at Manalar. That was wrong. But I never intended to withhold help from you. I only meant that I have connections who would provide for you and your family if you had nowhere else to go. Not just you, but your child and your husband as well, if you would prevent his discovery and following execution. And if your babe should inherit your gift, then he will need guidance, too."

I reacted to the term "husband" since that didn't fit in my mind at all, but was more distracted wondering if the Human *knew* my baby was male, or if it was some kind of "default" to say in the Common tongue when the sex was unknown? Kind of like we assumed an unborn to be a girl until proven otherwise, either by magic or birth.

I did not miss the brief glance at Mourn as Isboern said that before facing me again. "Whether you do as My Lord has asked is up to you, though I do urge you to consider the greater good. As I can, I will help you, but you must be willing to accept my help."

"Oh? Like Jael was 'willing'?"

Talov was right, this "talking" thing did feel like dragging damp, dark things out into the Sun to dry—except that I feared, like any dark-dwelling creature, that there would only be a shriveled husk left at the end. My first response reflected that; I had taken the cheap shot.

Isboern shook his head and held up his hand. "By my oath, I force nothing while using my gift, Sirana."

Though Jael saw it that he had tricked her. Annoyingly, I was more inclined now to think it was two very different perspectives and no way to speak across the chasm, although perhaps arrogance blinded them both.

The Guildmasters absorbed every twitch and tick, and they were entirely too easy to read in their shrewd unity and lasting memory. Tamuril was watching them in turn, however, her green gaze crystalline and clear as her aim; she looked between Krithannia and Mourn quite a few times and nodded slightly to herself. I watched some tension go out of her shoulders, but at the same time, some of her normal sorrow returned to her face. I could guess why. Krithannia had chosen exile with one who wouldn't die in fifty years.

I cleared my throat, returning my eyes to Isboern. I shrugged and nodded. "So. What say you to Mourn's request not to tell others outside this room the Guild is led by a Dragonblood?"

Isboern crossed himself as I'd seen some of the mages at the temple do and he kept his back straight and at attention as he faced Mourn. "In Musanlo's name, I will not speak of it unless granted leave by the Guildmasters."

He had answered with far too little resistance or reservation in my opinion, though Mourn and his lieutenants simply nodded acceptance. Then, for the first time since the beginning of the conversation, the Knight Captain looked at the Deathwalker. At first he didn't speak, studying the deathly pale face and night eyes. Then finally he drew in a deeper breath. 

"What does the Maiden want of Manalar?" he asked bluntly. "Will she be an obstruction to what the Guild says they want of me? To rebuild it in Musanlo's name?"

Gavin quirked a dark brow. "I would think I'd have spoken up by now if that were the case."

"Then what does she want? To share in the worship as in times long past?"

"Interesting that you would know about that after your church corrupted or removed every last remnant of my mistress's worship from their histories."

Tension was back in the air, and I heard Isboern's leather creak as he shifted his weight. "While I communed in the temple, as the dead poured in and surrounded us...He told me. This attack was her vengeance for His punishment of her."

"Punishment?" I noticed the blue in Gavin's eyes winking out briefly, like Stars covered by rolling clouds, and that bit of cold entered the room again. "Interesting to hear he still calls it that."

Isboern frowned. "What would you call it?"

The mage's long fingers tapped quietly on the arm of his chair. "Punishment implies the one receiving it has transgressed. I am well familiar with Musanlo's brand of 'punishment.' In being born as I am, it is my fault, because father says so, and if I am unable to change what I am, I am punished. In the temple, Sirana would even change her appearance from an Elf to please the priests, but had the audacity to 'transgress' by being female."

The Godblood held up his hand to speak. "But those are the actions of mortal men, Gavin."

"Reflecting the attitude of the God they worship, or perhaps as a loop back and forth. The distrust and hostility in the deity filtering down to his worshippers, and his worshippers granting devotion and power back, tainted with further distrust and hostility."

Isboern stared at Gavin without blinking. "Then explain me what I am."

"Perhaps you are one last attempt to right the balance before it is too late," the necromancer replied, also unblinking. "You are at odds with your leadership because you represent that sole, small remainder of what Musanlo once was, rather than the people so militant about defending themselves they strike out at all shadows, even ones that would protect them from blistering sunlight."

The Captain swallowed and gave this some thought, something already apparent that the Bishops had never done. "I understand the need for both. There are many others who want to believe as I do. I've met them. I've begun training some of them."

Gavin nodded. "But they wait for someone with the power and drive to lead the way. You asked what My Lady wants of Manalar? Nothing. The Godblood prophecy has been fulfilled, judgment has been passed. Musanlo may take Manalar back if he wants. My focus is now on taking the Tower."

Isboern watched for signs of something unsaid and Gavin's eyes didn't waver. Instead, my death mage tilted his head curiously at the Godblood.

"I have a question. Why do you accept the Guild's clear presence in your future so readily? Your former leaders tried for centuries to exterminate them. They take actions that you would denounce, such as their continued dealings with myself and my Lady, and they will continue to do so."

Isboern didn't look away from Gavin as he answered. "No order is ever perfect, but the Guild's leadership condones connection between the different races, and they have the longevity to guide under this tolerance. I can see this applying more broadly to lands and governances."

"And what do they have that your own Bishops did not?"

The Knight Catain smiled a bit. "If not for Krithannia, Tamuril may have left my great-grandfather, to rejoin a pale prison, never to return to our mountains. I've long known Krithannia was within the Guild's inner workings, and I could see her hand in the caring for the poor and the protection of the weak when I visited Augran and listened to their whispers and their stories."

The Captain nodded toward Mourn. "Now I learn this compassion is further strengthened by one with Dragon's blood in his veins, and just now, their wise, elder dwarf has demonstrated a level and management of intelligence broad enough to thwart the Ma'ab Empire, an enemy who would only dominate and isolate, just as Manalar did, if no one were ever to oppose them. My hosts have stated, in the heat of battle and here afterward that the Guild wants to see Manalar rebuilt."

His smile, saddened by recent memories, carried an unwillingness to give up. "I have hope that a more open alliance between us will help more far more people than will harm them. I cannot and will not say the same for my former leaders, or the Ma'ab. I would help to open the Sun God's arms again to include all, not just a select few. Only Musanlo commands me directly, however, and now I would ask Mourn to be included in the retaking of my people's homeland. If it's not too late."

It seemed Tamuril and the others could hardly move after listening to that; even Talov seemed deep in thought.




Surfacing Ch. 19



"It is not too late, Captain," Mourn answered with an attractive timbre. "The Maiden's black ghosts are the second strike to the eyes of the army after the Ma'lok broke some of the limbs. There will be a third strike, and if you say we may ask more of you then we will."

Isboern bowed his head. "Thank you, Dragonblood."

By the smile on his face, one might think the Godblood had just been honored with a ceremony rather than promised more bloodshed. Isboern's deep blue gaze landed on me next, and I mentally winced, not wanting to hear what he was about to say.

"And you are right, Sirana. Musanlo and I need your Consort to attain such a lofty goal. Or...if not him, perhaps your child inherited enough of him to find what we seek. Whatever is missing in our world may be found again."

*Whatever is missing...?*

Arms folded and speechless, I glanced at Gavin, who was looking elsewhere right then—probably deliberate—and then I caught Mourn nodding his head. I did not like the sly gleam in his eye. 

"The Guild will help you take the Tower, Deathwalker," he said, and nodded toward me, "and I will continue guarding your life and the second one you carry, Sirana."

"Not so fast," I barked. "I am not ready for another contract, and you still have to take me to Gaelan and the Wilder."

It was the look on Tamuril's face that confirmed it for me. Son of a fucking Drider. Gaelan was with a third Elven race, a wild race, that only Mourn seemed to know about. Maybe Krithannia, too, I couldn't be sure; she looked interested and a bit surprised, but I couldn't tell about what.

The hybrid nodded deeply and without argument. "Of course, strange, little Baenar. But Gavin and Nyx will not wait forever."

"That is my deal, not yours. You have your own now, remember?"

Gavin kept his bland expression looking between us but chose that moment to express a soft sigh. "Might I suggest a recess? You all need one, and I must be alone. I will tell you when the Shae'goth have completed their tasks, Mourn, Talov, Krithannia. We will have more to discuss with the Knight Captain by then, hm?"

When everyone seemed to agree with that overall summary, we were willing to break.

Talov nodded and pushed stiffly on the arms of his chair. "Aye. Sirana must be hungry by now—" I glared, and he winked at me. "—and Jael should be brought in."

I dropped my arms. "You know where she is?"

"Yep. Been gettin' updates since you barged in here, and she's one of 'em. She's fine, just been poutin'." The greybeard chuckled. "She caught poor Cage 'bout half an hour ago and is havin' a little too much fun with him."

Okay. This I had to see.

******

A dwarf mage planted into Talov's hand a dense, baked substance that was part bread and part meat, all savory, who in turn planted it into mine. I hadn't wanted to wait behind and eat soup while Mourn went up top to retrieve Jael and Cage; I insisted on going, so I was given something portable to devour as I hurried along to the outside once more.

"I noticed Krithannia leading Tamuril and Isboern away," I commented once we were out of easy earshot of any others.

"They have more to discuss."

"Just as you and I do, perhaps?"

"I might question what you and Jael were doing with Graul."

I quirked a brow, darting a look to the side. "Are you?"

"Not yet."

Great.

Mourn had donned his harness again so was well-armed, and he seemed to know exactly where we were going as we weaved through the trees and over the stone crests to the far South side, and I picked up subtle sounds of struggle in the brush long before I could see what was going on. Subtle whispers teased my ears, but those I heard were mostly Human male. Probably Cage. Part of the words had sounded like, "Release me."

I sort of wondered why he wasn't yelling louder? Did he not want to be found in his position?

Perhaps not. What a position is was.

*How did he get stuck right there?* I signed, amazed at the odd contortion.

It could have been that Mourn wanted to press his palm to his forehead for seeing the team leader of "Net" trapped awkwardly and nearly on his head on the side of a hill, his body bent backward and caught over a thick branch with another close to his chest, but his leg caught beneath a pile of stones. Cage did not seem badly injured—scraped and bruised, maybe but he wouldn't be scowling at Jael the way he was if he had a broken bones—but his face was dark red from the blood rushing to his head, topped with dark chestnut hair.

From the look of the items dropped below him, my Sister was systematically snatching or cutting off various weapons and tools and bits of clothing for sport while his defenses were inadequate to stop her. Jael hadn't even needed to tie his hands.

She hadn't gone for his pants yet, however, and that was telling. She still thought Humans were gross. Lucky her, or she'd have probably had him by now and I didn't imagine Mourn or those of Reprisal especially being tolerant in the rape of a Guildsman for entertainment, even though that's what Red Sisters were trained to do. Was Jael even thinking this far ahead when she acted? I wasn't inclined to think so; she was just lucky.

*Chase,* Mourn signed back after studying the situation. *She became aware of him, a chase began. She won.*

That fit. And she was pretty damned pleased with herself; her eyes glittered, and her chest rose and fell excitedly in a way that could easily arouse me. Recalling my too-emotional talk with Tamuril out here...hey, at least one of us was having fun.

*Let me approach first. Stay here?* I asked, smiling at the halfblood in a manner that seemed to distract him for an instant before he nodded. 

I smothered my glee and moved forward, seeing how close I could get before Jael heard me, but not really trying *that* hard; I didn't want her to pitch a dagger at me. She straightened up and looked my way, eyes squinting in the brightness and inhaling.

"Having fun?" I asked in Drow, and she visibly relaxed.

"Maybe," she answered, her white teeth a stark contrast against her face.

"Good. You can release the Guildsman."

She watched me come forward without stopping, briefly glancing at Cage. "Fuck, no. He was caught. When I'm done."

"You're done."

"Oh, am I?" 

She breathed rather deeply, and I didn't think she was catching her wind back from the chase. I'd reached her by this point and nodded, crouching down to dive in for an open-mouthed kiss. It was exactly what she needed: a reward. A sensual release for making her catch when she didn't want the prey.

She clutched at me and hauled me down on top of her, kissing me back, while I thrust my hand between her leather-clad thighs, stroking her crotch hard through the strong material. She squealed against my mouth and squeezed my ass beneath my cloak, grinding against me. She loved the fact that we did this in front of her helpless catch.

My goal was to help her climax quickly so she'd be more relaxed when we went back inside, to get the aggressive scrapper out of her for a little while. Sort of how I'd taken her out into the hallway when she wouldn't behave in class with Shyntre. 

Mourn didn't understand this, however, and he showed himself far too early.

"Fuck!" she blurted and pushed me off before I was ready. "Fuck, where did you come from? Must you always be hovering?!"

Cage had been staring with slack jaw at our performance but he writhed a bit now seeing and hearing his field leader. He tried to sit up or twist to the side but the downward angle and the branch pressed nearly to his chest made it impossible with his leg trapped as it was. His simply wasn't built to bend that way.

"It is my contract to watch over you," Mourn answered.

"And I'm sure you dislike every moment, voyeur!" she snarled.

This was all said in Drow and Cage clearly didn't understand any of the words. I got to my feet with a sigh. Jael was tense and that tension would have to be released somehow, but the mood was gone and couldn't be brought back.

"Let us release Cage," Mourn said in Common, and the Man sighed in acceptance that he needed the assistance from another.

"You do it. I'm going for a swim."

She tried to walk past but Mourn caught her arm in a grip that clearly surprised her; she looked at me. I wasn't really inclined to be on either side at the moment; I was irritated Mourn had "horned" in exactly as Jael had been worried he would, but also tired of my Sister pouting and me having to chase her everywhere. I didn't want to have to chase her back to the waterfall.

When I said nothing, Jael scowled deeper and looked up at Mourn.

"Take your hand off me, rothe," she said in Drow, in a particular twist of tone, and I winced as Mourn's spines strained against his harness, trying to rise.

"Stop. Before this goes farther," I said, much louder than I liked, but I had to be sure I got through to them. "Mourn, it would have been easier to coax Jael inside in a state of afterglow after her hunt, so I do not thank you for interrupting. And Jael, you're coming inside one way or another, and you will not talk to the Guild Leader like that again. Got it?"

They both stared at me for a second, but Mourn took his hand off Jael's arm first.

"I apologize for interrupting," he rumbled. "I did not understand what the intent was to have sex in front of Cage."

That would have to do. I could still hear that he hadn't wanted Cage to have the show, for some reason.

"And?" Jael asked, folding her arms.

"And I apologize for touching you without permission."

Good. Good.

Mourn and I looked at Jael.

She asked, "What?"

"Apologize for the slur," I said. "Agree not to say it again."

"They're only words," she said. "If he's so sensitive—"

I couldn't believe it. "Don't go there, Sister. Do as I say."

"You aren't a Lead, Sirana! And we both know you can't just pull rank after everything that's happened and expect me to go along with it!"

"Maybe you should learn to bend when there's no benefit beyond pride, Jael!"

"Why should I?"

"Because you're in the wrong and you harm my own efforts."

"Oh, so we have the lower rank now being female, just because we're on the Surface?"

"No, you're insulting my bodyguard unnecessarily."

"He grabbed me!"

"He apologized."

"I should have fucking known you'd choose a new consort over a Sister," she spat, but it wasn't only stubborn anger I saw in her face. "Planning just to rub me into languid bliss like Graul, to take me inside like Mourn wants? Fucking cocks, always distracting anything with tits!"

"Not true," I said. Though it wasn't entirely false, and that included Jael.

"Then why make as many concessions as you do, just trying to please them?!"

"It's not that simple," I insisted. "It's bigger than that."

Jael's eyes were brighter, as if some emotion had surged enough to push tears into them. She tossed her hand at me in intense frustration. "And while you're looking at that 'bigger picture,' did you even notice what's in fucking front of you?!"

Mourn drew one slider then in a deliberate pull, and my stomach went cold. "Now I ask you to apologize for the insult, Jael."

"What? No—" I began.

"Will you excuse it, then?" The Dragonblood finished his draw and Jael had responded by then, drawing her twin fighting daggers. "Shall I tolerate it just because she is frustrated she cannot control her aura?"

"Fuck you!" Jael spat.

"What?"

I looked at the half-blood's face and realized he could see what I could not, and he'd hit on why my Sister was acting like this. She'd even told me last night that it was hurting her, but I'd...there was so much else going on...

I could figure she disliked even more that Mourn had understood that but I hadn't. Still, if they fought, I knew who would win.

With a slider positioned for defense, Mourn's gold eyes locked onto mine.

*Don't cripple her, she's outmatched!* I pleaded, and it almost seemed I heard his voice in return. 

*Trust me.*

"Apologize, Jael," he said. "I insist."

"Make me, halfbreed."

Fuck.

I hurled back out of the way on sheer instinct to protect my unborn when Jael lunged first and Mourn could have ended it right there. He had the opening, drew her in, and she was leaning too far forward. I saw him turn his blade and come from above, aiming for the back of her neck.

My protest stuck in my throat as denial made me freeze in place. Mourn wouldn't—!

He didn't. His blade turned and though he did strike her it was with the flat of his blade. Jael grunted at the contact but proved her legendary stubbornness by not acknowledging this would have been lethal and final if Mourn had the intent to kill her. Instead, she'd choose to see it as weakness on his part for not knocking her out when he could. Then he wouldn't get his apology, and she'd see losing consciousness with an opponent who refused to kill her as a win.

Just as she had with Isboern.

Jael lashed out again before she was even fully straight again, her blade caught and sliding away at the hybrid's direction. His return swipe forced her back as he stepped in between Jael and me, which, instead of irritating her, only seemed to help her focus on just the one beast in front of her.

"So how do you make those things sing?" she asked, her teeth bared and she sounded about as delighted and eager for the release as she'd been when I'd first approached her taunting Cage.

"You want to know?" he asked, showing a particular twist and twirl as he drew his second slider, which did seem to hum in the air for an instant. He also unlocked them both and began moving freely. "It would take decades to master even the basics, and you have not the patience, little one."

Mourn was pushing her farther back with his superior reach, intent on first gaining a wide area between them and Cage and me. The trees weren't as dense in this spot, though it took form and skill for the hybrid to be able to thread his ever-shifting weapons between them. Jael had it easy, able to roll and dance about as she pleased with stationary blades, but Mourn was able to cut her off coming around from behind three different tree trunks, one after another, and I could read when she realized fully how difficult it was to predict the reach and movement of his weapons at any given time. She growled audibly and kept trying to get close enough to even scratch him.

Eventually recalling the trapped Guildsman, I went to Cage and began moving rocks, one at a time and carefully chosen, to free his leg.

"Thank you," he whispered, sounding exasperated nonetheless for it taking so long.

"Want to go back inside?" I asked, admittedly distracted by humming and clashing blades, as well as my Sister's cursing when Mourn hit her again with the flat of his blade, this time on the thigh. That would leave a bruise.

"Not really," he said honestly, finally able to slither free of the branches which had been holding him twisted.

He gave his lower leg a brief, tender check but then climbed a bit higher on the incline and crouched to watch from behind a stone barely large enough to give him partial cover. That was probably a good idea; I could sense the magic accumulating like an invisible fog flowing along the ground, and my sapphire had begun to warm underneath my armor. This wasn't just a martial sparring.

Cage tensed and looked behind him as I crouched as well, using him as cover. His eyes were as dark brown as his hair, and he had tiny bristling hairs sprouting from the lower half of his face. He had been out here for a while; even having taken a shower and gotten some sleep since arriving with Krithannia, he was dirty and sweat-stained again, and I could smell that he was mostly drained of his energy. 

"Relax," I murmured. "You want to stay and watch, you have the only good spot to dodge an errant missile."

"Are you trying to make me nervous enough to leave, Black Ghost?"

I smirked. "Not if you have the guts to stay."

Cage thought about it, but as soon as we both glimpsed Mourn changing shape astonishingly quickly, morphing into a semi-quadruped while gripping his sliders and bounding off two trees, high enough to land himself behind Jael and slapping her ass with the flat of his slider—which *really* infuriated her—we both stopped talking.

"Fyaegr," she hissed, and pitched one of her blades back at him, with full intent to injure him.

He was as surprised as I was when, as he swatted it out of the way, the impact of metal on metal sent out a burst of light and sound like a smaller Ma'ab thunderstone. Cage flinched but would probably recover his sight faster than any of us. Meanwhile, I heard Jael scramble back then flat-out run to gain distance while Mourn had both his sliders and she had only one blade. Mourn kept on her, blind as she was, with no intent to give her a rest.

In that break and pursuit, I saw spots for a while but eventually made out the green leaves and shadows of the trees once again. Shifting closer to Cage's back, I watched over the shoulder of my meat shield. Jael was nearly cornered next to a dense cluster of trees and she spun around, but Mourn twirled his sliders on either side of her and spoke a word I couldn't hear. 

Whatever she heard then made her shiver involuntarily and she dropped her second blade to cover her ears. I heard nothing other than the whizz and hum of the motion and the shifting vegetation beneath their feet as Jael jumped over his blades as he skimmed low toward her ankles and was required to retreat again and leave her blade behind.

Then I remembered...Cage could cast spells, too.

"Can you see their auras?" I murmured with a smile. "Amazing, isn't it?"

Cage nodded. "Jael is as dangerous as you warned. Untrained but greater potential than any of us."

"Certainly not greater than Mourn?"

"No. Top is probably the only one able to handle her."

Top? So how many names did Mourn have?

Handling her was what he was doing, though. My Sister wasn't stupid, she was well aware she was being played but yet she kept trying, probably aiming to wear down Mourn's patience until he had no more time to play and no choice but to knock her out. Once the blades were out of her hands, she tried to circle about enough to be able to reclaim even one of them, but my bodyguard was making her work very, very hard for that, punctuating one near miss by cutting down a young tree in one strike.

At the peak of her frustration, she did something I'd never seen her do before. Grabbing up a fistful of dirt, she threw it in Mourn's direction and yelled, "HETHA!"

That small handful suddenly blossomed into a brown cloud that obscured everything from Cage's and my view.

"Suaco," Mourn responded immediately, his voice having a slight reverberation like his blades, and a wind came up, immediate and strong enough to brush the cloud of dust aside and reveal them once more.

Jael had one dagger in hand again and came close to tagging Mourn's side before he dodged, and his tail slapped her wrist with a sound audible even from where I was. I winced. Understandably, she dropped that blade again; it looked like it hurt, her hand wasn't working properly. Again she was driven back by Mourn's long arm and longer weapon, forced to duck low from the first slider then jump up against the second.

Cage's breathing had changed; glancing to the side I saw his jaw slack again.

"What is so surprising?" I had a thought, and that thought was: when had my little Sister learned any spells?

"Her aura was...the same as his, for a moment. Didn't you see it?"

"Of course," I replied casually. "But are you sure you saw it right?"

Cage nodded. Then he hesitated. "Or...maybe it was just linked. Like she was...drawing from him, or something."

I frowned. Wasn't "drawing" on another mage like a conduit, as what D'Shea did with Gaelan? Except that didn't make sense, it would imply Jael was the greater power and will between them and, well, I didn't believe that. Being a distant cousin to a queen didn't match being sired by a Dragon and only being a quarter his age. Clearly one of them had a stronger will and self-control and it wasn't my little Sister.




Surfacing Ch. 20



Author's Notes: This story is erotic fantasy written by Etaski. I reserve the right to be listed as the author of this story, wherever it is posted. If found posted anywhere except Literotica.com with this note attached, this story is posted without my permission. (c) Etaski 2014.

Hello! I have returned with the next chapter at last, and after six weeks this one represents a great deal more effort and determination to complete as the majority was written using dictation. The proof is here: I can continue with the story, despite my arms at times feeling like they want to fall off. ;)

On the content of this chapter, it reminds me quite a bit of chapter 6, mostly building up toward a good payoff. I feel like I am beginning a new cycle.

Also, this might be a few days late but happy birthday, Herr Wals! I sincerely hope everyone enjoys the new chapter. :) 

*****

"What the fuck is that?" Jael asked aloud, and everyone stopped where they were as we descended the hillside, intending to go back underground before Sunlight hit us.

Krithannia peered in the direction indicated through the trees. There was a clearing at the base and to the South, and whatever it was had come straight out of the trees into full view, loping not as though looking for food or shelter, and not as if it was being chased. It looked familiar to me.

"It moves like a horse."

"Isn't it?"

The Noldor shook her head, and Mourn picked up the thought.

"Deathwalker's mare."

I smiled widely, looking at Gavin. "We left her in the dirt outside Manalar."

"She has been traveling for some time," he replied blandly, moving out in front of us as if to go meet her. Something he said or did caused a prickle at the back of my neck and, on cue, the mare turned straight toward us.

"Is it comin' inside?" Talov asked the other two. "Might have to, or 'tis a plain sign right where our hideout be located, but I'm guessin' the other horses'll dislike that one as much as they don't tolerate the mage himself."

Tamuril wasn't going to be happy, either. And Isboern...

The undead mare approached quickly and I could see ribs sticking out, rents in the hide from passing branches and other things, and the flesh at the mouth was in full retreat, showing warped, sharpened teeth no longer suitable for chomping grass but for eating carrion. The skin was so thin and dry around the nose she looked whitely skeletal, though the rest of her coat seemed darker than I remembered. The eyes were still clear, deep black wells, but she did not look aware of the physical details around her—it was more when those ears turned and the head moved, she sensed only the basics: something moving and breathing, or she smelled something dead to eat, and she knew her master's aura. I would wager that was about the extent of it.

"Do you have any extra meat to spare?" I asked the Guild Leaders. "Or could someone hunt for a carcass? She'll eat anything already dead."

"Why should we feed it?" Talov asked with a cranky tone.

"Because then you could leave her outside. The better fed she is, the less of an appearance of decay she has." I indicated with my hand. "She hasn't eaten since we left her, so she looks like this."

The greybeard quirked a brow at me and looked at Gavin. "That so?"

The grey mage smirked a bit. "Sirana took it upon herself to feed my mount rats aboard the ship, as I recall. The sailors could not tell she was undead but thought her just an abnormally quiet horse." 

As he raised a pale, long-fingered hand, his mount came to a full stop, neither twitching an ear or stamping a hoof as any living horse would do. It was unsettling how still she was all of a sudden. I realized she wasn't breathing; no puffing of air through wide nostrils to which I'd become accustomed from the beasts. Gavin walked around her once, checking her over before looking to his dirty packs still strapped to her hindquarters and containing his travel gear.

The dwarf grunted, making eye contact with Krithannia and Mourn. "We get enough meat, we can leave her out here and she won't be a giant, undead signal?"

Mourn nodded. "She is no hunter herself, however. Still a beast of burden and a forager."

"I'd rather not give her our supplies," Krithannia said. "Sirana said it could be anything."

Ideally, a recently-dead deer which had expired on its own in the forest from a broken a leg. But while I was wishing for that, I wouldn't mind some of that spiced hash Gavin had made in the kitchen back at the Tower, too. That would hit the spot.

"I will hunt something," Mourn said.

"We need you to plan," Krithannia protested. "Let one of the men do it."

"It may take all morning and longer to drag it back alone, or we let more men out to help him, which would delay planning anyway. Meanwhile, the mare is a liability on the secrecy of this place. Wait for me here and keep watch, I will not be long."

I'd been watching his tail more than his face while he said this. I would have said the hybrid relished this opportunity to hunt, and he'd probably take some of the catch for himself. The other two agreed and Mourn shifted into his four-legged form just before he sprang away, streaking down the hill and across the clearing into the tree line at the other side, where game was more likely to be.

He could barely wait. But then...he hadn't eaten after fucking both Jael and me. Every male I ever remembered was hungry after mating with multiple females, regardless of his status; the halfbreed needed to replenish his energy.

That thought lingered as I looked at Jael and her expression.

"What's wrong?" I asked, aloud but quiet in our native tongue, which drew the others' attention but I still had to figure they understood less of our language than they did our hands.

Jael hesitated, glancing at Gavin, Talov, then Krithannia, but then she smirked a little as she looked back at me. "Feels like my guts have been rearranged."

"Well." I began to smile. Just a tease. "They were."

Jael made no sound, but goddess, I loved that expression.

Krithannia politely covered her mouth, and Talov's deep rumble sounded and his belly shook. Gavin stared at nothing as his hands worked on a few larger burrs caught in the mare's mane without seeming to feel their spines.

"Since we're out here fer maybe an hour," the dwarf said to me, "we can cut time on some of the planning."

I raised a brow. "How, exactly?"

"Well, are ye going on this hit?"

I stared coldly at him, the slow spread of insult rising like hot acid from my gut up to my chest. "Am I going?"

"Ye don't have to," Talov said. "If ye'd rather not risk an unnecessary fight that ain't in yer agreement, somethin' might get in the way of going where ye need to, Mourn might be glad to have ye wait here for him till we're done."

In that split moment I stared at him speechless, I hated that he had a point.

"You're testing me," I hissed.

"No, I ain't. Ye got Jael back. Ye helped Gavin tear down the place as ye'd been planning fer months. Now yer done. Why go?"

I didn't have an immediate answer. The Guildmaster moved closer, to where he was within striking distance, if I so desired. He just looked up at me with pale green eyes like solid jade.

"The Draegloth could still be hanging around the place, Sirana, and you got your wee one. If yer not ready to take the risk, just say so, ye can stay here. Ye'd be a help, but yer not critical to this clean-up. I wantcha to give it thought right now, before we bring in our guys, the Captain, or any Templars."

Jael ground her teeth—I heard it—but didn't jump in on my behalf. I hadn't expected to feel that bitterness again so soon, but...the Guild had to move, and both Guildmaster and Guildmistress before me had commented that I'd been lucky I hadn't cost any of theirs their lives last time.

"And if I say I'm going, whether you like it or not?" I asked.

Talov shrugged. "Don't matter if I like it. Ye can check with yer bodyguard, see if he likes it, but 'tis up to you to convince him if he doesn't."

"So what?" I retorted, my voice pitching higher in my anger. "You're suggesting I avoid a risk of confrontation now after telling me I had to confront it? Make up your fucking mind!"

Talov grinned. "Don't have to. That's yer job, kid."

Gavin turned from his mare then, and I was just short of being too livid to notice that he had something to say. My heart pounded hard as my blood rushed with the urge to punch the dwarf, but I forced myself to ask, "What is it?"

Gavin's expression was quite neutral. "One of the Ma'ab relics can attract demons when it is used. If you wanted to confirm if the Draegloth was still in the area, perhaps confront him again, you might do so without being unprepared."

Or stalked.

"Which one?" I murmured.

"The scepter." 

Gavin's pale hand stroked once down his mare's dark neck. I finally realized in the strengthening early light two things: my mage had a new robe to replace his old one, and his mare was turning from brown to black...

"I have had time to study it," he continued. "Interwoven into all the enchantments is a hidden one. The staff can summon and control a demon, among other things, but any time it is used this hidden enchantment causes a ripple to gain the attention of any others in proximity. Dangerous if one does not know of the curse, but something that could also be used to bait a demon in."

Hearing Gavin's voice and that he was trying to offer a solution calmed me; he wasn't going to argue that I should just sit here and wait for him. I breathed deeper once and considered. 

Kurn had wanted that scepter most when it was first mentioned at Sarilis's Tower, and that was after taunting me that he had a way to "summon and control" me when he still believed I was from the Abyss. Not only would reclaiming it for the Ma'ab be an effort to impress his father, but so would straight-up using it in that battle, had he lived long enough to see it. I would lean toward Kurn not having known about the curse in advance, though; it had been buried in the enemy crypt for several times Kurn's lifetime.

"What about the crown?" I asked.

"Nope," Talov grunted, shaking his head. "We're talking about you goin' or not, Sirana. Don't get sidetracked."

I glared, and Jael spoke up.

"I don't need to go back, either," she said in that careless manner of someone who probably cared more than she was saying. "Might be bored waiting here, but I don't give two fucks about Manalar. I'm staying with you, here or there."

She looked as if she challenged Talov or Krithannia to say otherwise, but they both nodded.

"Meanwhile, staying here, we get softer, our reflexes slower," I said, "and I'm left to wonder."

Nobody seemed confused about the unsaid: to wonder whether Vesram was still there, whether the Ma'ab had recaptured him, whether he'd escaped or whether I could even handle an eye-lock again with that blank, yellow stare.

"It could go bad anyway, with or without the demon," Krithannia said with that same level-headedness she had leading Vim. "The Hellhounds are not likely to win in the end, but they could take many of us with them on the way down. We all made it out the first time partly because no one anticipated us. Now they anticipate exactly what we plan to do, and they have a better idea of our specific resources. Would simply 'knowing' be worth the same risks of capture, torture, and death that was there as when you decided to rescue Jael?"

My Sister tensed up, likely assuming Krithannia was trying to talk me out of going. Watching her elegant, pale face, however, I knew the Noldor was simply stating the highest price for me to consider. What would make it worth having to pay it?

I had nothing but sheer stubbornness not to be left out again, to insist on seeing where the face of the Surface would turn next—which shouldn't matter, given where I was going. Not unless Nyx or Soul Drinker wanted yet more from me.

Shit.

"You're going?" I asked Gavin, and he nodded.

"I communed with my mistress," he said. "I am to bear witness to what the Godblood does next. I may even assist him if Musanlo's bearer practices what he preached to us just last night."

"And she didn't mention me."

Gavin shook his head. "Nyx holds only one mark on you, and that is our very first agreement."

"But you no longer need me to guard you. You are far less vulnerable than me."

"True. It may even be in My Lady's best interest for you to stay until you can help me later."

So the necromancer was, as often the case, entirely neutral on the topic. I paused for a moment as a weird feeling crept up my spine. "What would happen if I die before I can fulfill my agreement with her and you?"

Talov and Krithannia both turned their heads to Gavin then, equally interested in the answer. Gavin noticed but merely stood with his hand on the nightmare's neck.

"Likely nothing," he said, which surprised me. "You already know she has no dominion over Elven souls, and details of our bargain concern actions you can only make while among the living. Death would void your obligation."

But it wouldn't be worth it. No one felt the need to point that out.

I closed my eyes to relieve some of the growing ache, and a few wisps of thought, small hints of things I hadn't thought about in a long time drifted by. I tried to catch them, but it was like catching smoke and even Jael shifting her weight distracted me. I had rarely felt the need to sit alone before as much as I did in that moment.

"I need to think about this," I said.

The dwarf and the Noldor both nodded silently, and I knew it was in approval.

"We'll wait," Krithannia said softly.

"Only until Mourn comes back," Talov added.

I sighed, looking to my Sister. "Will you wait here as well?"

She looked as surprised as I probably had been when Gavin and Mourn both asked me to leave so they could make a secret bargain.

"I won't be long," was all I could add before I stepped away. It was true; I had to make a decision before the Sun rose much farther in the Sky. I just wanted to be out of sight for a while.

I noticed my gaze becoming unfocused when I didn't remember more than the sound of brush and branch slipping past and the smell of cool morning dew; I had noted no colors or specific movements of insect or bird or rodent. I just needed to sit down and close my eyes...

Climbing across the west side of this high hill, I found a place I could settle down beneath a slight overhang with stone at my back and to my left—the direction of the others —and it seemed to take no effort to get comfortable...or at least so that I did not feel the ground anymore.

I stared out into trees and fragmented Sky as the morning slowly became brighter, but I could not have said if the stag or boar Mourn might be hunting had crossed right in front of me. I meant to close my eyes so they didn't ache. Maybe I did...

*****

Kerser'yn'-goet. That wasn't his name. It was Kerser'yn'czael. I could still tell the difference in how one sound pulled at me while the other did not.

So Vesramae'shi-goet wasn't his planar name. It just wasn't. I did not know his name, not as I knew Ta'suil's. Thank Goddess for that.

Goet. What was that? A collective? I concentrated harder on the sound.

It was an Abyssal word, as Wilsira had known, but translated for our home. Approximate, just as the moments of will I heard as "thoughts" when linked were not really words, but something more essential. Basic.

Goet. It brought to mind the chamber where I'd once been surrounded by three Draegloth I did not know. Wilsirathon first stood in front of me, then behind; she tested my calm, and I'd allowed the beasts to sniff and fondle me in a game of nerves I was willing to see to a sticky end if necessary.

They hissed and whispered to each other as the Priestess first dangled then yanked away the tasty female right beneath their sensitive noses. They all agreed the Priestess should have let them have me, though the order and rank within the room might have been worked out only in the moment. They were all Goet, after all.

A Brotherhood? Like I once had a Sisterhood, all living in the same Cloister. But even brothers couldn't know of each other those true names, especially how they would abuse it with one another. They did not trust any more than the next Drow in the City. That name was reserved only for Mother. She whom he knew best.

Kill the Mother-slayer.

Fear and satisfaction spread through me. Yes. Vo'Traj had deserved it.

What would happen if we met again, Vesram and me? If Gavin or someone used the scepter to try to draw him out of hiding? He had wanted to go home...or at least he had wanted to leave the Ma'ab. Return to the Underdark. He wanted me to take him home.

Tension shuddered through me. No. I was not a Priestess to have a Draegloth following at my heel. I owed him nothing, I was not his Mother and he would be a danger to my true son. Draegloth would kill Drow children if given a moment of chance.

There were others, so many others, I would much rather have at my side as well. If I must have that obligation to take care of a male long-term, let it be my choice who, not because there was no one else left to be held to task. Someone was always responsible for the demons in our world, but I hadn't brought any of them here.

Had it been my choice already, though, to the point where Vesram would be confused and angry at my refusal, my rejection? Had it been the shard of Kerse still jammed inside my head that made me hear him? Were they the same, or could I claim I hadn't any knowledge of what I was doing? One might ask in that case... how had Vesram known? How had he recognized me, spoken to me with such familiarity? I was not in any form he should have ever known. I had not been born in this form when he and his mother were taken by the Ma'ab. I was not Kerse.

But it could only have been me. My doing. I had reached out, had recognized him. And I had let him go free, as Kerse had once tried to be free. A creature that had never been wholly separate before, who believed he wanted to be free. If Vesram had slipped the grasp of the Ma'ab attack somehow...what did he think of that first night alone?

I shook my head and groaned.

I couldn't do this. I didn't feel the hate that I should. If he wanted to latch onto me, if he desired me in any way, reaching out with needy claws hooking me while I couldn't move, then for the sake of my son and my Sisters... for the sake of Ta'suil and Shyntre...I had to kill the Draegloth.

Why had I stopped them from doing just that in the crypt?

My chest hurt; I needed to draw a deep breath to make it stop.

I recalled standing in that place after Gavin had placed Vo'Traj's body down, having ripped her heart from her chest, and watching Mourn loot from the dead and Jael helping him. I hadn't been playing close attention to what he was doing.

Now I saw again, in near-hyper clarity, what I'd watched the hybrid take from the crypt and Jael helping him, as I'd stood numbed to the world: all manner of jewelry, a chalice, holy symbols forged of precious metals...and weapons. A ceremonial dagger of ruby and diamond. A curved short sword, and then a double-blade which had given Mourn pause. I could see why, now that I had the will to concentrate on it.

Though smaller-sized for Humans, the weapon was not dissimilar to his own sliders, though I doubted it moved the same way; the grip in the middle would be fused in place. Mourn's tongue had flicked out to taste the air around the blades, no doubt memorizing its scent right then and there. Jael peered at some of the marks in the blade but soon Mourn had wrapped it tightly in the same scraps of cloth in which he'd found it, and he began to bind up his bundle tight to minimize the noise before placing it on his back. Had it not come with the sheath?




Surfacing Ch. 20



Isboern had been watching in disapproval, frowning but doing nothing to stop Mourn from taking those items after arguing at the beginning. Then I had brought up Ada's words, had asked him to look for what ended up being a gold-touched shield with Sun and Moons engraved together on its face... 

A soft glow rose up behind me in the dark and instead of making my eyes ache more fiercely, it was someone had covered them with a plush, steaming towel, fresh-wrung from fire-heated water.

"May I?" Isboern asked. He indicated that he would sit next to me.

I frowned but did not have the energy to maintain it; I felt myself relax. I could see the Godblood's aura, which surprised me. Did psions have auras like mages? Was this what my little Sister now saw looking at Mourn, or at my belly? It was not pure gold as I might have expected, but with royal blue and crimson threads weaving a pattern of such mystical beauty that it brought an unexpected lump to my throat. The colors were most concentrated on his skin and faded going outward, but I almost thought the Man could light up an entire cavern by himself.

I shrugged, swallowing. "Sure."

"Thank you."

The Knight Captain settled down carefully with a sigh, sitting up braced on one arm and drawing up a leg so he could rest the other on his knee. He would never have been able to do that in his armor. He watched me, and I slowly realized the colors of his strong aura were echoed in his appearance, too. Golden hair, blue eyes, and very ruddy skin when he thought about—

He smiled gently. "Tami's breasts? Yes, well...I hadn't expected that she would want to show them to me. I would have taken her word that they were healed."

And I hadn't expected that mental image; a guffaw slipped from my mouth, as did the certainty of my tone. "You tell the truth."

He nodded once. "I do."

"Did you know they'd been scarred?"

He shook his head. "Not exactly. I knew something had hurt her more deeply than I could imagine when she first arrived at my camp a few months ago. She would not tell me what, and in any case, even that was hidden beneath her news from back home."

His son dying from illness, I knew. Before I could go in that direction, however, the Captain continued to speak and it was soothing.

"You saw me blush, and yet such things are not as strict or hidden in the mountains where I grew up, not as they are in larger settlements such as Lady Verina has been raised. We were more open. Tamuril was our guardian spirit, and everyone understood the way of nature and the pleasure inherent in procreation, and the bonds of love which could be formed from it. All of us had someone to whom we could not lie—at least one other if not more—and worry was reserved for immediate problems needing a solution. It was peaceful in a way I could never expect to see joining Musanlo's army, though I try to bring the hope of it with me."

I had been listening to the gentle cadence of his voice and blinked, wondering why I hadn't checked behind me lately. He had led me quite far into the conversation in only a few sentences and numerous questions I might have asked were forgotten.

"Back up," I said, sitting up more. "So you are saying you've seen Tamuril naked before?"

Willven chuckled. "No, just her breasts. She was bathing in the lake under the full moon, in the water up to her waist. It was the first time I had seen her since becoming a man, yet her face hadn't changed from what I could tell, and her breasts still had the appearance of a maiden." He looked Skyward briefly. "I was struck with a reminder of the extraordinary creature she was when she mistook me for my grandfather."

I wasn't sure how to read his expression. "And...how did you respond?"

"A zeph-kiss to the cheek, as I'd done as a child."

"A...what?"

Willven grinned. "Short for zephyr. It can be done from a distance and yet the one receiving the kiss can still feel something like a firm breeze brushing one place on their skin. It feels nearly like a true kiss."

I looked skeptical. "And...I suppose your grandfather was not known for using his talent on her this way."

"No. He respected Tami's space to the point of royalty."

"And you didn't."

The Man shrugged. "She had set different boundaries with me. My ability manifested very young. There was a short period just after my first link with another where I was afraid to touch friends and family, for fear of tumbling in uninvited again. It was not good for me.

"Tamuril made the suggestion of the zephyr kiss a few days after it happened, and she allowed me to practice with her. I almost think it was a way to distract me for a day. It helped lessen the fear, having a way to kiss my mother that night before I slept without...intruding. Until it ceased being a worry for anyone."

I tilted my head and said up straighter again. "What do you mean?"

Willven seemed to know this would be unusual to me. "My family let me be. They knew why I stayed away but after explaining that it was expected and no one blamed me, they knew I meant no harm, they let me be and waited until I was ready to try again. And when I was, they made no event of it. I had moved on, they moved on. They answered my questions whenever I had them until I asked for a tutor."

"They are truly that dull?"

The Godblood tilted his head back and laughed, and his eyes twinkled like gems when he looked at me. "I thank Musanlo every day that they were."

"You all worshipped Musanlo? Even so far from Manalar?"

"We do. The Bishops' City is far from the only example of how to worship the sun, Sirana."

Hadn't Mourn or Krithannia said something almost exactly like that?

I squinted. "Why worship at all?"

"Because He's always been there for us."

"Like Tamuril was always there?"

The Captain considered that and nodded. "She came as a blessing and another reason to be in awe of our world."

Shaking my head, I said, "Not everything you behold is something to be in awe. Some things will just rip you to shreds."

"And what is awe, if not a healthy respect for the world around you?" he asked, still smiling. "Even something meaning to eat you."

"Or cut you with a cursed edge and laugh," I said, resting my hand in my chin and staring at his eyes. "Or rape you and steal what you have."

"Ah." He nodded, becoming more somber though the light was still in his eyes. "I grant I feel the same fear and anger for wrongs done against me and mine as anyone. I believe, in the end, I am in the same place as you, Sirana."

I blinked and my hand almost slipped from my chin. "What?"

Willven nodded. "At the end of all of it, such wrongs have purpose, and they are more than reason enough to keep going. You want to continue living on this world so much, you love this life so much, that you accept the pain that comes with it, the challenge, and you have the will to head on and meet it. The path chosen may differ between us but there remains, even in despair and vengeance, purpose and the will to live, and... if you work for it...to see it becoming better."

I shook my head again, more slowly. "That's a very broad reach to include all of us."

The Captain was back to smiling and he nodded again. "As broad as the entire world. As far as a Noldor will go to watch over some good people, and as far as a Drow can travel to ultimately show mercy to her once-enemy, despite what each of their own people teach them, and did to them."

Oh, so that was it. We were back to the oft-admired, pink-nipple breasts.

"I think...I was more curious," I said. "To see what would happen. Krithannia presented it with such mystery."

"At the beginning, certainly. She knows you well enough, it seems." He still watched me. "It would not have worked if you had wished Tami any harm, Sirana. So I thank you."

I shifted, breathing in then out firmly. "Will you thank Jael as well?"

He didn't bat an eye. "Absolutely."

The quiet following that word shocked me; it was like the world had stopped. No birds tweeted; no wind rustled the leaves, there was no buzz of annoying tree-beetles...

When had it stopped?

Where was I?

I looked around, and there was the vague sense of rock and shade and air...but mostly I only saw his glowing aura and felt the warmth of my sapphire at my chest.

"Have you decided?" the Godblood asked.

"Yes," I answered, knowing to what he referred. "I am going to Manalar."

That felt right. As long as I knew where I was headed, the immediate solution found, the worry fell to the sides. I was most afraid being caught in between my present and my future, with my past gnawing on my heel. But I wasn't shouldering this alone.

I even had a few ideas to help.

"Good," the Captain smiled, repeating that odd slap to my shoulder he'd once done in the crypt. "I welcome you."

"Even pregnant?"

"Especially so."

"Lying."

The psion laughed, because we both knew that he wasn't. "There is no greater motivation than to protect the future, Sirana. It will give everyone who knows that much greater will behind their actions."

"You aren't telling your Templars...?"

"No. Our view of the world can be small, and because of that we do not all protect our future in the same way. But remember this quiet place the next time you feel overwhelmed, Sirana, and you'll do fine."

This quiet place?

I blinked again, this time for real, and my eyes felt dry and gritty, along with my tongue and throat. My back hurt like rocks had collapsed onto it in a crawl space and my first deep inhale held the clustered scent of a crowd of familiar individuals. Someone's hand was on my forehead. Where the fuck was I?

"She will be fine," Isboern said in a confident baritone. "She's coming out of it."

"What happened?" Mourn rumbled, complete with rustling, agitated tail.

My vision was blurry as if I was beneath the surface of a lake for a few seconds, but I made out all of those I'd left behind on the hill: Jael, Gavin, Talov, Krithannia, plus Mourn who had since returned...and now Isboern. I didn't see Gavin's mare immediately, but then glimpsed a dark smudge over to the right. I heard crunching bone, to which no one seemed to react at all.

"Yes," I croaked. "What...? Where—"

Isboern tapped at my right temple with a thick finger and I grumped irritably. "You were in here, too far. It seemed to me like a psionic trance some Varasa go into if there are too many thoughts and emotions from the others surrounding them, working their way inside."

I frowned. "Were my eyes open or closed?"

"Open."

Well, no wonder try were so dry. I could well imagine how that had looked to everyone here as well. Hells, it had probably been one of the Guild leaders, if not all three of them, who decided to call the Godblood out here. I noted the rising Sun; it had easily been two hours, and I must not have even stirred during that time to feel so stiff.

Isboern gently laid a hand on my forearm, watching me like a healer might. "It's like a caterpillar spinning a protective cocoon, but we...well, I couldn't be sure you knew how to find your way out. Forgive me for intruding, Sirana. My thanks for accepting my help."

"So she's okay, right?" Jael said, coming closer. 

"She is."

"You can stop touching her now."

The Godblood stood up and gave ground without a fight, and I sat up slowly to stretch my back, rubbing multiple sore spots. Jael made to kneel down in front of me where Isboern had been, but Mourn's hand abruptly came down on her shoulder and he rumbled in warning.

"What?" she asked.

I knew what it was. Soul Drinker was tilted forward at an unnatural angle on my belt, as if offering wordlessly for Jael to draw it. I righted it with a firm hand and climbed to my feet as Mourn gently pulled my Sister back to make room. At least she allowed it.

I let out a breath, rubbing a tingling spot on my scalp behind my left ear and looked first at Talov, then Mourn. "First question. How are we getting back to Manalar en masse?"

The hybrid cocked a brow even darker than this skin and appraised me, my face and my body language as he drew in air subtly through his teeth. He grunted. "The same way Krithannia and the rest arrived. It will get us near enough, we will travel from there."

"It appears to be an empty room."

He smiled. "So it does."

I maintained my gaze, avoiding crossing my arms. "Do you have anything particular you want me to ask Kurn before we plan with the Templars?"

I couldn't help smiling then. I had finally got Talov: he looked thoroughly confused, then suspicious, like I was playing a prank.

"Kurn's dead," he said, though not argumentatively, more as if he was speaking aloud to bring back details back from when we'd first met in Augran. "Mourn had the severed finger and the ruby, we collected the bounty." He put two and two together before Mourn had to explain it. "But you were th'one tah kill him. Wi' that cursed dagger, was it?"

I nodded, crossing my arms beneath my breast and, yes, looking a little smug.

"Ye can still talk to those ye kill with that thing?" the Guildmaster asked, deigning to look impressed and intrigued.

Mourn nodded. "Potentially. It can be dangerous."

"Hm." Talov peered at me. "Who else of note didja kill with that recently?"

"The High Inquisitor," I answered. "A few Witch Hunters. And one of the Hellhounds inside the temple."

Krithannia and Talov exchanged glances.

"Are you willing to try?" the Noldor asked. "If we do have questions."

I nodded. "Why I brought it up. Kurn and I are going to talk regardless, about his sire, Divigna."

Isboern was trying to hide his concern with minimal success. "This is a communing with the black magic blade? Do you need a lifeline?"

I shook my head, even only vaguely understanding what he meant. "I don't want you touching the dagger or the mind inside for any reason. It could try to corrupt you."

The Captain smiled just a little. "That would be difficult. I can't be turned from my God."

"It would hurt you, Captain," Mourn said. "Far more than necessary. The Deathwalker would be better suited for the task, also incorruptible from his Patroness, but with a more compatible mind."

"You mean as a mass murderer," Gavin said softly. He might have been speaking wryly, or just stating facts.

Mourn nodded without blinking. "I wager nothing that dagger could show you would cause you enough horror to break, or withdraw until it was time."

"That's a curious thought," Krithannia spoke up, looking at Mourn. "Are you saying one has to have committed murder to handle that blade without being corrupted?"

The hybrid shook his head. "Only that certain killers will be better prepared for what they see. The Captain has never killed for personal wrath or vengeance, only in battle. Soul Drinker is not a blade made for war; it was created as a queen's judgment. I cannot describe the difference better than that."

"You've been thinking on this," I commented with certain wryness, and Mourn smiled just a bit. "So what is it you are suggesting Gavin can do for me now that I haven't already done on my own?"

"Give you a voice to listen to other than Innathi's," he said.

Especially after the fight over Jael. He didn't have to say that part for me to get it, and Gavin understood as well.

Isboern rubbed at the stubble on his jaw, looking between Gavin and me. "Have you linked minds before?"

Gavin tensed but waited on me to answer. I said, "Once."

It was the only time I'd gotten a glimpse of the Greylands, but I'd been in too much pain at the time to fully appreciate it.

The Godblood picked up on something in our body language; he frowned. "Was it an accident?"

"More an impulse on her part," Gavin said. "For survival."

"You didn't consent," Willven said to his opposite, though not without sympathy, I noticed, and that made me clench my hands a bit.

The necromancer shrugged, frowning and brushing that aside. "There are many things that happen to which we do not consent. The end result matters more."

"The ends justify the means?" Clearly Isboern disapproved.

Mourn stepped in, coaxing the conversation back on track. "Gavin consented to help at the time. He only means the methods were unexpected. The end result was that he saved Sirana from a miscarriage."

The Knight Captain looked from Mourn to Gavin in surprise, then looked at me as if to confirm that a harbinger of death would do such a thing.

I nodded. "It is so. But I admit I have no idea how I linked with him." My gaze shifted to Mourn. "How do you suggest doing this, by having Gavin actually touch the dagger?"

The halfblood immediately shook his head. "Not a good idea. Innathi knows about Nyx and wouldn't answer your questions before. You would have to take him with you indirectly."

"That is possible for trained Varasa," Isboern said, frowning deeply in thought. "I am able to help."

"I do not think it is a good idea for you and me to touch, either," Gavin said flatly, looking at the other Man's eyes.

"Then we shan't," the Sun's messenger answered, just as direct. Neither of them wanted so much as to brush elbows. "But I can guide without touching, if you consent, Walker. I trust Sirana's will in handling the dark blade, but she does not understand yet how to link safely with another. Once that is done, however, I can stand back before she communes with the blade."

"Forgive me, but first," Krithannia said, holding up a gloved finger. "How long will this 'communing' take?"

"If past instance is any guide," Mourn said to her, "a few minutes at most."

"You speak true?" The Pale Elf blinked her slate grey eyes at me.

I nodded, and my two male allies joined me in doing so, while Jael stared silent between then, looking disconcerted. I'd told my little Sister about Mourn and Gavin helping to break my compulsion without killing my baby, but she still didn't know the details about my last talk with Innathi, just after Jael and I had fought over Soul Drinker.

"The last time was very short, less than a minute," Gavin said, "and I understand you experienced a full, passionate debate with our ancient queen of elsewhere?"

"Not including the run to reach her," I said, seeing some of those blue dunes in my mind's eye. Then I shook my head. "I cannot tell time passing when I'm there."

"We should do it out here, then," Krithannia said. "Now, if we do it at all."

Maybe before Soul Drinker or Innathi fully realize what we were discussing; the more I talked about it, the more she would know in advance. I looked at Gavin. "Depends on you, mage, whether I go alone or not."

He exhaled, thinking deeply a few moments, and I was reminded once again that, even though he now looked like a Ma'ab son just stepped out of the Greylands, with pneuma flint helping to form his bones, his teeth and nails, his heart still beat in his chest... he still ate our world's food, and breathed because he needed our air. Was he of both places now since the rift opened? How would that work if he stepped into Innathi's realm, even just his consciousness?

"Will you afford me a question or two of my own on behalf of my mistress?" Gavin asked.

I nodded easily. "If she'll answer you more than she would me. She might even be tempted or curious."

My death mage nodded. "And the Godblood's oath of privacy still stands, even with me?"

The Captain nodded smartly, his back straightening and his shoulders squared. "It does. I will keep your connection stable to help Sirana. I won't be rooting around in your heads while you are distracted."

Though he could. The Godblood's power was truly frightening that way when I thought on it more deeply. Was this what we'd have in an Illithid, if one was capable of being an individual? Or would it be only if one wasn't as predatorily ruthless as so many races in the Underdark?




Surfacing Ch. 20



And what about me? Was it only my lack of control that prevented me from tearing into others' memories and subverting the will? Would I be tempted to do so with further practice and control? Or was the price paid by a solitary mind be much higher than a collective, like the Illithids? Would I be required to fight against absorbing too many parts of other minds every time I forced a connection? Was that why Isboern forced no one?

Was this... was this what Tamuril had meant when she said that untrained psionics eventually go insane? They become a collective inside their own head? And they do not have an Elder Mind to guide them...

I shuddered.

"Shall we ask our questions, then?" Talov asked, keeping his voice low as the birds stayed loud and the Sun became hotter.

I looked at Gavin and Isboern each in turn and saw they had decided. I let out a breath and nodded as well. "Yes."

I was curious to see how Innathi responded to this change in the balance.

*****

Never had I formed a true mind link with another in the complete absence of pain or pleasure. I seemed to be gaining an ability to will a thought or two so that Mourn would hear me and I could hear him back but we'd bonded multiple times, swamped in potent magic and lust and even pain. For all I knew, it was more his blood than my change which allowed this.

All others ...Tamuril, Jael, Pig Eyes, Gavin, Brom, Rausery, Auslan, Kerse, that Illithid, Lana... all excepting the only true Varsa among us, Willven the Godblood...they had been when I was caught up either in intense sensation, emotion, or horrible pain. Or all of it.

Isboern didn't hurt or entice either of us; Gavin and I barely knew he was there. Once I could feel a cool touch of my ally's consciousness at the edge of my senses, it seemed so familiar by now I reached to take hold and bring it closer. Gavin.

I heard ghostly whispers when I wrapped my fingers around something that reminded me of Jacob's black soul shard. I had reached for a hand, I thought, but perhaps that would have been too direct.

Here. Here was a mind not nearly as complicated in motive as a Drow and this singular desire, combined with an understated devotion as fanatical as any Witch Hunter...somehow this quality made him progress down his path faster than any lover of intrigue like myself could keep up. Predictable and loyal, capable of contentment yet being driven always to work, to study, and still changing as fast as was needed. With no fear of death or beyond. Gavin was changed and yet the same as when I had first met him. I could...trust this.

Innathi might find him difficult to rattle, just as Mourn had said. I hoped so.

When Willven "stepped back," I wrapped Kurn's cum-cloth around the black and red hilt and drew Soul Drinker in my other hand without seeing anything around me, gripping hard and ready for that first moment of struggle as it tried to seize control. The dagger had fought hardest the first time, and again when it had wanted to change its carrier from me to Jael, but all other times, including now, the "fight" was more a formality. Of course it would test to see if I would give it control each time. All I had to do was slip in my concentration once. Just once.

*I will see the queen.*

*We've been waiting,* it answered cheekily.

I arrived halfway down the pyramid, steps disappearing into blue sand and black shadow below me, and more leading up toward the Stars in the clear night Sky. I wore my reds as before, and heard a different cadence in the shrieks and groans than I had with the cannibals just arrived, or when I'd passed the old, desiccated voices on my run across the sand to confront Innathi.

The fresh sounds spoke hints of Manalara, chanting and praying to a God who could no longer hear them. If there was one Ma'ab voice among them, I couldn't hear it.

*Clever...clever!* came several whispers surrounding me. *The fractured mind hosting and protecting another just so...! We may not seize you...you slip free like snakes.*

I disliked such an open admission being the first thought of this elsewhere. I didn't trust it. We would see.

I took a step upward but the black shard in my gloved hand became impossibly heavy, and I was forced to kneel down on the steps to catch my breath. I still held it, bent over with my knuckles against the grit; the shard wasn't touching the pyramid, nor was it crushing my fingers as if it had become dense far beyond the purest platinum. I simply could not lift it.

*Ohhh, no,* a voice chided, and I couldn't decide if it sounded more like Soul Drinker or Innathi. *No, he will show himself or you may attempt to leave with that anchor or leave it behind. The Grey Maiden may not observe us free of charge.*

Well, of course Innathi would be aware of every new mind to enter her domain. 

I looked upward, keeping my focus off the shard trapping my hand against the stone. I held open my other hand behind me without looking, offering it for Gavin to take. It took several moments as whispers from bodies I could not see seemed to cluster in about us, as if they were trying to get a better look at someone of note.

"Who...?"

"Who is...?"

"Who is this...?"

I felt Gavin's cool hand firmly take hold of mine and I gripped him in return, drawing him forward onto the steps with me. The black shard dissolved in the same moment and I could get to my feet. Innathi's regal silhouette appeared at the top of the stairs.

"Good," she said. "Come up. I will see you."

She turned around and disappeared from view, and I finally turned my head to look at Gavin. He appeared as he did in the material world; he was even wearing his new, simply made, grey robes which I assumed the Guild had given him to replace those shredded in battle. He didn't change whether here or there. Not as I did. I wondered what significance that had, if any?

Gavin noticed my red uniform and it caused his brows to rise only a bit at first, but it did not take him long to accept what was self-evident: there was a reason we were called "Red Sisters." I was only glad that I wasn't wearing one of the slinky, white, silken dresses; that would be a bad sign for how much defense I felt I had with Innathi right now.

When the death mage said nothing but remained holding my red-gloved hand, likely out of necessity, I took the first step and Gavin followed on the way to the top.

"Why have you brought him, my chosen warrior?" Innathi asked without preamble, standing with a long whip gripped in her own gloved hand.

The ancient queen wore an outfit I'd never seen before. All her jewelry was gone, and she wore red as well—though a deeper crimson rather than my brighter scarlet. She had foregone her gown of leisure in favor of a formal blouse that covered her shoulders and arms, and strange, loose pants gathered up at mid-calf like one was tying off a sack; the loose ends of her pants down to her ankles were wrapped in strong, black bands which also closed off the top of her black boots as well. I had to admit the design would allow one to walk in sand without flea bites or allowing the grains to spill in from the top.

The apparel appeared to be a rougher, more sturdy version of silk as what I'd seen before, with gold embroidery following the scooped neckline of her blouse, following down the front in a path like a road following her breasts and belly, curving on her pants down from her hips and to the sides as well. There wasn't any fringe or decoration which would easily tear or break with any activity, and it was loose enough that I figured she could move quite well without restriction, even showing the least about of skin I'd seen yet.

She certainly held the whip with familiarity; I did not doubt she could use it. An excellent excuse to maintain distance from me.

"Do you know who he is, your grace?" I asked curiously.

She nodded once, curtly, her classic Drow eyes raking over the necromancer before returning to me. "Nyx's boy, as I said."

"Gavin," I replied then looked at the mage and continued, "Gavin, this is Innathi."

He thought to bow his head slowly, once and in acknowledgment, but he didn't speak just yet. His eyes not only studied everything about Innathi's appearance but also flowed around our surroundings. He saw the blue Moonlight and distant sands and mountainous shades on the horizon, just as I did, but...I wondered if there was anything else his "other" senses were picking up? If I could hear the low, droning undercurrent of lost souls here, what was it like for him?

The queen's scowl shifted into a menacing smile and she seemed in the same line of thought with me. "Can you hear them, young Walker?"

"Yes," he said bluntly.

"Are they like a maelstrom to you?"

"Not yet."

"Do you want to lead them back?"

"Not especially."

Innathi frowned again at that but in suspicion. "The first Deathwalker your world has seen in centuries, and you deny your function?"

"If I am indeed the first following an extinction long ago," Gavin said, "then who are you to say if my *duty* is as you remember?"

Once I might have been more concerned with any hostile male attitude toward a powerful female; my first impulse would be to warn him to better behavior, to not rock the boat, in fact would be helping to continue as things were. But with Innathi, as with her former husband, I thought Gavin drawing a line this early was probably a good thing. He didn't belong to this queen in any way, and if she still wanted my help, she'd best remember that.

That was why Mourn had suggested this, after all. Another voice outside of queenly, female expectation and pressure...to which I was vulnerable, thanks to my upbringing.

I smiled happily. "A good point, your grace. How *do* you remember their purpose?"

The desert queen flicked her eyes to me, then flicked her whip so the S-curve flowed down the length of the hard leather cord, perhaps in irritation or warning as she considered a response. Ultimately she chose to chuckle, drawing her whip closer and loosening the tension in her shoulders and joints.

She was still beautiful to behold as she took three slow, deliberate steps toward my necromancer. She caught his eyes and held them with a predator's appeal, daring him to challenge her further. As with me watching him intently in silence, Gavin was not accustomed to the pressure; he wanted to look down, Innathi and I both knew it, but he made immense effort to keep his chin up, even if perhaps he only gazed at the tip of her nose or between her eyebrows.

Innathi partly circled him on the far side from me and Gavin turned his head warily. She did not attempt to complete it, however; she still wasn't getting close to me by choice. She leaned to speak in Gavin's left ear, low enough for me to hear without effort. 

"I remember mere servants, plodding their way across the sands, drying out to look like mummified corpses yet never succumbing to Musanlo's light even in his hottest of seasons. When next they crossed to the Greylands, somehow that always seemed to bring them back to some semblance of life, despite what one might expect. They were black as my own people when seen during the day in my realm, but quite white at night, brilliantly so if recently returned from guiding lost souls home."

Gavin and I were both distracted when other voices swelled up at this, as if the queen was taunting them and they wailed in misery at our backs. My ally was forced to step away from the Drow queen and closer to me when something invisible tugged at his robes. I stepped as well to give him more room, still holding his right hand to keep us grounded as he pulled free of the ghost.

Innathi looked much more satisfied now as she smiled at us and stepped back that distance. "A good reminder to bring to my attention, Sirana. This 'Gavin' is not one of many, is he? But rather the only one of his kind. I would love to know what is Nyx's purpose for him, but I wager he will not tell even you." She looked between us. "Speak your minds, then. Why are you here?"

She had been generous just now, asking nothing for that hint of times past, the question from when she still thought she could trade tasks and errands for information with me. Now, though, we had a new agreement, and maybe that had something to do with it. Maybe the information wasn't as valuable to her as she once thought it was.

"We seek audience with three recent souls within your realm," Gavin said.

"Three?" she echoed, one palm resting on her hip. "Which?"

"High Inquisitor Vene Kegyek," he answered, "and the only Ma'ab Hellhound killed by Soul Drinker."

"And?"

"Kurn," I said.

Innathi smiled and shook her head. "Oh, but don't you remember killing him last time, Sirana? You came raging in here and you stabbed him in the back. He's no longer available to you."

"Souls are not destroyed so easily," Gavin said with conviction, even when I wasn't sure what I had actually done to Kurn the last time he stood in my way. "They are far more malleable than mere flesh."

Intense, deeply red eyes swept to the Deathwalker, practically pinning him, and the expression that passed over Innathi's face gave me just the smallest twinge of fear at the base of my spine.

"Indeed, boy. I am the greatest proof of this, the most for which any demi-god could ask. Myself and Cris-ri-phon, as we each found a way to preserve our identities. Any weaker and we would not be here to guide you."

"It is not you who guides me," Gavin said, again looking at the tip of her nose.

Rather than argue this point, I stepped in with a wild stab of my own. My sole intent was to upset the locking of horns that would get us nowhere. 

"You found a way? Did you stab yourself with Soul Drinker on purpose, Innathi?" I asked. "To exist here and remember who you were?"

The ancient queen went still for an instant before looking over to me. We met gazes, and I thought I heard something wail again in despair, just behind her. Just behind me. I saw more distress than I was used to on her face; it wasn't much, but combined with her beauty, it made an arresting image of depth, as if I could see time stretching back behind her.

"Perceptive, or a mere lucky guess?" she asked me quietly, almost seething.

Probably both. It seemed sort of evident.

I shrugged slightly. "You knew your dagger's properties the best of anyone. Cris told me you died in childbirth from what he found left behind, a claim you substantiated. You both know it was Ishuna behind it."

Innathi appeared to remember too much, too quickly; she whispered an oddly foreign curse and took a step back from Gavin, shifting to glower at him rather than meet my eyes any longer. "If it is Kurn to whom you'd speak with the other two, and if he has 'transformed' as he forgets in the Elsewhere who or what he was, just how would you expect to bring him back in any form to help your plans, Deathwalker?"

"Call on his lust one last time," Gavin said bluntly.

Innathi laughed so abruptly it was nearly a bray, but I took that moment to withdraw the semen-stained rag from my belt without the queen seeing the motion, though I made it plain to her as soon as she focused on me. Her smile dropped halfway and her eyes narrowed as she hummed in thought.

"We are here to request your help bringing those souls here, your grace," I said, "not to wrest control from you."

"As I recall, you did just that with Kurn, Sirana."

"But only because of this rag and my will, your grace. I possessed a stronger connection to him than you. I trust I cannot call *any* victim I claim with your dagger without your leave, is this so?"

Innathi paused and slowly began to coil up her whip. "Perhaps so. And how does this help our agreement, Sirana?"

"I am required to feed Soul Drinker until I can return to the City, correct? All Ma'ab remaining at Manalar are to be slaughtered before we leave it for good. I know you can help me with this task, and Soul Drinker would be joyful to do it. I do not know it will have many opportunities to gorge between now and then. Our task begins with the intelligence in the minds of those Men."

Innathi smirked at the obvious comment about the minds of Men, but did not make it. She stepped to the side and turned her back to us, looking out at the horizon. The rear of her costume was as ornate as the front in red, gold, and black, and she had tied off the bottom half of her long hair in a loose braid interwoven with gold thread. Gavin and I both had the feeling she was making us wait simply because she could and that she was testing us, daring us to make a move now as she was not watching, if that was our intent. We remained quiet, sharing just a glance.

"We might do this," she finally said. "First, I would trade, knowledge for knowledge, as you suggested before, Sirana."

"With me or with Gavin?"

Innathi looked over her shoulder and smiled in lovely amusement. "Both, as you are each here."

"And we can ask something in return? Each of us?"

"Yes. I believe our knowledge may even be related."

As in: the ancient queen was dangling Gavin's question from before in front of us. Another glance at Gavin, and he nodded as if he expected nothing else.

"In prelude to calling Kurn and the others immediately afterward," I restated.

"Yes, my warrior."

"Very well, your grace."

Innathi nodded and turned fully around, setting her coil on her belt as she faced us with a strong, penetrating gaze. "I would ask the Deathwalker where he sent my husband. I have seen the black vial and skeletal hand that latched on to him."

"A pity, that I cannot answer," Gavin replied. "Your question is malformed as I sent him nowhere. He set the destination for his portal before he stepped through." 

"Cris-ri-phon implied V'Gedra," I interrupted, watching Innathi's response carefully. I half-expected her to explode at the "malformed" bit but again wasn't going to warn Gavin to more submissive male behavior while he represented the Grey Maiden.

Innathi pursed her lips tightly but nothing else; that only told me either she had guessed and displeased, or she was surprised and displeased. In fact, why would she ask such a poorly-worded question at all? Surely she knew better. Was it a slip or was that meant to reveal something true about Gavin in his response?

"We witnessed it before with the Cult of Mother, am I right?" Innathi continued. "At the very least, the substance inside the vial disrupts magic in its base essence."

"While it may be possible that the vial could disrupt the flow at some pivotal point," Gavin said, "it would still be impossible for me to answer the question. Such a method would give me no more control over where that portal led than to where a leaf I cast into a storm would land. That assumes that the destination was warped in transit at all."

One of his long-fingered hands waved as if to dismiss the assumption and his back much straighter than before as he spoke. He was using his height more when discussing magical theory, I noticed, if he wasn't sitting down. Much better than when he habitually slouched in front of Sarilis and Kurn, and as I knew, he was a good lecturer.

But why he would need to educate Innathi on anything magical at all...? I kept quiet to see her response.

"Surely you sensed when that vial broke," she continued, her posture and tone showing not the least bit of doubt...but also not the anger or insult I might have expected the way Gavin chose to field this question.

"To have my consciousness linked with my minion would have exposed me to a mental backlash and the crawler would certainly be the first thing undone. The crawler simply followed the directions I had given it." 

"So my husband may have made it to V'Gedra? And you did not banish him somewhere else?"

"As I have said I do not know his destination nor would I have a hand in picking if that destination were changed, Innathi. I did not make that vial." 




Surfacing Ch. 20



She smirked a little. "Who did?"

"My former master, Sarilis."

"A necromancer, I trust."

"Yes. But no follower of any Greylord. He is entirely self-serving."

"An inevitable result for your kind when they lack guidance," she sneered.

Such a strange line of questioning. Hadn't Innathi or Soul Drinker both prevented me from stabbing Cris in the heart? Yet he remained ignorant of her presence, and she and Soul Drinker both had wanted to leave his possession. But they didn't want him dead, and now, Innathi grilled Gavin on Cris's disappearance, on his fate, as if it truly concerned her.

*Any weaker, and we would not be here to guide you.*

We. She had claimed "we" with Cris-ri-phon, as she had never done before. So how would she react should we at some point confirm we had killed him?

"You did not kill him," Innathi said abruptly, answering my thought with the same conviction Gavin had shown earlier. "If you destroyed his body, his soul will come back across the Greylands once again, as he has before."

"Indeed, I would not claim to have ended the existence of the Deathless," Gavin said in his own attempt to keep the conversation going.

Innathi smiled with clear smugness. "He learned well from the Elves in his time. Ask no more, though, I will not tell you."

"Then is it time for my question of you, Queen of V'Gedra?" Gavin asked.

She leaned somewhat with the title, not displeased by it. "Certainly."

"Your half-human children," he began, and she immediately frowned again. "Have you any knowledge or theory what becomes of them upon death? Do they walk the Greylands or is their transition more like the Elves?" 

"That is a scholar's question," she hissed, reaching to lay her hand over her whip though she did not uncoil it. "You would truly focus on this, when you could ask me anything?"

"Yes." 

My ally watched her almost without moving; I would have held my breath as I kept my mind quiet for the few moments Innathi had to decide how to respond without my input. Or whether.

"They died the same day as me," she said through gritted teeth. "I was not there to witness whether a Deathwalker came to the Palace in the nights following. Even if I knew, there were other Humans living at the Palace at the time who also saw their deaths in that coup; it would have told me nothing."

"Meaning you are not sure? In your time, had there been anything so obvious as a shepherd collecting the dead for the Elves, your grace?"

"No," she answered bitingly. "And you may ask no more, Deathwalker. I will have my question of Sirana now."

I thought Gavin would do well to recognize the same reluctance to discuss personal loss Innathi, just as when I had prodded him about his youth and his parents. When it seemed he might say something more, I squeezed his hand and shook my head slightly; he saw it out of his periphery and reluctantly acquiesced.

"Ask me, your grace," I said.

She nodded smartly, taking her moment to regain her calm. "Where did your Dragon child learn the blade techniques he used against Cris?"

That was a clear, well-formed question...and it was one I could answer. Mourn had been using the sliders during his bonding with Vian and his squad against the Illithids.

"He learned from his mother's House. They retained one, ancient grandmaster of the sliders and their song, and the half-blood was the last student trained before his passing."

Innathi grinned. "I wonder if I could recognize that old Elf? He must have learned some new tricks with those 'sliders.' Those are new."

"But the singing double-blades are not."

"No. They are quite old. Yet they are new to you, so I know Ishuna has lost all her grandmasters...either all in the split from her rule, or those that remained died too young under her tender mercies to train others."

"Possibly."

"She never did have practical foresight."

I tilted my head. "What kind of foresight did she have?"

Innathi gave a sly smile. "Is that your question in return, Sirana?"

I considered. Generous of her to offer me the choice. Did I have a better one? I glanced at Gavin and his face was like pale stone. I smiled.

"No, it is not. I ask instead for all the names of those whom worshipped by the Noldor, the Drow, and Cris-ri-phon's Human people in your time."

Innathi crossed her arms in amusement, smiling without showing her teeth as she watched me. "Musanlo, Nyx, Ianca, Fathiren, Ciberew, Locirel, Vojiwen, Beco, and Dalix, to begin. Those are the major ones. I leave it to you to match who went with whom."

Cute. Although that is exactly what I asked for and more than I expected, to be honest.

"I notice Lolth isn't listed."

"I told you, she was a demon in my time and known for spinning her traps. That she snared all of the Drow in one well-timed moment is not something of which I am proud."

"But you can blame her and your sister for your death and exile here. They needed you out of the way and plotted against you."

Again Innathi would not go farther than what Cris-ri-phon has already told me, and what I had already guessed. She gripped the hard leather coil as she scowled and brought up her free arm in a summoning gesture, ending that discussion abruptly. I heard the hiss of rushing sand that sounded more like rushing water than I would have guessed, and a blue cloud just visible far below barreled toward us and swept up the side of the pyramid to my right.

Hot air buffeted us and grit stung my face and eyes; I nudged Gavin farther to our left to make room as Innathi shifted closer to the dust cloud. It dissipated as quickly as it had come into being, leaving behind two naked Men on their knees: one a dark-haired, green-eyed Noiri of very good form, the other a much larger male, his skin ghostly pale and scarred, his head bald, and his whole body heavily tattooed in blue and black design.

The Inquisitor and the Hellhound.

Their eyes were glazed over at the moment and they did not look aware. I glanced just to check for penis piercings; there were none. Not yet, anyway.

"Ask your questions of them," Innathi snapped at us.

"You will help me in this coming battle?" I clarified.

"For feeding Soul Drinker, for seeing you live through this to go back home, yes," she said, and though I could tell she was not pleased with the delay, she and I had both agreed I must see to my living agreements without her direct interference. In exchange, she would get Lelinahdara and the chance to face Ishuna in the flesh.

I breathed out to settle my stomach and draw Gavin forward; we still had to hold hands, and I think Gavin knew this because he didn't complain or resist too much. Isboern had said I was the focus for Gavin's awareness being linked to mine, even as the death mage was the anchor to give Innathi someone else to contend with for that focus. Mostly, Gavin only seemed unaccustomed to timing his movements to be in sync with another, which made sense for someone who had never even spent an entire night with a partner in bed.

"Think the Hellhound knows Common?" I asked aloud when neither soul seemed to react to our approach. "Or will it be you speaking Ma'ab, Gavin?"

"There is no language barrier here," Innathi said. "It is more than a talent for speaking to spirits that your Deathwalker is able to understand me. Just speak to them each in turn."

Good to have the clarification. "Will the other be listening?"

"If you wish it."

Considering, I said, "I do not, your grace."

"Very well." Innathi strode closer. "Which will be first?"

"Best that you ask the Guild's tactical questions," Gavin said. "I will probe the Inquisitor but you go first."

"The Hellhound will be first," I said to the queen.

Innathi stepped to Gavin's side, continuing to avoid me as she took hold of the High Inquisitor's ear and tugged him off to the side. He scuffled and scrambled on knees and fingertips to follow her, the glazed film never leaving his eyes.

At the same time, the Hellhound blinked. And focused on us. Deep, black eyes beneath a heavy brow switched from Gavin to me and back; the nostrils of a strong hump-nose flared as he inhaled our scents like a beast of burden, and downturned lips further tightened as if a line had been cut in solid granite. His neck was massively thick like I'd imagine a giant's, the thick bands of muscle there matched further through his shoulders and his entire torso and legs. Old injuries and scars showed clearly, ruffling the edges of some tattoos, on his limbs mostly, and I believed that I saw before me someone who had done little else while he lived besides travel, work, and fight.

"Half-caste," the Ma'ab said, and it was one of the deepest voices I'd heard so far in my life. He drew back hostile lips to show yellowing teeth. Then he looked at me. "Black Witch."

"Hellhound," I added helpfully with a smile. "Welcome. You have evaded the Greylands. Your old masters will never get you now."

Gavin's eyes slid toward me at that opening but he said nothing as it seemed to confuse the Ma'ab, but also gave him something to consider. The Hellhound looked around carefully, noting the clear, Star-pocked Sky, the blue dunes, and of the warm, tan stone that made up the pyramid upon which he kneeled.

"You killed me, witch..." he said quietly.

I nodded. "I did. But you wanted to die. Look behind me. The Dark Sorceress from a hundred years ago, whom your high-born killed, enslaving her demon-son to further their magic? She will see her revenge. You belong to her now."

I could see recognition for the story in his face, even if he may not be old enough to remember or even from a family involved in the capture and ownership of our Priestess and her Draegloth son. I figured with Vesram being living proof this whole time, no one doubted this had actually happened in Ma'ab history, if that was what the high-born wanted to tell of it. However, my statement of his fate did not seem to worry him.

The Hellhound looked over my red uniform slowly, not in lust but in appraisal before looking up and behind me at Innathi in her outfit. The belief was clear in his eyes, at least that he was not in the Greylands and that the Dark Sorceress stood now stood before him, though his expression firmed up to one of cold observation.

Perhaps taking the cue from his leader, he grunted, nodding, and he went quiet, staring at the blue sapphire around my neck. It seemed not even Gavin was enough affront to speak further; he waited like a soldier for an order. I could oblige him.

"Do all Hellhounds release plague as you did upon being killed?" I asked curiously.

He smirked then, dark eyes looking up. "Did it get you?"

I scowled at him, playing along. "It did. It is why I am here with you. Your brother-warrior got the half-caste. You are both bastards."

His stomach moved in a silent laugh as he continued to stare at me; it struck me then that he had not acknowledged Gavin after that first exchange.

"So...all Hellhounds are infectious, correct?" I prodded.

He shook his head. "Not all. One must volunteer and make an oath to see the task complete, or it will sicken the body long before it is time."

"I see. Missions where you are not expected to return alive."

"Correct, witch."

"Who created the spell to infuse you with plague after you volunteered? It must be a powerful sorceress...was it Vo'Traj?"

He gave me an odd, suspicious look. "How do you know her?"

He was much taller than me, but I took advantage of the fact that he was kneeling and made as if I towered over him. "Do you think old enemies do not pay for good information? You are not the only ones to deal with the Guild."

He grunted and nodded once, not questioning me.

"So it was her," I said with full confidence, even though I was not sure.

"What does it matter now, Black Witch?" he rumbled, tilting his head slowly at me in a way that made me think of the mountain cats during my first months on the Surface.

I rolled my eyes Skyward. "It would seem to me that the blessing of any death plague would be an intimate act, rather like killing another with your own hands, would you not agree?"

The look the Hellhound gave me, somehow stoic and interested at the same time, was not too far from a look of lust in its own strange way. He did understand.

I smiled. "This is why I can call you, but not your brother-warrior. The cursed blade which killed you may be in the hands of the Ma'ab now, and if it is placed into the hands of the sorceress who blessed you with plague, you may be able to speak with her even after death."

"And why would you want any such thing, Black Witch?"

"The Dark Sorceress stands behind me and you have to ask?"

"I will not betray my own Commandress."

I grinned with as much sinister pleasure as I could muster. "The alternative is much more unpleasant."

Innathi seemed to take a cue at that, and though I didn't expect her to help with this she stepped forward with a soft grind of her boots against grains of sand, leaving the Inquisitor alone and still for the moment. She lifted her first two, elegant fingers and placed them in the center of his forehead, about the same place where I had seen that glowing oculus in Pig Eyes as I had plumbed his thoughts for answers of where Jael had been kept.

Gavin and I each looked around as we tried to identify from where the sound was coming, a sound that reminded me of the cannibal cultists bearing down on us through the twisted forest, long before we could see them. It contained the hollow echo of eternal hunger, and made me think first that if it caught me, it would eat the baby straight out from my gut while I watched. I pursed my lips and focused on the coolness of Gavin's hand, doing as Mourn suggested and blocking any fear of this place with knowing that I wasn't alone and I wasn't really here. Not the way that the Hellhound was truly here.

The big, tattooed warrior shook visibly, his eyes rolled upward, and his blue-tinged nipples had turned rock hard as bumps swept over his skin and scars, and his dark, flushed scrotum visibly drew up tight against his body. I expected him to make fists of his hands but when it didn't happen, I realized that he was truly shocked, not in control and only now beginning to realize it.

Innathi stepped back and only then did the Hellhound take the equivalent of a gasping breath, dark eyes staring up at her in awe and fear. While it would have taken me much longer to have wrangled bits of information out of him with deft, flexible words, I thought the desert queen had just saved me a lot of effort by rampaging a path straight through his will.

I took that moment. "Was it Vo'Traj who blessed you with plague?"

"No... No," he gasped low like the sound of a giant bear grunting deep within a cavern. "Commandress Vo'Kyahn."

I smiled, not looking at Innathi as I might have but staying focused on my questions. "Was she the only one in the army who could grant such an honor? If she was cut down at some point, would another have done it for you?"

The only thing that seemed to be missing in his fear response, as he blinked eyes over whatever he had been seeing when Innathi touched him, was his heartbeat. "Lieutress Vo'Reye and Vo'Traj Senatrix... can also bless us if needed."

And all three were dead if I wasn't mistaken.

"I would know the name of the Hellhound who killed me," I said.

This seemed to help him focus past his shakes as he became still and could look up at me once more.

"Yuncis Divigna," he answered, his bare chest expanding.

Gavin and I each went still; I didn't see much likeness to Kurn, but...

"A relation to the fearsome Kreshel Divigna?"

It took another moment for the description to sink in, but he smirked just a bit and nodded. "I am a third cousin."

"How many years has he been your leader?"

"As many as I have been a Hellhound."

"And that is?"

"Twenty-three."

I considered whether that was a long time or not.

"For an army rank in Humans, that is impressive," Innathi broke in. "It means he likely reached this position early and had the strength and desire to keep it through his prime years."

"But if necromancy is more common among the Ma'ab, their 'prime years' may be defined differently from mere Human," I said, and Gavin nodded.

"The Ma'ab are still a recent infection on our land," the desert queen sneered. "They cannot have learned to alter the lifespans of their common men yet."

Yuncis made eye contact with me and I could guess that Innathi was correct. Even though some high caste sorceresses may have kept Vesram prisoner for a century, and none of the most powerful would ever wish to die and possibly return back to the Greylands, it remained as Gavin had told me: most of the common Ma'ab had bred with Humans and were now mostly Human on this plane.

I asked a few more practical questions for the Guild; when needed, my probing was cloaked as grudging compliments or frustrated obstacles. I asked about those self-grinding, spiked chains, about the level of customized weapons on each Man, of vomit-spells such as one of his other brothers had spewed in the temple, the tattoos. He answered with little prodding; Innathi had only to step either to one side or another where he became aware of her again. Even with her not being Ma'ab like him, he responded to her command as he had from his Ma'ab sorceresses during his time of service. He was not nearly as stubborn as Kurn had been.

"I met another Hellhound on the road to Manalar," I told him with a calm lilt to my voice. "A disgraced one. He was after the relics you sought to keep for his own."

"We kill all traitors," he rumbled darkly. "There are no rogue Hellhounds in my time of service who still live."

"Oh? The name of Kurn Divigna doesn't sound familiar?"

I was shocked to see the answer on his face. It was no. To Yuncis, the name wasn't familiar. Interesting. I was less inclined to think it was the blue sands leaving a hole in his mind than that the brute who had chased me into the canyon simply wasn't a part of his circle. Kreshel kept a far distance between his Men and his offspring. Or the women did.

"Kurn?" Yuncis frowned. "You make up lies."

I shrugged. "Or he did. Yet what if another Ma'ab reached the relics before you?"

"It was not my objective to reach the relics."

"But it was for Kreshel and Vo'Traj, and you supported their mission infiltrating the temple."

I could tell he was used to strong females challenging him this way, forcing him to defend his own words. Innathi even stepped in to nudge him again.

"You will answer her," she said in a voice that flowed down my back like a firm caress.

He jerked his head once and stated flatly, "We would capture and flay any Ma'ab to lay hands on them without permission."

I smirked. We'd see about that, given that they were both in the hands of a certain half-caste "slum" necromancer at my side. "What about you, Yuncis? You are not high-born enough? What is your caste?"

"Second Tier."

He held no shame for this, as if he knew exactly where he stood. By contrast, I knew a Drow would be looking for the figurative ladder before the first century was out.

"What do you know of the scepter and the crown?"

"Only that my mistresses want them back. Only the First Tier may use them."

I laughed, leaning in toward his face. "You know what I say? I say the Guild will grab those relics before yours can, and they will use them how they see fit."

I expected him to scowl now, but he didn't.

"The...Guild..." he repeated, blinking as if trying desperately to remember something through a powerful sedative.

"Yes. Kreshel will have to barter with them again, as he did for them to spoil the pool as you took out the Bishops and the temple."

"The temple," he repeated, and his face flushed an odd green beneath his blue-white skin as he clenched his teeth in rage. "The Guild trapped us...you...and he..." He finally acknowledged Gavin again. "Drained...I..."




Surfacing Ch. 20



He blinked many times, beginning to quiver, and I drew Gavin back with me. Watching his face, I knew Yuncis now recalled those horrid, dissolving moments I'd shared with him as Soul Drinker and Gavin both sucked the life force from them, slow enough that the Hellhounds knew they wouldn't have the strength for that final burst of faith and hatred which would spew plague all over their enemies. 

Combined with whatever Innathi had showed him before, this made the memory worse, intimate beyond what I had suggested before about killing someone with one's own hands. He knew now I had been lying about everything before, about being able to see or serve his mistresses even from within this dagger that had killed him. This place was not the Greylands, but a dead-end prison where his kind would never find him. His warrior brother wasn't here, and he would eventually cease to be.

I stepped back as the Hellhound began to bay and howl, the misery and helpless despair relived too keenly, sharp and piercing to the point I felt I might vomit again. I didn't want to share this with him. Not again.

"You're crushing my hand," Gavin whispered harshly.

"Huh?..." 

Was that real? Was I really doing that, hurting Gavin physically somehow, or was it something I thought I was doing to his mind? I didn't see how it could be something I did to his body because I knew Gavin would not whine about a strong handshake even if it did hurt; he was well inured to pain in general and I knew he regenerated damage quickly. Was it as it had been before, then, when we were linked with Nyx and he had a nosebleed when we finally separated? I had better be careful.

Innathi chuckled behind us before coming to the fore, side-stepping and sauntering to stand between us and Yuncis Divigna once again. This time she had brought the Inquisitor scrambling on his knees with her, still holding his ear with her thumbnail digging in, and reached out with her free, gloved hand to touch the Hellhound's cheek.

"Oh, you and I shall have an eternity in this moment," she cooed. "So few remember being drawn into Soul Drinker as clearly as you do. But for now..."

She shooed him away, and the Hellhound disappeared in a rushing spray of blue sand. In a graceful spin, she threw High Inquisitor Kegyek in Yuncis's place and looked at us.

"Now the next. Be swift."

The Inquisitor was a shorter man of more refinement when compared directly to the Hellhound, but I remembered - just before Soul Drinker lodged in his throat - how fully dressed he appeared a combination between a fighter, a politician, and a Witch Hunter. Now he kneeled naked, dark-haired and pale, with attractive green eyes and far fewer scars than Yuncis. While the Hellhound began observant and quiet, as soon as Kegyek blinked, his face filled with hostility and it was obvious to me what he was thinking. Witchcraft, seduction, and heresy using black magic to tear him away from his god.

He wasn't too far from the truth in this case. He would never go to Musanlo and I wondered what his response would be when he fully realized that.

"So you have come for the demon slut in our dungeon," he hissed in a voice that for a moment I thought would have been more appropriate on a gnome, but that could've been just listening to Yuncis and his deep base for a while. "You will never get her out of there. You will join her and we will find out what you have planned against our God."

Gavin either knew something I did not or he had taken a cue from Innathi, but either way he surprised me when he stepped forward, still holding my hand, and gripped Kegyek's throat in his larger hand. He dug his black-tipped fingers in on either side of the windpipe to close off his air and strangle his voice. It worked exceedingly well; the Inquisitor's eyes bugged out and I saw his pale face flush with pain.

Again I wondered, if I was not really here, how was it that we could touch the ghosts? I might think it was Gavin's doing, his being able to see ghosts all his life, yet I remembered how it felt when Kurn's pierced dick had rubbed along my thigh. Hot, hard, and far too real, when Innathi had convinced me that I wanted to fuck anyone. Perhaps this was especially so for those who did not yet believe they were dead; it was easy to convince them that they felt horny, felt pain, or couldn't breathe.

"The undercroft," Gavin said, his icy black eyes piercing the other's like fresh green leaves suffering a dark winter. "There is an ancient guardian spirit down there. Have you ever seen him?"

I gave Gavin an odd look even though he wasn't focused on me. That was not one of the questions that Talov had for the Inquisitor. They were more interested in secret passages the Guild might have missed if they were new, and the exact locations of weapons and spell components within the temple that may have survived the battle and the looting. However, I did not interfere yet.

The necromancer eased his grip and Kegyek gasped while clutching at Gavin's bony wrist. "Spirit...? Haunting...?"

"Perhaps he is haunting, in that he is unable to leave the temple and cross over to Musanlo's realm," Gavin said. "But he holds his vow even past death. Have you ever seen him?"

The Man's eyes slid to the side, just barely. "N - No. Ghosts are lost souls barred from entering paradise, trapped to wander the land where they transgressed against our Holy Father."

Gavin snorted softly and squeezed the other Man's throat again. "That hardly covers every circumstance where one may see a spirit. I think that you have indeed seen him but you ignore him like he has sins which are contagious."

I watched as the Inquisitor tried bending one of my death mage's fingers back, to break the grip on his throat, but though he was not a weak man in life, he could not budge the necromancer's hold. I sensed anger coming from Gavin, as could Innathi, and we both stayed quiet wondering what this messenger might show us.

"Are there others?" he asked bluntly. "Wandering the temple or out in Manalar."

"We would have exorcised them," the Inquisitor almost squeaked.

"No one in your generation could manage that," the grey mage said bitterly. "I wager the best would be a ward or a magical barrier. You would not let your young scholars study in the realm of transforming or exiling souls."

"Of course not!" His squeak turned into a shriek. "That is... black magic! That is playing God!"

The naked Inquisitor struggled harder against Gavin's hold to no avail. He paused when Gavin bared his black teeth, stunned as if he was now staring down the maw of a Hellish devil.

"Where have you seen others?" Gavin repeated, making me wonder why he was so sure the Inquisitor had seen others? Was he going down the wrong path on a presumption?

Kegyek shook his head and pulled more, and I saw Gavin's fingernails begin to tear at the skin just as they would if we were standing among the living. My dark scholar did not care in the least. Innathi said nothing but when I glanced back quickly at her, she seemed to be listening to something as she looked up at the Sky.

"I haven't, I haven't!" the Inquisitor wheezed.

"You have," Gavin said. He still had not taken his eyes away from the other. "The ancient guardian told me that you could see him. You would not listen. Of course, I understand this, for if you had told Archbishop Keros of your ability to judge how close to death one of your victims was, you would be admitting to practicing dark magic. Yet you have always been able to do this, correct? This has made you one of the finest interrogators in temple history."

The Inquisitor grunted and continued shake his head, Gavin's nails raking him further as red blood stained each of their pale skins. I noticed that my grey mage's other hand had begun to squeeze my own rather hard as well, though I was not to the point where I would complain. Gavin repeated his question over and over, and eventually I noticed why a Man such as this one, who had once been in charge of all the Witch Hunters, would actually squirm like this while talking about ghosts with a tall, lanky heretic.

There was just the slightest bit of blue light at the tips of Gavin's fingers. It made me wonder if Inquisitor Kegyek could feel the cool touch of the Greylands through the hand around his throat? Not the blackening fire of the Nine Hells, or the bright warmth of his God, but the chill of the grave seeping into his soul.

By comparison, if I were to believe one of my earliest dreams about Soul Drinker, then Kegyek may have felt something more like acid or poison when the cursed dagger drew out his life force. Same with the Hellhound; either of them might believe that they had been attacked, but neither of them seemed to connect the feeling with actual death. With Yuncis, it had not been until he was reminded how he died. Soul Drinker was not unlike a spider dissolving a fly's guts with its venom before sucking out the insides. It seemed to suit the former queen of the Drow, even if the Spider Queen had not been part of our worship back then.

Perhaps no one, or at least no Human, could mistake the touch of the Greylands when they felt it. Ironic that the Inquisitor was so afraid of its touch when embracing it might be the only way he would stand in the warmth of his God once more.

*Jealous... Jealous...! He may not leave... ours, he is ours...!*

I looked behind me at Innathi again and she stared at me now. She smirked. That had not been her voice but probably either the dagger or all of those inside watching us. All the invisible souls, some still fairly whole and others in shreds and pieces, aware of Gavin's presence now just as they had always been aware of mine, but perhaps most particularly now they were aware of his blue light.

"Release me and I will tell you!" Kegyek finally cried.

"Release him, Gavin," I agreed, still looking up and listening around me.

"His distress is a draw, you know," Innathi chuckled.

When Gavin seemed instead tempted to squeeze harder, I reached with my free hand to touch his bloody one around Kegyek's throat. "Let him answer your question."

Gavin nodded without speaking and took his hand away from the Inquisitor. He straightened up and I pulled him a step back, looking up at him and seeing how his eyes had gone completely black. The hollow echoes around us were far more noisy now, as if we had disturbed the surface of a calm pool with a piece of meat only to see flesh-eating fish churning the water to a froth in their eagerness to get at the floating bits.

"I saw more ghosts all over the undercroft and the dungeons," the Inquisitor answered, now shaking as Yuncis had been after the queen had touched him. "Sometimes they seem drawn to the garden outside, or the butcher market, or on the south side of the city library, always the south side."

"The library?" I asked, glancing at Gavin in disbelief. Surely all the ghosts of Manalar were not bookworms like my grey scholar?

Gavin nodded without asking for more clarification on those odd choices. "Now tell me where you cache more weapons and spell components for your defenses. Places that would go unnoticed even if an enemy ransacked your city."

Well. At least he had not forgotten the Guild's requests. Kegyek was more willing to answer these questions so long as Gavin did not touch him again. The hollow noises around us did not seem to calm with the separation, however, and Gavin and I were more easily distracted as wisps of wind and sand seem to tug insistently at our cloaks. I looked again to Innathi as she began to pace a little bit, one gloved hand resting on her whip. She still looked up at the Sky, and I got the feeling that she was monitoring some sort of gate.

"That will be enough," the desert queen said when we had gotten a decent bit of information to bring back to Mourn and the others. "Perhaps you had best leave now and forget about summoning Kurn."

"Why, your grace?" I asked though I had more than enough nerves built up to guess from listening to the distant howls behind, above, and all around us. 

Gavin had released the Inquisitor but it didn't lessen the sounds. Innathi strode forward to reclaim the green-eyed Man for herself as she had the Hellhound. She didn't answer my question until she had slapped him extremely hard across the face, not only tossing his head to the side but causing him to tilt and fall. As soon as his body landed on the warm stone, he vanished in another gust of wind and sand. Only then did the desert queen turn around to face us, looking between us with a hard stare.

"They wonder if they might leave with the Deathwalker," she said with amazing straightforwardness. "It is not possible, and it would drive both of you mad if they tried. An attempt at mass possession."

The hair stood up on the back of my neck. I believed her. That was a very real risk, but yet wouldn't Innathi also be very happy for me to simply give up on Kurn and not challenge her anymore for control of him? It would be so very easy to give up and leave now. Yet I still had the cum-stained rag wrapped around the hilt of Soul Drinker and the first thing that came to my mind after her warning was his erection with the blue jeweled ring piercing the head. It was a sapphire, she had said, in honor of the color of my eyes. 

Unlike most of my kills with the red-rune dagger, stabbing Kurn had been physically pleasurable as well as mentally so, the natural consequence and the final confrontation coming from his persistent stalking and my violation of him in the canyon. Final, at least, among the living. I remembered stabbing him again here atop this pyramid using my Red Sister dagger and only wishing him gone so that I could protect Jael and discover what Innathi was hiding.

Now I wished him back.

"He is among them," Gavin said quietly. "You did not destroy him."

"You do not have much time," our hostess warned and if she was irritated that we were not acting immediately on her suggestion she did not show it. "You forget, Sirana, you owe me your service. You must leave, my warrior."

"Gavin?" I began with and halted as I looked up and down his new robes. 

Made to be a very muted grey in the waking world, the cloth seemed brighter now as if it had been dipped in some compound which slowly stripped all color from the natural material as it dried. I could not say it was as white as Innathi's silk dress or our hair, but it was beginning to lean that way. His eyes remained solid black.

"Gavin," I said again.

"If you would try, do it now," he said. "Her grace cannot let you come to harm and she can and will exert control over those that would descend upon us."

Innathi paced some more, moving in a wide circle around us, her whip now trailing behind her almost like a very thin version of Mourn's tail. A curved ran down its length as she gave it a flick, but it was not hard enough to snap the air. "You push your own safety, Deathwalker, relying on me."

Gavin chose not to respond aloud but he adjusted his grip on my hand as his pitch black eyes scanned the Stars above us. The unspoken gesture said quite a bit. The ancient queen was probably right that we were not safe indefinitely as long as Gavin stood with me, but as long as he held onto me it also stood to reason that if Innathi would protect me for a little longer, Gavin would benefit from the protection while I made the attempt.

Gavin and I had discussed how we might draw Kurn forward from the mass, particularly when I explained how I had briefly wrested control of him from Innathi before. Neither Mourn nor Isboern were cheerful with the explanation but admitted it made sense even from the view of a simple spell component, and Krithannia, Talov, and my Sister all chuckled. I didn't bring up Kerse or the talisman he had made to control me as a possible reason for my impulse to gather up Kurn's semen at all, and though Mourn could have made a connection just from my memory of it, he did not seem to see a need to bring it up either.

Nonetheless Gavin had told Innathi when we first got here that we might summon Kurn through his lust, and that was exactly what I had to do. 

Right. So do it now.

I had stroked him off once before and it was easy to imagine doing so again, right now atop this monument. This time I imagined doing so with the sapphire piercing twinkling at me as the deep red member swelled and shook under my ministrations, as clear, slippery fluid seeped from the hole in the tip.

*Ku's ummat...*

*You want to fuck me, Ma'ab? Do you?*

For a moment I felt the distinct mass of a heavy, turgid erection in my hand, but then it disappeared. I turned my head to look at Innathi through my lashes, as my eyes were mostly closed. She tilted her head innocently as I narrowed my eyes, as if she was not still resisting my command of her big, new toy. 

I wondered about her claim on him, and her desire to get the big Man rutting on me. Perhaps it had been that fresh glut of new souls after decades of being placed unused on Brom's shelf, and perhaps it had been the chaotic nature of those souls affecting the queen as she welcomed them into her realm, but I still hadn't liked being made vulnerable to my opponent whom I just killed, no matter what pleasure Innathi might have thought I would get from it.

*Were you told that I was your reward for being such a good boy for your new mistress? Were you, Kurn?*

Again I can clearly see myself pulling his erection in my mind's eye, jerking it like the breeding bull he was. I imagined him on his knees in the Canyon, his crinkled pucker already violated and his cock getting ready to spurt all over his own skin as I lodged the hilt of his own dagger further up his backside. I heard a ghostly moan in response.

*As I have told another brutish freak before, I am no one's reward. Especially not yours. You are mine. Come here, ku's ummat. Now.*

Again I felt the weight of a Human cock in my gloved hand, and the transition from memory back to communion with the Elsewhere was almost seamless. I stared at a broad chest, pale and sparsely covered with black hair, and I had to lift my chin to confirm a familiar, dark-eyed, masculine face framed by short, black hair. Kurn had almost no expression and I wasn't even sure he saw or recognized me, but his hands were fisted and his erection strained for release as pre-cum leaked out and around the golden ring decorating his pole.

"Welcome back," I said with a very slow jerk.

His body quivered but again his expression didn't really change. He stared down at me with intense eyes, like an animal awaiting some action, the self-awareness wasn't really there. Did he remember anything, or was his mind dead?

Behind me, Innathi chuckled. "For a while, every soul here can be injured and violated again and again for as long as they believe it is happening. The memory of the training seems to last, one after the other, but each time you kill them, or make them believe you have killed them, some small piece is missing every time they come back. Your Deathwalker has his mindless servants, and in this way I have mine."

I frowned, keeping my eyes on the Ma'ab before me. "Kreshel."

Gavin made a small, uncomfortable grunt at the same moment I saw something in my head. It was a reversed view of Kurn's erection, with his own hand stroking him off instead of mine. It was someplace dark and there was a thin line of light—firelight, I thought—as he peered into a foreign chamber full of paintings of various battles and dark-eyed figures posing in the glory of uniform, blood, and death.

The image became clearer as I coaxed parallel pleasure from him, flicking the sapphire ring now and then, and I realized a younger Kurn spied on his father and a woman I didn't recognize. I only heard "governess" in my ears but it did not come from the couple; in fact, I heard no words, foreign or not, only high-pitched barks of effort coming from the female and the mashed up heavy breathing of a struggle.




Surfacing Ch. 21



Author's Notes: This story is erotic fantasy written by Etaski. I reserve the right to be listed as the author of this story, wherever it is posted. If found posted anywhere except Literotica.com with this note attached, this story is posted without my permission. (c) Etaski 2014.

And now for the fight to reclaim Manalar! Thank you for your patience, this chapter took longer to write because I just checked: it is yet another record-breaker. 

Welcome to the NEW "Longest Chapter" of the series. Enjoy!

*******

Surfacing Chapter 21

"So," the out-spoken, burly, redheaded Templar said, "if the Hellhound's commander can undo all of your creations, what point is there in bringing these three back as your abominations?"

The Templar got several looks from others, but I spoke first.

"What is your name, redbeard?" I eased myself to my feet with Mourn just behind me. I knew he was watching how steady I was after hitting my head, but at least he didn't have his hands held out so obviously ready to catch me.

Redbeard blinked and frowned at me. "Sir Eric, lady."

I grinned, even though my head still throbbed enough that it had to be a bit forced. "Lady? Is that what you call me in your mind?"

Sir Eric puffed up a bit as he and most of his brothers seemed to take this as a threat. I realized too late that as they had been watching me and Gavin and, assuming they had eyes and ears that worked at all, they would have realized that I could do something within the same nature as his own Captain, who had more or less just shown his Templars that he was fully aware of my ability and was even providing advice.

The big Templar spoke quite deliberately. "What I think inside my own skull is none of your concern. Lady."

Yes. He was threatened. I hadn't intended to heighten his wariness, it had been a flippant remark akin to what I would've said to Kurn. Sir Eric perhaps had a thing or two in common with him, in that he was a talker. Like me.

"In that case," I said, "I am Red Sister Sirana, Sir Eric. Not 'lady.'"

I flicked my eyes to Isboern, who nodded subtly in approval. I heard then, gentle is an evening breeze against my mind, *Promise them privacy. Then act on it.*

*I am not going to be dancing around inside their thoughts on a whim, it makes my head hurt and there is always a cost.*

*I know, and I am glad to hear you say that. Just make an oath, Sirana, that will be enough.*

I doubted that an oath from me would carry the same weight as an oath from the blond Human Man in that shiny armor.

"And you have my promise, Sir Eric, and all of you Templars," I continued after only the briefest of pauses, "I will not be reading your thoughts for something so trivial as what names you call me in private."

That was not quite the promise that Isboern had asked for, I knew, but I wasn't done. I indicated the Godblood with my open hand. "The Guild as a whole has already promised not to interfere between your Captain and yourselves. That includes magic, and our arrangement with him affords you protection from mental invasion from any of us."

Mourn and Krithannia helped me out by nodding sagely at this. "This is so, Templars. It is part of the contract."

Sir Eric and the others looked to their Captain, who also nodded. "This was discussed when I hired them. Sister Sirana was teasing you, Eric, because none of you have called her anything until now. She is not usually blatantly ignored, her skills are valuable."

"She is..." The big redhead looked at all of us, nothing in our appearances giving him any comfort. 

What was he going to say? Not Human? Female? A demoness?

"Very outspoken," he finished.

Ha!

"So are you, sir Templar," I chuckled. "And I prefer my males on the quiet side."

Not at all true –Shyntre was his most infuriating when he refused to speak – but it worked for me here and now just to see Sir Eric's expression.

Isboern raised his gauntleted hand and looked sternly both of us. "You have each been raised to speak your minds without fear of belittlement. I must advise that you, Sir Eric, and all of my Templars, take this into your minds now, if you have not already. The four Elf women with us will function the same as you in this situation. You had best forget, for all our sakes, that they have breasts. They will speak as they must, and they are worth listening to."

"What if the Hellhounds capture them?" one of the dark-haired Templars asked. "They will violate them."

It took that full, pregnant moment for me to realize that the Human had stated that as a fate worse than death.

"Personally, I am more concerned about being gutted or having my head caved in," I said.

Sir Eric gave me an odd look. "Which is sure to happen afterward, but any lady I know would prefer not to be tortured first."

I returned that odd look. "Just as you might prefer to skip having your fingernails ripped off and teeth broken out prior to being gutted, yes?"

Krithannia had started chuckling and I hoped it was because of the look on the Templar's face.

"Dead is dead," I insisted. "Why should it matter to you whether they fucked us first? The same could happen to you, but if you are dead then it is no longer a concern."

Tamuril had turned toward the wall and I couldn't see her expression but Isboern, interestingly enough, was letting this play out. He watched and listened but probably had part of his attention—if not part of his thoughts— with the blonde Elf.

"The same could happen to us?" one of the Templars repeated incredulously. "We are men."

He stopped as if that completed his argument. Jael and I looked at each other in amazement just before she snorted in laughter, shifting her weight and loosening up as if prepping for a fist fight or wrestling match. 

"Either you have some enchanted loincloth protecting your male bits beneath that armor or you can clench hard enough to form precious stones in your netherhole."

The mental imagery had me doubled over in a huge guffaw, but it did not last long enough to release the tension as I saw their expressions, amusing as they might appear at first glance. They *did* assume that rape was an impossibility for them... and suggesting otherwise was insulting enough that it looks like they wanted to fight us. 

Not good. 

"At attention," Isboern said immediately in a voice that brooked no discussion.

I nudged my Sister to stop her laughing and straighten up as well, although both of us looked them over for weak spots and imagining their reaction if someone tried to violate them. Exactly as Red Sisters were trained to do. 

They would probably become murderous, like Kurn, and lose the upper hand altogether in any struggle. No way they could keep their calm and outsmart or outlast their attacker.

And should one survive it...?

"Given that these Ma'ab do not follow anything near your code," I said, "you had best not assume or get distracted by any idea that one of them sticking their cock in a hole is the worst that could happen, or that it is a fate fit only for me and my sisters."

More than one Templar was flustered and still in denial of the truth behind my words. It would be easy to say that myself and Jael, possibly Krithannia and even Tamuril would come out much stronger of mind than any "man" of Manalar. Given the chains and vomit spells and any number of things Kreshel could throw at us in a pitched battle, I did not understand why they would let the mental image of a rage fuck on one of us get to them more than anything else that could happen.

"Yes, now you have made your point," Captain Isboern said firmly and clearly asking us to not antagonize his Men beyond this limit. Then he looked at Sir Eric, his blue eyes appraising the others. "Do you understand? They are here to fight as you are. I know it is against your natures, but we cannot afford your distraction if you think these four women cannot take care of themselves. As with any ally, help them if you can, and they will help you, the better so that we may all to survive. But do not forget why we are here."

"Easier said than done, Captain," a younger blonde said with his heavy accent.

"I am asking you to make it so, Sir Justin," Isboern said more softly, looking directly at his Templar. "To help assure our victory."

"The Hellhounds will use them against us," another said stubbornly.

"They will use anything that you care about against you given an opening," Mourn rumbled, his deep voice capturing their attention. I wished I could do that. "Your fellow soldiers, your city, your symbols, your rituals, your habits, your skills and your will. The females fighting for the Guild are only one of many possible targets that you will have to defend against so they will not get the upper hand. Krithannia, Sirana, and Jael have all been trained to defend against this and not sacrifice their objectives for fear of violation or death. Tamuril has also pledged her service to your Godblood."

None of the Templars responded directly to the Guild's field leader, but they seemed to think about it and looked again to their Captain, who smiled in a peaceful way of his. I don't know exactly what the blond Man did, if anything, but the Templars seemed to calm down and consider what had been said despite the upset the Drow had caused in their minds.

"We must know each other better. I would ask each of you to tell these women your name," Isboern said then. "And say each of hers aloud as well. You should use their *names,* not think of them as merely ladies who must be protected and are a weak spot for you. That is not acceptable here."

"Indeed. Perhaps this was something that we should have done last night," Krithannia said with a lovely smile. "You know my name, I am Krithannia of the Guild, and I have seen and survived many fights for longer than any of you have been alive, except for Mourn. I will have your back, Captain and our Templar allies, because that is why I am here."

A few of the Templars seemed almost hypnotized looking at her face, one swallowed while a few others nodded. Sir Eric tried mumbling, "Krith-Anna." A few others followed suit and both Isboern and Mourn nodded in approval.

Our two Guild leaders then both looked at Jael, and Mourn signed to her. She rolled her bright red eyes and tried to use them to pin the Human Men across the room.

"I am Jael," she said with all the arrogance of her youth. "More than two decades of hard training and endurance. Believe me, I can and will fight. Probably better than you."

A few of our allies widened their eyes to hear that she had been fighting for twenty years and yet she looked to be youngest of all of us and with the over-confident, bragging attitude to match. One or two tried to smile at this but it did not stay as she stared at each of them in turn. After a few more moments, they looked at me.

"Sirana, as I have said. And I have more than four decades of hard training. I can fight and I can also link with other minds as your Captain can."

Two Templars could not help but make a gesture of protection across their chest and face when I said that. Four decades was probably longer than most of them had been alive. They had less of a reaction with Krithannia not giving a specific amount of time; but then, I almost figured that admitting to four centuries could actually make them panic or pass out.

"Now you do the same," Isboern said before they could dwell on this too much longer. "Sir Eric, please go first."

So. What we had here were nine Men between the ages of twenty-five and thirty-three, all of them having joined the Army of Musanlo at some point in time before finding their way in service to a persuasive and rising star within their military just over the last few years, where negotiation and fulfilled promises of protection and justice earned the trust of more of the surrounding provinces of Manalar than the actual city itself. They had Eric and Justin, I noted, but also Esben, Aino, Daniel, Vidar, Rafe, Stefan, and Torben.

"I will never remember each of those," Jael whispered to me in Drow.

I smirked. "Try. What Godblood said applies to us as well: if you can help them, do. The more of them that live, the more likely you will live."

"If I can," she repeated but nodded.

Mourn's tail moved a bit and I saw him glance at us but he said nothing. Instead he looked down where Gavin still sat in deep thought with his back against the wall. The necromancer seemed to be ignoring us for the most part, but when we stopped talking he did look up and realized that a couple of us were looking at him.

"Are you finished?" he asked deadpan.

My shoulders shook in a silent snicker. "So do you still plan to bring these three Hellhounds back to serve you, if Divigna can simply stop them when he wishes?"

Gavin nodded without hesitation, and everyone listened with their full attention. "This is unexpected but not insurmountable. I am not certain how Divigna can destroy undead, but I do not see how he would be allowed to possess such an ability and still draw breath. Many in the upper echelons of their Empire are undead and would not feel at ease with the commander of the Hellhounds able to slay them at any time, regardless of how loyal he is. It is likely a charm or some other object given to him for this task alone."

"And therefore is something that can be taken away," Mourn added, nodding. "You may be able to sense it, yes?"

"Probably." Gavin looked at Tamuril. "If not me, then perhaps the Druid or the Captain."

"Why do you think so?" Krithannia asked.

"Most likely the charm would be made with death magic." Gavin tilted his head a bit, still looking at Tamuril and making her uneasy. "But if it is not, then the only other option is life magic. In other words, healing. Indeed a rare thing among the Ma'ab."

Healing with life magic. I resisted the urge to touch my stomach. It was almost a pity that Auslan wasn't here. Almost.

I jest. Even in the Red Sister Cloister, he was safer than here...

"Can this commander use this supposed 'charm' against you, not just your creations?" Sir Eric asked, clearly thinking on this now that I wasn't interfering. "Could he destroy you with it?"

Gavin shook his head. "I am not undead, Sir Eric."

There was a look on quite a few faces that asked, "Wasn't he?" Including my Sister. Gavin truly did look the part, and everyone here had seen him burned to a crisp in the Temple and then stand back up when the rift to the land of the dead open up. Gavin did not enjoy being looked at in this way and sounded less patient when next he spoke.

"You have seen me eat and drink, and sleep. I assure you that the undead do none of these things."

"Then what are you, Master Gavin?" Rafe said with careful respect.

I had asked my ally that very question back at the retreat. He had told me that he did not know.

"He is a mage in service to the lady of death," Isboern said, again trying to help translate for his men in terms they could understand. "The appearance of a mage can change if he pledges himself to a power greater than him."

Two of them, Stefan and Esben, I thought, could not help but look offended. Stefan blurted, "What greater power is there to pledge oneself than to Musanlo? Any others are pacts which cannot be trusted."

"We will not debate this," the Captain said firmly, holding his men's eyes until their body language eased in obedience. "It will interfere with our mission. Gavin serves the Maiden of Shrouds, she who was once worshiped in our fair city just under Musanlo Himself, long before the Bishops seized control. This is the return of a former ally of Musanlo, and she will help us again when we most need it."

I admit I loved watching so many jaws drop at this. I glanced at my mage and he seemed slightly surprised that the Godblood had told his men directly about the past of their own church.

"Has the Sun God told you this, Captain?" Daniel said in awe.

"Yes, in meditation, while I waited for you to join me at the retreat." Isboern looked around to each of them. "You're the first to hear this message and I trust you to hold true but do not share it until it is the right time for our people. It is one of the great reasons why we must get Manalar back. Musanlo is the sun that warms our land and makes life possible. Once he had others helping him, but he lost them through trickery. 

"We have this chance to rebuild an old alliance, and our success in reclaiming Manalar will be the proof that we may build upon an older tradition of combining our strengths, rather than trying to defend against all around us, isolated and alone. Each of you have told me this very thing, that this is what unsettled you most with the Bishops in control. We are alone fighting against the world." 

Isboern paused. "And as we are alone, thus so is our God. He needs allies, and we need Gavin's help with the Guild, and the help of his patroness. We can no longer afford to be suspicious of everyone who is different from us. Let their actions and their character speak truly who and what they are. This is your first test, Templars, you must trust me to have these women fight with us as one of our own, and we must trust Master Gavin, as he has the knowledge and ability to help turn the tide against the Ma'ab and any of their undead tricks."

I caught Mourn and Krithannia each cracking a very small smile as they glanced at each other, the half-blood standing above everyone else with his arms crossed, and her slightly in front of him on his left with her hands on her hips. It was notable as well that Isboern kept his word and did not bring up dragons even though his men might feel more comfortable around that legend than the lady of death or warrior women from foreign lands.

I did not have to read their thoughts to know that the Guild leaders were once again pleased with their choice of the Man who would rebuild Manalar. Assuming he survived, of course. He could be the prime target, I knew, and it was a little difficult to temper my confidence in a Varasa who had the blessing of major powers behind him, both physical and metaphysical. I could feel that collective confidence in all of us swell and fill the small, underground space like an invisible puffer fish.

Isboern took that moment and nodded to Gavin. "Do as you must, messenger."

*****

"Almost there," I whispered as I twisted the greased ring slowly around Tamuril's knuckle in one direction while keeping a steady pull on it.

Her knuckle was turning bright red from the agitation but she kept silent, pursing her lips, to let me work at it. Mourn and Jael stood in silence with their eyes constantly scanning; we would be leaving this spot as soon as we could.

"Tell me again why you could not do this in the bunker?" I asked. "Perhaps you could've asked Willven for help, he may even have been able to take it off with his mind."

I genuinely hoped that she would blush; I knew that she hadn't wanted Isboern to see the stuck ring for some reason. She made eye contact with the defiance that made my stomach flutter and it was a sorry comparison for the damaged forest that her eye color was the brightest green for miles around.

"It is your ring, Sirana, you take it back." 

No blush, but the emerald spark of temper was just as good. I grinned and concentrated on removing Callitro's ring entirely from her finger. Once it was off I set about wiping it clean with one of my small cloths before handing it to Tamuril for her to use. She sighed very softly as she did so, some of the tension leaving her shoulders.

"I still don't think it was my ring that caused your spell to grow into the Hellhound instead of simply around it," I said, letting my eyes shift from Tamuril's frown to Mourn's interested glance. "I felt some kind of surge at the moment the arrow was released and it reminded me of a shared aura. It has been happening a lot lately. If the Ley line of this place has been deeply affected by the spoiling of the pool and the rift just sealed, who is to say if something unexpected will not happen using magic, especially if we are all very close to each other?"




Surfacing Ch. 21



Mourn's yellow, reptilian eyes narrowed slightly in thought as I said this and his gaze switched from me to Tamuril to Jael. The subtle nod I thought was a thank you for the heads up.

Tamuril handed my cloth back to me and replaced her glove; she looked a bit sad and did not want to discuss my theory. She looked overhead, probably to better sense Pilla, and looked to Mourn. "We are ready."

The half-blood nodded once and shifted his appearance to resemble one of Reprisal as a healthy, Noiri Man wearing a cloak, black pants, and no shirt, with bare feet. His webbing and his weapons were still visible and he remained taller than each of us, but he no longer looked like a Dragon's son. The Druid's eyes widened as she watched him but I noticed that she accepted it very quickly; she could perform a similar feat.

"We should move as quick and quiet as we can," he murmured. "No telling how long Divigna will be on the field in the West."

We nodded and Tamuril moved ahead at first. Once she could not see our hands moving, Jael scowled at us as she signed, *So what is the deal with the ring?*

*Mate bond finger,* he replied.

*What?*

Mourn's pale lips pursed as he clearly did not have a word in our sign language for what he meant, although I thought I figured it out.

"Marriage?" I whispered at my Underdark level.

Mourn smiled. *Exactly. Gold ring, left hand, fourth next to the pinky. It is a sign to many humans that a female is mate-bonded to one male.*

Jael and I probably had a very similar expression: one? How fucking boring.

*The Pale Elf is not Human and Godblood knows she is not bonded,* I signed as we moved without breaking stride.

The hybrid shrugged. *Druid dislikes misleading symbols, she is wise to do this away from Templar eyes.*

Fair enough. Although I only put it on my left hand because it was less likely to get caught as I did many things with my right, and I had selected my middle finger because it was largest second only to my thumb. It just felt more balanced that way.

It was time to still our hands and focus on our surroundings as we spread out and moved through the trees well far back from the wall. We headed East, in the direction of that unsprung trap that Gavin and Krithannia had found the night before, as well as to locate Night-mare now that we knew she could be vulnerable to the Hellhounds.

Gavin would be very busy creating and acclimating to his top-quality minions, testing their limits and whatnot, but he had told us that the mare still roamed free for the moment, and she had seen a few Hellhounds at a time when they could not have been present on the field with Divigna so we knew there were a few separated from the larger whole we could target. Now the mare's orders were to stay well away from them, except that Gavin also gave us permission to use her to spring that trap and kill off those Hellhounds separated from their group.

Krithannia stayed behind with Gavin and Isboern, still able to communicate with Mourn, while Reprisal and Vigor remained outside to give plenty of warning should the bunker be approached by the enemy. Team Lung was out here as our support, gaining information and sending it back our way. Tamuril had not been required to go, but she had asked and Mourn accepted for her scouting instincts as well as a refined view from the Sky.

It was late afternoon and the cloud cover had returned to make it easier on our eyes and not quite as hot, though the humidity and the smell of death and carnage never lifted. The hills surrounding Manalar would have kept our view short except for the ancient falcon that flew overhead. We could focus on anything suspicious left behind or ambush points we wanted to circle, yet we could be certain that we grew ever closer to Gavin's mare and that our enemy never got too close.

The trap we sought was based at one of the main sources of water for the city, a stone harvester close to the city wall but not inside it, built on a higher elevation to collect rain and snow melt and keep it underground. It was filtered through sand, I was told, and an underground system allowed the water flow down a natural grade to serve the entire Northeast quadrant of the city. It may or may not have been fouled; it was possible that the Hellhounds were using it as a source themselves, though any public well that it fed could be poisoned by itself. A clean cistern in the upper East portion of the city did not mean we could be careless.

Gavin and Krithannia had found a tempting entrance into the city near the water collector. There was a covered walkway that not only had once protected the tenders of this important resource from the elements going back and forth between harvester, but also in itself collected rain and snow and fed it back into the supply where it would do the most good. It was intact and allowed one to get close to the wall and follow it for some distance without worrying about any attack from above. In the dark, the shadows would be very deep as well. 

Isboern had told us that the pathway leads through the wall and to a storage area before spilling out on a quiet street with indirect alleys and pathways that would, at Gavin's question, lead us closer to the city butcher market without being out in the open on the wider streets. Regardless we were not planning to enter the city quite yet; we wanted to see about an opportunity to take out those Hellhounds and, after retreating, what kind of guard response there may be afterward. Mourn said it would tell him something about possible tactics the Ma'ab commander might use.

Meanwhile I had in my possession another carved-bone talisman from Gavin, similar to the one that had protected me from the rift's opening surge inside the Temple. This one, he had said, would allow some basic instruction to be given to his mare, such as "come closer" or "go away," as well as some thoughtless understanding that the one holding the talisman could ride on her back.

"When did you think to make this?" I had asked him in tremendous surprise back at the bunker.

"When you announced you would join us," he replied. "You have been a passenger of hers for months. On some level she does recognize your life aura and you are accustomed to giving magical animals mental instructions. She may be useful to you."

"Not to mention she can also help make sure your mare doesn't fall into the Hellhound hands," Jael said with a smirk, crossing her arms.

Gavin had nodded. "That as well. I will not be able to concentrate on where she is or what she is seeing while I raise new servants, and Sirana does not tend to waste her resources."

I found myself thinking about my spiders at the time, or even Pilla and Graul. "What happens to you should she be destroyed? Given that I will do what I can to prevent that."

The grey mage shrugged. "Nothing I can't recover from. I may remake her or make another, given the opportunity and materials."

My eyes had shifted down to his waist and the pouch that I knew contained the petite hand of a female Ma'ab, that of the sorceress who had once controlled Vesram. Gavin's previous crawler had been larger, chopped from a male Witch Hunter and had been ripped apart within the portal after breaking Sarilis's black vial. Given materials and opportunity, indeed.

I had nodded and we had moved out very soon after.

Our non-Human team of four now stood perhaps a quarter hour away from the trap and Mourn indicated it was time to draw Night-mare forward. It was no coincidence that I kept the talisman in the same pouch with my two remaining spiders; not only would it be easy for me to remember exactly where it was at all times, but my guardians offered an extra layer of protection against anyone else getting hold of the bone talisman while I had it.

I slid my gloved hand very carefully into my pouch and my spiders crawled out onto my hand for a breath of fresh air while I fisted the bone. Unlike either the soft chime of my eight-legged babies or the harsh, gleeful whisper of Soul Drinker, what I sensed now after commanding a very simple, "Come to me," was a deathly quiet coalescing into a still point which, though it was not physically cold, seemed to draw out any warmth from my palm and absorb it into the talisman. 

I could not say exactly why I knew that she had heard me and obeyed, there was no sound inside my head; perhaps it was the complete lack of all life signs I was capable of recognizing, and that void seemed to be getting closer.

We heard her hooves long before we saw her and each of us had taken up a position to watch a different direction in case the weight of the undead animal was enough to draw attention too early. The grey clouds above seemed more swollen now and the daylight dimming yet more as the afternoon wore on. I saw a purely black shadow, vaguely horse -shaped, coming through the trees at a steady trot, head halfway down to avoid low hanging branches.

We finally got a very good look at her when she came up directly to me and stopped. Again, no prancing, no stamping of the feet or blowing or burring. She was truly exceptional for our task here. Gavin had kept her sturdy saddlebags secured in place rather than leave them way back at the cave where they would do no good. He had replaced the frayed, troublesome bridal and reigns which may get caught in shrubs or trees, with a lead-less halter. It gave the right impression from far away that she was a riderless mount wandering an abandoned battlefield.

She also looked alive; she had eaten enough meat that she looked like a normal horse, any rents in her hide from moving through the forest at night sealed up by the intake of replacement flesh. The only thing that gave her away was the smell of a carnivore on my glove after I touched her muzzle and checked her teeth. It helped that she did not breathe in my face and that she tended to keep her lips closed, but those teeth she had grown were more than suitable for the best scavengers of the land.

*Very good,* Mourn signed. *Divigna is still on the west side of the city, now we will see how the ambushers view this mare.*

Tamuril frowned, clearly understanding she was the one out, but I just pointed at Night-mare and leaned close to her ear. "Good bait."

The unsprung trap in question was essentially an ambush in that we knew there were at least two Hellhounds watching, but it included several well-hidden snares and trip lines that would catch anyone who approached the water harvester unaware, leaving them alive but severely crippled. Tamuril knew this, we had all been debriefed before leaving, and she gave the three of us a reproachful look as she looked at the horse and back. Mourn understood a bit more quickly than either me or my Sister and showed a bit of fang as he smiled and shook his head once.

"Distraction, not bait," he murmured.

I realized the blonde had thought we were going to use the mare to set off the traps. That would certainly be a large waste of a resource, and I was a bit insulted that she assumed I would push a creature into a known grinder simply to watch the puncturing of flesh and crushing a bone, especially when it was a borrowed creature I had not been told was expendable. 

In any case, these were traps that we could easily go around; we knew they were there thanks to Krithannia, and if we managed to kill the Hellhounds quickly, if we had the time, we planned to disassemble those traps. Tamuril knew this as well.

I gave the Druid a similar look to the one I gave her last night. "Trust or no?"

She closed her eyes and held them shut for a moment or two before opening them again and slowly, quietly letting out a breath. She nodded once. 

Yes. Alright, then.

Tamuril would hang back to be our eyes and our sniper; Mourn and Jael would steal their way carefully through the trapped area to set up vantage points which the Hellhounds should be cautious to approach, knowing the location of their own traps. I was to go the long way around, to come from the North side with Night-mare, and try to tease them out of hiding by controlling the undead mount remotely from out of view. If they were interested in the animal either as a tool or as a meal, it would tell us yet more about our unknown enemies.

What happened next should they approach the mare would probably have to happen fast and hard.

Bits of deep golden light poked through the clouds now and then as I climbed upward with decent cover and a stubborn horse; she was behind me a good twenty paces, instructed to follow me like a duckling. I may have put her in front but I was crawling low to the ground and I didn't want to be dodging a stone kicked out from her feet every few steps. It was already likely the Hellhounds heard the mare somewhere deep in the thick shrubbery and stunted trees, but it would take me long enough to come around and approach them nearer to the wall from the North that they would just have to wonder if it had been something el –

I froze in place, my hand gripping a solid stone as I leaned on the steep incline, looking up and ahead of me. First I caught a whiff which turned my stomach, and my ears heard it immediately after, even over the horse's clopping feet. The movement was jerky and stumbling, disoriented but not knowing enough to lie down. Then the shadow moved and confirmed what I already knew. I had seen plenty of this already, but at the time it had been fresh and had not spent three days rotting and exposed to the elements. That short time ago, the body had belonged to a male peasant.

*Mourn, hungry dead in front of me.*

We had been warned they might still be here, a few of them who did not make it back into the rift and would wander Manalar looking for food until something stronger came along to put them down. It was in the Ma'ab's favor to destroy them all, but perhaps the Hellhounds had simply missed a few stragglers.

*Do you have a clear shot?* he asked, referencing my hand crossbow. *You must pierce the eye and strike the brain.*

*Too difficult from here. Soul Drinker would take it quickly, but I must get closer.*

*Those things scream, it will give you away the moment it senses you.*

Yes, it heard beating hearts, it sensed the warm blood of the living which sent it into a feeding frenzy. Mourn and I were not concerned with whether I could put down the creature, but how quickly and quietly I could do it. I regretted there wasn't a way to attach my dagger to Gavin's mare, as she could probably walk right up to the walking corpse without it showing much interest in her. Would Soul Drinker be too insulted being carried between the mare's carnivorous teeth? Probably.

Still. I could ask.

I touched the hilt. *You are to help me survive. Correct?*

*Alllwaaayss...*

*You took down hungry dead before.*

*Yeeesss...*

*What if you approached it in the mouth of an undead mare?*

I expected the shrill laughter, even the glee; I smirked myself again picturing this somewhat ridiculous idea. What I did not expect was the too-eager acceptance.

*Give usss...to the mare. Sssee what happensss...*

Okay, bad idea.

*Nooo! Pleassse, do...!*

*Sorry, not my horse.*

*We know...*

*Be still or the only thing I use you for is peeling roots for our dinner.*

The dagger resorted to name-calling before I removed my hand and resolutely ignored it.

The hungry dead on the slope above me still shifted around clumsily, kicking rocks with soggy, muddy boots, and I had to allow more than a handful of the smaller pebbles to strike me without moving. By luck clearly not my own, it drifted closer and I could not wait here forever for something to happen.

I realized quickly that I had never told Night-mare to stop; she still tramped her way up the steep slope and could stomp right over me in the next dozen strides. I switched my touch and my focus to the knucklebone carved and stained with black blood.

*Walk left.* I paused. *Walk right. Now walk straight.*

I remained still and low on my belly as Night-mare plodded tirelessly past me. I watched carefully and gave her tiny nudges as my guess proved correct: the hungry dead did not even acknowledge the horse. It did not seem able to do more than plod as well, arms dangling at its sides as I caught the scent of pus and gritted my teeth, determined to keep my stomach in place. I would not be as sick as I had been on the boat; there was no time for that.

When the horse filled most of what must count as its field of vision, it turned to stand dumbly facing her direction. I could not even begin to guess why, what it might do given enough chance, but I did not waste opportunity myself.

*Bite through the neck.*

Gavin's mare tilted her head and opened her jaws as she walked right into the standing corpse; she caught hold of the throat and worked a couple more powerful bites to draw in more securely as if she would strangle one who drew no breath. I was impressed how wide she was able to open her mouth. 

There might've been a scream in another moment except that I heard the crunch of bone as Night-mare's jaws clamped and locked like that of a hunting pack animal and not the grazer she had been born. Several more cracks sounded as the body thrashed and the head twisted in unnatural positions. I watched what seemed to be strong and healthy muscles bunch and flex in the horse's haunches, shoulders, and in her neck as she braced herself for the strongest possible hold with moving prey. Now she reminded me a little of a mountain cat simply allowing her prey to struggle helplessly as she waited patiently and confidently for it to suffocate.

The black horse stood still with greenish-black blood dripping from her muzzle as the body dropped and the head bounced randomly down the slope. I stared for several seconds before I remembered that Mourn was waiting for an update.

*Hungry dead neutralized. Goddess, it worked!*

*What worked, Sirana?*

*The mare can approach the hungry dead, she does not threaten them. And she can bite.*

*Yes, we have seen the teeth.*

*She beheaded it.*

The hybrid did not reply immediately. *Did you tell her to?*

*Yes.*

*I'm relieved. No activity near the harvester, I do not believe they are aware of you, although Jael and I could hear the movement and the bit of scuffle.*

*I still bet your ears are better than theirs.*

*Likely, but unconfirmed.*

*Shall I continue?*

*Please.*

I decided to keep the mare out in front of me from that point, as it was not very long that I followed behind her before we arced our way closer to the wall. The trees and the best cover would be gone before I was near, but I could still instruct our undead beast out into the open to see what happened, maybe cause that distraction Mourn hoped for.

Night-mare had to be kept back until I could at least be able to see the wall and any shadows that may or may not pop up from the top. I tried to remember to instruct her to move her head around side to side, to dip it down and nibble at the grass, and to stamp her feet once or twice as I caught up. What else was I missing? Swatting flies away with her tail, twisting her ears as she listened...

To make things easier I shifted the knucklebone to the inside of my glove where it would constantly rest in my palm. I honestly wondered if the experience was as awkwardly puppet -like for Gavin as it was for me? I never had to remind my spiders how to act like spiders, but I knew I must put in this effort to delay the illusion being revealed if the Hellhounds were watching, because they were far from stupid. I could believe that simply because they had been smart enough to keep Kurn out of their ranks.

The dark mare – complete with empty saddle, saddlebags, and halter – wandered out through tree and shrub, her hooves clopping against the stone and dirt as vegetation fell away before the rise of the city wall easily four times her height in this area. I concentrated quite a lot on letting her wander closer to the water, as if she smelled it and was thirsty, and I pressed down my own desire to take a swig from my waterskin. I tried a few times to get her to snort out of her nose, thinking if I could manage that much I might even get a whinny out of her, but the attempt sounded so unnatural that I let her fall silent again and focused on moving the visible parts.




Surfacing Ch. 21



I made a note to ask Gavin if it was always this tedious to get his undead servants to move. He made it look so easy...

*Either no one is there or no one is curious,* Mourn sent to me. *The longer she remains out there, the less natural she looks.*

*Shall I have her approach the entry? If anyone is there that is sure to get a response. They must act on it in some way, whether she looks natural or not.*

*That may be the same as sending her to set off these traps for us.*

I smiled to myself without showing teeth. *Not quite. She can't bite back at a tripwire, and a snare has no tattoos on its arms to chomp.*

If Mourn had been lying next to me, he might have grunted. *She also can't bite through spiked chains.*

I rolled my eyes up even though he couldn't see them. *What next?*

*Send her to walk beneath the covered path next to the wall. They will hear her but have no line of sight. Have her walk back and forth at least five times, or until we see them.*

I did as instructed figuring that Jael was probably even more anxious to see something happen. I could not complain that my bodyguard had taken to keeping a closer eye on her than on me in something like this; I liked what it told me about his opinion of me.

Night-mare padded in that lumbering way only a herd animal could as I picked her path for her, trying to avoid hard-to-see areas or anything that looked dangerous. It made her path very strange but the best I could do was hope she seemed confused and aimless. She made it beneath the covered pathway with no attention, almost to my surprise, and I wished I could see a bit better as there couyld be a trap there as well. It was a natural place to approach for any basic military.

I did not think anyone remaining at Manalar was truly basic anything.

She walked back and forth, making plenty of noise, but after the fifth time Mourn instructed me to let her go completely still. I was relieved I could stop thinking every minute instruction while clutching the bone.

*I don't like this,* Mourn told me. *They are back there, they are aware of the noise but they are waiting.*

*How do you know?*

*I finally got eyes on them.*

*How? From the inside?* 

*Yes. Three. They use hand signs like us, but he cannot read them.*

*He? Who in the Abyss is on the inside?*

*Wait. Send the mare walking again, toward the traps but I will tell you when to stop so she does not hit them.*

No answer? Fine.

At my nudging, Gavin's mare turned to leave the shaded path and head toward the harvester and some of the brush. I lost sight of her from my angle at this point but strained my ears to listen to every footfall that horse made. I tensed as I waited for the signal from Mourn to stop the horse from blundering into one of the traps.

*Stop.*

The next moment I heard the sweep of a branch arcing through the leaves before it crashed into the low trunk of the second nearest, and largest, tree to the harvester. I heard a few strange metallic pieces and several woody things splintering and breaking the exact same instant that I heard Mourn roar out as if in a complete rage from sudden pain. It was so convincing that I almost panicked.

*Mourn?!*

*Focus! Watch.*

Damned half-blood. He was faking! Although I admit I wished I could've seen the Hellhounds' expressions right there when they heard something other than a horse cry out when a trap of theirs was set off. Still, however, this did not send them scurrying to the entryway or to make themselves visible at the top of the wall. They waited yet, and Mourn went completely silent again, the mare almost as much.

*Make her lie down.*

*Done.*

Gavin's mount looked purely dead as she lay flat on her side and things grew quiet as the Sun continued its crawl behind the clouds. Soon it would touch the horizon and the shadow of the mountain would grow deeper over the city. If we would lie in wait to test the others' nerves into night time, I was not against it. The way my eyes ached was so constant on the Surface that I often forgot about it until night had fallen or I was somewhere dark; it never failed to provide me with near-ecstatic relief.

*We have movement from the west field,* Mourn updated me. *We could wait them out, but they will have reinforcement soon.*

*Retreat?*

*Yes. Send the mare back up the mountain and you draw back using a separate path.*

I began doing just that but I paused when I heard a few spoken words of Ma'ab as the horse got back up and trotted up toward the mountain. It went quiet yet again so I continued my retreat.

*What is going on?*

*Either we were seen long before we settled into place, or those three were instructed not to step outside the wall. They will take no bait at this point, all they have to do is wait and they win this standoff.*

*How much time do we have before reinforcements arrive?*

*Five are running toward this wall. If they do not stop they will be here in less than a quarter hour.*

I thought about that, about running the streets of the city across its entire width and making it in that time. I didn't think I could do it. *And if they chase us beyond the wall?*

*Yet to be seen. If so, an opportunity. If you and Tamuril on the mare will lead them, Jael and I can come up behind them.*

*Against eight of them?*

*Team Lung is ready. So is your Sister.*

I was moving through this entire conversation, with Night-mare taking the long way around to meet me farther down the slope. *What do you mean she is ready? Does this have anything to do with last night?*

*What about last night?*

*You taught her something. I saw it in her face earlier. What is it?*

I could've sworn I detected a hint of laughter behind his next thought. *I think she wants to surprise you. If at least some of the Hellhounds oblige us, she may get the chance.*

*What the fuck, Mourn?*

*You have proven many things to her. She still needs to prove herself to you.*

I probably should not have brought this up; a few vivid images, a warm surge in my belly leading to a tingle between my legs distracted me for a moment as I found myself hoping for another opportunity such as the three of us in that room within the retreat. Maybe as a reward after we were done here.

I heard distant calls that would be mistaken for an animal if I hadn't already pinpointed that the sound had jumped over from the inside of the city wall, and if not for the fact that most if not all of the natural wildlife had fled this area. Whatever the signals were, they stood out to me and heralded the chase. Mourn knew this, too.

*Get on the mare as soon as you can. Tamuril is already down the slope and ready to meet you. Make some noise but don't be obnoxious about it. Run straight out from the city, do not circle it or head in the direction of the bunker. Trust us that we will be right behind you.*

My heart beat elevated but controlled, as was my breathing as I finally reached a fairly flat area and called for the dark horse to run straight for me and stop. She obeyed and I grabbed her bristly mane, pulling myself easily up into the saddle. My heels kicked her sides out of habit but when that didn't work I squeezed the bone again and leaned down almost to her neck, looking ahead between her ears.

*Run. That way.*

Night-mare remembered enough to compensate for a rider's weight as my job remained merely to hang on and tell her which way to go. I did not have to worry about her being startled by anything or stopping suddenly of her own accord and throwing me from her back. I thought she would run off the edge of a cliff if I did not tell her to avoid such a fall; her survival instinct had become obsolete. In some ways it was easier not having to account for the separate will of an animal, but in other ways it was more difficult not to take certain things for granted.

Assumptions could get me killed here just as easily as they could back home.

Tamuril was covered up in her browns and greens and I did not see her blonde hair as a signal to stop but merely her movement toward me. She could not be pleased to leap onto the back of the mare behind me, but she hid whatever distaste she had for the mare and held on to my waist from behind.

"Higher," I instructed.

"What?"

"Away from my belt, hold on higher."

"Your breasts are sore," she protested, and the choice detail surprised me. When had she discovered –?

Never mind.

"Better than agitating my guardians or the relic," I bit out impatiently as I got the mare moving again. "Stop questioning me!"

The Druid wrapped her long, slender arms around my torso and if I had been nude her hands would be cradling the sides of my breasts. She could squeeze hard enough on my ribs to cut off my breath at this point – she was correct that there were better holds on horseback – but I still did not want to risk her hands brushing or pressing upon various items on my belt.

We had been riding for several minutes before I got the warning from Mourn.

*The three from the wall have left it. They are headed in your direction, very fast.*

*And the five from west field?*

*At the wall, planning.* He paused. *And casting. Probably endurance spells.*

*Find a defensible place?*

*No. Keep running. Do not stop unless you reach the deep canyon, then circle around to the north back toward Manalar. Farthest out you will approach the city in the same direction from when we first arrived.*

*Check.*

Both our hoods had long fallen down to expose our bright hair, probably visible in glimpses through the trees even though the grey Sky became darker as the Sun finally descended behind the mountains. Tamuril and I passed plenty of small groups of bodies, most of them probably Manalara, and I remembered the area we were in was that from which the Ma'ab Army had approached from the back. We did not have to worry too much about leaving an obvious trail, the hoof and boot prints were in the millions. Ours would be the freshest, no doubt, but still camouflaged at first glance.

Gavin's mare was tireless and carried us through the hilly forest at a rate that I did not think even a Hellhound on a spell-drug could maintain indefinitely. Several times when I heard another call, I felt the urge to stop the horse and look behind me, to try and judge how far behind us they were. I resisted, though, because already Tamuril looked behind often and if Jaunda or Rausery had ordered me to keep going, I wouldn't be stopping now. I had demanded Tamuril not question me every step, I would not do the same with Mourn.

At some point, however, I got the feeling I was out of the pearl's range and this made it harder to continue on toward some unseen canyon ahead of us. What if they had caught up to the Hellhounds but were overwhelmed behind us? What if they captured my Sister?

I gritted my teeth behind closed lips. The Templars' concern over what might happen to her wasn't something about which I felt nothing, despite what I had said to them earlier about "dead is dead." But at least I had a personal reason; I knew what Jael looked like when she came. It wasn't simply by virtue of some disembodied concept of having a pussy rather than a prick that made me angry to imagine the Hellhounds hurting her. Some sort of warrior bond I could understand, but simply being female, or male, for that matter? I did not understand.

*Go back...*

Soul Drinker.

"We should go back," Tamuril said near my ear.

I smirked at the timing, and the temptation. Fuck.

"I don't hear anything," I said, slowing the mare up a bit but continuing at a jog.

"Willven tells me the Hellhounds were cut off from us but are harrying our teams, the fight is hit-and-run and they are going in circles. We must help them."

I frowned. Mourn could speak to Krithannia, who could speak directly at Isboern, who was talking to Tamuril. It was reasonable, but... "What does Krithannia say?"

The blonde was quiet for a few moments and had her eyes closed when I glanced behind me. I was aware the moment her mouth opened again, preparing to speak.

"She says do not engage unless you can get in contact with Mourn again. Otherwise follow the last order he gave you."

I thought that sounded like something the Guildmistress would say. Tamuril didn't like it.

"We should go back," she insisted.

I smiled as we trotted farther and farther away. We all wanted to go back. That was where the action was. 

"If Pilla can find Mourn –"

"Already done."

"Very well. Let us get back in range."

We turned around and started a gallop which for me was blind as I went where Tamuril told me to go without questioning her every step. Turnabout was fair play, I supposed. I ducked branches even as I reached out with that nameless other sense, seeking the maker of my unique ear stud. I waited for Tamuril to confirm that we were close.

*Slow. Walk. Stop.*

"What are you doing?" the Druid whispered even as she followed my lead in pulling her hood back up.

"She makes too much noise."

I directed Gavin's horse once again to lie down and wait; she would be hidden from view beneath a mossy stone overhang on the side of this hill. It was nearly full dark now with no Moonlight and I relished the change in my view as I prepared a much more familiar stalking environment. I listened for any sign of battle or "harrying," but heard none at this moment.

*Mourn.*

No answer yet. I gestured to Tamuril asking which direction to go, and she understood it well enough. She pointed and we slipped through the forest keeping to cover, masking our trail and avoiding unnecessary noise. I was dismayed how quiet everything was, and I could not sign any detailed questions to Tamuril about what might be happening, according to Isboern. Was a fight still going on?

*Mourn.*

Nothing. Keep moving closer. I touched the smoky pearl attached to my lobe, though doing that made no difference in what I sensed. Perhaps I just wanted to reassure myself that it was still there.

Another five minutes crept by and abruptly I went stiff, gripping the bark of the tree behind which I hid as I got Mourn's first order within range.

*Get the fucking falcon out of the sky. They see it.*

Shit.

I slowly took hold of Tamuril's forearm and squeezed, then squeezed harder until she met my eyes and understood from my intense expression there was a problem. I directed my gaze deliberately upward, mouthed the name of her bird and jerked my head toward the direction of the unknown canyon. Tamuril's eyes widened and she took in too much air too quickly and made a sound I wished she hadn't made. However, Pilla obeyed whatever instruction the Druid had flung her way and turned around to fly quickly out of the area.

I half-hoped that the Hellhounds would make a hurried attempt to strike the bird out of the Sky so I could pinpoint where at least one of them lay in wait, preferably after having missed the falcon. However, if they had been preparing any shot of any kind, they did not take it, and Pilla was let go unharmed.

*Status?* I asked.

I could imagine Mourn taking a breath as he thought. *Of the three chasing you, one Hellhound beheaded, two injured but not killed. As suspected, these are much tougher. It took my full arm and a perfect strike to get the one. The five joined and forced us away from their wounded and now have split up. We have been leading each other around in wasted ambushes. 

*They have not gone toward the injured at all since saving them and those two may soon be back into the conflict. We have not been able to keep tabs on the locations of the other five, they are masking their life auras somehow as well as their magic, the same as us.*

*Have you called for a backup team?*

*No. Word from Krithannia is that other Hellhounds watch for movement toward this area. If I called, they would have a good idea where the bunker is.* 

*So it is us and them.*

*Yes.*

I paused. *What if Tamuril and I finished off the injured?*

*They may be better off now than they were half an hour ago. You may have to fight them.*

*We can bind them and their chains with web and vine from afar. It will not be hand-to-hand.*

Mourn did not reply immediately, which I took to mean he considered it to break the stalemate. Or at least finish up the first clash he had missed.

*What are their injuries?* I asked.

Mourn somehow rumbled a growl before answering; it was my first indication that I heard him more through his pearl that I did straight mind-linking.

*Blunt force to the back and head, perhaps a shallow sword thrust or two. If you move, do it soon and be silent. Tell me what you see and when you need backup. Do not risk yourself unnecessarily.*

I agreed and Mourn told me where to find the headless body. The first thing I did after we broke the connection, as the Noldor watched me, was carefully tie one of my web pellets to a bolt before setting it ready to shoot in my right hand. Tamuril tilted her head toward me, offering her ear, and I smiled a bit as I leaned in with my lips close enough to feel her heat.

"Find two injured, capture with vines. Kill."

She pursed her lips as she absorbed that, her eyes seeming to study the tree bark in front of her, but she nodded once. She was ready.

I never failed to check above us as well as behind even as Tamuril noted every possible point we might slip on the mud, dislodge a stone, or crack a branch by accident. I tried to filter the night scents through my nose to catch a living sweat or musk, even passing gas, anything wholly separate from the lingering rot which drifted ever-present on the breeze. My ears were wide open to catch one even scratching his balls.

Soon I smelled that sweat I sought, as well as blood and recently-loosed bowels. We were moving downward into a slight depression and I glimpsed through the trees the headless body of the Hellhound ahead and below us. There were drag marks leading away from that spot in the direction back toward the city wall, which implied one battered Ma'ab might have moved the other if he was unconscious.

The first thing that struck me was: Too obvious.

Tamuril and I remained low where we were, eyes constantly sweeping yet I was proud the Druid was not swiveling her head like a puppet on a stick. My hand crossbow was out and ready as I pondered which direction they might have gone if not where the tracks led.

It was the sudden though minuscule warmth of the sapphire against my skin which caused me to grab Tamuril's arm and yank her forward with me straight toward the drag marks. It was the only direction I knew they had *not* gone.

The spiked chain narrowly missed my head as I ducked behind a tree which took the first two loops instead of my neck, and a dagger flew in from my left to pin the Druid's cloak to a tree. Finally I had a direction and I heard the movement, and they had been far too close for my liking. 

I spun, aimed, and whispered, "Faeriluci..."

As it had been with Kain so long ago, the magenta flame outlining the two large, male bodies was harmless and blinded no one, least of all me. It simply gave me the best spot to shoot my bolt between them, nicking one shoulder but binding them both. 

The sticky web released as soon as the pellet ruptured, tripping up both of them and causing the first Hellhound to actually drop his chain. It gave us precious response time but I soon realized the web would not hold them long. Few Elves could move their arms as much as these two Ma'ab already were, and they could reach weapons to cut it; the second one was going for his chain. I frowned; I had seen these webs hold much larger creatures in the Underdark. Was it one of their tattoos helping them now, or was the potency of my pellets weakening?

"Vines," I demanded. "With spikes."

"Li'shentinae!" Tamuril responded immediately, even before she had fully freed herself from the dagger holding her cloak. 




Surfacing Ch. 21



To my relief, her spell was full strength and designed to hold the larger races of the Surface. As she had done to me, vines burst from the soil beneath their boots. First they tangled hopelessly with the second chain, thorns grappling with metal spikes, before twisting and strangling around the targets' arms and wrists and legs. I wondered that they had not first caught the throat as they had with me, but maybe Tamuril was more focused on the weapons in their hands. 

I was doubly disappointed to see that the thorns did not make them bleed. Mourn had been right, the skin was very tough.

My pendant was too warm now to warn me much of anything, but I did hear a familiar croaking that sounded like it might turn into a vomit.

"Circle behind them!" I said as I braced myself with the boot and wrenched the Ma'ab dagger out of the tree to free the Druid.

Dammit, they could still turn their heads! I pitched the heavy dagger at one of them because I didn't have time to reload the crossbow. The pommel struck him in the face but it was possible his roar of pain and anger only enhanced his spell because the projection of that foul slop spewing from his throat to paint the ground in a line had nearly reached the headless corpse of his brother.

Tamuril and I barely pitched ourselves out of reach and scrambled to get up and behind the two tangled Hellhounds before they could try something else. The black line immediately overwhelmed the area with its scent and though I tried I could not keep from becoming sick as I abruptly lost my next attack to heave into the grass and leaves. I felt only slightly less ridiculous when the Druid followed in my wake, retching herself. My nostrils stung from the pungent scent and I watched baffling wisps of vapor rising up from the soil and the mulch where the black sludge stained the ground. I could only imagine what would happen if that stuff should touch skin.

*Ssirranna...Use me! Use ME NOW!*

I groaned as Soul Drinker shrilled in my mind and my hand closed over the hilt, but before I had a chance to reply Mourn was there, too.

*Sirana, update –*

*Get OUT!*

I felt for one sliver of a moment that the relic tried to seize in that connection, tried to speak to the hybrid, and in a panic I pitched a second dagger at the thrashing mass of vines and limbs. As when I had somehow gotten Gavin and myself free of the link, I pitched it hard, simply to get it away from me, away from us. Soul Drinker spun end over end, aimed squarely at the back of the Hellhound who still gripped his chain, and somehow penetrated that armor as if it had been mere spider silk. 

The large body jerked in shock, his bald, tattooed head tilting up toward the Sky as he screamed a sound which reminded me of a Drider: in agony, insane, and insatiably furious with his fate. I could not know for certain if this Hellhound would burst releasing plague or not, but his body began to seize uncontrollably and I didn't know what was happening.

"Run!" I shouted, giving Tamuril's arm a slap to knock her out of her momentary stupor hearing that Abyssal cry, but focused wholly on getting myself away, as far away as quickly as possible. 

I still had to protect my baby.

It was that drive, as well as every instinct I had ever honed in the Underdark, which allowed me to react just fast enough to avoid running straight into the arms of a third Hellhound. I didn't have time to warn the Druid and her reflexes were not quite good enough so he caught her instead. I heard her cry out in pain but I wasn't sure what happened as the very familiar sound of a launched spiked chain came straight for me from yet another angle.

A fourth Hellhound.

Fucking Pech shit.

*Mourn, four –!*

*Coming. Stay alive.*

*Tamuril –*

*I know. Isboern can feel it. If you can distract the attacker, do it.*

If it were not for all the trees those chains would've caught me; they were most effective out in the open, in battle or inside a structure, as I had first seen them used. A good thing they were not the most effective forest weapon I could think of. I had gained distance from the third Hellhound crushing Tamuril and out of my periphery I saw him slam her down hard to the ground as the fourth one snapped hard at my heels. Using his chain, he blocked me coming around a third tree, swinging down hard straight into the ground, gouging a deep line in the dirt at my feet.

"Gonna rape you," he hissed in accented Common with a chuckle, his grin exaggerated to the point I recognized the scare tactic for what it was.

It would've worked on Tamuril, but I grinned back. Drow could look plenty strange when we grinned, if we wanted to. And I wanted to.

"Not if I rape you first, doggie. Do you howl in delight when all your brothers pierce your shit hole?"

Admirably, he dropped the tactic after a single, bewildered blink and focused entirely on preventing me from assisting the Druid in any way.

At least, in any way that might help preserve my sight. 

I had no choice but to blind us both with a perfectly silent light filling the small hollow, set off with a word and centered right in between our locked gaze.

It hurt like twin nails driven into my eye sockets and I would see nothing for a good long time, but at least I still had my ears and everything else.

By contrast his stumble confirmed the fourth Hellhound couldn't react like me without his eyes, he had not been prepared. I sprinted straight toward the nearest struggle and Tamuril's whimpers; though I was blind, I could tell that third Hellhound had straightened up from how he was a moment ago, realizing that something had changed and probably wondering where that bright light had come from. He was on his knees, the perfect height for me to try to slit his throat.

Although without Soul Drinker to cut through protective magic, I couldn't be sure that it would work. Even Tamuril's thorny vines had pressed deeply into the skin but had not broken it no matter how they squeezed. I would do better to ram my dagger up beneath his armor at the small of his back and try to sever those seven wavy lines; I had earned the knowledge of that weak spot, I knew exactly where it was. 

I would be a fool not to use it.

I tossed my hand crossbow to the side as I drew one of my Red Sister blades, angling it pointed out and up and gripped with both hands as I charged the Hellhound attacking Tamuril. My ears and every instinct I had adjusted for his movement as he made to turn around just before I made contact; gritting my teeth I twisted slightly to shove my dagger into the chink of armor I sought solely by feel. I felt it catch then go in and I sawed viciously through cloth and at the skin beneath. 

Once, twice. A third hard jab before I yanked it out with a fourth rip.

His grunt of pain mixed with the blonde Elf's cry for help nearly distracted me from a very strange pulse in the blue gem around my neck. What did that mean? Had it worked? Was his skin normal now?

I had too little time to act against the fourth Hellhound coming quick behind me or the one kneeling over Tamuril but swinging at me. The sound of a four-legged body propelling itself impossibly fast toward an impending collision meant I could only get out of the way from all three strikes happening simultaneously.

As near as I could tell without my eyes, Mourn in his quadruped form crashed into the fourth Hellhound behind me and sent him rolling with good momentum down the slope. At the same moment, Jael had jumped off his back and with only a grunt she landed what sounded like a perfect spear thrust through the vulnerable throat of the third Hellhound as he had risen to his feet. 

When had Jael gotten a spear?

The big body landed heavily beside Tamuril and she yelped, gasping for breath before halting to sudden stop the next instant, and she and I both realized she must have a broken rib or two. I heard something heavy snap several thick branches and then Mourn's growl moving toward it almost in a blink.

"Sirana?" Jael probably waved her hand in front of my face and she spoke in Drow. "Can you see me?"

I shook my head, knowing that my eyes stared blankly at her. "Nope."

"Well, damn." She kicked the body.

"There are two just over the rise and three more unaccounted for," I said.

"Yeah, the slant-eyes are keeping watch."

"Yungian."

"Yes, that." She paused as I heard something like raindrops hitting the forest floor off to my right. "Fuck. Too bad you can't see what Mourn just did to the one about to jump you."

"I will in a bit, I'm seeing spots now. A nice aim yourself. Where did you find the spear?" 

I wished I could see the grin that I sensed.

"Tell you later, when you can see. Mourn is signing to go check on the other two."

"I left Soul Drinker there, be careful."

"I will."

Jael paused just long enough to let me know that she had looked at Tamuril and understood I was asking for a moment alone. I thought it was a good sign that she wasn't completely oblivious to subtle hints.

As Mourn and Jael left to confirm the last two kills, I knelt down beside Tamuril without stepping on her. It took removing one of my gloves and touching her lightly from forehead to her cheek and jaw down her throat to get a hint of her condition as she stayed extraordinarily quiet, holding it in to lessen the draw to the wounded. 

She sweated heavily and as I breathed in it smelled very sour; her heart pounded in her throat at an incredibly fast speed as if she was still being attacked. I did not scent any open wounds aside from the dead Hellhound, but I could taste a lot of pain in the air around the Noldor; I heard it in the way she chose not to speak but would wet her mouth and try to swallow, and try to breathe. Most of her injuries were probably internal and she couldn't stand.

I had a healing vial that would get her to her feet quickly, but I only had one of those and there were still at least a dozen Hellhounds at Manalar. What if I needed it myself later on to save my life? Mourn or Isboern could heal her, right?

"Are you going to live?" I asked.

"Ye –" 

Her voice hitched to stop and a squeak of pain slipped out, but it was good enough for me. Yes. It sounded a lot stronger than when I had asked her a similar question back at her hovel.

I squeezed her shoulder as the Godblood would, but gently just in case there was a bruise there, and listened as Mourn and Jael took care of the entwined Hellhounds just across the way, waiting for my vision to come back fully.

"That is five of eight," I murmured.

She might have nodded. "Th— thank you... for not... leaving."

She might have meant right now, for me staying with her until the job was finished. Or she might have meant she could have expected me to run away and leave her to struggle against the Hellhound alone. I considered it a test of nerves and skill to dance with one enemy while setting up to attack another; I was good at evasion and attacks from behind. But it remained so that I had a motive other than pride to give it a try, and that was... 

Well. Perhaps something similar to Jaunda. She never left Red Sisters to die...though my muscular Lead probably would never expand that definition to include a Noldor. Particularly the one that she had punished personally for trespassing.

The Guild leader saved me from having to think of a reply, for which I struggled anyway, as he and Jael came up to us quickly. He kneeled to give Tamuril quick assessment as well.

"Blink once for yes, twice for no," he said. "Understood?"

After a pause, he asked, "Does it hurt here?" 

Pause.

"Here?" 

Another pause.

"And here." He rumbled softly. "Sirana, may we use one of your pellets?"

My first impulse was to ask why he needed any of my resources at all, could not he just cast a spell...?

Although the only one I had seen heal without any sort of magical component or potion had been Isboern. I remembered what had felt like when Mourn told me he would "enhance" the pellet I had already taken to help against the bruises left by the Witch Hunters. Even when he healed Peng lok, one of the dwarves had held a small bottle for the Yungian to drink before Mourn got started.

I didn't actually know *how* the half-blood's healing magic worked or what he required, and now was not the time to argue; we could be ambushed or harried again at any moment and we had to get Tamuril on her feet. We could not carry her back to the bunker to be healed; we might as well simply lead Divigna and his dogs straight to the Godblood and open the door for them.

I pulled one of Shyntre's pellets from my pouch after that one moment's hesitation and carefully slid my gloved hand – with the knucklebone still wedged inside – beneath her head to raise it up slightly. Next I used Tamuril's uneven breathing to find her lips with my ungloved hand. Hot, moist air slid crossed the back of my hand as my fingertips barely rested on her bottom lip; she opened her mouth willingly and I pushed the medicinal pill beneath her tongue.

"Let it dissolve," I whispered, wiping my fingers dry on her cloak and blinking my eyes as my vision became blotchy. It would remain so long before it would regain clarity.

Jael and I stood up to listen around us for any warning of approach as I could see in my mind's eye Mourn crouched over the Pale Elf, gently cupping her jaw between his large hands as he murmured his Draconic words. The pulse of magic was clear to me, warming my blue stone against my chest and forcing me to smile when I heard Tamuril's involuntary coo of relief. Perhaps even pleasure. The pain inside would disappear soon.

"We must leave this area as soon as you are able," Mourn said to her then lifted his head and spoke to me. "Soul Drinker is still inside the one Hellhound, Sirana, please reclaim it."

Right.

Jael walked with me without being asked, though I did not need her to watch over me until my sight cleared. I knew well enough how to place my feet so I didn't stumble or trip over tree roots, or worse, bump nose-first right into a tree trunk. Elder Rausery had only spent the first several weeks on the Surface teaching us to do exactly this; she would not be pleased had I not been paying attention.

Soul Drinker I could sense even had I not been able to smell the bodies and the blood. A contented wave of welcome swept over me as I got closer and it did not have to speak inside my head for me to know it was happy for me to take its hilt and tug it steadily out of the flesh. I recalled there was not a lot of visible, absorbent cloth on the Hellhounds to use to wipe it off; most of it was hard leather and metal-studded bracers and boots. I opted to use one of my own cloths, giving it a cautious sniff to make sure it was not as caustic as their bile. It seemed normal.

*Ssseee...?*

It was as I handled Soul Drinker, cleaned it, and eventually sheathed it that the spots before my eyes faded and my vision began to clear. I was not sure at what the relic wanted me to look; if it was bragging, I could clearly see the gaping hole in the Hellhound's back, almost seeming to have seared open the armor as the edges were tinged with something black, but it was just as clear that the other had been beheaded by Mourn's slider. The spiked chain was still hopelessly wrapped in the Druid's wooden trap and neither of these bodies were going to be extricated without some dedicated woodcraft.

I blinked my eyes to wet them some more as I slowly stood up, finally looking at Jael. 

I stared. 

She had been looking around but sensed my gaze then made eye contact. Realizing I could focus on her again, she smiled excitedly as she held out the double blade that Mourn had taken from the crypt, presenting it by the wide grip in the middle. I had never seen that particular style of molded leather as I saw in that grip, nor did I recognize the pattern of fine, gold thread both embroidering and somehow fixing several small, bluish-white stones formed into a curve like a new Moon.

I would've said that, if it had been fashioned for a Human male, it might be comfortably wielded using one arm, assuming the arm was very strong. In my little Sister's hands, it would be a two-handed weapon but the grip was more than wide enough to allow it, and she seemed delighted just holding it.

That was the "spear" that she had stuck through the Hellhound's throat.

"I thought Mourn claimed that for his hoard," I said with half a smile.

"I am borrowing it," she said cheekily.

"For how long?"

"Anytime I ride on Mourn's back. He is the best war mount a Drow could want."

"Don't let him hear you," I chuckled.

Her teeth were very white in her dark face. "It was his idea."

"And you love it."

"I wish there was time for a quick fuck right now."

I would have gladly followed her mind right in that direction except that I sensed Mourn lifting Tamuril carefully to her feet at my periphery. I tossed my head in that direction, indicating Jael should follow me back. My eyes swept the area and I noted the pieces of Hellhound just before I saw the fourth one Mourn had attacked impaled on a broken tree branch, disturbingly similar to how the half-blood had first threatened to do to Jael before he stopped her in midair. 

I had to assume that the four-legged Mourn had ripped up the tattoo on the small of the back before he proceeded to maul the Ma'ab properly, even probably before the momentum had slowed when they clashed. Several pieces of equipment and flesh led in a trail straight to the tree holding the body and the pile of guts just below his boots. Now I knew why it had sounded for a moment like it was raining.

The last body I checked was Tamuril's; she looked shaken but determined to stand on her own once she stepped back from Mourn. Marks on her face were fading quickly and I did not notice significant tearing in her clothing or any dislodged armor, despite the Hellhound looming over her on his knees. I almost had to think during those long moments before I had a chance to break away, the Ma'ab was probably using his massive fists exclusively. Perhaps he planned to beat her until he had broken every bone in her body. 

As I considered that further... it was kind of an interesting response. She was pale skinned, like him, though I knew the Ma'ab could not have many blondes in their population, if any. She was clearly not Human, and she was a sorceress – for lack of a better term – but he did not attempt to capture her alive. He would have known that she was the one who not only called the vines to capture the first two, but also had cast the spell in the battlefield to the West in which they had found their warrior brother later infested with those same vines from the inside out.

So he... pounded her until she could barely speak to me? Why did he not stab her, or behead her, or choke her with the spiked chain or with his hands? He could have used anything with a sharp edge if he did not plan on taking her prisoner or stripping her naked for sexual torture, and he was more than strong enough to break her neck. By comparison, the one attacking me had tried to ensnare me with sharp chains and threatened to rape me – although that could easily have just been battle talk.

I stepped up to the Druid, touching her elbow which somehow got her to look at me without my having to ask. Her green eyes were wet and haunted but that returned spirit that followed after her healing in the bath was still there.

"Did he say anything to you?" I asked quietly. "Anything at all?"

Tamuril blinked and looked off to the side. "Nothing I could understand."

"So he did say something in Ma'ab? A few words? Something he said more than once, or a constant stream of babble?"

The blonde looked at Mourn as she might have if Krithannia had been here; he nodded gently at her and it seemed to give her strength as she looked back at me. "He only spoke once. It was very brief. I'm afraid I can't estimate the sounds. I'm sorry."




Surfacing Ch. 21



Mourn caught my eye and it was a clear warning to let it be at that. I had planned on it; given what was happening at the time, I would not have been surprised if Tamuril had heard nothing because her ears were ringing.

"So he wasn't babbling in a rage," I said, this time to Mourn. "He was in control, but he only threw his fists when he could have drawn anything."

The hybrid give me an interested look, tilting his head. "Some of the hottest tempers burn in complete silence."

"But he did say one thing." 

"Hm. Did the other say anything to you?"

I smiled. "In Common. 'Gonna rape you.'"

Mourn's ears tilted back slightly but Jael just snorted, possibly taking her cue from my dismissive expression. 

I continued. "I threatened to rape him back and then conjured an image of him taking a string of his fellow warriors. He blinked and stopped talking. I think he knew my Common was better than his."

"None of them seem to say much," Jael observed, snickering a bit at my description. "They don't even tend to make much noise when stabbed."

"Except," Tamuril said softly, looking tentatively at me. "Except for that one you struck in the back with the black blade."

I winced. Yes, I was sure the entire forest had heard that one.

"Come," Mourn said. "I appreciate your deductions but we can't stay here."

We left, but I was not sure about the direction. Mourn seemed to be searching for something in particular but when I tried to ask him what, he signed for me to "hold." I assumed that he meant questions.

We followed along together through the hills as Mourn led us with every flick of his tongue constantly tasting the air. I watched his tail, certainly having to stay outside of its area of influence, but more to note when he seemed to become agitated. He signed just before I had reached the end of my patience and would demand information from him.

*Dragon Lead does not answer.*

I blinked, not understanding at first but then I got past the contextual block. 

Peng lok, the lead brother of Team Lung, Yungian for "dragon."

Uh-oh.

*Can you sense his pearl as you can mine?* I signed.

Mourn hesitated, but nodded once. He wasn't going to argue with me over where they had come from this time; he simply admitted that he knew how to sort out the feel of these small, magical pebbles from the background of everything else. I was certain now that, even if Talov and his dwarves may have somehow created the long-range, big pearls they used on their missions, they had originally gotten the idea from Mourn. There was something linking them altogether, and the Guild leader knew what it was.

I actually shuddered as I recalled my last thought about this back in Augran, how the Valsharess would love to know the secret, and how much more tightly effective her agents would be with such a tool. Especially over such a distance.

We were slow, cautious, and – if I had to take a guess – indirect in how we approached the area where the pearl resided. We had yet to see if Peng lok and his two brothers would be with it.

I slowly recognized that a copse of trees seemed to be at the center of Mourn's meandering circle, and it took only a short study to determine that they stood tall enough and in the right place for look out. A person high enough in the branches would probably have seen anyone approaching that small hollow where the dead Hellhounds now lie.

Nothing seemed disturbed at first glance, no broken branches or churned earth to indicate a high-energy conflict. My night eyes detected the shapes of two prone bodies, however, and they were about the right size for our Yungians. Next, the breeze shifted just right and I smelled sour sweat and blood, and heard subtle gasps of pain.

The Hellhounds had caught them, possibly by surprise. And one was missing.

Even with the scent of blood in the air, Mourn did not rush forward. This would be a perfect ambush if we missed even one thing. If the two were able to be recovered, as they seem to me at first glance, they would have to hold on for a little longer while we checked over the area. It could not really be secured, but it would give us a small, clear area to work within.

Jael and I stood watch as Mourn and Tamuril were eventually able to make their way in and check on the two Men. They both spoke to their lung-jinshen in their native tongue, racked with pain but conscious. I did not know what they said but I recognized Nianzu and Peng lok.

Deshi was missing.

An odd, cold feeling crept up my spine into the back of my head as I wondered as to the method of selection. Had it been pure luck and opportunity, the same as a random coin-flip or toss of the dice? Or had one or more of the Hellhounds been able to sense the death magic in the boy? What had Gavin called it in Ma'ab, "Maknuut?" Did that count only for those with actual Ma'ab blood, or would it count for any necromancer outside of their Empire? Sarilis, for example. Or a well-trained Guild assassin with a tattoo of the Winter Ghost on his shoulder?

"It wasn't just the three we know are out there," Mourn said over his shoulder to us. "There were two others, and one older and larger with a helmet."

The chill seeped in further for my spine to clench around my stomach like a fist. "Why are they still alive?"

"He wanted them to be. The attack took moments. They took all their supplies and their boots, shattered only one leg on each man, and left them here for us to find."

"Except for Deshi."

"Correct." Mourn kept his voice very steady, I could tell he was thinking carefully.

"Did Divigna say anything to them?"

"No. No words, no threats."

I pursed my lips as I wondered exactly what Mourn and Tamuril were going to do about two shattered legs without any supplies. I figured something would come out of Mourn's webbing or one of his many patches, but I would not get to see what. Still, Peng lok and Nianzu were alive only because Kreshel had willed it.

Perhaps the Hellhounds' leader thought that crushed legs would slow us down and stress us out, consuming more resources and people than we had to spare. Perhaps he wanted to see if we would call extra help from the West and give him an idea where they might be hiding. That sounded like the best case scenario for him to leave these two here as they were.

Although even healing them as Mourn was doing now, getting them back to their feet and in fact not requiring additional aid from elsewhere... Well, that would still tell Kreshel something about us. Each interaction told us something about them – not the least of which was that, as dangerous as they were, we Drow were still faster in a pitched fight – but they had just looted us as we had them, and whatever items the Guild had on them would not remain a secret if someone on the opposing side could figure out what they were for.

Divigna had sacrificed seven Hellhounds at the first clash, and five more here in this forest. Even though there had been no survivors, could he have still known about more than a few specifics in his opponents? We did not know what all those tattoos actually did, but Gavin had suggested at least a few of them were for communication.

Mourn and Krithannia had said to expect this to get harder the longer it went on.

*What do we do now?* Jael signed as, after a very tense half-hour, the two Guildsmen gingerly regained their feet. I noticed them wince as they first put pressure on newly fused bone.

*We see if they left a trail,* Mourn answered, and withdrew a pair of matching, matte black daggers in their sheaths, offering one each to the Yungians.

Peng lok and Nianzu each bowed their head to him with their fists clenched and accepted the borrowed weapon, each with both hands palm up. Boots or no boots, they were coming along and their field leader clearly had no objection. I thought it was a bit silly at first – they had only the torn and bloody clothes and the supple, assassin's armor on their backs – but I had to figure Mourn was simply keeping us together now. We could not send these two to return to the rendezvous cave by themselves for more supplies and expect them to make it.

*Black Ghost, call the dark spirit horse to catch up and move before us.*

I resisted giving Mourn too strange of a look in front of the Yungians, knowing they could read that and it was worded for their benefit. I closed my fist around the hard, unseen knucklebone still inside my glove and nodded, doing just that.

*The leader may sense it,* I signed.

Mourn nodded. *Intended.*

Very well. We still had to follow a trail, so Night-mare would not be too far in front of us. 

It turned out that, for a giant with a prisoner, Divigna had a very light set of feet. Likewise Mourn and his two Guildsmen had to assume that Deshi was probably not conscious because they could not find any familiar sign that he would've been trained to leave behind if he was at all able. We found sign of a few of the others stepping around, but if we had not had an eyewitness account, we would not have been able to tell that Divigna had been among them. I imagined Kreshel was probably carrying the smaller man, and he had something that was helping him walk like a ghost.

In the end, the most reliable trail was that which Mourn could follow by scent. Once he caught that, and I assumed it was the Guildsman he had focused on, we sped up in the hopes of catching them before they reached the city wall and brought Deshi in among more Hellhounds. We were still running on two legs just like them, however, and I regretted that not all of us could ride on something with four. It would leave the most vulnerable behind, Tamuril, Peng lok, and Nianzu. Mourn did not let any agitation show at being held back, assuming he felt any, and he did not suggest splitting up in the interest of speed; we pushed ourselves to keep up when Mourn signed that silence was less important and if we could tempt them to stop and engage us rather than continue on, that was what we wanted.

*Krithannia, Reprisal and Vigor are informed,* he signed. *Wolf and his team are coming.*

A risk, I knew; if they were detected leaving the area, it might give the Hellhounds a place to start looking for the Templars. However, I did not even know where Reprisal was right now and understood that there had to be acceptable risk in any situation.

What we were hoping would not happen, did. The Ma'ab decided to confront us, yes, but the three we met in a sudden and direct skirmish did not include Divigna or Deshi. These had been dispatched to slow us down, nothing more. They began with thunderstones similar to what Kurn had. They used three, spread out enough that it affected all of us, though we had avoided traveling in a cluster. They had made so certain that it even affected them, too.

I was blind, again, and I could hear nothing but an agonizing, high pitch in my ears.

*Sirana!* I heard Mourn in my head, a very strange feeling when my ears were ringing. *Send the mare!*

I saw his point at once: Gavin's mare would not have been affected by those thunderstones. I sensed her charge forward at my command and, without Mourn's leave, I did the same, allowing my spiders to come out onto my arms as I drew Soul Drinker. 

Instead of following anything I could see or hear, I focused on that strange void granted by the necromancer's talisman and could tell about where she was headed. It was not perfect; my shoulder glanced off of a tree trunk or two and I nearly lost my balance once as the thunderstones did leave me somewhat disoriented. Like the horse, like my spiders, it was with pure, single-minded focus that I used Night-mare to home in on our targets and closed enough distance enough to act quickly.

*Bite!* I commanded, this time to the horse, not my spiders.

My vision would be the last thing to return, but my ears recovered enough to give me my balance and work with all my other senses to know what was around me. The dark horse grappled with one of the Hellhounds, her teeth sunk in and her jaw fixed so that he couldn't break her hold; she kept him in one place long enough for me to throw my relic at him. I had seen it go through their armor once before, and it was the same this time as I heard a thump when it struck him center mass.

Though the Hellhound only grunted as he tried to free himself from the undead equine, he, too, screamed a moment after the dagger pierced him. If the other two were moving at all, they hesitated at hearing the sound. It was unusual for one of them to cry out at all, and my dagger shrilled wordlessly in glee as it drained his essence into it.

*MINE!* it cried possessively, and in response I commanded Gavin's mare to release the Hellhound's arm immediately and step back.

The next instant Mourn and Jael both charged in to engage the other two before they could get away. Lung was moving haphazardly into position to cut off any alternate escape route, and Tamuril moved closer to us in general, staying back far enough to perhaps get a shot should one of them break the circle, but I didn't know how much she may have recovered from the thunderstones.

The magic-tinged double-blade in my Sister's hands cut through the air, though Mourn was not using the sliders in such close melee but rather he may have been using his fists and claws and tail. I recognized a disarming move from each of my partners prior to several more grunts from the Hellhounds as they were battered mercilessly by two Drow proven to be faster than they were, even blind. I tasted a pulse of magic for a moment but did not know exactly what its effect had been. It briefly reminded me of Mourn and Jael's fight on the hill and I wondered if their auras just fused again...

Two bodies dropped very quickly.

"So slow," Jael huffed, exalted. "A wonder they don't piss themselves before they can get their dick out to drain it."

Smiling as my eyes finally began to clear, I saw three bodies and a two-pronged weapon that had been stabbed into Night-mare's neck, by which she seemed unaffected. To my delight, I realized the Hellhound taken by Soul Drinker actually had open wounds caused by the mare's teeth from *before* I had stabbed him.

*Night-mare can bite through the tattoos,* I told Mourn immediately, coaxing my babies, unused but lively, back into their dark home.

He grunted an affirmative aloud, but he was intensely focused on the battered body at his feet.

After retrieving and cleaning Soul Drinker, now settled happily in its sheath, I got closer to study what else I could without wasting time. Jael's target about ten paces away was sliced across his inked face in a rough "X" shape that did not seem as deep as they should be. Nonetheless I could see which wound was the mortal one; he had been pierced deeply in the gut just below where his wrapped chain protected his torso. He was flat on his back, dead. The Hellhound Mourn had attacked was still moving, still alive, but had two broken hands, two broken knees, and had been hamstringed; he was bleeding into the grass.

I also saw the three Ma'ab had been ready with further weapons – this time delaying the chains and all intending to use the same two-pronged, stabbing weapon. I removed the one from Gavin's mare to study it, and it appeared to be fouled with something dark and viscous. The weapons could have been thrown but the Hellhounds just never had the chance, except for into the mare which had no effect. They had needed to get close to throw those things through the trees, but they had gambled on being able to recover first from the thunderstones. Likely they had not fully realized that three of us could fight wholly blind, and I wondered that they had not used something even more long-ranged than their chains.

Mourn picked up one of the two-pronged things, scenting it carefully and addressing the injured Ma'ab. "What is this? Shall I test it on you?"

The Hellhound sweated profusely and trembled in pain, dark and bloodshot eyes staring up at him from a pale face that became paler and greyish. But for the obvious physical strain, the Ma'ab seemed calm; I could not immediately read whether he was intimidated by any of our appearances, despite Mourn who loomed over him. I sensed a subtle increase in warmth at my chest just as the Guild leader selected a tattoo on the left side of the Ma'ab's thick neck and used the forked piece to scrape the poison across it.

The Hellhound flinched slightly at how far his skin depressed beneath the prod but the surface was not broken, nor did the black streak seem to negatively affect either the marks or his flesh. Yet, I saw the deep cut on the back of his thigh and I knew Mourn had tried to gouge him just now. With his arm there had been plenty of strength behind it, yet it did not work. I did not enjoy this inconsistency in which some blades cut and pierced these Ma'ab elite and some did not, but finally I could at least see a pattern. 

The older, enchanted weapons were much more likely to get through on a first attempt than mundane weapons and the brief bursts of magic such as Tamuril's vines and thorns. That meant Jael's loaner, the double blade, was probably enchanted; I already knew that it was old just based on where we found it. Similarly, Mourn must have on him a dagger infused with magic; he had to in order to make a single, clean cut that deep on the Hellhound. I wondered which one it was?

It also meant Soul Drinker would make me a high priority target, and... Wait. Did this also mean that Night-mare's sharp, conical teeth were inherently magical? I knew Gavin was practically blood-bonded to something much older than him; did the horse share this as well through her creator? She must in some way, because she had torn right through those tattoos...

Mourn opened his mouth wide and lifted his tongue in a way that ripped me straight out of my thoughts and forced me to pay attention to what was going on. No one had said anything after Mourn's question; only a few moments had passed as Peng lok, Nianzu, and Tamuril had taken a few steps closer. I heard nothing from Mourn except a sound similar to what I might hear if my waterskin had a tiny hole in it and I squeezed it hard to squirt water out for some distance: other than a slight "shush," one mostly heard the drops of liquid hitting a surface.

That was the case here. I glimpsed a thin streak of fluid leave from beneath Mourn's tongue and then heard that small bit of liquid strike the same spot on the Hellhound where Mourn had tried to puncture him. The Ma'ab flinched again in surprise but nothing seemed to hurt at first. The dragonblood never once looked away from his prey and finally I could read that the Hellhound was, on some level, afraid of him.

Then I smelled something familiar enough for any handler of poisons: flesh suffering a severe burn that had nothing to do with fire. The Hellhound made an impressive attempt to remain silent, but the continuous chemical sear only escalated until he grimaced, slapped his gloved hand to his neck as if that would help, and, finally, wailed out in extreme discomfort as I saw a red, raw flesh open up, destroying the tattoo.

At the same time, a quieter but no less distressed sound came from Tamuril's direction and I looked to see that she was covering her ears and turning away from the scene. She took a step farther away and I could not see anything more risky for her to do. I came up to her swiftly, blocking her path and claiming her full attention.

"You can't leave," I said over the Hellhound's sounds and whatever Mourn was asking him right now. I resented missing it on account of a Noldor trying to go off by herself.

"I don't wish to stand here and watch this," she said thickly, green eyes moist in the dark as she looked at me, her hands still hovering over her pale, pointed ears.




Surfacing Ch. 22



Author's Notes: This story is erotic fantasy written by Etaski. I reserve the right to be listed as the author of this story, wherever it is posted. If found posted anywhere except Literotica.com with this note attached, this story is posted without my permission. (c) Etaski 2015.

At last we return to the Underdark, where the fighting is a little less overt. Most of the time. ;)

********

Jaunda would be back very soon. 

Elder Rausery held a certain satisfaction near the back of her mind that her shadows had managed to get her a message before D'Shea sensed anything. Although regardless of any competitive impulse on her part, she would want to talk to her shadows first on any mission, if at all possible. Something was different, and she was pretty sure it wasn't only because of all the strangeness going on with the Consort and his dreams. 

The two highly-trained commoners almost didn't make it before Jaunda; something was slowing them down, and when Rausery finally laid eyes on them she could tell that something was Halena.

*Vik,* she ordered in hand sign. *Report.*

Rausery took in every detail of their appearance, their scent, their body language; it was as much part of the report as anything either of them chose to tell her. They were tired for having exerted themselves, with their scents only now coming into stark relief over the general smell of the deep caverns which otherwise clung to them. 

Even before she got any facts or made the effort to focus on their expressions in the darkness, Rausery knew she would have to take Halena in. The young female could not remain out in the wilderness; after being out for four months, she was done. Even Vik would have to stay with his handler once she arrived; he would have to take a break or he would not remain effective.

Something had shaken them both.

*Successful,* Vik told her with his hands as Halena hung slightly behind him with her arms crossed, trying unsuccessfully to put up a tougher front.

*Spy gem in place,* Rausery responded.

*Yes, Elder.*

*Were you sensed or seen by the Illithids?*

*Not to our knowledge.*

Rausery knew this much was true; D'Shea already knew about her gem, as that had been the first hint they had received that Jaunda should be on her way back. The Lead had been out on her mission for almost three weeks, with the spy gem becoming active far away in the Illithid territory just about a week ago. Fairly efficient, actually, as both Elders were able to estimate that she had spent about as long observing the enemy as she had been traveling one way to get there, or to come back. Neither Elder would have been surprised if she had needed to observe the enemy for five times as long before coming back in, as long as she made her check-ins with her Sisters.

*Why did it take so little time?* Rausery asked them both.

Halena shivered and then looked deeply embarrassed for doing so, yet she looked at the elder male to speak for them both. Rausery did not react to this but simply watched them. Vik's handler had only shown it by continually putting him on tasks, but the male shadow had always impressed her, and his loyalty to Rausery's group was steadfast given this ability to prove he was as smart and determined as any female. It would seem he may have led the way to survival on this mission. 

Rausery looked forward to Jaunda's report.

*We had help,* he signed, and for a moment he looked surprised.

The Elder tilted her head. *Why are you startled?*

The young male swallowed but kept his back straight and his eyes up. *I did not think I would be able to tell you. But I cannot tell you about him for one month.*

Now his hands trembled a little bit and he looked uncertain.

Rausery narrowed her eyes. *Him? Not acceptable. Better tell me now.*

His hands didn't move and he stared over her shoulder for a second before blinking and looking back at her. She could see his distress at disobeying her. He began signing in a flurry.

*I can't. I will, after I have kept my part of the bargain, I swear to you. I'm sorry, Elder. We had help, but we agreed not to give the details until one month had passed. It has only been seven cycles.*

What in the Abyss was this?

*So someone saw you, just not the Illithids,* Rausery stated, her face stern. *And you made a deal with him?*

They both nodded and their hands signed an affirmative.

*Why?*

*We had trespassed, and we could not leave.*

Rausery stared at Vik and Halena in such a way as to assure that they would not dare leave her presence as well, until she was finished with them. *'We'?*

*Lead Jaunda, Halena, and me.*

*Again, who made a bargain with you.*

*I can't. I agreed. Twenty-one more cycles, Elder.*

The smaller male flinched when Rausery shifted her stance; both shadows could tell she was not pleased. She even considered if it was already too late and killing them made no difference.

*You agreed,* she repeated with clear incredulity. *Don't believe only that holds you back, Vik. Is it a spell? A compulsion?*

Vik drew in a slow breath and closed his eyes briefly before opening them again. His tremors settled down somewhat and Rausery recognized the technique as he focused. He looked up at her again. *It is the truth. Jaunda will tell you the same thing.*

Would she? What the fuck.

Rausery tried not to audibly grind her teeth. *Anything else happen besides meeting Jaunda and planting the gem?*

Vikki shook his head and then bowed his head down. *Not of note, my Elder. Basic survival.*

Rausery kept her gaze on him without moving for a long time in the quiet of the cavern. As much risk as Vik knew he was taking, what she could choose to do to him and Halena both for this obstruction and insubordination, he remained standing before her and did not look like he was anywhere close to changing his answer. Not without some serious pain, and maybe not even then if there was magic involved; Rausery only knew that too well.

So Jaunda might say the same thing. How would D'Shea respond to that? 

This felt just unusual enough that Rausery decided not to turn to intimidation or punishment. That could always wait until later. She wanted to compare stories first, maybe talk to Phaelous, seeing as how he appeared to be the resident expert on freeing tongues skewered by magic.

Rausery got a few more inconsequential details about their last observance of the Illithid field before the handler showed up to collect her shadows, easing into their periphery and giving the tiny sound which confirmed her identity. The Elder nodded.

*Take Vik and put him under constant watch until I have a chance to talk to him again. Update me if he gives any further details on his bargain.*

The handler tilted her head slightly. *Discipline?*

*Not yet. Wait.*

*And Halena?*

Elder Rausery tugged out a black bag from her belt. *She's coming with me to the Cloister.*

*******

Don't stare into the Abyss.

That was what Elder Rausery had told him and the irony struck him how, before now, he had actually thought that he had been leaning over the edge doing just that.

He hadn't. He had been complaining about its existence.

Then the Valsharess had dragged him onto her altar and shattered the internal shield he thought had been strong enough. He knew it wasn't when he had his first "strange dream." He had been his father at first, in bed with a young Priestess, then she had morphed into Sirana. 

The Red Sister had recognized him, said his name and looked straight at him as if he was really there.

Didn't she realize what that meant?

*No...! Leave... LEAVE!*

It could not go like this. *She* would be able to get in. *She* would be able to invade every part of him and see things She wasn't supposed to see. He floundered for something else his sponsor had said, wishing he could hear her firm, practical voice anchoring him in this place of prayers and madness.

*The only easy cycle, boy, is the previous one.*

One corner of his mouth drew up wryly. That was certainly true, but the true danger was in whether he should cease being able to tell one cycle from the next.

Shyntre flinched when something touched his damp temple and he cried out through a tight throat. It sounded like a tiny, wounded squall.

"Shhh," the Priestess hushed. "Are you all right? You didn't answer when I knocked."

Shyntre stared up at the feminine face, slowly absorbing her features as the candlelight flickered low and calm. She was elegant; multiple, silver piercings in her ears and Lolth's spider as a pendant nestled between her breasts, and he remembered her as one of the youngest Priestesses who would come to check on him from time to time. More of the younger ones had strange eyes like hers. Green, like the grass and the leaves on the trees upon the Surface.

"Where am I?" he croaked with almost no voice.

The Priestess gave him a tolerant smile that was also an admonishment; he nearly felt forty years old again. "You were moved into the Sanctuary several cycles ago. Her Grace deemed you have been breeding too hard and were failing to care for yourself in your quarters. You will remain here while you recover your strength."

Oh, goddess. If there was any thought which made him want to leap out of bed and proclaim a full recovery, it was the thought of being tended by spiteful, warring Priestesses in their empty nursery. In fact, he tried to sit up quickly and was taken aback how badly his head began spinning. The Priestess took his shoulders and pushed him back down on the soft bedding with a cluck-cluck of her tongue.

"You are not well, Shyntre, and the Valsharess's Consort must be watched."

He shrugged his shoulders, shrinking from her touch, and tried to push her arms away. It would not have worked on its own but she took the hint and straightened back up, putting her ring-covered hands in her lap atop the purple velvet of her gown. 

"Who are you?" he wheezed without thinking, and the Priestess looked a bit amused as well as skeptical, as if she suspected him of lying.

"You have never been stupid, wizard," she said. "Even if we have rarely spoken directly, others talk, I am sure, and you have always been aware of who I am."

She seemed about to say more but thought better of it and just watched him. Her warm palm had settled heavily on one of his arms as if to make certain he did not try to sit up again. His head felt as if it had been stuffed full of cobwebs, both lighter than it should be and obscuring most of his thoughts as they tried to struggle through the grey haze. He turned his neck one way sluggishly than the other, blinking as he tried to form a question. His base instincts warned him that he was at a deadly disadvantage if he could not think faster.

One of the younger Priestesses, and yes, she was familiar. He once knew all of the Priestesses' names in the Sanctuary out of pure need, but then he went to the Tower and, for a brief time, the Cloister. And to the Surface, and back. Back to the Tower. He was certain that several Priestesses since then had been killed off and new ones would have been initiated. There would be Priestesses here that he did not know, but this one was older than him and...

His eyes widened suddenly as the memory struggled its way out of the cobwebs. How could he forget? The audience with the Valsharess that had condemned him, the discovery of the tainted Consorts and the beginning of the Purge. The audience which had sent Sirana away, unlikely to return.

The sorceress-Priestess who had seized the ear of the Valsharess in that meeting. The liaison to the Sisterhood, the contact and possible ally to his mother, Varessa D'Shea. 

"Lelinahdara..." he whispered and she smiled at him.

"There we are, dear boy, I knew you had not been completely addled." 

Her hand slid up from his bicep to squeeze his shoulder as she leaned closer and over him. Her voice dropped to that near-voiceless whisper which did not carry, which all surviving Drow learned to do well before they reached adulthood.

"You will not have to serve any Nobles while you are here, and as you are under my care by order of the Valsharess, you will not believe anything another Priestess may try to tell you. You will agree to no favors or tasks, you will not initiate or accept any bargains. You will tell me about all who make contact with you, and what they said. You will omit nothing. To do otherwise will be treason against Her Grace. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Priestess," he whispered, feeling his stomach first seem to sink and then ice over. 

There was nothing else he could do; he believed he would not be here at all if it was not truly by the Hand of his Queen. It made the most sense that Lelinahdara would be "gifted" with his care if for some reason the Valsharess wanted him out of the Palace. And if this Priestess was not telling the whole truth, it would drive him to further insanity to doubt her and drown in the shadows of endless conspiracies.

In some way, to do exactly as she said made it all simpler. He had to submit to the females in control of his destiny and make every attempt to be blameless should something go wrong. When something went wrong. Sometimes being blameless made no difference and one was still punished to soothe the pride of one who failed, but he resolved not to concern himself with that. Not right now.

His previous experience in the Sanctuary left the indelible impression in his mind that there was no certainty here and it was all a maze of mirrors. By comparison the Tower was structured to expect intellectual progress from those living there, competition encouraged though not to lethal levels, with favoritism, rewards, and to be given the most appealing tasks and studies as the goals. The Cloister was purely physical and mental endurance, confrontations and fights expected to better determine who stood at the top, and even then, they had to work together.

The Sanctuary was a place somewhat like the Court, where one's strengths seemed less tangible than fighting endurance or the number of spells one could master. It was more about distant resources at one's disposal and the politics of convincing others you had such extended control, whether or not part of it might be an illusion. The Priestesses of Lolth, however, had one thing over the Nobles, and that was being able to summon both pleasure dreams and nightmares to further enhance the image of their influence, not only on this plane but on another.

Shyntre could say that summoning those dreams and nightmares worked. It worked so very well. From his view the Valsharess was far less a Queen and more a Priestess, because that was how She controlled him: through sanity-siphoning nightmares.

As Lelinahdara nodded in approval and rubbed her hand along his shoulder and arm as if to comfort, he looked about him for a few more details of the room. He could tell he was not in a Priestess's personal quarters, and for that he was grateful. . It was of medium size with magic-formed stone and motifs of webs and spiders tastefully added here and there. There were three other beds but they were empty, and each had a small table next to them, the only one with a candle being the one next to his bed. Lastly there was a hygiene area in the rear corner, presumably to be shared by all four occupants if the room should be full.

This was part of the infirmary, he remembered, where many of the young males from different floors of the Sanctuary might end up for one reason or another, as well as the occasional pregnant female of note, if something about her had drawn the attention of Lolth's servants. Such as his own mother, when she carried him.

He wondered whether they might actually leave him alone in this room, and if they did, what would he do besides look at the walls and pace between necessary body functions, as he did in his Palace quarters?

Really, how would it be any different? Lelinahdara had just told him that he was as untouchable as before, still the Valsharess's Consort. He could imagine that a Priestess foolish enough to walk in here and try to interact with him on any level besides making certain he was still alive... this would be his only entertainment.

He had always loathed Drow who were short-sighted and bored enough to encourage, even look forward to making trouble for themselves and others simply because they needed entertainment. 

What little he had known of Sirana as a Noble when the Sisterhood had been watching her, how she had seemed to him at Court that confused him so that his mother would be so interested - causing his stomach to burn when she was touted as the daughter the Elder should've had - that was how he saw her, as exactly the type of bored Noble which he despised. That was why he had been able to do what he did to her; she was asking for it, she wanted the trouble, she had done it to others. She deserved it.

Auslan had warned him about that, or tried to. He didn't listen.

Now, he wondered at this thought of looking forward to some other Priestess coming to ask something of him, of seeing what would come of it. He had nothing else, no other choices; others had already decided for him. He wondered if - knowing what he did now with the feeling of change from that dream, a split second before he panicked- he wondered if Sirana had felt like this, too? Despite his assumption that she had all the power and choices and privilege he would never have, from being born female and coming from a named family... assuming she just wasted it all...

Maybe it had not been quite like that for her. Otherwise how could she have looked at him the way she had in the dream?

The Priestess lightly slapped his face. "I said, look at me, Shyntre."

His eyes snapped to her and he automatically submerged his surface thoughts and changed his breathing as Elder Rausery had taught him long ago. He did not even allow a self-reprimand for letting his thoughts drift the way they had. 

"Yes, Priestess," he murmured, forcing his body to relax as he gazed up at her green-eyed face. Some of the cobwebs cleared and he became aware of an itching scab at his shoulder and he reached to touch it, nearly scratching it before Lelinahdara grabbed his hand to stop it. 

"What is this?" she asked as she lifted his hand and used her other one to pull back his robe and expose his shoulder. She lightly touched it and they could both see it was half as long as her finger. There was a bit more blood staining his blue robe then he thought there should be.

He swallowed but waited patiently for the reason to come back to him, and it did in the form of an angry elder's face. The Queen had thrown a statuette at him in temper, and it had gouged him at his shoulder and his foot when he had tried to prevent it from breaking as it landed. She had used some of his blood on the altar, and She made no effort to heal it afterward. A small punishment to add to the brutal raping of his aura, no doubt.

"I dropped a statuette on my foot," he answered.

Lelinahdara give him an odd look, arching a fine white eyebrow, before shifting off the bed to lift the blanket and expose his right foot. There was another similar gouge scabbed over there as well, not quite as deep or as long. 

The Priestess was an intelligent one and nodded as she hummed. "After trying to catch it, I presume?"

"Yes, Priestess."

She pondered something for several moments before flipping the blanket back over his foot and tucking him back in. "I will bring you back some food. Rest here."

He escaped with only a nod as an answer when she left the infirmary.

******

Rausery relaxed in her own quarters, at her own desk, leaning back with her arms folded over her stomach and her legs stretched out comfortably as she watched D'Shea strip Jaunda. one piece and one layer at a time.




Surfacing Ch. 22



They would have been doing this in the sorceress's quarters where her various potions and scrolls and tools resided, but they had agreed the Consort should not be listening in. D'Shea had needed to compromise by packing a small kit of things she knew she would need.

The Lead had just returned and had not said even one word aloud yet; her Elder did not want to hear it before she checked all the physical evidence first. Elder Rausery's eyes slid over the growing number of pouches, weapons, and armor pieces resting on her basic dining table, and she inhaled slowly as she noted deep wilderness scents very similar to those on Vik and Halena.

The female shadow was currently beneath the Cloister in one of the cells, though in neither of the ones recently used to hold Shyntre and the Consort. Rausery had brought her in with no struggle though with a fair bit of trepidation on the younger's side, and no one but Qivni knew about her presence yet; her Lead was to keep it that way for a little while longer.

D'Shea muttered magic words quietly as she added certain compounds either to her hands or some cloth, testing for this and that, Rausery knew. She recognized some of them but it was rare that a Red Sister would undergo a full alchemist study upon returning from a mission and she could not name them all. She looked forward to hearing the sorceress's conclusions, however, since she had long accepted the value that some tests could add in supporting or refuting a verbal report. 

Her only regret was that they did not have the resources or the trusted, skilled mages to do this on a more regular basis. D'Shea was very jealous with her knowledge and it had taken years to convince her to begin teaching one of the other Red Sisters some of these techniques. As far as Rausery knew, Varessa had only begun teaching Gaelan, the one Red Sister who would in no way threaten the status quo having this additional knowledge. 

It was frustrating, as this also meant there would be little experimentation or innovation the way there tended to be in the Tower with Phaelous and his brood. In fact it was in her opinion that this could be a good delegation with some of those under-utilized mages. Maybe this was something Rausery could work on next, once the Prime was gone.

D'Shea undressed her Lead down to the skin efficiently and without any apparent sensuality between either of them - something Rausery agreed with and approved, as there came a time when actions proved loyalty and no longer required games of sexual dominance. 

In fact, in Rausery's experience, this immunity to being publicly butt-fucked by an Elder in front of the other Sisters was something a Lead valued if she had any true understanding of her status within the Cloister. An Elder and her Lead even worked better together when they were not fucking each other.

As their returned Sister finally stood nude, Rausery reflected how much more obvious muscle tone Jaunda had compared to D'Shea; she was a little taller as well so the Lead made an excellent bodyguard figure next to the sorceress. She had done some basic washing out in the wilderness since she was not caked in dirt but she was still sweaty, her short hair uncombed and subject only to the occasional fingers passing through it.

In spite of the basic hygiene, however, an expression passed briefly across Jaunda's face when the sorceress asked her to bend over and put her hands on the seat of an empty chair. Even before D'Shea's fingers entered her Lead's cunt, Rausery knew what they would find but waited for her peer to mutter the magic words and watched as D'Shea's eyes widened to see that distinctive shimmer of iridescent blue on her finger. 

Jaunda was right to expect a probe to her ass next, which D'Shea did with a scowl and her Lead with a bit of a grimace. Almost as an afterthought the sorceress stepped in front again as the Lead straightened up to check her mouth. A different set of fingers shimmered for a third time.

Rausery smirked and shifted to rest her chin in her palm with a finger tapping her cheek. "Pregnancy test next?"

Jaunda seemed about to say something but stopped herself and remained silent. Without a verbal response D'Shea wiped off her hands and kneeled in front of her Lead to cover her belly with both palms. Rausery waited with just a little bit of tension until D'Shea exhaled and glanced over her shoulder with a shake of her head. She stood back up seeming relieved.

"When was the last time you were penetrated at all," D'Shea asked Jaunda frankly, "much less by a male you allowed to cream inside you?"

Rausery was watching even more carefully than her peer, and she saw just a glimpse of something similar to Vik and Halena when they had first arrived. That little bit of confused shakiness. Interesting.

Jaunda forced a bit of a smile, however. "Truthfully, Elder? I can't remember. Maybe a century or two."

The Elder did not ask any other questions yet - even clearly wanting to - and instead finished up her analysis of what they could see and touch. Even though she had looked over Jaunda's Feldeu when she had first begun removing pieces of equipment, she returned to it again to cast a different spell. The black, false cock glowed with light that was mixed with separate blue and green strands and D'Shea muttered a quiet curse.

Rausery felt herself smiling almost as much as D'Shea was frowning. She did not miss the fact that, even though it was not Jaunda's personal preference, the Lead somehow getting into a situation where she took semen in all three of her holes did not have her doubting her abilities. If anything, it had reaffirmed any lingering doubt Jaunda might've had about her ability to handle her role.

Rausery's gut told her this was the problem with Halena. At least she had a very good idea what might have happened to the young shadow. Maybe even to Vik, for that matter, though he had been holding up much better.

Now the question was, who had it been? Vik had only mentioned one male with whom they had made a bargain, but they could not speak about him quite yet. With this next revelation of what had been inside Jaunda, Rausery almost thought it had to be more than one male who had ganged up on the Red Sister and her shadows. 

Maybe the two things were related, and maybe they weren't. She would wait and listen.

"So, Varessa," Rausery began.

The sorceress nodded, using the basin to wash her hands after tidying up all her little bottles and vials. "No magic that should not be there on any of her equipment. A small bit of wear and tear, to be expected after three weeks, but no noteworthy damage or evidence of a fight. Dirt and outside materials in her tread and clothing is consistent with previously known samples of the area we've been studying for the last few months. She has lost a little bit of weight but has eaten fairly well and regularly, even given how much energy she must have burned."

D'Shea paused at that, her piercing gaze locked with Jaunda, who tensed the corners of her mouth in something that could have been an ironic smile.

"There are a few small scrapes on her back and her hips, her breasts and knees, palms and the tips of her toes, almost healed and almost invisible. They could only have been received directly, while naked, not dressed. Clear evidence of semen in the birth canal, the anus, and the mouth, some lingering swelling in the same implying prolonged friction." 

"And the Feldeu?" Rausery asked.

The Elder narrowed her eyes a bit. "It has trace amounts of semen as well, most importantly around the head. If she has been traveling for a week, then she has taken no healing potion and the signs are consistent with a short and rough bout of rutting with a male just before traveling back. And either someone smeared a handful of spunk around the tip of the Feldeu, or she fucked another hole that had already been filled with it."

Jaunda said nothing, did not nod her head or give any indication how close her Elder might be to the truth.

"Sounds like fun," Rausery said with a chuckle.

"But out of character. I would assume it was nonconsensual."

"Can you tell what race of male, or how many?"

D'Shea paused but shook her head. "Unfortunately not after a week. Perhaps if it was fresh but it has been too long."

"So this is where the report comes in," Rausery replied. "Would you like to sit, Varessa?"

D'Shea darted an irritated glance her way. "No, thank you." She looked back to Jaunda. "Report."

"I met up with Vik and Halena again, as instructed by my Elders," the Lead began without indication that she was at all irritated being talked about as if she was a statue. "We studied the field for three marks that first cycle."

Her Elder nodded. "Would you say there was any distraction, or attraction between the three of you?"

To Rausery, that first question seemed to be irrelevant, but then Jaunda surprised her with her answer.

She nodded. "I flirted with Vik, and Halena was possessive."

D'Shea frowned. "Why choose the male?"

"He was better at what they did," Jaunda answered in complete calm.

Rausery understood; of course the Lead would have tested a few boundaries and a few nerves. That was what she was trained to do, and if Vik was the greater challenge, he would be the more attractive one. Interesting to hear about Halena being jealous, though. Rausery had not yet heard that from their handler. Perhaps it was a recent development. 

"Anything of note happen during that time?" 

"Yes, Elder. Vik was able to determine by a sound which one of the three tunnels was the main one that would lead us closest to the Illithid nest. Having our target destination, we planned to come back and watch the next several cycles to determine how close we could get to plant the gem. We didn't make it."

Rausery looked at D'Shea for a reaction but it was disappointingly mild.

"You set the gem in place, correct?" the Elder asked.

Jaunda nodded. "Yes, I did, Elder."

"But you did not make it back the second cycle to watch the field?"

"Correct, Elder."

"Why not?"

"We were discovered trespassing."

"By the Illithids?"

"No, Elder."

"By whom?"

"I can't tell you yet. I will, Elder, I promise." 

Son of a slit. Vik called it. And didn't it sound so strange coming from the mouth of either of them? They could not say now, but they would later? They "promised"?

Rausery very nearly laughed at D'Shea's expression but she knew that would tip her hand. She drummed some fingers instead just to have some sort of reaction while Varessa tensed up like a bowstring and stalked slowly around her Lead.

"You can't tell me?" she said in low menace.

"Twenty-one more cycles. I promised." 

Jaunda just managed to squeeze that in as the sorceress did not blink staring at her, her eyes tracing around the Lead's short hair and shoulders before returning to her face. Rausery thought D'Shea was looking for something, reading an aura, perhaps.

"You will do better than that, Jaunda. Let us continue. You did not return the second cycle to watch the field. Did you return at any point to watch the field again?"

"Only once more, when we went to set the gem in place."

"How much later was that?"

"Five cycles."

Jaunda still stood naked and tall, her head tilted just slightly down to be able to meet her Elder's eyes if necessary, but sometimes she looked down or off to the side as was natural. What was most important that Rausery could see was that she was in no discomfort, physical or mental, as she spoke.

"What happened between those two times that you saw the field?"

"I will tell you about it in another three weeks. I agreed."

D'Shea stared hard at Jaunda, her mouth tight and her fist clenched. She may have wanted to strike Jaunda but maintained control of herself and continued her interrogation. "If you were caught trespassing, and you were not confronted by Illithids, can you confirm if the Dragon Ward was still in place?"

"That I do not know, Elder. I can't confirm it one way or another."

"That has the feeling of splitting hairs, my Lead. The only thing we knew of in that area with significant magic was the Ward. Dare I say that the one who caught you trespassing was the one who set that Ward?"

"You can say it if you wish. I can't tell you about him for another twenty-one cycles."

D'Shea looked a little taken aback and in truth, Rausery felt taken aback. The sorceress had not taken long to make her point, but she had been testing the way first so that the two Elders could watch every moment and every tick as they nudged their witness closer to their conclusion, all the better to avoid blundering into something with severe backlash without warning.

Yet...Jaunda looked mildly regretful but not afraid. Clearly there was no pain, no migraine, no panicked look of fear as they threatened to speak her secret, or have it suggested by another. It was insubordination that could easily bring Jaunda torture and execution, if D'Shea so chose, and yet this thought did not seem to grip Jaunda's mind as it should.

So strange.

The Elder sorceress walked once again in a complete circle around her naked subordinate, studying her and thinking whatever thoughts meant the most to her. Rausery could not really begin to guess the specifics or anything farther ahead than what lay right before them, but she was certain they were all thinking the same thing.

"The Dragon is awake," Rausery said, and D'Shea gasped audibly and spun around to scowl at her. She merely cocked a brow at her. "What? Jaunda said we could say so. It is not hurting her. Looks like you were wrong about who was in the dream, D'Shea."

The sorceress huffed and turned her back to Rausery, who thought she saw a change in stance not unlike some when finally deciding to drop their cloak of concealment.

"So you agreed," D'Shea snapped. "Why would you agree to such a thing? Twenty-one cycles and you will tell me about your encounter with a Dragon?"

"I had no choice, Elder," Jaunda answered, reacting a bit to the sorceress's anger but still not truly afraid. "It was make a bargain or be his prey. I have to keep my bargain, Elder."

"The bargain cannot have been to simply wait one month to tell your story."

Jaunda did not respond.

"And the gem was set into place somehow around the same time some male glazed you like a desert."

Again, Jaunda did not respond.

Rausery could see that her peer was unnerved, looking at her Lead as if she didn't recognize her, and truly Jaunda did only stand there patiently as they studied the evidence on her body and got the bookends of her report while piecing together their own idea of what may have happened in between them. The younger Red Sister didn't care if they were close in their deductions or not, she simply wouldn't talk about the specifics.

D'Shea stepped closer to her Lead, until their noses almost touched and Jaunda could feel her Elder's breath on her cheeks. "And what of your loyalty to the Sisterhood? Has it been compromised?"

"No, Elder," the Lead responded immediately, staring into her eyes. "I still belong to you and to the Sisterhood. I look forward to telling you everything when the time is right. I will tell you everything. That is the Truth."

The sorceress's eyes narrowed slightly as she stared at her, but she gave a little nod. "When we leave here, you will stay in my quarters with the Consort. You will not leave or speak to anyone else about your mission, not even to him. Understood?"

Jaunda looked surprised with such an order, but she nodded. "Understood, Elder."

"Elder Rausery, will you leave first and clear the way? The fewer Red Sisters who see Jaunda has returned, the better. Then I will meet you outside the Cloister. We need to talk."

That was an understatement.

"Sure."

It took some time to get the Lead secured and to give Qivni a quick message that Rausery was going out but would be back soon. It took even a bit more to find D'Shea again outside, since they both took different paths to one of the four different places they might choose to talk.

When they finally did though...

*Let me guess,* Rausery signed. *Your quarters, so that not even the Prime is likely to know she is back.*

D'Shea nodded distractedly, Rausery betting that her mind was thinking a spider's egg sac full of things at once. *Auslan could use the company.*

Rausery smirked. *Better come up with what to tell the Prime quick. The Valsharess expects an update as well. As usual, I will back you, just tell me everything.* 

The sorceress shook her head and kept walking, gesturing for her to follow. *We need to talk to Phaelous first. We don't have much time.*

******

Lelinahdara returned with a tray of food for D'Shea's son, but she wasn't truly surprised the moment Shyntre realized that he did not want to eat it.

"There is no liquid or powder in it except what comes naturally," she admonished, reaching for the spoon and sampling both the soup and the side dish in front of him, also taking a drink from his cup. 

It was bland overall, but then most who lived here wanted it that way as to better detect when something was in it that should not belong. Proper seasoning could always come after the fact, and it was doubly useful when they had any guests in the infirmary with delicate stomachs.

The Priestess watched as Shyntre slowly overcame his reluctance and convinced himself he needed the strength. He cautiously sniffed the cloth napkin and, satisfied that it had only been laundered and nothing else, wiped down the spoon she had used and silently fed himself large bites while sitting up in bed with the tray on his lap.

All the better to protect himself, she knew. It was surprisingly easy to get Drow to eat when they were ill, even the temperamental ones; as a race they were not known for knowingly weakening themselves only to make themselves more vulnerable. They would have to be truly incapable of caring for themselves.

Which, curiously, was exactly how Shyntre was behaving in the Palace. He had been unable to care for himself for several cycles and the Valsharess had called the sorceress-Priestess to take him into her custody and make him strong again.

He had not recognized her first and had been foolish enough to say so; therefore Tarra could believe that something unusual had happened recently. Yet it did not take him long to feed himself once he realized where he was. Amusing.

The Priestess watched him eat in silence until he was nearly finished, then she asked, "Have you ever watched a birthing, Shyntre?"

He froze, his gold-flecked crimson eyes so much like his sire's sliding her way before looking forward again, and he took another bite. She wagered from how quickly he swallowed it that he had barely tasted it.

"No, Priestess," he answered.

"No? Well. I suppose you have never been in a position to have the opportunity with Phaelous and Rausery as your guardians. I only thought it possible that Wilsirathon had seen fit to make it happen at some point?"

Shyntre shook his head. "No, Priestess."

Tarra smoothed out a wrinkle in her robe. "Congratulations on fertilizing one in your first few months. How many times and how many Nobles again?"

The wizard gave her an extremely wary look. He bit the inside of his cheek instead of replying.

"Never mind, I know how many," she continued. "A pity you are required to help quicken the eggs but you have no idea how to assist with the separation, when the time comes."

The wizard's face shifted from growing resentment to confusion. Tarra showed her teeth in a beautiful smile. 

"Did you know all Consorts possessed a heightened fertility, a level of life magic bequeathed by the Priestesses in honor of our goddess, and that they could control it? I imagine a Consort in service for a century or more might have had ten to fifteen offspring with only a small fraction of truly necessary encounters, compared to what you have done. There could be more coitus if it was desired, or he could simply be kept as a pretty possession to look good standing at a Noble's side. For most of the children he sired, he would have been nearby when they were born, but it did depend on an essential touch of magic whether he may have been at all useful to witness or assist with their birth."




Surfacing Ch. 22



Shyntre frowned deeply and she saw the resentment returning. "Care to make your point, Priestess?"

"Certainly." 

She sat down upon the bed's edge well within his personal space. He tried to shift the tray to keep it from spilling but she took it from him and put it on the table beside them. She watched his nostrils flare as he became aware of her personal scent and, as expected, it made him uncomfortable. He was certainly a different sort of Consort than she had helped to raise and train before.

But then, no male from the Sanctuary had had quite Shyntre's particular... variety... of upbringing.

Lelinahdara took hold of the wizard's chin and turned his head so she could look at him as she spoke. "It is a bit late in your development, but it may yet be possible to give you that heightened fertility, Shyntre. To make you a true Consort in service to Her Grace, and not simply a strong mage from our nursery."

What she said had frightened him, she could tell, and he wanted to close his mind to it. She put her free arm around his shoulders and kept talking close to his face even as he wanted to look down to the side away from her.

"You would not have to breed as often, wizard, you would not have to endure the pressure or exhaust yourself rutting on the same Noble pussies over and over again. If the Valsharess ordered you to impregnate a particular female, you could do so with more control and be able to conserve your strength. Likewise, if you were to withhold or even destroy the gift of a fertile womb, that would be within your ability."

A hard tremor passed through Shyntre and he gasped quietly as he lifted a hand as if to touch his head. Something had hurt but the next he glanced at her, she recognized the glint of interest and hope, and pushed him harder.

"It would heighten your value tremendously, Shyntre, as you would have more time and will to continue learning magic as well. So much less effort and time wasted on ungrateful and demanding Nobles, yet you could efficiently fulfill the Valsharess's wishes and please Her."

His hand did not quite make contact with his temple but the quivering in it stopped and he whispered very quietly. "Do you mean what you say? Could you do this?"

She squeezed his shoulder again and, though her other hand finally let go of his chin, she stroked him along his jawline before setting it in her lap. "Yes, I mean it, and *you* could do this, wizard. It is what your sire did, you know, centuries ago."

The young mage did not react to that but she could suppose he was just covering it up. Either way it did not help motivate him and she said no more, waiting for him to think on it.

"What would be required of me?" he asked.

She covered any sign of the little flare of excitement she felt in her middle. "Close the circle, Shyntre. You have quickened new life as a Consort in training, now you must assist in a birthing of a Consort who has the magic that you need."

His face almost crumbled in disbelief. "Impossible. They're all dead."

"Not all," she assured him. "We have two opportunities, Shyntre. One in only a few weeks, maybe less. And another maybe four months from now. Two chances to transform you, as all Consorts have been strengthened the same way, helping to birth their brothers. Yet you would also be like me, a wielder of both arcane and divine magics. It will open so many more choices for you than you have now, as it has for me."

Tarra watched his pulse beat in his throat and felt the high heat of his body. She had almost forgotten how a male channeling the arcane not only seemed hot in a way that the soothing glow of a Consort was not, but also had more bite to his aura. Shyntre was badly bruised but it was starting to mend, the Priestess could see it, and having this new goal to think about would help distract him from his injuries.

She also thought it could work, and she had the Valsharess's tentative approval while at the same time that She had retracted any thought of using Shyntre to drag the true name out of the last Consort kept in the Cloister. Tarra had already ruminated on many possibilities involving Curgia and her unborn, to use her to bond with Auslan if she could have Shyntre do so, but now also making use of that doomed baby in order to achieve what the Valsharess now bid her do: to make Her Royal Consort stronger, resilient, and more fertile.

Now the arcane Priestess had a bit of a time limit as well. The Valsharess wanted Shyntre ready, or at least closer to ready, by the time Sirana returned. Lelinahdara was not used to working as quickly, to move up several aspects of her plans by years. But... as long as she was given leave to use the resources at her fingertips, she would do so. And succeed.

"Well, Shyntre? What do you think? Would you like to discover the secret of how the Consorts could once utterly control the fertility of the Nobility?"

The wizard wetted his lips and swallowed, staring down at the dark blanket that covered his legs. "I think... that I must."

*****

"You don't mind, do you?" Jaunda said as she stripped down again so shortly after dressing simply to move from one Elder's quarters to the other's.

The Consort Auslan probably did mind, based on how he could not sit still in the chair he had just taken, as his eyes flicked frequently between her and the bed she meant to claim. However, he shook his head in the negative.

"Thanks. It's been a really, really long month."

As she piled her equipment as neatly as she could in her Elder's room, Auslan cleared his throat.

"Maybe... Take a bath first before you lie down on the sheets?"

She smirked. "Not sure I can stay awake that long."

"I will help you," he offered. "I have served many Matrons who wanted me to bathe them. I promise I can make it feel good."

The Lead chuckled. "Yeah, so I can fall asleep in the tub and drown."

Auslan shook his head urgently, choosing to take her seriously despite her laugh. "Oh, no, Red Sister, I would make sure that did not happen."

She cocked a brow. "Really. Can just lift me up on your shoulders, can you? You must be stronger than you look."

The Consort squirmed again, wringing his hands. "Please take a bath."

"Why?"

"I just put on fresh linen. You will soil them."

"Ah, now you are talking straight. I like that better, you know, a lot better than the manners Matrons shove down each other's' throats."

Auslan gripped the sides of his chair then let go again as he took a breath with a nod. "As you wish." He stood up and began to draw a bath. 

When he turned around, Jaunda was grinning and rested her muscular arms on her hips. "What if I just ignore you and sit my sweaty ass down on the bed?"

The Consort blinked an admittedly very pretty set of eyes and answered her question nonverbally: he picked up a fresh washcloth and placed it under the steaming flow for a few moments before wringing it and picking up a cake of soap to suds it up a bit, setting it down and then catching a bit more water to further moisten the soap. He held the readied cloth over the tub's lip so it would drip inside, but he watched her for her next move.

"You'll just start wiping me down wherever, eh?"

He nodded.

"You'll drip water all over the floor."

"Better than getting grit into the mattress of our Elder."

Jaunda snorted and shook her head, tiredly rubbing her eyes with one hand. "Our Elder, huh? You almost sound like Gaelan. She could be a pain in the ass this way, too." She took her hand away and blinked firmly, focusing on him again. "So why are you here instead of down in the cells where I left you?"

He swallowed and glanced down at his hand as he gently squeezed the cloth, foamy white suds flowing over his dark hand into the tub. "So it is you, then. You brought Sirana to me."

Jaunda ducked in a quick nod. "Sure as fuck is. Answer the question."

His lower lip trembled a little as he recollected something, looking off to the side, but it seemed he intended to stay straight with her as he looked back. "Your Elder moved me here after I was attacked in the cells by three Red Sisters."

Jaunda jerked her chin in another nod; she already knew that, given how D'Shea now needed to come up with some extra training for Thena and her gang. There was plenty of gossip about it even if she had been gone during and for most of the time since it happened. She just wanted to see if Auslan could say it, or if the broke him. It seemed not. 

The last time Jaunda had had any contact with this male was when she had taken him out of House Itlaun with a bag over his head and a newly pregnant novice following behind her. The Lead had helped to hold him down as D'Shea had used a dagger to cut into his back and break whatever tracking magic he had on him. Then she had been there as Sirana nearly interfered with her Elder's interrogation of him; she would have if Jaunda had not grabbed hold and held her back.

Jaunda had felt at distant odds with what had happened. This pretty male had saved Sirana's life and put her shredded guts back together again when the Lead had doubted it was possible and figured they had lost her. He wasn't responsible for her getting sent away to the Surface later on, or for Jaunda being given the task that got her fucked by a Dragon.

But Goddess damn it, why did he have to get a Red Sister pregnant to heal her, and why was he still alive tending D'Shea's bedroom like it was his own? Especially when all the other Consorts were dead, torn apart by the Nobles if they did not die earlier in the Purge.

"Have you seen Shyntre recently?" he asked meekly.

Oh, yes. That was why. Jaunda had almost forgotten that it had been Shyntre's idea where to take Sirana after the explosion had singed off most of her hair, and it was Shyntre who had shown up at the Cloister with the urgent need to go chasing after a rebellious Draegloth...

"You know each other, don't you?" she said flatly.

Auslan nodded. "He grew up in the Sanctuary. He was one of the few non-Consorts whom I got to know before my initiation."

"Right," the Lead grunted, running a dirty hand through her dirty hair. She took a few steps closer and looked into the tub. "That's enough. Turn it off."

He blinked at her but looked at the tub to see it just over half-full and he turned the handles to close off the water as Jaunda simply walked over and got into the tub. She hissed through her teeth as she settled in and then moaned softly.

"Fuck me, that feels good."

The Consort tentatively smiled. "Do you want me to scrub you?"

"Don't you dare," she rumbled as she leaned forward to snatch the soapy cloth from him. "I can do it."

Jaunda could get herself very clean, very fast when she needed to, and she did so now. As decadent as the hot water felt as it sluiced off the grime, she needed sleep more than anything and wanted to lie down. The Consort was probably right though, it was D'Shea's bed and she shouldn't hop straight in to roll around like the proverbial spoiled pet in the taze room.

"Good enough?" Jaunda asked as she rubbed the towel vigorously over her short hair, letting it stick straight up in spikes when she was finished.

The Consort appraised her nude body for cleanliness but not in lust and he nodded. "Thank you."

She tossed the damp towel over the back of the chair and rolled her eyes when Auslan came in behind her to pluck it up and drape it over a clothesline in the back of the room, tugging on it to make sure it was perfectly straight. She could appreciate doing a job right and paying attention to detail with a little discipline, but there was a line.

Nonetheless she was far too tired to care beyond making sure she could lie down on her back someplace off of the hard stone of the wilderness. Her exhaustion when deep enough to make her believe that, if given leave to do so, she could sleep for the rest of the time before her bargain with the Dragon would be fulfilled and she could actually say something about it.

Although she wasn't sure exactly what she'd say even if she could, wasn't sure what was most important. She would rather trust D'Shea on that; let her ask her questions. She knew that her Elder meant to protect her from the Prime while Jaunda waited her time, and she only hoped that maybe it would not escalate to the Valsharess.

But then again, maybe that was what Iskomitneh wanted. Jaunda saw no reason why he would care if she survived the month of silence, and whatever he had done to her had removed any fear of it. It was as if, having the decision made and knowing that it would not change, there was not a lot else for her to stress about.

She felt no fear when ordinarily she would feel a lot of it, as she was surrounded by her superiors who wanted to know what she knew. It was not natural for her, not for any Drow, but she could not make herself care very much in this moment.

As Jaunda relaxed, lying atop the sheets and tucking an arm beneath her head while the other one smoothed over her hard belly and played idly with her pubic thatch, she stared up at the smooth-formed, stone overhang above the bed which was a little darker than the rest of the candle lit ceiling for being a gentle arc with a lip. She watched that darker spot without really seeing it, in her mind replaying many of the acts she had been required to perform to sate the Dragon. 

It led her to wonder what the two shadows were doing now, and how they were holding up, whether they felt as deeply tested as she did. She was proud to have survived this far, though in all likelihood her trouble had only just begun.

Mentally she shrugged. This was not a new thing for a Red Sister.

She finally blinked when she felt a much lighter body ease onto the bed beside her and she looked over at the Consort.

"What's up?"

Auslan looked confused. "What? I am sorry -"

Jaunda snorted and then chuckled, scratching an itch on her flank before resting her hand on her stomach. She had one leg drawn up, her foot comfortably flat on the mattress, and the other bent but laid flat to where her crotch was wide open to anyone's view. "Don't worry, just something Sisters say. I was wondering what you're doing here."

"I wish to lie down to rest as well. There is room."

"Next to me?" She grinned. "I could take it as an invitation."

He looked mildly troubled as well as confused. "You do not... want me. Do you?"

She shrugged, noting that he had kept his wrap secure and modest as he got into bed without his sandals. "I fuck anyone the Sisterhood needs me to fuck. You know that, by our reputation if nothing else."

Auslan shook his head. "But there is no need here."

"Depends on your definition."

"Only if you wish to frighten me further."

"Oh? Do I frighten you? You'd never know it from how you threatened me with that washcloth."

The Consort was wary of her tone, and Jaunda wondered just how serious everyone around him had been? Granted, there had not been a lot of room for festive moods following the Purge and even Jaunda missed some of the old order where she had felt safer and laughed more. If she could have known exactly how that whole game with Iskomitneh was going to end, she almost thought she could have enjoyed the smiles and the laughing a bit more.

And that was what came back to her more now as she had time to reflect. Not the shock that she had been made a male fuck toy for several cycles; not the exhaustion as she was pushed to her limit over and over again; not the hard deal she was forced to make while backed into a corner which would see her goal achieved and the City closer to the coming earthquake between the Drow and the Illithids.

No. What came back was the fact that the Dragon was pleased, and he kept his word. He was dangerous and manipulative, an unapologetic predator, but he had been... festive. Inclusive and open to play from every angle, but within the parameters set. Full exploration of the delights in being awake.

So... what was it like when he was asleep?

*Never confuse my sleep for mere unconsciousness. You cannot comprehend.*

Auslan had laid his head down while lying on his side facing her. She realized he had been studying her face, and when she had not required a response to her jest about the washcloth he had remained silent.

"What?" she asked him.

"You helped to recover Sirana," he murmured. "And you listened to Shyntre. About Kerse."

"Yeah. So?"

He looked down and back up again. "Can you tell me if you have seen Shyntre recently?"

Jaunda shook her head. "Been outside the City limits too much. And last I heard, he was being kept in the Palace."

The Consort avoided an obvious expression of letdown, but she could feel it. "And Sirana?"

She shot him a wry grimace. "Why would I have any fucking idea? She's not back yet, I don't even know if she's alive."

"She is," he said in a whisper.

Right. Maybe. Maybe she was. All Jaunda had known was that her Elder was working some kind of magic angle to communicate with Sirana up on the Surface, heavily implying D'Shea believed her to be alive. The Dragon had picked up on that.

Slowly, Jaunda rolled over onto her side as well, supporting her head on her arm and closely studying the tender, submissive healer that she had abducted from a Noble's House. "How do you know, Auslan? Did you hear Elder D'Shea talk about Sirana on the Surface?"

He pursed his lips with brief hesitation but she could read that he had already decided to tell her, or he would not have brought it up. "I can sense the baby she carries, and sometimes we share dreams." He saw her expression and added quickly, clearly trying to convince her, "The Priestesses can do this sometimes, as can the Valsharess. They made me, they made me what I am." He got up on his elbow and she lifted her eyes up at him, letting him continue. "Phaelous the wizard, our Elder D'Shea, and Shyntre, even. You answered Shyntre's plea for help, you believed him. If they can sometimes see what is happening or is about to happen, why not me?"

Jaunda shook her head once. "I have no fucking idea who you are, Consort."

He sagged a little and nodded before laying his head down again. "Fair enough."

The Consort quieted again, but Jaunda's mind was whirling. She could hardly believe it. This. *This* was the connection, just as Rausery had said when she and D'Shea had finally confessed some truths and made their alliance in front of her, after she had first reported meeting the Drow shadows and finding the Dragon Ward. It had been weeks ago.

*Cryptic as it was, D'Shea,* Rausery's voice arose in her memory, *you just said the Consort you're holding and those Illithids are connected in some knotted way that only you can see.* 

And if Sirana was alive... 

*She is,* Iskomitneh answered on cue, with every confidence, inside her mind. *Very good. But she is not in the City, otherwise they would have sensed her and attacked.*

This slender male was the connection to the Surface, and Sirana coming back was the connection to the Illithids. All through dreams? If not for having met Iskomitneh, Jaunda would not have had even her first glimpse of insight how this was supposed to work. She still wasn't sure if she understood it, following these kinds of threads back to the center of the web was not her best strength and she knew it.

"Why tell me this?" Jaunda asked.

Auslan breathed in. "Because you care about your Sisters."

Her diaphragm jerked in a brief, skeptical laugh. "Sisters die, Consort, and I can't waste time expecting anything else. Sometime it'll be my turn."

"But you have never chosen to kill one to get where you wanted to go," he murmured, still watching her. "You made it without stabbing one in the back. And this pleases you, in private."

Jaunda rolled over onto her back with a bit of a flop to get her hips and spine straight. "Heh. How do you figure you know that, pretty boy?"




Surfacing Ch. 22



"I can tell."

"Drider shit. I've had to kill a Sister or two who stepped over the line."

He smiled a very small bit. "Had to. Did not want to, certainly not to progress through the ranks. She was always facing you."

She glanced over and scowled at him. "You can stitch your lips shut now."

He fell silent but it was telling that he felt relaxed enough to drift off into a nap even before she did.

Maybe she was getting soft.

******

Varessa went with a straight invisibility spell to approach the Tower, for both her and Rausery. It was a delaying tactic at best, since at the moment she could not see how they could possibly explain Jaunda's behavior to the Prime and the Valsharess, and keep her Lead functional. Her best hope was to preserve Jaunda's life and body long enough for those twenty-one cycles to pass.

One by one, they were all being locked up...

Phaelous knew she was coming and assisted in using a back circle to avoid the attention of his students. He wasted no time and asked no questions, simply bringing them into his sanctuary and offering them a cup of taze.

"Not right now," she said, glancing to confirm with Rausery, who shrugged.

The oldest wizard nodded and began preparing a pot. "It is getting late enough but I will have to step out briefly to oversee the evening meal. They should not notice me missing it entirely, though I often retire early. Are you willing to wait here?"

"If we even need to stay that long," Rausery said.

"You will, Elder, I have less than a quarter mark." He carefully measured he carefully measured his dried herbs in a tiny cup, his attention focused on his hands. "I assume you would want to stay and witness everything we have to say?"

Rausery shifted her weight and folded her arms, nodding with the quiet sigh. "In that case, I'll have some taze."

"Certainly. Care to give me the very essence of your purpose here?"

Varessa frowned. "Actually, no. Once we begin discussing it, I do not want you to leave this room until we have a solution."

Phaelous was nonplussed. "Very well. You should know that Shyntre was moved from the Palace to the Sanctuary almost three cycles ago."

The sorceress visibly started. "Why?"

"Her Grace still doesn't know Her own strength when She is angry, I imagine." The Headmaster held his small pot beneath his water cask and opened the spigot, clear water streaming in to fill it. "She does not show it often but Her patience is much shorter during upheavals such as we've had recently."

"So what did She do to Shyntre?" Rausery asked bluntly.

Phaelous placed his pot on its stand and replaced the lid, touching it with three of his fingertips and murmuring a heating spell. "Injured his aura. Broke down his will yet a bit more, as She did to me at his age. Your son has not had the luxury of time, however, for I do not remember it being this fast. She cultivates the fear but not the devotion, which takes much more time to hone into the edge She needs in a new tool."

"Don't you know any specifics we can use?" Rausery asked while D'Shea contemplated what the sire of her son was trying to tell her.

The old wizard nodded. The pot steamed gently through its spout and Phaelous lifted the lid and poured his dried mixture inside, dabbing with a wooden stick before replacing the lid and leaving it to steep. "Our ever-present liaison has been entrusted with his care."

D'Shea clenched her fists and felt her chest constrict as if a python had wrapped around it. "No."

Phaelous glanced at her, hearing something in her voice. "I'm sorry, Varessa. It may take me a bit more time to discover what exactly she plans for him, but I promise that I will, if only you do not go to confront her quite yet. It will not help him, and I sense that you have something else on your platter that has a very delicate balance as well. You understand, don't you?"

The sorceress took a few breaths before she would answer him. "I do. But you will tell me everything that you discover about Shyntre, now and in the future."

He half-smiled. "Of course, my Elder. I am doing that now."

Phaelous poured him and Rausery each a cup and took the first few steaming drinks before he had to excuse himself to go to dinner. He left his cup half drunk and sitting on the bench next to the pot.

"Have what you want," he said as he draped a ceremonial scarf over his shoulders, indicating the taze pot. "It is best hot and fresh and I will likely make another one upon my return. You may time me to exactly three-quarters of a mark. I will be having dinner with my students, nothing more. No plotting, no spying, no side-errands."

Rausery smirked and shook her head with a slight eye roll but she glanced at D'Shea, figuring those words were mostly for her. To anyone else, would make no true difference whether he said that aloud or not, practically speaking, but the telling part for the sorceress was in how her own aura reacted to him a present. Every Drow learned to separate their words from the aura to help them lie; it was so natural and so assumed that it was never remarked upon. Phaelous, however, was intentionally letting her read his as he spoke.

Varessa had no reason to trust it, given their past and the reason for Shyntre's existence, but Phaelous was doing what he could to sooth her, reassure her without even touching her. The aged, calm voice blended with his powerful aura to feel like a magic-proof vest: present and reliable, protective and self-apparent in its purpose.

If she chose to believe him and be the one to wear that vest, she would reap the benefits of it with no need to share. But she hadn't chosen yet; he wasn't an object, and it was only his recently self-won freedom from his compulsion that caused the change now. That, and an even more recent divination.

But centuries-old habits were hard to break.

After the golden-haired Headmaster had left the two elders alone in his personal quarters - an action that would have been unthinkable if they were not all in the same boat with being free of their compulsions but keeping it secret - Rausery chuckled, side, and enjoyed another slurp from her cup before standing up and adding a warmer from the pot.

"The fire hasn't gone out, I see," she teased with a wink. "You live as long as him, gain as much, and I can see where it gets simpler."

Varessa frowned. "What gets simpler?"

"Pinning down what you really want." Rausery wandered about the room a bit, getting a closer look at things without touching them. "Think he is tired of the games as I am?"

The sorceress shrugged and folded her hands, crossing her legs. "You realize he has a way to listen in, either now or later."

"Sure. I don't care." 

Rausery took another sip and looked over a somewhat messy workbench with some mysterious bottles and jars which seemed color-coded or otherwise identified with little marks that was no magical language she had ever seen. D'Shea knew only Phaelous would know what was inside all those; she had her own system, and no doubt so did the Queen.

"He's making a last play, and I don't think he expects to survive it."

D'Shea grimaced and rubbed her head. "Rausery, please."

"You hear the way he talked about what the Valsharess is doing Shyntre?" she continued, ignoring her. "He's been there, but he might not care to use his experience to help us if not for you."

The sorceress frowned at her and drummed her fingers on the arm rest. "If not for me."

"Oh, yeah." Rausery grinned before finishing off her cup and setting it down. "I thought you and Tarra were on at least neutral ground, you two worked so well in the past. But the way you reacted when he told you Tarra had the boy now? It couldn't be more plain that's somehow worse than where he was before, even before Phaelous said what he said. What changed?"

D'Shea had gripped the arm rest briefly but forced herself to let it go and relax herself again. She shook her head, but more to herself. She thought about what to say. "I sent you to Phaelous for him to break your compulsion. You're right that he does not expect to survive in doing that, but the knowledge we could gain of the Surface in return may keep you alive."

Rausery smirked, either feigning or truly not concerned about that right now, and waited for the sorceress to make a point.

"I knew he could help you because he did the same for me."

Her peer cocked an eyebrow. "I thought you broke your own compulsion by killing Wilsira."

D'Shea smiled a bit, but without amusement. "There were two. I broke the recent one."

Rausery nodded slowly, not taking her eyes off of D'Shea. "An older one placed by Tarra?"

"No, the Queen. The same as you, but specifically to make me vulnerable to her." She paused. "And Phaelous."

"I didn't realize they could do that," the Elder replied. "Mine was just: don't talk about this. Straight information control. Yours affected your...view of other Drow?"

D'Shea shrugged, trying to still the tremor in her middle and not let Rausery see the evidence of it. "Specific ones. As best I can tell, it is based on the strength of one's aura, and no, not easy to do. I do not believe I can do it, not yet, and it takes conditioning after a break in the aura. Certainly it is nothing the Noble Houses have ever used on each other, they do not have the regular contact necessary. It would not affect you or the Prime the same way at all. It can only be between Drow with similar magical strength, and that strength must be high in the first place."

"A 'top' mage's compulsion, eh? Weird. I always thought the game had to get more dangerous like that, the higher you climb." Rausery paused, and her expression actually grew in concern. "Oh. Shyntre."

D'Shea nodded without speaking at first, then drew in a slow breath, still trying to control herself and keep her thoughts from drifting toward Wilsirathon. "Being born more powerful than others doesn't mean you get to use it with impunity. No one will ever reach their full potential without being harnessed in some way."

Rausery shrugged and nodded in agreement. "Works that way pretty much everywhere. You get on top of one pile and there's a good chance you're staring across as someone else on top of a bigger pile."

The sorceress nodded.

"Is Phaelous telling us now with the thought that we can do something about it?"

"I don't know. I would wait to see what he else says. We are actually here to ask him about the other thing."

"Right."

From there they waited essentially in silence, taking advantage of a rare, short period where they could be left to their own thoughts. Rausery probably looked at every single thing in the room, stepping around slowly and placing her boots carefully; she did not pick up or move anything, but she checked out the private washroom as well which contained quite a few memories for D'Shea.

The sorceress-Elder, however, kept to her chair; she was already familiar with this place, it had not changed much, and she could even name the purpose of most of the strange items Rausery inspected. She turned inward, instead, allowing her mind to work as it worked best, thinking over and thinking better questions and hypotheses for what might be done about Jaunda and the Dragon.

She tried not to think about Shyntre. It was too soon and she did not know enough.

Phaelous returned on time, even a tiny bit early, and removed his ceremonial scarf to hang it up by the door before picking up his taze pot to dispose of the cold portion and the used, soggy flora through the waste cabinet on the wall. It was only for rubbish he did not mind being picked through down in the kitchen compost. He rinsed the pot and began his ritual over from the start.

"The students will fall asleep soon after returning to their rooms," he said quietly. "Any who try to stay in the libraries will feel compelled to leave and return to the rooms. The functional rooms have a Ward that will tell me if they are entered, but there are to be no chores until the waking cycle."

As the new taze steeped, Phaelous turned around to look between his Elders but resting on D'Shea. "My time is yours for the rest of the eve."

The sorceress looked at Rausery. "If you would go first. Tell him about the reports. Please."

The other Elder blinked in plain surprise but she caught the plural in the sentence and grinned. She hadn't yet told D'Shea what Vik and Halena had said, and the sorceress had not asked. Now she would listen at the same time that Phaelous did. It had to do with trying to read the Headmaster as much as seeing exactly what information Rausery would share when asked politely and knowing Varessa would not have exclusivity on that intelligence.

Varessa was trying to do things just a little differently than she had before, and she was trying to show it, even though her nerves wanted to rebel as much right now as they had the first time she and Rausery had shared damning information. She wished she could be as calm and accepting of the risks as Phaelous; but then again, he was expecting to die.

She would not.

"Two other Drow of mine met up with Jaunda in this last Illithid reconnaissance, you know that," Rausery began, standing for the moment as Phaelous took his seat with his cup and sipped. She watched him nod. "They planted the spy gem in less than a week of watching and then headed back."

Phaelous's eyebrows lifted a bit and he looked at D'Shea. "Observe anything interesting since, my Elder?"

D'Shea nodded. "Unawareness of being watched. Normal comings and goings through a fairly busy passageway between the hive nest and their slave field."

The old mage grinned a bit, the fine lines around his eyes much more apparent. "You recognize 'normal' already?"

She shrugged. "Walking is walking, Phaelous. Even for them."

"Walking with purpose," he added. "Working. Like you, perhaps."

"Perhaps."

"May I have a watch sometime, my Elder?"

D'Shea nodded. "After the priority is seen to."

"And that is?"

"Jaunda," Rausery answered for her, cutting right to their main purpose. "She and my two shadows ran into something else, but they refused to say what it was for twenty-one more cycles."

Phaelous's expression was eloquent and Rausery chuckled while D'Shea nodded.

"Yes, that was our reaction as well," the sorceress said with a wry slant to her mouth. "It seems they were given a command to wait one month before giving their full report, and this has overwhelmed any instinct of self-preservation."

"What do you mean, Elders?" the wizard asked.

"It is either the owner of the Ward we told you about, or an Illithid trick," Rausery said. "Before we report to the Prime and the Queen, because we have to, we want you to speak to Jaunda. She might have a compulsion you can break for us, or maybe it is something else. We need your opinion."

Phaelous looked pleased with that. "I see. Was any pain apparent?"

D'Shea shook her head. "Not immediately, though I have not yet pushed the boundaries for Jaunda. We do not have the time for trial and error in exploring this before my Lead might be placed directly before the Prime or Valsharess. I believe her that she will simply refuse to answer the questions, no matter what, and not only will it make Rausery and me appear ineffective in our task, but that will simply put Jaunda to death."

"Interesting," Phaelous said softly just before he buried his nose in his cup. His gold-flitted eyes drifted slightly as he thought on things that they couldn't see. "And it is the same for the two non-Sisters? No pain, and they can tell you exactly when they will speak about who they met?"

Rausery nodded, sharing a look with D'Shea. "One of them is really unsteady. I put her in the Cloister cells to wait for Jaunda, and now this."

Varessa didn't react to that - even though she hadn't known it - and waited for her wizard's response.

He had finished most of his cup when he set it down. "I will speak to them right now if you wish, I will tell you everything I can figure out."

"You come to the Cloister?" Rausery asked.

He nodded. "I think that would be best. Would I be able to speak with your two shadows as well?"

"I'll have to bring the one back in, but the other is already there, so why not?"

Varessa frowned at Rausery. "We have to make sure the Red Sisters are not aware you are bringing another male prisoner inside."

Phaelous smiled at Rausery, and D'Shea could tell he was in admiration. "A male shadow. That would be a good idea if you can bring him in. I will likely get different insight from him and the two together would tell us more. I will give you my every thought on how best to advise the Valsharess in this most unusual situation."

Rausery snorted softly. "Better wipe your chin, wizard, you're salivating."

He chuckled. "I express my most profound gratitude in advance for this opportunity that you give me, to probe something such as this before it is destroyed by a heavy hand."

D'Shea folded her arms across her breasts. "Before? We bring this to you with the purpose to avoid it being destroyed at all."

He bowed his head slowly to her. "And for your sake, I wholly share in that goal, my Elder."

"Are we ready to go then?" Rausery prodded, looking between the two magic users.

"Just allow me to collect a few things and we will go," Phaelous said as he got up from his chair and offered his hand to D'Shea to help her out of the low chair.

After a brief hesitation she accepted, but as her middle warmed suddenly and her breath stopped for a moment, she decided she was very glad to be wearing gloves.

******

Unlike the Sanctuary and the Palace, the Headmaster of the Tower had never had a way to simply appear inside the Sisters' Cloister without chancing a witness outside. That was entirely due to Elder D'Shea. They had plenty of ways to mask their movements, but they still had to walk.

*I have changed my mind,* D'Shea told the two of them by way of a magical missive. *We should not bring the male shadow into the Cloister to question him. I have a private cave not too far out, we should go there. You said he is already coming in, correct?*

*Yeah, and fine, probably not a bad idea,* Rausery responded. *Good thing you changed into basic boots, eh, wizard?*

*A good thing,* he agreed.

*Just don't trip on your robe.*

They moved as quickly as they could so as not to use up the entire eve, and Phaelous was likely using just a little more magic to maintain his endurance with the younger females. He did not complain, he did not speak when not spoken to, but he was the first to sit down upon reaching D'Shea's "private" cave. Looking around interestedly, Rausery saw signs of a bit of a testing ground and wondered how many Red Sisters her peer had brought here?

*Will he be much longer?* D'Shea.

Rausery shook her head. *Nope. He's young and fast and he's running like the Abyss is chasing them.*

*Them?*

*His handler.*

*What is that?*

*Like a Lead, second-in-command when I'm not there.*

*Which is often. Why do you trust this handler?*

Rausery smirked. *Reasons. Long history, and with centuries of opportunity to betray me.*

D'Shea frowned, glancing ever so briefly Phaelous. *Sooner or later, we all do. Even the one at the very top.*

*Especially those at the top,* Rausery corrected. *Foundation can be built a little different at the bottom and go up from there.*

The sorceress shook her head. *None scratch and fight harder than those with almost nothing to share between them.*

*How would you know, Noble? If that was true, those with everything they could ever want would have no reason to betray each other. Yet we do.*

Phaelous was included in the debate but did not add anything; he was smiling, though, and enjoying it.

D'Shea folded her arms and faced her peer. *Then what is your conclusion?*




Surfacing Ch. 22



Rausery shrugged. *Trappings don't matter. We build, we tear down, once in a while we find something close by that's different. Take it or leave it, but no whining once you pick one, because there's no takebacks.*

The masking spells had begun to wear off and Rausery thought she could make out the old mage's teeth even in the darkness. * I have always enjoyed your attitude, Rausery.*

D'Shea did not respond and no longer seemed interested in talking as they waited; she let the missives go and somehow refrained from rolling her eyes.

When Vik finally eased into their perimeter, giving Rausery warning that he was there, his handler was nowhere to be sensed and Rausery did not draw attention to this fact. Clearly she expected it and it seemed the two mages were not to meet this mysterious Drow handler quite yet. The masked male was shorter than any of them but clearly very fit and with a strong frame. He bowed to Rausery and could not help but glance warily at the two mages.

"Okay to talk?" Rausery asked D'Shea, who nodded. "Right. Vik, this is Elder D'Shea and Headmaster Phaelous. You know their names."

The young male's eyes were a little wide but he nodded, choosing to make a respectful hand motion rather than say anything.

"You and I are going to go through your report again. Sound good?"

Not really a choice, he nodded all the same and his Elder guided him through a less frantic version of what he had told her the first time, which did not take long. There was no deviation from his earlier promise, though a bit more nervousness standing close to two Drow he did not know or trust. Understandable. 

Soon enough Rausery turned to her allies and waved her hand in Vik's general direction. "That's as much as I know. You got more from Jaunda."

D'Shea nodded and looked at the Headmaster. "What do you see?"

From his seat Phaelous studied those who were standing with intelligent, curious eyes. "His natural aura is not nearly strong enough to be a mage, but he is still bleeding off a certain amount of excess magic, to which he's recently been exposed."

"How much is 'a certain amount'?"

He smiled a little. "Not much. Almost gone, as a matter of fact. I would have assumed he had a tryst with a powerful mage sometime in the half cycle."

Rausery looked at Vik. "Have you?"

The shadow shook his head. "No, Elder."

"Have you fucked anyone at all in the last seven cycles?"

Vik trembled a little, but he was not in pain. They could see an erection just beginning to show the crotch of his pants. He nodded, briefly licking his lips underneath his mask. "Halena. Twice, on the way back."

Rausery decided to show her surprise with a little amusement. "Anyone else since I took her way?"

"No, Elder."

"How about prior to this last mission? Did you two comfort each other out in the wilderness?"

He shook his head immediately, firmly. "No, Elder."

Phaelous nodded slowly and spoke to D'Shea. "Did you see something similar in Jaunda? Is this why you would not wait?"

The sorceress nodded. "Yes." She turned to her wizard. "Such bleed-off does not last a week of travel, Phaelous. It simply does not. Equilibrium finds itself quickly among our own."

The ancient mage smiled knowingly. "Among our own. We have little experience outside of it, don't we?"

"So it is magic," Rausery stated. "Not psionics."

The Headmaster nodded confidently. "I cannot say I would recognize all psionic tricks, Rausery, I have very little experience. I would simply look for something foreign that I did not understand, perhaps a void of some kind." He indicated the young male with one hand. "This, however, show no void, and is not foreign. Only incredibly powerful."

"A compulsion, then?"

To Rausery's surprise, Phaelous did not respond with the nod she expected; he considered his answer. "I would like to see Jaunda before I say, Elder. Perhaps the other, as well, if you allow it."

"I see no reason why not -"

D'Shea stepped closer to Vik, standing on the other side from Rausery. She studied him and then looked to her peer. "May I give him the same test I gave her?"

Rausery arched a brow and tried to suppress a grin. "Make it fast or I might ask you to stroke him off."

Vik's eyes were wide as he imagined what the test might be from this sorceress he had only heard about before; Rausery's answer certainly implied the nature of it. To his credit he did not move his feet but stayed where he was, avoiding direct eye contact with those around him.

"Lift your chin," D'Shea instructed, having already removed her glove from her left hand. "Remove your hood and show me your face."

Vik obeyed and watched as she dipped her first two fingers lightly into a pouch and drew them out again with nothing obviously covering them. Perhaps a light dust at best.

"Open your mouth."

Vik parted his lips and immediately found the Elder's first finger pressing down on his tongue.

"Close it. Suck on it. Gently."

The shadows still could not look at her eyes but looked at D'Shea's lips instead, and they could all hear his heart and feel that small rise in body heat within the cave; Vik remained partially erect and stiffened even more. He was hyperaware when her mouth opened again to speak a word of magic and he forgot to keep sucking. That was all right with D'Shea; he had already told her what she wanted to know.

As she slowly pulled her first finger out through his lips, there was a very dim iridescence on her skin. As expected. D'Shea took another look over his outfit and realized beneath the tools that it was one piece, there was no bottom part to pull down. 

Shrugging mentally, she ordered, "Do what is needed to expose your backside to me."

Blood and heat surged up into his face when he heard the command and he bit his lower lip as he swiftly removed a modest tool belt and a few weapons strapped to his arms and torso. Rausery held out her hands to take them from him and he passed them to her with both hands. Then he undid a sash almost invisible in his black outfit which allowed him to expose his chest and shoulders and shrugged out of the fairly tight material. He lightly tied the sleeves so they would not drag on the ground before he pushed it down over his hips to the mid-thigh. D'Shea could tell it would hold itself up as it had the elasticity.

She stood behind him and took hold of his right shoulder with her gloved hand while the outside curve of her naked one lightly brushed his buttocks to let him know she was there and what he could expect. "Good. Now relax."

D'Shea penetrated him as smoothly as she could but by the nature of the compound it always required a dry insertion. Even Sirana and Jaunda had grimaced enduring this test, so she was not surprised when Vik flinched and physically jumped. He did not make a sound, however. Rausery had trained him well.

Her eyes wandered and, before she could stop herself, they landed on Phaelous. That particular smirk of his made her instantly conscious of how hot and squeezing Vik's sphincter was around her finger, and she forgot to say the word until Phaelous mouthed it for her.

*Oh, yes.*

The young male sighed softly and relaxed a bit when she finally drew out and read her results. Positive, but not nearly so bright as Jaunda. She pulled a cloth and cleansing compound to wipe off her hand as she said back around, saying, "You can dress now, Vik."

She could tell even without looking at him that he did not move to do so immediately. She turned around and read that he was highly tempted to pull himself first, as his cock jutted out fully erect in front of him. D'Shea looked at Rausery, who still held his tools and weapons in her hands. She looked very amused but said nothing.

"Dress," D'Shea repeated with less patience and her tone, and Vik obeyed this time, getting hold of his self-discipline once again.

"Thoughts, my Elder?" Phaelous asked before Rausery could. Both of them looked far too amused.

D'Shea finished cleaning off her hand and exhaled in thought as she tucked her items away. "Under more familiar circumstances, I would've said he received an emission from another male within the last cycle. I would have said that he was lying about not having had sex with any but Halena in the past week. But then I would have to say the same thing about Jaunda, and she somehow entertained ten males just outside the City limits right before coming in to do her report. And I already know that the signs on her uniform do not collaborate in such a theory."

"The bleed off, then," the ancient mage said with a nod. 

The three of them looked at Vik for any sort of response, but there was nothing to read on his very calm face. Like Jaunda, he seemed to turn his thoughts inward and gave them no tells upon hearing D'Shea's words. And also like the Lead, he was clearly choosing not to say anything about the circumstances in which he took semen into both his orifices.

"Whenever you are ready, Elders," Phaelous said, "I have what I need from him, but would like to meet his partner."

D'Shea and Rausery nodded but the latter noticed her subordinate glancing at her.

"What is it, Vik?" she asked bluntly.

The shadow hesitated just a brief moment before looking down. "Is she lost to us, Elder? Halena, I mean."

"I think you know the answer better than I do at this point," Rausery said, adjusting her stance and her belt. "Twenty-one cycles, Vik. And I'll be back for you. Go meet your handler and never speak of or show anyone this place."

Young Vik nodded and slid silently out of the cave and back into the wilderness with the promise that he would live for at least three more weeks. Rausery watched him go before looking back to her sorcerous companions.

"Let's get back to the Cloister."

*****

Auslan had returned to the red sand dunes many times over the months leading up to Elder D'Shea's magical experiment with him and Shyntre. Many were frightful and memorable, most of them confusing, and a few of them even forgettable except that they did not allow him to rest very well. His Elder had grilled him on the rest of their "excursion," as she had referenced it, and the following week before Jaunda's return, wanting to know as much as he could remember about where he was with the sorcerer and the Dragon on the Surface.

He had given her a bit more visual information but not much: a better description of the Walker she had already seen once before among the dead shambling to the West, more detail on the barren household in which he had sat before finding the castle, being attacked by the sorcerer and saved by the Dragon. He specifically described the bath off the courtyard since it was so clear. The Elder did not try to interpret it then but simply made notes and proclaimed that they would record as much as they could from now on.

When the red sand beneath his bare feet began to bleed out and turn grey in his current dream, he knew that he would soon have something else that he could describe to her.

If it did not somehow paralyze or kill him.

The Consort had stood in this exact place before; stone jutted up from the sand some distance away and he even viewed it from the same angle. The grey haze remained by the cave and he remembered where he had been the last time that place had beckoned to him. His path had been blocked by a presence, but he could not keep his eyes open long enough to see her; the day had been so hot, the Sun and the wind both so strong, his skin burned from dryness and light, scoured by air-driven sand.

He had wanted to reach the shelter before; that cave was a natural choice for a Drow to find protection, but "she" would not let him. She had said he was not ready to see the river, that he needed to see what had happened first. She was angry... and desperate.

He might have shriveled to a skinless corpse when he could move neither forward nor back, except that Sirana had stepped out of the storm and wrapped him up in her cloak. His champion had sent the presence away as they were slowly buried in sand...

That was the first time the Dragon had flown overhead, wasn't it? And later, Ta'suil would see the empty civilization without a river of any kind, and the Dragon would return again.

Now, the Sky above remained a dark blue and purple above his head but the Sun had set behind dark grey clouds resting upon the horizon. The color of the land faded and he did not know where that would leave him. Would the dead come out again to surround him? Would light attract them or would they know he was alive among them even in the dark? Would the Walker help him again somehow?

Perhaps it was time to run toward that cave and the rock, before something stopped him again. She had said there would be a river there...

He loped down the side of one dune, concentrating on his balance and placing one foot in front of the other. He expected to feel cold with the hiding of the Sun in the desert, with the warm flame colors fading to that of hard stone. It did not happen quite that way as he mostly felt... Nothing. He was neither warm or cold.

The large Sister Moon had risen and shadows grew deeper the closer he got, but he did not stop now or he might turn back. There was no outright warning or sense of danger but he knew he was getting closer to place he had never been. It did not matter that he lived inside one giant cavern and caves were ubiquitous around the City; he had never been to any cave himself, he had never been allowed, and that his first was *this* cave was what made the difference.

The deep, black mouth was just tall enough for the Walker, perhaps, and wide enough for two to enter abreast but no more. It was... small, and yet he had seen it so clearly from so far away. As Ta'suil automatically studied the whorls of stone framing the entrance, he noticed the polished glint of black glass embedded in the stone, and this moment was when he felt valuable warmth drawn through his skin and toward that cool, open passage. 

The grey haze condensed into a mist and settled closer to the ground before it rolled out from the cave and surrounded him; with a glance he confirmed he could no longer see the high dune from which he had often surveyed the landscape around him. He could not be certain of his direction if he chose to run away, but given that he had no direction in mind it was just as well that he stay here. Stay and wait for whoever was coming. 

It took longer than he might have expected once the mists had begun swirling and rose higher. He looked up, barely making out the Stars in a black night, not covered from his view by clouds high up, but soon would be by the fog.

Finally Ta'suil glimpsed a pale face emerging out of the darkness, the high contrast a bit blurred around the edges by the mist. The gait told him it was female, he could believe nothing else, but she could be no taller than him. Possibly less so. He could not see pointed ears, so despite the pale skin she was not a Noldor.

Her stride was steady and carried her closer and straight toward him; now he could make out a patchwork of grey and black leather pinned, hooked, and sutured to the body with delicate curves of black metal, creating the strangest gown he had ever seen. The hair on her head was smooth and black except for one side above her left ear which was shaved and pierced with black needles forming an abstract image or symbol. 

Her face looked Human, heavy-boned and lacking the elegant beauty and fine features of his own race but, like in the Walker-priest, the Consort sensed experience and wisdom of a different kind from what he had ever glimpsed in the eyes of all his mistresses of the Underdark.

Or... eye. She had one eye. The other socket he thought contained a sculpted obsidian stone; it was large enough that her lid was unable to blink and tiny symbols carved into the surface would scrape the thin flap of flesh raw if she could.

"We should walk away now," she spoke in a haunting, hoarse rasp; she held her right hand out, palm up, indicating a direction to him. "You will need a guide greater than me to enter, and I am not the only one who may come out."

Ta'suil glanced in the direction of her hand and saw only mist. He looked back at the cave over her shoulder. "Is there a river down there?"

She nodded and began walking, slowly. "A very big one that few of the living have the means to ford."

"Few. Some have?"

She merely nodded.

"Where will we go?" He stepped to follow here.

"Wherever you wish."

He frowned, trying to sense her motive. Truthfully, he could sense none; at least, none that boded ill for him. He had the feeling he was speaking to another messenger. 

"Why are you here?"

She slowed even more so that he was even with her and turned her head to look at him. Her right eye blinked; it possessed sclera and an iris and pupil as it should, but that iris was so dark it may as well have been black as the false, flint eye. "I fulfill an agreement. Do keep up, you should not remain behind me."

He lengthened his strides and the mist was beginning to lessen now. He was not used to walking at a female's side, much less one shorter than him. "An agreement? With whom?"

The Woman folded her hands before her; her back was impeccably straight as she walked. "It is not mine to question. I am an instrument."

Ta'suil understood that feeling. He also wondered why he followed her so readily? Was she truly an ally, a guide, or was she a trick, an apparition, or an enemy?

"Even an instrument has a name," he said. "What is yours?"

Her pale face remained up, looking straight ahead even as they reached the base of a dune which blocked most of their view. She thought about it for a few moments. "My name is Ada."

"Ada. My name is..."

She turned her head and gave him a smile that felt like a single needle of ice entering his chest. "Auslan. Uncovered treasure. We finally found you."

He swallowed what he had been about to say and nodded. "Yes. My name is Auslan. How did you find me?"

"You sent us a champion with your message, you know this. Enemies found her too quickly for us to have come before now, but you have called the Dragon and opened the way."

The Consort considered that. "You are here to protect me?"

Ada nodded. "If you meet another such as the Deathless on your journey, you may not escape again."

"Who is the Deathless?"

The white Woman in black turned her head again and smiled widely at him; her teeth were a strange, bone grey. "You know. The one you enslaved in the Names of your Goddesses."

The Drow felt as if a cold hand squeezed his heart. "Cris-ri-phon."

"Your instincts are good. There were many paths that meeting could have taken, but this one gives us time."

"Time for what?"

Ada looked somehow both saddened and more determined. "Time to lessen the interference."

She had taken them up the grey incline of the nighttime dune, and he wondered if this was the one very tall one from which he surveyed the horizon in his dreamland. The fog had receded entirely and the Stars were once again bright overhead. On Ada, Auslan next noticed all the fine-chain webbing and jewelry over her wrists and hands, set into place with yet more needles and piercings.

The strange woman walked with him, told him what he wanted to hear, that he had done the right thing. When he could finally tear his gaze away, it was because he felt something odd vibrating along his nerves. He glimpsed out of his periphery a glow not unlike the Starlight above, but emanating from somewhere low to the earth.

"You want to show me something first," he said, "despite going 'wherever I wish.'"

Ada did not respond to the near-accusation. "You must see this."

Another long quiet moment stretched along with their legs as they fought the sand. They did so without being in a hurry, but neither did they stop to rest at any point. Ada and Auslan walked to the crest of the enormous dune and looked over the other side.




Surfacing Ch. 22



Auslan stared. "It looks like a river. A river made of light."

Sort of. It also looked a bit like the open wound that the Consort had seen in the sorcerer when he found him bleeding out in that wide courtyard. Bright, magical energy, oozing and flowing out like something wet and essential, though nearly all colors except for red may have been present.

"A Ley Line," she said in her raspy voice. "Or perhaps the ghost of one. We do not yet know if this is a race's memory or if it will be shifting again in your waking world from the trauma."

"Trauma?"

Ada nodded. "How do you suppose the Deathless came to be how you found him?"

Auslan shook his head. "I had no way to know."

"Except that you asked him questions, and you do know."

They were at a complete standstill now and Ada turned her lifeless, obsidian eye on him. Soon enough he admitted to himself that he saw she waited for an answer.

"Sirana and the Walker," he said, pausing before he continued. "The Brother's priest and the Dragon. They defeated him."

Ada lifted one corner of her mouth. "For now." 

"Did that injure the Ley Line?"

"No more than it had already been. Many of us walked through when we could."

"Us?"

"From across the river. And much more happened, so that you see this." She swept out her hand. "Notice the flow is in one direction."

"West," he said immediately.

She nodded. "Straight as an arrow. The curves will come back into it soon enough, but remember how this looks now."

Auslan stared at it, studying it as she bid, though part of him marveled that she stood close without emanating any sort of threat. She was not warm, not particularly comforting, but for the first time he truly felt he might have a guide to walk with him through the strange dreams. 

He had never had that before.

"I may need to find my champion from time to time," he said softly, "talk to her."

Ada nodded. "You will."

"Can you help me? If it is... urgent."

She scanned the horizon. The runes scratched into her false eye reflected the light of the Ley Line. "We will find out."

When it was time to wake up, she had not left him. It was he who had to leave her.

******

Halena had her back set in the corner so she could see everything in front of her. Her heart had not seemed to slow down since being brought here by her Elder. Though Rausery had said nothing, her subordinate could not help but taste the disappointment in the dark air; that she had been separated from Vik and locked away here did not bode well for her overall survival.

She wished she could have spent the waiting in reverie but it would not come. Even after the long trek back to the City with Vik, she still felt she had been in reverie more often than not since discovering that creature lying beside the pool. Sooner or later Elder Rausery would come to speak with her, and Halena dredged her mind for exactly what she would tell her. What she *could* tell her. Thoughts seemed to form with the consistency of black gel before it proved too much effort to hold onto them when no one was yet asking her question. They oozed through her clutches.

After an undetermined amount of time, the upper door at the top of the stairs opened and the three individuals stepped down to the path between the holding cells. The shadow did not think they were Red Sisters, at least not regular ones, and one was wearing a robe with a slower placement of foot which did not seem to fit a cloister of warriors. The other two walked as if she would expect Drow of some rank and figured Rausery had returned and brought two others with her.

The deep thumping of her heart inside her chest did not pick up as much as she might have expected seeing Elder D'Shea for the first time, even though she was surprised. Halena watched Elder Rausery for any sign or indication just how much her peer might know about their current resident inside the cell. She gave none, and the young shadow drew her own conclusions when she looked at the third figure. 

They had an old, male mage with them; he was surprisingly tall and possessed enough authority in his posture that there was really only one wizard he could be, even if she could not tell the color of his hair in the dark. The Headmaster.

They must have spoken with Jaunda already, and Elder Rausery had finally told at least two others about the shadows. They were taking this seriously. And they should. The Dragon had changed everything and Halena wagered his magic was far beyond even these two powerful mages combined.

The first gesture Elder Rausery made was for her shadow to get to her feet. Halena had been sitting still long enough that one foot had gone to sleep, which embarrassed her as that was one basic thing she had already been taught to avoid. There was a period of several long moments where, physically, she was not steady or ready for anything.

But then, she might say to herself that she had not been steady or ready for anything for twelve cycles now.

*First test?* Elder Rausery asked her peer, who nodded. Then she looked at her shadow and moved her hands clearly. *Strip to the knees.*

Halena obeyed but wondered why the order was not to strip entirely? Her boots would still be on, as would her uniform... Ah, it struck her, it would only be temporary. Unless they were playing games.

They were probably playing games. If it was anything like the Dragon, she could not keep up. She just wanted to lie down and wait for it, but she couldn't, of course, as she stood naked and once again being appraised like a piece of meat. The sorceress called a dim light which still stung the shadow's eyes and all three of them took their turn walking around her and studying her. It was distressing that the scrutiny and helplessness caused her netherlips to tingle and start to swell.

The arousal got worse as she was told to spread her legs farther apart and bend over a little more. Elder D'Shea was brutally efficient compared to Iskomitneh, sticking a different finger each in her mouth, her pussy, and finally up her ass, all of which were still a bit sore yet from Vik. The sorceress muttered as if in irritation but Halena could not imagine why she was doing this. Could she tell something about the Dragon or Vik this way? Was she jealous?

Without saying a word to her, Elder D'Shea stepped back and Rausery stepped forward. The shadow was glad to see her Elder even though dragging her here surely meant she was displeased with her.

"Get dressed," her Elder said.

The younger female felt a pang of disappointment, even rejection. Wasn't she good enough? Why get her naked and aroused if they weren't going to use her? Slowly, Halena tugged up her clothing to cover her hips and breasts.

"Tell us what you remember about this last mission, Halena," said the physically imposing Drow. "Start when you both met up with Jaunda."

So Rausery had told these two about Vik as well.

Halena wavered a bit on her feet and blinked as the light hovering over D'Shea's shoulder seemed to bend and swirl before her eyes. "Should I say his name?"

The Elder frowned a bit. "Whose name?"

"My partner, since you revealed him." Halena glanced over toward the two magic users and back, still blinking.

Rausery calmly cocked one eyebrow. "You mean in front of these two?"

Halena nodded. "There might not have been two of us."

She started to tremble. Why in the name of the Underdark had she said that? Questioning her Elder to her face, in front of her peers? She felt sick. She knew she was in trouble but she was having a hard time focusing.

Rausery remained silent and shared a look with D'Shea before staring down at her. "As I recall, you were well aware that Jaunda's Elder had been informed of the both of you. You were fully debriefed for this new mission, were you not?"

Halena continued to shake and desperately tried to remember whether that was true. Was she being tested again? Her thoughts were still murky and unstable as jelly.

"Start when you and Vik both met up with Jaunda," Rausery repeated deliberately, taking a step closer and crossing her arms.

"Sh-she..." Halena stammered, watching the Red Sister squeeze Vik's ass again in her mind's eye. "She kept distracting me. We tried to watch and Jaunda wanted to play. It was dangerous."

She snapped her jaw shut, trying to keep her teeth from chattering. *Stop it, stop it, this makes you look bad, don't say you were distracted...!*

When it was apparent she would not continue, Rausery sighed quietly and asked, "Did you discover anything useful or noteworthy?"

Halena's eyes slid to the side and she felt a vacant stare grab hold of her. 

"Halena?"

What they discovered...

By the pool.

*Oh, Lolth.*

Everything went black.

"I don't know," she whispered. The shaking was still present though it had not gotten any worse. "I can't say."

Rausery tilted her head. "But you remember?"

Halena shook her head in the negative. Her entire head seemed hollow and chaotic wisps of partial thoughts all kept to the outer fringe, always in motion and staying out of her direct focus. 

Her voice came out as a bewildered murmur as she said, "Vik wanted to fuck me on the way back. I let him. Any way he wanted. I bent over and spread myself like he commanded."

Another stretch of quiet and the three Drow looked at each other. The older male finally moved and it may have only been to nod his head; he still did not say anything as he watched the females intently. That was, he said nothing until he was granted leave to step forward and take her by the chin. 

He lifted her gaze up. His eyes had yellow in them. Yellow like the Dragon.

"V'dri," he suggested.

It was the Truth.

She collapsed, falling instantly asleep.

******

She was warm and comfortable; the exertion followed by the deepest relaxation she could experience reminded her why she liked being where she was. It was not typical for her to have fallen asleep before kicking her Sister out of the room, but everything was all right and the other breathed deeply and even.

Her crotch tingled as her base mind realized she could get in a quickie before getting back to work; the warm body was right here, relaxed and supple. It would not take much to persuade her. If she was here now, she had already been fucked once. At least. 

Jaunda rolled to better collect her partner closer, tugging with a strong arm around the belly until her tits mashed into her back and her crotch rubbed up against her ass. She could not feel her Feldeu, so she must've taken off before passing out. A pity, she thought, as her hands ran greedily over the smooth skin, squeezing and patting. She would have to open her eyes and find where she put it.

Her hand slid down a flat belly with the intention to cup and start frigging between puffy netherlips, but it wrapped around a cock, instead, straight as an arrow and blocking the way. Odd that her Sister would have fallen into reverie with that on...

Questing further down, seeking to trace that firm ridge, that connection between body and magic item, Jaunda found a set of testicles instead. Her abrupt inhale brought a scent that was familiar - her own Elder - and it alone should have told her that she was not in her own quarters. And this Drow was far too slender and lean to be a working Red Sister; he definitely did not have the child-bearing hips. Or the tits.

"Ah, fuck," she groaned into the Consort's longer hair. 

She was surprised but also too tired, too aroused, and too disciplined to throw herself back from him as if he had a the huties. She removed her hand from his erection and placed it on the mattress by his stomach but otherwise stayed where she was, on her side spooning with the pretty male. Folding her other arm beneath her head, she could open her eyes and get a look at his profile.

He was wide awake yet had not made a single sound to protest. He was tense, though, And Jaunda already knew from long experience that a stiff prick in a male did not necessarily mean he was welcoming of a female's advances.

Not that she had made up her mind yet whether she wanted to advance further. A quick fuck would be nice and a good way to start the cycle, but the idea of rolling him onto his back and making use of his erection had no real appeal for her. She was also pretty sure he would not relish holding his ass up and still as she found her Feldeu and some lube, not after Thena and her crew had gotten to him.

Not that he could really stop her if she decided to go for it; she would not hurt him and all he had to do was cooperate. However she was thinking more about the fact that this was Elder D'Shea's territory and this was her "special" male with enough magic to somehow talk to a Red Sister who was an unfathomable distance away.

With a quiet grumble, Jaunda ceded control and rolled onto her back to yawn and a stretch. A wave of tiny bumps rose up on the Consort's back where she had been pressed to him and he shivered slightly, definitely noticing the loss of heat. He remained still for a little while longer, waiting until after she had finished stretching to confirm she was not going to roll over and cuddle again, before tentatively looking over his shoulder.

After he stared for a few moments she glanced at him. "What?"

He shrugged. "I... Do you..."

She grinned, enjoying his confusion and uncertainty. "Do you?"

Auslan still showed her most of his back; he swallowed and looked away from her to look down. "What happened to my wrap?"

Jaunda looked down at his naked ass. More narrow than she was used to but not bad. "Check the floor."

He got up on one elbow, glanced behind him again and shifted carefully forward to lean over the edge. He reached down and retrieved it, shaking it out and looking a bit unhappy with the wrinkles as he sat up the rest of the way and tried to folded up into a perfect square. Jaunda chuckled.

"Sorry. Not the first time that's happened. I'm surprised you didn't wake up then."

"I was..." He hesitated. "I was dreaming."

Jaunda grunted. "Why fold it up instead of putting it on?"

"I have to wash it."

"Fuck, boy, you can eat off that floor. It's obvious you are bored out of your skull here. I don't blame you."

Auslan gave her a strange, studying look but did not say anything to hint at his thoughts. She stole a look and noticed his morning iron had gone down. She, on the other hand, could still use a good come. She lifted her head and looked where she had piled her equipment after stripping down. It was the only thing in the room that looked a bit haphazard, though she had made an attempt to be neat so as not to get more complaints from her temporary roommate.

She could see where her Feldeu was just visible as an outline beneath her cloak.

"Hm," she began, looking again at the Consort. "Did you ever suck another male's cock in the Sanctuary? Or at one of the Noble Houses?"

Auslan's eyes widened in stark alarm and Jaunda sat up quickly to take firm hold of his shoulders before he panicked. She forced him to turn toward her and though he kept his eyes down, trembling in her grasp, she leaned close to speak quietly.

"It's just a question," she said. "Wondering if you have experience or if I have to teach you from the beginning."

Now his gaze flew up to look at her face. He was stunned. "Y-you...what...?"

The Lead was grinning once again. "Safe to assume the Priestesses don't teach that to their Consorts?"

He blinked. "No. We are taught to pleasure a female with our mouths, though."

"Nice offer, but I'm more in the mood for someone to suck my cock. Do a good job and I will stroke you off, too." Jaunda looked at Auslan and let out a guffaw, using a finger set beneath his chin to close his mouth. "Something's gonna crawl in that unless you keep it shut. So, answer my question."

The Consort grasped for an appropriate answer even though he was clearly afraid to admit anything. Jaunda relaxed her posture, braced on one arm and sitting on her hip.

"Honestly, Auslan, I'm hoping the answer's yes. Something other than Thena or one of her crew using their cocks like a seizure-prone rothe with a stick in its mouth."

The Consort blinked and his mouth twitched at the mental image, as if he was tempted to smile. She encouraged it with a grin of her own and ran her fingers through his silky, well-washed hair. Her face was still very near his and she spoke like they were sharing secrets.

"So how's it been, gorgeous?" she asked. "Ever enjoyed a nice, sloppy sucking?"

His face heated up in a way that she knew the answer was yes.

"Yeah?" she cooed, excited. "Who was it? Was it Shyntre?"

He shivered and had to look away from her. Ha.

She gave an eager laugh and a pat to his shoulder that was not quite a slap. "Wait here."

Blinking a few more times, Auslan struggled to breathe evenly; it was very amusing and at least he was not about to faint. He waited on the bed as she crawled off to her stuff, as she flipped her red cloak back to reveal her most favored possession. She was grateful that neither Iskomitneh nor D'Shea had taken it away from her.

The heft and thickness of it were very familiar to her, the process of moistening the bulb and inserting it, the muttering of the command word second nature by now, but that did not mean she treated it too casually. Occasionally she compared the rituals she had watched with Priestesses to her habit of donning her Feldeu, and occasionally she wondered if there was much difference.

The anticipation from even stepping off the bed and picking it up had prepared her enough that she did not have to use her tongue in any way - or Auslan's, for that matter - but she was not yet so slick as to preclude some delicious friction. After she had taken her same, wide-legged stance with her back to the wall, fisting the shaft with one hand, she fed the short end into her cunt with the other, thoroughly enjoying how is it stretched her and how she automatically clutched hard around it.

"Un'sa-ulu mir," Jaunda whispered, as she had hundreds if not thousands of times before. It was her voice, though for an instant she almost heard the Dragon echoing her as he had seized control. 

The initial magic surge as her body fused with the tool was more acute, as if a red arc of energy skipped upward from her crotch to her head like a flat stone skipping over water's surface. She sucked in a breath and went still, waiting for the intensity to pass before touching herself. Everything else behaved as always, fortunately, as she did her test strokes to confirm the new connection and sample the sensation as she imagined someone's hot and wet mouth closing over the tip and suckling with enthusiastic lips and tongue.

Right. Seemed good so far.

The Lead strode back over to the bed and crawled back on. The Consort stared wide-eyed at her new appendage, his pulse showing in his throat. Typical reaction.

"I-I don't want to..." he began, putting forward one hand in a plea but she was more interested in how he braced his fist slightly behind himself, his arms straight a pole, and shifted his hips to make his backside the hardest part of him to reach. "You said just my mouth. I don't want..."

She watched him with a smirk, stroking a few more times to alleviate the tension. The Feldeu already matched her own body temperature. "Better say it so I know exactly what you do want, pretty boy. Remember, I like straight talk, but you don't want me getting bored waiting for it."

He was having a hard time with that and Jaunda well understood why. In slightly different circumstances, even she would be using his expressed preferences against him. She had no doubt that the Priestesses and the Nobles not only did the same, but probably played more mental games doing it. Auslan had to take a few deep breaths and try twice more, eventually gaining the determination needed to meet her eyes long enough to convince her he was serious.




Surfacing Ch. 22



"I will suck you, give my best effort to pleasure you with my mouth," he said earnestly and with a natural elegance she was not use to in her willing partners, who tended to be rough around the edges. "You agree that you will not p... penetrate my anus with anything at all, and promise you will not change your mind midway."

Jaunda smiled broadly as she braced herself on her arm and pulled slowly on her length with her hand. As part of interrogations and challenges with Sisters, she had made such an agreement many times before and, most the time, had ended up buried to the hilt in their ass anyway. Auslan knew perfectly well that the words themselves did not hold much power, only the circumstances.

"Agreed," she said low enough to be a grunt as she shifted and reached for a pillow to stuff behind her back. She leaned back on her elbows, black Feldeu bobbing and straining for attention as she got comfortable. "No stretching your netherhole. Got it. Now get over here."

Auslan leaned forward to crawl beside her hips and to settle up on his knees, his eyes moving over her muscular thighs, broad hips and defined stomach. Her white pubic thatch was natural and her breasts present but more additional curve definition along with her shoulders and arms and back than any trait that defined their purpose in breeding; she knew that and she was glad for it. Tits could be soft and delicate when they reflected a soft and delicate lifestyle, even a temporary one like having a baby, but she had never been pregnant and didn't want to be.

The Consort lifted both his hands and started with his fingertips on her thigh and hip closest to him, getting through the shock of that first contact before sliding forward to rest his palms on her and shift one on her flank and her stomach as he worked encouraged to get closer to his target.

She grinned. "Soft hands."

He kept his eyes on her erection. "The Nobles liked it."

"They're not bad. Now wrap them around it."

He did so without hesitation, bringing his hands together to wrap around her and start pulling very gently, hand-over-hand. Fuck, it felt good and she moaned, putting her chin up and opening her legs a bit. She would need a stronger grip to get off, but this was a start. 

Auslan relaxed while listening to her and stroked her more firmly, exploring the texture of the life-like tool and getting to know the shape, testing her responses. At first Jaunda was surprised until she realized he was behaving like a Consort should, cock or no cock.

"Nice, not bad," she crooned. "Now suck it. Start with your mouth on the tip and use your tongue."

Previous experience or not, Jaunda had begun to be concerned that she would have to tell him everything, which tended to try her patience until she just took what she wanted. She had promised not to mount him, but if he didn't starting really gobbling on her soon-

Auslan did not begin as tentatively with his mouth as he had with his hands; he held her straight and leaned down to take almost a finger's length inside, close his lips tightly and caress with his tongue as he slowly pulled off in a slow and very arousing first suck. Jaunda muttered a few happy obscenities and lifted her hips just as the suction broke from his soft lips.

"Again," she commanded. "Do that again."

The Consort smiled but then reined it in to repeat what he done several times before shifting to another tactic without looking to her for guidance. The Lead Red Sister groaned in delight as he pressed his tongue hard as he could in the soft spot just before and under the head and flicked his tongue rapidly back and forth before swirling up around the head, taking her deeply and sucking off to the end again, licking and nibbling various sensitive places as his hand stroked the shaft near the base. 

Now his experience was obvious and had fully kicked in. She didn't have to tell him shit about what to do and he even seemed to enjoy it; his own erection was stiff as a sword and his balls had drawn up close to his body as he braced himself on his knees. The only words out of Jaunda's mouth from that point were curse words and lurid comments on what he was doing to her; there was not a single direction or demand as she laid back on the soft bed and enjoyed what he had offer.

A nice change of pace after jumping like a puppet for five straight cycles in a cave.

She reached with her right hand between Auslan's legs and gently cupped his scrotum, massaging his balls as he peeped and stopped for a moment.

"Don't stop," she said, oh-so-slowly tugging on the sack as if to move his hips closer to her. "Lie down so I can get a better angle."

The Consort obeyed and lay down on his side with his feet near her head before he got back into position to service her. Jaunda was able to get a very comfortable hold on his prick and, since he was doing a good job, she rewarded him with some massaging of his own. She was also a bit curious how good his focus was; Iskomitneh had taught her a lot about manipulating Vik's cock that she had not known before, and on Auslan she wanted to test to see if it had only been the Dragon's influence that had amplified everything in their minds.

Part of that thought was no doubt true regardless, but Auslan still sucked in air through his nose with her Feldeu filling his mouth, his eyes open and a bit glassy as she pulled and rubbed and played with the extra skin that her tool didn't have. She searched out those little spots with her thumb and fingertips, to apply the perfect amount of pressure with her grip, light or hard, which made the male jump or squirm and willing to take more.

"Mmmmm!" Auslan moaned, closing his eyes again as his dark erection showed darker shades of red and purple at the head. 

He was getting close but working hard as ever, her Feldeu sloppy and glistening as she wanted it. His saliva trickled between her trembling legs and covered his hand, his own tool seeping enough fluid of its own to shine up his crown. She made sure the little hole at the top was pointed at his stomach as she felt things tightening up for her down below in a familiar way; she was ready to explode.

"Coming," she gasped, "y'ready?"

He answered her by taking nearly her entire length than bobbing up and down several times. 

"Ohhh, f-fuck... me, shitfuck...!"

She sped up her pace just before her own pleasure swelled and crashed over her, as the Feldeu sent such pleasure through its entire length to fill her pelvis like a vase before shooting up her spine. She kept just enough awareness not to strangle the male tool in her hand but the rest of her was helpless as the addictive sensations spread out to overtake her and her body, giving her that rare, hyper-focused point in her mind where everything was still.

She blinked, coming out of it as quickly as she normally needed to, and realized that her hand holding Auslan's penis was wet and slightly chilled, though not nearly as much as her Feldeu. She carefully unwrapped her grip, one finger at a time, and let the softening prick flop against the young male's semen-sprayed belly. Auslan was gasping harder than she was, and he trembled the same. 

She grinned, lying back to enjoy the afterglow with a sigh. *Good stuff.*

Her habit usually was to let the other say something first once she got what she wanted. It was always telling, even if they remained quiet. Sirana almost always had something on her mind afterward and she was good on picking a decent moment to start the pillow talk - not too soon to be annoying but not too late for Jaunda to have lost any interest in post-sex games. The novice was entertaining afterward as she was during.

The Lead did not have those expectations for this Consort, no more than she would for one of the less intelligent or sly Red Sisters. Plus, he was male. Jaunda did not really have a lot to compare him to, not since she had been much younger.

She closed her eyes and enjoyed the slowing breath and growing quiet. When Auslan shifted to very lightly cross over her body and got the bed, she cracked an eye to watch him. She anticipated that he was going to clean up - he was the one that made the mess, after all - and she was correct, but he managed to snare her curiosity with his body language.

Based on his fussiness when she first got here, she would have expected now that wiping off that sticky stuff would be his top priority. He did not rush, however, and his stride was languid, not anxious. He warmed up a clean cloth under hot water from the tub and wiped down but it was automatic; his mind was elsewhere, his expression reflective.

He almost had the same look on his face the Sirana had when she was making connections. Almost like D'Shea, too. Jaunda had not really expected to see that from him, or from any Consort, truthfully. All bred and trained to be nothing but beautiful, vapid pleaser-breeders, right? 

She waited with her arm beneath her head. If he said something fairly soon she would be very likely to respond.

Auslan glanced at her, realized her eyes were open, and he wrung out and draped his washcloth over the edge of the tub before selecting a new one. He ran that one beneath the hot water before he turned it off and squeezed out the excess, standing up to bring it to her. By all appearances he expected to do the honors himself, but again she reached to snatch the cloth from him.

"I can do it," she said. "Thanks."

He smiled a bit as he watched her wipe down, taking it when she was finished to rinse, wring, and set it beside the other one to dry. He lingered over there and she growled a bit.

"So, come on, sit down." She patted the rumpled covers next to her.

He raised his brows innocently - which was something only the Consorts among the Drow could pull off with any sincerity - and he obeyed to join her on the bed. He sat upright and cross-legged, fairly close to her hips where it was enough distance and it was easier to read each other's body language.

"So whatcha thinking?" she asked. 

Yes, she did not normally go there; much of the time she didn't care and most of the others would not spill everything, anyway, but she was curious now. This wasn't just more of the same, if only because this Consort had managed to pull off the role of a combat healer without vomiting before, then boldly stating to her face now that "he could tell" that she had never killed another Red Sister solely to get ahead. The worst she had done was kill a Red Sister because she was dragging down the rest of them.

Auslan was trying to figure out where to begin. "I never... I thought..."

"Thought what?" she prodded, willing to do so only this once. If he tried to fish for more prodding, then fuck him. She would probably cuff his ear and turnover and take a nap.

He seemed to pick up on the tone. "Elder D'Shea has not required me to service the Red Sisters as I once serviced the Nobles. Because I was uncooperative."

Jaunda tilted her head slightly. "Not interested in sex anymore?"

"On the contrary," he said, "I want..." He stopped.

A Consort that wanted something specific. Really, really wanted something. How interesting. Maybe there was more than one reason why this last one was still alive.

She grunted. "What do you want?"

He stole a look at her. "I want to choose my own. Like you do."

Jaunda smirked. "Choose your own what?"

He pursed his lips. "I want to choose my own lovers, and refuse the ones I don't want."

She passed her gaze significantly down her naked body and up his and caught that he understood the significance. "Did you want this?"

"I wasn't sure," he admitted.

"Wasn't?"

He shifted. "I... enjoyed it."

She felt a spread of female satisfaction in her chest and grinned. "Old habits, eh?"

He shrugged. "Maybe. Probably some of it, your... will is stronger than mine."

"No surprise there. I've been in the Sisterhood for longer than you've been alive."

He nodded in agreement but she thought he was thinking of something else, maybe somewhere else. "Age does not always matter. It can be circumstance as well."

She nodded. "True. And your circumstances here?"

His face fell bit. "Lonely. But not to the point I would couple with just anyone willingly." He shook his head and the vehemence was for himself. "Not anymore. I do not want to."

Jaunda was curious despite herself. It had not occurred her that the Priestesses little prizes barely had a mind much less a strong preference who to fuck. She could much more easily sympathize with Shyntre, knowing a bit about his present circumstances and that he was far too intelligent to for his own good and had strong preferences almost from birth. Far too much like his mother.

"I didn't give you much choice," the Sister challenged lazily, her right hand again coming through her bush and running lightly along her length.

Auslan scratching an itch in his neck. "Yes, I am not sure how it was different. You assumed yes unless I said otherwise. I never tested that." He glanced at her almost shyly. "It did not feel the same."

"If you say so. You claimed you could read me pretty well before. You can't now?" She watched his face without blinking. "Or something else bothering you?"

He pulled some of his hair over his shoulder to the ends, practicing a short, tiny braid. "Something about you reminded me of a dream I had. The taste... of something. Magical."

She caught his eyes on her Feldeu.

"Okay," she said slowly. "What was the dream?"

"Of a black Dragon." 

He looked at her at just the right time and, unfortunately, he could read her. Damn. 

She sighed. "Tell me about the dream."

"What about you?"

A firm shake of her head. "Maybe later."

He weighed something inside his head, maybe tried to justify telling her. He wanted to, so she waited. When he spoke, it was only one word, almost a question.

"To'vah?"

Her mind went quiet again, but this time, somewhere deep in there, she heard an answer. *Axun.*

"To'vah," Auslan repeated with more certainty this time.

"Vis," Jaunda whispered, her gaze glued to the wall.

The Consort watched her closely for several moments but let it go for some reason, choosing to say nothing more. Maybe because he sensed something.

The Wards on the door were suspended just before they opened, and Elder D'Shea walked in alone. Only after the door had closed and the protections were in place did the invisibility spell fade and Elder Rausery stood there as well with another, a male whose face was very familiar for more than one reason.

They had brought the Headmaster from the Tower.

Uh-oh.

*****

Phaelous inhaled deeply during his first few instants closed inside Varessa's quarters, though he kept it subtle and silent. He had never stood here, had never been brought to this place as many times as he had met with her before. He felt a weakness in his limbs that he willed to pass, and pass quickly, so he would not miss more of the initial contact than he had.

After all, while her scent and her essence permeated this place very deeply, another had been living here for quite some time now. The elder wizard was here for Jaunda but the Consort held a great deal of curiosity for him. 

The nude Lead Sister swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up quickly to face them at attention, her Feldeu still attached. Instantly his deeper senses detected far more of the same, magical bleed-off as had been on Vik and Halena; D'Shea would be right, if this was what the young Sister's aura looked like after a week of travel, then she would have been blinding just after it happened.

Fascinating.

Phaelous stepped slightly to the right to try to see around the strong female at the smaller male crouching on the bed. The Consort had shrunk back already, setting his back to the wall at a corner of the bed with his arms wrapped around his knees. He tried to disappear into the shadow.

His aura, however... 

If Phaelous's first impression was correct, they were most fortunate that the Valsharess had not laid eyes upon this one since the Purge. Phaelous vaguely remembered him from the various worship balls; there would have been times when the Queen herself was touching him upon the gifting altar, so this young male had to have changed recently, since the last ceremony. If the Consort's aura at the time had even a hint of the power he saw now, Phaelous knew the youth would have already been sacrificed. If he ever left this room, he was as good as dead, after he had given up everything he had to offer Her.

Unless the Valsharess changed Her centuries-long habits and adopted twin boys.

"Take that off and pay attention!" D'Shea snapped at Jaunda, who proceeded to detach and pull her Feldeu out from between her legs. "What were you doing in here?"

Without being told, Jaunda stepped once to toss it upon her cloak against the wall. She stood straight again and bowed her head. "Getting a mouth job, Elder."

"Hm," Phaelous looked at Rausery. "I was not aware that was part of the Consort skill set."

"Right, old wizard," she replied with a smirk. "They are dumb enough to poke their eye out trying to find it in the dark." 

Speaking of which, D'Shea raised her hand and brightened the illumination in her room a bit more, revealing the young male and making it impossible for him to hide. Varessa stalked closer to her bed and leaned slightly to look closely at him while Phaelous silently eased forward, finding an angle to watch.

"Auslan? Are you well?"

*Are you well...* 

Such an interesting first question to ask him. At the very least, he was a very valuable piece to D'Shea. At the most... he was a surrogate son, now that Varessa could even think about acting like a mother again.

Twin boys, indeed.

The youth nodded and said, "Yes, Elder," to where Phaelous to barely hear him.

"Come out, stand up."

The Consort obeyed and Varessa ignored his naked state as she simply checked him over for obvious injuries. She nodded her satisfaction in a manner as efficient as an Elder and not like a greedy, possessive Matron, and Phaelous was mostly convinced that Varessa had told him the truth. She had not since gone to such young males after avoiding him for two centuries.

At that point something made the Consort lift his gaze and look past D'Shea's shoulder and directly at Phaelous, and the shock on his face registered something that was almost a physical blow. His quick movement was out of character as the two females nearest to him jumped and made ready as if to grab him when he reached back on the bed for a carefully folded waist wrap, which he quickly - and sloppily - put on to hide his genitals.

Varessa looked very suspicious for some reason. Perhaps because her bed and the Consort were the only two things that were disheveled in the very clean, very neat room. His Elder had always been organized and reasonably clean, but not this much. 

"How do you feel, Auslan?" D'Shea asked deliberately.

He nodded with earnest. "Fine, Elder. I am fine."

"Fine." 

She glanced down at his skewed wrap and back up; Auslan made some attempt to straighten it, to please her, but Phaelous knew his Elder; something significant had just changed. What was it?

The aged wizard looked at Jaunda next, who stood at ease but ready; he could not detect much anxiety at all. And by all accounts, there should be some. Maybe once the rest of the bleed-off faded from her aura.

"So, are you going to do it here?" Rausery asked, her muscular arms folded across her chest.

Phaelous looked to her, realized she spoke to him, and tilted his head. "Am I going to do what here, Elder?"

"Break the compulsion. So she can talk."

"Can you hold your lizards, Rausery?" Varessa said irritably. "I'm still trying to determine what happened in my room."




Surfacing Ch. 23



Author's Notes: This story is erotic fantasy written by Etaski. I reserve the right to be listed as the author of this story, wherever it is posted. If found posted anywhere except Literotica.com with this note attached, this story is posted without my permission. (c) Etaski 2015.

Back on the Surface, back to Manalar, back to work! ;)

******

Talov would be sending supplies. 

As much work as the Ma'ab had done ahead of us to burn and clear out both bodies and steal anything of worth prior to the Shaegoth assassinating their top leaders, the Knight Captain was now victorious steward of the empty and vulnerable city. I overheard him talking with Sir Eric that they would not have much time to rest and would instead have to get the word out to their fractured army to return and help them rebuild and protect.

"The Eyes of the Guild to the north say the Ma'ab army is disorganized and moving toward Taiding."

"Skirting Augran, Captain?"

"Yes. It is too early to say if they mean to attack Taiding, it may simply be on their way home."

The large Man with the red beard enjoyed a deeper, bitter-tinged laugh. "They burn and scavenge their enemy and then have to scuttle back home with their tails tucked after the place is empty."

"Mostly empty. And we will see. The Guild is watching, Lieutenant, and Mourn has agreed to keep me apprised of their movements. We have much to focus on here to be sure we don't have to leave with our own tails tucked."

The big Man expanded his chest to where he somehow looked even bigger. "Isn't going to happen, Captain."

Isboern smiled and clapped Sir Eric's shoulder. "I know, Lieutenant."

Next the psion's blue eyes slid in my direction, where I was hidden behind cover in some deep shade. He knew I was there but did not draw attention to me in front of his Men. 

"We have prayed and everyone has been seen to and had something to eat?"

"Yes, Captain."

"Then let us do our part to secure the area and be prepared for anything while the Guildsmen have a chance to rest."

They and the others continued to say something but I was distracted when I heard my Sister whisper in Drow.

"Vanish away, old pet, they will hear your bones creak!"

I shifted back out of sight from the Templars at the same time I turned my head to see that somehow Graul had gotten in between us. It did not look like he would be fit enough to slip out of the way if either of us tried to strike or grab him, and yet he was here. I had not heard him coming. He looked up at me with hazy, red eyes and a smug expression.

*Let me guess,* I signed to him. *You are showing off how you got inside the library to help Mourn.*

Graul showed his yellowed, worn teeth in a grin and nodded his head.

*What do you call it?*

That was not the next thing he had expected to hear; his little, reptilian face showed surprise, but then delight.

"Shadow jumping," he whispered with a happy flick of his tail. His stiff wings were still laid as flat against his back as he could make them.

*Can all drakes do that?*

He tugged his head once to the side. "Shadow, only."

Interesting.

*Magical?*

"Yes."

And Graul and Mourn were familiar and master.

I looked over at Jael then. "You knew Mourn could do that, too."

Jael lifted her eyebrows in innocence before she blatantly remembered something which made her grin. *You mean the Hellhound with his back broken.*

*I heard the snap all the way from where I watched.*

Jael shrugged and for a second looked as smug as Graul. *I told you he showed me some things.*

I straightened up. *In one night? It looked like you two had been fighting together for years, and the double sword he loaned you, when did you have time to practice with that?*

This was mostly an observation; now that I had time to stop and think about some of the things I had seen, a lot of it I didn't understand. However, I was tired and deeply unnerved by Deshi, and I had yet to even think about what Kreshel had shown me or what his escape might mean for me, so the tone of my hand sign was abrupt and curt. Jael took it as an accusation and shifted to the defensive.

*You don't have to be jealous,* she signed. *We did it to protect you, so you wouldn't have to get into the middle of things, like at the temple. We didn't want you fighting with us. It wasn't necessary this time.*

She was babbling a bit, and some of it sounded like what Mourn would say, but yet not. Maybe he had coached her, or maybe she was repeating something he'd said to her in her own words. 

*And the weapon?*

She shook her head dismissively. *Like fighting with a staff, two-handed. I can use a staff.*

*With a very short grip before you hit pure edge.*

*Mourn can only hold it in one hand anyway,* she argued. *It's sized for Humans. And they aren't sliders—you could do it.*

I hadn't fought much with a staff before. Not since basic training. I rubbed my forehead; it was really starting to pound. *Okay. You said, 'We did it?' You did what?*

My Sister hesitated now; it was clear she wasn't sure how to describe it.

*Did he change you? Do something to you?* I asked.

Jael pouted in what looked like a very young expression, even for her, as if she was disappointed with my reaction being so different from what she imagined it would be. But soon enough her fierce anger returned as I reminded her again. 

*Change me? Isboern already did that. And fucking Innathi. Mourn is just trying to help me cope and make it so I wouldn't drag you down when we came back to this fucking hole.*

Drag me down? Wasn't she saying the opposite when she had said that she and Mourn had not wanted me to fight with them?

*And you're one to talk about changing!* she added hotly before I could debate. *What did the necromancer do to you with that slant-eye? You were so cold...and the slant-eye looked like he wanted to eat you just now!*

That felt like a blow. And, fuck me, she was right.

*I don't know,* I signed. *I don't. Wait on that, okay? I'll tell you when I know something.*

I caught the look on her face; she was satisfied for making me back off. There was only one other thing I had to say.

"And if you would, call him Deshi," I whispered aloud, dropping my sign and putting a hand to my head again. "I'd rather the Guild not see you signing 'slant-eye' like that." 

"Don't tell me what to sign!" she hissed irritably.

I glared. "Are you trying to hurt the alliance?"

"No, but it's a good description for them, right?" she countered. "Accurate."

"Yet your hand has that 'less than' quality we use talking about the Duergar or the Peches down below."

She looked surprised. "Does it?"

"Yes. It does. Do you mean it?" 

She hesitated. 

I waved my hand toward the Sky. "If you mean what you say, Jael, forget my request. But I'll remember, and so will they."

My Sister thought about it; she gave it some deliberate thought. That had to satisfy me regardless of what she chose now. I waited and soon she looked back at me.

"He endured far more than I thought he could," she admitted. "Deshi did."

I nodded, covering the breath of relief I felt. "I agree."

Jael narrowed her eyes and eased down again. No doubt she was combing over events from the battle as well, now they had the chance to curve back around to the front.

As for Mourn helping her to cope and that was why she could work with such synergy... I hoped that was the case, and he wasn't just outright using her to fulfill his contract with me. I could actually see it being a bit of both. All the same, I knew now this was a concern which would have to wait until the Guild Leader had a spare moment to be questioned. Ordinarily I would go and corner him right now but I wasn't even sure where he'd gone; I only knew he was out of range of the pearl attached to my ear.

Watching Jael now, I admitted that I hated seeing her slump like that, even if she wasn't aware of it. I had forgotten that she was as much a confused sorceress as she had shown to be a confident fighter, and here I was doubting her fighting and speaking ability, imagining big, male Mourn as the puppet master.

Maybe that was even a little bit true, but it didn't have be the point right now.

Reaching over Graul's head as he sat on his hunches between us, I slid my fingers into the sweaty hair at Jael's nape and leaned forward most of the way to lightly kiss her mouth. I did have to draw her forward in order to reach but she acquiesced to the light pressure and brushed her lips across mine without tongue. When I drew back to look at her face, keeping my hand where was, she watched me expectantly.

"You fought very well, Jael," I whispered. "It was truly impressive. Makes me wonder what else you can learn with enough training."

Jael's doubt and disappointment eased within her eyes as she chanced, cautiously, to believe me, and I remembered but Jaunda had told me what seemed so long ago. Had I still, even now, not utterly destroyed the illusion that I would betray the youngest Sister? I thought I had already, given that she had been so angry with me back at the retreat. 

But how much of that had been Soul Drinker's influence, and how much of it had been fear and a lack of understanding? After our time by the waterfall, after my nearly complete confession of my Surface connections, when I had reassured her of her inclusion... It seemed almost as if she had forgotten about her anger toward me then. Or maybe decided something else.

Those lovely, copper eyes maintained their depth as she looked down at my uniform. She lifted a finger to gingerly outline two of the bloody tears on my upper left arm, leftover from Divigna's spiked chain. Krithannia had healed the wounds but the holes in my uniform remained. It was going to take some serious mending.

"Almost didn't work," she murmured. "Don't get caught like that again. Stay out of the way."

I frowned a bit. Ah, to mention doubting one's fighting ability...

I swallowed my immediate response - which would have sounded as juvenile as her pout had been if I acted on my impulse. Still, my pride was pricked. I would have to maintain some level of fitness and speed, the matter how heavy I became. I couldn't just sit back all the time and get fatter while Jael and Mourn stood guard and fought for me. It would never work that way.

But we could argue that later so would Mourn understand as well. Right now my stomach was empty, my nerves had settled, and I needed to eat. 

This time I did eat everything on me, which wasn't much and I was relying on the fact that there may be some supplies from the forward camps of the Ma'ab as well as the understanding that more Guild were coming soon. I could scavenge for more in the forest again if necessary, but it would probably take more energy than I could gain back.

My mood sank again. I wasn't even blatantly showing my belly yet, and I still needed to rely on others to feed myself enough to replenish what I was using. I had known it would become this way eventually but... not so soon. I did not like the trend, but hopefully my companions and I would be moving into fertile grounds again soon where I could hunt and gather myself on a daily basis. 

Once again I had run nose-first into practical reasons why pregnant Red Sisters were so quickly taken out of our ranks for the duration.

Jael and Graul watched me eat and the old drake even looked a little hopeful to receive a morsel— *Yes, keep waiting, little beast.*— until Jael joined me and held out a piece of dried meat for Graul to snap into his jaws. He gnawed on a bit before he swallowed it down mostly whole. He and Jael were getting on much better than they were at the start.

With the Templars finally moving out in their loud armor and the two beside me managing some peace and quiet as I chewed, I had thought I heard the chains in the distance, and even possibly a little laugh. There had been no burst of magic any of us had sensed yet or any flashes of light, so I sort of assumed the chain devil was still there. What were Gavin and it talking about? Krithannia would be there, was she still worried about its presence? I still wasn't even sure about the gender, like it had adopted both for its own amusement.

"I need to check on Gavin," I said when I finished up, noticing my headache was almost gone after eating.

Graul snorted through his nose and shifted stiffly to stare at us as we stood up and donned our packs, and I frowned at the impression of distress I saw in his tail. He didn't want to be left behind.

"What, no shadow jump?" I asked.

"Tired, like you," he said in his raspy little voice. "Tired like everyone."

Jael and I looked at each other.

"But you hate being picked up by anyone but Mourn," I said.

His tiny shoulders shrugged and he acquiesced to the suggestion without having to ask outright. It was odd that some of his expressions looked kind of like Mourn's. 

Or maybe, that wasn't so odd.

Jael shrugged as well. "I could carry him."

"He weighs like a walking Human child," I said. "More than our packs."

"So we could take turns."

"He can shadow jump later on and catch up," I said. "Why do the extra work when the supplies are not yet arrived?"

She frowned. "You've never been so lazy or weak."

"Since when were we assigned drake-tending duty?" I challenged with a little bit of a smirk as Graul kept swaying his head between us. "He was watching the Hellhounds for the last few days, feeding information to his master, and survived the barren city just fine on his own. I think he is the one pretending to be lazy and weak."

After a puff of air rattle through his throat and out of his nostrils, finally he spoke again. "Take me with you. Please."

Hello. Please?

"Why?" I asked, then it struck me like a magic bolt. "So that Mourn can continue listening to our discussion?"

He gruffed, looking a little cranky and switched his gaze expectantly to Jael. I waited to see what she would do. She felt some conflict, I could tell, and I wondered what really had changed in the four or five days since Mourn had first beaten her in a fight and then fucked her against a wall. 

There had been that burst of magic, or something, which had sent me onto my back; I had hit my head on the stone and it made me see Stars. Mourn never had a great explanation for that; supposedly he wouldn't get her pregnant, supposedly these "surges" were a new thing for him...

And now Jael was fighting more in his style and was surprisingly tolerant of his ancient familiar when she had been afraid of becoming one herself.

Yeah, something had changed.

"Is Mourn avoiding me?" I asked Graul.

"He is very busy," the drake said. "Leader of many. He will return soon."

"Yes or no would have sufficed."

"No and, reasons," he hissed.

That tugged another wry smile to my lips. "So we were not assigned drake duty so much as you were assigned Drow duty."

Graul answered my smile just so; with the white, bristly tuft on his chin, it was surprisingly cute.

Then I scoffed. "You would have to shadow jump if I just left you here, you know."

"Yes. But... I ask, Red Sister."

"You ask."

He nodded, the tip of his narrow, slightly beaked snout dipping down and up. "Yes. Take me with you. Please."

I had to acknowledge the fact that Graul had not looked away once during this exchange. Jael had remained silent watching us and ultimately looked to me to make the decision. For now I had to be satisfied that I had made him ask me outright rather than playing the decrepit, hinting pet. 

I squatted down and hooked one arm beneath his front legs and after the other around his haunches before hefting him up and bracing them on my hip with his shoulders leaning on my own. I couldn't carry him in my arms, curled and horizontal, the way Mourn could; Graul was just a little too big and long.

The shadow drake hissed happily and looked around him from his new vantage point while I said to Jael, "We are *definitely* taking turns carrying him."

By the time we had returned to the location of the most bloody conflict, Jael was holding Graul and we approached slowly. 

My first thought was that Gavin appeared perfectly at home where he stood: facing the chain devil, surrounded by a giant mass of destruction, blood, and bodies. His Night-mare and his Hellhounds stood nearby, showing the damage they had sustained but acknowledging none of it. 

The necromancer himself held the Ma'ab scepter casually enough, and I could not tell if he bled anywhere at all as his skin turned black again in the Sunlight, and any blood stains on his robe blended with visible skin. I knew most of his chest was exposed as Divigna's chain had ripped into him but I couldn't see his ribs like normal and didn't know how much he may have healed already. He still wore the wrought-iron crown of thorns upon his head.

The chain devil sat down upon three or four chains strung and held taut between two standing Hellhounds. Any wider and it would have been a hammock that would allow her to recline, but the creature sat upright then, relatively slender ankles crossed, bracing herself with her palms and gently swinging her lower legs back and forth. The movement did not cause her visible discomfort but each shift drew a gasp or a moan from one of the Hellhounds as the spikes dug deeper into his flesh.

I still could not see any expression below the burning, amber eyes, as the lower face remained covered by the veil of fine chains and hooks. However if it was not a smile then I had not understood a single thing I had seen from before during the fight. 

In stark contrast, Krithannia stood straight in a position of cautious contact, just outside the most concentrated circle of death. The hot Sun was high but positioned behind her so that both Gavin and the chain devil would have to look straight on into it to face her. Given our own unthinking positioning of the light - which always hurt on some level but which Jael and I had learned to ignore through necessity - this put the necromancer and his summons in profile while the Guildmistress had her back to us as we approached.

Belatedly, I realized that ring of blood and bodies *was* a circle of the magical sort; a new one just made. This was, for certain, one area I did not want to spy upon or enter without invitation. Krithannia stood where she stood for a reason.

"Gavin?" 

I spoke just as each of them shifted to focus in my direction, their eyes a line of molten-hot, ice-cold, and metal grey. My necromancer raised a pitch black arm and beckoned us forward, while the chain devil brought graceful, masculine, blue-grey hands together as if to imply eagerness. We had to navigate a few bodies but mostly I looked for any kind of symbol or stone that maybe we should not cross as I stepped just a little bit in front of the Pale Elf but short of the spray and speckles of blood and bits. 

Looking around for others, I guessed there could be at least one Guild watching from afar in the nearest building. I could hear the Templars now and then, but they took the long way around to avoid this spot. Krithannia looked to us and nodded her chin but she hid all expression at the moment, neutral but observant. 

"Do you need anything?" Gavin asked first, and I read in his gaunt face that this was because he needed something from me. He wanted to go second.

"Nothing that can't wait," I answered, figuring Deshi would have to come back from wherever he had run off to answer any questions about him.

Gavin nodded. "Can you tell me what happened to Mathias Briar after he abducted you?"

I felt my eyebrows lift but recalled that it had been Mourn and Isboern who had entered the Archbishop's quarters through the secret passage. Gavin had been down below in the courtyard... growing the pneuma flint spikes out of his skin and learning to float using the endless power of the rift. I replayed those very quick few seconds in my mind.




Surfacing Ch. 23



"He ran," I said. "He did not want to suffer the wrath of anyone in that room."

"Do you think he is still alive?"

I nodded. "He was bent on escape, like with the Chaos cult, so unless something stopped him..."

I glanced at Krithannia in case she had a report that said otherwise. She just shook her head and I looked back to Gavin.

"Why do you ask?"

The two Hellhounds groaned simultaneously as the chain devil swung his legs a little more. The Sun caught the metal of the jeweled rods piercing the bald head as it tilted, seeming almost demure as it looked straight at me. The voice was husky and still contained that surreal quality as if, had I been able to watch lips move, they might not match the words I heard in my ears. 

"I was promised an acolyte," the creature said. "One who understands the Art as well as any mortal can, to whom I can teach its deeper meaning and beauty."

The "Art"? My eyes flicked to the entangled Hellhounds and their fresh wounds echoing so many old scars on the creature herself. The chains even now had to be cutting into her bottom and thighs and palms, but it wasn't so much that she didn't care as perhaps she was... taking solace in the pain caused. Something of which I had had a front seat view, between Mathias and Jacob, something the Skin Hunter had enjoyed causing, very much. 

An acolyte?

So that was at least part of the deal Gavin had made for this one's help snatching every magical chain from the Hellhounds. Not bad, except... I glanced at Gavin for any kind of warning about saying too much, but then reminded myself that he was no good with Court games. He had probably been brutally honest so far with his summoned one, and Krithannia provided no aid at this time.

"If he lives," I said, "he is probably several days' ride away by now."

"I have time," the devil said over the sounds of her captives. "The Herald has promised me the time on this plane to search for Mathias Briar. I only need a taste of him, from you, and I will find him myself. If it is a dead taste, I will know, and he will choose another for me to take."

I felt a prickle on my neck and looked from her to Gavin with somewhat wider eyes. Uh-oh. Had he really promised such a thing? I sensed Krithannia tense up upon hearing this.

"What does it mean, a 'taste' from her?" Jael asked behind me, finally having to set a protesting, squirming Graul down on the ground. A glance told me she was speaking to Gavin. "And how is a deal with a devil any better than a deal with a demon?"

"This is a Kyton, not a devil," my scholar said, as if he was irritated by the non-use of a proper name.

"Krithannia called it a chain devil," my Sister replied stubbornly, waving toward the Noldor.

"A common misconception of your limited mortality," the Kyton said. "I am not a devil. My people have traversed many lands in our time. The Hells in which the devils serve are among them." 

"Where do you serve?" Krithannia asked quietly.

The bald head tilted in the other direction cautiously to look at her through the Sunlight, then focused low to the ground by my feet, at Graul. "I serve myself, the Art, and where I please at that time. Though I believe your little pet may have caught the barest glimpse of where we, the majority of us, currently dwell."

Graul growled then hissed some threatening air; the Kyton seemed amused.

"Do you fear the deeper depths of that realm, little drake? If only you spent more than the fragment of time to slip there and back, you could be so much more enlightened. We could show you such things that you may never wish to leave, and you would not have to die of old age. We could make you immortal."

The ancient drake had snapped his muzzle shut and wasn't going to open it again. Then Graul actually backed up to curve his body around Jael's feet - something I didn't like if we needed to move quickly - but the body language read as if he would defend her, not the other way around. My Sister seemed irritated and confused.

I had to get us back on track.

"So if that scepter was supposed to be for summoning demons," I said to Gavin, not without accusation, "and you said it might even attract a Draegloth, how did you summon something that claims to be neither?"

"Because the scepter can pull any of what we would call devil or demon to this realm, even the realm of shadows," Gavin said unflinching. "And because my Lady knew the name."

"Better the devil you know," Krithannia muttered to herself and I wondered again what she might have traded to the Shaegoth for their help... At least she wasn't pointing fingers.

"Yet at some point everything was unknown," Gavin responded with a glance at me.

If he referred to the risk he took first making a deal with me when all he knew of Drow was what Sarilis had written down, then he could not be more right. I remembered my mentors talking about "acceptable risk." Only the judgments differed on how far. 

Krithannia herself had proven more than capable of these risks, so I wondered about that phrase coming from her. Was it something from among the Noldor as a whole, for example? A mindset reflecting a slow-changing society, refusing even the lateral shifting that my own City tended to do constantly? Better what you know than what you do not; this reminded me somehow of Tamuril's punishment. I wondered.

I shook my head back into the present, because the Kyton still watched me. "You never answered my Sister's question."

"You were not ready to listen," it said back.

I exhaled. "What do you need from me to track Mathias?"

"Ah, yes. You are a psion, correct?" the Kyton asked, either missing or ignoring the tightening of my mouth as I wavered about the answer. "From you I need only a little piece of his performance. Show me what he has done that I should wish to find him. Make me feel it."

Krithannia shook her head, holding a closed fist to her lips with her elbow braced on her other hand. "Not a good idea. She is not trained and we can't afford to have you lacerate her mind further, Kyton."

Deep amber eyes seemed to smolder as metal clinked with her movement. "Lacerate her mind? How crude. I may not be able to introduce her properly, but I could bring her enlightenment from the constraints of flesh and tears."

Jael and Graul both grumbled their apparent agreement with Krithannia, and I frowned, indecisive for the moment. I could admit to myself I did not want to mind link with this thing, but Gavin had promised something which I knew needed to be paid. Somehow.

When none of us spoke, the shadow creature shifted forward and uncrossed his ankles, placing feet on the ground and standing up from the chain swing he had made. Other chains still draped and looped around the lean, graceful body, hooking and catching at the leather stitched into his skin and making small musical sounds. The Kyton was taller than any of us, barely edging out Gavin for height— something I had not realized from a distance.

"And just to say," the Kyton continued, "it would be an even poorer idea to deny me what I am due." 

"The Noldor did not question the agreement," Gavin stated, shifting not one finger-width from where he stood despite the creature's threatening movement. "She questioned the method. Is there another way?"

"You were confident enough to make the suggestion, Herald," the Kyton said to him, the teasing voice chiming like the chains, "so certain she could provide what I would need." 

"She can," Gavin said, maintaining that utter confidence in my ability which honestly surprised me. "She has guardians who are overly protective. If there is another way, present them with the choice and let her make it."

The Kyton considered, rubbing the pad of a finger over an exposed hook and drawing a bead of red blood in the process. If it was a matter of choosing the lesser of two unpleasant things, I decided to wait to hear the choice even though my instinct told me that Gavin had already chosen it for me.

"If I cannot experience his Art," it finally said, "then she must. She will tell me the details and leave nothing out. In turn, I must act out this Art upon her."

Oh, shit. Gavin was right. I did not imagine that veil of hooks would play too well with my netherparts, never mind the whipping I knew would be involved.

"I'll make you feel it," I said before Jael or Krithannia or anyone could say anything else on my behalf, setting down my pack where I stood.

The corners of the Kyton's eyes crinkled a bit as if in a smile and she nodded, taking a step toward me. My heart picked up despite every attempt to keep it level. In response, the flexing, pumping hearts strung around the Kyton's waist beat faster as well in time with my own, and the creature purred.

"If you would, Sirana," Gavin interjected, beckoning Night-mare forward, "put Soul Drinker into her mouth. She will hold it just outside the circle."

The distraction from my fear was welcome enough, but I remembered the dagger taunting me about that just a day or so before. "Um..."

The necromancer was not endlessly patient; he sighed. "It will be fine. I am not distracted with a complicated ritual this time, and Innathi found me fairly frustrating to deal with, as I recall. It is the best we can do. Let the mare hold the dagger over anyone else, do not bring it into the circle."

Yes. Probably the best idea.

The relic itself was sulking and silent as I slipped the sheath between Night-mare's carnivorous teeth, and that action alone made me smile. The image of Soul Drinker actually wielded by an undead beast of burden was worth any future complaining. I also decided to detach my spider pouch and thread the leather thongs into her mane, reassuring them. My heartbeat was almost normal when I faced the Kyton again; the hanging hearts had slowed to a dull throb as well. 

"I did not see all of the Art, from beginning to end," I clarified.

"All the better," she said calmly, reaching out a strong, mottled hand to invite me into the circle. "This is but a taste to whet my appetite. If I am pleased with it then I shall relish his full performance later from his own hands."

In a suck of magic, Mourn dropped into existence very suddenly right behind Krithannia, startling me and Jael the most. He landed similar to how I had seen him that first time in the Warpstone forest— except he had no weapons drawn this time. That difference alone told me he had some understanding of the negotiations and it wasn't simple luck in the timing. Graul and Krithannia had probably told him most of it.

"Hold," the half-blood said, a bit out of breath as if he'd been running far and fast but looked straight at the summoned being, his tail whipping twice behind him. "My contract with Sirana is threatened by this."

The Kyton folded his arms, intentionally pressing some of the spikes into the biceps as an expression of impatience. "Tsk tsk, another overly protective guardian, I see. Why do so many of them doubt you so easily, my dear?"

I blinked. Well...

"Your deal is not broken, Dragonchild," he continued with the clink of chains. "She has agreed to fulfill my price on behalf of the Herald."

Mourn's ears and tail expressed his own distrust at this, but Gavin offered in his more usual, neutral tone. 

"The bargain is for Mathias Briar, Mourn. I only need Sirana's help to offer the Kyton the correct direction in which to seek him."

"Why?" Jael demanded suddenly from behind us.

"She has witnessed the man at his core," Gavin said without missing a beat. "And she has the ability to convey it in a way I cannot. Do you seek now to interfere?"

Mourn looked at Gavin when he shook his head, but turned his attention to the chain devil when he spoke. "No, I do not seek to interfere. But I will be there while she does. No negotiation."

The veiled creature tilted its head this way and that, studying the hybrid as my bodyguard stepped up protectively behind me. In a strike like viper, the Kyton called forth one of his chains to send it right at me. I ducked and rolled before I thought anything at all and I was vaguely aware of Mourn shifting his weight in a spray of dust beneath his feet. I heard the familiar sound of chain wrapping, binding, snapping as I rolled to my feet and spun around in a crouch.

The hybrid had jumped between me and the chain and he currently had it wrapped around his thick forearm, finished with a solid grip in his own fist to relieve the worse of the pull on his arm. It was taut and, for whatever reason, the Kyton did not let go of her end to make it dance further, and they were locked in a bit of tug of war for several long seconds. Red blood drops fell from the hybrid's arm onto the edge of the vague, black line beyond which Gavin and the creature stood.

"That is enough?" Mourn asked.

"Indeed, it is generous," the husky, satisfied voice drifted from behind the veil. "Come forward and welcome."

The chain unwound itself from Mourn's arm as if fully sentient, slithering back to its mistress, or perhaps master, as I came to my feet. I recognized a successful challenge when I saw one so I was already moving forward by the time Mourn looked over his shoulder at me. I managed to catch his non-bleeding arm and encourage us forward to join Gavin and the Kyton. None of the three who remained behind could feel entirely at ease, but Mourn had answered their call and it must be enough whether they liked it or not.

Curious that I had not thought it necessary at first but perhaps...

Gavin moved to make space for us while I tried to decide how to begin this from a dead stop. How did I normally begin? Usually there was sex or violence involved, just as often both, but my blood was always pumping when it happened. I had to make this immortal, sadomasochistic artist want to seek out a mortal, sadistic predator, but that desire was not burning bright inside me at the moment. That had something to do, no doubt, with too many bloody, metal spikes and hooks swinging far too close to my skin.

"Do you know what this feels like?" the Kyton cooed, displaying the chain with the hybrid's blood in its palm. 

It stood much closer and loomed above my head, though Mourn at my back was taller still as I felt surrounded just between the two of them. Maybe that was the Kyton way of flirting.

I said, "I hadn't until recently."

"Did you cherish it?"

"Not really."

"Wielded by a Hellhound?"

"Yes."

"Boorish approach, I know. What about the whip or the lash?"

Several faces flashed at once in my mind during a very intense period of my life: Rausery, Qivni, Thena, Jaunda, Kiren, Lawret... 

"That I am more familiar with."

"Are you? May I see your scars?"

I smirked. "My people are vain. We do not keep them."

The amber eyes curved enough in a smile to look like twin setting Suns. "You keep them. They are only not visible. Show me, psion."

I shook my head, not enticed in the least. "No. I'm here to show you Mathias."

"Hm. So you are." The Kyton detached a short, strong switch from its grisly belt and handed it out toward me. "Shall we begin before we who are without black hoods like yours are Sunburned?"

I stared at the rod; it was about as wide as my thumb, black, stained, and as long as the shadow creature's forearm. I felt Mourn tense behind me and though I had clear memories of something similar being used on my back and my buttocks, even on my pussy before a Feldeu would get jammed deep inside while my skin burned, I also remembered just as clearly the infected, oozing wounds beneath a young, hybrid slave's harness, for which he was not allowed use of the pads his Prime had given him. Not for weeks.

*No,* Mourn whispered to me.

The brief, warning flash of a Priestess-Matron brandishing a whip was something I had not seen so clearly since my first time becoming tied with Mourn in Augran. And he stood right behind me, his aura beginning to push out as he felt threatened. It was not me being tempted to share only my own memories, but his as well.

There had to be another way.

I shook my head to refuse the switch and removed my gloves to pull out my sapphire and hold it between both my hands, the hearts on the Kyton's belt beating quickly once again. The gem felt warm, nearly hot as it did when exposed to high magic levels or was on the cusp of being used.

*Lick my ear,* I signed with one hand without looking behind me, closing the blue stone in the other.

Gavin gave me a very odd look, readable even with his skin now darker than mine, causing me smile as Mourn helped me out by leaning down and extended the tip of his tongue. He gently drew along the edge of my right ear, from lobe to point, slow and lingering. I loved how he could make it tingle, as if his spit was some kind of elixir.

I spread my feet a bit and signed, *Tail?*

Far less confusion from Gavin this time as the dark, prehensile limb coiled itself around my left thigh in answer, coming from the inside and curving back around to the front, constricting and shifting up before the tip fluttered playfully along my crotch. Soon it few much firmer in stroke as his tail continued to shift. 

Without my having to ask, the hybrid touched the back of my neck and my hair, massaging my shoulders where he could before sliding his hands down to squeeze my ass. All the while, I could hear him drawing in my scent through his teeth when he wasn't tasting my skin. He pressed a bulky erection into my backside. Then he willingly relaxed his aura.

*...Oh, goddess.*

It was nice to feel Mourn was fully on board with this particular method of building focus and concentration. It would still take something a little bit different from me, though, to push this in the right direction.

I remembered Mathias performing for Jacob, going to him to torture him before returning to me again and again to fondle between my thighs, which I held wide open before the Witch Hunter. The Skin Hunter pushed his thick, Human fingers inside and drew out, smearing my juices over my labia and making it easier to tease my clit before he entered me again. I kept this at the fore of my mind as I sweated even more beneath the hot Sun, but I knew I would made progress when Mourn began to mimic that touch with his own.

At some point in my daydream, my bodyguard had undone one side of my pants to loosen them just enough, and his big hand was down inside now, touching and cock-blocking his own tail. He teased my opening with one large finger, then two, not pushing them inside because of his claws but collecting more than enough slick fluid to do everything else. My mouth hung open as I gripped my sapphire and focused on breathing; I trembled further when he licked and nipped my ear and my neck. 

It felt good. Really good. My gut flared with heat and, similar to past times when I had been close to Greyland influence, my womb became hotter in response.

At some point I remembered to open my eyes and look up again. The Kyton watched patiently enough, curious about my methods, perhaps, but I could tell that nothing had really begun for this one. It was unaffected by the show, even though I was on the verge of cumming. That was when I drew the tiny blade from beneath my bracer and changed the grip so the sharp point was aimed toward myself. 

Instantly, I had its attention. I humped harder against Mourn's hand until the first wave of pleasure rose up to overwhelm me.

"Oh!" There!

The sapphire sizzled in my hand as I took hold of the smoky pearl bonded to my left ear, stretching the lobe to place the edge of my blade beneath it. I sliced once, the initial sting blooming into fiery pain which encompassed my whole ear and part of my head. I screamed equal parts in pain and orgasm. 

Mourn clutched me to him, keeping me upright when I would've fallen and I held out my blooded fingers, my palm cradling the sapphire and the pearl with a morsel of my own ear still attached to it. The Kyton emitted a sound of metallic glee and gripped my bare hand, mashing those three things between us. The leather thong around my neck snapped as the creature drew me closer, as Mourn again played tug of war to keep hold of me, and I saw that same, third eye in the blue-grey forehead. As I'd seen with Pig Eyes.




Surfacing Ch. 23



Now!

My hands were suddenly empty as I reached out and underneath the veil of chains to cup the Kyton's jaw; I felt tiny hooks catching and pricking the backs of my hands as my fingertips quested for a hold, and I quickly realized there was no jaw at all. It was missing and had not been replaced.

*Yet,* the Kyton mused. *I simply haven't chosen between them yet.*

Before my eyes flashed the two Hellhounds standing to make her little swing and I understood that was the other part of the deal.

My hands remained beneath the veil and the prick of the hooks was a constant distraction, but I drew the Kyton forward and stepped back as Mourn was not physically there anymore to block me. The view around us changed with each step, until we stood within the out building beside Brom's Inn. The chair I had once used sat empty beside us.

*Show me,* he said again with glee, taking one step toward the chair.

I shook my head and stopped him from sitting. *No, I promised to make you feel it.*

I held on to the jawless face, refusing to let go until the room had completed its transformation into what I remembered. The Kyton was intrigued as he now stood with his long arms lifted, held up with wrist manacles attached to heavy hooks embedded in the ceiling; there were similar manacles on his ankles that attached by way of longer chains to poles buried deep in the ground. He was barefoot.

There was room to walk all the way around the Kyton, upon a hard-packed dirt floor spread lightly with straw. He was not hanging by his arms with the full weight of his body. It would happen eventually, if for no other reason than exhaustion, and there was another place in the back of the room for Mathias to take him when the Kyton could no longer hold himself up: a pair of thick wooden beams crossed to support the frame of a body spread-eagled, bolted permanently to a large stone and tilted midway between flat and vertical. 

Along the far wall was a table with recently-placed metal tools: pliers, pokers, blades... multiple forms of whips, lashes, and switches. Mathias was here, wearing only breeches and boots. He was smiling. I had never seen him so happy.

Withdrawing my hands from beneath the Kyton's veil at that point hurt, a lot. They were cut up and gouged and blood trickled down as I looked at them. My crotch still buzzed with orgasm. Everything seemed incredibly warm here—my hands, my gut, even the air I breathed; warm as fresh pain and afterglow.

*Dear psion,* the Kyton urged. *Show me what he has done. Make me feel it.*

Nodding, I backed up and sat in my same chair from before. Jacob's voice reentered the room along with my memories. The vision meshed together the image of the Witch Hunter and the Kyton, making them one while Mathias gleefully stepped forward to show us his Art.

"Who is there?"

"Hah. Does your arm tire already, pain drinker?"

"Damn you, castrated servant of the Underdark!"

"SILENCE, HERETIC!"

*CRACK!*

"DON'T TOUCH ME!"

*CRACK! CRACK!*

"...nomilu sancji..."

"Enough praying, sweetmeat," Mathias replied. "Time to talk again. You remember...no biting."

"Come now, you know more than this," the Kyton whispered in ecstasy. "These marks and stains you saw... you know how they were made don't you? ...you know the taste of it. You are not some mere voyeur now anymore than you were then."

*CRACK!*

I gasped at the white-hot pain that flashed across my thigh and stood up from my chair, unable to see who held the weapon. The Kyton was still bound with Mathias behind him. A second later a switch slashed flat across my back. It has struck hard enough to bleed and if I wanted to believe it was real, I knew I would feel the blood trickling down in a moment.

The Kyton couldn't have that moment.

"ENOUGH!" I yelled, feeling the initial fear shift to anger as I took that deep breath and willed the phantom pain to fade. A thick switch of my own and a Feldeu appeared in my hands. "Yes, I know more. It's all going on you, though, not me, Oh Enlightened One."

I could imagine what had happened between the Witch Hunter and the Skin Hunter quite well, and I made him feel it. I could not tell how long this reenactment lasted, but I used everything I had observed. Though the voice and timber from the Kyton often mimicked Jacob, the sounds I heard now carried a depth far beyond what I may have imagined at the time for the Witch Hunter's own personal Hells. I heard them as close as if I stood in Mathias's boots.

I strained to keep my recollection as true to the material plane as I could when the Kyton sought to adjust the setting more to her taste. Different tools became either vaporous or illuminated as they were used; the floor attempted to shift and become bonded with broken glass, then boiling tar; the wooden logs forming the walls began to sweat beads of something caustic which burned the lungs from the inside. Stubbornly, I changed it all back. As long as I would wrest back control in the form of Mathias and what he was, the building would return to normal.

Then I felt the Kyton's presence behind me again, even as it spasmed and writhed as Jacob upon the slab. Its husky voice whispered into my ear, and part of me listened while the rest of me kept my surroundings from sliding into chaos.

"Was that so difficult, child? They act as if you are so weak and yet they fear your potential. Have you let them cage you in those primitive instinctual fears? For what purpose? So the Dragonchild can gain more control of you? So he can seduce and lure your sister away from you?"

"Shut up," I said, as Mathias made Jacob scream again.

"Ohhh! But can you truly trust him? Is he so different now from your people? Your guardians raise their fears and you dismiss them... only to have him return to assert his control, his fears."

"I know him."

Or...I knew him before we had found Jael. Before we had linked and he knew her...

"Do you know? Do you? He fears you so much. They all do. They blind themselves to what you are, what you've become. Even now, does he think of your needs? Or is he contemplating his own plans and gains while you are distracted?"

The caning paused for a second. 

Mourn. Where was he? I had cut the pearl from my ear specifically so that it would be right next to my sapphire when I mind-linked. I thought perhaps it might help me do something... something different. 

Stepping back to hold a defensive stance, I reached out beyond the out building, searching for anything, and I found him. I gleaned a thought from Mourn at last, knew where he was. 

He hovered on the very edge of the forest where he had watched me before. At the time I had met Brom, Mourn had not seen me outside since going inside. He had entered through the sorcerer's ward to try for his Guild's targets, the Ma'ab fugitives, but instead found the Witch Hunters attacking and had to stop the arsonist before he set the Inn ablaze. Mourn had been forced to leave soon after, unable to kill Kurn and Castis then...and the mercenary had soon after run into a stumbling, sick Gaelan. 

The thought I read from him was not from Then, however. The thought was Now. 

*For crossing the Guild after I had made my contract with you, for ignoring our standing agreement of non-interference in favor of the sorcerer, most especially for endangering you and your son once again with the Deathless...* 

Wrath. An old response, learned long ago. Mourn had made plans to hunt down Mathias Briar regardless, and those plans were already in motion. The Guild Leader wanted the freelance bounty hunger dead. He would, however, draw his own hunters back and yield the field to the new agreement. He even knew in which direction Mathias had escaped.

*Let the Kyton have him,* the Dragon's son said.

It laughed.

Whatever else I might wonder about in those whispers from behind the veil...Mourn did not fear me. He feared for me. The hybrid had watched us but did not interfere, did not control what happened here. As long as I maintained some control.

I blinked and once again had to change a nightmarish torture cell into a regular shed of wood, nails, and straw. I raised my arm. We weren't finished yet.

But eventually... finally... the Kyton sagged with satisfaction.

"Is it enough?" I asked.

"Young Mathias has so much more yet he can learn," the Kyton answered with a wince of delight as it straightened up, tall and free. "He will make a fine acolyte. I will find him and when I do, I will court him and we will leave your world together." 

*****

Familiar, strong arms pulled me backward until I was out from under the shadow of the Kyton and could breathe the fresh air. My fingers fumbled as they came apart from the calloused, disturbing grip of the creature and I heard a few things drop into the dirt. Essentially blind as I returned to the Sunny battlefield, my head ready to split and my body aching in thirst, I still thought to pick up what I dropped but then sensed Gavin step forward to do so on my behalf.

"You speak true, Herald," the husky, unworldly voice said in a sigh. "An extraordinary creature, most valuable to have in your service."

In *his* service? 

At the beginning I would have denied that outright as preposterous. I had chosen *him.* I had seen his value to *me.* Although now this idea struck much closer to a mark I did not want to acknowledge; ever since I saw Nyx, ever since witnessing what truly drove the ugly monk... Ever since he drew the picture of Auslan from his dreams. As Mourn and Krithannia had both recognized: their assault on Manalar would not work without the necromancer.

Gavin had offered me forward as a method of payment in the middle of battle for the Kyton's help. And I paid it. The power balance had definitely shifted.

I needed to get out of the Sun.

"May I keep that?" the Kyton asked.

"No, you may not," Gavin replied, and if the shadow creature had been referring to my sapphire, I would have been very surprised. 

Although I did not want either of these fleshmongers keeping a piece of my ear.

*Mourn,* I sent the thought desperately, nearly delirious as I tried to figure which way was up—my hood had fallen down and the light was blinding me regardless of where I tried to look. *My things -*

"Gavin," the hybrid rumbled, holding his arm up.

I was glad I could still detect sound and motion. My ally stepped forward and placed what he had picked up into my bodyguard's possession. That helped me a great deal to feel more at ease as I was guided (pulled) out of the circle and some distance farther into delicious shade, sternly encouraged by Jael to sit down and lean against her as she held me from behind.

"Just so you know," she murmured, "I *really* hate that I can't see what you are doing when you're standing like that. I don't know where to hit."

A breath of a laugh escaped my lips. She smelled so good.

"Duly noted," I whispered back. "Can you give me my waterskin?"

Jael dragged my pack closer to her and got what I needed. I drank deeply, convincing myself to empty the thing since Isboern had said the well by the charred barracks was still good. I hadn't opened my eyes yet as the headache was still piercing, but I could tell I would be able to see again when I did. Meanwhile Graul shuffled beside us as well, sniffing about and perhaps keeping watch. The only one who remained outside was Krithannia.

The instant I lowered the skin from my lips, Mourn tended my ear to make the bleeding stop, starting with a pungent disinfectant on a cloth and applying pressure. He used no magic quite yet and based on what he had said about Deshi, about not being able to grow anew what was missing, I could guess he was giving me the opportunity to regenerate my earlobe myself.

I wasn't sure that I could. Maybe I could reattach it, though—

"You should keep that selfless mark," the Kyton said from afar. "Forgo the vanity and wear it as a sign of that first step down the path to enlightenment."

"Shut up, you warped fuck," Jael replied agitatedly.

"Ignore it," I said. "You know better."

*I* knew better...

The Kyton continued as Mourn's tail swished. "After all there are so many more scars down your path. I would consider it an honor if you would consider keeping this as your first."

My...first?

Krithannia stepped forward then, perhaps blocking the creature's direct sight of me, probably at least to say something to Gavin. I could tell that their attention shifted away from me for the moment and I was grateful. 

"Why did you have to cut yourself?" Jael demanded as Mourn cleaned the side of my neck with a second cloth, which was coated in blood.

I swallowed a groan of discomfort as it stung worse than ever. "I had to... get it to open its mind to me."

"Effective," Mourn commented, still applying pressure to my ear. "Well done."

Jael went silent at that, expressing no further disapproval even though Mourn was probably no happier at my self-inflicted injury than she was. At least he could appreciate a deal fulfilled to its fullest terms, if nothing else.

How easily Gavin convinced me of its necessity, though. It would've been nice to be consulted beforehand but... At the very least I would be able to expect the same from him sometime later.

*Valuable 'creature' in his service...bah.* 

What made the largest difference here was knowing that Gavin himself was in service and not acting entirely for his own personal gain, unless it suited a particular Greylord for him to do so. That was possibly why the Kyton had focused on prodding my doubts about Mourn, not Gavin - despite the necromancer being the one who volunteered me into the situation.

My ear really hurt.

When Mourn finally released it and leaned back, I blinked my eyes open to watch him. He poured a clear fluid over the pearl and piece of flesh, cleaning it off, and made eye contact with me. "We can probably heal this."

I pursed my lips. "Can you take the pearl off first?"

"You do not want to wear it anymore?"

"When we share thoughts," I said honestly, "I can't tell if it's only the pearl doing the work or the psionics, too."

"And... this is more important now than it was?" he prompted.

I nodded and he was quiet for a moment before speaking again.

"I am sorry to say it would probably cause too much damage to remove it. Perhaps after it is fully healed."

"Perhaps?"

"It would take some time."

"So... You weren't truthful about it being a 'light' bonding agent."

He smirked a bit in self-deprecation. "Moderate to strong. I could not know what was going to happen and felt I could not afford to have it drop off and lose track of you."

Alright, so that was one decision made for me. Not the first, probably wouldn't be the last.

"It's not very much," I said, looking at the bit of dark meat in his palm. "I don't want to reattach it."

"Very well," Mourn accepted, perhaps not surprised, probably adjusting plans in his head again.

"Do me a favor," I said.

"Yes?"

"Don't lie to me about how sticky something is again."

Mourn nodded. "I will not."

He did not apologize for the fib, though, since he had already said he felt it necessary for his contract and I remembered pushing against his idea in the first place. The only time he had ever initiated an apology to me had been when the first magical surge had hit us when he climaxed with Dandan in Yong-Wen. Obviously an unnecessary act upon me, and we hadn't had a contract at that time anyway. 

Apparently having that contract made him think differently, and I had thought it a good thing. It was all about control, as the Kyton had teased. This wasn't the first time I had the thought that maybe I didn't want to be in contract anymore, but getting out was going to be tricky after the two additions made at Augran: find Gaelan and discuss Gavin's taking over Sarilis's Tower. 

Idiotic of me to have agreed so easily, in hindsight, but I'd been horny at the time. What else was new?

*At this point, though, he'd probably go to both if invited.*

The half-blood used the same, foul-smelling topical compound he had used during the battle on my raw flesh now—numbing it and forming a protective barrier against more dirt—before he shifted back to finally tend the multiple lacerations on his right arm from when the chain had been wrapped around it.

"I believe you are finished here," Krithannia said suddenly, raising her voice to the Kyton as if to create a barrier of sound to protect herself. "Your dalliance serves only to strain the boundaries of your contract. You have your prize, now go find it."

"How much you dislike knowing I will be walking around freely on your plane, Guildmistress," the creature said, somewhere between observance and a taunt.

"Not so freely," Gavin said, making the effort to raise his voice enough for all to hear since we were all looking at him—the Noldor most accusing of all. "And not forever. We bargained already, Kyton, you shall only stay as long as it takes to find Mathias and get him to agree to transcend, by whatever methods it takes. Neither can you make another deal without being summoned by name and since you are already here, that's not possible. Until this deal is complete you are compelled to search for the Skin Hunter and cannot stray." 

"You spoil the play, Herald," the chain devil said with some irritation as Krithannia visibly relaxed hearing this.

"I am not here to play," the Deathwalker responded blandly. "These are the rules."

The creature sighed softly and wrapped the chain slowly around one arm as delicately as if it was lace before I realized there was a Hellhound on the other end of it. With a jerk, she drew one of the chained Ma'ab to her and caught him up into a fierce embrace, much stronger than it seemed she should be, and the chains of the veil wrapped around the Hellhound's face as he began wailing. 

I flinched at the abrupt crunch and grind of bones, at the stunningly brutal snap and slip of ligament and tendon before the Kyton discarded him without care. There was a brief flash of pale, white teeth surrounded by red gore before the veil fell back into place. The Hellhound fell heavily, missing his lower jaw, and did not move once he lay upon the ground. Likewise, the other Ma'ab was pulled down and the spiked chain made short work of his throat and he bled out quickly.

"Give my regards to your mistress," the Kyton said to Gavin. "And if she should ever release you from your service, call to us and we will come. You are the sole enlightened here."

Gavin nodded his chin briefly but did not speak. There was a surge of power as he tapped the butt of the scepter against the earth and the blackened circle vanished. The Kyton said not another word to any of us but I felt those amber eyes glance past Mourn and directly at me again. I could hear a silent offer and knew that, much like Gavin, if I were to call, the Kyton would accept and embrace me on behalf of its kind. 

The remaining Hellhound chains slithered like snakes as the resident from the Plane of Shadow sashayed past, excusing herself to see her own way out of the city. I noticed that she chose due South, selecting the most difficult route out of the area. The only reason I could imagine was that Mathias must've gone that way as well.

Krithannia stepped close enough to Gavin and dropped her voice so I couldn't hear what she asked him, but his answer was, "Probably not a good idea."

The Noldor nodded her head once, slowly, and I would have bet that she was palming a pearl as she glanced at Mourn. 

"Don't share my memories," I murmured in an echo of his earlier warning, and he proved pretty good at splitting his attention between us.

"Will not," he said. "Pearls are words only. We plan the Guild's next steps."

"Which are?" Jael asked behind me as Krithannia gestured an "until later" and left the area.




Surfacing Ch. 23



"Have you seen Deshi?" he asked as he watched the Noldor leave.

At the heavy pause, Mourn turned his gaze on each of us and read whatever was there. "What happened?"

"He ran off," Jael said. "He was upset that he didn't die after the battle. Or during it."

I shook my head. "That is only part of it."

Mourn exhaled softly. ""None of my Guild have seen him, though they have looked. His brothers are extremely worried. Tell me, please, what happened?"

Gavin had been finishing whatever "cleanup duty" had been necessary following the departure of the Kyton, but he heard Deshi's name and approached us in the open room to listen. I looked between them, only somewhat less anxious for answers from them as the Yungian had been from me.

"He was waiting for some sign from Nyx what to do next, and he said he has sensed nothing. He asked me for an answer but I told him we would have to talk with the Deathwalker, then..." 

I hesitated. The necromancer tilted his head curiously while Mourn kept his focus level and steady.

"What did you see?"

"In his face, a desire for something," I said. "Or a need. Like for water or food or sex. Maybe all of it."

Gavin shook his head. "He does not need any of those things. What were you doing at the time?"

I met my ally's eyes and said deliberately, "Talking."

Gavin followed the significance I put on the word. "And where was his focus? On your words?"

I shook my head. "No. But he was looking at my mouth."

"Inhaling, perhaps?"

I thought back. "Yes."

Gavin smiled just slightly. "Your breath. Interesting."

Mourn was in a crouch and looked up toward the Deathwalker. "Her breath. Specifically hers?"

I shook my head. "No. Jael got in between us and told him to back off, and he looked at her a similar way."

"Perhaps that is better than it otherwise could be," Gavin mused, "but I will have to study him to be sure."

"Meaning what?" Jael asked impatiently and Gavin shifted icy blue eyes to her.

"It seems likely that he was subconsciously drawn to what gives him sustenance now: the breath of the living. If that is true, then would it not be better that his 'diet' not be from so rare a source?"

I knew I was frowning. "Isboern told me during the battle that Deshi was alive. Or at least partly. Not simply raised."

Gavin joined me in a frown. "I might question his certainty on that and how much is his own wishful thinking. Life magic was needed to rebuild his body, that is true. The Godblood might have mistaken the residual as true life, but if Deshi must feed upon the living to continue his existence here in this world, then he is not truly alive as most consider it."

"But fellow corpses would be entirely useless to him," Jael said, glancing over to where Night-mare was nibbling on one of the freshly-dead Hellhounds.

Mourn shook his head as his tail coiled around itself just before he stood up. "Speculation will not help now. We must find him. Can you sense him, Deathwalker?"

"Not at this time," he replied; a bit too readily, I thought. "Perhaps if we get closer."

"Where do we search that his Guild brothers have not already covered?" Jael asked as she helped me to my feet.

Mourn lifted Graul with ease, much to the drake's delight as he snuggled into the big arms. Outside of the wall less room into which I had been carried, the Sun was at its highest and hottest. I did not relish going out and searching for the Yungian in this, especially at random, or even systematic.

"Can we ask for Isboern's help, then?" I asked. "There are few enough minds thinking thoughts around here at the moment, he might be able to help narrow down."

"A good idea," Mourn said.

"We should presume you have not grown into this ability as well?" Gavin asked dryly, gesturing to cluster his servants together out of the Sun and have them stand here to wait for him.

"Yes, you should presume that," I replied in a similar tone, taking back Soul Drinker and my spiders from Night-mare. "The Man could contact all of his officers at the defense wall from the Temple, and tell us the direction to go when the Hellhounds had Deshi. I haven't gotten past physical contact yet."

"Nice to hear the intent to move past it at some point," Gavin commented. 

Jael tensed up hearing this though Mourn chose not get involved, instead helping Graul to shift up onto his left shoulder and perch facing forward. I could tell that, even with the stiff joints and aching bones, this was a well-practiced habit as the drake's long tail coiled around Mourn's bicep and all four feet found their purchase in the hybrid's harness. The little beast chirred in contented cycles, happy enough simply looking around him to make me wonder how long it had been since he had last left Mourn's library in Yong-Wen. 

We moved out beneath the intense Sun and blue Sky, down the same main road that Mourn, Gavin, and I had taken before to the temple. It had been at nighttime then, going uphill, and there had been hundreds of people around with their little fires going. Now it was all downhill, all quiet, and the corpses and broken buildings warred with blinding light to be most oppressive on the senses. There were not even any birds or rodents I could hear.

Each of us had our hoods up when we met the Captain and the Templars on their way back from a trip beyond the crumbled city walls. I had to either be impressed with their speed in that armor, or question exactly how long I had been dealing with the Kyton. They had taken a stretcher and a dirty blanket from somewhere and had gone back to collect the one-eyed girl who had been swinging in the cage from the wall when we had arrived.

Mourn greeted the Captain with a gesture and Isboern returned it, his face splitting into a nice smile as he focused on Graul.

"There you are, little one," he said jovially enough to make his Men peer curiously at the giant lizard. "The eyes and ears working inside against the Hellhounds. Much like Tamuril's cantankerous and protective falcon, I presume?"

The violet flap of skin beneath Graul's jaw fluttered neutrally though he might have preened just a bit at the open admiration from the Captain. "Yes."

"What is your name?"

"What is yours?" Graul said, shifting his grip on the harness a bit as he leaned into the conversation.

"I am Knight Captain Willven Isboern of Manalar. These are my Templars, my Lieutenant Knight Eric, and Sirs Esben, Rafe, Aino, Vidan, and Torben."

"I am Graul Ir'mrith Sjach," the ancient familiar replied.

"An honor to make your acquaintance, dragon kin."

Watching the drake and his big master's subtle tail shifts, I realized Mourn was immensely pleased and amused as he kept quiet. Isboern was doing one of the best things he could to impress the Guild Leader, and if it had been intentional, it succeeded in spades.

During the introduction I also noticed one of the Templars free from carrying the stretcher instead step by the girl's head, as if to prevent her from turning her head and seeing us should she become conscious and open her eye. 

Additionally, while Jael and myself appeared "normal" with our black faces shaded by black material, several of the Templars noticed instantly that Gavin had a similar appearance within his lighter grey robes. They were somewhat distracted from Graul by this, disturbed and automatically made the sign of Musanlo. 

Isboern noted Gavin's significant change beneath the Sun along with the others but looked more contemplative before he turned his attention to Mourn. I wondered if he would ask the question now or later but then Mourn spoke first.

"We have purpose for stopping you but will not keep you," the hybrid said, getting straight to the point after the formality. "We are missing one of our own." 

The Godblood held sympathy looking between us and nodded. "Deshi."

"My surviving Guildsmen are injured and tired and have not been able to conduct a full search while they gather supplies from the forward camps. I ask whether you may be able to sense the direction he has gone? We will go find him and you may tend to your citizen."

Isboern offered a strange smile. "I confess I have already done what you ask. I sensed the distress when he fled, I was nearby. He chose high, as high as he could reach. I believe he wanted the fresh air with his solitude." The psion looked toward the peak of the mountain cradling Manalar's battered temple. "He has not left that area, nor has he jumped, though he considered it."

Mourn lifted a brow. "He did not jump. Did you influence that decision?"

"I might have suggested he needs to catch his breath first."

"Or plant the doubt that he may still heal from such a fall," Gavin suggested, and Isboern granted his opposite a wry smile with a nod.

"I was merely the slightly-louder voice of the conscience he already has," the Godblood said without embarrassment. "He does not want to die again, the choice was his. Do find him. He needs his mystic leaders as he hides from his human brothers."

From the look on at least two Templars' faces, I guessed that Isboern had phrased it like that deliberately. They could not help but wonder why the Captain would show Human compassion to someone clearly not Human anymore, and the psion was trying to explain it in simple terms. Belatedly I remembered that these Templars had never seen Deshi's injuries at the hands of the Hellhounds, not with their own eyes. That could have made a difference.

Now, we needed to climb beneath the hot Sun to the highest point closest to that golden ball. Even better than sweeping the entire city. I planned to stop at the well on my way up.

******

Gavin decided to pick up his three Hellhounds to help with the search and we started from where Deshi had left me and Jael. I began to wonder why Deshi's Guild brothers had not simply followed the physical sign as they were trained? Even if the Yungian had some training on how not to leave an obvious trail, distracted as he'd been when he left would have suggested a few mistakes here and there, at least.

I got my answer quickly, and it baffled me only at first.

"No trace beyond this point," Mourn said, his tongue flicking constantly to taste the air.

"He passed through low objects at will, as I recall," Gavin said. "That would easily disrupt any trail he might leave behind, would it not?"

We nodded in agreement. No place to go but up.

There was a clearer path to lead us there, well-used by the Manalara to swiftly reach the lookout tower at the top; none of us saw a reason to take the raw stone path quite yet. Hopefully we might see something unusual from the path, or we could start at top and work our way down.

At first I was fairly certain the only thing that kept Mourn from outstripping us during that climb was having his very old familiar on his shoulder. Jael and I stubbornly tried to keep up while Gavin would not be hurried beyond an efficient, long stride. He did try to send the three Hellhound corpses ahead of him but as soon as the wind shifted, those of us with much more sensitive noses complained.

"Goddess! Don't keep them near me!" Jael said, plugging her nose. "They reek!"

I did the same as I kept my mouth closed against a suddenly roiling stomach. I didn't have much to throw back up but I wanted to keep those morsels all the same.

"They are rotting," Mourn commented.

"Of course they are," Gavin said and an eye roll here would have been fitting to his tone, though he chose to skip it. "They are twice-raised and have been in more than one conflict. I didn't revive them for their looks, so sooner or later the flesh will drop off. Would skeletons be less offensive to your senses?"

Walking skeletons. That was as weird image. I hadn't thought about those since the time I spent with Gavin avoiding the sentries outside Sarilis's Tower. 

"Probably," I said.

"Sooner or later?" Mourn asked. "How long?"

Gavin shrugged. "The normal time it takes flesh to decompose, unless I take some action to shorten it."

"Something to consider doing, perhaps," the hybrid said with nostrils and tip of his tail twitching along with Graul's.

"They can't just eat flesh like the mare?" I asked cautiously.

My ally shook his head no. "A different ritual. It wasn't certain they'd survive the battle so why waste resources?"

Mourn gestured for us to keep climbing. "If you will, keep them back, Deathwalker. And we will be mindful of the wind changing."

The hybrid's tongue flicked out regularly while Gavin's unnatural eyes ceaselessly scanned the slopes. After testing out each other's search-speed, we found a middle ground somewhere and stayed closer together until there was a reason to split up. The Hellhounds probably wouldn't be used until we reached the top.

Me, I didn't know how Isboern detected thoughts at some distance from himself but for a while I tried to "listen" as if straining some inner ear. Eventually, when I wasn't paying attention and actually bumped into Jael, I went back to what I knew when trying to locate someone: be observant, use the senses I already knew how they worked, think like the one trying to hide. If Deshi wanted to be found, he would probably be somewhere visible at the top. If he didn't, then it would just take a little more time finding the hole into which he had crawled.

There were plenty of loose stones on the beaten dirt path with shorter, more scraggly trees and shrubs providing less shade. Few of them were kicked or jostled by accident as, by unspoken agreement, we decided not to announce our little parade. I noticed more of a pale yellow in the stone and a lighter, dusty brown in the dirt up here compared to the darker grey of the quarry and the darker soil around it in the forests. 

Though I spied several nests, all seem to have been abandoned for the time being. Considering the relative proximity to when the rift first opened, I couldn't blame them for flying off. It made me wonder how far Pilla had to go get something to eat.

*Wait...*

I clapped my hands suddenly; not very loudly but it may have seemed so when there was nothing appear but the wind. The others turned to look at me.

*Where is Tamuril?* I signed.

Jael blinked at me but immediately followed the thought. *She wasn't with Isboern. And he didn't ask us about her.*

*He knows where she is,* Mourn said. *He is not concerned for her.*

I could not think of one place where the Druid might go wandering around by herself that *wouldn't* concern the Godblood, unless...

*She might be watching Deshi,* I said. *Could explain why Isboern is so certain he is still up here.*

Mourn moved his tail slowly as he considered. *Good thought. Both can cover their tracks but if you spot the falcon or any unusual plant growth, signal.*

Gavin signaled almost immediately, indicating one of the steep areas overlooking the path. *Glimpsed life aura, size of bird. Gone now.*

*Flew which direction?*

*Up and back.*

The South side with the sheerest cliffs, of course.

*We go up,* was all Mourn could really say.

I had enough water but began to be concerned about how much of the mountain we still had to climb, even on a pre-made path. It was taller than it appeared from Temple-level and I still had to make it back down before I might see any of those supplies that were supposed to be coming. That Gavin saw only one life aura of any appreciable size so far on this dryer, harder mountain head, and that it might be one I was ill-advised to eat, then... I was not looking forward to the hunger pangs.

I hoped we found Deshi or even Tamuril quickly once we reached the top.

The air was in constant motion and while I had long understood this to be because of rising closer to an unobstructed Sky, I could admit I was a little surprised how much the wind buffeted me once we finally reached the crown of the mountain. It maintained one direction for the most part, thankfully, so we could position Gavin's servants to be the least distracting for us. I looked around.

The peak was the narrowest part but would still require a few minutes to circumscribe the area, even at a jog. We had found a space which looked to me like some kind of working pad, long ago cleared out of notable vegetation and the largest stones being put to good use for basic shelter in the lookout tower rather than make the ground difficult to navigate for horses and carts, or Men in armor. Some abandoned equipment and damaged crates remained from the attack, but anyone who had been up here when the Temple fell had probably wandered down or fallen straight off the cliffs by now. It was empty of any corpses.

With the strong wind making my cloak flap, it did not seem as hot or humid up here though the Sun did beat more intensely on my black clothing. Each of us took in some water then, the sliver of shade provided by the watchtower a most tempting place to go, for all of us. I wished I had a pellet I could swallow specifically for headaches caused by the Sun.

"We will clear the tower first," Mourn said, indicating Graul. "I will give you a signal if he is there. Each of you search in the three directions looking down."

We agreed, and I picked West while Jael took East and Gavin went North with his three spreading out as if to comb the cliffs. We moved out in the open in that barren perimeter, looking for sign that could've been from either Druid or Ku Ba. The path up had curved two-thirds the way around the mountain already, taking the path of least resistance, so it was likely if either had been watching from above and we did not see them, and they were not in the tower, then they had moved somewhere between here and there.

I saw nothing of note but could not help but look out much farther out, where the steep hills eventually evened out onto those lush, rolling fields we had run across getting here. I looked even farther, knowing eventually they would meet the large river flowing south of Augran out of the Great Lake. Somewhere beyond that was the first spine of mountains which I had skipped on my way here, sailing upon the Lake with Mourn from out of the thick timber forest where Mother had been infecting everything. Jael would have traveled those mountains to get this far, though, and she would know them if we had to go back through them again. Maybe Vesram had gone in that direction, too, sensing home beyond the flat, stormy Mid Way...

My Sister clapped her gloved hands once, hard, a muffled pop quickly stripped by the wind. I turned around and crossed the working pad, trying to glance up as was my instinct to do, though the brightness truly was miserable up here. Gavin had not seemed to hear her as he still stood facing North, looking down at the mutilated city as if studying something very interesting. I would call out to him if necessary but first I wanted to see what Jael saw. Mourn was leaving the tower as well to join us; it must be clear inside as he answered her signal with no gesture of his own when he saw me.

*Down there,* Jael signed as we stepped on either side of her. *Beneath the overhang.*

I could hear it immediately. Very soft, feminine singing, a note here or there obscured by the air rushing past my ears, but soothing nonetheless. Tamuril. 

Mourn lifted his chin, opening his throat, and breathed in slowly with his tongue pressed just behind his teeth; Graul did the same. They both nodded. Deshi was there, too.

I glanced back at Gavin to see if he had noticed us standing here yet. He had not; he still stared down at the city and his servants stood dumbly without anything to do. If not for his hands, the tips of his fingers tapping against his thumb, I might have thought him in another trance with his mistress. But no, he was thinking about something in particular, and I wanted him to finish it. He could catch up, or Mourn could move on him if he chose to leave the mountain top. I looked at the other two.




Surfacing Ch. 23



*Let him be,* I signed before gesturing for us to climb down. It was steep but not impassible.

The first scrapes of our descent caused the music to stop and Tamuril leaned her head out - not very cautiously, I thought - to look up. She smiled a bit as if expecting us, supporting Gavin's glimpse of Pilla. She disappeared from view, probably to make room but Mourn moved in front to reach the small ledge first. Just in case. 

Soon enough Jael and I joined him but it would be a very tight squeeze if Gavin joined us as well. The place had been hollowed out just a bit more and used frequently by the nearby city guard, but I estimated it had been intended for about four bodies at a time. At least we were out of the direct Sun on this side, now that we had passed into afternoon.

Deshi sat with his legs crossed and his back to the stone, well into the shade, his clothes torn and very bloody from the battle. His face and skin were still quite pale where he did not have injuries, and in the shadow they were tinged with a bit of grey. The gold ring around his ice blue pupils stood out even more against the black of his eyes. He watched us expectantly and it was very easy to read that he was glad to see us, but also wary of anything we might say.

Tamuril looked between us and asked what had become apparent on Deshi's face. "Where is the Deathwalker?"

"Coming," I said. "This is not an easy place to reach."

"But you did come to search for Deshi," she said, glancing at the young Man as if that had been for his benefit.

"We did, soon as we could," Mourn said, nodding his chin toward Deshi. "What had been summoned needed to be sent away first. It would not wait, so thank you for doing so, Ku Ba."

The Yungian seemed shrink a little bit in discomfort. "I was not waiting, lung-jinshen. I was... considering. Many things."

"There will be much more to consider. I promise." Mourn turned to Tamuril. "What have you been doing here?"

"Trading songs," the Druid said with a curious quality of her tone which reminded me of Krithannia and the ritual in the shower. "His homeland has many lovely ones I have never heard before."

Jael and I glanced at each other the same time, probably thinking the same thing. There weren't a lot of casual singers where we came from - they were a luxury of the wealthy since impulsively droning on within the Underdark was a foolhardy notion. What little bit I had heard had not been bad, but I wondered if Noldor would ever have the desire or confidence to sing in front of a Drow? Probably not, but she seemed to enjoy sharing that talent with Human males who saw her as much more than we did.

Mourn bowed his head at Tamuril. "Indeed, they do. You have my thanks."

The hybrid shifted carefully so as not to thwack any of us with his tail and to balance a very quiet Graul properly as he crouched down beside the Yungian - he had to crouch or he would have bumped his head on the stone above for sure. Deshi stared at the drake and dared to smile—without murderous intent— for the first time I had seen since his transformation. I masked my surprise when Graul chirred and stretched his neck out, showing his throat.

"Yaociu hua hen," Mourn said with a smile in his own, pointing his clawed finger at his familiar.

Hesitating a moment, the young Man reached out and stroked Graul's throat flap gently with his fingertips before moving to the whiskered chin and giving it a scratch. The drake hummed happily, flicking the tip of his tail and probably would have tapped his hind leg if it hadn't been hooked into the harness. I glimpsed Deshi's white, regrown teeth as he smiled a bit more.

"Yexu ni ku-ba geng, Deshi," the Guild Leader said in what sounded like a suggestion. "Graul bu yun-xu fanren chobai."

Jael leaned in very close to me. "Wish he would speak Common."

I shrugged. *Read other cues.*

She considered and kept her hand out of easy sight as I did. *What do you read?*

Pretty easy, this one, compared to some of those in Yong Wen. *Greeting. Acceptance. One old mystic to a new one.*

*Is that the direction this takes?* she asked. *We must adopt him?*

Well. I had helped change him, but only after Deshi had given Nyx a "yes" of some sort. This hadn't been my idea.

I leaned out to look up as Tamuril had earlier, checking to see if Gavin had come away from the North side yet to this one. I saw Pilla perched quite obviously upon the stones, periodically flapping her wings and looking toward the North—trying to get Gavin's attention. That was good, I supposed. If it didn't work soon, I'd crawl up there at get him.

Pilla soon chirped and took off, and the next moment I heard Gavin's footsteps. The bird was doing the minimum required of her but still did not want to get anywhere near us. I turned around and Tamuril nodded.

"He's coming," she said to Deshi.

His arrival was preceded by several rocks tumbling and skipping their way past us as Mourn and I each shifted, trying to be subtle about it, to prepare just in case the necromancer slipped. Massive regeneration capability or not, it was a long fall and would be quite a delay trying to reach him. But then again maybe that would get Deshi off of his rear end -

Prophetically, an abrupt shift in rock signaled that loss in footing and we all jumped, with Deshi leaping to his feet and following Mourn directly as they hopped out onto the slope as if to catch the grey mage. I was at the edge if I was able to help somehow, though I remembered how dense my ally was now from when he had been on top of me that once. I doubted I could stop his fall by sheer block and force as the half-Dragon and the Ku Ba seemed intent to do. At least I did have my rope out by then.

"I'm fine, I'm fine!" I heard Gavin say irritably. "Just a simple slip, I already caught myself. Don't touch me."

I looked up again with Jael and Tamuril. Mourn and Deshi had practically tackled the necromancer in an attempt to prevent any momentum from building toward an unstoppable fall. Both males made space when Gavin asked but did not go far.

"I apologize, White Ghost," Deshi said, despite Gavin not being very white at the moment. The young Man sounded out of breath somehow, or maybe just shaking from adrenalin. "Please, let me help you down."

"Or we can move up to a perfectly serviceable watchtower on level ground rather than crouch on the side of a cliff," Gavin grumbled back in response. 

I wasn't sure about Mourn—he only languidly waved his tail—but Graul *definitely* snickered at this.

"A sound suggestion," the hybrid rumbled, looking down at the three females below. "It is not a very big space."

"Sounds good to me," Jael agreed in the loudest voice yet and started to climb before anyone else could weigh in.

That was when my stomach rumbled audibly and clenched in pain for the first time. I sighed, putting my rope back. Perfect timing.

******

Soon we were all comfortable as we could be inside a darker, ground floor of the cylindrical structure, while the Hellhounds waited outside. There was a small table and low bench near one of the windows and Gavin claimed that before anyone else. The rest of us stood.

"What does the Grey Maiden say of me now, White Ghost?" the Yungian pleaded. "What am I to do?"

"In the Guild, are you given mission after mission? Must you hurry on from one target to the next without pause?" Gavin said as he checked over his belongings from the mild fall. His dark face and hands bleached out again to his usual ghostly pallor. "If you were to simply return to her immediately after your vengeance, you would already be gone. In either case I am not privy to what you shared with her. If what Sirana said of you is true, then I hazard to say that you are to remain here for the time being."

Deshi looked at me. "What is it you said of me? What didn't you tell me?"

I raised my brows at the tone. "Nothing I had known *prior* to you running way."

The Yungian was anxious to hear and bowed a little apology, just to be safe. "Wo'doa qian. What was it, Jan'shi?"

"You do not remember?"

He blinked, possibly afraid of the answer whether he remembered or not. I frowned and, rather than saying it, I stepped closer. Once I was a similar distance to the last time, I breathed out into his face - not excessively or with force, but as if I might be exhaling sweet smoke slowly and with skill, like Tamuril or Krithannia with the herbs in the shower.

I saw that expression again; Deshi was entranced and he leaned forward slightly to inhale. I planted a hand on his chest to keep him from getting closer.

"This," I said. "I told Gavin about this. You remember now?"

The young Man nodded shakily.

"What does it feel like, Deshi?" the necromancer asked, probing, and I expected his grimoire and quill to come out before long. "Breathing in her breath?"

"Like..." He swallowed, keeping his head down and unable to meet my eyes. "Like the finest wine. Like cruji soup or the do-ki-shun sweet only served once a year at festival. Her warmth flows into me."

Gavin nodded. "If that is what it feels like, that is what it is. You should have the ability to sustain yourself here for much longer."

Deshi was not comforted. "But why? What am I to do?"

"Practice patience, for one. I might suggest discovering more of what you've become." The necromancer looked him up and down. "Do those open wounds on your legs not hurt, for example?"

This time the Yungian did not pretend ignorance; he glanced down to look at them, he shook his head in the negative, clearly already having considered this. They had closed further from the last time I had seen them a few hours ago but were still noticeable. At this rate, they would be gone in a day or two.

"And they have drawn no flies," Gavin commented. "They are bright red; healthy blood by all appearances, saturated with the element taken through our lungs which the living so desperately need." He looked between us before focusing again on Deshi. "Personally I would like to see whether you can get this nourishment from a different Elf other than the one who shared her magic with you, and also if you can draw it from a Human. As well how much it will take to satiate you."

Poor Deshi seemed on the verge of panic but then Mourn squeezed his shoulder with a big hand and Tamuril moved to his other side to pat his back comfortingly.

"You are one of us, now, young one," the Druid murmured. 

I wondered about her definition of "us" here—Mystics? Mages? Exiles?—and clearly the two had already been doing some talking while they shared songs, as Deshi nodded in appreciation as Tamuril continued.

"Nyx's chosen is right, you must explore your new limits to survive and discover a purpose outside of a need for vengeance. She is wise for having given you this chance. Take it."

Deshi breathed in then out, looking calmer. "Thank you, Silven."

I had been feeling hunger pangs here and there all this time, but right then my stomach made another very audible complaint and I pursed my lips and looked toward the ceiling. "Maybe I should head down ahead of you. My concentration on this conversation won't be sharp."

Mourn half-smiled and the others had mixed looks of realization, concern, and a bit of embarrassment, particularly when the Yungian focused my abdomen again and he saw... whatever he saw. One might almost think he had just seen me nude when he least expected it from how he quickly looked down and away.

I said to Mourn, "Should I find Wolf or someone specific to ask about any remaining supplies?"

"Yes, but Talov will be here with others within the next hour or so."

"I will come down with you," Deshi said looking around each of us. "I... I am ready."

He probably hadn't been ready a few moments ago, but he was for certain not ready to try to keep all our attention when there was work to be done and a pregnant spirit was hungry. He would have to face his Guild brothers' scrutiny sooner or later and he was probably wise staying with us for the first contact.

Gavin was more than ready to go, standing up at this announcement. "So be it. We can answer a few questions closer to supplies as well as we can from up here. And there are a few things I would like to see to as well."

"Anything to do with what had your attention so long from the North side?" I asked and the necromancer looked at me with mild surprise.

"Yes," he said. "There is something left behind from the Greylands amid some of the rubble. Probably hard to see from the ground and why the Hellhounds either did not find it or made its clean up a low priority."

"What is it?" Mourn asked.

Gavin shrugged. "A corpse."

Of course.

"What kind?" Jael asked, hinting at general impatience.

"The flying mount."

I blinked. "The one that nabbed Brom and Mourn from mid-air?"

And dropped them on the roof sometime later after the rider lost them.

Gavin nodded. "Best that I can tell from up here."

Mourn and I glanced at each other.

"Do you need any assistance?" the half-blood asked.

"I would prefer to approach it alone," Gavin answered. "I don't know if there will be any danger to any of you should any foreign elements nearby, but better to play it safe, yes?"

"And how would you let us know if there was any danger to you?"

The necromancer considered for a moment. "What means would you prefer? A pearl, or I could use my mare or one of the Hellhounds to contact you, or I suppose you might insist someone accompany me."

The hybrid's golden eyes narrowed a bit. "Show it to us first. From up here."

Gavin acquiesced and we prepared to go out into the daylight again, hoods up and braced, and all of us walked across the mountain crown to the opposite side. We looked down and followed Gavin's long finger quickly darkening until it was black once again.

"Where are we looking?" Jael asked, squinting against the brightness.

"East of the temple, on the roof of the three-story manor."

Mourn said nothing, and I questioned whether he could even see it; I barely could in this light and at that distance; it was nothing more than a grey smudge. My Sister probably did not fare much better. I looked over at Tamuril to read her face instead.

There we go. Both the Druid and the Yungian could see exactly what Gavin indicated. By their expressions, I would have said each was a little concerned. Mourn subtly signed to Deshi and the young man spoke.

"It must be far larger than an ox," he said. "But it does not move and there is no...um, life aura."

"I must see it closer," Mourn said to Gavin, "at least from a neighboring rooftop. But once the area is clear, I can leave you to study it if you wish."

"It's on a roof that has been damaged," Deshi said with concern. "I would stay nearby to watch, Deathwalker, in case you need help faster than what a horse can bring back."

Gavin scowled a bit hearing both of this from Mourn and Deshi. He looked my way and I couldn't help but grin at him.

"You did almost slip down a mountain," I teased. "And with your bones, you might weigh as much as Sir Eric now. Are you used to that? Or is that why you slipped?" 

My ally sighed deeply. "Very well, but I expect quiet when I am studying." He looked straight at Deshi when he said this. "If you get bored, I am not your entertainment."

The Yungian did not look offended at all. He bowed at the waist instead and seemed to be glad to have the job. "Understood, bakgwei."

A fine move on Deshi's part as well, I thought, to delay the testing about eating the breath of others or facing his brothers. I didn't mind either, I needed to get off this mountain eat something much more solid than air.

******

The three males split off from us as soon as we neared the streets, thankfully taking the actively rotting Hellhounds with them, and though Tamuril watched with concern after the "new" mystic, Jael and I were a bit more focused on what we needed. Or at least I was.

"Please do not abandon him," Tamuril said quietly as we walked toward the remains of the barracks.

I blinked to her in surprise. "What?"

Her eyes glittered in the daylight and I was a bit wary of tears beginning. "He has suffered so much. I do not know what agreement he made with the Maiden, but I know the necromancer does not care, though Mourn does. Deshi is caught in that raw moment which may determine the direction of his life."

"If he is even alive," Jael commented.

"He thinks and feels," Tamuril said to her, bordering on anger but calming when looked at me again. "He can use another dark one on his side. You can make a big difference, Sirana, one way or the other. He told me some of the stories in Yong-wen from when you first arrived. He can see your baby and that matters to him. He will listen to you, if you have anything to say."

And the Noldor would know, if she alluded to whoever had certainly *not* been on her side when she had returned from the Underdark, raw in more ways than one.

I frowned, squinting my eyes against the Summer Sun. "Tamuril... I'm really hungry right now. Help me find something to eat and I will listen to any suggestions."

The Druid smiled with more humor than I was expecting, as if I'd just said something pleasurably amusing. "Certainly."

Jael made a scoffing noise and glanced at me as if to ask me what in the Abyss I thought I was doing. I glanced down and signed near my hip.

*She wants one less compulsive killer on the Surface.*

Jael raised her brows. *Does she know about the Skin Hunter and the chain demon?*

*Not yet.*

She smiled impishly. *I want to be there for that one.*

I winked at her and let it be at that. My reasoning was true enough although I would not be drawing a direct connection for Jael between Tamuril's suffering and Deshi's right now. Jael knew enough to surmise it, perhaps, but she was still likely to use it as weapon the moment Tamuril annoyed her, if for no other reason than it was there and someone else would have done the same to her.

Except, maybe, myself. Why I did not care to do so... I wasn't sure. Back home I had simply enjoyed being the exception, the one acting differently that made her notice me. I liked that it had afforded me more influence on her and Qivni or some of my other more direct, less intelligent Sisters. I had felt I was out-witting them and building...something. Connections. Maybe like what Elder D'Shea had. So many compare me to her, after all, including Jael herself.

Of course, my Sister's general behavior toward non-Drow on the Surface had convinced me that Jael was closer to those other Sisters than I was. Perhaps I did her a disservice, and perhaps because of that, Mourn now had more influence on her than I did. Something the Kyton had found and tried to exploit.

I frowned as I felt a twinge in my stomach. Why had that creature not made one threat about my pregnancy in all that time? The Kyton had not even acknowledged it, and I had not noticed until now. Strange.

We returned to the well and what shade we could find in the waning, hot afternoon. Isboern was there to greet us, sharing a long, deep look with the blonde Elf.

"Krithannia will be in with Talov soon," he updated us. "I trust Deshi is back off the mountain?"

"Why are you asking me?" I said with a glance at Tamuril. "She already told you."

"Very well, Sirana, I am curious of your read on the situation."

"Ah, I like that better. Deshi wants action to distract from his fears that he will not be accepted while he remains here. He is out of the Guild with a new sworn loyalty but no transition yet. No time."

Isboern nodded in agreement, gesturing that I continue.

"So, now he looks to Gavin to give him something to do."

"And how does Gavin respond to this?" the Godblood asked.

I smiled. "He is trying to get Deshi to think about what he can do for himself, because it is what he would do."




Surfacing Ch. 23



"He is too frightened right now," Tamuril added. "As you said, he needs a transition, an emotional one. Gavin can't give him that and apparently neither will his new mistress."

"But Mourn will help," Jael said to her. "You said so yourself. He is one of the Guild leaders, and he cares what happens to the Yungian."

"Deshi needs the feminine as well to be whole," the Druid insisted. "The songs he chose to translate for me reference a divine feminine. The Grey Maiden should be doing something for him but she is not."

"Well, she's not here standing beside us, holding out lists of plans to follow," my Sister said snidely.

"That would be interesting," Isboern commented with an odd look off to the side. My coin was on Musanlo having a fit in that event.

"Congratulations, you almost made me forget that I am fucking hungry," I grouched. "Is there anything available now or do I wait for Talov?"

The Godblood held up one finger to ask for patience and looked toward one of his men. Whatever the response had been, the Captain nodded and looked back at me. "Brian found a few supplies which he brought back before they went out again. There is some dried food available."

"Has it been tested?" Jael asked. 

"Not yet."

"Then you taste it first before giving any to Sirana. You can heal from poison, as I recall."

The Captain gave her a wry and very familiar smile. "Yes, I recall that, too. As you wish."

One of the Templars brought a leather pouch to hand to his Captain and remained beside him as we watched Isboern quietly dig in and bring out a palm full of strange dried fruits, nuts, and a mixture of jerky and dried mushrooms. It did not look on the newer side of preserved, but if it would not make me sick, I would eat it.

The Godblood poured back the majority of what he had shown me but kept one of each thing and tossed the whole of it into his mouth to chew. His blond brows rose up some at the taste - it was unfamiliar - and I just noticed then the foreign spices mixed in. We waited.

"It will not harm you," Isboern said after he swallowed and handed me the pouch. "A little hot on the tongue. It masks some of the age."

I had already popped some of that meat and mushroom into my mouth before I remembered, "Thank you."

He nodded. "There will be more soon, fresher than this." 

After a pause while I consumed quickly—he was right, it was a bit spicy and old— Isboern looked between Tamuril and Jael. He asked, "So what are the three of them doing again?"

"Investigating the body of the flying beast of the Greylands," the Druid said. "It landed atop one of the wealthy manors."

Isboern looked automatically in the right direction. "Interesting. In that case, I suppose there are enough Guild to meet the others and you will forgive me if me and some of my Templars will visit the Temple. To investigate."

"You mean the pool?" I said with my cheeks bulging a bit, that being the first thing which struck me he'd want to see.

The Godblood nodded sadly.

"I'll go with you," Tamuril said with a light touch on the plate covering his shoulder, which the Templar beside him noticed.

"Me, too," I said, and Jael nodded immediately.

The Godblood did not look exactly distrustful; he was not against it, but maybe he was cautiously baffled. "Why?"

"You want to relive your victory?" the Templar muttered bitterly.

"Sir Aino," Isboern cut in but kept his piercing blue eyes on us.

"It is not to gloat," I said and looked at Jael to agree, which she did. "I have questions but I am not sure what they are. Besides, Tamuril wanted to talk with me a bit more."

After confirming glance at her, the Godblood nodded. "Very well. But watch your tongues in our Temple. Do not to rub salt in the wound, I will not tolerate it for your pleasure."

"Fine," Jael bit out.

"Agreed," I said, feeling an intense curiosity take over from the diminishing hunger in my middle. Suddenly I regretted not going to see the flying mount up close with Gavin and Mourn.

Yet still...there was something I wanted to ask, wanted to know. Maybe more than one thing. The Temple felt like the right place to start.

******

The Human structure housing Manalar's sacred pool still had most of its stone roof, though the Skylight and all the damaged windows left it quite open to the elements and thus the main chamber was still lit well enough for Human eyes. Even after several days I could smell the char and residual smoke from the fire which had blazed inside, starting even before the invading army had reached this far into the city.

As we had focused on escape following the opening of the rift, we discovered that many of the young mages kept in one section of the building had been taken over by hungry dead as well, and the evidence was clear that a few of them recalled how to make fire. The Archbishop would likely have been pleased with this, burning out the inside of the temple before the enemy could do the honors.

Each of the three Templars and the Captain made the sign of Musanlo as they crossed the threshold of the main audience chamber. The first thing to work in our favor, I thought, was that there were no rotting bodies to deal with - they had been cremated within the inferno. The Golden Guardians, the worshipers who had not escaped out into the city when the doors opened, and everyone hiding elsewhere on the other floors. 

There were skeletal remains and other black and grey debris we had to avoid but overall the path toward the pool was clear. Even iron wrought fence which had blocked the view for all but the most "holy" of members had been blasted back by the rift's energy and further warped by the fire. It was a simple matter of walking up the steps without tripping.

Looking around, I did not see how Isboern could salvage this. All that was left was the stone, and even that would have to be scrubbed for a very long time before all the soot would be gone. They needed a lot more people to return to the city and be fed well enough to work so hard.

We approached the pool cautiously though we all wanted to get a look. Engraved runes once circumscribing the area in two or three rings were either burned or scrubbed away, or they were corroded. I thought there was a residue left over from the rift, a dark bluish-grey and streaks of black easy to mistake for soot from the fire if not for the fact that some of the bluish-grey material had some substance. It caused the stone to appear as though it was bubbling up like a thick stew, and when Sir Eric stepped on the little button, it smeared. I watched for some sort of event or reaction from him, and when there was none I wondered if it was inert.

As for the pool itself, once I looked over the lip I was surprised both for how wide it was now that I got a better look - I thought Mourn could stretch across it from his claws to the tip of his tail - and for how far down any visible liquid was. The water level had been right up to the top when Gavin had dropped the black shard into it; now, I would have to lie upon my belly and reached down and stretch well to reach it with my fingertips. It occurred to me that I didn't know how deep this pool went before it bottomed out.

The last thing about the liquid which I did see was that it was still quite murky, very nearly black. I heard the Manalara with us whisper sad prayers as they noisily braced themselves with their swords to drop to one knee in their armor. They bowed their heads. Tamuril gestured for Jael and I to step back a bit; my Sister shrugged and I felt about the same. What else would we do now that we had seen it?

As the Men droned for the approval or guidance of their God, I turned slowly around as I looked up, scanning all of the detail and remembering when I last stood here. It seemed more than four or five days when I had been among such a crush of bodies and so much noise, helping to keep the wave of attackers back so we could get out. Now it was just ash; even the wooden balcony had collapsed, as had all the doors.

So why had I come here?

*The Ley Line...* Soul Drinker whispered.

Oh, yes. Still unstable, shocked, bruised. That was how it had been described to me, and honestly how my mind felt as well. 

The Kyton had enjoyed a nice ride with me and there was still what I had glimpsed in Divigna's head which I had yet to deal with. Knowing something of how the Hellhound tied me together with the Drow Priestess and her Draegloth, both of whom he had helped torture a century ago. Maybe I would even talk a little bit to Talov again when he arrived. Being able to describe it aloud, maybe... I didn't know. 

I relaxed and let things go dark and quiet inside instead, choosing to focus on the memory of the Hellhound commander's breath and skin as he held me. I let whatever images that might come forward do so. Breath became visible, turning into white puffs, and the temperature began to drop...

It was winter, the longest season back in his home. At this time he had enjoyed the scent of snow, just before it started to fall. Then he and a few others had been called before her, like many others before him. They all hoped to blend in with each other whenever she spoke this way.

"The creatures age slowly, if at all, without the use of preservative essence," the Divine Physician said, her small hand lightly touching the damp forehead of the black, knife-eared female with hair pure white. 

Had her eyes been open, he knew, they would have burned red like hot coals. The strange female was exhausted, resting to regain her strength to resist as she could. She had done nothing else, spitting at them in defiance, speaking a language they could not translate. In the end, it would make no difference.

"I have a theory," the Divine Physician murmured to no one in particular, her eyes dark and lightly wrinkled, "about their souls. Its transience and taste differs so greatly from ours. If we could capture it and properly channel it...we could pass on that immortality to one of you. Wouldn't that be grand? You would always be able to fight for us. And you'd be alive as the day you were birthed upon this world."

The few elite warriors present glanced between them. Who would it be? This was not the first time she had voiced such a thought and decimated their ranks to test a "theory"...

*No. No...!*

The others were all dead and consumed now, serving an eternal afterlife empowering their superiors, where he wished to be. The majority of his memories remaining were of pain and trappings; hunting and mating. 

As the Eternal Hellhound, he was commanded to train and lead the others in between respites inside their cages. Faces blurred, he forgot their names as they died after a short time, though the memory that was most clear remained the first time the Divine Physician had broken his rib cage and pulled it wide open. 

He was awake, but the corpse of the dark sorceress was nearby with her demon-son keened with misery and grief within his own cage in the corner.

"MMOOOTHHERRR...!"

*Oh, Goddess...*

I blinked. I breathed in to fill my lungs, smelling the old char and Summertime humidity and placing myself back in the Temple. I was at Manalar. I was alive.

We had killed Divigna. But not destroyed him. There was something we had failed to do when we had the opportunity, and it will come back to haunt us. The Guild Leaders should know about it, as much as they can...

*Are you okay?* Jael signed in front of my face.

I realized I did not remember when she had stepped in front of me like that. I wasn't ready to purge on what I'd seen, I couldn't say it aloud yet. 

Why else was I here...?

*Do you feel the Ley Line?* I asked, moving my hands instead.

Her lovely copper eyes drifted somewhat to the side and down, but she nodded and looked back at me. *Mourn taught me how to sense it clearly that first night. I have been practicing.*

I considered. *Can you see it?*

She shook her head in the negative. *I asked him the same thing. He says only if you try, very hard, and sometimes you need more than one mage.*

That wouldn't be a problem. I was up to my armpits in mages.

*Why?* Jael asked.

I shook my head vaguely. *I want to see the direction it leads.*

My Sister tapped her boot heel with impatience and asked again, *Why?*

*Who might be using it,* I answered. *Or who might have known what happened here without being here. They said it was disrupted.*

Jael frowned at me as if she thought truly deeply on why I might be asking myself such questions. I kind of liked that she did; she was trying harder.

*Ma'ab?* she asked.

I nodded. *Primarily.*

*You don't think Krithannia already has this covered?*

*She might.* I shrugged. *I don't know, something feels strange.*

She rolled her eyes playfully and smiled. *Everything feels strange. But talk to me, Sirana. Tell me what's on your mind.*

I looked her over, read a certain patience that I almost believed, and tried to think whether she had ever asked me this before now. She asked plenty of questions, but they were more often specific, things which were on *her* mind.

She had reason to know. Elder Rausery had given me the story as a new Red Sister. If Jael had no reason to know before, she had after we had run into Vesram. Maybe signing it, forming it into that language over speaking it, could help me see it better and it might be less jumbled inside my brain.

I nodded to Tamuril and placed my hand out to ask that she stay with the Templars while Jael and I stepped back off the platform and closer to the nearest wall. I did not hide from the Noldor, exactly, that would help keep her at ease as she stood watch over her psionic Human and no one present who would understand our sign language anyway. Certainly they would appreciate our silence in their desecrated space.

*In the library,* I began, *just before the Godblood tore the hole in the wall so you could get in, the Hellhound had me by the throat.*

Jael nodded. *I was going to ask you how that happened, but then you said that he has had a very long life? More than a century's worth?* She paused, recalling that moment in the Sun, just this morning. *Wait, how do you know that? Did he tell you?*

I opened both my hands and shook my head, happy that she was following so readily. This was going to be difficult enough to explain. *I did with him as I did with the Kyton.*

Her eyes went wide. *Why?!*

*I don't know, I didn't try, I just...* I hesitated. *Slipped inside. It was quick, only what was on his mind at the time.*

She gave me that look that told me she couldn't imagine it very well. *What was on his mind?*

*Returning to his mistress. He knew he would return either dead, or alive with me in tow. He did not care which.*

Jael tilted her ear skeptically. *He didn't care?*

I struggled to convey what I had felt. *He's cold, Jael. Tired. He feels very little. No anger, no passion. Only dread and cold.*

She squinted. *You sound like you accept him to be alive once again.*

*If he isn't by now, he will be soon.* I wanted to pace but had to make do with shifting my weight and keeping my knees bent so I could bounce slightly as I tried to think. *You remember why they had Vesram.*

Jael nodded shortly, disliking even the mention of him but she kept her focus on me, waiting for more.

*Kreshel Divigna is the only one of the Ma'ab Hellhounds to have survived an experiment which allows him to be brought alive once killed and retain all of his skills while still being able to breed. They can do the first part with enough death mage, but it is the life magic they stole from our Priestess which allows the second. Kreshel's mistresses would take any opportunity to make more Hellhounds like him, or ones even better.*

My Sister blinked. *That explains why he wanted you alive. He could see the baby, can't he? Like I can, now.*

I automatically covered my womb when she looked down and signed, *I don't think he could see it. It was the slum necromancer they kept with them who knew.*

Jael took a moment to recall the small, deformed female. She only saw her body briefly when Mourn had decapitated it, at Gavin's suggestion. 

*Why was she even here?*

I could only shrug. *All I know is that as soon as she saw me, she called Divigna. Teleported him right to her. She was a mage of some ability left behind to serve them in the magic that the majority of the Hellhounds could not. Which tells me...* I glanced at Tamuril and the Templars again before looking back. *I think while they were supposed to kill any military leaders who returned, they also may have been looking for something else.*

*And they found you, and he'll tell them about you,* Jael replied, covering her unhappiness with anger.

There was no need to reply to that, not really. 

After a moment I said, *We can't stay here long.*

My Sister brightened up at this. *We can leave soon. With Mourn. He owes us, to show us where he took Gaelan.*

I nodded. *Gavin would go with us.*

*I remember. The Tower. Then home?*

My mind balked at that and I locked her gaze with mine. *Home? After what you discovered with Mourn?*

Jael looked briefly surprised but flicked her fingers in the direction of Soul Drinker at my waist. *You have to do something with that, don't you? I would go with you.*

That was an obvious distraction from my leading question. Unfortunately, the dagger chose that moment to chuckle in my ear. 

*Yeeeesss...*

"Jael," I whispered aloud to get the voice out of my head. "Have you even considered what bringing it back home will do? It'll change everything."

Or...it would change nothing. Because Jael and I would be dead and the Valsharess would know how to contain it.

*Nnoot forrevverrr...*

I shook my head as if to get a fly off my cheek and Jael frowned.

*What's wrong?*

*Dagger is talking to me. Stop paying attention to it.*

Jael blinked. *It can hear me?*

*Partly. It knows when you focus on it and gleans circumstance. It makes connections then. It talks to me because it is supposed to leave you alone.*

My Sister sobered up some reading that and nodded, instead stepping forward to place her hand gently at my nape and kissing me on the mouth. I inhaled suddenly and drifted in that softness and scent and tiny flick of her tongue. My mind went quiet.

She smiled with pleasure as she stepped back and signed, *Better?*

There was no keeping the lopsided grin off my face. *Much.*

*So we need to talk about leaving with Mourn and Gavin.*

I nodded. *Soon.*

*Should we join them on that roof with the creature?*

Not a bad idea. It wasn't as if she and I had had a very firm reason for staying here now that we had seen the pool, and Tamuril might want to talk about Deshi but seemed intent on staying next to Isboern right now. 

Still, I felt as if I was missing something strange. I could not define it, although the more I tried to chase the feeling the more active my two spiders became and their pouch. I decided to release them and let them remain beneath my hood or within my hair. They thanked me for it.

I nodded in agreement with Jael and gestured for her to come with me as we turned to leave.

"Sirana," Isboern's low voice projected strongly up to the Temple ceiling.

Jael rolled her eyes and was very annoyed at the interruption but knew that I would answer. I turned around. Isboern was yet still on one knee beside his men, looking over his shoulder. I got the feeling looking at Tamuril that she had been the one to tell him that we were about to leave.

"Yes?"

"If you might pass a request for me to the Guild leaders?"

I sighed softly. "What is it?"

"At their earliest convenience. I request Krithannia, Mourn, yourself, Gavin, and Deshi here in this chamber half an hour prior to sunset. I would welcome Jael's help as well if she is willing."




Surfacing Ch. 23



Jael and I glanced at each other.

"Why?" I asked.

"I think you already sense it. The pool must be rejuvenated so it may begin to heal itself. The Bishops are no longer here to perform the honors, so I beg assistance of our world's natural magic already present here to reset the balance. Please. Give Mourn and Krithannia my message, and return before sunset."

Bravo, Knight Captain. Worded like that, there was no way Mourn or Krithannia would be able to refuse. I touched Jael's shoulder to turn her so we could leave. 

"I will give your message, Godblood."

******

The shadows cast from the Sun among the ruined buildings had grown much longer and I estimated we had more than an hour before Sunset. I didn't know where Krithannia was, but that would be Mourn's problem.

Jael and I did not know exactly where we were going, but we searched for three-story manors in the direction the Captain had looked before when we told him. Likewise, as soon as we found the tracks for Gavin and his Hellhounds it became very easy to sniff their direction. We soon found them standing guard at the base of a three-story house inside a weaving, broken retainer wall on a hill. I was searching for a way up when I saw Mourn already on his way down.

The hybrid landed on the ground lightly for his weight, keeping his tail up so it would not slap upon the ground. Graul was not on his shoulder at the moment. He nodded a greeting and signed, *All is well?*

Jael and I nodded and each of us glanced up toward the roof, though not in unison.

*I'd like to see it,* I said as I pointed upward.

From Mourn's tail response, I would guess that there was not anything extremely dangerous about it at the moment. He nodded and led us to the South side of the building where a few window ledges already had claw marks on them.

"I could bring you up," he offered and I didn't see why not, given how he and I had practiced climbing and jumping from rooftop to rooftop in Augran.

I nodded and when Jael watched me curiously, I smiled and said, "It's fun. More stable than the lizards on the walls."

Mourn had to squat down for me to gain a good lean onto his back and a solid hold around his shoulders and neck, and then he stood up and took my feet right off the ground where I next pressed my thighs and knees and his sides. The half-blood was very good with passengers; it was one of the smoothest vertical rises I had ever experienced even with the varied reaches for the next handhold. He also smelled good, and I passed the time thinking about the threesome in the mountains after Deshi had begun his healing...

Oh, wait.

"I need to talk to you about Jael, sometime when she's not listening."

He turned an ear back to listen but kept his eyes forward and up. "Is this a good idea? Perhaps we should talk together."

"Are you saying you have things to tell me and they wouldn't be different with her present, or vice versa?"

He grunted a soft chuckle; we were nearing the top. "I tried this once before with my squad. It is never in my favor to tell different stories to different females individually."

"Well. Alright then. We can talk soon?"

"Tonight. Before we rest."

That reminded me.

"Also, the Captain asked whether all of us as Krithannia can be at the Temple a half-hour before Sunset."

Mourn reached the top ledge and hauled himself up with me on his back. "Dismount to the right, it is level."

I did so, feeling the soles of my boots get a solid grip on the rough tiles of the rooftop. The Guild Leader turned to look at me, and out of my periphery on my right I saw something big and dark grey lying down. I was tempted to look that way but didn't want to miss any of Mourn's expressions about the request.

"That is not too long from now," he said. "What does the Captain need?"

"Magic to rebalance the pool, he said. Something the Bishops did to rejuvenate it or keep it clean. Now he needs us to do it."

As I expected, Mourn considered this for several moments until Jael sent up a piercing whistle from the ground to get our attention. I waved down toward her but looked back to the hybrid. He nodded.

"We should be able to leave this beast here for a time," he said as he started climbing back down for my Sister. "I will inform Talov and Krithannia."

I stayed where he was to await his return with Jael but turned to focus on the flying mount lying still in a bed of shattered clay and wood. It was mostly faced away from me so I could not make out much of the head except perhaps that it had some kind of ridge or horn on a bulky head. The beast was very dark grey except for what looked like a blue-grey belly and underwings, its hide suffering from a few gouges but overall in good shape. The entire body otherwise had the shape of a water drop, with a barrel torso leading back and narrowing to a sudden end, as the creature had no tail.

What I could make out best from this angle were the wings - which were very long arms with a thick membrane of skin stretching from its flank to the very tips of his cause - and the stumpy feet that I was not even sure I could call hind legs. The feet implied vestigial legs, coming abruptly out of the hindquarters, and each possessed three extended toes webbed with bluish-grey skin and tipped with claws and a fourth toe with a single, exaggerated, and arching claw with a blunt tip, as if it might actually use it walk or even bound when on the ground. Aside from that, the feet seemed more like paddles to me.

If this had been the beast which, with its rider, had snatched Brom and Mourn out of the Sky as they had burst out of the glass window, then I definitely had not gotten a good look at it before.

Deshi crouched a small distance away with Graul, both watching intently as Gavin worked at the head, on his knees on two crossing boards to reinforce the roof for his weight. The necromancer was bent over with his tools spread out a nearby. Deshi only just signed in greeting when Mourn and Jael popped once more over the edge.

"Wow," my Sister commented as she saw the large body. "I think any two of us could ride that thing."

She could be right. If it could fly, of course. To me, it was unmoving enough to be a corpse, but I wouldn't have known if it had been a corpse to start with.

"Are you thinking of making it take to the air again, Gavin?" I asked.

It took a moment for him to reply; whatever he looked at held his attention tightly. "Mm. I am. We have a fair bit of traveling yet ahead of us, do we not? What were we planning to do before? Sail from Augran?"

"Yes," Mourn answered, testing his ground before stepping so he wouldn't fall through the roof. "But this would be obvious."

"No more than yourself speeding on all fours faster than any land creature, or a tireless mare. And you know the wilderness and where to avoid people, correct?"

"Correct." The hybrid looked toward the North. "Perhaps it could work." 

Jael grinned at this second mention of leaving Manalar soon but then it dropped. "How long would take to get the mount working?"

Gavin switched out a scalpel for a long, metal probe, wiping of each after use. "Provided a few ingredients were available, not terribly long. A few days, perhaps. It is a bit more complicated than the Hellhounds."

Both Deshi and Graul looked to me a little anxious at this talk, and it was not difficult to understand why. They didn't want to be left behind.

"If you might postpone the more complicated work and come with us back to the Temple, Deathwalker," Mourn said. 

"Why?" Gavin asked irritably and I detected a playful glint in the hybrid's eyes.

"Musanlo's messenger has requested your assistance to bring the sacred pool back into balance."

The necromancer went still as I'd never seen him before; he hadn't heard me when I first got to the roof and it was possible that Mourn had truly shocked him just now. However the opportunity and the benefit were obvious to anyone who knew that the Grey Maiden had once been revered here... And perhaps would be again.

"When?" Gavin asked.

"Now, I believe. We are to be in the Temple no less than half an hour before Sunset." He looked around. "All of us. Krithannia and Talov will meet us there."

I looked at Jael, asking her a silent question. She pursed her lips at me but nodded all the same.

Alright, then. All of us.

*******

*Something is bothering me,* Jael signed as we had reached street level and were headed back. She was looking at Mourn, and he signed that she continue. *You said Sirana 'did well' for cutting off her ear for that chain thing. Why would you say that, 'bodyguard'?*

Mourn's stride remained unchanged and his tail waved back and forth with his natural gait. I anticipated his initial answer, but the mention caused me to touch the raw spot on my lobe, still covered in that sticky smear of protection. Come on, Sister, it wasn't my *whole* ear... 

*She completed a bargain to the best of her ability,* he answered. *She knew to give blood to strengthen the connection, as I had done. She was observant and did what needed to be done for the better of the whole.*

*The necromancer didn't ask her if she would pay the debt!* Jael signed hotly. *He assumed!*

*Whoa, whoa!* I signed, butting in. *I am right here, Jael. Yes, Gavin assumed, but I could do what he could not, and we've been sharing resources for a while now. Would you say he hasn't performed his own tasks which cost him a heavy weight of flesh? Like being scorched to a black skeleton on the Temple floor, for example?*

Jael frowned at me as my hands flew, but ultimately she could only toss her hands up in defeat. *I could barely see when it happened. But fine. You win. Just don't cut off any more pieces for that sour Grey Man.*

*Ha ha. You heard it, it would have been much worse had we not had the psionic option.*

*That's right, and don't give up any more of your head to the Blond Oaf, either!* she added.

I resented that.

*No promises,* I signed. *And something's bothering *me,* by the way. Graul stayed right beside you that whole time. You accept him now a lot more and you learned a lot about working with Mourn in a day or two for someone afraid of becoming a familiar just a few days before!*

Mourn and Graul had been exceedingly quiet up until that point; now the big half-blood stepped out in front and turned around to face me fully, stopping our progress momentarily. Gavin and a hesitant Deshi continued on. The hybrid signed carefully with his hands in full view and kept his body language transparent while Graul made a real effort to avoid being a distraction as he sat on his master's shoulder. 

*Jael is not becoming a familiar. I promise you, Sirana. I will explain best I can when we talk tonight.*

*So something is happening,* I said.

*Yes.*

*Something to do with her 'borrowing' your aura, as the first time you fought her?*

His pupils reacted at a bit as if the memory excited him. He nodded. *Yes, something to do with that.*

*And the time you surged so strong, I hit my head on the floor,* I stated with force, and Jael blinked in surprise and confusion.

Mourn nodded. *Yes.*

*You know more. You said it was old.*

*Yes. And yes.*

I was shaking a bit, I realized, and remembered to take a breath when my spiders grew more skittish in my hair. I looked at Jael and, uncharacteristically, she had her arms wrapped around herself as if trying to shield herself from something uncomfortable. It was just like her to focus outward, prodding at my soft spots, when she should be focusing in. So what had really changed?

I looked back at Mourn. *You will explain, Dragonchild.*

*Yes.*

*Tonight, after this ritual at the pool.*

He smiled a bit. *Provided you are not so tired as to drift off immediately.*

*You will wake me up if I do.*

He bowed his head in very Yungian fashion. *Very well, Sirana.*

The three of us were most certainly lost in our own thoughts on the way to the Temple, but that was probably the case for everyone.

And I did mean: Everyone.

More than just us had come to the Temple. The other three Templars were here with the one-eyed girl—now awake and sitting on a pallet—and near the altar with Isboern and the others. Krithannia and Talov stood beside each other talking low, and therre were a few new dwarves and Humans, mostly male but a few female, all of whom I had to assume were Guild. 

I also saw, to my abrupt surprise, that Talov had brought Lady Verina as well. She wore still her light blue, shapeless gown but at least now had it belted around her waist so she could carry supplies and small tools, and her soft, brown hair was in a bun but she wore no head covering. She seemed nervous but determined, keeping her eyes down whenever any of the Templars looked at her, but it was clear she was not here against her will.

Nianzu and Peng lok, Brian Wolf, and the other survivors from the battle sat on a few blankets playing some sort of game that involved black-and-white pebbles on a rough-made square wooden plate with painted lines. The Temple was very dim now, though not quite yet dark, and I wondered how they would light it once the Sun set?

They all looked at us as we entered.

"'Bout time, kid!" Talov boomed as a rumbling chuckle followed from his across the vast distance. "Now it wasn't just me rising at the crack of dawn!"

Mourn smiled. "Indeed. Pray you can stay awake past sundown, elder."

"And that 'tis not the prayin' itself which put me down," the dwarf said with a wink—and got exactly the glares he no doubt wanted from a few Templars.

It felt like a long walk across the stone floor but it gave time for the Guildsmen to put away their game and stand up and for both Noldor and the Godblood to meet us part way.

"Thank you for coming," Isboern said, looking between us but lingering on Gavin and Jael. He looked at me and smiled. "Everyone here has eaten their evening meal. You should do the same, we have some time."

"Time before what, Captain?" Mourn asked.

"Would you feel better hearing it from Krithannia and Talov?" he asked in return. "I have given them some idea of what I need, and it is their efforts that have brought the bounty."

The dark-haired Noldor nodded with a smile at both the Captain and the Guild Leader. "Why don't you come over here and eat while we talk?"

Isboern and Tamuril moved away toward the Templars and Krithannia led us off to the side. I just caught Gavin looking at Deshi and raising a brow with a stern, questioning look. The Yungian swallowed, eyeing him warily. The Deathwalker shrugged. 

"They suggest we should be at full strength, if I'm not mistaken," Gavin murmured to him as we walked toward Talov and the supplies. "You might not feel exhausted, just as you don't feel the pain of your wounds, but would you risk collapse in the midst of a powerful ritual? Risk causing its failure and endanger others with the magics loosed?"

Deshi shook his head urgently but it was impossible to be sure just what he denied until he spoke. "White Ghost, please, I cannot, not in front of everyone -"

"Wise," Mourn said lowly, looking back. "Not everyone should witness his limits."

"He's unable to shift as he once did," Gavin said. "He tried. I'd say, in his current state, he should not try to participate. He's exhausted his power at this point and I believe feeding is the only solution to restore it."

"We agree, Deathwalker, but some privacy isn't unreasonable."

"But...who?" Deshi asked almost in a peep, glancing over where Nianzu and Peng lok watched him and quickly looking away.

"This sounds worrisome," Krithannia commented dryly.

"What the fuck are ye plottin' now, kid?" Talov asked as we got closer. Beside him was several canvas sacks clean enough to consider that they might hold food. Good food.

Mourn's draconic eyes slid between us quickly and he shrugged as he made a decision. "If you will forgive us, old friend, may we eat what you brought us in a private room?"

"Still causing ye a whole mess o' trouble, are they?" Tamuril glanced at me and Gavin with a wink and a smirk and looked back. "Ye know that's why I like 'em. Can I watch? I'll do the explaining to Golden Lad, over there."

"He will know if you are lying, old dwarf," Krithannia nudged him and the greybeard chuckled.

"Jus' keep yer blonde vine-caster back and everythin' will work out."

The look of patient skepticism on her face seemed well-practiced. "You say that like we're about to do something inappropriate."

"We probably are," Gavin remarked.

Again Deshi seemed on the verge of panic but I turned to take his arm before he could draw back from us. "Come. We all need to eat before whatever happens. We don't have all evening. If there's enough there for me to eat twice—"

"There is, lovely," Talov assured and I nodded.

"Then I volunteer. At least we know it'll work."

"Let us move, then," Mourn said, moving carry nearly all the sacks which had been set aside for us.

"Wait!" Tamuril called to us.

"Uncanny," Talov grumbled, his silver brows drawing down almost covering his pale green eyes. 

The Druid was distracted briefly as she and the Godblood shared some thought and, by some miracle, she convinced him to stay back with his Templars and the young girl. Then she turned to hurry toward us. "If it is time for Deshi to eat, too, then I will be there."

Mourn and I shared a look after we both watched Deshi relax a little bit, as the muscle in his arm softened some beneath my fingers. I nodded.

"You are welcome to join us," the Guild Leader rumbled lowly, ignoring Talov's hairy eyebrow as he started walking so that we all had to catch up. At least now he didn't have to explain anything to Isboern.

We passed out of the main chamber on the East side as one long string of curious and hungry mystics. It must've looked so strange - and possibly quite snobbish - to those left behind. But if time was of the essence, then we must do it this way and the Godblood had made no protest. He was aware of the Sun sinking as well.

Without taking any stairs, Mourn chose a room that was large enough to hold us all and possessed a few stone benches for us to sit. Without speaking all of us but Deshi got down to eating as Krithannia and Talov stood watching nearest to the door, keeping an eye on the hall for us while Tamuril set Pilla to perch onto the open window facing East. It was pleasantly dim in the room and the additional shadows put most of us at ease, even the Yungian.

Talov had brought us bread and fruit, savory stuffed rolls, several types of fried, crispy vegetables and even skins filled with surprisingly refreshing fermented milk. I had to be careful not to eat too quickly but it was all so good after the travel fare of the last few days. Deshi watched us, especially watched Gavin, who did not eat a lot compared to someone else his same size, but he did eat; I ended up consuming his leftover share.

"Not appetizing?" Gavin asked, and Deshi shook his head sadly. The necromancer looked at me next. "We may have a quarter of an hour at best."

I finished chewing and brushed my gloves together, nodding. Deshi sat cross-legged on the floor and I got up from my sooty bench to join him. First I thought to sit cross-legged as well, facing him with our knees practically touching. It was about the same distance as before, I thought.

"Is this close enough?" I asked, keeping my chin up so that my mouth was pointed straight at him. I kept breathing through my mouth.

He noticed what I was trying to do but though he straightened and inhaled, after a moment he shook his head. "I catch brief whiffs when you talk, like samples, but the moment you stop I cease tasting anything. It...it is not...filling."

Krithannia and Talov shared a look by the door and Tamuril gently stroked her falcon. Mourn still consumed his larger quantity of food, sharing with Graul, and Jael was just finishing up.




Surfacing Ch. 24



Author's Notes: This story is erotic fantasy written by Etaski. I reserve the right to be listed as the author of this story, wherever it is posted. If found posted anywhere except Literotica.com with this note attached, this story is posted without my permission. (c) Etaski 2015.

This is a "slow pan to the left" chapter to start with; lots of characters interaction-oh-so-necessary so dangling threads don't come undone, but I would get a nice cup of tea and relax somewhere comfy if I were you. :-) (In fact, I drank several cups of tea and coffee, writing and editing this...)

*****

An older female at Court once told me there was a certain amount of time that one should wait after an orgasm before moving. Not even to clean up, even if it meant lying in a sticky mess, in order to get its full rejuvenation benefit. Stay languid up to a full mark, she said. 

Of course, she was also the same one who told me raw bubble-salamander eggs were a potent aphrodisiac for males, but the three I'd seen try it all needed a sick bowl or spent far too much time scratching their skin.

Still, I wouldn't have minded hanging there in a happy buzz for a little longer even as I lifted my hips so the big male under me could withdraw, and I imagined the thick jizz I squeezed out of my swollen, ruffled slit now dripping and splattering onto some unsuspecting creature on the ground four stories below me. Preferably one in armor.

It would have been funny.

Mourn sighed in a deep exhale which mussed my hair further as he rubbed a rough palm along the outside of my thigh. His tail and other arm both still held me secure to his chest. "Thank you."

I cracked open an eye and looked back. "I thought this was your 'gift.'"

"Which you did not have to accept."

"At the cost of missing out."

"You're welcome."

Jael chuckled, by now having planted her feet firmly on the balcony, bent at the waist over the railing as she rested on her forearms. She looked down. "I don't suppose anyone was walking beneath us just now?"

"No," Mourn said with certainty.

"A shame," she said. "A good show, and post-performance refreshment. Just open look up and stick out their tongue."

Mourn made an odd huffing sound which I could not tell whether it was laughter or chastisement, mainly because I had filled my ears with my own guffaw. There we were, my Sister and I, in the same gutter again. Though I had imagined mine possibly making a nice, white "sploot!" dead center in somebody's hair rather than their tongue.

"Now that you are awake," he said to Jael, "we should check on Tamuril."

"Why? Krithannia has her."

"And the singing is lessening," Mourn said as he shifted me off his lap to the other side. "We should be dressed and present when the ritual finishes."

"What if they all just want to sleep?" I asked, eager to gain my feet on solid ground.

"Then that is what they should do. All the same, time is short."

Something about "time is short" seemed to strike my Sister's memory right then, coming back to her like an unwelcome dream. She looked at me. "Oh. Yes, Sirana, did you tell him?"

I lifted my brows a bit at her and shrugged when Mourn finally stood from the railing and looked expectantly at me.

"About Divigna," she said sternly. "We need to leave soon."

Oh, fuck Lolth's tits...

"No, but—" I looked at Mourn's expression; there was no putting him off. "Um. Alright, short version. You remember I said Divigna's older than I am, and that they captured a Drow Priestess, which is why they had her Draegloth with them?"

He nodded slowly, keeping his eyes on me.

"They are connected. Divigna is living on the time taken from our Drow Priestess."

He was skeptical. "How?"

I shrugged uncomfortably. Kreshel hadn't exactly been lucid at that point. "I don't know...some kind of transference between them."

Mourn narrowed his eyes in thought. "He was unique among the Ma'ab?"

I nodded.

"Unless they get another Drow with life magic," Jael said.

Yes. That's one ingredient they just didn't have.

The hybrid looked at my stomach the same moment my Sister did. "Explains the witch's eagerness when she saw you."

"Right," I said, then blinked. "Wait. How do you know that?"

"Krithannia was giving regular updates through her pearl."

*Oh, right...*

"And, of course, they can raise and question Divigna," Mourn rumbled.

"A bit worse than that," I said. "We didn't destroy him like he asked us to."

The hybrid gave me a strange look. "He...asked?"

I shook my head as if getting a bug out of my ear. "Sorry, I mean... He tried to tell me. Divigna did. In a mindlink. If we didn't destroy the thing which makes him live for his mistresses, then he would be required to capture take me North with him. Beating up his body wasn't enough to stop him for good. But... I don't know how long it takes to revive him, or to send him back here."

"You are certain about this information."

"We were a hand-span apart, Mourn. He talked to me and I linked with him."

The Guild Leader frowned and looked around the ruins of the city. Maybe he was thinking the same thing I was, that it was still very vulnerable. Who could really afford fighting off more raids of any kind, from anyone, long enough to rebuild anything unless more people showed up pretty damned quickly?

Unless that was why Captain Isboern had been so focused on reviving the pool, first and foremost.

"Maybe Gavin knows how long it takes?" Jael asked.

Oh, yes. And then there was Gavin.

"Yes, alright," I said as I realized the singing had softened even more to be barely audible. "We need to get dressed now."

******

Krithannia was of the same mind, for as we crawled down to that four story window, we found her already redressed with her hair redone as well as could be expected without a comb. She spoke with a conscious Tamuril, who seemed more sluggish and was half-covered with only her shirt on.

This left her hips and blonde bush and those long legs exposed to my gaze. Her hair looked like she had just rolled out of reverie. I made the attempt to burn that image permanently into my memory. Doubly so when she looked at us reentering the room through the window and blushed; it put a grin on all of our faces as we collected our clothes.

As Mourn had been the first naked, so too was he the first dressed; all he had to do was put his pants back on. His harness and tools, which he taken off to dive into the pool, were still back down in the main chamber. I recalled his challenge before about attempting to go through his things without his knowledge and about his knowing the taste of everything metal he possessed, so while Mourn could've left right then to collect them, he stayed long enough to nudge Graul off his cloak and onto his shoulder and wait on us.

He watched me as I struggled more than the others. My sapphire was the first thing on again, but my clothes were still very wet and had the holes from the battle which threatened to get bigger if I wriggled too hard back into it. It was bad enough the manner in which they been taken off.

"Allow me, Sirana, I can help."

I looked up from turning my shirt and pants right side in. "What?"

He crouched down and lightly touched his finger and claw to my shirt. "Winid, thric pabh."

We all felt a small pulse of magic, and I blinked as my shirt warmed enough to soon be quite dry, as if I hung it near a fire. Before my eyes, the threads were mending themselves, closing the holes. He did the same for my leather pants, my boots, and my sopping wet cloak.

"What is it?" Jael asked, just putting on her second boot. "What did he do?"

"Assured she won't catch cold," Krithannia said with a smile.

It was a very difficult luxury to describe: putting on those clothes will they were still so warm. The heat was sucked in by my skin and I just wanted to sit down and focus on that sensation for a while.

"Ohhh," I groaned with a drunken smile as it started to dissipate. "How much do I owe you?"

Mourn smirked at my jest, quirking an eyebrow. "No bargain, no charge. This time."

Oh yes, that was going to come up a few more times on our way up North. I would have to get an idea exactly how much thirty pieces of silver was worth from one of the other Guildsmen. Small trades here and there, especially for coin, would probably put the Dragon in him at ease, even while we figured out just what would happen with my Sister and me.

My spiders patiently guarded the door to this room and I collected them only as we left. They were secure before I fell a little behind and looked to meet Tamuril's gaze; it took a moment for her to look up and see me, but I winked at her and kept my grin as she moved closer to Krithannia. Still replaying certain memories, no doubt. At least the Drow ones were more pleasant this time around.

We reentered the grand chamber and headed toward the pool where - as far as I could tell - our equipment remained where we had dropped it. The splashed water was nearly gone and we saw that some of the runes closest to the edge of the pool had reformed themselves while the ones further out were still damaged.

The dwarves and Guildsmen had all lain down and were asleep. The Templars and the Manalara women weaved with exhaustion on their knees, but they were still up, mostly humming with the spoken word of their song here and there. Deshi and Isboern were unconscious, and Gavin and Pilla had not returned.

I glanced at Mourn and Krithannia as the hybrid swiftly donned his weapons harness and tools. Jael and I took the hint to at least put on our belts. Then we looked at each other. Were we supposed to interrupt?

*Check the Captain,* the Guildmistress signed to me and Mourn. *Tamuril and I will check Deshi.*

Neither of them lay upon any closed runes, so we were probably okay doing that much. Tamuril resisted her sister when she dragged her past the Godblood and the Guildmistress hissed and made a gesture with her free hand which I didn't recognize but the Druid seemed to. The blonde looked unhappy for a moment but soon turned her focus to the Harrowed.

In turn, Mourn used his body to block my view of Deshi and the two Noldor as I knelt down next to Isboern with Jael to my right. He checked the Man's pulse and nodded at me, indicating the Captain.

"You act like I should do something specific," I said.

He nodded. "Your aura is the calmest I have seen it for some time. Keep that calm and touch him."

"Where?"

"Perhaps his forehead. His face."

That was the only place showing skin, yes. I removed a glove again and tentatively placed my palm on the Varasa's forehead. It was cool and clammy, not what I expected from someone who had just housed a fraction of the Sun God not that long ago. I noted the evidence of the bleeding earlier, how much of it had stained his blond hair to be more orange.

I didn't feel anything. Just cold, sweaty skin.

"Maybe he just needs to sleep it off?" Jael asked.

Mourn shook his head. "He has a concussion. We should help him wake, so he does not slip into a psionic coma."

"We didn't exactly help him before," she said. "We were too randy."

"I assured he wouldn't drown, and Tamuril healed what she could under stress, stopped the bleeding. And yes, we needed comfort as well." He looked at me. "And now we can do more. Try calling him awake, Sirana, it is better if his Templars come out of the trance with him conscious."

Calling him awake. Right.

I held on to my sapphire with my other hand as I kept my palm on the damp skin, fiddling with it as a tray to think what to do. I wasn't going to try lust or pain, not on this Man, and Mourn had even explicitly mentioned that my aura was "calm."

Calling him awake. He had done that for me, hadn't he? When I was so deep inside my head, in that "quiet place," where I wasn't aware of anything around me and the others had been concerned enough that Isboern came in after me.

I supposed he had called me awake. And he hadn't done so roughly. He had stepped into my periphery and politely asked for an invitation to come closer. When I had given it, he only sat down and talked with me. Told me about himself. Eventually I was curious enough to come back out into the world.

Biting my lip in concentration, I closed my eyes and tried not to be conscious of being watched while I searched for that quiet spot.

*Godblood?*

Not there. Everything was dark, and there was a wall.

*Captain Isboern?*

That was a bit better. I glimpsed something shine a bit like polished armor.

*Willven?"

I received the mental impression that he looked up, hearing his name.

*Willven, may I come in?*

No.

His first answer was no.

*Willven.*

I hovered there in that in-between place, unconsciously smoothing my thumb over his damp eyebrow while my other hand grew very warm. I felt lighter, like I was floating but not like I was headed anywhere. More like I was on the side of the cliff with no wind waiting for a door to open. Honestly, if he didn't want to talk to me there was no way I would be able to force it. 

So calm. Just stay calm.

*Willven. If you have any love left for Tami or this world, you will answer the damned door.*

Such a simple challenge and not one which really needed any proof, but he took it anyway and would not let it stand. He opened the door.

*Come in, Sirana.*

His quiet place seemed to have more detail than mine did. It was the inside of a Surface dwelling, a simple construction made of cut wood and various hard pastes. There was a hearth with a warm fire burning, and in one corner it workshop with quite a few tools against one wall with specific purposes for building, hunting, farming, and deconstructing. There was a bed in the darkest corner and a cradle in the one opposite, but he sat in a sturdy, padded rocking chair in the middle, before the fire, with the back tall enough that he could rest his head when he was too weak to hold it up. There were no windows.

After letting me in and closing the door, he returned to his chair in front of the fire, turning it to his left so that we could see each other equally in the firelight. He had been weeping hard enough that the whites of his eyes were red, as was the skin around them.

"Forgive me that I don't have another chair to offer you," he said hoarsely. "But you could lean against the worktable, if you wish."

I thought this the strangest thing to say. The psychic environment was the most fluid one that I knew of. I wasn't really standing, just as there could be a spare chair available with a thought. Willven had decided not to create one. I got it.

I leaned against the worktable, leaving a couple long strides between us. Crossing my arms, I watched him. And I glanced at the cradle.

"You were remembering your son."

"Remembering, and mourning him." Willven took a deep breath and let it out, resting on his elbows. "As I... have not had time to do since Tamuril came to confess what happened to him."

I tried not to wince. "Ah. Yes."

Willven readily speared me with his blue, Human eyes. "Yes. She only told me the rest after you and Jael helped to heal her scars. She was so afraid that I would reject her the same way her people did. She still feels responsible for not curing my son's illness, for not saving him." His voice became angrier as he spoke, but not to the point he raised his voice at me. "Instead she had to see me, for the first time in three years, to tell me he was dead. And you were well aware. Someone you know caused all that. The Red Sister probably did not think twice about Tami after she was finished, did she?"

"No, she didn't," I replied, resisting the heavy, accusing weight of his gaze. "And she would never apologize. She did her duty: she protected our borders. Used fear and power tactics to spread stories and to intimidate. Sound familiar?"

Willven narrowed his eyes slightly, but he nodded an affirmative. "Her view of the world is small. She defends it in the only way she knows."

"We were lucky," I said. "She could have killed Tamuril. She didn't."

"Lucky," he repeated, his head dropping a bit. "Indeed. Why did the Red Sister spare her?"

"You know. A survivor is always better when you send a message. Nothing more."

Willven rubbed his jaw and breathed again as if to calm himself. "Speaking of sending a message... Is it true you had no idea who Gavin served with you allied with him?"

I frowned in confusion. "I never said that."

"When Jael poisoned me," he said in response, "in my delirium, you arrived to dangle in front of me what I'd been searching for—the whole reason I left my wife and son. Do you remember that moment?"

I nodded hesitantly.

"You had it, and you didn't even know who it was you held by your side," Willven said. "You can't have known Gavin for what he was."

I shrugged. "Gavin didn't look like he does now, and I think we all heard it, Nyx was hiding him until—"

"Until you came to destroy the city I was trying to save."

"Well." I paused. "We already discussed that part. You helped us."

His expression implied he didn't know whether to laugh or scoff. "But the Drow came after me. Not Gavin. You just wandered into an alliance with him, but Jael was sent to assassinate me. Someone knew what I was, or suspected."

I switched the weight on my feet, crossing right over left, and loosely crossed my arms. "Fairly obvious, isn't it? Our Valsharess sent us."

Willven folded his hands together and pressed them to his mouth, elbows on his knees. "Do you think she knows about Gavin?"

I frowned. "I was supposed to kill the necromancer at the Tower. She specifically said it was the one who had helped a predecessor of mine, the old one. I don't think she knew there was a younger one there as well. I was sent to find Mourn."

He looked at me strangely. "To assassinate him?"

"No. Learn about him."

"It seems you have accomplished that goal."

I smirked, deciding not to answer the implied question. It wasn't his business.

Willven shook his head as he set that aside for something which concerned him more. "What about Ta'suil? If he is in the same place with your Valsharess, what is his situation? At least, what was it when you left?"

Precarious. I didn't even have to say anything; the Man could read that in my expression, or maybe he lifted the thought, or the feeling. 

He pursed his lips. "Will you or won't you go back for him, Sirana?"

"Don't you try to corner me into another oath," I snapped. "Going back for him doesn't do any good if I have no way to get him out and evade pursuers. And right now, I have no way. Certainly not in the short time which may yet force me to decide between him and my unborn! You do not truly know what my people can be like."

"But," he said, wavering some at the mention of possibly sacrificing a child, "you understand the importance. After all that you saw—"

I hopped on that. "So you *do* remember what happened after you pulled Gavin into the sacred pool."

Willven was still for a few moments. I expected him to shove us back toward the debate at hand, but instead, cautiously, he nodded. 

"It has... never hurt so much before. But yes. I know now I am not alone in the search. Others will carry it forward, perhaps long after I'm gone. You, Gavin, Deshi..."

I cocked a brow. "So your part is finished if I don't promise to bring Ta'suil back to you in your lifetime?"

He shook his head. "Far from it. I may have decades yet. Anything that He asks of me before He calls me back, I must do."

"Even if it drives you insane?"

One corner of his mouth lifted in self-deprecation. "Even if."

"Why?" I asked. "Because you said 'yes' when you were too naïve to know better?"

Willven's exhaustion was still apparent as he answered but his voice was stronger. "If you mean to suggest that I should want to change my mind, Sirana, either then or now, I do not. The opportunity is before me, my work not finished, and many rely on me. Could you imagine even now that Gavin would want to stop?"




Surfacing Ch. 24



That was a big, fat no. Although he was less concerned with who relied upon him except for Nyx.

"Neither will Ta'suil," Willven said from his chair, watching me. "But I have long since had the impression that you are here only because he cannot be, and now I have confirmed it. What about you? Were you too naïve to know better? Unlike Gavin and me, you had no idea to what you agreed. Do you want out?"

I didn't reply at first. I was thinking about those early reveries, nightmares about Soul Drinker and the queen on the sands, which began after I first met Auslan. First attacked him. That might have been no better of a hint than these two Humans had as children. In fact, it had turned out pretty accurate, so far, and some of the dreams had become actual...conversations.

"Maybe I had some idea," I said. "Just hard to interpret."

He nodded in agreement. "So it is, so it is. Unfortunately, it is not enough for just you to be here."

I tightened the corners of my mouth. "Thanks."

"That is not intended as an insult, Sirana, but you know what you must do. And should you choose to live up here, I know it will be longer than my lifetime before you discover what role your child may yet have to play in this."

The flash of anger surprised me. Fucking deities, wanting to claim him before he was even born!

"Assuming he lives," I said instead, still unwilling to make plans even that far in advance.

Willven's face softened unexpectedly and I blinked at the alien expression. 

"A boy?" he murmured with a ghost of a smile. 

I scowled. "Would you look like this if I knew it to be a girl instead?"

"Absolutely." He smiled. "Varasa mothers often know the sex early. It is like knowing their name before you ever see the face. Perhaps, if you will it, I will have the chance to meet him."

"Oh? Planning to keep tabs on me somehow?"

"You have sanctuary among the Varasa, Sirana," he said soberly. "I still mean that, regardless of what you choose. Sooner or later you'll need our help, but I won't force it. I only beg you, ask me when you're ready. I will come to help you. I swear it."

Oh, no, no more swearing oaths! Now I was itching to get out from beneath that endless blue gaze. 

"Alright, so, will you wake up now? The Templars will be coming out of their trance soon. They look like they desperately need to sleep."

Willven made that decision quickly and nodded, gathering strength to push himself up out of his rocking chair. "Yes. I need to." He paused just as he turned toward the door. "Thank you for talking, Sirana."

He showed me the way and we stepped out together.

*****

"Willven? Willven, thank goddess, you are awake!"

I opened my eyes to see Tamuril leaning in front of Mourn despite the fact that he had barely moved from his crouch, Krithannia now standing behind him and Jael behind me. I removed my hand from Isboern's forehead quickly, moving back as it felt crowded all of a sudden. 

Looking for Deshi, I found him placed near Nianzu and Peng lok on the North side, where all of the Guild were asleep. That might be a bit of a rude awakening for him, but then, he probably deserved it. He had been avoiding his brothers since the battle. It seemed his former Guild superiors thought it better he continued to rest undisturbed.

"Tami," Isboern murmured, blinking and looking a lot more disoriented than he had been inside his quiet place. The weight of his body had returned fully, as had the lingering pain. "The pool, is it -?"

She nodded excitedly, already having taken his gloved hand. "We did it. It is clean. You will be able to heal and protect the survivors who return."

He smiled and squeezed her hand chastely. By the look on his face, I was not sure whether he remembered kissing her or not. We helped him to stand and he looked around at the circle, at those sleeping, and those still whispering the chants, weaving on their knees. The Captain gently touched the foreheads of the two Manalara Women, one at a time, as he eased her down onto the stone to rest. They went quiet.

Next Isboern looked to his Men but shook his head slowly. Just looking at them, I could tell it would be no easy task to set them each down without clanking and knocking each other, overlapping and making a great noise. 

"They should not sleep in their armor," Isboern said, "they will not be able to move in the morning."

"What do you propose?" Krithannia asked.

The Captain half-smiled in chagrin. "Another thing for which I will ask forgiveness."

He only seemed to watch them, but to a one, the six Templars braced themselves with their swords and each stood up and stepped back from the pool, spreading out a bit. As if they were sleepwalking, they helped each other to remove the metal pieces, neatly setting them aside in six coordinated piles, before finally the fighting natives at last lay down.

I caught Mourn and Krithannia glancing at each other, but was again distracted when Isboern held out his hand toward the pool and waited. We watched something circular and reflective rise up, and just before it broke the surface I realized it was his golden shield from the crypt. Still dripping, it was set down as neatly as the rest of the equipment.

Which reminded me. I glanced back toward Soul Drinker and the Ma'ab relics.

"I will be able to keep the dagger secure for you until dawn, Sirana," the Godblood said. "Which I formally request that you let me do. I need to attune myself to the pool, but this may take the rest of the night. I cannot risk disruptive forces being released during that time."

I nodded. "Go ahead. She is already angry with me and a few more hours will not make a difference in her time."

The blond Man nodded in thanks. Really, I should enjoy the quiet and privacy while I could.

"Where's Gavin?" he asked next while he finally removed his own armor, with Tamuril's help. "He is the only one missing."

"Do you need him?" Krithannia asked.

Isboern shook his head. "No. He will not be staying long, I understand. I am only concerned for his absence. Will you go find him, Sirana? Just make certain he does not need help?"

I shrugged. "Well. I suppose..."

"Likewise," the Godblood continued, "since all of the Elfblood are awake and the most rested, may I ask you, Mourn, Krithannia, Jael, Tamuril, to stand guard over us while we are vulnerable? Watch the outside of the temple in case we missed something in our sweeps."

I felt my white brows rise; that was not subtle. However, Mourn nodded with Krithannia in agreement.

"We will do better than merely watch," the hybrid rumbled. "Everyone is safe here."

"Meanwhile we're just sending Sirana out by herself to go look for Gavin?" Jael asked, darting an annoyed look at Isboern and then Mourn.

"He would go to one of only a few places," I said. "The battleground where bodies died, or perhaps back with the flying mount. If he is not there, I would check the library and the butcher market next, were the strong spirits were located."

Krithannia's lips thinned a bit and she reached into a pouch to toss me her pearl, which I caught. "Do tell us where you find him, if nothing else. For your own safety, Sirana. Please."

"Or I'll just go with her," Jael said.

Isboern exhaled softly. "I will be plain, Jael. I would rather only Sirana approach Gavin right now."

"Why?" she demanded.

"He trusts her. As much as he can trust anyone. The risk is otherwise low in the city, from what I can sense."

"Then you don't need us to guard the temple."

True, but I touched my Sister's shoulder to stop her arguing anyway. "I won't be long, Jael. Stay and learn some new tactics from Mourn and Krithannia, or practice with your new weapon. I will need you to help to guard camp when we leave."

Isboern's expression was interesting at this mention; he knew that Gavin would be leaving soon, but hadn't been sure about me. And where would I go, if not back for Auslan? It seemed the Godblood had one last discussion for me but was willing to wait. 

Meanwhile, my Sister scowled at me - this was also no subtle hint, even for her - but finally she rolled her eyes and nodded with a shrug. "Sure. But use the pearl at the first flicker of a shadow that shouldn't be there."

Mourn said nothing to this, which might seem odd coming from my "bodyguard" but then, he said he would be "showing" me things now, even if he wouldn't explain them. He probably agreed with Isboern. He did look at Tamuril, however, and kept watching her as she blinked confusedly at him but then made an educated guess why he stared so.

"Pilla last saw him farther to the east. Past the library," she said quietly, after closing her eyes for a few moments.

"She is not still watching him?" Krithannia asked.

"She left as soon as I woke. He was dismembering the three undead Hellhounds which follow him." The Druid did not quite manage to suppress her shudder.

Butchering at the butcher market. Made sense.

I took some food and water with me and left at a sustainable jog to the East past the library. Already knowing I was going in the right direction, I could see sign that he had passed by this way with his Hellhounds, and the scent definitely lingered. 

It was a long walk to the market, and I tried to imagine Gavin leaving as quickly as he had and going so far away from the temple. That he was going to the farthest place away which was known to be haunted confused me a bit. Hadn't Nyx and Musanlo renewed their pact? Isboern had strongly hinted this was the case when he said others would be joining the search with him, and I had thought that meant the Grey Maiden and her agents were once again welcome at Manalar and the temple pool was, in a sense, now shared by many worshipers.

Although that didn't mean Gavin himself wouldn't simply want to be left alone, and Isboern might be hoping for some other bit of insight through me.

The Moons were high and bright and the city was well lit; there was not one shadow I could not see into out on the streets, even down the alleys. It was still unnaturally quiet; where there should have been insects and other night creatures constantly moving and whirring and chirping, there was very little of it. I thought that I heard a cricket, maybe close to the wall.

I also heard Gavin at work before I saw him, so I had the natural intent to approach in a way I hoped would avoid his detection long enough to study him with his guard down. I got few enough opportunities as it was...

... But then I quickly changed my mind as I felt the small hairs on the back of my neck rise up. Despite the fact that the Hellhounds seemed to be out of commission for the moment, the Deathwalker wasn't unguarded. I couldn't see the ancient spirit the Inquisitor had told us was here, but I trusted that familiar feeling. There is not a lot of point in trying to spy.

I curled my hand around Krithannia's Dragon pearl and thought, *Found him. Butcher's market, as expected. All is quiet.*

*Check. Thank you,* I heard Mourn respond, then I took my hand away.

The area required me to turn down a side street closer and more cramped than the one in which I had been walking. I could see why when I noticed the deliberately constructed drains in the street, covered by metal frames fit with parallel bars allowing air and water flow but would catch larger pieces from going down. 

Above them were stout metal poles buried vertical in the cobbles; coupled with any set of chains and hooks, they could be used in a variety of ways. There were broad butchering tools available as well, and nearby were a cistern, water pump system, and a hose used for rinsing. It wasn't difficult to imagine all manner of stock animals and carcasses strung up to make gutting and blood draining easier. 

That may have been exactly what Gavin had been doing before I found him, as some of the chains and poles and the grates themselves not only contained a familiar rotting stench, but they were still wet from water and whatever had been washed away using the pump. I had missed all that, however, and three sets of white bones, almost glowing under the Moonlight, were arranged just so next to a bench where the necromancer sat working. Night-mare stood completely still nearby, still clothed in her flesh...somewhat like her master.

Gavin was extremely pale beneath the Moonlight as well, almost as much as the bones, and I could see his form well. He had removed his torn robe and hung it to dry along with his leather armor, cloak, and boots. He sat once again in his braies—themselves still damp but the former monk I knew simply would not sit nude in any open area—and I reaffirmed that the lash and branding scars from his youth had not returned. 

He was hunched over enough that I glimpsed the same dark line down his spine, only now it pressed out past his skin like polished, obsidian plates, confirming the pneuma flint still reinforced his skeleton. His fingernails and toenails were still black, but there were no spikes or bumps to imply odd bone growths. Those seemed to have smoothed out.

Gavin's finer set of tools had been rolled out beside him and he carefully carved shapes into a femur from one of the bone stacks. As I watched he set his knife down and picked up a painter's brush, using it to collect some dark, unknown compound he kept moist by dipping the brush into a cup of water first, adding stark contrast and color to those carvings.

I had been obvious enough that he must be aware I had arrived, but he did not break concentration before finishing his current rune. I felt myself smile despite the heavy feeling of warning from the unseen ghost, because I realized what Gavin was doing.

"You took steps to hasten the process," I said, standing near the cistern and not coming closer uninvited.

"There were quite a few complaints about the smell, as I recall," he said blandly without looking up from the bone as he set the brush down to trade again for the carving knife. He turned the femur to work on the other end.

"And that took top priority after the ritual?" I commented.

"I needed a task."

And that was to disembowel, dismember, and flay the flesh off of corpses. He was very skilled and efficient from what I saw, and wouldn't Tamuril be so comforted?

"You needed a task. Immediately. With no rest."

His thin lips tightened. "I cannot and will not try to describe what I experienced, Sirana."

"You don't have to. Isboern was left raw and feeling very mortal, from what I gathered. And Soul Drinker and the other splinters in my mind might not be a deity or a demigod, but I was there and I have some point of reference. I needed a task as well."

He glanced at me. "Which was?"

I grinned and pointed in the general vicinity of my crotch. It took him a few moments to be able to read it, but my meaning struck him and he shook his head, digging again at the femur and speaking dryly.

"Sexual healing, I presume?"

"It worked for more than one."

"Yes, I understand that Mourn and Jael are only too happy to accommodate you."

"Krithannia and Tamuril as well," I said. "Unless there is some detail I am missing, I think the Drow and the Noldor share this method of ritual."

Gavin had stopped carving and lifted his gaze to stare at me when I said the names; he sat very still as I continued and only moved after he grunted, having given it some thought. 

"Interesting. But I suppose it makes sense, with the particular curse Tamuril's people put on her and the method I understand it took to undo it. There is much of life and birthing in what the Elves do. Appropriate that your deaths do not come quickly."

He was thinking about something else as well as he said this, and I had a really good guess what it was.

"And then there was what Tamuril said to you about Krithannia's memories," I said, "and her worry about the deal she made with the Shae'goth. Something about her essence not being meant to feed greedy Greylords."

My traveling companion blinked at me in surprise then frowned. "I pray you were merely eavesdropping and did not pull that from my mind just now."

"For what it's worth," I said, my voice teasingly indignant, "I plan to avoid penetrating Nyx's chosen son without permission, for my own good, despite the implication that you believe I could."

Gavin did not know how to take that; he narrowed his eyes slightly and shifted, seeming more aware now that a good amount of his skin was showing. I chuckled.

"And yes, I was eavesdropping at the time."

"I thought you might have," he said, gladly taking the out. "To arrive so soon afterward would mean you were close and with your keen hearing..." 

"My talent." I moved a few steps closer, keeping my senses open for that unseen spirit. "You probably wonder as well, so I can tell you I am not aware of the Drow doing something similar to what Tamuril implies the Noldor do."

"Preserving and transferring memories at the minimum," he murmured, "or shifting true essence, Elven souls, at the most. My curiosity would be why they felt the need."

"Mine as well." I paused. "And speaking of penetrating..."

Gavin gave me a look, and I smiled despite what I had to say.

"I discovered what the Ma'ab did with our Drow Priestess a century ago, besides kill her. I mind-linked with Kreshel for just a moment."

Now I had his full attention. I continued. 

"There is a necromantic sorceress among their own who is capable of... transferring Elven essence to one of their Hellhounds."

His grip tightened on femur. "Divigna himself."

"Correct." I tilted my head as his expression; it was odd, given his guess was no real surprise. "What are you thinking?"

"That his aura was flush with life, yet so much of how he acted was like a risen servant, the gifts given to him not anything a necromancer would trust giving to any but a thrall. I knew something was off, but you discovered what it was and I thank you for telling me."

I nodded, and waited.

"This explains why they came to get him," Gavin murmured, continuing his thoughts just as I hoped he would, and he carved again as his brain worked. "It explains even using the heavy resources of that Monolith to assure their success. Divigna is priceless, and they will be able to raise him again without having to draw his soul from the Greylands or call his spirit from afar if they simply left his body here."

Slowly it sank in just how many of us Kreshel had engaged directly—myself, Mourn, Isboern, even Deshi, and particularly Gavin, a half-breed "Maknuut" who would be a threat to other powerful necromancers far to the North—and Gavin hissed, "Curse it."

I could agree with that.

"I daresay that might have been the real intent in leaving him behind," he grumbled. "Not to hold Manalar, they were too few for that, but to wait to see who engaged him. If they could kill a few important figures who returned, all the better, but even if they were defeated with none of those desired deaths, his superiors would still not lose entirely."

"We can't stay here long," I said to suggest the next direction.

"No," he said. "We can't. Though they likely can't return quickly enough to use what they know now. I see why Isboern needed to revive the pool so quickly."

I tried not to show my anxiety. "They can't simply create another portal here?"

"Teleportation usually requires a beacon of some sort at the desired destination. They used Kreshel to access the heart of the city before. If there was another such beacon, Isboern would likely know by now."

"Are you certain?"

"As certain as I can be with the theory of something I have never done. You could ask Mourn, I suppose."

Him. Or even Talov. He had teased Mourn about "missing" that one time, and didn't he seem to have knowledge of moving a mass of bodies from one place to another?




Surfacing Ch. 24



"Mm," I began, "what does this have to do with reviving the pool quickly?"

Gavin smiled just a little. "The Godblood is now essentially the new Archbishop here, only stronger."

"Um." I recalled the two blond Men standing next to each other, disagreeing strongly about the fate of my Sister. I remembered thinking they could pass for sire and son, even though that wasn't the case.

"Stronger than Keros."

"Yes. He is a natural-born psionic, and talented at that, but he has also been gifted with more magic by his patron God than he has shown us."

He had?

"Rather like you?" I interjected.

Gavin nodded. "We have only seen the healing magic, and some of what the golden shield will do for him."

"He's been holding back?"

"To some degree. I think he wished to see our true motivations as his allies, what we were willing to do and how we did it. He also has a code on how and when he may use his powers, and I did not realize it before he dragged me into the pool with him, but trust me when I say now... our leaving will not lessen the protection of the sacred site significantly."

My mouth hung open a bit. That had been my niggling concern: that we could be asked to stay to help protect what we had just won while they built fortifications and gathered more people. Now Gavin was saying it wasn't a concern?

"The Knight Captain was lying to us?"

He cocked a brow at me. "Do you really think him capable of an outright lie? No, the closest he's probably done is lie by omission. We all assumed much and asked few questions on the extent of his abilities. 

"In any case, he would not, and likely cannot, use that magic unless the need is genuine, as when he healed Wolf. The rules by which he is bound are rigid, probably more so than his vow not to freely use his psionics. But if any attackers should threaten that which he is sworn to defend, especially here...well, with the sacred pool now purified, he would change." 

"Something as spectacular as when you had the spikes growing out of your shoulders, lit up and floating above the ground?" I asked with a bit of a grin, and Gavin nodded readily without any answering humor.

"I might think something more like the light which burned me alive, but yes. Threaten the people and the home that he protects, and his response would be as strong as it needs to be. His people would consider it the stuff of legends for centuries to come."

I almost—almost—wished for the Ma'ab to return while I was here, just so I could witness that. And this was the target for whom the Valsharess had sent Jael? Why would she care? Not unlike sending Gaelan after Mother's Cult, but still...and then there was me...why Sarilis and not Gavin?

My thoughts paused and I was probably frowning when Gavin asked, "What are you thinking, Sirana?"

"Isboern just now questioned me about Jael coming to assassinate him, yet I had not been sent after you, but your former master. He seemed to think it ludicrous that I had no idea whom you served when I allied with you. I'm wondering if he could be right."

The necromancer blinked slowly, setting the femur to the side and his knife down, bringing his fingertips together. He waited in silence for me to continue, and I tried to formulate my jumbled thoughts into a coherence that was slightly better than a conspiracy theory. Even though that's probably what this was.

"I saw," I began, then stopped. "When we first met Krithannia in Yong-wen, and you knew something had happened to me but you explained it away with Soul Drinker barking for my attention. You remember?"

Gavin nodded. "You asked about your fellow Red Sister being in the hands of the Manalara, confronted Krithannia with knowing that information already."

I nodded in relief; he did remember. "There was more to it. I saw my Consort as well, and my wizard, the one you said might be sharing the burden of the Sisters with him. And it was around that time you met Auslan and drew that picture of him."

He nodded an acknowledgement of this.

"But what I actually saw to make me question Krithannia the way I did was my Valsharess Herself watching Jael's capture by Witch Hunters, and the Godblood saving her. The queen paused the vision then, everyone but her was still as statues, and she stepped closer to get a good look at Isboern. She also saw Tamuril among the crowd and murmured that the Noldor was a 'new' addition."

My ally continued to watch me in the Moonlight but ultimately shook his head. "I am not sure that I follow you, Sirana."

"Neither do I," I replied with a shrug and a smirk. "Let me see..." I thought on it a bit more. Where was I going with this?

I breathed out. "I have this vision with Auslan implying that visions change, and even my queen is not sure where they will end up. Everything I saw hinted that she had seen Isboern capture Jael multiple times, over and over again, but then as soon as Tamuril shows up among them, she is curious. Intrigued. Maybe threatened?"

Gavin's fingers shifted to intertwine. "As I understand it, Tamuril is only here because of you."

I nodded in confirmation. "And then in the next dream, the one in Mourn's library where I woke up screaming?"

The scholar tilted his head in keen interest. "You saw more there as well?"

"Not more than I told you, just...remember, I said Jael actually did poison the Godblood?"

Gavin nodded.

"Isboern just confirmed that, too, and...well, what if the Valsharess saw that as well many times over? What if she knew Jael would never return, she would die on her mission, but she would indeed complete it? What if there were no changes until Tamuril was suddenly in it?"

"Say that this is the case. Then what?"

"If we can trust Innathi on one point, that the Valsharess made a pact with Lolth," I said slowly, "she also hinted at the same with the Noldor Queen. That there is some power behind her. A male power. My Valsharess is known for having visions of the future. Wouldn't this support that she saw something which threatened Lolth? Isboern becoming that legend here at Manalar, and she sent one of us to kill him before the Ma'ab even attacked. She stated explicitly Jael had a time limit, that the Godblood would be there during the hot months and it must be done then."

"The one does support the other," Gavin said. "And you say Isboern agrees, and thinks that you should have been sent to assassinate me before I completed My Lady's ritual?" 

"Only if the Valsharess saw you becoming a threat in a vision, as she did Isboern. But she didn't."

"No?"

"No. She didn't send me after you."

I saw him make the connection as he straightened up. "You were explicitly sent after Sarilis. My Lady kept me hidden until it was time, while the Drow Queen presumably targeted three distinct threats."

"Isboern and Mother are obvious threats, just for different reasons," I said. "So what threat is Sarilis?"

Gavin's mind raced, I could see it, as he folded his hands in front of his mouth and his eyes flicked about at various points on the ground, as if he might be speed-reading a book. Some of his long, straight hair fell forward.

"We were sent by him to drop a black vial into the pool," he murmured.

"That never happened."

"But the end result was essentially the same as he planned. The rift opened, the citizen of Manalar consumed each other, and they also turned on the Ma'ab. We switched some ingredients out, but in the end a stew is still a stew." 

"He only said he wanted the three armies to fight each other," I said.

"He never planned for there to be a third army," Gavin countered. "Do you remember what he said? He would 'know' when we succeeded. It would allow him to 'sing through the ether' and raise the dead bodies from afar to attack the living." 

Gavin made a scoffing noise, and I was very glad he remembered the conversation with such disdain...because I didn't remember the singing ether part, but I did remember Sarilis saying he would "know" the moment we succeeded. Cris-ri-phon had said the same thing, that he would likely feel it all the way back at the Inn, and that was how he knew when to come find me—

My eyes widened and I gasped. "Oh! The Ley Line. Sarilis would have felt what we'd done through the Ley Line, right? It's even pointing West, toward the Tower."

Gavin blinked in surprise. "How do you know that?"

"Mourn just told me. He said it was unnaturally straight."

"So he noticed," the death mage muttered, beginning to chew on this detail as well. "You remember why my Lady wants me to take that Tower, don't you?"

I gave that a moment to come back to me. I swallowed. "It is at a Ley Line intersection."

Gavin smiled, showing me black teeth. "The Godblood can have Manalar. The Deathwalker may have the Tower. It is even official now."

I wondered if there was any chance Musanlo would regret that deal?

"So the Valsharess did see a threat at that Tower," I said.

"Unless you dream of it, we may never know. But either she envisioned me during a time too distant for it to matter, or, as it is here with the good Captain, she saw the Tower at a time when it would matter very much. The same year as the Fall of Manalar, when enough power rips through the Ley Line to cause a rift, when she sent all three Red Sisters on the same journey upward, perhaps with intent that they would not live even if they succeeded."

I nodded in thought. "So if Sarilis may still be the threat, how could he use what we did to the Ley Line?"

"He'd use it for the same purpose as his original plan was to use it." 

"Which we do not know."

"Not unless you gleaned something during your conversations with him, Sirana. That power could be used for so much, I don't know what he'd choose. I only know that it would have to be used right away for that purpose. As what happened here, it wouldn't sustain that surge there but disperse it." 

I frowned and thought back to my time spent at the Tower. I allowed the single, most memorable thing about the old necromancer to come to my mind; in doing so, I heard a conversation first.

*I am older than you, Sarilis.*

*In total sunsets, I grant you. You dazzle me, Sirana. Do you like younger men?*

Ha-ha.

*You don't mind if I sit again, do you?* Sarilis had said. *These old bones...*

I had watched as the seven-decade Human leaned up against a blood-stained operating table and braced his palms, hopping his rear onto the edge with a grunt. His swinging feet had two sets of socks, covered by a pair of dirty, but soft house shoes. He had noticed my looking them and shrugged.

*Poor circulation.*

He had asked after my age, after Rausery's, after the Valsharess, whether we died naturally, and at what age...

*You've not felt your mortality the way I have, Sirana,* he waxed philosophical, with underlying chastisement, talking to me like the young warrior I was. *Different from surviving battle, different from recovering from a mortal wound. You feel your body breaking down, changing how it creates and shifts its energy, not under your direct control but like it is beneath the control of the sun every time it passes. You wonder how bad it will get every time you feel a new ache or see a new bump in your skin, or cannot lift the same box from even ten years earlier. You do not know this.*

"Hm," I said, and Gavin watched me expectantly. "He was preoccupied with his own advanced age and the Drow life span. Can he somehow use the surge of the Ley Line to extend his life or regain his youth?"

My ally was skeptical. "If he was a master of such magics, yes, but he's a necromancer foremost. We don't focus on the secrets of prolonging functioning organs."

He indicated the Hellhound skeletons, now without their organs—which had indeed ceased to function—specifically so his allies would be able to draw a full breath around them. I saw his point.

"Then...something like you, perhaps?" I suggested. "You bleed black, you regenerate, I will bet you have ceased aging as a Human."

"A blessing from My Lady, which I know for a fact Sarilis does not have."

"Fair enough, but what does a necromancer do to delay his own death? What would the top Ma'ab do? We know they are long-lived."

He shook his head. "Incomparable. Ma'ab consume the souls of their servants, extending their lives with the lives of others. Sarilis can't consume Ley Line energy to do that, it doesn't work that way. The Tower is also too remote to draw in the souls of others let alone those with no connection to him." 

"Well," I huffed impatiently, "what else is possible for a lone hermit using a single, big Ley Line event?"

Gavin blinked, then his eyes widened. "Oh. Worms rot his belly... He would not look to delay his death, but sidestep it. The Ritual of the Endless Night."

"What is that?"

"Something I copied from his notes once. I even considered it myself at one point." 

Gavin twisted on his bench to reach for his pack behind him, pulling out his grimoire. I waited patiently while he flipped to the correct page and reread passages, keeping his book out of the shadow and beneath the Moons. He touched his index finger to a paragraph.

"Here. A series of spells which require an abundance of power to bind one's intellect to an object, and achieving a type of immortality because of it. He would retain all his knowledge and memories but would no longer be bound by his weak flesh. He would essentially become a zombie under his own control."

"Zombie? A corpse?"

He nodded. "Granted, a very powerful one, as his magic would no longer be restrained by the stress such power places on a living body." 

I stared a bit. "You mean... We just helped him avoid dying of old age at any point."

Gavin grimaced. "Unless he failed in his casting, which is possible with spells this complex. Though considering your mission from your queen, and what we theorize may be her reasoning behind it—that she saw a threat in Sarilis—we probably did."

And the Valsharess had wanted me to kill him before that happened.

"So... he is a zombie necromancer now?"

"Better to assume so, yes. It is called a Lich. Their anchor has to be destroyed, otherwise any corpse would serve as a vessel and they can exist eternally."

Fuck. No wonder Nyx didn't want me changing my mind about accompanying Gavin back to the Tower. An immortal Lich that didn't need to eat or sleep or...?

Gavin quietly observed me as I shifted my weight and looked up at the Stars, folding my arms. I was thinking through all I had yet to do, and how to do it.

"You really think you can get the flying creature moving again?" I asked.

My ally nodded. "I am confident."

"A few days, you said."

"If not sooner. I will do my best."

He always did.

I looked over to where Night-mare stood with her head frozen halfway between grazing and watching for danger, if she had still been a natural creature. "And she is tireless, but can she keep up with Mourn?"

"If he might assist me with some speed spells, then yes. She will require more meat but once we are back in the wilderness, I believe that won't be a problem. We will have one of the best hunters in the land with us."

I nodded again, and it was a pleasure to think of practical things and soon being on the move again. Headed toward Gaelan, first and foremost—no matter about soul-drinking daggers or Liches or endlessly-living Hellhounds for now.

"What about Deshi?" I asked. "He is meant to protect the Deathwalkers, and you are the only one. At least right now."

It was easy to read Gavin's displeasure at the idea of having a constant bodyguard. His limbs were still long and thin and not obviously muscular like Mourn or Isboern or most of the Guild and Templars, but as I watched him set down his grimoire then pick up a different bone along with his carving knife, "frail" was far from the description I would choose for him. He was resilient and stronger than he looked in many ways—just as he hinted was the case for Isboern.

"I believe, at this point, I am more difficult to kill than he is," he said.

I thought a moment. "Perhaps. But hasn't your own mistress deemed this necessary for her purposes?"

"She has. For new Deathwalkers who won't have the gifts she's given me."

"How will those come about?"

"She hasn't told me. And in any case, everyone dies alone, they must face that passing on their own, and he has. This concept is not new to him and any messenger of death must be self-reliant. Deshi cannot cling to me to discover his purpose, and I advise against making a choice for him in your plans, as he will likely follow it but it will not help him."

I grunted an acknowledgement. "Very well. So that will wait. I assume you aren't heading back with me to the Temple?"

He shook his head. "I feel some of what Isboern is doing. I will not re-enter the place until he is finished, if at all."

My brows drew down in concern. "Can I?"

"Absolutely." He smirked a bit. "You may even hasten the process."

Hah.

"How long will you remain here?" I asked.

"Until my task is complete, or until dawn when the ritual is finished. If I finish early, I may go again to the flyer."

"You have food?"

He paused then shook his head. He had left too quickly for that. I removed my own food pouch and withdrew one savory bun for the trip back before holding out the rest to him. By my estimate, that was a day's worth of food for him now, while for me it was just a meal. Ever practical, Gavin accepted.

"We will find you again later, then?"

He nodded. "Our alliance is unchanged, Sirana."

That was good to hear. I took a bite of the bun as I left, feeling more than one set of eyes on my back as I left the butcher's market.

*Heading back,* I said through the pearl.

*Alone?*

*Yes. He's fine.*

*Long conversation.*

I smiled, and maybe Mourn could sense it. *Lots of fun yet to be had, merc. Wait until you hear it.*

******

I reconvened with the other Elf-bloods at the temple, and Gavin was correct that we did not seem to disrupt anything either standing just outside or inside. The Godblood sat cross-legged, eyes closed before the pool, on the same side as his sleeping Templars. He faced due West, and now I had a very good suspicion why.

I had thought at first to only speak with Mourn and Jael about my conversation with Gavin, since they were the only ones who would be going North with us. Krithannia and Tamuril wouldn't leave, however, and there was no subtlety or privacy to be had at this point.

"Be transparent, Sirana," Krithannia advised. "Mourn would fill me in later anyway, and Isboern will be comparing notes with Tamuril. We might as will be on the same level, and after what we've shared together, in the bath as well as here, it will be relevant to all of us. We will still be able to help each other, even from afar."

The Druid wasn't entirely comfortable with the statement, but she did not protest Krithannia's reasoning, and Mourn met my eyes, and then Jael's and nodded.

"She is correct. This is for the farther sight."

"It's complicated," I said.

"We have time before dawn."

I sighed, fully expecting a raging headache at the end of this. I did my best to explain the conversation I had just had with Gavin, but there were many points where I needed to provide further context and explanations before I could continue. It was maddening to keep straight.

At least part of it was worth it to see the look of shock on Tamuril's face when I eventually got to the part where the blonde was seen in the Drow queen's visions. Mourn and Krithannia—and especially Tamuril—were not happy to hear the theory of Sarilis.

"Almost pure speculation, isn't it?" the dark-haired Noldor asked, rubbing her chin thoughtfully with a gloved knuckle.

"If it was any other than these two speculating," Mourn told her, "I would agree. But not now. Not after what I saw in the pool."




Surfacing Ch. 24



Tamuril hissed a curse that actually caused Jael to blink her eyes and laugh.

"You told me you were sent to kill him, Sirana," the Druid said, ignoring my Sister's snickering, "that's why I took you there."

"I was," I replied.

"And because she didn't, everything changed from the Valsharess's vision," Mourn pondered. "Tamuril left the forest to come here. Jael survived. Isboern survived. And Gavin left being Sarilis's apprentice to become what he is."

While Sarilis was left to dig in deeper at his Tower...

"What about you?" Jael asked Mourn. "Sirana was sent with a compulsion about you."

He nodded. "Neither capture nor kill, but seek information. Wasn't that what you told me, Sirana?"

"Yes. She said you would be too powerful for me to handle."

He smirked. "And if you had killed Sarilis first, as you were supposed to, we would have found each other at or near the Tower. I would have killed the Ma'ab, but the question of what to do with either you or Gavin would have remained."

Was that a vague was of saying he might have killed Gavin and me?

"Gavin would not have left the Tower," Krithannia mused, "not in time to come here to help the Godblood, if ever."

Mourn proved to be retracing the steps of that journey, the same as I was. "And then there is Gaelan. She passed very close to Brom's Inn but he missed her. Brom also wanted Mother's Cult destroyed, he has always hunted them when they crop up. A clear intersection. Perhaps the queen had a vision about this as well."

But not one I knew anything about; the queen hadn't mentioned Brom to anyone but...Rausery. However, I did catch that other hint, and I flicked my eyes to Jael. 

*There 'is' Gaelan. Is. Not was.*

"Why did you leave without killing Sarilis?" Tamuril asked abruptly, and I blinked.

Thinking back on it, I knew. I lifted my chin and met her gaze. "I was trying to catch up with my Sisters. So they wouldn't have to die."

The two Noldor stared at me, trying to read the truth of that. I stared back. It was true. That was the one restriction set down by the Valsharess I was not supposed to break, and it was the first thing I done.

Krithannia tilted her head curiously. "Do you think you would've done that if you hadn't been pregnant?"

I was embarrassed how obvious it was that I swallowed. My heart beat harder as I imagined returning as quickly as I could after killing Sarilis, to become that "Sola" rank the Valsharess had mentioned and fulfill my then-ambitions. Without a child...yes, I would have done exactly that, mentally bid farewell to Jael and Gaelan and traveled back to continue the Game underground into which I had been born. 

Yet there was a child. I had chosen not to end the pregnancy when it would've been easiest, standing in front of D'Shea right after the Purge, which also meant I would go straight into the hands of the Priestesses upon returning home. I knew that.

My baby would go to those son-fuckers, and I would be in prison for almost two years, always near the Draegloth who would smell my fear of them, before I might return to being a Red Sister. Might. Unless the Valsharess had some other plans for me. Considering the changes of my psyche, the psionics and the new soft spot with the Draegloth she could exploit...I had been naïve to believe it even for a moment.

"No," I murmured. "I was giving myself more time by searching for Gaelan and Jael. Maybe enough time to...figure out what to do. I had no plan, only knew that going back to let the Valsharess discover I had caught would be...it wasn't what I wanted."

Tamuril's gaze softened significantly toward me, and she smiled a little. "To think now I accused you of exactly the opposite then when you first told me."

"That was just to throw you off balance," I said, "so you didn't release your arrow."

"It worked," she replied with a wry laugh, but the gentle smile remained and Mourn, Jael, and Krithannia all shared a look.

"We should think on what comes next," the Guildmistress said.

Mourn nodded in agreement. "I must fulfill the final part of my contract with Sirana, and that is to take her and Jael to where I took Gaelan. After that, Sirana and Gavin must leave to confront Sarilis, by the Grey Maiden's bidding, I believe."

I nodded confirmation. More than a few eyes blinked as they tried to imagine how this might be done.

"Well, obviously I'm going with you and Gavin to help you," Jael said, irritated that Mourn had left that out. "And so is he."

*Are you?* I didn't voice or sign the thought, but I looked at Mourn. He said nothing and waited for a response, perhaps to see if I wanted to re-open negotiations.

"Let's wait until we've seen Gaelan," I said. "Plenty of time to talk about Sarilis if he's already gotten what he wanted, and we're too far away to do fuck-all about it."

Mourn smirked just a little bit and nodded.

"The Guild waits for me," Krithannia said with her arms crossed. "I can see I will be commuting between Augran and Manalar quite often for the next few years."

Tamuril looked straight at her. "What about the Shae'goth?"

Oh ho, I liked the bluntness. The Druid glanced at me for support but I could only shrug. I knew nothing more than she did, probably less as far as where Noldor traditions were involved.

"Forgive me, my dearest, but you will have to let that go," the elder Noldor spoke calmly, watching her with steady, iron-grey eyes. "Rest assured I have not promised myself to anyone."

"That's part of the problem," the blonde replied and Krithannia gave her a stern look which told her to be still.

Obviously Jael and I were listening with big ears. A glance at Mourn told me nothing more, whether he knew what she meant or not. Transparency always only went so far, which I could interpret to mean I didn't have to share the "hows" of my homeland any more than they.

Tamuril swallowed, her arms crossed and tucked close. "What about Deshi?"

"Gavin wanted us to wait and not plan anything for him," I said.

The Druid gave me a sharp look I thought was probably intended for the absent necromancer. "So just ignore him?"

"No. He said all messengers of death must be self-reliant. I think he was trying to say that Deshi must make his own choice."

"I agree," Mourn said. "Give him time without pressure, we have a few days. He still has not spoken to Nianzu or Peng lok, there is much left unsaid. His choice will become clear to him after he has done this."

Tamuril eased down and thought this over, ultimately nodding in agreement with the half-blood. "Alright."

Meanwhile, during all this, Soul Drinker remained pressed to the floor while the Godblood prayed and dawn approached. Sooner or later I would have to pick it up again.

That would be a fun conversation.

******

A few of us drifted, one at a time, into a light reverie while waiting for the dawn. Including me. The sense of power and energy coming from the pool remained constant without significant surges, so even though we all felt it through the night, it was soothing. Or at least to me. Whether I "hastened the process" or not, I did not know. I had no explicit dreams even as I remained inside the temple.

Willven's blonde hair was dark with sweat by the time he drank from the pool. At first I thought it was a mistake, someone desperate for water after being so long dehydrated, and he hadn't realized what he'd done. I watched as he cupped his bare hands and lifted them to his mouth, then I glimpsed words on his lips and an answering, warm glow from the pool and the water in his hands, and he drank. I could've read lips if it was in Drow; it definitely wasn't. 

The drink seemed refreshing, or even more, from the way strain and concentration slipped from his face; he closed his eyes, smiling.

*All of you, please drink.*

Those of us who were awake - Mourn and Graul, myself, Jael, and Tamuril and Pilla - turned our heads at once, and Krithannia stirred as well. So did the dwarves and Humans, finally shifting and their breath changing from sleep to consciousness. I looked out of the main doorway and confirmed that bit of pink and light blue on the horizon. It was dawn.

Most wore gloves; all of them were removed before dipping their hands into the sacred pool and taking a single drink. No one went back for seconds that I could see, and it was surprisingly orderly. People were groggy, blinking and waiting their turn patiently for that clean drink. Isboern stood watching over the others and when they were nearly finished, he beckoned us.

*Please. The Elves and your animal companions as well.*

This should finish the process, but...

*On your honor, Godblood,* I heard Mourn ask, *will it change us?*

*Not by itself,* Isboern replied, and it seemed all of us heard him. *On my honor. Any change is up to you. By drinking, you give your blessing to what we've accomplished here together.*

*And Gavin?* I asked.

He shook his head. *Deshi represents the Grey Maiden's blessing, her pact, and her welcome here. Gavin has chosen to forego this claim.*

Because of the Tower, possibly. Or something to do with the Ley Lines and whatever details the God and Greylord talked about to which I wasn't "privy."

Jael was most resistant, attempting to stay behind and remain silent until Mourn and I paused. I stepped back to gently take her arm.

"I don't like him in my head, telling me to trust him," she whispered, though she took a hesitant step with me.

"Yet if not for him," Mourn said, "you would not have a path open now which frees you from a life forever tied to your Priestesses and your queen. He tells the truth as he knows it. You agreed to the ritual at the beginning. He only asks you to finish what you promised."

Jael studied his face and I studied hers. Mourn's words had a great deal of weight now, I could see it. Finally she nodded once and went with us. We were the last to drink of the pool but none of us seemed in the mood to make a grand show of it; there were even several chuckles as Graul waddled up to the edge and dipped his lower jaw into the clear liquid, scooping some up and letting it run down his throat while he smacked his tongue and lips.

I could only say that it was the best drink of water I had ever experienced. If any others might have expected something else, they did not seem to get it. I did, however, notice that all three circles of runes had reformed on the floor. We stood within and upon them, but for the moment this caused no harm.

The earliest Sunlight now touched the threshold of the open door and the top of the shattered Skylight, and Isboern looked up and around in awe, then to all of us in appreciation.

"And so now the New Work begins," he said.

The "New Work"...which proved at the start to be nothing but practical necessity: delegate, repair, collect, distribute. The Guild was willing to invest heavily in the supplies, and the Templars the labor. More than one kind of message was going out from Manalar as tasks mounted one after another, their answers to come as quick as may be. I overheard from one of the Guild that by the end of this day, we would even see a bedraggled Manalara regiment, which had fled from the walls at Isboern's first command to retreat. They were coming, and I had no doubt their healing at the pool would be some of the swiftest and seemingly most effortless anyone had witnessed.

The legend of the Godblood that Gavin mentioned may have already begun.

My first task would be to pick up Soul Drinker once again. It was good that neither Isboern nor Mourn underestimated this moment as they stayed nearby, though I truly intended not to madly swing the blade. Still, each of them explained how they had a method to neutralize me without harming me, so I could focus on control within, while the temple and those passing into it would be safe by their efforts. 

For the moment the place was mostly empty. I had asked Jael that she find something to do away from the temple; she wasn't happy but well understood why. The Guildmistress and the Druid both said they could use some help, and despite her expression Jael went with them.

Isboern had released the three relics from their psionic shield and moved Gavin's items himself, setting them into a small chest someone had brought from deep below, which had avoided most of the fire, and let that sit within a few steps of the outermost ring of runes by the pool.

"You will return those to him, right?" I said curiously, trying to ignore the pull just beginning to rise within me from the dagger.

Mourn looked at the Captain as well; I didn't think the sudden waving of his tail was directed at the Godblood, but probably more what I felt. The aura of the Drow relic was getting stronger.

"We will talk again," Isboern said noncommittally. "I think it is calling for you, Sirana."

Damned so. It was. I had to answer. Those eternal cries coming from so far away flickered in and out of my hearing while I felt pressure on the cheeks of my face and around my neck and my hands as it tried to draw me forward.

I might be pitting the blade's compulsion against To'vah and Varasa in making sure I didn't stab myself in the gut, like in my very first dream... And yet I had no good reason to resist, did I? It was inevitable and no one else could take this burden. It was mine, and mine to carry. 

I walked up to the dagger naturally as I could, noticing the deep red aura around the black blade, the runes the color of blood, and I kneeled down to take hold of the hilt and lift.

It was heavier than normal, and the first feeling I absorbed was...glee. Challenge.

*Draww mmeee...*

*I know, I know.*

I drew.

*****

Innathi was livid, her arms straight at her side with fists clenched, her spine rigid, but she kept her distance as I expected. She began the confrontation with her back to me, probably so that she could turn around dramatically and try to convince me that I was no threat to her. I didn't buy it, and we locked gazes with several paces between us, me in my red uniform and her in a more ornate version of her white silk dress with golden jewelry.

Her lips were tight and she watched me in silence, making me wait. I spoke first.

"You still want to go belowground, your grace, and I still mean to take Soul Drinker there and hand it to the Priestess-Sorceress Lelinahdara. Is there a problem?"

Innathi blinked and then bared her teeth. "You dare?"

"Dare what? By our agreement, I am the sole carrier. There was never a discussion where I promised you are a welcome presence in everything I do to fulfill our goal."

"Fool," she said. "If you start leaving the dagger unattended, someone will take it!"

"You and Soul Drinker have some say about that, as I understand it, and you were quite attended. I can trust Musanlo's messenger and his word more than I can yours."

I felt her aura surge, even if I didn't see it. I didn't understand why I could see any aura only now and then, when most of the time I merely felt it. 

"If that is the case," she murmured very low, "why do we keep any agreement?"

"So I don't draw you out of the Elsewhere only to kill you."

She chuckled. "I wonder whether you could do that, now. Quite an interesting creature you healed from death. Except that wasn't your doing, was it? You are just the incubator. Maybe I *would* take a male body if it was one with power like that one. I would add so much more, enough to change the power balance down below in favor of males instead."

"You wouldn't survive to try."

"You'd kill your own child?"

"He wouldn't be my child anymore. He'd be you."

Her eyes blazed. "You're bluffing."

"You won't risk finding out. You would rather I be killed and take Jael instead."

"That was part of the 'discussion,' wasn't it?" Innathi said with a sneer. "That we cannot orchestrate your death."

I huffed a laugh. "Oh? The Ma'ab Hellhound slapped Soul Drinker out of my hand, your grace."

She smirked. "He has a powerful slap, I must suppose."

I felt like spitting on the sand stone. "Lying slit."

"Watch your tongue!" she snapped, her pupils dilating. "That was not my doing, Sirana! There are some souls the dagger *will not* take. The Hellhound was an abomination, an Elven soul tainted with necromancy! While you did not feel the powerful relic inside him, we did! The two colliding would have been like a stopping up a portal to the Abyss with one to the Greylands! It would have killed you, or if it didn't, you certainly would have lost your son! I held to our bargain and the dagger acted according to its nature to preserve its carrier!"

My heart pounded in anger while she shouted, as I stared at her, wishing Gavin was here to judge the truth of that possibility. Why was I not surprised that one of my own kind claimed the relic had deliberately put me in physical danger so that it would save my life? 

Cris-ri-phon had alluded to something similar when he suggested tossing Soul Drinker into the Greylands through the rift; either she might've heard that, or she may be working on a similar basis of knowledge.

"Did you know as well that Kreshel would want me alive?" I asked. "Or were you just lucky?"

"You must agree this has all been far more than luck," she spat. "Cris-ri-phon finding you, to give me to you, your alliances with Death, Dragon, and now the Sun. More than just myself seek to reset the balance, we're all on the same quest."

"You never mentioned Soraveri in your list of names of all those worshipped in your time."

"I gave you the names I knew when I lived," she replied. "Some deities go by multiple names."

I tilted my head at how quick that was. "You have thought about this. Why anticipate that defense? To justify thinking you are on the same quest with me?"

"My destiny is intertwined with yours. You are the messenger, like that Human is for Musanlo! It is time for Ishuna's reign to end and I will bring the Drow back to the Surface where we belong! The others are even preparing for it!"

"Others," I repeated; I noticed my stance had loosened, my knees slightly bent as she grew more animated in her speech. Ready to respond to anything sudden.

"Don't act stupid, Sirana," Innathi barked, beginning to pace. "I have said. Your allies want to see you succeed. They are helping you, protecting you better even than I can. You have promised there is an appropriate vessel of divine and arcane power and of a good age, just waiting to be claimed. You need me to destroy Ishuna. No one else has the power or the knowledge of her sins and her weaknesses that I do. With me to help you, she will tumble down before she has the chance to destroy her own people out of spite."

I frowned and Innathi smirked.

"Oh yes," she said, "why would she not do this if her own death seemed unavoidable?"

"You think this only because it is what you would do in her place?"

"How dare you," she hissed. "I sacrificed myself so her sins would not be forgotten. Without me waiting an eternity, none of you would know, and she would hold you in that web with the Spider Demon below for all time!"

That part, whether I liked it or not, was true.

"Which names would have corresponded to the Sisters of Musanlo in your time?" I asked bluntly. "If they go by multiple names?"

Innathi straightened abruptly, thrown off her rant. "Well." A moment of blessed quiet. "I cannot be sure, it has been so long. Ianca and Fathiren, perhaps."

"Who were they?"

"Goddesses of Air and Water. The very things we need to live. If Ianca is Soraveri, then your breathing life in that new creature would make sense."

"No one has mentioned Ianca to me, yet presumably that is a newer name."

"You are presuming. Where did you get 'Soraveri,' anyway?"

"From Nyx. And Musanlo's own avatar."

Innathi went silent; clearly she didn't want to believe me but could not think of anything to refute it.




Surfacing Ch. 24



"What about the Moon Goddesses?" I asked.

The ancient queen shook her head. "Those don't exist. The Moons are the other faces of Musanlo, when his direct, burning gaze turns away."

"The Sun God showing us the back of his head?"

"His profiles," Innathi said irritably. "His Left Side, and his Right. They have had vast symbolism and deep meaning for longer than Ishuna has reigned in darkness. It offends me when you sound so flippant."

That couldn't be right.

"My apology for my ignorance, your grace," I said. "I have much to learn."

"Hmph," she grunted. "You almost sound sincere."

I shrugged. "It is true." Working over the details in the following moment, I shook my head. "Musanlo never had Sisters in your time. You are trying to find a match now but this is not what you lived with."

Innathi folded her arms beneath her breasts and straightened her shoulders. "Where did you get this idea that the Moons were Musanlo's Sisters?"

I had to stop and think about that. Maybe I was assuming, too... Isboern had never said it. Neither had Gavin. I had first heard it from Elder Rausery while she trained us on the Surface. She probably just called it that because it made the most sense to her; she had lived in a Sisterhood for centuries, and the nighttime was the time that she preferred. That any reasonable Drow would prefer.

"If it was not from Musanlo's messenger," Innathi said snidely, "then it may just be your ignorance and separation from your heritage."

"Duly noted," I said. "In that case, what purpose did Nyx and her Deathwalkers serve in your desert, queen?"

Innathi sighed and looked upward at the night Sky. "Entirely due to my marriage with Cris-ri-phon that I knew anything about them."

"Elves do not cross over," I said, "we are reborn."

The ancient queen gave me an odd look. "Reincarnated. Yes. We are the only kind which does. Yet there was a time you didn't know that, Sirana. When did it change? With Nyx's boy?"

Well, yes, it was Gavin's tenacity on the subject...but also...

"Confirmed meeting the two Noldor," I said.

Innathi smirked. "Oh, my. So even they remember more. I am sorry to see how ignorant our people have become."

So was I.

"You see why I need to return to the throne, don't you?" she said, and I nodded.

"So the Deathwalkers have all been Human?"

She shrugged casually. "For as long as there have been Humans, but no doubt something before that. Presumably also dwarves. Others."

"Dragons?" I asked.

Her brows rose up. "No. But I don't believe any but they know what happens when a Dragon dies. And they have long ago stopped sharing that knowledge."

"With the Yun-gar," I prodded. "They taught a magic language to the Yun-gar races, and it became many languages."

Innathi smiled at me, and I tried to read whether this was new to her or not. I couldn't tell.

"You are getting the Dragonchild to talk to you, I see. Well done, Sirana. The Elves were among the first to be taught, if not the first."

That could be true, or she could just presume it so.

Perhaps I was getting Mourn to talk, maybe I would more in the future because of Jael, but... At the beginning, I would have said that Mourn volunteered it. He was just a half-blood mercenary who hadn't needed to explain anything, and yet Gavin had learned to see in the dark within a day. And he had been teaching the Guild for centuries, a little at a time.

But Mourn wasn't a full-blood Dragon. Like Innathi's and Cris's children, no one knew what would happen when he died. Maybe even he didn't know where he belonged.

So, the Baenar former queen claimed to know something about the To'vah and the Elves, about Nyx and the Deathwalkers, the Greylands and the deities of Miurag. And yet she had initially denied Musanlo's Sisters, either as the Moons, or even knowing whether or not they had other names.

The Noldor had other pieces to this; Krithannia had made that plain in Mourn's library and den. I had to ask her about those passages she had read to us again, or perhaps Gavin would remember and could remind me. She had given an astonishing age for those scrolls which she said should have gone back to the Noldor Elders, if not for her own rebellion giving them to Mourn to keep secure below Yong-wen.

Innathi shifted her weight with a harrumph. "You are concentrating so much on Noldor scrolls. They do not mention the Drow?"

I shook my head. "No. It was broad, and vague."

"Old translations often are," she commented. "Each word translated is a choice of one scholar, and over time it grows less and less precise."

"Why?"

She shrugged. "Outsiders looking in. The subtle context of the era itself is gone."

I could believe that. How would anything the Valsharess did down below make any sense to someone living on the Surface thousands of years from now...?

Innathi smirked. "Well, Ishuna is just insane."

I quirked a brow and chose not to think further on that. "The other thing the Noldor read to us, a description of the Noldor observing a strange Human death rite—and mocking it—was from eight to twelve centuries old, she said. If her guess is right, it was written after your time, after the Drow vanished from the Surface, but before the Ma'ab arrived." 

The desert queen relaxed a bit, looking vindicated. "As I said, we knew of Nyx through our alliance with Humans—something the Noldor are recorded to have spurned?"

I nodded. That part seemed supported. Yet there were still the ancient scrolls, with the incomprehensible description of the supposed origins of the Deathwalkers. They had been even older, with a different word for the world altogether. Niraj.

"What?" Innathi asked.

"Niraj," I said.

She shook her head. "I do not recognize it."

"What about Miurag?"

"Sounds Draconic. Fine pronunciation, my warrior."

I frowned. She could have caught that earlier.

"Cris-ri-phon was your General," I said abruptly.

Innathi tilted her head curiously and waited.

"So you were at war. With who?"

"Should be obvious," she said. "We were at war with the Noldor."

"Were the Dragons involved?"

"They never got involved in Yun-gar wars."

"Dwarves?"

"Allied with the Noldor at the time."

"And no Ma'ab."

She looked irritated. "Of course not."

"And the Sun God was on the side of the Humans, with a pact with a Greylord to guide them safely through the Greylands when they passed."

"So they claimed."

I narrowed my gaze. "So they claimed?"

Innathi smirked. "Nyx has proven fickle more than once when showing her power."

"She wouldn't have been part of a mortal war supporting Musanlo," I said. "She's neutral. She would clean up the death after."

"And yet her Deathwalkers often advised many a Human ruler, including Cris-ri-phon. A clear power-play on her part."

I chose not to argue that statement, even if I couldn't see the reasoning why. Innathi clearly didn't know; she had already made up her mind. 

"One more question," I began, and she gestured an invitation. "Who made Soul Drinker?"

She proved that she did not always anticipate my questions, even if she seemed to glean some of my thoughts and feelings while we communed. She was caught off guard.

Wetting her lips, she spoke cautiously. "Soul Drinker was a gift to a Queen from her Consort, a symbol of gratitude and humility for being chosen. He swore he would never betray me, and if he did, I should use it on him."

Why explain it that way instead of simply say his name?

"Cris-ri-phon gave it to you," I said, "but did he make it?"

Iannthi frowned. "I had assumed so at first. He offered to me one of the only weapons to which he was vulnerable. He was a sorcerer of some power even then, and proven to be long-lived. And fertile."

Quite. Eleven children, with a twelfth killed in birth...

"But now you are not sure he created it?"

"Not all of my memories are as crisp as the day they happened," she answered, slowly clenching one fist. "It has been a very long time for me."

"Alright." I paused. "Did he ever betray you?"

The former queen shook her head. "No. In truth that is why you could not stab him before, though you tried. I told you there are some souls that this dagger simply will not take."

I narrowed my eyes. "Then why did you supposedly never talk to him? You want me to believe that he doesn't know you are here. You said you believed that he has changed enough that he would attempt to subjugate the Drow and rule us if he found us."

"He would," she said flatly, staring into my eyes. "The shrieks of the others here were too loud when he first discovered my body. It took time for me to become ruler of the Elsewhere, and there was a period of separation from my former husband. By the time he found Soul Drinker again... I would not talk to him. He was no longer my husband, but he is the same soul."

Wouldn't Gavin just love hearing about this. 

"There were changes," I said.

"I cannot tell you what happened to him, Sirana," Innathi said preemptively. "His mind is splintered, somewhat like yours but different, and I have never communed with him as I have you. But he is not the same."

I nodded, accepting. After a moment I realized that we were...talking. Just talking. We were both calm and each knew the truth of our arrangement. 

"Nothing has changed between us, your grace," I said. "You want to know about all this as much as me."

She sighed; I could read her acknowledgement that this was so. 

"You won't always be welcome where I am welcome," I said, "but we both know you can stay with me and stay hidden from Cris-ri-phon. I will do what I must, your grace. If it is no longer luck but a quest, then the underground will come when it comes."

Innathi seemed to accept this but wrinkled her nose as if something stank. "Just remember, I loathe Musanlo's messenger as I do Nyx's. Never allow either of them to touch the dagger. Ever."

"They won't," I said. "But as we discussed in our agreement, do not interfere with my negotiations."

She nodded smartly, her arms still folded and her chin up to show a long, graceful next. I took a step down from the platform and imagined myself back at the temple.

"I will go now, your grace. Until next time."

*****

My own hand was pinned to the ground by just-visible bonds as I came aware again on my knees inside Manalar's temple. I tugged, and it wouldn't budge. It was the hand gripping Soul Drinker, though I noticed the psionic pressure didn't enclose the dagger itself.

"Let go, Isboern," I said. "I am all right now."

He stood behind me, though when I turned my head I could see him easily, and he took an extra moment as if to assess the truth of my words before I felt his force of will recede and I could lift my hand from the stone floor.

"I felt I had to, Sirana," he said, stepping forward. "The point of the dagger turned toward your heart when you first drew it. Mourn and I would not give it the chance."

Interesting. I wondered if that was why Innathi had decided to talk, because there was nothing else they could do to me? Or maybe it was just that one, wishful moment of the dagger whenever it is freed. It had often seemed to me that the dagger's tip sought out the nearest heart whenever I brandished it and remained aware of my surroundings.

I got up from the ground and sheathed Soul Drinker with a distant, grumbling hiss scratching at my ears. Turning to look at the two males, I nodded. "She resents being excluded and warns you, Willven Isboern, never to touch the dagger. But our... treaty, for lack of a better word, is still in effect."

The Godblood nodded. "Good to hear. I shall pray I never have reason to touch that blade with my own hand."

Mourn stood tall and quiet with Graul upon his shoulder; I tried to read his expression.

"What?" I asked.

Then hybrid smirked. "I take it she would still welcome me doing so."

"Oh, yes," I said, feeling no doubt on that. "No warning for you. Although she still hates Gavin as much as Isboern."

He grunted. "If she has agreed to keep the peace for now, then there is much work to be done as Gavin readies our third mount."

I perked up. "Has he begun?"

"He is collecting the necessary components, and I will help him to the roof soon. We will do our own preparation first but it will be light as we will be traveling fast. Any other spare time we have I have promised to the Guild and the reinforcement of Manalar as a refuge and safe haven."

"As more of my people return," Isboern said, "they will be coming to the temple for shelter. I am sorry to say change will be slow in their minds about accepting the presence of non-Humans, so -"

"Better to stay out of their view and cause no trouble which would delay us, right?" I finished.

The Captain nodded a bit sadly. "Though I would like the opportunity to speak privately with you one more time before you go."

I knew it.

"Now?"

Isboern actually shook his head. "My Lieutenant is waiting on me to finish here. Before you go, though. Do not leave in the middle the night."

I couldn't quite decide whether he meant that literally or figuratively. I sighed. "Very well."

Talov and Krithannia both found ways in which Tamuril, Jael, and I could help before that first Regiment arrived, primarily moving supplies around. A lot of supplies.

"Where did all this come from?" my young Sister asked in bafflement, and the greybeard winked at her.

"Trade secret, lass."

At one point, Talov caught me setting down a few saddlebags from my shoulders just outside the barracks. I could hear the Templars chopping and banging with their tools, tearing down the damaged and reinforcing what could be saved.

"Hear yer hangin' well," he said to me, dropping an even heavier bundle next to mine.

I gave him a warning look. "Not a lot of time to think about other things since leaving the Retreat."

"Agreed. So we got some interestin' intelligence on the Ma'ab from you." He took a swig from the flask at his hip. "Kind o' balances what they know o' us now."

"That the Guild is playing both sides?"

"We did what the Ma'ab paid us to do, an' like as they might, they don' know about our power structure. I been negotiatin' with 'em, Krithannia has only been seen here."

"But Mourn said he saw Kreshel in person when you made the deal to go after Kurn and Castis, so he's been seen in both places."

Talov nodded with another swig. "Not in his current appearance. Diff'rent guy."

Oh, yeah.

"Fer all they know, you an' Gavin hired yer own bit o' Guild to help Isboern retake this place. An' I mean tah confuse 'em much as I can."

I narrowed my eyes. "Divigna saw us escape the first time from the crypt, after Vo'Traj was killed."

"Yep. An' the same group come back again tah finish th' job. Nothing unusual. Reports are they never got a look at the Shae'goth, so that'll baffle. They may suspect, but stories, they differ."

Didn't I know that well?

"So essentially Isboern, Gavin, Mourn, Jael and I get the blame for all this."

"As ye should." Talov chuckled.

"They will want Gavin badly."

The old dwarf nodded. "Why I agree ye should get 'im his own hermit tower on th' other side o' the continent."

I started and looked about for listening ears, giving the old dwarf a reproachful glare. "Just tell them all our plans, how about? And fuck Mourn for telling you."

Talov shrugged. "He's already plannin' tah go wit' ye, lass, whether ye like it or not."

I almost hissed. "You mean, 'bargain or not.'"

"Aw yeah, that'll be interestin'," the greybeard mused; we'd each lowered our voices as soon as the tower was mentioned. "Can't say I've seen what the kid does when he wants somethin' but can't bargain fer it."

I didn't believe that. "What about Krithannia? Or you?"

"True, maybe the partnership never really ended, jus'..." The elder pondered a bit. "Got repetitive. Only need to reaffirm it once in a while an' avoid the nasty secrets."

Ah.

"So that is the essence," I said. "There are still 'nasty secrets' with me so the bargains are necessary."

"From his view," Talov said, his ruddy cheeks more pronounced with a smile.

"Trust," I said. "It's down to trust again."

The Elder dwarf looked immensely pleased. "Happy tah see ye somehow came upon that concept early, dark Elf. What is yer purpose in demandin' no bargains? Are ye saying he can trust you?"

"I think you are missing who has the nastier secrets between us," I said with mock sweetness. 

"Has he done one thing while with ye that makes ye think he means ye harm, Sirana?"

"On the Surface, no. But he wanted Underdark intelligence from me first. Considering how long he waited for the chance to 'undo' what he had done with Manalar, and knowing he has some interest in my queen, then tell me, dwarf, when it comes to the Underdark, how can I be expected to trust him?"

Talov considered, his beard bristling as he moved his mouth in amusing shapes. "Fair point. Guess ye are doin' th' right thing."

I blinked. "Mm, huh?"

The dwarf nodded. "Might pressure ye both tah be more honest. Not a bad thing between partners."

For some reason that last word brought back to my mind the orgy the night before. Different kinds of partners...

The Guildmaster let the subject drop at that point but before he could actually leave the area, I followed him to help with the next load.

"What about Gavin?" I asked. "I was told before I came up here that one only has to follow the Ley Lines to find the power on the Surface. Wouldn't that be how the Ma'ab would find Gavin, even on the other side of the continent?"

"I hear there are ways mages protect themselves from other mages," Talov said. "It ain't so easy as all that. Ye might be able tah follow it for a time but th' trail gets confusin' or hazy, I'm told. The more powerful the mage, the better they can hide from scouts. Even the most powerful cannot find each other so well from a vast distance like that."

I thought about that. It was true, wasn't it? I had followed the vague itch of feeling for a time as I moved from the Surface cave toward the Tower, missing it quite a few times only to stumble across it again, to eventually find Tamuril's hovel. I had needed her knowledge of the land to actually find the Necromancer's Tower. I didn't remember the feeling getting any stronger the closer I got, there was only those black circles and other visible signs while actually walking there on my own two feet. Someone had to actually know where it was to lead someone there, like anywhere.

Subtle protection, but still present.

"What about Manalar?" I asked, picking up two more saddlebags to put across my shoulders. "It seems everyone knows how to find this place."

Talov gave me an appreciative look. "True. Some dare tah be out in the open. 'Tis a diff'rent kind of power. Greater effect on the mundane folk, popular influence. Can't see Gavin wantin' any o' that, but Isboern is the right type fer it, else he wouldna left his family."

I wondered about that. The psion told me he had grown up in secret, away from the "mundane folk." He had never given me any hint that such influence was what he craved. He hadn't wanted to leave this family but had to in order to protect them from that "popular power." 

I understood this on some level just meeting the Archbishop, seeing the rich, luxurious inside of his quarters. Willven's mental private place had been simple, unassuming like a laborer content with his work. His public face would be something different.

This led me to remembering Mourn's private quarters, and how they looked. A library with rare books and scrolls, with a vast collection of rare metals, stones, and weapons implied but hidden from view. And his public faces were many.

By comparison, I didn't remember much of my private quarters at my Matron's manor back home. It was whatever quarters a young Noble should have. Then there was the austerity of the barracks at the Cloister. And in my own mental quiet place... Absolutely nothing. No awareness of my body, despite how intensely I feel it while awake. True separation. Just my thoughts, my responses to pressure.




Surfacing Ch. 24



I supposed when or if any of that changed in the three of us, then those details should not be ignored.

As the Captain had warned us, all of us mystics relocated to the formerly wealthier Eastern hills of Manalar by Sundown, as the first regiment approached. Isboern asked Talov if he and his dwarves would stay, as the least alien race to which his people could become accustomed.

"I want it to be clear from the start that we will be doing more trading and building with Taiding," the Godblood had said. 

"Sounds excellent," the greybeard said, burly arms crossed and back straight. He and his folk looked more than ready for the challenge.

The Elfbloods, familiars, and necromancers, however, were deemed too difficult to explain and not a one of us could truly represent our own people the way Talov could. We were all outsiders, and as such, interactions with the ignorant would only waste energy and potentially delay us from leaving. We need not force any confrontation, and none of us seemed in the mood.

That night we hung around the damaged manors out of sight, occasionally checking in on Gavin and his progress on the roof. He was still in the preparation stages, studying and deciding his methods, also testing the riding tackle that was still attached for frays and weak points. He would ask for something, a tool or an ingredient that was reasonable to find, and one of us would go get it and bring it back, or pass a message through the Guild to get. The flying mount even twitched a few times, causing Jael and Tamuril to jump and gasp once. It was amusing though I covered my mouth.

"Just a reflex," Gavin murmured. "Testing the nerves."

I smirked while looking down at him on the other side of the creature's thick neck. "How does it look with your darkvision?"

He looked up at me, his eyes still clear to me in the ambient Starlight. "Fascinating."

Then he went back to work. Jael rolled her eyes when I asked a visiting Guildsman for extra food and gave Gavin some of it.

"He forgets to eat otherwise," I whispered to her in Drow.

"You aren't his caretaker," she whispered back.

"But I do want him to succeed. Don't you?"

She grunted, nodding. "We'll be much harder to track if the Ma'ab come back."

"Exactly."

Graul was curled up next to Krithannia as she rested on the ground floor of the manor, Deshi near her, sitting upright with his back straight and eyes closed, and Pilla perched on the open sill. Tamuril had been there for a while as well, but she came to join me later on as I sat at some distance watching Mourn and my little Sister interact. 

Before the Noldor kneeled down next to me, the half-blood had cast a silence spell on their weapons so she could practice more with the double-blade without drawing curious Manalara. At the moment it wasn't too different from when they had been fighting on hillside at the Retreat; Jael still went on the offense more often than was wise, and Mourn patiently showed her block after block until it occurred to her that she should be using something similar the few times that he would strike out at her—because he hit her every time. Half the time she felt onto her ass, and I thought Mourn was being generous.

"They are... bonding," Tamuril said quietly after watching for a few.

I briefly flicked my gaze away from them to look at her. "What do you mean? What do you see?"

The Druid shook her head. "I'm not sure. I have never seen it before."

So Mourn had claimed.

"Try."

She sighed. "His blades sing, even though you can't hear it right now. It is like... He cuts sheer complexity and when she meets the edge of his blade, she draws in pure simplicity." Tamuril glanced over to glimpse my expression, pursing her lips at whatever she saw. "You said 'try.'"

I grinned at the assumed need for defense. "So I did. Thank you."

We each returned to watching the silent sparring until I spoke again.

"Are you staying here?" I asked.

Tamuril turned her head quickly and I heard her heartbeat for a moment or two. She breathed out and looked toward the temple, able to see just the higher towers. Finally she shook her head.

"I will return to my forest. I have done what I set out to do and more. Willven doesn't need me right now, but his family will."

I narrowed my eyes at her. "Your forest is near Sarilis's tower. You heard what Gavin and I think may have been the old Man's goal, how he might've changed since the rift opened."

The Druid pursed her lips and nodded once, giving me the most stubborn look. "Exactly. Krithannia needs eyes in the area, and it will be to your benefit... if you and Gavin follow through on your purpose."

"Meaning that you intend to meet up with us later?" I asked.

"Ideally with useful knowledge. You must come to me, though, after you recover your final Red Sister."

I put my chin in my hand. "You will be waiting for us."

Tamuril nodded, her face colored some as she felt her passion. "To see you do as you promised me, yes. I can't allow a Lich to exist so near my forest. He and his minions must be destroyed."

I smirked. "Gavin will be taking his place, you realize, eventually with just as many minions to defend himself. And you will get no help from any of us, including Krithannia, to destroy him."

Tamuril looked away from me and scowled down the ground for several long moments, ignoring the action as Mourn and Jael danced. I could tell she was being careful how she spoke about the Deathwalker.

"At least I know Gavin has purpose beyond his own selfishness, unlike Sarilis. I still do not like his kind at all, but death itself has its place. He has some kind of deal with the Guild, with Krithannia, so I will hope for the best."

I bumped her shoulder with mine and she blinked in surprise as I grinned. "That was the most grudging thing I have ever heard of your mouth. Even beyond when we first met."

The Druid ran a few fingers through her blonde hair, causing me to notice she still had a few bendable twigs woven into a braid or two. "Much has changed since then."

"A short four months."

She nodded soberly. "If you are able to travel as fast as they hope, the summer will not quite have ended when we meet again. Better to not allow a Lich even one season to gather his defenses."

I shifted my position on the ground to relieve a pressure point. "What if you get into trouble?"

Tamuril looked to resent the way I had phrased that. "What if I'm threatened? In danger?"

I leaned back slightly. "Well, yes. You could easily be in danger, and you would be alone."

"That has been my way for a very long time," she said immediately. "And I have been freed of the things holding me back. I will be fine."

Her hands hovered just briefly over her breasts, covered tight by her brown leathers. I got it.

"So you have a few new tricks I haven't seen."

She nodded smartly. "When you come back to finish what you started, I will be there to help you."

I wasn't used to seeing this much confidence in her eyes. It was possible that I might yet see a Noldor Druid at full strength inside her own forest. There was something to be said for home territory advantage.

"Sirana," Jael called, panting as Mourn's blade song had finally eased down. "You want a match?"

I smiled and got to my feet. The practice would be good.

The rest of the night consisted of trading off conversational and sparring partners as the Humans slept, with a few minor updates from Gavin. I discovered by accident in which room he kept the three bundles each containing a full, large male skeleton. They looked ready for travel, with many of the straighter bones tucked inside the ribcage. I kind of wondered how he was going to put them together again.

Deshi hovered around after he woke up, or ceased his meditation, or whatever he'd been doing near Krithannia. I only knew it wasn't at all like Human sleep. No snoring. He found me near dawn, and prodded curiously at the skeleton bundles himself, with many other things on his mind.

"Nightmare hasn't eaten recently," he said as if he was concerned.

"She doesn't have to eat," I replied. "It only keeps her from rotting."

The pale Yungian pursed his lips in thought. "I haven't even seen any rats to feed her."

"That will change soon enough." I looked him. "How about you? Still hungry?"

"You...are not...um, offering," he stammered.

"No. It is just a question, Deshi. Are you?"

"No," he answered, looking relieved. "Not truly. Not as I was before."

I nodded. "Were you able to talk to Nianzu and Peng lok today?"

He blinked his gold-rimmed eyes at me, hesitating. 

I smiled. "Before we were shooed away from the mundane so as not to disrupt their sleep or their tasks tomorrow."

This did not seem particularly soothing or humorous to the young male, but it gave him more time to decide on his answer. He decided to be truthful.

"I was able to talk, yes," he said. 

"How did that go?"

He shrugged and looked at his palms as if they conveyed the strongest sign of this change. "They were not cruel."

A telling first choice to say.

"And?"

He swallowed. "They were curious. We confirmed I am out of the Guild."

I arched a brow at him. "But not without connection to it."

"Still outside," he insisted.

After a drifting, awkward pause, I tried, "Did you hear anything from the Grave Mother when you stood before the Bright Man?"

"The Sun God?" Deshi huffed out a trembling laugh. "No, I...I was too frightened. I could not understand them." He gave me a hopeful look. "Did you?"

Ah, so that was why Gavin had warned me about making plans for him.

I shook my head. "Deities speak strangely even when they want you to understand."

"So very true," he murmured. "Before I died, I did not know if any such beings would ever show themselves to us this way. And even now, both times, seem like nothing but a dream. Once when the pain finally stopped, and once when I felt I would cease breathing forever." He looked at me. "My brothers didn't see it. But the mystics saw it. Right?"

I nodded. "Both times."

He nodded again in relief, but also rather desperate. "What am I to do, Jan'shi? The Deathwalker won't speak to me on this."

"But he did," I said. "He said to practice patience."

"He is also preparing to leave, with you, as when he first came to Yong-wen," Deshi said, anger passing across his face. "And he said he will not take me with him."

"He did? When?"

"Just after sunset."

That did seem strange, considering Deshi's purpose according to Nyx. But then, this "Harrowed" didn't even know his mystic name yet. It was being left for him to discover. What had Gavin said...all servants of death must be self-reliant? 

It felt rare that I would find myself in a position of both much greater age and knowledge above someone gifted with stronger "mystical" ability than me. I could explain so much to him, and yet what would happen if I did? Deshi might be unwilling to leave Gavin, or would follow him even after we left. As the sole Deathwalker of Miurag thus far, my necromancer would be his sole purpose.

This did feel concerning. Clinging, something I knew Gavin hated. Volatile emotion, Deshi would still have nightmares of how he died, I knew, while Gavin suppressed his own. Resentment on both their parts. Sooner or later, rejected. They would possibly become enemies, straining the tentative treaty between Nyx and Musanlo. 

All of that hovered on the horizon if I told the newborn mystic what I'd heard Nyx say about him. If I went against Gavin's wishes, and his counsel. Yet Tamuril had begged me not to "abandon" him.

I fumbled for something to say. What else would this young male admire? What would matter to him?

"Will you speak to him for me, Jan'shi?" he asked. "Convince him that I should stay with him. I would be his bodyguard."

Damn it.

"I know Gavin well," I said. "I do not believe he needs his mind changed. I believe you fear he is right."

Anger returned to his face and a subtle, blue luminescence showed just beneath the surface of his skin, to where I could almost see his teeth though his mouth was closed. "What if you go, and I find I can only feed on the breath of mystics like you?"

"I would test with a non-mystic very soon, if I were you."

"But you did this to me!" he cried, startling me with the outburst as I leaned back.

"No, I—"

"You did! I saw you, felt you touch me, breathe into me!"

"I answered your prayer!" I pushed back. "If there was one thing clear to me, it was that you had already given yourself to Nyx before I ever did anything to heal your body!"

"Why must I have come back to stay forever?" he demanded, his eyes shimmer with tears, those and the gold in them making them far stranger than Gavin's. "I asked to return to slay the Hellhounds for what they did to me and my brothers! To make sure it didn't happen again! Now I am condemned to live, only to remember always how this body first died? Why?!"

"I don't know!" I barked. "But you're alive to do something about it, aren't you?"

"Easy to assume! You haven't suffered what I did—"

"YES, I have!"

I gritted my teeth as Deshi went silent and the tail end of my voice faded in the broken manor. The force of my voice surprised me, as it did him. I rarely got so loud... 

"I have," I said far more quietly. "I've felt exactly what you did."

Deshi looked both surprised and horrified for just a moment before he decided to deny it. "You still look exactly like your sister, she doesn't fear you. Unlike me and my brothers. I do not believe you."

I became aware of my left hand trembling, like when I talked with Talov, and I clenched it into a fist to try to stop it. Deshi and I were almost the same height, and I faced him dead on, staring into his eyes. 

"You don't believe me. You mean, I can't know about being sacrificed for the goal of your enemy, having your body torn apart and violated? So much pain you can't even tell time or place anymore? You barely recognize your allies and their voices, or those who are supposed to be, when they come to take your broken form away?"

Deshi took a step back and stared at me wide-eyed. For a few moments I relived, I remembered everything from back home again, my earliest memories of my blood-sister's "sacrifice" of me on her makeshift altar, fast-forwarding to the moment Kerse had revealed his brutal, demonic weapon between his legs, and told me that he was going to kill me with it. It happened so fast but it was all there, right up until the moment that Shyntre was beside me—maybe holding my hand, maybe not— begging me to help him discover how to break the link the demonblood had on me while Jaunda and Jael battled the Draegloth.

In those same moments, I saw what had happened to Deshi. Saw their faces. Felt it. Far too clearly. But for the number of attackers, the memories were so similar in feeling that I didn't know whose heartbeat I heard in my ears. Whose stomach was about to descend into dry heaves.

The Yungian staggered back first and fell, lifting an arm palm out in defense as we broke eye contact. He kept his eyes on the ground and he looked just as I had when Musanlo loomed over me. 

"I am sorry. I am so sorry for doubting you, Jan'shi. You tell the truth. You know, and you returned from the dead. Like me."

I blinked, regretting that my chest hurt so much, and that he was lying on the ground. I took a step back so that he wouldn't kick me. I had just given him glimpses of the Underdark. Why had I done that? How would that help?

"I understand," he said, taking my giving him space as an invitation to return to his feet. "It was you and the dragon spirit who carried me to safety...I...I do remember. You repaid in action what had been done for you, and I was ungrateful, shouting at you." He bowed. "I-I apologize, Jan'shi."

I watched him stand up and listened to him speak, wondering why he took both of our weakest moments as solidarity, not competition. Although we had something quite distinct in common now.

"I was healed by the same magic which healed you," I said. "It...it was a gift."

He nodded in urgent agreement, standing but not yet meeting my eyes again. "Yes. Yes, it was."

"And so are you."

The young Man glanced up briefly but looked at my chin. "What?"

*A gift.*

"I did understand one thing the Grave Mother told the Sun God," I decided to tell him. "She said you are her gift, Deshi. And Musanlo accepted what She presented before Him." I paused. "What does that tell you?"

The Yungian quivered as he sought to hold in more sudden tears. He nodded again, this time more shaky. "I was...given this gift to be something more."

I felt the relief flow through me. The Human needed a purpose desperately, and that was another way to say he wanted to live no matter what.

"But no one knows your message," I explained, or tried to. "That is for you to discover, just...just as it was for me."

After a pause, Deshi took a deeper breath and straightened up; he found he could meet my eyes without that same pulling feeling which had sucked us both in, and he studied me. "You did not know your message after you were healed?"

I shook my head, only now seeing the parallel. "I was as lost as you, at the beginning. I know it now, and it... I know it gets better if you continue on. You don't move on, you don't learn."

He nodded. "What...what did you do, Jan'shi? A-at the beginning?"

It wouldn't really help conversation to say that I had been given a task, a mission, by someone else which helped me take my mind off of it for a while. I thought instead about what I'd been doing the first weeks I had spent upon the Surface; I remembered the wonders, the feeling that I was in a place my race had been before. We had lived up here, I knew, even before I met Innathi. Sometime long ago.

"I went to see a mysterious place I had only heard about," I said, feeling calmer, as Deshi seemed to feel as he just started to smile. "A place I wanted to experience for myself."

His face brightened up instantly and he nodded as if he understood exactly what I meant. "You visited your land of ancestors. An ancient home."

He startled me, and I was not sure what to make of the excitement on his face or the fact that he had hit so close to the mark of what I was thinking. I tilted my head but nodded in agreement. "Yes. I did."

"Yung-An," he said, tearing up again.

I shook my head; I didn't understand. "What did you say?"

"Yung-An, my ancestors' home. I have always wanted to see it. I have only heard about it, but want...to experience it myself."

Ah. Now I got it. That sounded like a good idea. Yung-An. Where...? Oh yes, across the Great Lake from Augran. He just needed a ship.

"The Guild would help you with passage, you realize," I said with a smile.

Again he looked hopeful. "Will they?"

The Human needed it explained.

"Two Guildmasters you have met, and one of them is a mystic," I said. "I guarantee they will want to stay on good terms with you. You may ask a favor or two. They have some idea what you are."

"Master Talov and Mistress Krithannia? How could they?"

I smiled wryly. "Mourn. You remember riding a black Dragon, don't you? Lung-jinshen?"

"That was... real?" he asked, this memory seeming to be almost an impossibility to him.

I nodded, feeling like chuckling, so I did. "He remembers. I asked him and he remembers bringing you to aid the Grey Maiden. And you know his status within the assassins, he is the best. I assure you, he told them about you, that you stood in front of the Maiden to protect her. You have more value than you realize. You do not need to depend on Gavin."

Deshi's heart beat strongly in his chest and he nodded slowly, many new things swirling behind his strange eyes. Eventually he looked at me again. "Th-thank you, Jan'shi. I...I wish to go and speak with Peng lok and Nianzu again."




Surfacing Ch. 24



Excellent.

"Then that is what you should do."

The Yungian bowed his head to me, the formality hinting at his center being restored, and he left as the dawn broke the horizon.

******

The next day Mourn was off in another shape and the new face to see what was going on with Talov and the Guild, and how they were getting on with the Godblood and his people. The noise rose up dramatically with the Sunrise, and I realized just how true of Sun-worshipers these Humans really were. By the sound of it, they seemed to work as hard as the Duergar. 

Krithannia could as easily change her form into that of a male and designated herself as the retriever of our daily bread. She also insisted on giving me a quick physical exam, asking me a few questions to assure us both I was in good health.

"Healthiest baby aura I have ever seen," she commented with a smile of delight when she was finished.

I cocked a wry expression. "You were the one who said sex would keep me well."

She winked. "So I did."

We each, no doubt, spent a moment recalling our favorite parts after the pool... I was able to anticipate the Guildmistress's gratitude on behalf of the Druid.

"Ask me for anything I can do," she said, her gaze direct and unafraid, "to help you see a good birth. And if you ever need help to care for him or hide him, I can help with this as well."

I did not anticipate that second part, and I felt my face warm up as I had not even imagined something like that. "If your people ever heard you were hiding a Drow child..."

She smirked defiantly. "I have done it before. I can forgive them their vast ignorance, even if it is willful, but not their cruelty to Tami. I am not afraid of them."

I rubbed my mouth in thought. I believed her, on all points. "I will keep this in mind, Krithannia. Thank you. Um. What about the blond Priest who marked her? Do you know who he is?"

Her dark, delicate brows lifted in surprise but she nodded once. "How could I not?"

"You won't say the name of the God he serves, but -"

Krithannia shook her head abruptly. "No, Sirana, you have no need to know his name."

Damn. I sighed. "Well. I presume you meant what you said after the ritual, about Jael and I being 'good' for Mourn?"

She lifted her chin and smiled again. "I did. He has been very comfortable with the power of his aura for some time. I like that you are somehow forcing another change."

"Another?"

The grey-eyed Noldor maintained her aplomb and did not offer specifics, though her eyes swept the area around us. "He needs the challenge periodically. Or he gets destructive."

My mouth was open and mid-word but that was when the Noldor excused herself with a clear sign she was finished talking. She had more work to do than me.

Jael coaxed me out of the daylight at one point and convinced me to lie down with her on our cloaks deeper inside one of the manors where the shadows were welcome. Our belts and tools off to the side, we shared some scent and warmth, and she was eager to draw down my pants before long and press her lips against my fur. I was happy to let her, shuffling my leathers down farther when she wanted to lap her tongue between my legs.

My Sister was abnormally quiet, never mind that her mouth was full of pussy for most of the time. I stroked her shorter hair and relaxed, letting the build come slow and thick through my senses. I felt my womb grew warmer, particularly when Jael's fingertips danced delicately over the firm bump just a little above the tip of her nose.

I remembered thinking some time ago how passive climaxes were not my preference, that I often wanted to seize them as though they had a neck to throttle. But it felt right here, just as it had to forgo my own peak in favor of focusing on Tamuril's. In some strange way, it was like both Jael and Mourn had noticed that and didn't want to see me go without.

Two for one. I could enjoy that.

"Ohhhhhh, goddess!" I breathed, just coming down. Coasting as I thumped my head back on the ground.

Nice. So nice.

Jael giggled and kissed my wet netherlips, blowing cool air on them as if to dry them. Congruent with my earlier thought, she didn't demand to be serviced next, but instead made room so I could pull up my pants as she lay down next to me and relaxed.

She wanted to talk about something. I just had to wait.

"You're right," she murmured.

I cracked open an eye. "About?"

"About my needing to stay with Mourn to learn more magic. I knew in Isboern's prison that I could never go back, but I am going to s-stay with him. For a while at least."

The stutter sort of surprised me, but I kept my mouth shut and looked at her. Waiting. She swallowed and turned to rest her head on my shoulder.

"We will both come with you and Gavin to make sure we take out Sarilis," she continued. "Mourn can't bluff either of us on this one."

No, he couldn't. Even Talov had known that much yesterday.

"But Gaelan might be with us then?" she said. It sounded like a question.

"How long we are among the Wilder depends on everything except for you and me," I told her, looking up at the scorched ceiling. "Whether or not Gaelan is even alive, whether they will even let us enter, or stay. We know they are secretive, that they might be shifters, and that is about it."

"Where did you hear they were shifters?" Jael asked.

"Tamuril. Noldor legend."

She grunted. "But Mourn knows them."

I glanced down. "Has he told you anything at all?"

"Um. No."

I chuckled.

"But he could be so skilled at shapeshifting himself because of them."

"Maybe. I know how he was trained down below, how he escaped and met Graul on the way up. I know he started the Guild, I know he took ten years to extract vengeance on an entire Human family for the death of a female mage three hundred years ago and encouraged his own legend in Yong-wen healing sick little girls so they could become grandmothers telling his stories. I know he eventually sought to take down a theocracy he originally opened the wound to allow to fester. Other than his knowing where the Wilder are, I don't know anything about his connection to them or where they fit into this order of events."

Jael rubbed my belly lightly. "Hm. That's more than I know."

"No. Different from what you know." I looked at her. "I have no idea what it feels like to access the Ley Lines at all, much less through a To'vah aura."

"But you *could* feel it," she said, her copper eyes wide open. "All you have to do is mind link. Or even do what you did at the temple. Was that the same?"

Not quite. But I wasn't sure how to explain it.

I grimaced. "That doesn't seem like something we want to do often. We were one will at that point."

"Yeah, probably not," she agreed, raising her fingertip in a circle around my belly button. "How is your ear?"

Blinking in surprise, I reached to touch it. It still felt malformed, but it did not hurt. The skin felt normal, sort of, a bit uneven. "Um. Fine."

Jael nodded. "It was healed after you climbed out of the pool, I noticed. A bit of scarring and it is noticeably smaller than your other one, but...it's not too bad."

I lifted a brow. "Good to hear I skipped right past the swelling and tenderness to 'it's not too bad.'"

My Sister smirked. Then it faded. "Mourn said Soul Drinker will force you to go back home at some point."

"He would be right."

"And what about the dreamer Consort? Auslan?"

I shook my head. "I don't know. Maybe I could bargain Soul Drinker for them. Buy them."

"Them?"

"Him and the wizard. They would have to come together."

"Shyntre? No way." Jael shook her head against my shoulder. "The Valsharess never let a Royal Consort of Her own leave the Palace permanently. She always killed them first."

"Except for Phaelous."

"Well...he proved useful. And Shyntre is obviously going to replace him."

"Obviously?" I smiled at her. "Didn't you say you were no good at Court games?"

She frowned stubbornly. "I don't enjoy them, I don't waste energy on creating them. But I saw the way She looked at Shyntre. I didn't want to be in his place for anything."

No jesting. How was I going to get them out of there? I did not even know where to begin. The border patrol, the sentries, the Red Sisters, the Priestesses, the Valsharess, Auranka and every single Drider under her command. If I went back pregnant, I would be taken. If I waited and gave birth up here first, they would be dead.

If Innathi took over the body of Lelinahdara and killed Ishuna, taking her place on the throne... Could I even trust the ancient queen to allow me to escort those two males safely to the Surface? No more than I could trust Soul Drinker to "decide" which souls not to take at the worse possible moments. I had a safe place to bring Auslan and Shyntre but no way to both go in and get back out. Not alone.

"Mourn and I are both convinced about Gavin's and Isboern's quest," Jael said quietly, like she knew what she was about to say was risky. "It wouldn't take much to convince him to help us get Auslan."

Us. Jael saying she wanted to help me. I could appreciate that, but...wouldn't Mourn just love that she was trying to open negotiations where he had been blocked?

I pointed at the ceiling and the evidence of fire in the abandoned manor. "We've seen what happens when the Guild Leader focuses on a place out of balance."

Jael lifted her head to frown at me. "What do you mean... our City is out of balance?"

"In Mourn's view, easily. You truly think, if I brought him down with me, that anything would remain which we would recognize? It would look like this, Jael."

She shifted uncomfortably but lowered her head. "Three armies did this."

"Planned for three centuries, by him and his Guild." I felt my jaw tighten as the unnamed fears and feelings finally began to rise where I could better see them. "And we don't know how long Lethrix has been planning anything against the Drow down below."

"Huh?" She lifted her head again. "What makes you think Lethrix is involved?"

"Because the first thing Mourn asked me when Gavin triggered my compulsion was whether the Valsharess knew where his sire was. And I don't see how, if Lethrix wasn't involved, how a half-blood traded as a twenty-year-old toddler and leaving both the Drow and the Underdark before he was old enough to feel the mating urge could possibly know those old stories about To'vah mages and a Sun God misunderstanding some racial failure on 'Dragonkind's' part."

My Sister was quiet. Then, "Shit."

"See, I knew you were half-listening on the balcony." I tweaked the tip of her ear. 

"Ow." 

She scowled as I smoothed my fingertips back over it with a smile. 

"We will see what he shows us with Gaelan," I said. "But I am not planning beyond that."

She hummed. "Okay. Are we going to ask him about Lethrix?"

I shrugged. "What's to ask? He's already said there are secrets which might trigger a hungry Dragon to seek us out. Let him reveal what he will, as he agreed."

******

At twilight there was just enough thumping and bumping atop the manor to make me climb the side of the building in all haste, Jael following close behind and Krithannia and Tamuril murmuring to each other on the ground. Pilla was already perched high giving the Druid a sneak peek, and she looked pretty flustered, flapping her wings and screeching.

When I was about halfway up, something screeched back, and Pilla went silent.

"He did it!" Jael huffed, following in the same hand-holds as me.

It certainly sounded like it. That call brought back images of the city's fall when I'd been trapped in the ArchBishop's quarters. In addition to the thumping, I heard only three or four scraping, gouging talons, each thick as a staff. It struggled as if restrained.

Cautiously I poked my head up over the edge of the rooftop; I was at the same vantage point as last time, watching the back end of the creature, especially the wings and those two, excessively long hind claws. The sounds made sense as I saw Gavin had prepared for this moment with a few carefully placed stakes on either side of the beast. Ropes stretching over its back held it down and prevented it from flying off immediately, though on the damaged roof, I didn't think it would be held forever. Fairly soon, those binds were going to break.

It did, however, seem to give the necromancer time to perform his next trick, and that was to finish up sewing up some kind of lump—I was willing to bet it was either a gem or a polished bit of bone—into the meat of the creature's neck by the shoulder. I noticed a dark wound already closing up on Gavin's greyish arm, a bit of black fluid at the corner of the flier's large, beaked mouth, and the familiar mage's motions and words to complete his spell.

"Move up," Jael hissed. "I want to see!"

Oh, right. I pulled myself the rest of the way up and crouched on a stable board, trying not to distract Gavin and signing for Jael to be wary as well. The beast still struggled against the ropes but grew calmer as the hooded Deathwalker placed his long-fingered hand over the lump and held it there; I'd almost say he tried to comfort the creature, if I didn't know better.

Still, the screeches quieted to softer, clicks and grunts coming from deep inside the thick neck, and the tension on the ropes went slack. It waited, and I looked at Gavin to gauge his reaction.

He was smiling a bit; he was very pleased.

"Would you like to come closer?" he asked, not taking his eyes away from the new mount.

"Will it bite?" I asked with a jesting laugh.

"If you make it easy for her, possibly," he answered. "She still has reflexes and instincts of her own. I do not control every motion of this one, so best bear that in mind."

"Why not?" Jael asked as she and I stepped carefully, nearly silently, to join Gavin beside the creature.

"The reason is twofold," he said. "She is a native to the Greylands, not a conversion, so my power resonates with her, amplifying it somewhat beyond my will. The other is that her senses and flight require more of her own natural instincts must be preserved. I have given her something to understand my commands, but if anything could be truly living again from the work of a death mage, she is as close as we will get."

Alive, huh?

My Sister and I gaped a bit, looking at the profile of the creature. The forelimbs and the wings were one and the same, bones elongated and skin stretched long and tough from body to talon to create a vast spread I could imagine but had not even seen yet with the binds holding them in. The hind limbs were so short and stumpy, the toes splayed and webbed as if for efficient steering in air or water, that I did not imagine that it—or rather she—spent much time walking on the ground. All manner of heights would be a more natural fit for her: to climb and cling, hang and crawl before jumping off to catch the wind.

That was an interesting thought. The Greylands had heights and wind, not just that empty, placid grey plane I saw?

Finally I got a close look at the saddle on her back, and noted there was not one finger-weight of metal on her. I saw the tough leather piece was hooked directly into her equally tough, grey hide using sharpened pieces of the same natural chitin-like substance as the Ma'lok's armor, although there was also a wider band of something woven spanning her belly. The saddle possessed leather straps clearly intended to keep the rider seated and prevent her from falling off should the mount turn upside down in mid-air, but there were no reigns. What was more, there was no bridle or headpiece of any sort. 

So how did they steer...?

I took a better look at the head. She had a long mouth and strong enough jaw to have a very hard bite, backed up with many teeth; she had dense bony ridges on the front edge of her snout to ram or sweep any target which got close enough. The wide nostrils implied a keen sense of smell and, like the Ma'lok, I saw no eyes on this beast—just grey skin stretched over where they might have been. I looked for earholes, assuming the hearing was just as good, but wasn't sure where they were.

"How does she see?" I asked. "Like the Ma'lok?"

"A little different, actually," Gavin said, satisfied as always to answer my questions. I seemed to ask him good ones. "She is making high pitches well above our hearing even now, and she senses them through fine organs embedded all over her head. Those were the most difficult to restore. She would have no sense of balance and would fall off the roof then proceed to run into walls without them."

"Better to put her back down in that case," Jael commented, and Gavin nodded in agreement.

I estimated the length of her back compared to her wingspan. "You still think she could hold two riders if necessary, right?"

Gavin nodded, patting at the lump and another rumble passed through the dense throat as she lay still. "Two, or one plus some equipment. She is strong enough, and there are spare straps here."

He pointed out the long, thick ridge along the back edge of the saddle; it was a holding compartment. Jael and I looked at each other.

"What is she called?" I asked.

"Will we get to practice flying?" Jael said at the same time.

The Sun had disappeared behind the horizon a handful of minutes ago and Stars dotted the deepening Sky over our heads. Both Gavin and the creature seemed to become pale enough to glow as nighttime came full on.

"Hm," Gavin grunted, looking between us. "She is a Roh'ghast. And yes, we should practice before leaving. Though I might suggest keeping it to night only as the Manalara sleep."

"Night flying?" Jael asked, her eyes widening in excitement.

Gavin answered with the obvious for him. "She is born to fly in darkness."

"Can we call her Roh?" Jael asked with a chuckle.

He shrugged, not understanding that my Sister was already warming up to this creature. "I don't see why not."

"No bridle or reigns, I see," I observed.

He shook his head. "No, the riders of these mounts use the pain hooks."

"The...what?"

"Precise nerve response, by leaning in the saddle or tugging one of the straps holding the saddle in place." 

Gavin pointed out the piercings in the thick hide, and on second study I decided that, technically, not all of them were necessary to keep the saddle on. But they were necessary to steer it.

"And," I began slowly, looking back at him, "so will you?"

His long fingers stroked his jaw as he thought. "Any bridle would interfere with her senses, and this is how she was trained to respond. So, yes."

"Do you have any idea what her 'training' entailed?"

"I plan to meditate on that."

A guffaw escaped Jael's lips as she seemed to have a deeper appreciation for the challenge of flying this new mount. "Or we could just give it a go. You said you gave her something, the thing you just stitched in -"

"A bit of both might be recommended," Mourn said from behind us, causing Jael and me to jump.

"I wondered whether you would hear her," Gavin said.

I turned to see the half-blood crouched where Jael and I had first come up, and he had a wide-eyed, very interested Graul on his shoulder. The Dragonblood's pointed ears were turned back as if he was irritated, and his tail slowly coiled and uncoiled at the end. 

"I could hear her all the way from the temple."

"The struggling, you mean?" I asked.

"No. The echo calls."

We looked at each other. We weren't hearing any echoes.

"Echo?" Gavin asked. "The high pitches, I presume."

Mourn nodded. "Many such animals use it in the Underdark. Fewer up here, but they are all low-sight environments."

And any could be prey to a hungry Dragon, no doubt. A veritable, "Come eat me!" shout. I was glad the Drow had figured out darkvision, even sacrificing color and distance. It wasn't like the bats or underwater swimmers saw anything more than us.




Surfacing Ch. 25



Author's Notes: This story is erotic fantasy written by Etaski. I reserve the right to be listed as the author of this story, wherever it is posted. If found posted anywhere except Literotica.com with this note attached, this story is posted without my permission. (c) Etaski 2015.

For pacing, this chapter has a lot in common with Chapter 12: the time Sirana spent seeing Yong-wen and Augran. It's been a while since I needed to set up a whole new place that wasn't a hole in the ground (Retreat); it surprised me how much energy that requires sometimes!

Now, picking up where we left off...

******

"A moment, please, unless you insist on tasting nothing but Jael's snatch while we talk."

Mourn flicked his tongue by reflex; clearly he might not have minded all that much, but I didn't wait for a response before I hobbled over to the stream, dragging my belt so that I could get a cloth to wipe down my sticky, scalding face and soggy, bruised crotch. I noted that the evening had grown much closer—this trance had taken longer than my communions with Soul Drinker, not a few moments or minutes but maybe an hour? 

How long had Mourn and Jael been feeling their lust as they held me, restraining themselves from fucking me as hard as they had while unconscious? While I was grateful to have been awake to enjoy it, this was also one of those times when, while the lust craze was worth it, I had no choice but to reflect on the body parts which were going to hurt once I came down from my high. 

Had I bitten my lip, or caught it between my teeth and Jael's pubic bone? Yes. Had someone wrenched my ear, had I bonked my nose, had someone been gripping my hips and sides so hard they left bruises? Yes. Was my asshole sore from the invading tail, and my slit a bit torn from Mourn's knot both getting shoved in and tugged back out before it had gone at all? Oh, fuck, yes! 

Whether the hybrid understood it or not, I felt good; nothing else could have satisfied.

So...that was what they had done to me. What had I done to them, exactly, to cause them to give me that, even if it might not have been their first impulse? Each of them was highly aware of and generally careful of my pregnant state. I felt fine, as far as that was concerned; no cramps in my belly. Even if my womb had been bumped a few times, nothing that wasn't part of a normal fuck leaking out of my body. 

In fact, I still felt Auslan's magic deep inside. It reminded me of what Lelinahdara had done to me on Lolth's altar, when I'd won passage into the Sisterhood—or at least won the opportunity. The intense, crippling need to cum, to make a male give me his seed, with mindless drive; the whole reason I'd first fucked and then killed a psionic Duergar in the first place. That had been divine magic saturating me at the time, or maybe life magic— something of which Auslan possessed an abundance, if there was a difference— laying down an irrepressible urge to use my newly-returned fertility as soon as possible. 

Was it just my communion with Auslan? Maybe, maybe not, but even if Isboern had been here I doubt I would be asking him if more of it had been direct psionics on my end. The telling part would be whether the urge resurfaced in either of my partners later on without my direct influence. I hoped not.

My face was almost clean when Jael joined me to wipe down her thighs and crotch, and another moment later Mourn join us to dunk his tail and splash chilly water over his lingering erection and sticky thighs. Like Jael, he had completely removed his pants at some point before I woke up, but he still possessed his harness as she had her leather armor. They had removed their double-blades, however. 

Graul had been completely silent, and when I glanced at him, he was watching us wide-eyed and remained very still, his nose buried in Mourn's cloak. Not even the drake knew what to make of the abrupt rut.

Eventually we each got ourselves cleaned up, clothed, and set to rights, and the others watched me expectantly. I placed my hand over a tender spot on my head, even though it was inside and putting pressure on my skull wouldn't do any good. Maybe I was just trying to convey a bit of genuine uncertainty, a loss of control. 

I hadn't done whatever I did on purpose. At the same time, I felt no actual regret for what I could consider a great fuck with them - whether or not by the end I might be required to apologize for it anyway.

"Auslan needed my help to protect Shyntre from a dangerous ritual he was being forced to undergo back home," I said hoarsely, and softer than I normally spoke as I considered the outcome. "It worked, we interfered with the ritual on...some level. The wizard survived it no worse for wear. I have more time now."

Jael pursed her lips. "We have more time now."

I huffed a quiet laugh and nodded tiredly, not up to arguing that point right now.

"It is a certainty you will return home for them," Mourn stated, crouching next to where Jael and I sat on the grass.

I blinked and looked at his face, but nodded. Yes. I still didn't know how I would achieve it, but there was no doubt anymore. Not after what I felt on the red sands. I couldn't leave them down there to die.

The Guild Leader didn't blink. "You must act prior to giving birth."

Again I nodded. "Yes."

His tail slid along the ground, fanning the blades of grass; his expression firmed up like stone. "You have four or five months, at most, before you will be dangerously heavy. Sooner if you do not wish to get caught by the snow up in the high mountains." 

Good to know; good and practical.

"Is it physically possible to travel and get Gaelan," Jael said, "move on to Sarilis's Tower, then get back underground by then?"

"Only with our current mounts and method," the hybrid said flatly. "Assuming we destroy Sarilis soon after we challenge him and it is not a lingering task. Assuming nothing stops her travel through the Underdark."

How I loved piles of assumptions. At least Mourn wasn't assuming he'd be going underground with me. Even though there was what the Valsharess had told me of one of her visions, I wasn't ready to bring it up.

There was a lot I wasn't ready to bring up.

I shifted to lean against a tree trunk, trying to get just a little more of the pressure off of my pussy and back hole. Mourn's ears shifted slightly before he looked over his shoulder, and soon I heard Gavin's footsteps as he returned to us, now that there was regular conversation going on. The necromancer took his favored seat on one of the larger rocks and braced himself on his thighs, his hands together as he studied me.

"You accomplished what you were summoned to do," Gavin said. "Good. Was that surge just now a pleasurable reward for your success? If so, who granted it?"

The way he said it at first gave me the mental picture of my Consort patting me on the head and saying that since I had done such a good job saving Shyntre, he now presented me with his glorious, otherwise-untouchable body. It pulled a smile onto my face, because that wasn't too far from how some Matrons acted with their own males at home.

"If it was a reward," I said, "it was my idea. I wasn't really conscious last time my body was in bed with the Consort, when I first caught."

Jael nodded in affirmation, and Mourn noted it. 

"This time, our bodies weren't together but... I don't know, it was some very intense dream-fucking."

Or maybe mind-fucking?

"We could tell," Mourn said, one corner of his mouth rising as the tip of his tail coiled up then extended. Then the smile faded and he looked serious again. "Deathwalker makes a good point in asking who granted it. Where were you at the time? If you were upon the red sands again, you would have been exposed."

He was leading me.

"How would you know that?" I asked, my eyes narrowing suspiciously. "Have you ever been there?"

The hybrid paused. Then, "I have."

"Drider shit," I challenged, and we locked eyes. "You didn't recognize the red sands when I first mentioned them to you in Augran."

"You are certain?"

"Yes," I said flatly. "You aren't quite as good covering your ticks in your Human form."

"That, or I have well-practiced ticks."

"I'll go with my gut, thank you."

He smiled. "And I could not have seen the dunes afterward?" he suggested. "We shared a much deeper understanding at the inn."

"When?" I demanded. "When were you *ever* asleep long enough to dream of the desert, bodyguard?"

"The Retreat, maybe?" Jael suggested, sitting tensely between us.

I paused, realized that was a real possibility though I did not take my eyes from Mourn and his tail as I instead wanted for his answer. It was non-verbal, but he answered. Jael had hit on it.

"Alright, when you collapsed after teleporting us out of Manalar," I said. "You woke up when Soul Drinker threatened Jael."

"When Soul Drinker threatened you," he corrected. "You called me awake, like you did Captain Isboern."

I fell quiet, thinking back on that struggle with my Sister. It was uncomfortable to do so— for Jael as well, judging from her shifting. I remembered calling for help, yes.

"You claim I not only called you back to help me, but at the time called you back from the red dunes specifically?" I said, narrowing my eyes again.

Mourn nodded once.

"Prove it," I said. "Convince me, To'vah."

He exhaled slowly, golden eyes so much like Lethrix and yet I wouldn't mistake them if given only that feature to judge. It had to do with the intent I saw within, and the intangible age.

"Brom is not dead," the hybrid said with an undercurrent of a growl. "Your life priest healed what the black vial did to him."

Damn. Gavin could have spoken up at this point but didn't. He sat and listened; like the first time we had ever talked with the half-blood mercenary, the grey mage simply absorbed what knowledge he would get for free.

"You could have gotten that from my communion just now," I said. "Auslan confessed that he healed Brom. How do I know what you did or didn't see while you protected me just now?"

"I protected you more than you know," he said.

My brows lifted Skyward. "You actually want to move on a tangent?"

"A notable one."

"Well then, keep talking, Guild Leader. I'm still not convinced."

"You drew Soul Drinker on the sands. It led you toward Ishuna. You ran a great distance, rather like our travel today, and—"

I kept my mouth and mind shut, even as I saw where he might be going with this. "And?"

"I made sure Soul Drinker didn't blow your cover before your queen. She wants me anyway, she sent you for me. I gave her what she wanted instead of what you intend."

Was that why the queen was screeching at my like a mad one? She thought she saw Mourn? She wanted him...that was correct. Just like Innathi wanted him, really. Speaking of which, I looked down. I realized my belt contained an empty, red-rune sheath. A spread of worry bloomed within my chest as I looked around and spotted the relic buried in another tree trunk across the stream, straight from where I'd been sitting. I must have thrown it again, both in the sands and here.

"How much of that conversation did you hear?" I asked bluntly.

"Enough."

Fuck.

"But not all of it, I gather. Could you see what I could?"

"No," he answered readily. "I could only sense where you were, entwine my aura to obscure yours, and hear some of your thoughts. Trying to see through your eyes would have compromised your will."

Jael and Gavin and Graul were all still silent, held with rapt attention. Krithannia's words about being more open came back, and I realized the irony in that for a secret-mongering Guildmistress.

"So...you experienced everything," I said flatly. "Why are we talking now? Why do you even ask what happened?"

Mourn shook his head. "Not everything. I lost you shortly after you passed over the border of the sand dunes with your life priest. I did not sense you again until you'd returned, and...your aura began surging. At this point I only knew you had succeeded."

Mourn very well may have sensed his sire as well...but we'd get to that. One tangent at a time.

"Back to Brom," I directed. "You knew he wasn't dead from the first day at the Retreat. You chose not to mention it to me."

"I had very little information from an interrupted flight in reverie."

That's right; he had said back at the temple that he only flew in his dreams...

"You were burdened from seeing the Draegloth and coming to terms with Jael," Mourn added. "I chose not to lump more weight on top of you."

I grunted, ripping some grass out of the ground. "So describe it to us now. What did you see?"

Mourn blinked slowly, tilted his head as his gaze turned inward toward memory, and I glimpsed his spines lift halfway before he consciously lay them back down. He drew in a deep breath and considered his words, speaking deliberately. 

"I saw an abandoned desert palace surrounded by fire-stone ruins within the dunes—a place I'd not seen before, but from which sounded a cry for help. This palace was where the Archmage returned when dying, but somehow your Consort found him there. I flew over the site and saw the sorcerer attacking your Consort, intending to rape him at minimum, kill him if he could, now that the Deathless had evaded the Greylands yet again and was healed. I was in my To'vah form. I landed and struck the Archmage away. The Consort was able to run. He escaped from the sands."

I felt a cold squeeze on my stomach as my eyes widened in surprise and rage. "Wha—? Th-the Archmage tried to...?"

Mourn blinked slowly, keeping his face carefully still. "Auslan didn't tell you this in his confession."

I could only shake my head and the hybrid shrugged.

"It probably wasn't a necessary detail at the time."

"Not necessary?!" I said, my voice going higher than I intended.

"If the prime fact was that he healed and therefore indebted the sorcerer to him, and this was already much for you to take in, why mention an attempted assault interrupted by an unknown Dragon?"

I wanted to think he was teasing me, but Mourn's face was straight as ever.

Why mention it? Well, it would have been nice for me to have better questions prepared by now, and make the connection earlier than this! Although, then, I'd still remain unconvinced of...what, exactly? That Moryxxyleth knew the way to the red dunes now, thanks to Auslan being able to reach him... through me?

The mental image of Cris brutalizing my Consort as he had me at his inn disturbed me greatly. Auslan wasn't strong like me, and for him it would probably be worse—at least Cris hadn't wanted to kill me, he'd wanted to breed me. My Consort didn't have that value; he couldn't take that treatment and not break. No one lacking any ability to defend could. 

I felt a painful lump in my throat as I scowled murderously at the ground. Brom certainly had taught Mathias well, hadn't he? They both deserved to be courted by the Kyton.

"You heard Auslan call for help?" Jael asked him. "How?"

"Most likely," Gavin spoke up, "with Sirana awake, the Consort did not have the time or power to overcome this—he reached for someone with whom Sirana is connected, who was already in the dreamscape.

Mourn nodded. "I heard and answered."

"What about just now?" Jael asked. "It was you he called this time, Deathwalker."

The slight quirk of a dark eyebrow told me my Sister wasn't quite right this time.

"His mother called, actually," I said, causing the necromancer to look sharply at me. "Gavin wasn't asleep and Auslan still isn't that powerful. But Nyx and her servants are, at least where it pertains to Gavin. Am I right?"

Gavin grunted and considered my expression. "You saw Ada again?"

I nodded. "She's been masking Auslan with a grey mist when he's in the dunes."

Jael squinted. "If that's so, where was she when Brom attacked him and Mourn had to save him?"

"Possible she has been there only since he was attacked," the hybrid answered her. "He was very small on the dunes before. The conflict with the Archmage would make him much more noticeable. He gained a lot of power from it, from what I sensed now through Sirana."

As Gavin had gained from dying and opening the rift; as Isboern had gained from protecting and healing the pool. And Auslan was now obvious enough even outside of the borders of the red dunes to attract a very lusty Dragon...one with a specific question for the "life priest." Lethrix knew.

"Did you sense anyone else, Mourn?" I asked directly, this time leading him. "When my aura aroused you. Who did you sense?"

"You and the Consort," he said readily, serpentine eyes steady and unblinking.

"No one else?"

"Ada was subtle, though she must have been performing her work."

"You asked 'who granted' the reward. You said we would have been 'exposed' for others in reverie to sense. In other words, you know neither Auslan nor I understand how to mask ourselves there. And yet we fucked hard enough for the lust to spill over onto you and Jael while you were awake!"

Mourn's smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "So either you just made a very foolish mistake and were lucky no one found you—for now—or someone guarded you."

"Very good." I straightened my spine. "Someone guarded us. Any guesses, smartass?"

The large halfbreed again drew in a deep, rowing breath, let it out again. "All that matters is your answer, Sirana. Will you answer?"

Nothing to volunteer? Fine.

"Lethrix."

Graul snorted in surprise, and Jael's mouth sagged a bit. 

Gavin had been resting intertwined fingers against his lips but now lifted his head up to ask, "Who is this?"

Mourn had a tight smirk on his face; he still watched me but he answered Gavin. "My sire."

"Coincidentally," I cut in, still watching Mourn, "Auslan told me one of the Red Sisters just discovered that a Dragon is awake in the Underdark."

"Oh, my," Gavin murmured dead pan.

"It is the same one, right?" I asked Mourn. "There couldn't be a second."

"Not likely," the hybrid granted, but offered no more.

"Why not?" I pushed. "Is Lethrix the only Dragon in the Underdark?"

"As far as I knew. I have never sensed another, even on the Surface."

"While awake, you haven't. What about in reverie, when you're flying?"

Mourn nodded. "There are others. I have never met them. I would ask in return, Sirana, your description of the bargain, and why it was necessary."

"How do you know there was a bargain?"

"Because I know my sire."

"Talk with him much since he traded you?"

"Occasionally."

"In reverie. Not face-to-face."

"Correct." He stared hard at me. "Sirana, the bargain. This is important."

I had to look away in order to think; I plucked a wide blade of grass and pulled off thin, vertical strings as I focused. "He was waiting for us as we hurried to the Underdark. He said, I think, that he just wanted a look at us. He was curious."

Out of my periphery I detected Mourn nod. "He learned about you from someone. Did he mention who?"

"It wasn't you?"

"No."

That was a surprise. Assuming he wasn't lying. 

"I am not lying," Mourn said.

Pretty convincing. Also, according to Lethrix, supposedly the Illithids were "gossiping" about me, weren't they...? Oh, Hells. Would I have to explain the Illithids again? Back to Ullipmious and Kerse and that fucking Abyssal ritual? Didn't Mourn already know about the escaped squid-face from linking with me? Maybe, but Gavin didn't know. Fuck. 

No. I started with the "other" known contact first.

"It must have been the Red Sister who met Lethrix recently. She was put in the same space as Auslan—being held in isolation—after her discovery of the Dragon."

Jaul's eyes had to be wide. "Who discovered him?"

I lifted my head from the blade of grass to look at her. "Jaunda."




Surfacing Ch. 25



"Oh," she said quietly, her eyes still big.

"So..." I decided to look at Mourn again. "Could Lethrix have 'followed' Jaunda to Auslan?"

Mourn nodded. "He can find his own essence in reverie quite easily."

"What does that mean in this context, 'essence,'" Gavin asked.

"Usually a magical mark of some kind," the Guild Leader answered vaguely. "It can be delivered in various ways."

I bit the inside of my cheek; I really had no proof or evidence that the "delivery" had been physically penetrative...only the attitude of the male himself. Still. If he followed Jaunda to Auslan, who dragged me back down under with him, and then Lethrix simply followed us back up to the red sands...well, now I saw where Mourn got the tendency to trail someone for far distances before revealing himself.

"The bargain," Mourn pressed again.

I sighed. "Ada said she couldn't mask all 'three' auras blending together; it was too difficult for her. Lethrix said he could."

Jael squinted. "Blending? Why?"

"Copulation," Gavin said. "I'm surprised you forgot so quickly, given the way you looked at her for quarter of an hour."

She rounded on him. "I didn't forget! We're skipping around!"

Mourn nodded, keeping his eyes on me, trying to keep us on track. "You sought out Auslan and Ada, you went below—"

"Without Ada, I'd imagine," Gavin interjected, and I nodded confirmation.

Mourn continued, "You met my sire, he let you pass?"

Again, I nodded.

"You continued on to the...'forming room' and saw your wizard survive the ritual. You returned to the sands and Ada, and my sire appeared again to mask you when you wanted to mate in victory."

"Essentially, yes," I said, reflecting that "opportunity" and "victory" seemed very different in the moment, but less so after the fact. 

Interesting also that Mourn was skipping over what happened at the forming room, for now at least. He wasn't allowing himself to get distracted from his sire for long. Important, indeed. Mourn's ears turned back and he slowly shook his head.

"Was the desire that strong? Or Lethrix that convincing?"

"Actually he wasn't convincing at all," I said. "He was quite plain that he only wanted to bat around some interesting rats who wandered by. He kept suggesting to me that I should fuck him."

"That sounds about right," Mourn granted. "So why the bargain?"

I pursed my lips. "It wasn't me. I refused. Auslan made the deal."

Jael reacted like someone slapped her. "And you didn't stop him?"

"I warned him not to." I shrugged helplessly. "What else, gag him?"

"Maybe so, yes!" she replied and I expelled a breath, looking up.

"He already made a deal with Cris-ri-phon—"

"Clearly he doesn't know enough to keep his mouth shut around powerful males!"

Mourn reached out and set a broad hand gently on her knee, and she settled down. She was getting abrasive again and I wondered why my male's behavior would upset her so—she barely knew him. Gavin remained still as they all watched me.

"Do you know for what he asked of your Consort?" Mourn asked. "In exact words, if you can remember."

I tapped my lips with a finger, thinking back. Closing my eyes, I tried to recall the voice. "He said, 'I would ask for your answer to a specific question, life priest. Nothing more.'"

Mourn's tail moved in the grass, but he waited as I continued.

"'Although I would like to watch you two fuck as well. I agree to remain otherwise uninvolved in all ways, and no one but Ada will be able to see you. No matter how intensely you cum, no matter how strongly your auras should flare.'" I opened my eyes. "Auslan agreed."

"And you didn't override him?" Jael asked.

I rubbed my forehead. "Beyond knocking him unconscious—which considering he's already unconscious I didn't know how that would work—I wasn't stopping him, Sister. I made my opinion known, but—"

"But you still had sex on the sand."

My sore crotch and recently-washed face both heated up at the memory. "Apparently he wanted me that badly."

Jael seemed like she remembered, too. She swallowed. I smiled.

"It was really good sex, you already know it. He has fine control over his aura and the surge when he cums." 

Mourn caught my eye and I shrugged, still smiling; I couldn't help myself. 

"He has more practice."

The half-breed actually smiled in return, not showing his teeth. Not defensive, not threatened. I liked that.

"I take it you did not hear Lethrix's question for the 'life priest,'" Gavin observed.

I shook my head. "It was a mental missive and I couldn't hear, though I tried. I could only tell the question surprised Auslan but he was able to give an answer of some sort. Lethrix frowned for a moment but overall kept the smirk on his face most of the time."

"What form did he hold?" Mourn asked then.

Oh, right. "Drow. Male. A very beautiful one."

The hybrid nodded, and I would have supposed Mourn had seen that form before. I had probably been lucky that Lethrix chose Drow—at least I could read familiar expressions in that shape. Or maybe that had been the intent.

"Do you have any guess what the question was?"

"No. I wish I did, but no."

"Did he say anything else at all before you awoke?"

"He said, 'Well done,' as we climaxed at the same time."

Jael guffawed. "Glad he approved of the show."

Mourn and Gavin waited; my gaze had become unfocused.

"And...he said something about having a chance 'this time,'" I added, "if that was him. I don't know, it sounded...it was distorted. It was right before I opened my eyes."

"Who else might it have been?" Gavin asked, and I shrugged.

"It could have been Auslan, or Ada, or the Sun shining down. But it could have been Lethrix."

A few moments of silence passed as we absorbed the conversation. No one asked any further questions of me; now I had a few of my own.

"Is your concern with the Valsharess and her City your choice, or your sire's?" I asked Mourn directly.

"Why does this matter?" he responded, though it wasn't outright challenging. He seemed to expect the question.

"Suffice to say that it does. Did you hear anything Ishuna said to you, or hear my thoughts responding to it, while you 'protected' her from seeing me?"

He nodded. "She has known of me for some time, despite what you told me when your compulsion was broken. I must presume it is in a vision, similar to the one she had of Isboern and Jael."

"What? What did She say?" Jael demanded, looking at me. "You can't leave me in the dark about this!"

Probably not.

"Let me think." I shredded another blade of grass. "She has figured out Mourn is proof of at least one outlier Drow settlement not under her control. She knows Lethrix is behind Mourn's existence. She said...um...directly to him..." I closed my eyes. "'Come near the City, whoreson, and We will enslave you, bind so tightly you will not escape the Underdark again. From you, We will know where both your sire and those deserters dwell, and there will be a price to pay. We drove him to ground once before, we will do it again."

Mourn was having trouble keeping his tail still and his spines flat while I spoke; his pupils had narrowed into tiny slits and he looked threatening; it was the first thing I saw when I opened my eyes again and I felt a tiny rush of fear. I wondered if that was what Ishuna had seen from her end as she had moved back from me in her tapestry room.

"Drove Lethrix to ground?" Gavin asked for clarification.

"I think so."

"What, he was far less powerful two millennia ago?" Jael asked. "Was he young, like Mourn?"

Mourn shook his head. "He was ancient before the Drow came to the Underdark."

"If that is so, how could the Drow Queen have 'run him to ground'?" Gavin asked.

"That is her perception of what happened."

"Did Lethrix ever tell you his side?" I asked the hybrid, whose left corner of his mouth rise wryly.

"Yes. He tested a balance, he decided to withdraw."

"He ran from a fight and tells you later he meant to do that all along?" Jael asked skeptically, trying not to laugh.

Mourn was nonplussed. "He could have gone back at any time, Jael. He did not."

I blinked. Lethrix had hinted at that. *If I could hold grudges as you do, Baenar, the City's cavern would be a collapsed pile of bone-riddled rubble...*

"Why force him to 'withdraw'?" I asked. "What was happening at the time, did he tell you?"

Mourn inhaled and exhaled fully before he answered. "I believe the Baenar were in search of a new home. The cavern used to be his."

Jael and I both swallowed as our eyes got big. Gavin actually smiled and wheezed a genuine laugh.

"The Drow City was once a Dragon's den," the necromancer said, seeming to appreciate much about this fact. "Not unlike Sarilis's Tower, first built by dwarves."

"Do you..." Jael cleared her throat. "Do you suppose they are for the same reason?"

"Ley lines?" Gavin shrugged. "Difficult for me to know. I am ignorant of the workings of the Underdark. But something similar might have driven Baenar and To'vah to clash. Certainly it would be a prime spot regardless."

That was unsettling. I'd been born where Lethrix had once held his hoard? Not just me, but maybe every Drow except for Ishuna had been born among Dragon scales.

"But now Lethrix made you," I said to Mourn. "For a purpose, I'd think."

"A scalpel with precision against one Drow," Gavin suggested, "as opposed to a battle axe against an entire population?"

Mourn shook his head. "My sire can take any form. He does not need me for that. He could walk into the Valsharess's chambers if he desired. He chooses not."

"Easy to say," Jael maintained. "He doesn't have to prove it."

Lethrix did claim to have "overheard" the Illithids gossiping about me, and that had to take similar power to walk undetected into our City, didn't it? The To'vah could dream-walk with confidence, the same as Ishuna and Auslan, and presumably was teaching Mourn the same, even to fly—and well enough to have come to my Consort's rescue.

"Something to add, Sirana?" Gavin asked.

He was getting into the habit of watching my face in these discussions, I noted.

I nodded. "I think so. When you and I discussed Sarilis...about the queen's visions changing sometimes, or not changing though she sees them many times...there was another hint of that. She was talking to herself."

No one said anything, they only waited on me. I breathed in then out, trying to hear her voice again, realizing that Mourn might as well know about it, that he would probably get his wish to travel with me underground, have me lead him right to the City, his sire's old den. I'd decided not to abandon Auslan and Shyntre, but I needed help to make it happen. The hybrid should know the Valsharess was already expecting him.

But no bargains.

"She was talking to Mourn's image. She said, 'Sirana will bring you to me, as We have long known. Foolish, but good. That has not changed. Both of you will defeat the Illithids. Together, you will belong to Us. We will strike back at him through what you become at Our Feet.'"

Mourn's jaw flexed and his tail lashed but he said nothing; he merely nodded, no doubt committing the words to memory.

"Illithids," Gavin noted. "What are these?"

"Psionic masters within the Underdark," Mourn answered. "More powerful than Varasa. They do not exist anywhere else. They are individual bodies but think as a collective answering to an 'Elder Mind.' What one knows, so do they all. Probably the most dangerous competitors the Drow face, but fortunately neither race behaves on a Human scale of outward aggression, or the two would have destroyed everything in the Underdark by now."

"With the exception of Lethrix," I said with a chuckle.

"Yeah, he'd have 'withdrawn.'" Jael partially covered her mouth in amusement.

"Wouldn't you?" Gavin asked.

She made like she thought about it before shaking her head. Probably just to make my ally's ice-black eyes rolls just so.

The To'vah never got involved in Yun-gar wars anyway...or so Innathi had said. Not long after, Mourn had told me change and equilibrium was the only permanency in a "healthy" world. With the Dragons as the "Tasters" of the Guardianship, I couldn't help but wonder how closely Lethrix may or may not still follow his role from so long ago. It was hard to tell, still knowing so little.

"Since no other has asked," Gavin said to me, "what was the end result of the ritual with the wizard, versus the intention?"

My heart sped up just thinking about sharing that; it was no Surfacer's business what we did in our private space...! 

Ah, but that was the old, conditioned response. I knew better now, and there was the undeniable connection between Gavin and Auslan, as well as my knowing how much Gavin "lived" for magical study, that his insight may very well be a reasonable trade - if not immediately, then later. We had proven that multiple times.

"The intention was to endow an arcane wizard with heightened fertility granted through a Priestess. The risk was that..." I licked my lips, paused, and huffed a small, uncomfortable laugh. "They, um, would be using an Abyss-tainted, but unborn, Consort to try to...I'm not sure, Auslan called it 'initiating' a new adult Consort. In this case, Shyntre. Maybe they were transferring the fertility magic somehow?"

Jael was gaping and Gavin narrowed his dark eyes. 

"Consorts are...hm. Manufactured? They aren't purely natural conceptions."

Consorts were not accidents of birth, no. Auslan had even told me once, when he first warned me about the forming room. *It is where I was made...* 

I nodded confirmation. "Specialized breeding. For magic, for beauty. For at least six centuries or more. A demon involved in our Priestess initiations presented the idea to one of them, I think, but the Priestess figured a way to do it without Abyssal blood being involved. However, the Consorts later became tainted by the Abyss. When it was discovered, they were all put to death."

"Except one," Gavin pointed out, and I nodded. "And they decided to risk tainting your wizard to heighten his fertility. And this was the reason you were summoned, it was extremely dangerous."

Again I nodded, and Gavin thought deeply on this until someone else spoke.

"What happened?" Mourn prodded. "How were you able to help?"

I still didn't want to explain the shards or my strange connection to the prime demon, Kerse's sire; it wasn't as if I knew his name. And why were D'Shea and Phaelous even there? How was it that my Elder was able to hold the gate against the Abyss? That wasn't her specialty, as far as I knew.

"I think... I think Auslan mainly needed me to guide him to the Underdark from the red sands, and... To psionically mask his presence from the Priestess while they completed the ritual."

"Meaning Shyntre is now fertile?"

"Consort-level fertile," Jael clarified. "There's a difference. Like what Sirana described about 'fine control' of Auslan's aura when fucking. They're a top prize for wealthy females because of their sexual skills, and catching is assured within a year if the female is young enough."

Gavin quirked a brow. "Compared to what? What is normal for Drow?"

Mourn simply looked at Jael and me to explain that one.

"Maybe...ah..." I began. And stopped.

I looked at Jael, who shrugged. Did...I supposed neither of us knew for sure, did we? Only what we'd been told. We were still very young among our own...

I tried, "I don't know...once a decade?"

Gavin looked surprised. "There is only that short window when you're fertile?"

"It...no, it can be more often but once someone catches, which could take years, and when she finally births after two more, her body knows to not catch again for a decade or more. It's easier to conceive with a Priestess's Consort than with an average male."

"And it assures beauty and magic in the offspring." Gavin nodded his understanding. "And this ritual worked on your wizard? While you masked Auslan as he was able to, hm, purify him against the Abyss?"

"I think so," I said again. "I didn't understand everything, or have time for questions. The Valsharess was about to enter the forming room, and Auslan's and my presence had to vanish as quickly as possible. Other than knowing that Shyntre is still alive and untainted... I only know we have more time for me to return."

"Meaning your queen got what she wanted," Mourn rumbled.

I failed completely to hide the harsh flash of hatred when I thought again of how Ishuna's aura had appeared to me, knowing she had been abusing Shyntre. And now that he was changed more to her liking, with divine magic as well as arcane, would it only continue, the abuse increasing in intensity? Did she have some other plan for him still? Auslan had said the Valsharess was trying to break him quickly.

I knew my wizard very well. His response when I'd woken up in a dream in the same bed with him at the Palace, his lashing out at me, made more sense. He wouldn't stop fighting, he would never quit...but his anger would only grow until it came spilling out uncontrolled, like that burning, orange gel from his fingertips. Only the look on his face when Auslan told him that he loved them give me any hope that Shyntre would survive to be recognizable by the time I made it back. 

I eased out another of my remaining pellets he'd given me, placing it under my tongue to help the soreness go away.

I had eleven left.

"Sirana?" Mourn asked quietly with concern.

I shook my head. "I've told you what I know. If you're satisfied...can we get traveling again? Please?"

******

It was not difficult to fall into a modified travel pattern like the many days and weeks before with Gavin, when I watched the Sun and Moons rise and set as the scenery changed. Mourn kept our time shorter than six-hour stretches for my sake, and we each did our share to find food when we stopped. We all had heightened appetites. 

Other than one more camp where we all needed our full rest in sleep and dreaming - and thankfully I was not called to the red sands again - the other stops were quick, just long enough for me to study how the landscape was changing.

Once we left the first chain of mountains, it was not long before I recognized the grand Northern forests in which we had hunted the cannibals and where Mourn had first jumped out of the bushes to kill his Ma'ab targets. We even stopped at the same spot by the river where Gavin, Mourn, and I had first talked; as I had expected, this was a regular den for the mercenary. 

Returning to that place brought back my memory of the hybrid just waking up and itching his back against a tree trunk with great satisfaction, like some big bear. Knowing what I knew now—that he had only recently taken Gaelan up North before turning right around to speed back toward Brom's Inn, locating us in time to fight Mother and her cult— what followed then made perfect sense now. 

Mourn's relatively careful use of his To'vah Words and spells, compared to his skills displayed at Manalar against Cris-ri-phon and the Hellhounds; his enormous appetite afterward, eating over half of a huge boar by himself; his desperate need to sleep in that cave—despite the fact that I had rarely seen him sleep at all since then. He meditated perhaps, with the one exception of the far-teleportation to get us all to the Retreat, but that was all.

His choosing to help Gaelan when he found her ill—bringing her to the Wilder and coming back to find me—had exhausted him, exhausted much of his magic. He had needed to recover without seeming weak in front of us—and he'd done a good job. No wonder he didn't mind walking along to Port Fortnight and grabbing a ship to Augran there; he'd gotten a lot of rest.

This time we had bypassed Port Fortnight by quite a wide distance as we crossed through the immense swath of trees and over the taller mountains which would bring us back to the side of the Midway: that low rolling plain with thunder and lightning storms which rose out of nowhere. 




Surfacing Ch. 25



There was an itch at the back of my mind as I considered that not too far to the South would be Brom's Inn - but we all knew that Brom wasn't there. The people might remain, but the sorcerer who founded the tiny community was long gone. Again. It made me wonder how many small towns or cities might exist and expire on account of the Deathless.

We exited the second chain of mountains following a large river, but continued North by Northwest while the flowing water bent to the South, leaving me with the feeling that these plains would be going on for quite some time in that direction. The Midway looked the same to me as it had before, even at accelerated speed: blue and gold, tall, semi-dry grasses and the flat horizon with tall, looming columns for puffy clouds with flat, dark bottoms, and a grey mist Gavin had told me was indicative of heavy rain.

We turned straight toward it; I prepared myself to get soaked through again. I also wondered how Gavin and Graul and Roh were going to manage the storm. I received a hint when they did not pause but merely grew larger—and paler—at my glance up. They had lowered their elevation significantly. Even I could make out exactly what they were at this distance, with the Sun up early in the day. I hoped nobody saw them. 

I had to assume Mourn was guiding us not only to avoid settlements and roads of Humans and Dwarves, but avoiding bands of travelers as well; for all I could tell this whole time, the entire continent was wild and abandoned of all towns and villages—though I knew that wasn't true. 

We weren't running in a straight line across the Midway and certain turns and leanings to the right and left seemed to make no sense from a landscape point of view. I would turn my attention to the sides then, trying to see or smell or hear what Mourn sensed, but I never did. 

Late in the morning, with the Sun hidden behind dark grey clouds and the rain falling around us but somehow not yet striking us at this speed, I looked ahead to a dark wall of mist hiding darker shadows. As we got closer, I made out a tree line swiftly growing thicker, herald to another deep forest. By now we had gone far North of the canyon where our group from Sarilis's tower at first spilled onto the flatlands, and this forest was one that I had never seen before.

We drove straight in past the initial low brush and in between massive tree trunks quickly enough that, if a side effect of Mourn's magic hadn't been that my perception slowed down as we speeded up, the entirety of my vision would be swirling with voluminous blurs of damp, grey-brown bark. As it was, I could tell a few things as Roh skimmed over the very tips of some of the tallest trees I could ever have imagined.

Similar to the land surrounding Manalar, there were more deciduous kinds of plants and trees mixed in with the evergreen. I noticed far more climbing vines and wide-armed ferns, however, and plenty of moss covering anything lying upon the forest floor instead of fallen leaves from previous seasons. The impression of permanent moisture and continuous plant decay was much stronger here than in the other forests of the Surface.

The first river we had to cross was swollen and wide, enough so that Mourn opted to stop and use his blade song to send us across to the other shore. He did not "miss" this time, though he did seem winded, even as Jael stared at him in awe and excitement as she could see the distance we'd made with a blink of her own eyes. Perhaps she imagined herself to be able to do the same one day.

At midday, Mourn selected a place to stop so he could rest, and Gavin's mount had no choice but to select and cling to one of the enormous trees far above. It was even taller than the stone cliff where we had first stopped and it took much longer for Mourn to climb up and get the two passengers and bring them down in the gentle, pattering rain. 

It was easy to tell that the halfbreed was familiar with these trees; they even seemed an appropriate size for a young Dragonblood who had a propensity to climb, jump, and stalk from above, as he had in Augran, as he likely had in the Underdark. 

Mourn wouldn't be able to bring his fingertips together if he wrapped his arms around the base of most trunks here; far from it. That was not the case for pretty much every other forest I'd seen thus far. Where his claws and grip might have gouged out places through the soft pads of moss into the wood, they were mostly covered by the wide, leaf-sprouting vines that snaked their way up and around many a massive pillar of wood. He was at ease here. 

While we waited, our hoods up to protect our heads from the damp, Jael gingerly touched her gloved hand to one of the largest ferns beside her, lifting up the frond to take a closer look at it. She frowned and turned it to show me the underside and the double-rows of little, brown spots so tidy as they clung underneath each individual green leaf.

"What?" she asked vaguely.

I shrugged. They looked like tiny versions of Shyntre's wellness pellets. "Seeds?"

Looking around, I felt the soft, muddy ground beneath my boots, spied the moss-covered stones and the giant, rotting logs playing "nursemaid" to many younger plants. There was no dry place to sit, even if the droplets weren't continually plopping on my covered head.

Gavin's pale face, deep within his own grey hood, was very sour as he looked around and likely determined the same thing I did about the place. Mourn watched us, cradling Graul, who did not seem to mind the rain at all—he was dozing already, his throat rattling.

"Old growth," the necromancer said. "I trust your average caravan goes around this forest, not through."

"Correct," the hybrid answered. "Or they sail upon the Great Lake. This forest has a reputation for being haunted, full of mystical unknown. The animals who live here are said to be more intelligent, impossible to track or trap. Attempts to harvest the wood may result in an unusual rash of 'bad luck.' At best, a lone wise woman or shaman may be able to collect berries, mushrooms, and medicinal herbs, provided they show proper respect and offering."

He was trying to hide a smirk.

"The efforts of the Wilder, I presume?"

Mourn nodded to me. "They do not leave this place. They control who enters, who stays."

Pretty much like the Noldor and the Baenar at the moment.

"And they *are* Elves, right?"

Mourn paused, but nodded. "What is it you expect, Sirana?"

"Something like you, perhaps. Elfblooded, but something else more bestial also showing. Tamuril said there were...old stories."

Mourn, Jael, and Gavin each looked quite interested.

"What did she say?" Mourn asked.

"That they are Elves who refused to join a society of 'culture-builders.' As such, they can blend in with their environment, change their form into animals and one cannot tell them from a natural one. She said if they spend too much time in that form, and they shift back, some of the animal features remain."

Mourn nodded. "That is close enough for the Noldor to remember anything at all."

"Interesting," Gavin said quietly.

Jael's eyes were big on me but she remained quiet until she looked at Mourn. "And you are familiar with them. How did you find them?"

The hybrid shook his head. "Perhaps later. For now, I will warn you that their behavior may be very hard for you to read, since you are not familiar with most wild, Surface animals. Do not use domesticated animals you may have seen around Humans as a measure. Forget the rules of engagement you learned from your City or your monastery, if you can. If you trust me to negotiate on your behalf, then make no aggressive action toward them, no matter how close they get."

The three of us glanced between us.

"Any particular signs we should watch for?" Gavin asked. 

Mourn thought about it. "Trust your gut on whether to hold one's gaze or to look away—either may be correct, but aggression is the sign to watch for to look away. Avoid showing your teeth to those with wolf or dog features, they will be pack defenders. Do not challenge one in particular at all if you see her— she resembles a grey hawk with red eyes. Be wary also of any resembling big cats, boars, or bears."

"Fuck, how many are there?" Jael asked.

"Not that many, but some have more than one shape. I do not know how they will choose to show themselves until they appear." He paused and looked between us. "Do you trust me to negotiate?"

Jael glanced at me but not at first, and I nodded. 

Gavin shrugged. "Not much choice, is there?"

"We will go a little farther using flight and magic," Mourn said. "But soon we will have to stop and wait for them to come to us."

"Will they be expecting us?" I asked.

"They know we are here. As soon as we crossed the river."

This made it sound like we were much closer to our goal than we really were. We continued over rises and up gullies through the forest as the trees only seemed to get bigger, until we were somewhere so deep in the middle I was not sure I could find my way out again. 

That we had come in, or flown over, so far without engagement meant something - obviously had to do with Mourn - but I wasn't sure exactly what. In the Underdark, it would've meant it was a trap laid head and no way to back out. It could be the same here because that was a rule of the wilderness of the Underdark, not the City.

When we stopped at last, when the grey day seemed like it should be over by now but wasn't, my first deep inhale told me we were not tremendously far from a grand body of water. The soft rain had stopped for the moment but could easily start again, and as I stood still tiny droplets hovering in the air covered my face and cloak in a light mist. 

To our left were some extremely high, craggy mountains covered in green but not necessarily these huge trees, partially cloaked with low clouds. The terrain was so rough that if we had to enter those mountains at "normal" speed, we would be climbing for a day just to get past the first one, to see beyond the haze drifting ever farther back, North and West.

Absolutely nothing here indicated there might be a bipedal, intelligent race anywhere nearby. 

Mourn showed us the cave where we would stay, but we had to climb to it. We could be out of the rain and build a fire if we wanted. There was just enough room for Roh inside if she kept her arm-wings close in, and—according the Gavin—just enough of a drop below for her to catch a glide again on the way out. In the meantime, the necromancer soothed her down into a trance-like rest—not quite as still as Night-mare, but good enough to conserve her energy. Meanwhile the mare and the Ma'ab skeletal bundles remained outside since she could not climb the steep rock to the cave and neither minded the wet.

The grey would only get darker until night fell completely; maybe that was when they would come to us, or maybe not. Just now it occurred to me that we could possibly wait days for the Wilder to show themselves. Why? Because if I had the opportunity to watch a new group at my leisure, a group I knew was waiting for me and dependent on my "hospitality," I might test their patience and see what choices they made as they waited. I didn't like it, but I understood it.

They had Gaelan. After all this time, this distance, I wanted to know: was she alive or not?

"Would you go find them if we remain here?" I asked Mourn.

The hybrid shook his head. "I should not leave you. Do not be fooled by the peace and quiet of this forest. Strange things do happen, and not all on the trick or whim of a sneaking shapeshifter."

"Could they leave us waiting for weeks?" I said, voicing my worst-case scenario.

"Potentially," he granted. "I believe some will be too curious, however."

"What might get their attention?" Jael asked.

"No," was all Mourn said in response to that.

"What about food?" I challenged. "If we wait days, and you can't leave us, I don't see enough game, large or small, around here to feed all of us."

Obviously water wouldn't be a problem. Gavin could just set out his pot or one of his bowls—which he was did right then as he unpacked select items.

Mourn rubbed his chin and then showed a toothy smile. "Good idea, Sirana. You reminded me of something I have not seen in a few centuries, but it will help us here. Would you please undress?"

Jael and I glanced at each other.

"Everything?"

"Please." Again, he paused. "Except your sapphire, and your guardian spiders. Wear them."

I dressed down in the damp chill. Soul Drinker grumbled as soon as it understood my intent.

*Sorry, not welcome.*

*RrrrrHHHSSsss...*

*Trying to speed this up so we can go underground.*

*RRRrrrrrr...*

My babies, on the other hand, were more than happy to climb up onto the nape of my neck beneath my hair, and I kept the polished blue stone and its Moon-silver mount hanging between my breasts as I removed my gear and clothing.

"Since she isn't questioning this," Gavin said, "may I? What is the purpose?"

"Sirana possesses a clear sign of her totem, a symbol of the water element, and her pregnancy is visible in more than one way," Mourn listed succinctly. "The Wilder will not ignore her for long."

"Totem?" Jael asked.

Draconic eyes looked to her. "Animal spirit. If she was capable of shapeshifting, her affinity with spiders would be a telling sign to them."

"Eww," my younger Sister commented, wrinkling her nose. "You mean like a Drider?"

"Or a true spider," Gavin mused, tapping his fingers. "I suppose that size is not a constraint for them, as it is for you?"

Mourn grunted. "Very good. Yes, greater magic and skill is required, but they get farther from their original size - in either direction - than me, and it is no illusion."

Wow. If one did approach me so small as a spider, I wondered how my own would react?

"What do I do next?" I asked, standing naked except for my necklace and companions.

"Go outside and choose a tree to climb. I will boost you since some of the closest branches are well above your head."

Choose a tree. Alright.

I climbed out of the cave and down into the evening mist, trying not to feel ridiculous as I looked between the standing giants, as if one might be a better selection than the other. My bare feet felt every moment of the moss and damp stone, the soft soil and slick mud; I smelled old, mulchy leaves and felt the brush of the occasional fern against my bare legs. Drops of water fell onto my head but it was not actively raining at the moment, though the air was full of its scent—coming and going.

"Mm," I pursed my lips, then signed, *That one.*

Mourn nodded and again I clung to his back as he climbed my tree, digging in his claws on both feet and hands and pulling us up quickly to the first branch very high up—high enough to be again level with the cave. I could see the shadows of Roh, Gavin, and Jael in the blatant fire—something I wondered which of them had made it so fast with my back turned, what with all the damp around.

Refocusing, I transferred myself from Mourn's back to the branch and held to another one close to the trunk. I watched as Mourn moved around to the other side and took a startling, abrupt leap across the gap to catch the branch of my second-choice of tree and settle himself there.

*What do I do?* I signed over to him, holding my hand up so he could see it in the dark.

*Listen,* he answered.

I could do little else but that, in addition to feeling the rough bark beneath my naked ass. I heard air movement through the branches, drops of water landing on the forest floor, the occasional small set of wings belonging to an insect or a creature I didn't know. Distant thunder, barely rumbling. Mourn's tail sliding and coiling around a branch, adjusting its hold. My spiders chimed quietly, dismayed at being unable to hunt or spin on a damp, exposed branch.

Eventually I got up to balance in a crouch on the balls of my feet, brushing any bits of tree bark off my bottom as I gripped that second branch. My thighs were open and brushed against my pubic thatch a bit higher than usual, and I noticed that dew had formed in cool little droplets atop my white fur. The open air felt pretty good against my crotch.

I stayed in that position by my best estimate for perhaps an hour, adjusting slowly or stretching a leg or my back, listening but generally not acting very tense. Mourn was quite still over in his tree, and Gavin tended the fire while Jael paced a couple of times before sitting down, standing up, and sitting down again. That first hour came and went and before too long my belly grumbled audibly and I sighed to myself. It was only going to get worse, my mood more irritable, until I found something to eat.

I looked over toward Mourn; I could tell that he had heard my belly, too. I signed, *May the bait have a snack?*

His shoulders shook in a silent chuckle, and he nodded, moving to ascend quickly higher up, as if he already had something in mind. I lost sight of him but never ceased being able to hear him as he chased something once it burst from cover. Something squawked briefly then went silent, and Mourn returned to me to hand me a bloody squirrel, already skinned and gutted, without the puffy tail but the head still attached as a handle.

Yummy.

Regardless, I gnawed gratefully on the carcass while he descended to the ground and dug around a bit more, swiftly bringing me some roots and mushrooms to round out the meal. They smelled and tasted good, even with the bit of dirt on them. His familiarity with the edibles of this forest was clear.

More of the night passed this way and I grew bored, playing some with my nipples despite their tenderness. The chill made them hard and they were able to take more pinching in that state. I brushed mist or dew or whatever it was off my pubes, adding an extra stroke or two across chilly pussy lips and briefly considered toying with my netherhole to see if it was fully recovered from Mourn's tail but decided against it for now.

Still. I began to wonder whether I could—or should—take Mourn's cock up my back passage sometime? If we went slow, maybe...

Of course, Kerse's knot had been too big pushed up my backside. If not for the incense drug Wilsirathon had been burning at the time—when she'd genuinely thought that Kerse was breeding me properly in my cunt and Shyntre had been watching—I doubt I would have been relaxed enough otherwise to avoid more serious injury. It should have consciously hurt more than I remembered, but...maybe I was glad I'd been drugged that one time. If I was more aware and in control with Mourn, would it...?

Bah. Then again, maybe it wasn't something the hybrid even wanted to try. Had he, even, with anyone? Did it have actual appeal for him, did it further stiffen his prick just picturing it? Or did he tease and fuck my asshole with his tail on more than one occasion only because he knew I liked it?

I remembered Jael had offered her asshole for him to fuck, if he wanted, after he had forcibly stripped her naked following the pool ritual. It had excited me to no end to watch, to hear her talk and see her arch her back and thrust out her butt like that, but I couldn't remember exactly how Mourn had reacted to the suggestion, if at all. His back had been to me, and he was too busy teasing her and making her squirm.

My crotch wasn't chilly anymore as I played with it, entertaining myself as I tried to ignore the damp as it settled on my naked back. My spiders perked up and were more energetic, venturing out as far as my shoulders, and I grew to enjoy moving side-to-side just enough to feel my sapphire tapping my heavy breasts, enhancing my awareness of my nudity.

I'd never stopped listening, but I was listening to different things; my spiders, my thoughts, my body, Mourn, all in addition to the physical sound around me. It shocked me to realize that...I heard a third being. Just for a moment, then the thought vanished.




Surfacing Ch. 25



Next I heard a creature above me, and I looked up.

*Ohhh...fuck?*

What was I looking at?

As large as me. Four legs, a torso, and a head. Shiny black and sleek. Climbing down, head first, and somehow clinging to the bark with no concern for falling off. Each limb bent in a way that shouldn't be possible for a biped. Each foot set down deliberate, flexible, and...familiar. The limbs and hands had tiny bristles like...

Like a spider.

Where were the eyes?

I shifted on my branch, not daring to look away but having nowhere to go unless I wanted to drop far down to the ground. Mourn might catch me if I did. Might. Was there something else? My own spiders had moved into a defense stance on my shoulders but were responding more to my own tension rather than the creature, I thought. They were not prepared to leap forward of their own accord; they simply waited for my command, whatever it was. That was interesting.

"Wilder?" I asked aloud in Common, not a shout, and intended for whoever might answer. The creature paused in its climb and did not answer.

"Yes," Mourn answered calmly. 

The hybrid still waited in his tree but on alert, and the shapeshifter looked toward him when he spoke then looked back at me, completely silent. Now I could see the eyes. Two of them, not eight, but large for the head, and glassy opaque like a spider.

What now? Show no aggression, right? No matter how... "close" it got? Was defense considered aggression? I was allowed to defend myself, no matter what.

It crept closer. 

Why this shape? What was it trying to say?

I remembered to breathe and reached to pluck one of my babies off my shoulder to rest on my palm as I raised it up toward the Wilder, who paused again.

*Dangerous?* I asked, receiving only a confused feeling from my guardian, who was waiting for *me* to tell it whether the spider-Elf was dangerous or not.

Great.

I retracted my companion to set it back on my shoulder with the other one, my eyes fixed above me. Mourn wasn't moving; my spiders weren't jumping. Maybe I was just feeling naked and moist and vulnerable—kind of confusing this high up with nowhere to run or duck away.

Not nearly as confusing as the way the individual fingers on the Wilder began to lift up briefly before going back down. Sometimes tapping, sometimes not, they moved faster and slower; it went on for a while as the rest of the body shifted only slightly side-to-side. There was a pattern here. I just didn't know how to interpret it.

My spiders did. After a time I heard them, and it was the most bizarre realization I'd had up on the Surface. My babies were both female—something I hadn't known—and they wanted the male spider-Elf to keep "dancing." They were entertained.

*You've got to be jesting.*

The Wilder had chosen to communicate with—and please—my guardians first? What the fuck? Mourn wasn't kidding about the behavior being very hard to read! And this was even based on an animal I knew all over the Underdark!

The male "danced" for a little while longer, but before too long moved closer while my guardians allowed it. I stayed still as well. We were face-to-face, and close, and I could make out a vaguely Elvish skull but no hair or nose, no ears or mouth, and as I'd thought, the eyes were too big. They were like staring into a black-glass mirror as I saw my own silhouette, thanks to the firelight behind me at the cave.

Suddenly something rough pressed into my cunt. Simultaneously, my spiders squeaked in delight.

"Hey!" I shouted, jerking back and realizing the Wilder had quietly extended an arm between my legs as we stared at each other; it was his bristly finger in my snatch. I moved my hips away but also lost my grip on the second branch. "Fuck!"

Mourn was already moving. "Go limp!"

*Fucking...shit...!*

My babies were holding tight up in my hair and I relaxed as I let the mercenary catch me after a very brief fall, where he next grappled with the trunk, skidding down a bit while handling me roughly to get me bent over his shoulder. He grip now secure and the ground still far below me, he climbed down with no protest from me. I was so glad to get my feet back upon the soil.

*What the fuck, spiders?*

They only twitched excitedly on my neck.

"Tsah," Mourn said, looking up at the tree as the Wilder came down to join us.

The shifter let go of the tree while still fairly far up and landed too quietly on the ground for his size. Then the color and shape changed before my eyes as the shiny, black skin turned a lighter color, while hair quite a bit like Krithannia's sprouted atop the head as the ears I'd been missing before now extended to long points. The joints and proportions of the limbs "corrected" themselves and soon the Wilder stood up in a pure, naked Elf form facing us.

He was taller than me, but maybe not quite Noldor tall. His features looked very strange, as if they had somehow blended Deshi's and Cris-ri-phon's ancestors with a Noldor. His skin was a very deep brown, his eyes—his distinct Elf eyes—I thought might have be some shade of red, but much darker than any Drow. It reminded me of some of the deepest pigments of red and orange I had glimpsed in the canyon coming down onto the Midway. Instead of eyes like blood or forged copper, his eyes were like Sun-touched earth.

"Why did you put your finger up my cunt?" I asked in Surface Common.

The Wilder blinked, and I knew he hadn't understood me in the least. Fuck. I withheld my sigh of irritation as Mourn translated—presumably in exactly meaning, because the male smiled in amusement. He gestured with a strong hand toward my bare shoulders and murmured a few words to Mourn—the voice was quiet and pleasant, subtle and brief.

My bodyguard's tail fluttered in amusement as well. He gave me my answer in Drow. "He says this is what a male spider does when the female accepts his dance."

"He's making excuses."

"I do not think so."

"A prank?"

"No..."

"Oh? What is it supposed to mean to me?"

"Tsah finished the courtship for your guardians' benefit, I think."

"WHAT?! He was courting my spiders?!"

"I warned you it would be difficult to interpret."

The Wilder was chuckling now, his arms folded as he watched me—presumably my face and my funny expressions and gesticulations—before he said something else to Mourn, who responded. I wasn't even sure how to describe the sounds they both made, except "brief." Before the first thought even seemed to be complete, "Tsah" was finished talking. He did move his hands in signs to emphasize his meaning, though; at least that method was familiar, even if the signs weren't.

Then it came back to strike me: he was a deep brown Elf, kind of like Cris-ri-phon. Not pale. Not black.

"Are all the Wilder brown?" I asked Mourn, deciding to keep my hands still and my face more stoic this time.

"You will see," was all Mourn said, following suit and leaving his hands at his sides.

"What does it mean in his 'culture' that he got close enough to stick a finger inside me?"

"That he dances well, that the mating ritual is complete. He will have forgotten that detail about you by tomorrow, but he'll remember your companions."

I squinted at him. "You jest."

Mourn's face was placid. "Not at all. He was in spider form, Sirana, and in tune with your guardians. Following instinct. Possibly also following your lead." 

Well, of course Mourn had been watching me touch myself when I was bored.

"Do not take insult," he continued, "as he meant none and it will not be used against you."

I grunted, trying not to pout. Forget the rules of engagement from my City, huh? Hmph. "Only if he didn't do anything to me or my baby."

"I do not believe he did. Only the one finger you felt. What a spider would have done."

"What?"

Mourn asked Tsah another question, who answered him. "He says male spiders collect their seed and weave a sac around it which they then push into the female."

Well, of course, no penises. It felt weird that I hadn't known that. Who among the Drow paid attention to how spiders mated, anyway? The wizards, maybe? Auranka?

"Did he just push semen inside me?" I demanded.

Mourn shook his head. "Tsah mimicked your totem, nothing more."

Fucking weird.

Gavin and Jael, carrying Graul, were carefully coming down from the cave, and Tsah turned his head to look their way. Once they reached our level, the necromancer held back and let Jael come forward with the drake. Tsah's eyes were steady and extremely observant, noting Gavin's stop and shifting his gaze to Jael and Graul. The drake leaned forward and stretched out his neck, making a noise between a snuffle and a chirp through his nostrils. 

Jael stiffened like a metal pole as the Wilder shifted his face right before her eyes to look more like the drake—a slightly longer face, sharper teeth, a familiar brow ridge—and Graul and he touched noses as Tsah mimicked a throat rattle I'd heard many times from the drake. I would have guessed it was a greeting; Graul looked pleased as he blinked hazy, partially blind eyes and rattled back.

Then the Wilder looked up to study Jael very, very carefully. Mourn hadn't been exaggerating how close he got as he took in her scent still wearing a drakish face. Jael scowled at him, holding his eyes defiantly whenever he looked at her, but Tsah looked down and away plenty of times as he paced around her in a circle, lightly tracing his fingertips along the stitched seams of her leathers here and here as he studied her clothing.

"Don't touch me," she hissed at the naked Elf, and probably would have lashed out already if her arms weren't full of mature, heavy drake.

"Calm," Mourn cautioned her, using a soothing tone. "He won't harm you. He will take nothing."

I could not read the warped Elf-drake face at all, but I watched the body language and wondered about Mourn's non-answer to my question about all the Wilder being brown. Tsah never once focused on Jael's hair or her skin color in his evaluation; it neither bothered nor fascinated him, as far as I could tell. It was her clothing and her tools, her weapons which held his attention. I was not sure if it was a covetous gaze or not, though Mourn suggested that it was not.

"Un'gurut," Tsah said with a single-hand sign toward Mourn.

"Kho'le," the halfbreed agreed with a nod, and the Wilder finally shifted his face back to his natural one and smiled in a way that was familiar.

"Xotl'pa," Tsah said, and he was happy.

Mourn smiled and bowed his head in a Yungian fashion. "Shekho."

The Wilder then looked between me and my Sister, comparing and contrasting us, and I folded my arms beneath my breasts with my spine straight as I stood nude and barefoot in the mud. Even Mourn wore more clothing than me at the moment, his loose, Yungian pants though without a shirt or shoes as always. Ironically, I looked most like the Wilder except for my pendant.

Tsah seemed satisfied to shift his attention to Gavin, who still held back. I had only started thinking about what status this male possessed as he made first contact with outsiders, when I read far more wariness and confusion when the shifter considered the tall Deathwalker.

"Tuh'tagh," he said, making a plucking motion atop his head, pantomiming the pulling of cloth back.

Gavin cautiously lowered his hood, his Humanness obvious, yet his eyes alien and haunting, his face white and set in equal stern wariness to the Wilder. Taking a much briefer whiff and a half-circle around, Tsah looked concerned as he looked up at Gavin's face.

"Kil'nugh, xhofa," he said, signing as well, motioning toward Night-mare and toward the cave.

"He would inspect your mounts, Gavin," Mourn said. "I suggest this be allowed."

"Tell him to be cautious in the cave," the grey mage replied blandly.

Mourn did so, and Tsah nodded and we all watched as he circled and inspected Night-mare first. I could tell that he was trying to read the animal, as he had my spiders and Graul, but he received nothing. Absolutely nothing. I glimpsed a tremor run through Tsah's frame as he made a sound like disgust and blew a pop of air out as if to expel what he had breathed in near the undead mare. 

The Wilder grumbled to himself as he swiftly climbed to the cave where the fire still burned. His silhouette became stark and we watched what could pass for a shadow performance as the wild Elf crouched, observed a resting Roh, and soon crept closer. I could see no detail of expression and nothing in his hands suggested to me what he thought about the creature, but I waited with the rest, glancing at Gavin's stone expression before looking back.

The Greyland beast shifted, I heard a deeper rumble and then a squawk and following screech which hurt my ears.

"Oh fuck, Gavin!" Jael warned. "Do something!"

The most the necromancer did was rub his mouth thoughtfully as he looked up. "Hm."

Mourn got closer, his spines rising up a bit as his thigh muscles tensed and he prepared to spring, if needed. He waited, however, and the next few movements inside the cave were almost too fast for us to respond anyway. It was nearly over before we realized it had begun.

Roh swung her head to the side and snapped her sharp teeth at the Wilder, who leaped back and...up. He clung to the cave ceiling, shifting again even as I watched, and I noticed Mourn turn his ears back again in irritation, his tail lashing, as clicks poured out of two individual throats. I couldn't hear anything else but the Roh'ghast's scraping and shuffling against the stone as she came fully aware, but Mourn was practically grinding his teeth at whatever he heard.

"The high-pitch?" I asked, and he actually jumped a bit hearing my voice, but nodded.

"They are both using the echo. It'll draw more Wilder for certain. Be ready."

"What's he doing?!" Jael asked, squeezing Graul tighter.

"Communicating, I'd guess," Gavin murmured.

Roh shifted on her four limbs and clung to the wall as well, crawling out onto the upper lip of the cave with Tsah crawling out after her. He had shifted his body to move like her, even being much smaller, and he was a fast learner from what I could see in the dark. It was unnerving how close to a small Roh'ghast he looked already, even if he hadn't bothered changing his skin color. 

"Mourn, what is he?" I demanded. "What status does he hold among the Wilder? Why is he here?"

"If some Wilder shift to only one form and back," Gavin pondered, "for our Guild Leader said only *some* of them have more than one shape, then I'd guess this one is their best mimic."

Mourn grunted. "Correct. Tsah adapts to any animal form he wishes. This is unique among the Wilder. There is a cost, of course."

"His memory," I said.

"More his long-term memory as an Elf."

"He remembers a language," Gavin challenged.

"Basic words, not complex concepts, as some beasts can also recognize words. His memory for animals he engages is eternal, however, his evaluation absolute to his Elders because he cannot lie about it. He epitomizes Oneness with the beasts of the world to a level most fear to strive."

"Roh isn't of this world," Jael pointed out.

"This does not seem to frighten him," Gavin commented. "Perhaps he welcomes it."

The necromancer was rubbing two fingers firmly into his palm as he spoke, in a way which suggested it was supposed to have some effect. All I could tell was that Roh could have flown off multiple times, but hadn't, and she shifted around the stone cliff, clinging to it, threatening and snapping at the shapeshifter. 

Maybe Gavin was on to something; maybe Tsah was having the time of his life engaging something entirely new. The longer I watched, the more it seemed Roh was less on outright attack and more in refusal, a defense. I wasn't sure what Tsah was saying to her, or even if they got a meaning across each of them understood, but if the Greyland beast had been intending to snap up a snack, she would have crawled past the mid-point already.

She didn't. She merely got stubborn and refused to budge.

Finally, Tsah withdrew and skittered unbelievably fast down the steep side of the slope, shifting mid-descent and reforming as an Elf shortly upon reaching level ground. Jael shuddered at the fluidity of the change, and I didn't blame her; it was surreal. Dream-like. He rejoined us and nodded his head to Gavin then looked at Mourn.

"Kieyw'cah," he said, motioning what was still gibberish to me.

"We wait here," Mourn told us, and the Wilder sprinted away into the darkness.

*******

After Gavin had Roh calmed down and back inside the cave, I decided to wipe myself as clean as dry as I could and get dressed before any more Wilder showed up. Mourn had clarified that some of them could, in fact, speak Surface Common in varying fluency and most did wear some type of clothing, particularly during the cold months.

"Well then, Tsah is quite a first impression," Jael commented, sitting cross-legged with Graul curled in her lap. "If you're saying the rest of them don't grunt and scuttle naked along the ground."

"I do not think they care about first impressions," Mourn replied. "Though Sirana taking my suggestion to sit naked in a tree did imply we are willing to meet on their terms."

I narrowed my eyes at his expression. "Are you laughing about that now?"

The hybrid relaxed enough to grin. "Only in hindsight. I appreciate your willingness to consider other forms of communication."

As if I had much choice about that ever since I fucked a Duergar...

Just as quickly, Mourn ceased being amused.

"Stop," he commanded.

I froze; I had been reaching for my weapons belt. "What?" 

"May I ask you to do something else for me?" he said.

"Like what?"

"Bury Soul Drinker here, at the back of the cave, before we meet them. The less information the relic has of them, the better."

Jael and I probably had the same expression.

"Just...leave it here, untended?" she spoke my main concern aloud. "What if one of them comes back to snoop around and finds it?"

Mourn shook his head. "I know Tsah. He will recommend Night-mare remain here, as she is entirely undead with no animal instincts left. They will not tolerate her any closer to their lair than this. The Ma'ab skeletons, too, they must stay. I am not sure about the Roh'ghast. Soul Drinker should not be seen at all, and no Wilder will come near that mare. Gavin will also know if she is approached, correct?"

Gavin looked up from where he reorganized the pack knocked over from Tsah's scuffle with his flying mount. He nodded, the firelight throwing unnerving shadows across his face, making him look quite ghoulish. "I will. And I agree. I will even call up the skeletons themselves for added security and early warning."

I pursed my lips, looking out into the dark. "The main enemy looking for Soul Drinker is Cris-ri-phon."

Mourn smirked. "He's never found this place in the whole of his existence."

Jael cocked a brow. "Oh? How do you know? And how is that even possible?"

"The Wilder have strong magic and stronger motivation to stay hidden from him in particular, and the Archmage is not as omnipotent as he'd like to claim. This is even greater reason for you not to bring the relic into their home."

Frowning, I asked, "Why?"

"You will see."

*Argh!*

I insisted the half-Dragon—with the big hands and claws and plenty of muscle—dig the hole for me, and he did not argue. Rather than touch the dagger again and give away my intent, I kicked the whole of my tool belt—Red Sister daggers, poisons and powders, crossbow pistol, bolts, the abortion vial along with the wellness pellets, all of it along with Soul Drinker— into the shallow, dry pit. Mourn nodded in thanks as he started filling it back in.

"Not taking any weapons at all?" Jael asked incredulously. "You can, you know. Mourn is armed to the teeth!"




Surfacing Ch. 25



I shook my head, feeling my spiders rearrange themselves beneath my hair. "Fuck it. I don't see how I'll need any of it here."

"That's just it, you never know! What about used them just as outdoor tools like Rausery taught us?"

"I have one boot dagger and one in my bracer. Happy?"

"No. How are you going to make a snare or shoot something to eat if you're separated for any reason?"

"I've survived on less, Jael."

"Not while pregnant!"

"I might support Sirana favor practicing her newer skills," Gavin cut in, in the process of unwrapping his Ma'ab servants. "As should you."

Jael gave him a nasty look, but Gavin ignored it and opened his mouth again.

"Logically, none of us would refuse searching for her if she vani—."

"No one asked you, death-talker! You don't understand Red Sister training!"

I clutched my head, and my spiders chimed in sympathy for the headache.

Mourn didn't get involved, he simply kept filling and patting down the dirt before setting a few stones on top. When he finished, he stood up and hushed his breath toward us. "Peace. Please." He stooped to lift Graul into his arms. "They are coming. To the fore of the cave."

"Be with you in a moment," Gavin said, pulling out a knucklebone and touching fingertips lightly to the carvings he made on one of the ribcages.

I moved forward but kept looking back as Gavin's blue magic snaked over the bones. As much as I should have been looking out, with the fire at my back to let my eyes adjust so I might see the Wilder coming, I was a curious idiot and looked straight at the fire to watch Gavin's skeletons reform themselves, bones attaching end-to-end, one at a time, until three skeletal bodies stretched out upon their backs. Then they sat up and got to their feet.

Fuck, the Ma'ab males were still big, even without the flesh. Standing aside Night-mare, anyone creeping into this cave would get an unpleasant surprise.

I heard an owl hooting, and I looked out again; I couldn't see anything, my dark vision was shot for the moment, but I strained my ears for light footsteps. I picked up just one or two before Mourn stepped forward and crouched at the edge, preparing to climb down as he shifted Graul onto his shoulder and the smiling, whiskered beast hooked himself into the harness.

"Do we come with?" Jael asked.

"I'll call you. Wait for now."

Mourn and Graul eventually disappeared from our sight, even from dark vision, but he was not in a hurry. Jael and I shared a glance and I could see her worry.

*He seems certain they'll take us in,* she signed. *What if they refuse?*

Good question. They might refuse in any combination of ways: no Drow, or not both; no necromancer, no Roh'ghast. Certainly no undead mare and no Ma'ab skeletons. But they had accepted Gaelan from Mourn, and in a very short time. Why? Was it only because she was sick? Had they known that more Drow might come for her, or had they figured the only one who might return on her behalf was Mourn?

Why were they here? Why were they hiding from Cris-ri-phon? Moreover, what did Mourn know about the Archmage and the Wilder, and was that why he hated the sorcerer so? What had happened? I wanted to know so badly, and yet from the whisper of sound I caught from out in the dark now and again, from the amount of time we waited for something to happen, I occurred to me that Mourn's deliberate and unhurried speech—in most cases, when not in the center of a fight—could have been something he learned here. From them.

I had to refocus my breathing as impatience swelled inside me again and again, needing to be punched back down.

Come on. Where was he?

"Sirana. Jael. Gavin."

My chest loosened up in relief. That was the call we'd been waiting for. Gavin picked up a pack into which he'd redistributed his essentials, leaving more of it here behind the skeletons, intending to join us but not before pouring dirt to smother the fire on his way by. The night rushed in and we all welcomed it as we left the cave to follow Mourn's voice, turning slightly to the North.

A few giant trees blocked sight of the cave before I realized we were surrounded. The ones behind us drifted into my senses making no sound, their scent blending in and they were camouflaged from view when they went still. It was just the bit of movement and a sense of being watched which gave them away. Most were on the ground, a few up high.

We kept moving toward Mourn as soon as we saw him; he stood with two Wilder: Tsah, and the female whom the hybrid had mentioned, the one resembling a grey hawk. I couldn't tell if her eyes were red but presumed they were just from her body language—alert, a female not to be challenged—and the strange sharpness of her features. She was only slightly shorter than Tsah, though Mourn towered over both of them.

Her banded, light-and-dark-colored hair at first glance did indeed remind me of Pilla's neatly layered feathers, and the way she turned her head toward us was very much like a raptor scanning for the movement of prey. Her ears are somewhat longer than mine. I wasn't sure about her skin color in dark vision—it was a dusty "in-between," darker than Gavin and Tamuril, but nothing close as dark as Mourn or the Drow.

Unlike the nude mimic next to her, the hawk-Elf was dressed modestly. She wore a dappled, white and grey dress of... what I had to guess was animal hide—but a very soft, flexible one. The dress was one piece, cut to reveal an elegant neck and forearms, cinched at a trim waist with a matching sash decorated with woven patterns of some kind, and the skirt reached just past her knees. She was barefoot and stood with a leader's confidence. In a way, she reminded me of Innathi on her pyramid.

The three of them watched us approach. I had no idea what to expect, or how to engage. Forgetting the previous rules was one thing, but then what do we do? All we really could do was stop and wait once we came within easy speaking distance.

The female cocked her head one way, then straightened it with a deliberate nod of acknowledgement. She placed her palm over her heart. "Iethys."

Barely a beat passed before Mourn suggested, "Say her name."

Alright, names were good.

"Ee-ah-theez?" I tried.

"Ei-eh-theez," she corrected.

It sounded almost like Innathi. Or a derivative, maybe. Each of us was required to repeat it. Gavin had it easiest, as he heard it three times before he was required to say it. Then it was our turn. 

I mimicked the hand gesture. "Sirana."

So did Jael, speaking her name. Gavin opted not to raise his hand but he mimicked the nod instead and said, "Gavin."

Iethys' deep-colored eyes seemed larger than ours, just a bit, and she did that bird-shift again as she looked between us, repeating, "Seer-ah-nah. Ju-hal. Gah-veen."

"Zsahll," Jael corrected, and the Wilder bowed her head with dignity and repeated it more accurately.

She looked to Gavin and me next, light grey eyebrows lifting in inquiry. We were both alright with the pronunciation. Close enough, just with an accent.

Next she stepped very close, staring at us straight in the eye, one at a time as she paused in front of each in turn. Her gaze was penetrating and swift in whatever it sought; none of us looked away, and this seemed to be the correct answer this time.

"You here for sister," Iethys stated to Jael and me.

"Yes," I said.

She hummed, standing to observe Gavin, much closer than he was comfortable, I knew. "And you, pale man?"

"Their guide," Gavin said.

The Wilder frowned. "To'vah-krav is their guide."

"One kind of guide," I interjected. "Gavin has been my guide for many, many weeks."

The hawk-Elf's thin mouth twisted with amusement. "Cannot guide here."

Gavin straightened up a bit, showing more of his height. "Their sister is near death. I am a Deathwalker. I may yet guide further."

I didn't care for the assumption that Gaelan was "near death," and maybe Gavin was fibbing a bit—as we both knew he didn't guide Elves—but this proved a much harder-hitting shock than either of us were expecting. I instantly forgave Gavin, for giving us this revelation. 

Iethys's stoic defense crumbled in surprise and I heard her heart leap; the response was genuine. Even being an Elf, this claim matter to her.

"No more Deathwalkers," she hissed. "All gone!"

"And yet I stand before you as one," he replied.

Iethys raked her eyes over him and considered; her eyes had the impression of being quite red now. "You are undeath maker."

"True. Also servant of Nyx, the Grey Maiden."

"Prove." She stamped one foot to punctuate the demand, and somehow it did not come across as petulant but persuasive. "Prove holy man, not soul robber."

Iethys crossed her arms and stood straight, still, and waiting; her face was set in a hard frown. Fear was not her driving force here, nor was superstition. She knew more about this, more even then Krithannia - who had only books and old scrolls. This was why we all watched Gavin seriously and waited for what he would chose to do. He understood its importance as well - prove his service and alliance, and he may learn more about himself and his relationship to Miurag in a way Nyx could not—or would not— tell him.

Of course, as far as being a "soul robber," I knew he *could* consume souls if he wanted, just as the Ma'ab did. I had seen what he had done to Vo'Traj. But it was not a diet of addiction, as far as I'd seen, as it was for the Ma'ab elite. Not yet, anyway.

My longest Surface companion considered this challenge very carefully, looking down toward the ground although I did not think he was focused on anything particular. I expected him to reach for his small carving blade at his waist and roll up his sleeve, that was no surprise, and I wondered whether his cutting himself to show the color of his blood would be convincing enough?

He did not simply damage skin for show, however; first he mixed something powdery from a pouch - it could have been ground bone or dried organs, for all I knew—with a small bit of soil for which he stooped to collect near the Wilder's bare feet. He did cut himself to bleed, but we watched as he collected the dark, thick substance which flowed in his veins onto the flat of his blade and smeared into the powder on his palm to create a paste. The shallow cut began to close immediately, and Iethys watched every step but so far wasn't convinced.

Gavin wasn't finished. He tucked his blade back and I notice that not one drop of his blood had fallen to the ground. He used the pad of his middle finger to collect some of the paste and create symbols on his pale, just-healed arm, which made a good canvas for drawing his pictures. He spoke a few words of the Greyland language I had first heard as he slept fitfully, the distant echo seeping into the chant and his strange eyes turning solid black. I was used to this, but it caused both Iethys and Tsah to take a step back. There was a surge of tension and subtle motion around us and Iethys immediately made a sign to stay whatever action the watchers had been about to pull.

The temperature dropped around us, and I saw gooseflesh rise all over Tsah as he hugged himself and his scrotum tightened against the cold. My belly flared with heat in response, and—interestingly, so did Mourn. Jael eased her feet more in his direction without seeming to realize it, certainly drawn to his heat.

Gavin gazed only at the symbols on his arm, his aura collecting tightly about him, and after a significant wait, he spoke in Common.

"Eleven lights flicker and dance around the final flame. They gather warmth from this flame even as they hide its light from those that would seek it for themselves. Should this flame be extinguished then twelve shall be lost and wandering in your lands." 

A thought had struck Iethys, I could tell; she recognized something in this very Nyx-like description.

Gavin's eyes faded back to reveal his ice-blue pupils again as he spoke his final words. "Though you call this flame sister, she is no Wilder by birthright."

The Elf swallowed, took another step back and turned to look at Mourn accusingly. "Uncu'therah?"

Mourn shook his head in the negative and made a sign near his chest which reminded me of Isboern making an oath. "Noh. Reifoek gehrah."

"You not mention a Deathwalker," the hawk-Elf said, switching suddenly in Common.

"No scheme, Inhula'vey," Mourn replied humbly. "Better he introduce himself."

The wait was a long one as she absorbed this. She wanted to pace, I could tell, but perhaps decided not to appear so anxious right before she made her decision.

"You still speak for them?" she asked.

"I do, Inhula'vey. They have purpose here."

"They cannot be see enter."

"I understand."

Iethys nodded sharply, turned her gaze again like an abrupt attack. "Negotiate the manners."

The manners? Our manners, maybe. The rules, I supposed. Alright.

After a pause, I realized she waited for suggestions. Odd. Did not the hostess establish the rules? How would we know which behavior was insulting in a place we had never been?

"State your intent," Mourn offered.

"Iethys already said it," Jael replied.

Mourn and the hawk-Elf had the same expression: stern, steady patience. They would wait on us, as long as it took.

"Jael and I come to see the state of our sister," I began.

Iethys nodded once. "And?"

And. These weren't exactly "manners," were they?

"And take her with us when we leave."

She replied quickly. "We bring her to you now. You may take."

Jael turned her head to me and smiled. "We could do that, right? Not go in, save some time."

I glanced at Gavin, and his face reflected my own suspicion with the wording. We were being tested.

"We can, if you wish to be hauling another body," he said negatively. 

This was not something he protested on its own principle, of course; what really bothered him was that he would not stay long enough to learn what the Wilder knew about Deathwalkers.

"No," I said to Iethys, "you only bring her to us if she is healed from her illness."

Iethys nodded once; she spoke bluntly. "If not?"

Oh, I did not like that response. Jael absorbed the meaning and tightened her fist; Iethys noted it and the tension in her rose like Pilla's scruff when irritated.

Jael demanded, "What do you mean?"

"You heal entrewpi?" the Wilder challenged her.

She squinted in confusion. "Heal what?"

Iethys shook her head. "No revenge from unknowing and blame. Or you never leave this forest."

*Goddess, no...*

"You can try to—!" Jael began belligerently, but I gripped her shoulder hard.

"Is Gaelan alive or not?" I demanded, forcing my voice low and level. "Are you telling us she is dead?"

"Not dead," Iethys said. "Not healed. In sleep."

I squeezed Jael's shoulder again to warn her to silence as we each grabbled with our temper.

"Describe 'entrewpi,'" I said. "Please."

The Wilder looked concerned, and a bit sympathetic. "Cannot."

"Like a coma?"

Iethys looked confused and finally turned to Mourn for guidance, who watched us all, patient and unreadable. She said something to him in her tongue but he shook his head.

"Pir'oco ingawah," he said with a gesture out toward her, and then slightly above her head. He spoke further, Graul churring in agreement, and the Wilder sighed, looking sorrowful.

"Not all accept change," she said in Common.

"We cannot stop this," he replied, looking at Jael and me, clearly speaking for our benefit. "I am now well known to many enemies, I will tell you of it. The Deathwalker is here as a herald of old. You did not kill Gaelan when I left her with you. Furuc would have, correct? You defended the helpless."

Iethys sighed again but nodded.

"You have accepted change already, Inhula'vey. Allow them in."

She grunted, raising a silvery eyebrow at him. "Wilder accept change with you, Moryxxyleth. Telling Furuc for tens of years. Every step a threat to him."

"I understand. I am glad it was you who came to us now."

Neither of them had needed to have that conversation in Common, and we all knew this. The obvious lesson: This could have gone a lot worse. All three of us kept our mouth shut as we waited. I had the feeling there were many more decisions that Iethys was making in her head, right before my eyes, ones with which she must come to terms before she would take the final step. It must be like deciding whether or not to enter battle with later withdrawal being impossible.

"Will Deathwalker bring his Yuli-ya?" she asked Gavin, and he frowned in confusion while Tsah smiled. Only then did Iethys clarify, "Your air beast."

"If you wish," he replied.

She nodded in a way which implied thanks, exchanged a hand signal with Tsah, who nodded affirmative, and she said, "You handle her, Tsah rides with you as guide."

Gavin nodded, but commented in a familiar tone, "Interesting."

I tried not to smile too much. Interesting, as in: he hoped this would not be worse than riding with Jael. 

Iethys turned to Jael and me. "Allow Tovah-krav to make you sleep? Some Wilder hostile, will make my argue better if you enter sleep."

"What?" Jael blurted. "Us but not Gavin?"

"He is shaman. He enter in holy service. You do not. Please, allow."

Asleep? And defenseless. We looked at Mourn with our own consternation clear on our faces. He smiled, as did Graul.

"I asked if you trusted me. The Wilder are not trained assassins and I am still bodyguard for you both, and your spiders will remain alert, Sirana. No harm will come to you."

Now our heartbeats picked up quite a bit, and my babies shifted from within my hair in response; I breathed out to settle the tremble in my belly. Maybe not Guild-level assassins, but animals had their own sets of stealth skills and I wondered briefly if Mourn could anticipate every one of them. Particularly from this mentioned Wilder, Furuc, who sounded like a load of fun.

Fuck.

"Alright. Make it quick," I said.

Jael kept her lips tight but nodded, signing the same. Make it quick, before we could think longer on it.

The last thing I saw was a familiar pair of golden eyes, and I heard a Word from a shared memory what seemed so long ago. I recalled touching my poor Gaelan's sweaty brow to put her to sleep, as Mourn now touched mine.

"Vdri."

******

I wasn't sure where I expected to wake up: in a cave, or a primitive shelter built of wood, plant, and stone up in the trees? I could've been in either place now or upon the forest floor for all I knew. The inside was not what I expected and gave me no real hint what was outside right now. At first I was in complete darkness, my dark vision only beginning to make out curves when I heard Mourn's soft whisper and a single, palm-sized, polished stone lit up in a very gentle, orange light.

I sat up slowly, half-expecting to be naked but I was still in my pants and shirt, at least. My cloak, armor, boots, and bracers had been removed. It was the same for Jael, though she was also missing her tool belt and weapons, including the double blade from Manalar's crypt.

Jael and I had been bundled together in a warm, stuffed mattress and covered in soft fur. The mattress was round and placed dead center in a round room; the scent which puffed up to my nostrils when I shifted—other than my Sister's warm, welcome fragrance—made me think again of birds, and I saw a tiny, down feather poking up through a seam in the hide. The fur blanket was soft and white on the underside; the coat was a strange, dappled mix of darker browns and lighter reds of medium length and incredible density. I had no idea what animal on the Surface had a coat like this.

The natural material into which we been tucked was both basic and fine quality. I meant that as, despite being able to see exactly from which materials it had been made—a trait of the "primitive" and "base" races, according to the rules back home— the care and attention to detail I felt in the strength and texture of this bedding reflected a mastery of the craft, implying methods which would take decades or centuries for my own people to figure out, with or without magic.




Surfacing Ch. 26



Author's Notes: This story is erotic fantasy written by Etaski. I reserve the right to be listed as the author of this story, wherever it is posted. If found posted anywhere except Literotica.com with this note attached, this story is posted without my permission. (c) Etaski 2015.

Back into the Underdark! And...well, in many ways it continues to earn its reputation.

******

Surfacing Chapter 26

Jaunda was having the hottest wet dream ever. 

Part of her wasn't surprised that she dreamt of fucking Sirana. The novice hadn't been around long enough to get tired of her quirks and she had certainly been one of the more playful of the youngest Red Sisters. And one of the most clever.

Then there was that whole thing about the Illithids and the nosy Dragon expecting her to come back, backed up by both Elders planning a power shift at the same time. Sirana wasn't even here and she was a troublemaker in many a plotting mind; Qivni was probably close to making an effigy of her. If Sirana did come back, Jaunda could see herself feeling fucking proud of her on behalf of the Sisterhood, stress on the "fucking," but also recognizing the youth to be in a whole heap of trouble that she would never get out of on her own. It was also questionable whether she should.

For now, in the Lead's dream, it was the simple times again. 

It was at the beginning. Sirana was naked on her back and had her legs spread like a good girl, and Jaunda was drilling her with her Feldeu. A bit strange, perhaps, that the Lead had been using her pussy exclusively over her netherhole, this time around; Jaunda had already cum several times and Sirana's twat was wet and ruffled and swollen from prolonged thrusting. This was a normal thing for her first year in the Sisterhood. It was pretty frothy. Fucking hot.

"Awright," Jaunda gasped, lifting herself up off of the younger Drow and kneeling between her legs, catching her breath. She took hold of her calves. "Let's turn you over. Want that ass."

Sirana was most willing, starting to roll over when Jaunda's eyes widened and she caught her shoulder in a firm grip as she was distracted. Her younger Sister's body wasn't quite same shape she remembered. It bulged out, down low. Jaunda had seen this often enough in her work.

Sirana had a pregnant belly.

Shit. They were going to lose her already?

"What the fuck?" Jaunda murmured. "Who did this?"

Sirana gave her an eloquent look before she smiled. "You did."

"Did not," Jaunda retorted, calling Drider shit. "My dick doesn't shoot seed."

"You took me to him, remember?" Sirana spread her thighs wide, showing Jaunda how much white, creamy spunk she had spread all over her crotch and oozing down the crack of her ass. "Might as well have dumped all your own jizz on me. Just like this."

Jaunda stared. Fucking hot. And yeah, she did remember. How did the Valsharess never figure that out, anyway? Jaunda had known the Consort had made her catch this whole time, and yet she had no memory of hiding it from the Queen.

Probably D'Shea's doing.

"Turn over," she ordered huskily, aroused as fuck but now holding herself back from being too rough on her pregnant Sister. Jaunda mounted her slowly, got her thick phallus all worked up inside her netherhole and held still, enjoying the way the younger tensed and struggled with the size but then relaxed and submitted underneath her Lead's muscular weight...

Jaunda would go nice and slow for a change, would slowly ream her until the younger came first.

"Jaunda," Sirana exhaled her name, down on her belly and moving her hips all sexy-like.

The elder Drow tried to keep her weight off Sirana's stomach. So hot. Though, her voice sounded off...

"Jaunda!" she said again.

She pursed her lips in concentration, trying to keep the easy rocking motion. *Ohhh, don't say it that, sweetmeat, it makes you want to ride you like a mad rothe.*

"Jaunda, please, wake up."

Finally she was aware enough to notice the very real scent of the sweat beneath her nose. Familiar, attractive in its own way, but definitely not Sirana. Not even female. Jaunda opened her eyes, placed herself in D'Shea's quarters.

*Ah, shit.*

She was buried to the hilt in the Consort's ass. So much for her agreement. It wasn't her fault, though, she had been asleep when she poked him.

"Not your fault," he said. "I am s-sorry."

She scowled. *...the fuck?*

"What th' fuck you talking about?" she asked, still lying on top of his back. It disturbed her how drunk she sounded to her own ears, how heavy her limbs felt.

"My magic affected you," he said in a rush, working to fill his lungs afterward with her weight on top of him. "I should have expected it. Y-you should finish. I will take it."

Jaunda growled, bracing herself on her palms to lift off of him before easing her phallus out of his body; he muffled his whimper against the mattress but instantly relaxed when they were disconnected. He couldn't quite hide his sigh of relief as she flopped over to one side. 

Her head was spinning. Goddess, her coordination sucked. It was like her arms and legs were full of sand.

So he wanted to take the blame, huh? Assuming punishment and suggesting exactly what he'd said he *didn't* want from her... for supposedly "affecting" her while she slept. She wasn't used to such easy supplication, truth be told. Other Drow were better handling that. When Jaunda was brought into the picture it was usually because they were resisting. 

Did that mean he secretly want it? Or was he just fucked in the head from the Priestess training, or from what Thena and her group had done when he first got here? Shit. Not to mention Jaunda didn't really understand what magic he was talking about anyway.

"You do it on purpose?" she asked, her voice rough and gravelly.

He shook his head. "No, Red Sister, I did not."

"Tell me what you did an'... I'll decide whether I agree I should fuck your ass raw or not."

He glanced over where she lay beside him, glancing at the black pole pointed up, but she was uncaring of her soiled Feldeu for the moment. It wasn't like the smell bothered her when it was healthy—and he was that, in body at least. He remained on his stomach, his pert ass up and hiding whether he had an erection or not; he came up onto his elbows.

"Iskomitneh," he said, glancing at her again to judge her reaction to the name.

Jaunda grunted, rolling onto her side and bracing on one elbow to face him. The tip of her Feldeu touched the sheets and he definitely noticed. She waited. He decided to ignore it for now.

"He was more than happy to send you home, wasn't he? So he could follow."

The Lead swallowed, feeling cold as she just heard the reason for her imminent execution the moment the month was up. "What the fuck does that have to do with your fucking magic? Focus. What did you do to me, Consort?"

"I was in reverie," he answered. "I dreamed of Sirana."

His fist tightened around the bloodstone she had returned to him, and she squinted as several memories returned in a rush. "I thought you were trying to help Shyntre and not harm my Elder."

"I did, Lead. I saw him, and Elder D'Shea. They are both all right for the moment."

Jaunda exhaled in frustration and flopped onto her back again. "You said it was a dream about Sirana."

"It was."

"And Shyntre? And my Elder? And—" She couldn't finish the third one.

Auslan nodded. "Yes. They were all there. Phaelous and Lelinahdara, too."

"Quite an orgy."

The Consort grinned and covered his mouth. "No, the only one I pleasured in reverie was Sirana." His amusement drained when he added, "But you were so close, my aura merged with yours. You could not help yourself. I apologize, Lead Sister, and I will accept what you decide."

Jaunda rubbed her face with her palm, struggling with her choice of action. First impulse was to demand physical payback, like he suggested, but the lingering essence of the Dragon wouldn't let her forget that something big had just happened outside this room. Didn't she want to know so she might see something coming? Did she even *want* to see it coming, even if she couldn't avoid the consequences? 

She couldn't fucking focus. 

"Seemed to me you were pretty uncomfortable getting fucked up the ass," she grumbled. "Am I bigger than you're used to?"

She could tell the blood rushed to his face. "I am not...used to it."

That's right; it took more than just twice in a few months. Sometimes she forgot what it must feel like for those just broken in. Even when the Dragon had mounted her with his wild erection, even though it had been a long time for her, it hadn't taken long to remember how to adjust. But when one didn't know how to adjust, she saw expressions like this.

"What about wrapping your lips around me again?" Jaunda suggested with a wicked grin, treasuring this other expression.

"W-would you consider a bath, first?" he asked.

The Lead laughed. How many times had she grabbed her target's hair right this moment and simply jammed her dirty cock down their throat despite their protests?

Instead she offered, "Tell you what: we both get in the bath and as long as you keep talking about what just happened with Elder D'Shea, you can just use your hands on the Feldeu. You stop wagging your tongue, you use your whole mouth for something else."

Auslan accepted that and pulled the soiled sheets from the bed as well, setting them at the foot of the tub while it filled, nice and hot. He also set his bloodstone deliberately on the lip at the far side before standing patiently, waiting for her to get in.

After a quick sluice, Jaunda relaxed in her Elder's luxurious bath, her elbows braced on the sides as she eyed the Consort and lifted her hips in suggestion, keeping her legs wide as the tip of her cock poked just above the surface before resubmerging. Auslan obediently kneeled in front of her and slowly stroked and pulled on her phallus underneath the warm, soapy water.

"So start talking," she grunted, flexing her fists as she resolved to pay attention to both his mouth and hands at once.

Like a true servant, he had no trouble working flawlessly with his hands and speaking upon command. "Elder D'Shea and Headmaster Phaelous helped Lelinahdara and Shyntre complete a ritual for the Valsharess. I saw it done, I helped him stay strong. Your Elder is one step closer to serving her purpose for the Valsharess when Phaelous will be required to kill her."

Jaunda's expression darkened quickly.

"However, I saw your Dragon, Lead Jaunda. He is watching, too."

The Red Sister felt an unusual spike of pleasure on the up-stroke right as he said that and she grunted again, taken by surprise, but overall her face was stuck in that frown. "Mm-hm. And Sirana?"

"She protected me in reverie, so I could help Shyntre."

"Protected you? How?"

"She was fighting off the demons trying to join in the ritual, while keeping me invisible."

Jaunda shook her head. She wanted to think he was just making this up, because that was what it sure as fuck sounded like. "That's a bit more than 'sensing her baby,' like you said before."

"I said we share dreams, Lead," he corrected. "And that I see visions, like Phaelous and the Valsharess."

Auslan was definitely "strange" enough to make that claim and have her be inclined to believe it. And now "her" Dragon was in his vision. Great.

"Elder D'Shea can't be executed right now," Jaunda murmured, still feeling the pleasure of his hands but with her mind somewhat removed. Her statement was nothing but pure denial, and she didn't understand if what he was saying had already happened or not.

"She won't be," Auslan assured her. "Elder D'Shea will come back to us. Iskomitneh has bought her some time with his teasing the Queen, and we know she is smart enough to use it, yes?"

Jaunda nodded absently; that, at least, sounded like something that would happen soon. But they might be waiting here for a while. She wondered what she would do when she hungry? She still had some rations in her pile of stuff...

*Teasing the Queen. Fuck.*

Only a Dragon would be in a position to try.

*****

What had happened to her son?

Varessa tried not to be distracted by this thought as Tarra and Phaelous dragged a bleeding, exhausted Bathila back to her cell to await execution and disposal. They were preparing to leave the forming room. Tarra would come with them for now, even as she had her short term tasks set before her: to permanently seal off this chamber from future use and see the surrogate dead and disposed.

Phaelous next stood just close enough to her to suggest his support without being blatant, quiet and waiting on the leisure of the females, but D'Shea kept waiting for an overwhelmed Shyntre to collapse. She just might try catch him if he did.

*No.*

The Elder Red Sister knew needed to have all of her wits about her during this audience. She could not afford to stumble or miss something subtle. Yet this protective instinct was what returned every few moments as she told herself what would be best for both of them. She had to strengthen her magical protections around this vulnerability until she got it under control, keeping out even a curious Headmaster, but the trade-off was that she would miss some of the expressions and body language of others while she concentrated so hard without being plain about it.

"Attend Us," the Valsharess said, leading them to the transport circle, "We will hear everything which happened here."

The Queen's hand lightly held Shyntre's elbow in case he did fall. Tarra followed next while D'Shea and Phaelous brought up the rear.

What the Valsharess had said to Shyntre - "You will dream now." - worried D'Shea. She could only think of a certain clean freak, and she fretted that something in the Queen's distractions and lingering visions was telling Her to make a dreaming Consort of Her own. 

The sorceress had no idea how this was supposed to work or what it would offer, except possibly for beating her at finding Sirana on the Surface. The suggestion sounded paranoid even to her own mind. And yet her son had survived a ritual solely intended for those made just like Auslan. Her son's aura, always a strong one, was no more or less powerful now but it was not as familiar to her. It was still him, but she could believe there had been a permanent change.

The Elder recognized hers and Tarra's spy-way from the Sanctuary to the Valsharess's third audience chamber, which had a proper double door and back exit. The Queen led them out through the back door and into the Palace to take the spiral stairs to an upper floor, so they were seen by guards if not whole groups of servants and loitering, visiting Nobles.

The more personal quarters of the Valsharess took up an entire floor and that was where they ended up. The Queen chose an austere, small altar room D'Shea had never seen before; both her son and his sire had, however. Distracted as she felt, this was obvious in Shyntre's pinched expression and even the resigned posture in Phaelous. Both had suffered here; the only difference was that, for one, the experiences were much fresher.

"Do not cross into the circle under any circumstances," the Valsharess stated and approached Her altar, turning to face them as She unwrapped the silent newborn from within the drapes of Her blooded sleeve then setting him down upon the altar.

Exposed to the air and not yet fully dried, the tiny body started to move his limbs, stretching them against the confusing discomfort. Drow infants were quiet things for the most part, imparted with a born-in understanding of this requirement in the Underdark. As long as you were helpless and vulnerable, you had better not squall about it or something might find you and eat you.

D'Shea struggled not to respond to the movements and rapid changes of heat within the little body in the dark room. These signals...this was how Drow babies pleaded for nourishment and warmth, whatever it might cost them at the beginning of their lives. They needed it, and they would beg upon the tolerance of their mother. How long they continued to beg as they grew older depended upon the mother and the child.

This infant had no mother, and the Valsharess would not show tolerance to this one any more than She had shown to his grown and breeding brothers out among the Nobles.

"Elder Varessa D'Shea," the Valsharess said as She retrieved a small box sitting upon the table against the wall behind Her. She set it down beside the infant's head and opened it. "You shall report first."

The Queen must have sensed her pity for the infant. Varessa better schooled her expression to appear stoic but then thought better of it. She smiled instead.

"Tazeok, for I'll not say his full name, returned, as Your Highness predicted. He attempted to salvage the crack he tricked Wilsira into accepting in her forming room."

"The crack," the Valsharess said, expecting expansion as She mixed materials which would make Her circle and runes.

"It was not yet a true gate, Valsharess. It was to become one once a great enough sacrifice was made there."

"Would Shyntre have been sufficient?" the Queen asked absently as She worked.

"Yes, Your Highness."

"You told Us right before the Purge what you remembered, what you are forced to do. You and your unborn together."

D'Shea did not look at Shyntre. "Yes, Your Highness."

"All events which occurred."

"Yes, Your Highness."

The Valsharess lifted Her tawny eyes from Her altar, Her expression cold. "But not everything that you learned."

"I didn't remember what I learned at the time, Valsharess."

"Now you do. You remember the truth of your trial."

Varessa drew in a breath and released it slowly. "Yes, now I do, Valsharess."

The ancient Drow nodded, shifting Her eyes to Phaelous. "And you claim to have done your work."

"I have, my Queen," he responded with a slow smile that did not reach his eyes.

He said nothing more, so the Valsharess had ample time to appraise the other two in the room, Shyntre and Lelinahdara.

"You are each ignorant of what We speak."

Shyntre answered very quietly and respectfully that he was, accepting that fact and sounding relieved. 

Lelinahdara was wary. And jealous. "I am, Valsharess, but I would like to know what truth Elder D'Shea has learned."

A dead smile passed across thin lips. "We are not sure that you do, Priestess."

Phaelous looked toward the wall on his other side from Tarra; the old wizard was probably biting his cheek. Meanwhile the Valsharess made marks upon the infant with Her pinky finger after dabbing into a paste, spelling out his doom. Varessa would've liked to know for sure whether they were marks for Lolth or for someone else. Something else. They resembled some she had seen the Priestesses do but this simply wasn't her area of expertise, and she and Tarra weren't exactly on speaking terms.

"Do you wish to watch, Shyntre?" the Queen asked, indicating the newborn.

"No, my Queen," he answered honestly, causing Lelinahdara to give him a look as if he was insane while Phaelous decided to study at the ceiling instead.

Ordinarily this would have guaranteed that the young wizard would watch every instant with his eyes magically pinned open, but the Valsharess broke form when She responded. 

"Then We instruct you to return to your quarters and await Us."

He hesitated, a shiver passing through him, and D'Shea's eyes landed on the blood-tinged amniotic fluid still staining his robe. "Unescorted?"

"Yes." Her eyes looked up again and his flew to the floor. "You will do nothing to interrupt Us. Shuvi'n."

The magical door opened only wide enough for the wizard to squeeze through by turning sideways, which he did while keeping his eyes on the floor. D'Shea could not tell whether he was tempted to look at his parents or not, though he must be thinking this could be the last time he ever saw them.




Surfacing Ch. 26



The door closed behind him.

"Do you wish to watch, Priestess?" the Valsharess asked as She finished Her preparations on the baby and turned to the task of creating a circle of protection.

"If you would have me," Tarra answered without hesitation, "yes, my Queen, I do."

"What Varessa has learned from Tazeok will unmake what you think you are." The Valsharess's dead smile turned more genuine as She spilled salt and iron shavings from a box into the carved groove in the ground which formed a perfect circle. "Or perhaps it will not."

"I would stay, Your Highness. I will do whatever is asked of me to help reset the balance of power in Your City. I know there is much work to be done after such chaos as we've seen recently. I am not afraid."

The Drow Queen left just the width of a Drow's stance unfinished in Her circle as She straightened up and looked at Varessa and Phaelous again, studying them as She spoke. "True chaos has not struck yet."

Tarra closed her mouth and knew enough to wait.

"Speak what you have learned," the Valsharess commanded of Her Elder Sister and said no more.

Varessa calmed herself, lifting her chin and smiling so that her voice would come out steady. Only a few months left. And only even that long thanks to Phaelous and Jaunda.

"Your Highness seeks a way to be free of the Spider Queen."

Everyone was still, except for the baby on the altar. The Valsharess watched her and waited. Varessa took another breath.

"You have taught the Priestesses to use ample power from the Abyss, but You have gone to great lengths to alter its qualities in the breeding Consorts to call it 'divine.'"

"Alter it in what way, child?" the Valsharess asked while Tarra's eyes had widened in shock as her Queen acknowledged the Elder's statement as a possibility.

"To become of our world, Your Majesty. To become free magic, not divine or arcane or what have you, but simply available and usable without taint. Akin to a water-bearer cleansing impurities and heavy metals before giving it out for the public to drink."

"And why would We need to do this?"

Varessa swallowed. "To prevent us from losing access to it altogether."

The Queen considered Her circle, eased Her ancient eyes toward Her Priestess to gauge her response before looking back the sorceress. "That would still take time. Our race has not yet birthed the first entirely magic-less child."

The sorceress bowed. "Solely because of your efforts, my Queen."

The Valsharess's back was straight, Her chin held up as She nodded acknowledgement of this. "What else of you learned, Varessa D'Shea?"

The Elder Red Sister stood just as straight in her uniform. "The Priestess initiation ritual and the necessity of the Draegloth birthing satisfies our Goddess somehow, but You let it go no further. They are not allowed to breed, and those that do are killed. When You learned what Wilsirathon had been seduced into doing, how she committed treason against You by altering the Consorts against Your Will—and in doing so betraying us all—You cleansed everything in the Purge."

One wrinkled corner of Her lips lifted. "And what further might you deduce from this, Varessa?"

D'Shea nodded, expecting the question. "Tazeok was not working under direct order or with the blessing of Lolth, but his success would have benefited her as much as him. She may not care who won, You or him, so long as she gets her Game. The Priestesses are limited by You, they always have been, pushing for more Abyssal power though they do not realize the difference between them and the Consorts."

"No one but Wilsirathon," the Queen granted, glancing at Tarra. "And now Lelinahdara."

D'Shea nodded. "Yes, my Queen. You granted only enough power to keep them hungry and keep Lolth's name on the lips of the public. Beyond material governance, this leaves two forces to keep the Priesthood in check for you: the Sisterhood and the Driders."

The Valsharess's gold-touched eyes widened briefly and She exhaled with a haunted breath. "Ahhh. The Driders." She looked at Phaelous. "You have snooped enough, Headmaster? You have made your connections?"

"How could I not, my Queen?" he asked with a bow. "In honor of our respectfully frank Elder Sister, I offer a slight correction. Auranka is not here to keep the Priestesses in check. She is here to keep Your Highness in check."

D'Shea closed her fist, resisted the impulse to bring her knuckles to her lips as she thought this over. 

The Valsharess finally smiled fully, somehow seeming centuries younger, turning Her gaze next to Tarra. "Your turn, Our ambitious rebuilder. What do you see?"

The Priestess forced herself out of her own stupor and gasped in awe, "Sirana's psionics! A power entirely unrelated to anything the Spider Queen has ever granted us. She could control your Driders if... If she replaced Auranka as You once suggested."

"This does not horrify you, Priestess of Lolth?" the Valsharess asked, arching an eyebrow.

"I am Your Priestess, my Queen," Lelinahdara said, bringing her hands together palms up and lifting them as she might a drink of water to another's mouth. "I always have been, my loyalty to You even over our goddess! That was what my dream of the red rune dagger suggested to me all those decades ago."

The Valsharess smiled. "Are you willing to take the dream potion soon, High Priestess?"

Just the slightest hesitation. 

"Yes, Valsharess!"

Another step toward freedom for the Queen. Varessa wondered at what point Lolth might take more drastic action to keep her influence, which the Valsharess clearly didn't want any more.

The Queen regally leveled Her gaze at Her Priestess. "So now you receive your true calling, Lelinahdara. You will talk further with Phaelous on how to prepare Sirana when she returns."

"Phaelous?" Tarra asked, confused.

"And you will teach Shyntre what to do when the time comes, as just now you have proven you can."

"Yes. Yes, Your Highness."

The Valsharess speared her Headmaster with a sharp look. "Tell Us how many of the guardian spiders will return with her."

"Two of the three, Your Highness," Phaelous answered, folding his hands in front of him. "It will be enough."

Varessa stood so stiffly she tried not to tremble as they spoke over her. She knew Phaelous had made guardian spiders before, he knew so much about them, but to think he had made ones for Auranka sometime in the past... this was what he was saying, wasn't it? It must be. 

Who had made the suggestion to D'Shea that she make them for Sirana to kill Wilsira? No one. Not that she remembered. It had been a secret...hadn't it?

*My novice...I am sorry. I did not realize for what other purpose they could be used.*

Just as Sirana had not been aware for what else a blood-and-semen-stained rag could be used... until Kerse demonstrated without mercy.

"And when will you confess to Us your moment of weakness, Phaelous?" the Queen asked the Headmaster, who bowed his head and made a similar gesture with his hands that Tarra had.

"I place it in the hands of the Elder Red Sister herself, Your Highness."

Now each gaze turned directly to D'Shea. The cold fear she had been desperately keeping at bay for the past many weeks swept in to chill her core. She should have drunk her vial; she should not have kept putting it off just because Auslan was in the room. Now it was too late. How she hated Phaelous right then, even when he wanted nothing more than to give the Valsharess a clear reason to spare her until Sirana came back.

"I...I can be certain now it will hold, my Queen," Varessa spoke slowly and deliberately. "I am pregnant."

She caught Tarra squinting at her abdomen. It was too early for anyone to tell, just as it had been too early in Sirana for those who did not know what Auslan had done. Except the Valsharess could see it, perhaps, or maybe She found out another way about the catching. D'Shea could be wrong but... hadn't She allowed Sirana to go to the Surface in the first place, so She must not have sensed it?

The Elder framed her belly over her red leather. "Does Your Highness see it already?"

The Valsharess narrowed Her eyes and would not answer this. "State the sire, Varessa."

"Headmaster Phaelous," D'Shea answered, a firm command her voice.

"What you have discovered of the Priesthood and Lolth means We cannot place you with them again to await your time," the Queen said, and D'Shea knew she was foolish to feel any relief in hearing that. "We have no choice but to place you in the dungeons." 

"Your Highness and the Prime must first hear our most recent report from Jaunda," D'Shea said, using all her will to keep the desperation out of her voice.

"We will hear your side of things separately. You will talk to no one else."

"If I may say, my Queen—" Phaelous began.

"You may not."

"As you wish, Majesty." 

He stood by, giving up so easily that it made Varessa's stomach hot, but then something about his posture attracted the attention of his Queen as She decided to step outside the circle and stare directly into his eyes.

"Speak quickly," She commanded. "What has been happening?"

Somehow Phaelous did not smile. "A Deep Dragon has awakened and has sent a clear message that he would play a game between us and the Illithids, my Queen. Elder D'Shea required my services to tell whether Jaunda is affected by psionics or magic. I only just saw her now. Lelinahdara required our urgent assistance in the forming room or we would have come sooner."

There was no appreciable reaction to this news on the Valsharess's face but there was something telling in Her stillness. 

"Interesting timing," She murmured, taking a step back closer to Her circle and to the writhing baby, thinking this over. It did not take long. "Since you have given Us another child, Phaelous, you will assist Us in sacrificing this one. We shall summon the Prime and Elder Rausery, and you will have your wish. We will hear the report at once from each of you."

The old wizard bowed his head and, at the Valsharess's gesture, stepped into the circle before She closed them inside with a suck of magic. Varessa clutched her fist in front of her gut and willed herself to face and withstand the sight of what happened next.

*******

Shyntre returned unmolested to his private quarters, and two female guards took up watch duty just outside. He did wonder whether either or both the Headmaster and the Elder Red Sister would be killed and he would only hear of it later, but his insides roiled with such change that he welcomed the privacy to strip down out of his birth-soiled robe and wash himself clean, physically if nothing else. 

After wrapping himself in a fresh robe, he collapsed on his bed and curled into a ball. As so many thoughts and images arose to seize his mind, he kept thinking of Elder Rausery and what she taught him, desperately clinging to self-control.

The Valsharess touching his face; Her expression of pleasure, and pride. 

*You will dream now.*

Shyntre gritted his head, clutching his head. *Ta'suil. Oh, Goddess, Ta'suil... What do I do now?*

His own cock mocked him as it stiffened to metallic hardness beneath his robe, ready to test out this new aspect of the make-up of his aura. Lelinahdara had promised he would achieve more catches with less sex after the ritual, that he would conserve his time and energy; thanks to his brother, that might actually be true. But there was something else there, something like a new set of eyes inside his head and they were always looking up. Not looking up at the Palace ceiling or an Underdark cavern, but looking up toward another place entirely, one with a great deal more space.

Shyntre and his mother had followed Auslan to that place with a powerful arcane spell. Would he now slide effortlessly to the same place whenever he fell asleep? Whenever he dreamed in reverie? Would he continue to see the dead shuffling across the sand, to see Sirana upon the Surface? Would the Valsharess now know that he had been there before, that instead of spying on Her, now they would spy on Sirana?

If Shyntre was drawn to Ta'suil, how easily would the Valsharess discover him?

*Why have you done this, brother? Why? Did you know what you are doing? Or did you merely give them what they demanded to save me?*

Elder Rausery could not teach him how to hide his thoughts and memories in a vision as she had in a magically-charged interrogation; she barely believed in visions at all. So many mistakes he could make. He had no guide but for the Queen. He was lost.

So vulnerable. Like the newborn upon the altar.

He couldn't fall into reverie feeling like this. He didn't know what happen. What would his Elder teach him, what would she say, even if it had nothing to do with magic?

*Breathe, boy. Remember to breathe.*

He sucked in air, held it, let it out. That helped. He did again.

*Everyone, mage or not, develops holes in their defenses under the right stress,* his Elder had told him. *You can't stop that, most of the time. But there is always a way to close the holes. So figure it out, and close them. It's all internal, Shyntre. It doesn't matter where you are, you never need something outside of yourself to find the quiet place. The still point.*

He hadn't been sure whether she was right. It just sounded like something a warrior would say, someone used to using their body. The connection between mind and body could be much more balanced in someone like Rausery. She didn't start so far to one side like he did...

*You can't be like me. I can't be like you. Anything you want to say or think that I do which you can't is just you making an excuse, feeling sorry for yourself. You can't do it my way anyway. Figure out the way *you* do it. I can't do it for you.*

Excuses. Feeling sorry for himself. Right.

He wasn't as alone as he first thought. Auslan was right; they came to help him when he really needed them. His parents, his lovers. Rausery was still here. If Sirana was the one here in his place, only waiting for the Queen to come and show her control...

Well, he already knew what she would probably do to fill the time. For once, it has its appeal.

Shyntre rolled off the bed and barely caught his feet, slowly gaining a surer step as he walked to the door and opened it to poke his head out. The guards seemed surprised.

"I need the next Noble who has been waiting," he said. "See her summoned here. If she has left the Palace, then find the next one."

By now they knew exactly which accountant had that list and one nodded and stepped away to speak to a different set of guards. It may take a bit, but he would wait. His intuition suggested he had the time.

About a full mark later, he still had an erection and it ached as the young Noble was announced and allowed into the room.

Roweit of House D'Verin; a lower Fourth Daughter of a very high House. She had never tried a Consort despite one living with them most of the time. Her Matron was now desperate to change what might be viewed as a mistake of complacency in thinking the Consorts would always be there. She was younger than him. It would be her first pregnancy. 

*Very well.*

"Allow me, D'Veritte," Shyntre murmured with a smile as he approached her at the door. His fingertips touched to the silken gown at her waist and he drew her farther into the room after he was sure the door was locked. "You look so very beautiful. It is an honor to serve."

She relaxed at his words, just a little bit, studying his face and his body, noting his readiness. "Hm. Likewise, Consort."

She accepted him as a sire. He was powerful enough; she could see it.

She spoke as he stripped her down; she stood with her arms out and back straight. "You have quite a reputation, Consort. I expected... Something different."

Kneeling before her, Shyntre nuzzled the white fur on her mound, drawing in her aroma which sent a lightning flash from his nose straight down to his cock. "Mm. You will still get that which you expected, my Lady... if you want it."

The response was subtle but he could read some things in her body language better than he could before. She was conflicted. Intuitively he considered the source: complex social expectations were set against more natural, simpler desires. This one did not pick many fights with her siblings; it likely explained why she never had his brother when her House had the chance.

She was no virgin but her relative lack of experience and her personality guaranteed she would follow Shyntre's lead in spite of social norms. As they continued, she even relaxed and enjoyed it more, knowing that no one spied on her to judge her later for lack of "proper" female aggression when taking a male. 

She obeyed him every step as he got her into position, slowly talking her down with his voice, bringing her to a submissive posture with calm and a strong hand to guide her.

"Good girl."

"OH!!" she cried as he finally drove into her full-length. She was wet from his tongue and her own arousal, and he had her willingly bent over on her elbows and knees on his bed. "C-Consort—!"

He grunted through a tight throat, gripping her haunches. "You have kept me waiting too long. I must breed you. Now." He pounded hard and her breasts jiggled before she reached to play with one. "I take you. My way."

"Fuck!" she cried, relaxing into the role-play faster than he expected. "Oh yes, f-fuck me harder, Consort!"

He did, and both of their auras became so much more clear to him. He watched as various flows and waves made the attempt to sync up. At first he only manipulated his own pleasure and saw how things changed in the patterns, nudging against hers. When she opened to him, his pleasure directly manipulated hers and they began to emerge. 

He was barely aware of how wet his pubic thatch and his balls had become, of the mechanics of the way he touched and mated the Noble. Instead he played with their energy; he recognized both aspects of what the Queen did to feed off his aura... and of what Ta'suil did to make every time feel so special. So different, yet from the same origin.

Roweit's face was pressed to his mattress; she was drooling on his blankets as she groaned, keeping both her legs and her aura wide open to him. Her magic hummed the same tune but he was in control; his power overwhelmed hers. He knew they could achieve their goal in one shot.

That would be it. So easy. So much less effort. So much more time he would have, and room for growth at last. He could learn so much. She would have her baby with only pleasant memories of him. So much less interaction and power struggle for it to turn ugly as they displayed their flaws; so much less waste to drain them both of their natural curiosity as they fought one another.

Shyntre took hold of her snow white hair to pull her head up and make her brace herself. Her full, purple-red lips remained lax as her eyes rolled up, blinking but unable to focus on the wall in front of her. He whispered near her ear.

"Ready?"

She nodded, pulling her hair against his grip.

"How does your womb feel?"

"Hot..." she gasped.

"Good. Ready for a baby to fill it?"

"Y-yes! Yes! Do it!"

By his will he lined up the colorful waves until they grew so large they finally struck and broke over them. The surge overwhelmed even him and they both cried out as he emptied both magic and seed into her. The pleasure and reward from something so primal yet so mystical made him wonder how he'd been fucking it up before not to see it.

*Is this what it's like for you, brother...?* 

Shyntre had never been so sure before; he had never imagined there would be a wordless, answering call back. A third aura; just the tiniest speck bursting into existence. It hadn't been there a moment before, but now it was. By the end of the cycle it would catch hold within its mother and she would decide everything from here.




Surfacing Ch. 26



*Oh, Goddess...*

Pure reverence.

Shyntre collapsed onto her and they both flopped down to rest, his cock wedged inside her yet sliding in their juices. He wasn't sure how much time had passed to come back to his own again, but he felt...good. So good. Carefully he rolled over off of her and looked at her face.

Roweit of House D'Verin and the City of the Valsharess, was resting, relaxed. And she smiled in her sleep.

*******

"So break the Ward down," the Prime told Elder Rausery, baring her teeth.

"Don't suppose that was part of the message from Elder D'Shea," she replied, changing her stance to one less confrontational.

"It doesn't matter if it was. We are being summoned, and we are required to retrieve Lead Jaunda to set her before the Valsharess."

"I am going to need Qivni's help. D'Shea made that so no single Red Sister is strong enough, not even you."

The Prime lifted one nostril. "So get Qivni. Whatever you need to do, just get it done in under half a mark."

Elder Rausery had a feeling how things must be going for Varessa and Phaelous if her magical counterpart wasn't being allowed to leave the Palace to retrieve Jaunda herself. Likewise, the Prime wasn't offering any help because she didn't want to be the one feeling like shit walking into the audience chamber.

It was going to be much harder to break that Ward this time than the last time.

"Come on," Elder Rausery said to her Lead once she found her. "Need to make sure the other Sisters are kept busy, then it's time to take another one for the Sisterhood."

Qivni gave her a wry smile and followed without question, showing no surprise when they eventually came before D'Shea's door. Taking each other's shoulder in a tight grip, they once again tag-teamed their willing assault on the Ward as it assaulted their bodies in return. It was indeed harder this time: flushing and breaking out into a sweat from scalp to boot; ringing in their ears as their heads pounded like boulders slamming out from the inside; blood trickling out of their noses and tasted on their tongues.

"Guh," Qivni tried to swallow, gripping Rausery harder as she wavered on her feet.

"Li'l...more," her Elder urged.

When the defenses did break at last, the two Sisters collapsed to the ground from the backlash.

"OHhhhh fuckk..." Rausery moaned miserably. She slapped her gloved hand on the stone floor, which had to sound like a wizard's thunderclap to Qivni' poor ears. "Hee'lin' bottle..."

They each grappled for their own healing potion, trying not to spill it as they got it past their lips and down their throats. The elixir was just getting to work when they heard Jaunda's voice just on the other side of the door.

"Elder Rausery?" she asked. "That you?"

"Dress," she ordered the subordinate from the ground. "Uniform, now. If you aren't there already."

"On it, Elder."

Jaunda moved away from the door and Rausery heard just a few clinks of equipment as the Lead prepared herself. It gave time for Rausery and Qivni to regain their feet and entered the room with a slightly higher amount of dignity.

Auslan was hiding behind the empty tub again, though as Rausery looked around, she actually saw a few things out of place. Good. Maybe he was a little less crazy.

"Gonna have to take back your company, Consort," Rausery said. "Hope you enjoyed it."

"I did, Elder Rausery," he answered in a stronger voice than his crouching stance implied he'd have. "Thank you."

Qivni glanced at her with an eloquent eyebrow; Rausery grinned.

"I hear he sucks good Feldeu," she told her.

Jaunda smirked but did not break stride as she suited up, but Auslan touched his forehead to the edge of the tub, gripping it in both hands as he hid his eyes from them. 

Meanwhile, Qivni seemed a little incredulous but said nothing of it. Instead she asked, "So who will reset a ward after we leave to protect the Consort?"

"Still got that knock-out powder, Auslan?" Rausery asked, and the mostly naked male blinked in surprise at her but nodded. "Use it on anyone who's not myself, D'Shea, Jaunda, or Qivni who walks in the door." 

As his mouth dropped open, she next turned to her own Lead to finally answer her question. "Sorry to do this to you, Qivni, but as you watched over Shyntre a while back, you're going to guard D'Shea's quarters and Auslan until she can come back to reset her protections, or until I come back to tell you otherwise. You're also the one to make sure he is fed."

The Lead nodded solemnly. "Of course, my Elder. Stand inside or out?"

"Stand just inside. No need to advertise that the wards are down." Rausery turned to Jaunda. "Are you ready?"

"Yes, Elder."

"Good. Let's go."

*****

The room was eerily quiet after the door closed again. Qivni and Auslan exchanged a quick moment of eye contact before he looked away again. No doubt he recalled how she had treated him for his disrespect last time she barged in here to assist in her Elder's questioning. The headache from his head connecting with the desk had probably lingered for a while; he'd had quite a bump.

Qivni remembered again the unsettling moment when her self-discipline and resolve wavered for a moment under temptation, and her Elder had called her on it—making the offer that she just fuck the Consort and get it over with. That had been embarrassing, and disappointing. 

Rausery's Lead was glad that the male was hiding himself mostly from view now, because she didn't think that he looked any less beautiful. Possibly more so. Something to do with his aura, which she could make out, more or less. She was a Priestess's daughter, after all.

"What is that in your hand?" she asked, breaking the silence against her better judgment.

He had tried to be more subtle in palming it, but Qivni watched for such things even if she was not consciously searching.

"Show me," she demanded, covering a weapon in unspoken threat.

He opened his hand and she saw a bloodstone; dark, opaque green streaked through with bright red veins. She frowned.

"Who?"

"Shyntre," he muttered, not putting up a fight. "Just a keepsake, Lead. It does not work. He does not have the other one at the Palace."

Right. She had figured out the connection before talking with the wizard. She didn't admit it aloud, but she liked Shyntre. He was proven tough to break and, unlike many it seemed to her, he understood just what had been so fucking irritating about Sirana. And ironically, he was the only Drow she had met who had even remotely the same upbringing as her. He would've been quite an asset if he had been born female, possibly quite a lot like herself.

Which meant he probably wouldn't like her lusting after his pretty Sanctuary friend with the perfect eyes and weird gold streak in his hair.

*Bah.* Qivni mentally shook such images out of her head. She was better than this.

"So you going to hide back there forever?" she said.

He hesitated. "What would you have me do, Lead?"

Qivni shrugged, looking at some of the books and scrolls on D'Shea's shelves. She pointed. "You ever look through any of that?"

The quirk of his eyebrow was comment enough and he didn't quite keep the snark out of his tone. "No, Lead, I would prefer to avoid punishment and possible death for such actions."

Lolth, she wanted to beat him. Or fuck him. Or both. She wondered if he might, with his training, be able to make her cum with just his mouth. No Feldeu as a crutch, no potions or mushroom derivatives, no endless frustration as she became too sensitive or numb to get over the top and would have to rely on something else.

Sirana had been such a cunt when she figured that out. The Noble who'd been so scarred on the inside since she was little, kind of like a Priestess who had given birth to a Draegloth, could still cum with no help, and even under abuse. Then Lelinahdara had made her whole again and the novice was so ungrateful for what she had, taking it all too lightly, making stupid decisions that made things harder for the other Sisters.

The blue-eyed freak deserved what she got with Kerse. A pity Jaunda and the pretty boy here figured out a way to help her avoid the natural consequences of her attitude. Talk about avoiding punishments and death for one's actions.

Qivni slowly drew in a breath and let it out as she willed her heart to slow down a bit. She allowed her light copper eyes drift over Auslan's hands on the edge of the tub, still holding the bloodstone loosely in his right. Graceful, and probably pretty talented. This room was infused with his scent over D'Shea's. His, and Jaunda's brand of horny sweat.

"At least sit on the bed instead of the floor," Qivni suggested, then decided that was probably a bad idea.

Nonetheless, Auslan obeyed and moved immediately toward Elder D'Shea's sheets—and instead of sitting on them, he quickly ducked beneath, hiding his mostly naked body up to his chin, his hair spread out on the pillow as he lay down.

Alright, that was fucking cute. And what a teasing glance she just got.

So Jaunda got him to service her Feldeu with his mouth, eh? What a waste. But then, her peer always did have a lop-sided preference for the false phallus on her tool belt. Qivni was aware that something big had happened on Jaunda's last trip out to spy on the Illithids; why else would she have been locked out of sight in here and both Elders awfully busy all of a sudden? Qivni was content to wait until Rausery shared what her Lead needed to know; she always did, but for now it seemed there hadn't been time.

Qivni would continue to wait, and in the meantime she would be watching over this helpless, somehow valuable male while trying to keep images of his face buried enthusiastically between her thighs under tight control. Somehow she would ignore the pregnancy prevention draught she had among her tools, along with with the realization that Elder Rausery had never explicitly given orders about Auslan's availability, as she had with Shyntre.

******

Unless it was some sort of public ceremony, it wasn't often anyone lower than an Elder was in the same room with the Prime and the Valsharess together. From the look, smell, and sound of things, Rausery figured Jaunda was well aware of this fact and probably thinking she didn't need the solitary honor.

D'Shea and Phaelous were here, and so was the Sanctuary liaison Varessa didn't trust after discovering that she had been compelled to trust her in the first place. Rausery knew right away that this audience would be a series of lies and half-truths to give them the next stage upon which to work. She was going to have to follow her peer's and the Headmaster's lead to some extent, while running interference between them and the Prime where possible. Lelinahdara was a bit of a wild card.

Hopefully the Valsharess would enjoy the show.

Jaunda started out on her knees in between the Prime and Rausery, her short hair needing a trim to look less rustic but her uniform properly worn for her duties. The Valsharess sat straight in the only chair of a small audience chamber with Lelinahdara on Her right and D'Shea and Phaelous on Her left.

"Do not speak yet," the Valsharess commanded the rest of them before focusing a fine point gaze on the Lead on the floor. "Lead Jaunda. Have you met the Dragon whose Ward you discovered several weeks ago near the Illithid nest?"

They all heard her heart speed up but there was no pain in her face, only a wry grimace that showed she was fully aware she was royally fucked. "I will answer the Valsharess in twenty cycles."

The Prime sucked in her breath and Rausery looked just as shocked, muttering, "What did you just say, Lead? Answer Her Majesty's question now!"

The Valsharess lifted Her regal hand. "No, We know what this is." She looked at Phaelous and D'Shea. "And you have not reported this to either your Prime or Elder Rausery?"

"I did not know what it was, Valsharess," D'Shea answered. "I worried it was an Illithid trick and had to be sure. I required the Headmaster's counsel before I could make my report. He would only do so in exchange for my help with Lelinahdara and her project."

"Suspicious motive at best," the Queen replied in disappointment. "But We shall return to this later. Headmaster, tell Us what you have told Varessa on this matter."

Not good, the Queen deliberately not using D'Shea's title but calling her by her given name. What had happened at the forming room? Where was Shyntre?

"Lead Jaunda is bound by her promise, Valsharess," the old wizard said simply. "This is not psionics, fortunately, nor is it the kind of compulsion we use. But I am only assuming if not the one or the other, then perhaps it was the Dragon awakened since we found his Ward. It feels powerful enough."

"It is him," the Valsharess stated. "We see his Mark on her."

The Prime stiffened while Elder Rausery did her best to look confused.

"Does this mean he sees or hears us now, my Queen?" the Prime asked.

A slow shake of Her head. "He would make that clear to Us if this was the case. Minimally he will know where she is, and whether We kill her or let her live."

"Why, Valsharess," Lelinahdara began tentatively, "why does he give a specific amount of time for her to talk? And could it change again in twenty cycles?"

"He plays," the Valsharess answered shortly, Her mouth tightening. "And it could change, if Lead Jaunda agreed beforehand."

The Red Sister on the floor said nothing to this; as before, she did not look as worried as she might've been without the Dragon's influence. The Prime scowled at this and struck Jaunda upside the head hard enough that she fell over in front of Rausery. She held her head between her hands and did not attempt to get up.

"Speak the command and I will kill her, my Queen," the Prime growled. "I don't tolerate treason in my ranks."

"My Lead received the Dragon's help to fulfill her mission," D'Shea said with command in her voice. "Jaunda made it back in a fraction of the time we expected and the spy gem I sent with her is in place, and I have been watching the Illithids ever since."

The Prime gave D'Shea a deadly look. "You reported to me the gem was in place, but left out the unusual timing?"

"You didn't ask, Prime," the sorceress replied, "and I was uncertain of my answers in any case. You often tell me to be mindful of your time. I simply waited until I had more I could give you so as not to waste it."

This part about the gem was clearly something the Valsharess hadn't heard yet either—though that might have more to do with the shit happening with Shyntre—so the Prime could not exactly throw stones for an incomplete report. 

The ancient Drow turned Her crowned head to the sorceress. "Speak all your thoughts on this, Varessa."

D'Shea bowed her head. "Whatever the game, the gem is much closer to the nest than any one of us could have gotten, possibly except for Your Highness. He either granted her a boon, or she made a good bargain."

"No bargain with a Dragon is good," the Prime spat.

"I agree it will always be in the Dragon's favor, Prime," D'Shea answered without breaking stride, "but there is a message waiting, and we would be foolish to kill the messenger before we heard it."

"I dislike having to wait on his time scale, D'Shea," Rausery spoke up with a frown mimicking the Prime. "Could we take it to him to hear the message directly?"

Valsharess lifted one eyebrow at her, perhaps actually considering that. The Prime saw it as well and disagreed.

"Which of us wouldn't come out in just as bad a position as this one?" she asked, waving a red gloved hand at Jaunda on the floor. "Sure as the Abyss exists, we aren't going to send him our Valsharess!"

"Varessa," their Queen said simply. "If We decided, she would be the one to go."

Everyone was still.

"May I ask why, Your Highness?" Lelinahdara asked before the Prime could, and She nodded.

"This particular Dragon enjoys bargains with powerful mages best, and he would not harm a pregnant female unless she was truly some threat to him first. Varessa is no threat."

Wait. Pregnant?

The shock this time was genuine, and Rausery played it to its fullest. Even Jaunda dared to lift her head at her voice. 

"Wh...what the fuck, D'Shea? When did that happen?!"

Sorceress stood still and clenched her fists, lifting her chin but saying nothing. From the non-surprise in the Headmaster's demeanor, Rausery could guess who the sire was. That better explained Varessa's attitude when Rausery had been teasing her about Phaelous while they waited in his quarters. She knew then, she just didn't share it—not that Rausery blamed her.

Fucking Abyss, not again. They couldn't lose her now.

"Sounds like a good idea, Your Highness," Rausery bowed. "Would the Dragon expect it?"

"Perhaps," the Valsharess answered distractedly, Her eyes drifting.

"But can we trust her loyalty?" the Prime said bitterly. "She very well may make a bargain against Your Majesty if she has fallen out of Your favor."

D'Shea opened her mouth.

"We would set a proper compulsion on her first," the Queen said.

"No!" Varessa blurted in some of the most primal fear Rausery had witnessed out of her, and the Valsharess lifted a hand again to silence her. With effort, she restrained herself lest she be forced.

Rausery nodded the next instant, looking to her Prime. "I agree. We need that guarantee, Prime."

"Only if we do this," her elder hissed. "The Valsharess must decide, and decide what the bargain and goal shall be if the risk is worth it."

"We will think on this," the Valsharess said, seeming to become more and more distracted by Her thoughts. "For now... Prime, Elder Rausery, you will strip Varessa and Jaunda of their weapons and tools, and place them far from each other in the dungeon. Solitary cells, no contact, full rations, no interrogations. We must have time to decide what We will do next. Prime, Elder, Priestess, you are dismissed to your duties. Headmaster, you will stay."

Elder Rausery bent to take firm hold of Jaunda's armor and jerked her to her feet, removing her belt first and starting the disarming process before the Prime could. The oldest Red Sister then stepped forward and gestured for D'Shea to come to her; there was a slight hesitation before the sorceress did so, trying to uphold her dignity and doing a good job of it—which, unfortunately, would only engage the Prime more, Rausery knew.

"You will disclose any components you have hidden beyond your uniform," the Prime stated, starting with D'Shea's belt as well.

The sorceress smiled a little and listed three things which the Prime then removed several down feathers from her hair and scraped white powder from beneath her fingernails.

"We see nothing else," the Valsharess said. "Though We recommend a cavity check before the cell is locked."

"Of course, Valsharess. Come with us, Sisters," Elder Rausery said as they led them, unresisting, out of the audience chamber and downward within the Palace, as low as they could go.

******

"Is it time at last to kill me, my Queen?" Phaelous spoke first when it was just the two of them left.

"We wish to," the Valsharess said. "We have wished to for a very long time."

The Headmaster bowed without a drop of insincerity in his place or voice. "I know this, my Queen."

"There remains one ritual you have yet to pass on." She slumped just a little in Her chair as She added with audible regret, "We cannot do it."

"I can prepare them the best I can, my Queen," the ancient wizard said. "But if it does not work as Your Majesty hopes it will—"

"Do not be coy, Headmaster," She bit out, Her composure just a little strained. "You defy Us, breeding Varessa without instruction."

"Your power was persuasive as ever once she willingly returned to me," Phaelous said. "Her desire was just as it was before."




Surfacing Ch. 26



"Yet now she distrusts Tarra," the Valsharess said.

"By the strength of her own will, she breaks down the least genuine part of the compulsion first," Phaelous said.

"Genuine," the Queen repeated in a deadly murmur.

"It is easiest to convince someone of something they want anyway," he replied. "Your Highness already knows this quite well."

"So she will break Our compulsion."

"Not for some time, at least not until I die."

"The timing matters not. This should not be possible, unless you have committed treason, Phaelous."

"I have not, Your Majesty. You still feel Your touch on us both. But Varessa has always been gifted, and Your Highness's power is not absolute."

A magical blast from the Queen's hand had once outright killed a young Consort tainted by the Abyss. The one which struck Phaelous in the chest now knocked the wind out of him and left him unable to stand for several moments.

"That is the message... from the Dragon," he wheezed as soon as he could, rolling over onto his elbow and clutching his chest with a trembling hand as his heart struggled to continue beating. "You... do not have to wait for the Red Sister to speak to know this much."

The Valsharess stood up to approach Her Headmaster. "You say Jaunda has no value."

"Your Highness knows that's not true," Phaelous replied, his hair as pure gold as Hers, his face as wrinkled when he looked up at Her through his lowered brow. "The Lead Sister holds the second component. Her silence first shows Your vulnerability, the second will show Your strength. The Dragon wants to see if You will panic being shown vulnerability before he offers salvation."

She flexed the fingers of Her right hand as if She considered another blast. "Curious. Why do you suggest this?"

"Because this was Your Game long ago, You've but forgotten!" Phaelous caught his breath. "Before Wilsira and the Consorts, before You became obsessed with breeding the Nobles just so and Wilsira convinced You to take all the daughters away from the Sisterhood! Now You hardly leave the Palace. The Red Sisters do not want to become pregnant or tell You when they have, because of this fear of being planted immobile in the dirt until they drop their seed! It was not always this way!" 

The Valsharess's chest rose and fell much more quickly than any but him had ever witnessed, and the Headmaster forced himself to his feet, taking a few steps away while keeping his hands visible and still. Her lips pursed, the Valsharess allowed him to continue speaking so he did.

"You knew then Your power had to renew itself through conflict," he said. "Now You do not engage Your People and You do not see what they've become, they are just breeding stock! That's why Your Majesty would put the only sorceress capable of wearing down Your compulsion in the dungeon simply because she may have a child in two years!"

"She would have died centuries ago had We known what she discovered," the Valsharess said.

"She was still pregnant at the time, and You would still have waited for Shyntre. Yet this changes nothing—Your Highness would also crush Her next wizard before She would cultivate the same devotion She has in me!"

For a moment the Queen's expression tightened to disbelief before She reconsidered. Phaelous saw it.

"Yes, my Queen. I am the only one who remembers what it was like before, even the Prime has willingly forgotten. I am the only one who would tell you what you don't want to hear, and I say this now: you cut off your own fingers, one at a time, because you are a Queen of Livestock now. We can't stop the Illithids if they attack in mass. We aren't prepared, we are herds and fields waiting to be swept aside and trampled, and your Dragon knows this!"

The Queen stared at her Consort, quivering subtly. "Tell Us again of your divination, of the Illithid attack."

He trembled more visibly than She did as the nausea followed the adrenalin. He took a breath. "Sirana will be the trigger. The changes within her mind will draw them."

She nodded. "Tell Us again it was a ritual of Lolth which gave one of Ours true psionic power."

"Lelinahdara opened the pathway using Lolth's ritual," he said. "It was an accident. Sirana has made it so."

"Tell Us again...about Auranka."

He obeyed. "The guardian spiders will be with Sirana. If Shyntre does what we plan, then D'Shea may be the one to seize control of the Driders through Sirana."

"May be," She repeated. "You are not certain."

"You know how divinations work, my Queen. But I am certain Varessa used Sirana's power once before to break her silence forced on her by Wilsira. I am certain this attack will happen long before Varessa has the opportunity to birth any child. You needn't keep her in the dungeon until that time, she should be out among us with her skills put to good use."

The Valsharess smirked, displeasure again crossing Her elder's face. "Then why impregnate her, Headmaster? If she could have helped Us more as a respected Elder than a liability in the short time we have." One corner of the Queen's mouth turned up, the smile turning more cruel. "Was it an impulse? A poor decision of passion? Even poorer planning?"

Phaelous swallowed. "Perhaps I needed my own guarantee she would be alive for the Illithid attack. And you are predictable on that account."

She chuckled, tawny eyes darkening some. "Not as predictable as you think. And you rely on changing Our mind about this."

"You only have to make up Your own mind, Highness, and decide what has priority. It would take but another compulsion to keep Varessa will not speak of the past, and she will not fight when she must help us survive the future. Please, do not keep her locked away for long."

Phaelous watched as the Queen turned away, folding Her long-sleeved arms before Her. She stared again at one of the tapestries across the room.

"Such interesting timing," She murmured again, refusing to make a decision on D'Shea's imminent fate. "Lethrix is awake. Your divination proves only part of Our Vision. Something more comes beyond the Illithids."

"But the Illithids come first, my Queen," Phaelous pressed. "Auranka's Driders will not simply let them win but we cannot rely on Lolth if You would be free of her."

"True. The Driders are the children of some very old sins."

*******

"I knew you had been treading a thin line for a while, Varessa," the Prime growled in her ear, deliberately pinching a nerve in her arm and not letting go as they moved through the spy-ways. "Now you crossed it."

"How, by catching?" D'Shea retorted. "Why is a Red Sister instantly demoted to an incubator until she drops, as if she has no other skills?"

The Prime spun her to face and back-handed her hard. "Not one more word. You know this is the way it is." She stepped forward, breathed onto D'Shea's skin as she spoke. "Your fucking inconsiderate stupidity has left me without an Elder and right now there is no one suitable to replace you. I warned you about disrupting things further with the Priesthood in disarray and the Nobles panicking over their petty rivalries. I even let you keep that damned Consort and kept it secret from Lolth's whores. This was supposed to be the opportunity for the Sisterhood to hold things together for the Valsharess, but now you've fucked that up."

"So send me to the Dragon as a light snack as was suggested!"

Another strike, the same side, and her face was going numb.

"D'Shea," Rausery said behind her, leading a silent Jaunda. 

Just her name, but it helped. The sorceress calmed herself and tolerated the shooting pains up her arm as they moved again, until they exited the spy-way to enter the dungeon from a blind corner, completely bypassing the dungeon keepers. Prime and Elder Rausery one of two keys and gestured her straight forward, then pushed Varessa to the left, down a different corridor.

The smells and despair were just as pervasive here but walkways were a little drier and not so filled with constant moans and screaming. The rooms were smaller and more of them were empty as various Nobles had given birth to their tainted infants at last before being sent home without them.

The Prime opened a cell though D'Shea could not tell why she had chosen it, and they went inside. She expected the search, of course, and she expected her elder to make it very unpleasant. 

"Cloak off," the Prime demanded.

D'Shea removed and threw it onto her new cot, and immediately the Prime took her by the back of her neck and pushed her toward the wall. The sorceress caught herself with her hands just before the Prime would have smashed her already-sore face against the stone, and her neck started to hurt with how hard the eldest was pushing.

"Leathers down, Varessa. You know the drill." Hot breath touched her ear, shaking a bit with anticipation as it escaped the Prime's throat.

"How long as it been, Prime?" D'Shea murmured, tugging at the ties at her hips—and she wasn't the only one.

The older Drow grunted an ugly laugh. "Decades. Truthfully, none of you do it for me anymore. Not unless the top ones are due a reminder in humility. Like now."

D'Shea pushed her pants down, exposing her bare ass to the Prime. "I notice you only seemed interested when someone fell pretty far down in your eyes. You don't carry your Feldeu everywhere anymore; I see you came prepared this time."

The Prime didn't answer until she had murmured her magical word to attach her new tool. "It isn't going in easy, Varessa. Arrogant fucking mage, bet you haven't deigned to take it up the ass in centuries."

D'Shea smirked but kept her mouth shut on that one as the blunt tip poked utterly dry at her back pucker. It had been less than two years. When Sirana wore the Feldeu, Kain had often taken control. D'Shea had learned a lot about the dwarf Sirana had killed—where he came from, how he saw his birth right—enough to have gotten the seed of that idea which had allowed her to "talk" to her subordinate through psionics, getting around Wilsira's compulsion. It had cost her a sore ass at the hands of her own novice, but it had been worth it.

Maybe this wouldn't have quite as much pay-off attached to it, but D'Shea remembered how to bend under pressure. She remembered.

*****

*Wait,* Rausery signed to Jaunda from a hand-span away after finishing her cavity search. *Just wait for us.*

The Lead nodded; she looked calm as she righted her leathers. Calm and trusting.

Locking the cell door with Jaunda inside, Rausery hurried down the corridor where the Prime had taken D'Shea. The sounds she heard were very familiar—though Varessa wasn't weak by any comparison, only the mute could take that in silence if a Red Sister wanted some noise. And the Red Sister in question was the first Red Sister there had ever been. Rausery was prepared for what she would see, and she already had a plan of action in mind.

"Fuck, ha! Can I join, Prime?" she asked with a big grin.

"You may...go second," the eldest answered, ramming her hips in viciously as she pressed D'Shea against the wall, forcing her onto her tip-toes.

On second glance, Rausery read that D'Shea wasn't trying to take in silence, and she wasn't in denial or making the damage worse. Yielding like water. Good for her.

"Nah, I meant I want her cunt at the same time," Rausery said, taking out her own Feldeu and tugging at her pants. "I want her facing me so she can watch."

The Prime chuckled, rammed home again then drew partly out as she gripped D'Shea around her waist and yanked her from the wall, keeping the sorceress on her toes and impaled on the Prime's cock.

"Might have to pull her leathers the rest of the way down around her ankles. Keep her boots on."

Rausery did so in after donning her own tool, taking advantage of the angle and being close to the ground to glob as much spit as she possibly could onto her glove and standing up to grip D'Shea's pussy as she leaned close to her peer's grimacing face.

"Always wanted to do this," she said, smearing her slimy glove around.

D'Shea gave her a silent comment in her expression: *Liar.*

She was right; the chemistry hadn't ever been there for this. Rausery had too much respect for the sorceress's command of the arcane and politics. How quickly the Valsharess and the Prime forgot as soon as a baby was involved.

"Feldeu goes in dry, Elder," the Prime grunted.

"Yep. Dry Feldeu. See?"

The Prime slapped it from around D'Shea's hip, because she could—like two snakes snapping at each other at the entrance of a burrow. She might've considered other details but she nearly lost her balance. 

"Alright. Dive in."

Rausery opened her peer's thighs wider and lifted her up to take some of the strain off her legs; she read the relief on Varessa's face. At the same time, D'Shea grabbed hold of Rausery's shoulders and leaned toward her rather than leaning back against the Prime, though she was still sandwiched between them and it was a movement of about two fingerwidths. Her eyes were intense with pain and determination.

"So fuck me, you mewling sycophant," the sorceress hissed.

"Power shifts pretty quick, doesn't it, D'Shea?" Rausery responded, feeling the tip of her Feldeu press for the first time into her peer's wet, and incredibly tight, passage as the top Red Sisters double-teamed her. "So am I bigger than Phaelous?"

Rausery lifted D'Shea higher, taking more of the weight so that the Prime would have a tough time seeing over the sorceress's shoulder but would have an easier time thrusting into her ass. Kind of a double-edged sword, there. Or at least it probably felt like it.

"Aw, yeah," the Elder grunted, timing her thrusts where the Prime wouldn't be able to tell she was only pushing in half-way, but D'Shea could certainly tell. The sorceress kept watching her, waiting for some kind of communication.

*Still need you,* Rausery signed against her tense, naked thigh. *Will help. Shadows. Don't talk.*

D'Shea nodded once, covered well when she next gasped in pain.

"That's it, my arrogant mage, remember whom you serve," their Prime said.

*Pretty one,* Rausery signed.

D'Shea's elegant brows shifted in concern. She knew Rausery meant the Consort but she was still understandably distracted.

"Say it, Varessa."

* Must 'die.'*

D'Shea shook her head urgently. *No!*

*'Die!'*

"Say it, sorceress!"

*'Die,' out of Cloister!* Rausery signed in exasperation. *Shadows!*

"SAY IT!"

"PRIME!" D'Shea cried, her eyes tearing up but they also brightened in comprehension. "I-I understand!"

Got it. Finally.

"Give me that tongue," Rausery demanded hoarsely. "Give it to me."

She forced the sorceress into a deep kiss, finally having the chance to push the two message pellets from beneath her tongue and under D'Shea's before biting her lip to make her whimper, lifting her mouth next to bite her neck with a convincing growl of lust. Now here's hoping the sorceress didn't swallow them before the Prime was done.

Rausery stayed as long as the Prime did, not feeling the least bit awkward when she finally got off using D'Shea's wet sheath. It was as decent cum, but more importantly it gave her an excuse not to pick up where the Prime had left off.

"I'll be back, Varessa," the Prime said after removing her bloody torture tool. "You'll find out what the Valsharess has in store for you soon enough."

"Yes, Prime," she answered, but not meekly enough to make her eldest lose interest in blowing off some more steam on her later. 

Full rations, no interrogations—and the Prime wasn't interrogating her. Torture, sure, but no questions, just punishment. The sorceress was a tough one, though. This fact and the Valsharess's orders would keep Rausery's plans safe for a while longer. The best Rausery might do in return was make that meeting with the Dragon seem like the only way to go. Somehow get D'Shea out of the dungeons.

But first she to get Auslan out of the Cloister.

******

Qivni needed to risk leaving the Consort alone and unprotected for as long as it took her to get some food for herself and him. There was no reason to think that a Sister was lurking around the corner just waiting to open to D'Shea's quarters; they all knew that door was off-limits.

"You will be fine as long as you don't panic and give yourself away," the Lead told him as she prepared to leave.

"Of course, Lead. I will not panic."

He wouldn't leave, either. Truly, where would he go? Shyntre might've tried to book it for the Tower, at least—even if it was a dumb plan—but Auslan literally had nowhere he could go where they wouldn't try to tear him apart.

She walked by one of the sparring rooms to catch a few Sisters wrestling, working off excess energy before they took to their rooms following a busy shift. Others down the hall were just warming up and they greeted her respectfully as they all got something to eat. The extra portion she took raised no eyebrows, and she caught up on a few details and expectations before excusing herself once again.

"Thank you, lead Qivni," he said modestly as he sat on the edge of D'Shea's chair to eat at her desk as she bid him. He set his bloodstone nearby.

She sat on the other side staring at him, able to smell him and study him up close. How did any male Drow get so fucking beautiful? The features were so captivating. She could believe it was the work of a Goddess here. Grandson of Lolth, indeed.

Auslan ate quickly, fully aware of her observing him and nervous about it, yet he still pulled it off with some kind of grace. It was a long meal and she wasn't very hungry.

She wondered what would happen if he simply offered to get it over with.

"So Jaunda got a piece," she said as he was nearly done. "Elder D'Shea, too? How many come here to get a little stress relief?"

He acted like he lost his appetite in an instant. He swallowed his last bite and set down his utensil, keeping his gaze on her hands rather than looking her in the face. "None, except Lead Jaunda."

"None? Not even D'Shea?"

"She does not want me that way, Lead, and Elder D'Shea has not forced me to service anyone."

"Why not? I still don't get what other value you have to her."

"It is not for me to say, Lead," he replied quietly.

Qivni found herself scowling. "Meaning Jaunda didn't force you to service her?"

He hesitated, looking confused. "I-I am not sure what happened."

"What, you just suddenly discovered you had a Feldeu in your mouth?"

"It has to do with the reason she was called before the Valsharess, Lead Qivni, but I am not allowed to say," he explained with a note of desperation.

She jittered her fork a bit. "Okay. I don't need to know, and I will just say it. How about you eat me out, without the Feldeu? Consorts are some of the best at that, right?"

His look of dismay and the fact that he immediately shook his head in denial set off an explosion of bitter heat in her gut. What right did he have to be so picky?

"Why not?!" she barked loud enough to make him flinch. "It's what you're trained to do! Who the fuck do you think you are drawing a line like that? You are at our mercy, you fucking Sanctuary whore! You have nowhere to go and you are worthless otherwise!"

His eyes started to glisten with tears as he put his hands in his lap; he was afraid of her and she expected him to fold right then. She might be willing to forgive him if he just did what she asked.

"You are right, Lead, and I am sorry," he agreed.

She started to calm down. 

"I cannot tell you why I must draw a line, only that I must, and it comes from above me. No."

If she could have flipped the heavy fiberstalk desk, she would have.

"No," she repeated, standing up slowly, threateningly, and leaning forward with her palms on the desk. She glared hatefully at him. "Your kind... don't *get* to say no."




Surfacing Ch. 26



"So you said before," he answered, trembling in his chair as he looked up at her, meeting her eyes. "But there are no more of 'my kind' left."

His hand flicked up suddenly where she could see it—and he had the gall to toss the knock-out powder in her face.

"FUCK!" she screamed, choking, knowing she had little time and launching herself over the desk at him, mindless of the clattering, metal dishes. She said nothing else as she tried not to inhale any more powder. But her thoughts screamed at him.

*Fucking...kill you...!*

He cried out in pain as she bowled him over and they tumbled out of D'Shea's chair onto the floor. She thrust her hand underneath his wrap, trying blindly to grab his genitals and twist them. If she couldn't have him, she was going to fucking make it hurt, make him sorry...

"No!" he yelled, and bright lights exploded in her head as two fingers jab into her eye. "NO! ...NO!! ...NO!!"

He had no formal training and it was clear he was desperate, but somehow he focused on the soft spots rather than flailing wildly. He kicked at her, struck her ears, dropped his fist on her nose and kept yelling at her as he struck her over and over, hitting hard for his size, until the powder finally took hold and she let him go. He scrambled to his feet and escaped her.

Her final thought before she lost consciousness was: *Where the fuck did he learn that...?*

******

Auslan knew he had inhaled some of the powder just by proximity; the alternative would have been to hold his breath and keep silent, to freeze up again and be unable to move as she did what she did.

He couldn't. He just couldn't this time. He would rather pass out from inhaling ground mushroom. He had to yell this time.

The Consort scrambled first for the door, thinking only of distance, of the fact that he didn't want to be here when she woke up. His head was swimming and he coughed as he fumbled at the door, trying to figure out how to open it. He never had before.

He noticed blood on his left hand, his knuckle. A cut, probably from connecting with the Lead's teeth. His hands hurt. He had bruises and wrenched muscles from the struggle, from her actions. This he'd felt before—though rarely—but... Never the bloody knuckles. That was a sign of Drow who got into fights; he wasn't one of them.

He hadn't been.

He wouldn't be again if he went out into the Cloister.

*Oh, Goddess, what have I done?*

He did not have the coordination to stand up, but he could crawl, and he did so until he finally reached the very back wall of the room, farthest from the door. He was hidden from easy view behind the hanging sheet he had washed after Jaunda finished her bath, but it would not protect him for long.

The shakes would not stop. The terror of what would inevitably come next seized him so strongly that for the first dragging moments he could not even weep. When the sobbing did start, it felt like a giant trying to crush his chest as it filled with acid. 

*Shyntre, oh Goddess, Shyntre!!*

"What have I done...?" he sobbed.

He doubted Elder D'Shea would be able to help him now. Why had she left him with that weapon in the first place? He would never have used it if he didn't have it.

Now if Shyntre didn't die from the shock of what would happen to his brother, he would never be the same again. Auslan had failed, failed because Sirana would come back only to find out he was dead. Or maybe she would know in a dream and she wouldn't come back at all. She would abandon his brother in favor of her unborn son if there was no Goddess to please. She would abandon Shyntre...

Would the dreams even stop for them both if he, himself, was dead? He didn't know.

The weeping was getting a little too loud and he tried to swallow it down. It hurt so much.

Where was his bloodstone? Where was it...? It had been on the desk. Probably on the floor, somewhere near the conscious Lead. 

He wanted to move but he felt so heavy, his limbs so weak. The fear kept him awake even with the powder inhalation, that he would not be able to fight back or run from Qivni when she woke up, or from the next Red Sister to walk through the door.

"Hey. I'm back. I'm coming in."

Elder Rausery. 

So she would be the one to decide how he suffered, and he how died. His only other preference might have been Elder D'Shea. Why had not she returned to him yet? Was she well?

He bit his fist to stay quiet.

The Elder worked out what happened at the first glance and swiftly shut the door behind her. "Fuck me..." 

Then she looked around. She didn't see him but she probably heard him trying to breathe. 

"Auslan."

Her boots strode quick and heavy straight toward him and she drew the hanging sheet to the side as she looked down at him. Her eyes ran over him and for just a moment it looked like she was trying not to smile. She succeeded when she remembered what she was going to have to do.

She looked so disappointed as she shook her head.

"Stupid boy," she muttered. "Don't move from that spot."

He wouldn't have gotten far if he tried. 

She let go of the sheet and he heard her searching around D'Shea's shelves as the cold seeped in ever deeper into his core.

"Elder, please," he heard himself beg. "Please, if there is any punishment from which I could suffer, yet live..."

"Quiet," she barked.

Soon she returned with a small bottle in hand and leaned down to lift him by his waist. It was hard to breathe but he did not complain as she moved him to sit on the floor much closer to Qivni. She took D'Shea's chair this time, setting the bottle down.

"We wait for my Lead to wake up," Elder Rausery said, drawing a dagger and tugging out a small whetstone upon which to hone it.

His eyes swept the floor and he trembled as he pointed. "May I have that, Elder? Please."

Rausery looked around—not without basic situational awareness for turning her gaze away from him—and spied the bloodstone on the floor. "Hm. I figured. Jaunda gave it back to you?"

He nodded.

She picked it up and tossed it to him, which he fumbled a bit but soon closed in his fist. "Generous of her. Did it help you 'focus'?"

"Yes, Elder."

Elder Rausery squinted at him. "Do you know *anything* that happened with Shyntre and Elder D'Shea after she left?"

He received such a feeling of foreboding that for a moment it felt like he was trying to draw breath underwater. He rubbed the stone with his thumbs. "I-Is she still alive?"

"For now. Did you do something to distract her?"

Auslan shook his head urgently. "No. No, Elder! S-she was successful! P-possibly too much."

"What, were you watching?" she asked, folding her arms across her chest as she leaned back in the chair.

He nodded, his lower jaw trembling. "You know...you know why Elder D'Shea wanted me to dream."

Rausery nodded. "Thought it was more long-distance communication."

"I-It is. I can. Sirana and Shyntre both saw everything I saw, too. Elder D'Shea succeeded in what she set out to do, she saved Shyntre from being demon-tainted during the Priestess's ritual, but she did not know I was there!"

Rausery worked her jaw a bit as she thought this over. "So what happened after?"

Auslan shook his head. "I do not know. The Valsharess arrived and I had to wake up."

The Elder said nothing, eventually looking over at her Lead, at her bruised eye and split lip.

"I do not know what seized me, Elder, please," he tried explaining. "M-maybe a lingering connection with Sirana and Shyntre. They are both fighters. For them, please, for their sake, I will do anything—"

"Shut it," Rausery barked, her command sealing his lips as effectively as a silence spell.

The Elder asked nothing more of him as they sat waiting for a while longer. Finally Rausery leaned up and took a pinch of something from a pouch at her belt and sprinkled it over Lead Qivni's nose.

The next moment, the Red Sister drew in an enormous breath and sneezed.

"Augh," she groaned, awake now and blinking at the ceiling before she rolled her head to look at her Elder. An instant later she rolled and tried to get her feet, visibly disoriented but managing it. "Elder Rausery."

Rausery stood up as well with a nod. "So." She looked pointedly around the room. "Seems pretty self-explanatory what happened. Anything you want to add?"

Qivni looked deeply embarrassed but stood at attention, paying no heed to her injuries. "The Consort has magic I cannot resist, my Elder. I-I should not be the one to watch him."

"You won't have to, Lead," Elder Rausery said with a nod. "I don't know when Elder D'Shea will return to us, and we are now down both an Elder and a Lead for the time being. You and I will be very, very busy. We have no way of keeping and protecting this Consort anymore, and for what he has done, he has to die."

Auslan's eyes filled with tears when he heard this; he couldn't see anything past the blur but he heard Qivni protest vehemently.

"Elder, please, and it is not necessary. It was my fault, not his. I-I wasn't myself, I gave in to the temptation, I failed to protect him as you ordered me to, and I am the one who should be punished for it."

"I'm not killing you, Qivni," Rausery said quietly. "I need you here more than ever."

"Then something else, Elder, whatever punishment. But you need not execute the Consort."

"I do, Lead, exactly because even you can't resist him. As I said, we have no way to keep him. This will be a mercy compared to what will happen to him eventually."

"Elder—!"

"AT ATTENTION!"

The Lead obeyed and did not move as Elder Rausery dipped the point of her dagger into the bottle she had taken from D'Shea's shelves. She set the bottle down and held out one hand in its blood-red glove toward him, the poison-tipped dagger held expertly in the other.

"Give me your arm, Auslan. I'll make it quick."

*No, no, no, NO!* He could not die; he did not want to die. *Oh, please, Goddess, help me—*

New strength born of pure panic flooded him and he scrambled to hurl himself straight for the door. Elder Rausery could have stopped him easily but she didn't.

"At attention, Lead."

He found the switch and squeezed through as soon as the door opened wide enough for him to do so. He ran to the left simply because it kept him in the doorway for less time.

Unlike Elder D'Shea's quarters which he kept so fastidiously clean, the rest of the Cloister smelled of dirt, sweat, leather, and lingering blood. He could tell there were many of them here and he could not predict when the first would block his path. He looked for signs of a less-chosen path, more dust, more of a musty smell, and turned left and right, and left again until he was hopelessly lost.

On bare feet and wearing only wrap around his waist, he ran through the barracks blindly, taking turns with no reason behind his choices except that it kept more distance between him and his executioner. He wouldn't hold out his arm willingly like that to be poisoned; every moment he kept breathing was a chance for her to change her mind...

When he sensed the ward near a particular door which suggested a way down into storage, he realized that he wasn't lost. This door led to the cells in which he'd first been held, where he had first been attacked.

The hallway ended. He would have to double-back.

"Auslan," Elder Rausery commanded from the entrance to the hall. "Don't make me chase you farther. You're only pissing me off."

There were several more Red Sisters backing her up now in addition to Qivni. They watched silent but curious what would happen next. He did not know them, but he caught several passing quick smiles to each other as they stood ready to back up their commander. Auslan had never faced such a frightening sight in his life, not even the first pack of the Sisters who had come to his jail cell.

He shook his head in denial. He couldn't, he couldn't just lie down wait for it—

Elder Rausery charged him faster than he could be prepared and he first cried out in fear as he tried to dodge her then yelled as she grabbed tight hold of his forearm. Instead of pulling futilely against her grip, he struck her forearm in return, twice, with a closed fist and bending his knees to throw all his effort into it.

It would have hurt much more if the warrior wasn't wearing bracers.

The Consort gasped in shock as he felt the dagger bite into his naked side and he stared up at her with wide, pleading eyes.

"...w-what have you...done?" he whispered, already feeling the poison spread into him as his blood poured out of the wound.

"I know what I've done," she said. "Close your eyes. It'll be over soon."

Auslan slumped, on his feet only as long as Rausery held him up. He collapsed as soon as she let go, even his darkvision failing as he fell down an endless void.

*****

Lead Qivni remained stoic in front of the others as they made comments on how such a shame, such a waste that they didn't get to play with him first. She thought only that she didn't like being the catalyst for what was necessary.

"Do you need help disposing of him, Elder?" she asked.

Rausery wiped the blood off her dagger with a cloth and folded it up to tuck away, sheathing the dagger when she had finished. She shook her head. "I got this. Don't want any of you wasting time or playing games with the body anyway."

"Elder, we wouldn't," one of the other Sisters protested.

Rausery shrugged. "This is Priestess spawn. He hasn't been acting normal while alive, and neither have any of you who met him. I'm not taking any chances with the corpse. Lead Qivni, collect all the Red Sisters not out on a mission together in the planning room. I will meet you there."

Qivni nodded and gestured to the others. "Come."

While their steps faded down the hall, Rausery lifted Auslan's body and opened the warded door to the cells, carrying him down to the lines of iron bars below.

The sole prisoner down here shuffled and came awake as Rausery set the body down nearby on the floor.

"Elder?" Halena croaked softly.

"You're awake," she grunted. "Good."

Rausery's shadow crawled closer toward the bars and the Elder pulled out a small glow stone so she could see Auslan's wound with more precision. The dagger had missed the kidney and she hadn't twisted it; it was a clean stab only half the depth it could've been. The substance on the dagger was starting a fever but she had time to reverse it; not a lot, but some.

"Elder. Elder Rausery."

She paused, looking over as the familiar Drow face. The way her face muscles moved had now changed just enough to seem like someone else other than Halena.

"Tell me, what have we here?" the shadow asked with a smile. "What has happened?"

It was Halena's voice; it was her mouth and tongue which formed the words. 

It was *not* her tone, or her body language. Or eye color. There was a glint of gold in her dark red eyes.

"Who the fuck are you?" Rausery whispered.

"I think you know," Halena answered, then looked down at the Consort. "You'd best help him before it's too late. There is plenty of time for us to talk."

Rausery began mixing her antidote. "Not really. My Sisters will notice if I take too long."

"I didn't mean now," Halena's mouth said. "I mean when you come to check on him later. You will let Halena out and she will carry the Priest straight to Vik, right?"

The Elder slathered the same blade with the antidote and carefully inserted it back in the same wound she'd made while trying not to make any bigger. "So my entire team is compromised."

Halena nodded her head. "As soon as you sent Vik back to his handler. But I won't spoil the fun by telling anyone, Rausery, it is our secret. I have no interest in this particular game you play."

"But you have interest in him," Rausery replied, withdrawing her blade from Auslan's unconscious, dying body and setting about patching the wound so that the antidote could work. 

"Those who are out ahead do," Halena's mouth commented blithely. "Your Valsharess is a little behind. The other young male is doing an excellent job distracting her. The motivation must be very strong, but it seems he must have good training in will resistance from... sssomeone."

Rausery didn't reply to that, especially with the smartass tone. She needed to wait just a little longer for the neutralizing effects to go into full back-swing, then she could try a topical healing cream to seal the stab wound for good. She could not give the Consort anything to swallow because he was going to be fucking nauseous for a while after he opened his eyes.

"Training rather like Jaunda, if I may say. I sense she is alive but she never did let me in. I'd have broken her if I forced it." 

The Elder checked Auslan's vitals, his pupils, the heat of his brow. He was getting a bit better; it hadn't gotten very bad to start with.

"Vik and Halena need more practice," the other continued, "although while I can hear a bit of what is going on with that delicious youth, he doesn't allow me to puppet him like this."

Rausery sighed with impatience, checking at her belt for her topical cream. "Would you like to meet my peer sometime before the next twenty cycles?"

Halena's face arched an eloquent eyebrow at the change of subject. "Why?"

"She is a pregnant sorceress with a will stronger than Duergar plate armor."

Halena blinked once, tilted her head curiously, then grinned. "Jaunda's Elder? I hadn't realized she was expecting. Unless she was looking for a few weeks of good rutting, I am not sure why you would suggest such a thing."

"Fine," Rausery said, focusing on getting enough salve onto Auslan's side to heal it the first time before she patched it one last time. "Forget I mentioned it."

"That is an impossibility, my dear Drow."

"Sounds like your problem."

Halena chuckled pleasurably. "Is the Priest ready now? I will make sure your shadow and he each gets out unseen."

Rausery pursed her lips and quelled all questions but one: "How do I know you won't simply take Auslan and make him disappear for good?"

"Do you need him for your plans?"

"In a roundabout way, yes."

"Do explain."

"I need that other young male for my plans, the one that's distracting the Valsharess. He'll die if this...Priest...dies."

Halena squinted thoughtfully. "Perhaps. Or perhaps he would only become stronger. At least part of that outcome is up to him."

Rausery frowned. No denial of harmful intent, but an interesting response nonetheless. "Fine. But the 'Priest' is also the only link I have one of my Red Sisters currently on the Surface. He can send her dream messages—"

"Yes, I am aware." Halena's grin was impossibly big. 

"—and I am going to need that to know when she's coming back," Rausery finished, ignoring the interruption.

Halena's face was absolutely delighted now. "Ohh, Sirana! Yes. On this we agree. She must return to your City. It is a certainty she will not do so if the Priest dies. I guarantee you, Elder, he will not die under my watchful eye."

She'd have to take that at face value; she didn't have the time or knowledge to challenge him more. "Good. You take the Priest to my shadows and he does not leave their care. None of them come to you, either."

"For what payment?" the shadow puppet asked coyly.

Rausery's expression was stern. "None. For your own good. Don't figure you want to babysit him anyway. We'll do it for you." 

Halena's throat hummed. "Yet there's no safer place to be than at the foot of the To'vah, dear Elder."

There; he said his denial of harmful intent. Except now she didn't care. She might not be able to stop it, but she would neither suggest nor agree to transferring the Consort to a Dragon's den.

"Haven't needed that the whole time you've been asleep, don't need it now." Rausery stood up to unlock the cell door. "Now get out. Don't be seen. I need to meet my Sisters, like a quarter mark ago."




Surfacing Ch. 26



Halena slinked out of the cell on all fours before straightening up with a languid, graceful stretch. She knelt down to look at Auslan's body before gathering and lifting him into her arms with practically no effort. "Ah! Well. We will talk another time, then, Elder. Soon, I hope."

With a nod, Halena and Auslan both vanished from Rausery's vision and she only barely caught light steps padding up the stairs. She shook her head, wondering how long before she could escape the Cloister and the City to see her shadows in person again. Without D'Shea to run interference, it would be challenging.

But the Dragon was right; it had to be soon.

******

*There. She is coming.*

*Something is off.* 

*Who does she carry?*

*Top's message said someone valuable, and to let Halena in.*

*Nothing else?*

*She's managing a crisis.*

*Lots of those going on lately.*

*He's almost naked. We need to find clothes and boots to fit him, don't we?*

*Might be tough, he is so slight.*

*One step at a time.*

Vik was keeping one eye on the sign language but did not join into it. He knew why something was off in the way Halena moved, and it had nothing to do with the burden lying unconscious across her shoulders. He had seen the change multiple times since Iskomitneh had let them go, but it was one of the things he couldn't describe to his Elder or handler because it would tell her about the Dragon.

The others could observe any and all actions, could study evidence and consequences. They could discuss the Dragon—for they still did not even know his name— between themselves to no end and the To'vah would be pleased. Jaunda, Vik, and Halena simply couldn't describe him or what they had seen him do in their own words until the month was up.

Vik wasn't sure he would do a good job describing it, anyway. 

*Lolth damn it.* He was getting an erection again.

Eyin closed her hand silently on his shoulder to gain his attention and he looked at her. She was in charge whenever Elder Rausery couldn't directly guide them; she was their handler, their guide, and in some ways, their protector. She had a history with Rausery going back a long time; she was the best trained of any of them, equal to Rausery just maybe without all the resources the Elder Red Sister had, and she in turn trained them.

Like all the shadows, Eyin had a close-fitting hood covering her white hair, with her face and ears visible while they were in their current den. There was nothing differentiating her from the others in appearance; one would have to watch carefully her body language and the responses of the others to single her out as the leader. Assuming the shadows gave one the chance to study them long enough.

*Brief. What can you tell me?*

Eyin was already aware of his... limitations. What had made him nearly weep in relief was that both Rausery and Eyin were going to wait until he could talk. They might end up killing him after he did, considering what he had to say, but he was grateful for the benefit of the doubt. 

*I want her again,* Vik signed. *Specifically: her. Only indulgence will keep me useful to you. I wish it to be otherwise."

His handler studied him contemplatively before nodding. *I will stand guard. What of the passenger?*

Vik shook his head. *I do not know who he is.*

Eyin nodded and slipped forward to be the one to first appear before Halena. Vik saw the moment Iskomitneh withdrew and his mission partner was back, and it was the instant before Eyin would have made eye contact with him. The shadow Drow blinked, clearly not understanding how she got here and she nearly dropped her burden before Eyin steadied her.

*Come with me,* their handler signed with reassurance. *Bring him.*

Despite all twenty-one of them knowing it was not standard procedure, Eyin followed Rausery's instruction to the syllable and ushered Halena and their guest straight to one of the smaller sleeping lofts without searching either of them or performing their usual precautions. They were all aware that something very strange was happening in the Palace, and now some of it was spilling over onto them.

After putting the others to some short tasks which would keep them occupied as they waited, Eyin summoned Vic to follow her next and they climbed up above the work floor into the stone loft. Here they could just barely stand up without knocking their heads; they could not raise their arms up. 

Thin, black lengths of leather, treated to be much tougher than its weight would suggest, were spread out wide enough for four, shoulder-to-shoulder, but it could be rolled up again easily and quickly carried off. They had it to prevent unnecessary scrapes and damage to the uniform, but otherwise it was just like sleeping on the ground.

Vik stepped forward to help Halena set the strange male Drow upon on the leather, and only then did the three of them have the chance to study his face in the dark. It always took concentration to make out specific features with darkvision, but it did not take them long to realize what they must have.

*A Consort,* Halena signed, her mouth open in astonishment.

*The Consort,* Eyin corrected, having been told who to expect. *The one Rausery said was the last, being kept in D'Shea's quarters in the Cloister.*

Vik frowned. *What happened to D'Shea?*

*That's the crisis. No time to speculate but she will inform us when there is something to know.* 

Eyin waited, watching them, and it only took Vik looking at Halena, making eye contact and catching her scent, for the urge to seize him again. It was almost as strong as the times before, during their journey back. Maybe a little less this time, maybe it would wear off eventually...

"Vik..." Halena whispered, reaching out. "I missed you..."

That was all he needed to hear.

He drew her into his arms, clutching her hard as he kissed her mouth, exploring it with his tongue and lips. Halena relaxed and allowed him to do whatever he wished, clearly the submissive partner. That was not to say she was lazy or unresponsive; she made the effort to keep herself quiet as shadows were supposed to be, but there was no hesitation, no resistance. She wanted it, every moment, as he stripped her from the shoulders down to the knees, fondling her every step of the way before he finally lay her out upon her back next to the unconscious Consort. 

Her legs opened with pleasure and invitation, her calloused, hard-working hands sliding up her inner thighs to frame her heated, moist sex before reaching out to him. The next moment Vik covered her and claimed what he needed, pushing in as deep as he could go as she wrapped her legs tightly around his hips, her fingers digging into his back. He moved to pleasure them both, kissing Halena tenderly over and over again. 

Unlike the first few times, Iskomitneh didn't make himself known this time. He was probably still peeking in, though.

Eyin watched over them as promised, observing everything and keeping her thoughts to herself. It was sometime before either Vik or Halena acted anything like their previous selves. They each came; they wiped down, got dressed, and looked to their handler. They knelt down on their knees upon the leather as they waited for her comment.

Their field leader half-smiled, and signed, *Seemed fun.*

Halena tried and failed not to smile, like she had been given some kind of congratulations. Vik tried to listen to the inner music which had been there ever since he left the Dragon's den. The creature of legend was keeping tabs.

Depending on how things went in the next few weeks, if they lived, Vik knew Eyin would switch around the partners again. Sex was not forbidden between shadows, but when it came compulsory like this, they couldn't be sent on missions together. Although this was the first time that it was compulsory thanks to Dragon.

Still, even if he and Halena survived beyond the next twenty cycles, there was something bigger coming in the next few months for which Rausery prepared. More strange things were coming and only so long could Vik and Halena deny—to themselves or others—that each of them had just become wildcards.

His balls empty and his mind just a little clearer now, the male shadow only just now began to wonder whether his fate might be tied to the strange Consort that Iskomitneh had brought into their presence.

******

*He's going to retch,* Halena signed as Vik took the warning to heart and moved quickly to hold an empty sack to the other male's face.

*Rausery warned that he would,* Eyin answered, unconcerned as the younger female looked around and toward her peers as they glanced up toward the loft.

*He's loud.*

*That's why we have look-outs and perimeter silence spells.*

*We will have to drag him around if we have to move?*

*Yep.*

Halena frowned. *What did I miss?*

*A lot, I'm guessing,* Eyin answered, staring straight at her subordinate and cursing inside her head. Partial amnesia. *Rausery wants this particular male to live through the next few months, no matter what, until she makes her move. Our new priority is to guard this Consort.*

Halena formed, "Oh..." with her mouth, seeming confused. She had no idea as to his importance, either. Not her or Vik. Damn.

She was going to have to question their guest with no prior knowledge except that D'Shea had wanted him alive, and now a Dragon did as well. The obvious link between the two was Jaunda. It was more than many had, she supposed.

Vik got the Consort to sip just a little bit of water before he left to properly dispose of the smelly bag containing his last meal and the remnants of the poison's byproducts, which were enough to keep anyone nauseated, on and off, for a few whole cycles sometimes. 

Eyin figured Rausery had chosen that poison because it was fast-acting when it entered through a wound, tranquilizing the victim while mimicking certain other quick-death toxins the Red Sisters possessed. Ingesting it had a different effect all together; it gave the victim a bit more time to feel sleepy, drugged, then outright ill. The real damage did not start until the fever raged uncontrolled for a few cycles. Eyin had seen the blood of the victim turn brown in candlelight after cooking much of the moisture from the skin.

However, Rausery had done what was proper to stop the process: introduce the antidote to the same wound. It was less effective when one had to swallow the cure, too; even taking the cure right after the poison, one might be in a dangerous, delirious fever for a cycle anyway.

The Consort groaned softly as Vik left, now on his stomach upon the leather but turning his head carefully where he sensed the presence of others. He really did look like one of those helpless, pampered pets jealously guarded by a Matron. She expected him to open his mouth any moment and ask a stupid question.

Instead he moved his hands. *Who are you?*

Eyin and Halena glanced at each other before the handler answered. *Your guards. Per Elder Rausery.*

The beautiful male took needed time to absorb this. He reached to touch his side where the healing salve had closed his wound, leaving a small line for now that might fade eventually. 

Eyin watched as he replayed his most recent memories in his head. He was afraid to believe her, perhaps expecting her to strike him with a more dangerous answer with no warning, but when they sat watching him as if they had all the time in the Underdark, he decided to start with this one truth she offered.

*She helped me live?*

Eyin blinked. That was more perceptive than the shadow handler had wanted to believe him capable. Rausery had stabbed him in front of others, publicly "killing" him. That was not how most ignorant Nobles and their servants first recalled their assailant in the rare instances it even happened.

*She protects something you know,* Eyin responded indifferently. *Something to do with a Dragon and Jaunda.*

He definitely remembered something interesting. Good.

*Have a name?* Halena signed.

The Consort looked at her and squinted his eyes as if something was odd about her but lifted one hand to respond. *Auslan.*

Eyin felt like chuckling aloud but refrained. Uncovered treasure, huh? What sentimental Noble or Priestess had decided to call him that?

To her surprise, Auslan seemed able to read her expression. *She found a mind behind my face.*

Eyin's smirk disappeared. 

Vik returned then. As he sat down again to tend to whatever needed to be done with the Consort, the handler considered this shadow and several of the other males in her care. 

*I see,* she answered Auslan. *Who is 'she'?*

Again the pretty male took a moment to consider signals besides her hands. *A Red Sister.*

*Which one?*

He narrowed his eyes. *You know names?*

*All of them,* Eyin confirmed. *Answer me. Which one?*

Auslan pursed his lips in brief hesitation. *Sirana.*

Now this was made a lot more sense. Now Eyin knew who this was.

*You were the one who healed her after Jaunda stopped the Draegloth,* she signed. *That was why D'Shea kept you.*

Auslan swallowed, but nodded.

*I heard that one was executed at House Itlaun,* Halena said.

*Another cover up,* Vik added, offering Auslan another small drink of water since he had kept the first down.

Eyin agreed. Rausery kept her on a "need to know" status, and the Elder had only recently revealed there was one Consort left being kept in the Cloister by D'Shea. Her one-time street leader had never said where he came from, when he'd arrived, or why he was there. 

Certain things Rausery would tell her, but she never gave Eyin the full picture or all the motives for major players at the Palace, Sanctuary, or Cloister—assuming Rausery herself knew them. For clarity of observation, knowing less of the intrigue kept Eyin's reports of various activities going on at the City level clean and unbiased. This in turn helped Rausery in an environment where she never knew all the plans anyway; small changes on the streets often pointed to those up high, if they had a view at both ends.

But occasionally Eyin could connect the dots for herself.

Sirana and D'Shea had kept Auslan following the death of the Draegloth, and Rausery got the Consort out just now, when neither Sirana nor D'Shea were there to defend him from the others. Now he was connected to the Dragon and Jaunda, too, for some reason; that had been clear on his face. 

And why had Eyin even thought to state that in the first place, to test his reaction?

...because of the way Halena had been walking as she carried the Consort here, and the way Vik had looked at her. These two weren't entirely Rausery's shadows anymore after their mission; the Elder had just told her about the unsettling breech in their secrecy. 

Fortunately, Rausery had agreed with her that they would wait the twenty more cycles for the message. Their most recent plans were kind of fucked anyway so Eyin was content to lay low for a while and see what developed naturally. This wasn't the first time things had gone tits up; otherwise Rausery would already have taken over for the Prime.

It had never been Eyin's role to control anything except herself. Even the other shadows weren't technically under her control the way most Drow saw it; her shadows *wanted* to be here. They chose to follow her lead. If they did not at any point, if they tried to betray their bond, yes, they would be killed, it was necessary—but the goal was that it would never get that far in the first place. Such indecisive individuals would be weeded out early in the recruitment process. 

If one chose this way of life in the first place, if they "died" among the commoners only to prove themselves over and over again among the shadows; if they were rewarded for it with a freedom out from underneath the Valsharess's Eyes, they did not so easily change their mind. The males, especially; they worked the hardest, challenging the females to keep up, and they did. 

Each and every one of them believed in Eyin's pride and affection for them; she did not even take a title to set herself above them. They knew she would not kill or abuse them for her own greed or entertainment.

If she did, there was no point in having left the City in the first place.

Bumps arose on Auslan's limbs and he shivered as he tried to rub them way with his palms. Eyin read that the Sanctuary servant had reached his current limit for making eye contact, or speaking without being spoken to. He was withdrawing into himself. Certainly recovering from the poison added to his lack of endurance.

*Leeth is adjusting a spare suit now,* Vik informed her, noting the Consort's chill without proper clothing.

She nodded and gestured to Halena to follow her. *Let us check on that. We'll be right back.*

She would see what happened when there were no females nearby.

******

Vik did not sign as he sat near Auslan with his waterskin, watching for further nausea and other symptoms of poison. He could not help but look over the other male and note his unusual beauty, and Vik's main thought on this was: he was grateful that he, himself, was plain. The type of attention drawn from just about any female would make it so he could barely take a step in the City by himself.

Which certainly explained why Consorts were either locked away among the Priestesses, or in a Matron's private wing rarely seen by commoners at all. Vik would have to try to keep in mind that this male was probably helpless in many practical things, from simple ignorance. No one had taught him to care for himself.

Vik was not even sure if Auslan possessed the critical thought necessary to learn practical things. If the Priestesses did not breed it out of them, make them like docile livestock, then curiosity itself was surely punished.

He felt pity for the Consort, and the clear burden on the shadows to care for him was only a momentary regret. Until Rausery said otherwise, what else were they going to do? The word had come to not go into the City but to lay low. They didn't have any tasks beyond the mundane anyway.

Maybe there would be time to teach the Consort something. At least test whether he could learn, and Vik did not mind the distraction. He didn't need to always be thinking about Iskomitneh and what had happened.

After his third drink of water, Auslan grew nauseous again and lost it to another treated sack Vik held out for him. The shadow moved in silent laughter as he reached out and squeezed the other's shoulder the way Eyin often did to the rest of them. It was intended to be reassuring, often a sign of camaraderie and unity.

He wasn't too surprised with the look Auslan gave him. It was clear that even small skin contact with another Drow had giant expectations attached to it.

*No one here will force you,* Vik signed.

He did not even bother to address the same-sex aspect of the act. He didn't have a personal argument to deny it—not after his last mission—and it was actually fairly common among the shadows. That was part of the freedom allowed; the males didn't have to pretend to only be interested in females if that wasn't the case. There were a few who never had been.

Interestingly, Auslan did not focus on this, either. *Why touch me?*

The added flourish to his hand sign was interesting, almost like a different dialect; it was as if the Consort was expected to be beautiful and graceful at all times, in every movement he made. He probably wasn't even aware he was doing it.

Vik thought about his answer and instead reached out and rested his palm on Auslan's shoulder again, squeezing slowly before letting go. *How does that feel?*

The other male was trying to guess the correct answer, but he couldn't. The Consort couldn't read the commoner on this. Auslan swallowed. *Warm?*




Surfacing Ch. 26



Good enough.

Vik nodded. *Just that. A warm spot in cold, dangerous Underdark. It's not complicated.*

The Consort didn't want to believe this but did not debate. *Who are you?*

The definition of "you" this time, unlike when he had asked Eyin the same thing, was Vik himself, as an individual.

*Vik,* the shadow gave him. *One of your guards, per Elder Rausery.*

Now the Consort looked skeptical. *You and the other female have been touched by the same Dragon as Jaunda.*

He could see that? Fuck. 

*Her name is Halena,* Vik replied. *What do you know about this?*

*He makes bargains. Jaunda cannot speak of hers for some weeks yet.*

Vik smiled unexpectedly. *Has he spoken to you?*

*The Dragon?* Auslan nodded. *We made a bargain as well.*

The other's eyes got wide. *How?*

*I dream like a Dragon, and like the Valsharess. We talked in another place, not in the Underdark. He was using Jaunda's sleeping mind to reach into the Cloister.*

Just as Iskomitneh had reached in among the shadows through himself and Halena. Vik's mouth had gone a little slack; he knew the Consort was not lying. Practical tasks might be unfamiliar to this male, but Vik had severely underestimated the magical. 

No wonder Rausery went to the trouble saving him and making his safety their top priority. Even he knew this was not normal for a Consort...the dream like a Dragon. And now they were hiding him from the Valsharess. This Consort and a Dragon were set against Her. Fuck! 

Vik and the others had been waiting for Elder Rausery to be able to make a move against the Prime... But with the Dragon and the Illithids, and now this Consort hiding from the Valsharess, the coming change had quickly become a whole lot more severe.

Reasonably, Vik couldn't even expect to survive what was coming but he would do what he'd joined to do in the first place: work for lasting change to come to the common Drow, for all males, and for the better. Rausery had thought this could be done under the Valsharess's rule because of Her tendency to leave all the practical things to the Prime. The Prime had been the first target.

Now the Valsharess was the target, but not for Rausery's shadows.

Vik nodded thoughtfully, and Auslan blinked slowly.

*You do not question,* the Consort signed. *You believe me?*

Vik nodded. *I do. And we'll still guard you. Just work with us. If we tell you to do something, believe it is important to follow instruction, especially from Eyin, she whom you first signed with. No one here will trick you for entertainment, we are not fools.*

Auslan wanted to believe him, to take his sign exactly as given; he was also still afraid to do so. Vik didn't blame him, and they had to earn his trust just like they'd earned everything else. He'd start by giving his travel blanket, unrolling it and draping it over the Consort's bare legs, waving encouragement for him to use it. Auslan looked down at it and touched it as if he needed the extra moment to identify it as a physical thing.

*Rest,* Vik suggested. *You still recover from the poison. You are safe here. Lie down.*

The other male hesitated but ultimately did as suggested; it took a little while for him to succumb to his exhaustion and physical weakness. When he finally did, Eyin eased back into Vik's periphery with a set of black clothes and boots.

*Good work,* she signed after setting them down near Auslan's head. *This is going to get very interesting.*

Vik nodded; he wished he could tell her exactly how much so.

******

Tarra completed her tasks as swiftly as she could, killing Bathila and disposing of the body as ordered - still with a tinge of regret for losing a perfectly good surrogate - and cleaning the forming room in preparation for its destruction and concealment. The last part would have to wait for just a little longer as she had to be well rested for it, but she was amazed how many of the runes were now permanently dormant.

D'Shea had done that. It implied an unsettling amount of power and the Priestess who had always considered herself more powerful than the arcane Elder was no longer sure this was the case.

What D'Shea had known for centuries about Wilsirathon and Tazeok, of Lolth and the Valsharess was unnerving. Tarra would never have had the chance to climb as she had, to be in a position she was in now, if not for the compulsion which kept Varessa silent and forgetful of that powerful knowledge.

The Valsharess was trapped by Lolth; She was looking for a way out...! It...this was... it had been unthinkable up until a mark of the candle ago. The Queen is right; this turned everything the Priestess thought she had been on its head. Some of her fellow Priestesses would be raging in grief and denial at this point, but Lelinahdara considered her so far more resilient. She knew more than one kind of magic, after all. 

She did not have time for grief, even to wonder what she must do with her Draegloth. She told herself this as she returned to the Sanctuary. Her mind whirled the entire time.

But...but what would take Lolth's place...? What were the options? How did the Valsharess even think that She could get away with this without retribution? Lelinahdara had to stay involved every step of the way. If she faltered now, she would be left behind.

Tarra made a mental list of things she needed to check up on very soon: some of her older arcane journals, and the notes she'd taken when working with D'Shea shortly after Sirana's wilderness trial - when they had tried and failed to exorcise the Duergar imprint on her mind. 

There was also the dream vial the Valsharess had given her, which She had just mentioned once again—Tarra could no longer put that one off, regardless that it frightened her. If she could talk to Phaelous again, that would be good. She would have to anyway; there was something he knew about the Driders and Sirana that Tarra still didn't understand.

Something else nibbled at the edge of her mind... Something that did not make sense, or maybe should make sense now, following the ritual against the Abyss. Some detail she would have to check into. What was it...?

The arcane Priestess passed by the infirmary where Shyntre had been recovering and she realized she had totally forgotten about the wizard. He had been sent back to his quarters in the Palace, but had anyone checked on him? The Valsharess said he would wait to attend Her, so Tarra could reasonably expect that her responsibilities in caring for him were over.

But this had not been explicitly communicated and Tarra did not want to take the chance to neglect the recent success. She needed Shyntre for something regarding Sirana as well. She would go to the Palace; she could at least ask the guards what was happening if she couldn't speak with him.

She might drop by the dungeons to note where D'Shea was being kept as well.

******

"The Queen is not seen you yet?"

"No, Priestess, not yet."

"Well. You look...better than you did."

Shyntre waited without comment to that. The chair to his desk was turned around and facing her but he had decided not to stand, claiming to be tired. Tarra got the impression he wanted her to state her purpose and leave, though he refrained from being that belligerent or antagonistic. He received her attention with patience and a pinch of dignity. It was a pleasant change from how he had been in the infirmary, so pathetic and self-defeating as he pouted and dared the other Priestesses to molest him just so he could fight.

In fact, his aura looked so much healthier following the ritual. Tarra still didn't understand how it had worked, even being glad for receiving the credit.

"The Valsharess wants you to dream," she said. "That was the first thing She said on seeing you again."

Shyntre shrugged. "Everyone dreams, Priestess."

The Priestess shook her head. "She means something else."

The wizard smiled a little. "Are you asking me to share the Valsharess's confidence?"

"Of course not," Tarra snapped back before forcing her tone to be more patient. "But I do need to know if you believe you can fulfill this for Her, if you understand what She expects of you."

"Because Her favor upon you rests on this?" he asked.

"It was ones of my many tasks, yes," she replied indignantly. "I follow through on everything in which I succeed."

His mouth tightened as though he suppressed a laugh. "Or things that succeed in spite of you."

Ah, there was the old Shyntre. That didn't long.

"Explain," she demanded.

"Why should I have to? Do you doubt your own success, Lelinahdara?" Shyntre asked. "Do you fret that you're a fraud, pretending you understand what happened in the forming room and now trying to intimidate me into explaining it to you?"

Now he sounded like his sire. She wanted to beat him.

"You have no idea what happened to you," she hissed. "This was all well above your area of study."

He stared back at her and said nothing. It was unnerving in a way, especially as she dared not touch him. It was unlike him. She tested him, waiting him out as she stared at his gold-flecked eyes; she willed him to look away first, as he should. Finally he did, though his blink was unnaturally slow, deliberate, before he looked at his bed with a sigh.

"Does it feel like two living cords, two different colors, one putting pressure on your heart and the other one on your gut as they fight over your arms and hands... And ears?" he murmured without looking directly at her.

Tarra squinted. "What are you talking about?"

"Arcane and divine magic."

If she hadn't been so irritated with him, she might have made more of that opening; if he hadn't given her that mental image of him bound at chest and hips and wrists with magical energy, where she realized it was rather distracting as she wanted to see it... If he hadn't moved like so many of the Bred Consorts had as he shifted in his seat...

"I have not thought about it in centuries," she said tightly, clinging to her pride as she lifted her chin. "It comes naturally to me."

And that ability to distract with subtle grace had never come naturally to Shyntre. Somehow he had become a Consort in truth, except that it had always been learned from watching the other Consorts in the nursery, who had been taught by Priestesses. It did not simply pass from a newborn infant to an adult Drow, and Shyntre had even been around them as a child and it hadn't made a difference.

How had it happened? It terrified her that she could not explain it, even should the Valsharess not ask her to do so.

The Priestess turned around to leave, but paused. "Did you hear a Name, perchance?"

Shyntre's blink was far more a reflex this time. "A Name?"

Tarra reminded herself that this little male didn't know what she knew about Lolth and the Valsharess, about where divine magic really came from. She reminded herself that Shyntre didn't know his mother was pregnant again, or that Phaelous had some connection to Auranka and the Driders... which would somehow put herself and Shyntre in a similar triangle with psionic Sirana.

"Did you hear any true Name," she expanded. "Of the Abyss?"

"No," he answered immediately, and firmly.

"What about the infant?"

The wizard considered lying to her, she could see it, but instead he shook his head. "No."

She covered her relief.

"Where did it come from?" she demanded. "This change."

He smirked at her and shook his head. "I don't know. As you said, this area as well outside my study. I only tried to describe how it feels. There were two other stronger magic users in the chamber, Priestess. You might ask them."

"If they have avoided execution in the last few marks, I might," she replied, solely to taunt him. Neither of his parents was expendable quite yet.

She took her leave while she felt she had the upper hand.

******

Unlike her son exhibiting a strange, cooling, inner calm in his normally fiery aura, Tarra knew it would be difficult manipulating Varessa through that tough shell. Despite Shyntre's appearance so closely resembling Phaelous, the Priestess had never doubted from where the boy had inherited the tendency of an oppressive aura like magma under pressure. Tarra was feeling nauseous from the raw power accompanying that stare but she tried not to show it as they looked at each other through the small window in the iron door. 

"I will kill you," the sorceress spoke flatly, unblinking, after Tarra had set the sound dampening spell for a bit of privacy in the prison hallway.

"You always looked at the consequences a bit further out than that," Tarra replied. "But then I suppose you are forced to change quite a lot under your compulsions. You seem much more like your son now, wanting to lash out and burst through every obstacle. It's not wise, you know you can do better."

Varessa tilted her head, her eyes narrowing to slits. "If it takes that many words to convince yourself, Tarra."

The Priestess supposed her once-ally had no reason now to play the Game. It was pitiable. "It will not take long for the Valsharess to recall that you are the one linked with the spy gem over the Illithids' nest. You won't remain here for the whole of your pregnancy, this is only temporary has the Valsharess did not know what to do when She heard."

"Don't be naïve," Varessa said, turning her back to her. She was wearing her full uniform including her cloak, only missing weapons and tools. "She doesn't need me out talking among the other Sisters to ask about squidhead movement."

"You give up too easily."

"And you still pretend we're allies."

"What have I done except as I've been told?" Tarra challenged. "Would you have done differently in my place?"

The Elder now turned around slowly enough to look genuinely threatening, as if she'd somehow cast a fireball straight through the window into the Priestess's face despite the protections on the door. "As you've been told? It was your idea to get ahead in the Priesthood."

Damn Phaelous to the Abyss. Even guiding Shyntre with Bathila, Tarra had known he had been whispering to D'Shea as he had his arms around her. How so much anger had led to such concentration in holding the gate shut, Tarra would never know, but the old wizard had certainly fed it.

"And Wilsirathon undid that almost immediately with her own plans," Tarra said. "I protected you afterward, worked with you for decades so that you would get ahead in the Sisterhood. I could've revealed your compulsion at any time, I did not. I helped raise your status, Varessa, I enhanced your reputation as the Elder sorceress!"

"Because it protected you," D'shea replied. "I owe you nothing for choosing to stay silent for your benefit, liaison."

"I never thought you so foolish that you would spurn my help outright, regardless of motive," Tarra scolded. "It is not over, Elder, you've not lost, and you still have value. Use it while you can!"

Varessa's stare remained murderous and so much more like Shyntre than the Priestess had ever seen. The Elder said nothing at all to that. It only just occurred to Tarra that she had never truly known the sorceress prior to her compulsions. The liaison had thought the Elder would be open to any short-term plan which would get her out of prison while pregnant. With this response, Tarra could no longer be certain what would work to convince her to work together for just a little longer, even if only to try to stab each other in the back later.

Maybe the Red Sister just needed time to cool down and rethink her position.

"There are many threats to be dealt with before I will be worth your time, Varessa," Tarra said, straightening her back and lifting her chin. "When it comes time for Jaunda to speak, when we discover what Game this Dragon plays, when Sirana returns and it comes time to use their own psionics against the Illithids, the City will need you. Don't pout like a virgin resisting his first humiliation, as if it will keep it from happening. You're smarter than that."

Varessa's half-smile looked a lot like the young wizard upstairs when he had realized Lelinahdara still didn't know what happened in the forming room. The Priestess was unnerved enough to leave the dungeons rather than linger. She had plenty of old journals to get into while she waited for the Valsharess to call upon her about that vial.

Soon she hoped there would be more guidance from Her with Shyntre and his sire.

*******

The Prime raised an eyebrow. "Another report, Rausery?"

"You knew we'd get busy as fuck."

A smirk. "You're keeping the Sisters hopping?"

"The City does that. I just tell 'em how far out to go before circling back. Nearly every Sister has reported to me at least by pellet."

"Then lay it all on the table."

It was a long time to spend one-on-one in the same room with the superior she planned to kill. Not even Qivni was there to occasionally take the weight of that old, apathetic gaze, which now seemed another notch distracted as the Prime either replayed her memory from the dungeon or planned to repeat it as soon as she had some spare time.

Even doing everything she had to and loading as much as possible on the Prime's back to dissuade her from returning to the dungeon too soon, Rausery still found herself missing D'Shea's keener analysis of the less tangible things which had always kept the Prime on her toes. The two of them, Prime and Elder Rausery, were too similar in their preferences and tactics; they knew that they needed a mage with them to cover all the bases. Without that expertise, they were as imbalanced to one side as the Priestesses were to the other.

If Rausery had her way, she would have a few male wizards from the Tower on retainer for situations like this. There were so many of them and they weren't being used, given very little purpose except for a couple of the battle mages to come out and see action once in a while- or wait for the occasional Red Sister to take a liking to him and rut him within his dorm room. She had been so busy preparing for the big change and everything else that without Phaelous, she had no contacts in the Tower she could trust.

The Elder frowned in the middle of her speech. Who had been the last one of note? A young male who had made a golden ring upon Sirana's request, the first one which had required both Rausery and D'Shea's approval. Callitro, wasn't it? Everything she had heard had implied he only wanted to please a Red Sister, and while his knowledge wouldn't match Varessa in scope, he would at least make sure Rausery didn't miss something stupidly basic.

"Varessa's quarters are empty, correct?" The Prime asked abruptly.

Rausery blinked and looked up from her notes. That was a sharp turn. "Yes, Prime."

The copper gaze was piercing, the blonde hair pulled into a severe bun, fine wrinkles shaped a bit like a crow's foot at the corners of her eyes and she squinted. She was suspicious.

The Elder placed her fists on the table, ready to explain it again. "I made the command decision. The Consort was a luxury of D'Shea's, and no one else was available to care for him. He'd always been distracting, and he was spoiled being protected by her."

"How so?"

"He wouldn't service Qivni when she asked. He struck her when she touched him."

"So you killed him."

Rausery nodded. "And disposed of the body myself, to make sure. You wanted to do the same with Shyntre back in the time we had him. If he hadn't been the Valsharess's special little boy, you have flayed the skin from his back for what he did."

The Prime smirked. "As a start."

Her superior spent a few moments remembering that tumultuous time in the Cloister, almost as chaotic as now but not quite. Finally she nodded.

"Varessa argued so hard for keeping him, I wouldn't have minded having him to apply a little pressure to her."




Surfacing Ch. 27



Author's Notes: This story is erotic fantasy written by Etaski. I reserve the right to be listed as the author of this story, wherever it is posted. If found posted anywhere except Literotica.com with this note attached, this story is posted without my permission. (c) Etaski 2015.

Now we start a new day among the Wilder...set the lens angle to "wide as fucking possible." ;)

*****

Surfacing Chapter 27

The Sun peeked between the trunks of the forest, pink and blushing; its light rippled the surface of the small lake as surely as the shifting breeze. Stars retreated before the role of purples and blues, making them fade, and the scent upon the air itself actively shifted past surface mist and heavy dew toward the true fragrance of the day. Both crickets and night frogs competed with the earliest songbirds for the right to sound through the change to dawn.

It might've been a peaceful way to wake up, even imagining Jael seeking a few pebbles to pitch at the squawking birds, but Mourn heaved beneath us with an abrupt, startling strength, and I woke with adrenaline flooding my body.

"What? What?" I stuttered stupidly in Drow, blinking my eyes.

"Apologies," he growled, sounding tight in his throat. "It has become too much."

"What's too mu—?"

The hybrid was shifting so much that Jael and I both rolled out of his way and gained our feet to better see what was going on. Mourn scratched his back against the rock on which he had been leaning, cuddling Jael and me and keeping us warm through the night. Now he scratched first one side of his spine, then the other, then back again. 

He was grimacing, showing his teeth, and I vividly recalled the very first morning I had ever seen him, following the destruction of the Chaos cult and my own Queen's compulsion, following the meal of wild pig by the river and a good night's sleep. He had been rubbing up against a tree, scratching his back then, but I had not seen him do this very often since.

Now, the itching seemed more... severe. Urgent.

"Stop, you'll grind your skin off!" Jael whispered in our native tongue, still unable to help being quiet in a quiet place.

He whispered back through his teeth. "I have scales, Jael."

"Not everywhere. Get on your side, let us see."

"If you tell me what you see."

"No!" my Sister gasped in snark. "I thought I'd cast a globe of Darkness over your queue and let you wonder!"

"Smartass," he growled, flicking at her ankle with his tail, but he made that effort to roll and show us exactly what he itched him so badly. 

Jael opened her mouth to snap something else at him—but I caught that with a sharp gesture. *Enough.* 

The next moment Jael and I got closer and kneeled on either side of his broad shoulders and my eyes widened while she immediately reached out to touch the new bumps, each about Jael's fist size, though for the moment still underneath the purple-black scales on his back. At once they looked similar to the bone protrusions burgeoning through muscle—very much like Gavin had exhibited shortly after escaping Manalar the first time. However their placement and symmetry caused me to think immediately of Kerse and his transformation after the Illithid had freed him from his mother's curse of stunted growth.

"Are you growing wings?" I whispered to him.

"What?" Jael gasped, eyes suddenly big—probably in excitement though the smile hadn't reached the corners of her lips yet.

"Maybe," he said noncommittally. "It has been itching there for years."

"But these are new." Jael thumped the spots. "Trust us, we know. They look like they're preparing to burst through."

He grumped—clearly it wasn't comfortable—and turned his head toward Gavin, Graul, and Shunraeki. The latter two were still asleep, though Graul turned restlessly in his fur nest, his shoulders and the roots of his own wings twitching. The Deathwalker watched us, quite still and silent. He couldn't understand what we were saying though I was sure he could interpret the actions. He chose to stand up and approach us, to get within whispering distance. There was just enough unconscious movement when he did so from among some of the Wilder that I knew the morning solitude would not last long.

"Out of curiosity," Gavin asked Mourn, keeping his voice low, "have you always had those spines along your back?"

Mourn's ears turned back slightly. "No."

"You tail?"

"Yes, though it has grown longer."

"And the horns, they are more recent, and will grow longer," Gavin said, rhetorical at this point. 

The hybrid sighed and nodded, and more of the Wilder stirred awake as he stood up, much taller than any of us.

"Do you know the mechanism behind these growth spurts? Is it triggered or simply a slow process?" Gavin asked, and it sounded like his final question.

Mourn gave it some thought, his face in a frown.

"Around a lot of strong magic, maybe?" Jael guessed. "Like at Manalar, or just now in the memory weaving?"

I shook my head. "Why not when he was fighting Brom then, or while we were so close to Deshi and Nyx?"

I stopped speaking the moment Mourn twisted his neck and looked back in the general direction where I knew Gaelan to be. He turned back around and looked between the three of us, though Furuc and Iethys and Nioah were already coming close enough to hear what he said. 

"More often than not, the changes hasten within weeks as a Tilabil awakens."

*****

We didn't get further chance to discuss this right then because so many things were happening at once. The children were waking and becoming strangely loud, chattering as if they had not all just seen the same bonfire and listen to the same stories. I had never known Drow children to make such noise.

At the same time, Shunraeki had awoken and was willing to receive what looked to be a few offers of a comforting embrace from two or three of the young adults. As they spoke - and I cannot make out one word - so did all the others to each other, in low tones and small groups, hands reaching out to touch the other in a way that seemed to communicate as much as my race's own hand signs did.

Meanwhile Iethys and Nioah had gone back to the smoldering fire pit with a square of leather to fish out some of the stones from beneath the ash and collect them upon the leather. They were most definitely warm, almost too warm to handle barehanded, but they managed and each held to corners as they ferried the pile closer to us and set it down right beside Mourn.

"Sho'tha," Iethys said kindly, and Mourn's tail moved in a slow, full S-curve before he nodded and lay back down upon the ground on his stomach, folding his arms meet his chin.

"What're you doing?" Jael asked, right before Nioah took her wrist and placed one of the fire-warm stones, wrapped in a small, ripped piece of leather, into her hand. "Hey! What—?"

"Soothe," Nioah said firmly, gesturing to Mourn's back.

"Come," Iethys encouraged, showing what they meant by placing a few of the smaller stones upon the muscle surrounding the taut bumps.

Mourn gasped softly at first, shocked, but almost instantly relaxed again as he sighed, breathing out in a rumble. Jael looked at me, looking nearly panicked even *before* she realized she had to switch the stone between her hands or risk burning them.

I chuckled. "What are you looking at me for? I don't have a sore back."

Nioah took Jael's shoulders and encouraged her to kneel and help Iethys with the stones, setting them in specific spots and replacing them as they cooled.

"To'vah-krav likes heat," the Guiding Sister told her as she ran a finger lightly along the white quills currently lying flat long his spinal column. "Soothes pain when these grow."

Jael frowned in consternation but nodded her understanding of the words. She continued following Iethys's lead with the stones and the hybrid rumbled in calming encouragement, slowly closing his eyes. It truly did seem to help him. I watched my Sister carefully and noted how many times she hesitated, reconsidering whether or not to protest again. 

Something bothered her about what they were pushing her to do. I had a vague idea what it was, but Furuc stepped up to me and Gavin then, close enough I had to tilt my chin up to look at his face.

"What?" I asked bluntly, irritated with the timing.

The Guiding Brother had a brow that seemed perpetually drawn down, but he still smiled at me with a direct gaze as if I could no longer fool him. "You and the shaman have questions. Where do you wish to start?"

"I'd ask to hear more about Innathi's Deathwalker," Gavin replied first.

"What?" I challenged.

"Though I suppose I could also look at Gaelan, as agreed," he continued, either anticipating me or as if I'd interrupted him. He looked at me sidelong. "It just seems a waste to leave for another task when the other can be completed so simply here and now."

And delay even longer what I really wanted? If he'd been Shyntre I probably would have grabbed his hair and jerked him down to my level to tell him so. I didn't test that, though. 

"So what? I've been waiting much longer for Gaelan!"

"There's no need to raise your voice."

Furuc nodded, seeming to agree with Gavin and me simultaneously. "We will fulfill your promise first, holy man. Grandmother will grant audience later in her own bed. You need not come back here."

Gavin looked at me, testing whether I would reconsider. I folded my arms, showing every line of stubbornness I could muster. He sighed in scholarly suffering, throwing up his hands in surrender.

"Fine. I know that look well enough, Sirana. I'd rather not find out the silent promise in it," he muttered a bit sourly. "At least we are not likely to leave on the morrow."

"No," I agreed, now in better control of my volume at his show of cooperation. "You'll have time, Gavin. If a Tilabil will wake in the next few weeks, we should stay. Surely you don't want to miss that, either."

"The nest is yours for your time here, Deathwalker," Furuc assured. "All will be forbidden to approach the nest without first Sirana's and then your permission."

Gavin grunted, appeased for the moment. "I assume the Dragonchild will come."

"Yes," Mourn said from the ground, abrupt with a bit of a growl, startling a few nearby Wilder who were lingering to gawk.

"Whenever he is finished with his massage, then."

The necromancer excused himself to walk toward the edge of the water—less because he was interested in a swim and more because that was the opposite direction from Shunraeki and the crowds both. Fortunately, none of the children tried to follow him, but all of them were staring with large eyes and even larger ears.

My bodyguard grumbled and growled something indistinct but didn't hurry whatever Iethys and Jael were doing beyond letting the heat soak into his back. It seemed I had a bit more time to fill and shifted my gaze when Nioah came to stand beside Furuc. Again I looked at the mismatched eyes, the overall impressive height and the lean dancer's figure; the storyweaver smiled a little as I stared too long.

"Hijr," Nioah said.

"What?"

"You wish to ask, 'which are you?,' yes?"

I felt the impulse to pretend I didn't know what the storyweaver meant, but Furuc took a step back to better watch the both of us at once, and I caved when he gave me that same "you can't fool me," look. It was also very clear the brother would defend the storyweaver to the death at any insult.

"Well, yes," I admitted. "It crossed my mind. Is it forbidden to ask?"

"No. And I just told you. I am neither. Hijr."

I frowned. "I don't know that word."

"Neither Baenar nor Noldor own it in their language. Hijr."

It sounded a bit like "hee-jyur."

"Hijr," I repeated, and Furuc deigned to smile a bit in approval. "Okay. How do I use it?"

"He. She. Hijr," Nioah said patiently.

I rubbed my forehead, trying to think it over. It wasn't coming across very clear in Surface Common, either. "Neutral? You don't feel the mating attraction, like Gavin?"

Nioah chuckled and shook hir head. "Absolutely not like Deathwalker. I am both, and neither."

What did that mean? A bit like the Kyton, maybe? Not that it was the most pleasant memory, but that...um...thing from the shadow realm had flip-flopped back and forth between being more masculine like Mourn or Divigna and more feminine like any of our Priestesses of Lolth. I had wondered later if it was just trying to intentionally confuse everyone to throw them off balance—when in truth it felt nothing, it was only wearing a mask, mimicking or face-shifting. It had certainly worked in its favor during the battle.

But now...maybe the Kyton was both? Or neither? Nioah even had a bit in common with some of the body shape, but...hijr... was still an Elf. Full-blooded and born of this tribe, if Gavin's own statement was to be trusted. Still, the tunic covered what might've answered my next question. Did Nioah wear it all the time or only when there were outsiders present?

I squinted in thought, looking at hir. "You *do* feel the mating urge?"

"I feel attraction and desire, and yearn for connection in touch, if that's what you mean."

Was it what I meant?

"Can you breed?"

The storyweaver gave me a respectful bow as hijr answered, something I got the feeling I should have done before asking that question so bluntly. "No, I cannot. Does this make me without worth to you?"

I blinked; the look in hir eyes made my stomach do a flip and at first I didn't know why. I covered my stomach to protect myself. "Uhh...no. You have magic, clearly. You serve the Wilder... I-I could not breed, either, before..."

"Yes, we know. Such terrible violence forced upon a child. Such blessing returned back to a champion who knows what it is to be 'that other,' hated and helpless, then made without worth until reassigned new purpose. I see why you were chosen to serve." 

These were not the Common words I would have chosen to describe myself. It made it sound like I hadn't made any of that happen on my own, and I certainly wasn't a champion like Isboern. There may have been others making choices for me—trying to push me, claim me, or block me—but I had still *earned* my own worth. At least in my eyes.

It bothered me that I didn't know exactly what they knew about me now, or how they interpreted it if they had words for things I didn't. Or if I had concepts they didn't. I had no control over that, the wording used or how it was understood. Maybe I'd never had that, just the same potential to manipulate slightly as any born Drow, no more or less.

And how easily Nioah had turned the focus light back around on me.

"You said the Noldor don't 'own' a word either?" I asked. "What would their view on you be, if they met you?"

"What would the Baenar view be?" the storyweaver returned.

"I asked first. I know, but I'll go second."

"Then already you know my answer."

I stopped talking for a moment, defining better in my head how the Drow would respond to a child that could not fit as either male or female. So much depended on it: one's status, the opportunities which were open to be seized or competed for, how we were supposed to treat the other... One Drow that could not be determined at either... or more, one that refused to stay with their assigned purpose, well...

It was easy. They would be sacrificed on the altar, sooner rather than later. For the first time I wondered whether any, or how many, had been killed already. Had we wiped them all out, or did they just keep being born? They might not even be able to breed, so it didn't sound like it was a matter of odd, non-breeding pairs competing with the breeding ones. 

Did they just...happen? Why? To serve the common well-being, like Nioah?

Drow wouldn't even give them that chance.

"A Noldor Druid told me I had no concept of 'compassion,' and 'friendship.'" I enunciated each word like I was chewing on an overcooked piece of meat. I was trying not to think of what the blond Priest had carved into Tamuril's chest; that would give it away to the Wilder that hijr was right, and I knew it already.

"If the Noldor would cull one such as you, then neither do they."

Nioah smiled slowly, wryly, but said nothing to that. It was infuriating.

"How do you even know?" I challenged, looking at both the storyweaver and the brother guide. "You never leave this valley! Your stories of them could be old or misremembered."

Furuc shook his head briefly but Nioah looked toward Mourn.

"Tell her," the hybrid said, his eyes still closed.

"We know Krithannia's story," the weaver answered me. "She gave it to us willingly. She said we should know."

I gawked. Wow, did that make Krithannia much more of a traitor to her own people than I'd even guessed... Not that I could throw stones.

Furuc nodded in agreement. "If the Druid you speak of is Tamuril, know that she holds herself to a high standard of truth and friendship from most of her own. She believed the stories as spoken to her for many years. And in your own story we see that they betrayed this innocence as harshly as any Baenar."

He actually sounded angry on her behalf. It was nice to see Furuc and I agree on something so strongly.

"Tamuril was wrong, to her wellness," Iethys said softly from beside Mourn; it looked like she and Jael were finishing up, now removing more stones than they replaced. "Baenar can own these values, or she not be healing now. A pleasure to hear in story."

Graul hummed as if agreeing to the general sentiment as he waddled over to plop down beside Mourn. His master reached out to gently scratch around his wings.

"It was a pleasure to see," the hybrid agreed, breathing in deep and shifting as he was being allowed to stand up at last, letting Jael use his forearm to brace herself before bending to pick up Graul. "Now it is time to see what might be done for Gaelan."

********

We made our way back to the giant circle of trees with a slightly larger group than last time, though I could not have said if it was the exact same path. It seemed the same and yet something always shifted in my periphery. Furuc had to catch up with us after he took Shunraeki back to her cave, but he was able to do so with impressive speed. Meanwhile Iethys and Nioah with hir story staff were our guides.

I wondered whether to bring up to Gavin that at one point we had all needed to strip naked to enter or whether to wait and see how the guiding siblings explained it. Perhaps the Deathwalker would be exempt somehow, since neither Furuc nor Iethys seemed concerned. Neither of them was very bashful about nudity, either, but surely Nioah still in hir tunic understood Gavin's preferences? Or maybe not.

I really did want Gavin's honest opinion on my other Sister I'd left Sarilis's Tower to find. Perhaps he would be reticent in return if I withheld certain information...

"We had to get nude to enter the elemental circle protecting Gaelan," I said to the necromancer. "No crafts, no weapons allowed. Crafts include clothing."

By that time, Furuc had caught up. The three Wilder and Mourn all looked at me but did not dissent immediately, and Gavin raised a brow questioningly.

"And?"

"And...you won't refuse?" Jael asked carefully, testing him outright. I was glad she was more interested in getting something done and having her own tastes challenged.

"Trading something uncomfortable for rare knowledge is inevitable in my work," he said, "and I know I'm not as pleasing to look at in that state as all of you. So be it."

That was all he said. I couldn't believe the feeling of relief that swept through me. No one was complaining of the necessity, and Gavin wouldn't get obstinate over an ingrained habit; not at the expense of what he might learn. It was...admirable, right? Or at least one need never doubt his true desires to seek knowledge.




Surfacing Ch. 27



We reached the giant tress first and removed our boots while Mourn, Furuc, and Iethys all changed shape as before, and Graul slowly climbed onto Mourn's back as the big quadruped lay on his belly. Nioah did not change for the time being and looked at Gavin.

"How are you at climbing trees with bare fingers and toes?" the storyweaver asked.

The Deathwalker made a face. "Fair."

"Would you rather hold on to Furuc and let him carry you in?"

Gavin considered. "No. I will climb."

"Me, too," Jael said, looking at Graul upon the shifted, four-legged Mourn to confirm and they nodded acknowledgement, taking no offense.

"What about you?" I asked Nioah. "Were you here to carry Gavin in?"

The storyweaver smiled at me. "If you ask my animal totem, Sirana, it is a bird of similar size to Iethys the goshawk. I could not if I tried."

"Which bird?" Jael asked, watching Mourn climb up ahead of her in two bounds.

The storyweaver held hir smile steady for Jael as well. "A faeder ruff."

Neither of us knew what that looked like and it showed.

"A shore bird," Gavin commented.

The Wilder was quite pleased with the Deathwalker. "Correct. I enjoy where sand meets water. Right on the border."

"Symbolic, to say the least," Gavin replied, eyeing the tree for the best place to start climbing.

"That is half of it," Nioah chuckled, and the most the necromancer would do was grunt.

I looked at Furuc, also changed into his bear form but still waiting on us. I shrugged to myself. If no one was going to take the thick, soft ride up and over, I would. I grabbed on, and he seemed to like bearing the weight.

Having Gavin within that highly saturated meadow of colors was interesting; it was as if I could actually see his aura for once with my own eyes. The colors of the clearing faded into a distinct, grey corona around him; where his bare feet touched the grass, green bled out and his footprints lingered for several seconds until the colors had a chance to seep back in.

I watched for sign that the Wilder were disturbed by this in any way, but they did not give it. Gavin did not seem to be hurting anything permanently, if he was hurting anything at all. Just because the colors faded, it wasn't as if the grass was actually withering. I had compared my first entry into this place to the mist of the Greylands, in as far as I could not see very far around me and it was relatively featureless, and in that vein Gavin seemed to be sharing the space rather than intruding upon it.

The three Wilder either did not have an aura that I could see or they blended in perfectly with this environment, which only made sense. Curious, I took a closer look at Mourn and Jael when they weren't looking at me. It took greater concentration and it was easier to see in my Sister than it was the hybrid, but I could see two colors forming more closely around them than any other in the meadow, suggesting an aura to me.

The colors were gold and purple. The Valsharess's colors.

Finally I held up my hands in front of me and squinted. Almost immediately I heard Nioah chuckle and Gavin turned his head to look at me with his distant, Greyland gaze.

"Blue and gold, with green, if you are curious," the necromancer said.

Green?

Blue had always been my color, and gold I now associated more with Soraveri's life magic and To'vah eyes, of Auslan and my baby. It even made me think of Isboern, actually, the blue and gold together. The "with green" as an afterthought...that was a surprise; it made me think of Tamuril.

"And diamond," Mourn added.

"What?" Jael asked.

"There is a clear, faceted thread. Very subtle. I've only seen it in psions."

Furuc, Iethys, and Nioah each nodded soberly, saying nothing, while Gavin took another careful look at me, studying me like one of his texts. I stared back as his texts couldn't do.

"Interesting," he said. "Duly noted."

"Psions don't have a color?" Jael asked.

Mourn nodded.

"There is a reason for it," Nioah said, but refused to explain when Jael and I asked. Hijr shook hir head. "I cannot translate the story for you yet, Sirana."

"Cannot or will not?" I demanded.

"Cannot. It is too old to perform by myself."

"Who else do you need?" Gavin asked.

"A Tilabil," Nioah answered readily, surprising no one.

"You think she is ready?" Furuc rumbled.

"Close enough," the storyweaver answered. "We don't have the luxury of another century, you know as I do. She changes as quickly as she can."

The bear-Elf grunted acknowledgement, glancing at me. "I am grateful I am not in your place, Baenar. The world would be doomed."

He was smirking, and Iethys released a quiet chuckle. I stared. Was this actually some self-deprecating humor in the brother guide? Furuc admitting his faults as a jest to compliment me?

*He is more comfortable around you,* Iethys told me in her strange, open bird-thought. *He can now understand part of what drives you.*

It was probably a different part from what I knew of myself. But if this meant they would help—

Wait.

"Are you saying the Tilabil can help me understand psionics?"

Maybe the Tilabil could help me not go crazy before I could find Isboern again?

"Possibly," Nioah answered.

"Of all non-psionics, Sirana," Mourn seconded, "they are the only ones I've met that might be able to help you."

"You could have mentioned this earlier," Jael said irritably, and the hybrid smiled, taking entertainment in her expression.

"I didn't know when a Tilabil would next awaken. I did not want to give false hope."

"Just like you didn't with Gaelan," I jabbed.

"I do not regret that. Had it not been for your lack of control in Augran, Sirana, neither of you would have known of Gaelan until yesterday."

*My* lack of control?!

"Cock!" Jael sniped, fisting her hands.

"Yes, I have one," he said.

"You—!"

Mourn's tail lashed playfully as he looked down at her; he showed her teeth, suggesting a playful nip on her neck. Or nose.

"Save the magic for when we need it, Daratrix," Furuc said, looking at her. "For once your temper might serve some good purpose to your Sisters."

*She is very young, my brother, be gentler,* Iethys reminded him, not moving her lips. She could definitely communicate in something other than Common within this sacred place and we could not help but understand her every intention. *Jael has had no guidance at all until she met Sirana, who only had barely a hand width's more. They both explore.*

*And wander,* Furuc added.

"Imagine what she will be in a century at Morix's side," Nioah seconded, earthy, mismatched eyes shining as hijr looked at Jael with admiration, under which she squirmed.

"If she survives that long," Gavin said.

"She will," Mourn answered, a low rumble beneath his statement.

My little Sister clamped her mouth shut and again looked at me again as she had when they wanted her to put rocks on Mourn's back. As if pleading for help. Or protection. From what? From her own future? I was having a little trouble on that front myself.

"What do you imagine she will be?" I asked, and Jael scowled at me as I kept the topic going.

"The only mage of her kind," Nioah answered, hir eyes staring far into the rich colors surrounding us. "Just as you are the only one of your kind, and Morix is his own. You will make a family and a temple, one badly needed, and move on into wisdom, and you will be ready when you are called."

"Nice story," Jael muttered. "You can't know that'll happen!"

"Correct, I cannot." The storyweaver blinked and looked at her. "I can only hope."

I finally saw the fire then, and the standing stones forming a ring with the stream passing through the middle. I was half afraid that Gaelan's body would have vanished into the colorful mist, afraid that she was gone and we were too late, but I saw the pale wrappings swaddling her body and breathed out when I saw she was exactly as before.

Iethys, Furuc, and Mourn were already nude; Graul didn't have to be concerned about that. Now it was our turn. Jael and I stripped down as we had before, nothing different from what I could feel—my spiders stayed with me as before—and we could only wait. 

Nioah pulled up and brought hir tunic over hir head with none of the fear or insecurity I'd seen with Lady Verina and Tamuril in the dwarven shower. I decided that the tunic was probably more for the benefit of new outsiders and not a constant thing within the storyweaver's tribe. Hijr also seemed prepared to give Jael and myself, even Gavin if he would look, that initial, curiosity-soothing stare so that it wouldn't become that forbidden glimpse we all wanted.

The copper brown body was beautiful, and Elven; healthy and trim and strong. On the whole, I would have favored the appearance of a lean male—except for the wider hips and barest suggestion of breasts. As for the "non-breeding" genitals, they also mostly favored the male; there was a penis, but not nearly so developed as...well, by direct comparison, Mourn and Furuc. There was also a cleft between hir thighs, implying hijr might have a pussy as well; I couldn't know how "deep" it would go, though, and I wasn't sure about any testes. Maybe the netherlips were actually part of the scrotum?

Yes, without a doubt, we would have killed Nioah at birth if hijr had been Drow, or we would have tried to change it with magic, to force it to look one way or the other. Of course, then "she" likely couldn't breed unless some powerful ritual was completed and...maybe it wasn't worth the resources, depending on whose child this was. There was no easy place for that among us.

That the Wilder welcomed not only half-bloods—exactly as they'd been at their beginning—but also the "between," gave them purpose as the weaver had said, at least this proved they practiced what they preached. From what I'd seen so far, Nioah possessed the strongest magic of them all, and the greatest responsibility containing all those stories... yet hijr did not try to rule them, either. The apparent peace and cooperation between the guiding siblings and the storyweaver was something I'd never seen before among Elves.

Apparently, neither had Krithannia or Tamuril.

"Hm," Jael said, having satisfied herself, but that was all: careful and neutral. She looked at me for a hint of how to react.

I smiled and shrugged. "May I touch, Nioah?"

Nioah gave me another wry, amused expression. "A look is not enough?"

"Well... You may touch mine."

The storyweaver and Iethys both laughed, and Furuc shook his head with a bemused smirk.

"This is how she confronts fear, or other obstacles of her thought," the bear-Elf said to Nioah. "With action. Or touch. She did the same with me upon first meeting."

*Quite true.* Iethys still snickered at her memory of that first interaction.

Nioah reconsidered, giving me another look. Hijr nodded. "You may touch. Lightly."

No pulling or penetration, in other words. Okay.

I stepped closer and soothed my spiders as my dark hands reached first to touch hir shoulders, sliding down quickly to cover hir breasts, dark brown nipples nestled in my palms. They hardened a little bit. Nioah was more than a little shocked; hijr was expecting me to grab at hir unusual crotch first, I guessed. Ha! Surprise!

Of course I did remember why we were here and I didn't linger too long; I noted the skin and muscle and waist and hips, absolutely nothing different from the many Elves I'd pawed at in my life, and even gently caressing the outside of the dual-sex parts, the textures were familiar, they were real, and warm, and...sensitive.

I looked up when Nioah suddenly drew in some air; hir face had flushed a bit, grown darker beneath the brown skin, but... I hadn't hurt hir as far as I could tell. It had been pleasurable. So what had worked just now? What had hijr liked? Could I repeat it?

The storyweaver touched my wrist, carefully and with long fingers, stopping me from trying again. "Enough?"

I nodded; I didn't think I'd blinked in the last several minutes. "Now you. You get a turn."

Nioah chuckled, shaking hir head in bemusement as well, but obligingly ran a smooth hand along my waist first, rising to gently cup one hot, swollen breast before sliding down directly over the bump of belly. The touch was admiring. Finally the 'weaver cupped my crotch in a manner than left me no doubt in the slightest that hijr had touched a female Elf before. Quite intimately.

"Oh!" I gasped, and we stared at each other for a beat. That was brief. But pleasurable.

"Well, then. Shall we?" Gavin asked.

The Deathwalker had taken advantage of Nioah's display to disrobe without us watching him directly—or at least without me looking—and stepped closer to the stone circle to where I could only confirm that he still had his gaunt, pale frame and black, pneuma flint plates down his back; unlike Mourn, his hadn't changed with the shifting of the valley's magic.

Clearly Gavin was finished waiting.

"Small ass," Jael whispered in my ear in Drow.

I bit my lip. What did she expect for a tall, lanky Man who ate little enough to always show his ribcage? Although despite that, it almost looked like if one tried to punch those ribs to break them, they might break the bones in their hand instead.

"Wait up!" I said.

As before, Mourn and Furuc chose to wait outside the stone circle with Graul, and Iethys only entered as the goshawk, perched again above the fire. I took Gavin's cool arm and turned him, preventing him from going straight between the standing stones.

"Wait, wait, not so fast!" I said. "There's something else there."

He turned to face me and I could not keep from glancing down.

"Yes, I can sense it, Sirana."

I looked up. "What did you say?"

He sighed deeply. "I hope a look is enough. I've no interest in exchanging touches. Now, please release my arm."

I took my hand away, my face hot; I could hear Graul and at least one other Elf snickering, maybe even Mourn. I could've felt angry but I was only flustered.

Where was I? Oh, yes. 

I explained. "It's kind of like passing through a ward without breaking it."

Gavin nodded. "Very well. You go first."

After I had done so, demonstrating what I could and with Jael going next, Nioah waited for Gavin to pass across the magical border—his face frowning in the deepest concentration as his eyes briefly turned completely black—then joined us inside as well, showing more familiarity than any but Iethys. Then we each took our time to cross the water.

It fascinated me that even this inner circle of elements still welcomed Gavin; the grey shades and fading colors still followed him, but nothing reacted with hostility, fouling, or decay. Perhaps it showed us Gavin's true intent—he was here as a 'medicine man' to judge the health of a spirit, and he truly was neutral about it—or perhaps there was something about this place which held commonality with the essence of the Greylands.

Either could be a good thing for my Sister.

"What is this around her?" Gavin asked as we got down on either side of Gaelan. He was the only one to take to one knee, resting back on one heel and folding his forward leg up close to him, until the other knee was just beneath his chin and the leg bones were a shield protecting his torso.

"A womb of small creatures nurturing her," Nioah answered. "They eat and drink and breathe for her, so she does not wither."

"Fascinating. Like a placenta, perhaps." 

Gavin made a motion as if to reach for something on his belt then remembered he didn't have it. He adjusted his posture so his crotch was more hidden, resting an arm on his knee, his fingertips rubbing together as if he itched to touch the wrapping as his eyes trailed over my Sister. 

He continued. "This cannot be without cost."

Nioah nodded. "Correct. Iethys must bring a small amount of components to give to the fire every day, for as long as she can find them in our valley."

Which she had been doing for over two months so far, I realized. She had been the one to argue to keep Gaelan's body safe, so she was the one constantly feeding the fire. In theory...she would do this until the Tilabil awoke. The guiding sister said so little overall, and yet Jael and I probably owed her the most for this chance.

No further words were spoken for quite some time as Gavin studied the comatose Red Sister. He did eventually lightly touch the wrapping, as I had, and seemed to have a similar experience - the tingling, the sticky sensation like millions of tiny mouths nipping and sucking at the skin. 

After he was satisfied with the physical, his eyes went black again and he focused solely on the metaphysical. I felt the chill and all three of us gained goosebumps; Nioah actually shivered.

Low whispering drew my attention and I turned to look at Mourn and Furuc outside the circle; Graul was between them, cradled in the half-blood's arms, but to my surprise, the drake actually seemed in on the conversation, whatever they were talking about, not simply observing it as he often did.

Mourn was just starting to look unhappy about something; Jael was getting antsy without realizing it.

"There may be a way to revive her."

I jerked my head back around. Those words had seemed to drip unbidden from Gavin's mouth, not so deliberate as he often was. Who had just spoken, him or his mistress?

"What do you see, Deathwalker?" Nioah asked.

"What does he see? What does he know!" Jael added, now close to vibrating from the changes and the energy of this place, as she had before when Mourn wasn't close.

"Gavin?" I asked.

He blinked, and I could see more of the ice blue in his eyes as his fingertips hovered just above Gaelan's body. "The wrappings contain life magic in uniform, selectively-permeable droplets that can still flow over and around each other, keeping hold of the energy so it doesn't dissipate as it would naturally. Like all magics it holds similar principles of drawing power and channeling it along specific paths, so even not dabbling in it, I can understand it to some degree."

That was interesting, I supposed, but it didn't address what I really wanted to know. "And my Sister?"

Gavin nodded. "The Drow is intriguing. I see wispy holes that have torn through her soul. Not a phenomenon I am familiar with, even as I know its cause. She is slowly 'unraveling,' like loose threads in a cloth, each hole becoming larger as her spirit loses cohesion. Perhaps like a natural Elven death."

Jael scoffed like she didn't believe him on that last bit. I honestly didn't know; he could be right. Iethys had said they had purged the Chaos taint, so presumably all that was left would be what Gavin saw.

"You said there might be a way to keep her from unraveling," I prompted him, intentionally changing the wording to challenge him. He had said no such thing, but I was wary what a necromancer meant when he said "revive."

To my surprise, he didn't gainsay me. "Gaelan was a mage. This may help."

Mourn, Graul, and Furuc stopped talking and looked toward us. The distraction slowed me from realizing just what the death mage had said. 

*Hey...*

"I never told you that."

Nioah cleared hir throat, which helped me recall Gavin had been part of the fire story. Of course. Oh, shit. What else did he know?

Gavin asked, "Did she ever find a familiar of her own?"

"You mean like Graul?"

At this, the trio who'd been standing on the outside finally decided to enter the stone circle. More of the colors actually got brighter in the mist as they did, though they stayed on the opposite side of the stream from us.

Gavin nodded, noting the increased saturation of color. "Or like Pilla. And if so, was it ever destroyed, Sirana, or did it die naturally?"

I blinked. "I...I don't know. I only met her two years ago. She's about a century and a half old. I'm not even sure how many Drow mages *have* familiars back home, if any."




Surfacing Ch. 27



Wouldn't the Wizard's Tower then have seemed some kind of animal kennel when I was there?

Gavin grunted. "Indeed? Still it's unlikely you wouldn't notice a familiar even if you thought it just a pet at the time."

Assuming there wasn't some hidden mechanism for keeping familiars around the Cloister and Tower with none of the novices the wiser... Unless they were all tiny spiders. Although it really didn't make any sense to me; the Sisterhood had relatively few pure mages and it had never been mentioned. Not by Gaelan or D'Shea, or Shyntre, for that matter. The Priestesses all had a familiar...kind of. If the Draegloth counted.

"Why?" I demanded. "How would a familiar help Gaelan?"

"Familiars work on a matter of soul resonance, their spirit matches your own to some degree," Gavin explained. "In many cases they're described like they are a piece that was missing that you never noticed before. In either case mages can gain more power by this bond, but also lose it when the creature dies."

Jael and I each looked to Mourn and Graul at the same time, and they nodded.

"It is so," the hybrid said, oddly cautious in his tone.

In that case, it was obvious to me that Drow mages at large hadn't considered the bonding worth the vulnerability...

"The Manalara Priesthood outlawed the practice years ago," Gavin added, "under the assumption that it was demons taking the form of animals or some such drivel."

So no familiars where Gavin grew up, either. I hadn't realized how rare Graul and Pilla were. I wondered if Mourn and Tamuril had chosen it or if it had sort of "caught" them? With the "name bond" with the Consorts and the Draegloth both, the Priestess definitely chose it, but Shyntre and I had both been "caught" by Auslan.

Exactly how had it been for Jael with Mourn? I didn't know. I didn't even know how closely all this was related; I just didn't know how else to compare it.

"I might guess how this resonance can help your Sister," Mourn said, and I blinked before I realized he meant Gaelan, not Jael.

"By all means, guess," Gavin invited.

"Gaelan is missing parts of her soul and thus cannot function. These parts could potentially be filled by a willing, resonant soul, like a familiar."

*That would kill the animal,* Iethys spoke, flapping her wings twice. *Too much is missing from her. She would also have to be aware to cast and call her familiar to her.*

"Sirana might help with the awareness, and I could cast the spell," Gavin suggested, not addressing the first concern of sacrificing the creature. "This is a safe place from malignant spirits as well, she would not have to be moved."

Furuc shook his head. "Have you seen any animals enter here of their own will, Deathwalker? This is a place of elemental peace. Only the grass grows, and that alone is a wonder. You will find no fish or frog in the stream, and you may even recognize the direction of that flow."

Gavin blinked slowly. "Hm. I'd wondered if it could be so. It never passes out into your valley, does it?"

"No. It sinks into the ground and transforms elsewhere."

*Elsewhere? Shit.* 

Briefly startled, I thought of the dagger, hoping it was still being guarded by Night-mare and the Hellhounds.

"What? Then...where are we?" Jael asked.

*The best we describe it,* Iethys said, *is suspension. Not the Sun nor the Ley lines nor the very core of the world touches this place as heavily as others.*

"It also means the border is thinner between Miurag and other states of being," Nioah added.

"Then it is still possible," Gavin said. "If not a true animal, the spirit of one."

None of the Wilder seemed to like this idea.

"Why not?" Jael asked. "It might even make her more like you! She'd have a totem, clear as day!"

"The Tilabil set things so the stream flows one way," Furuc said, as if that explained it all. 

I squinted. "What?"

*You mention malignant spirits, Deathwalker,* Iethys said, picking up again for her brother. *What you suggest might open this place to them and even we still learn the guiding rules.*

Gavin rubbed his chin. "You in turn mention the Tilabil. You were waiting for them to do something about this."

*It was all we could do,* Iethys said gently, more to Jael and me.

"And all we can do now," Furuc stated much more firmly, as if this ended it. "We should continue to wait."

"And Sirana asked me to take a look and give my honest thoughts," the death mage said. "My honest thought is that, even here, the deterioration is advancing to a point that Gaelan will beyond recovery within 'a few weeks.'"

"By all rights, she should have died shortly after we purged her of the Warpstone taint," Furuc rumbled, his hackles rising.

"My observation, not my judgment," Gavin answered. "Surely without your efforts, we would not be having this discussion. I merely offered a theory which might work this moment, if we find a suitable familiar."

The bear-Elf clearly had a retort and I thought I knew what it was: that Gavin was just saying that to push his own desires to experiment on a "mostly dead" Elf. Fuck, that was almost exactly what crossed my mind, too. After all, Gaelan had already been here this long and she was hanging on...although no one could "see" the holes in her soul to disprove the necromancer without potentially passing the point of no return. I could tell it irritated Furuc, that no one could second-guess the necromancer, but it kept him from arguing for his own way. 

Instead the brother looked at me and nodded, deferring to my decision.

I swallowed. "If the other option was to let her 'unravel' and fade away..."

My chest constricted, causing sharp pain before I realized I was being drown out by a sudden, intense conversation behind me. Graul and Mourn were grousing at each other again, speaking in To'vah so none of us could understand. I glanced at them with a frown, willing them to notice that they didn't. I couldn't think; it was impossible to ignore them, to shut them out, as somehow their language seemed to fill all the space here when it was spoken. First Language, of course, yet it was worthless to me. It wasn't fair!

"Seilor ve vhira," the drake squawked.

"Thric, petranas, ietheik," Mourn replied, slow and deliberate while Graul was much faster as he squirmed.

"Petranas, origat've gethrisj—"

"Will you two shut up?!" I barked. "Speak Common or don't speak at all!"

Too late, I saw the look on Mourn's face as we stood separated by that cold, flowing water. It was his Drow-given name, not the Draconic or the Guild or any of those others. He may have been a bit upset about something earlier but now he looked like sorrow was about to press him down to his knees. 

He was shaking, just a bit; I hadn't heard it in his voice, but I sensed it now. So did Jael, from the look on her face. She also looked terrified that she did.

"Wh-what were you saying?" I backpedaled. "I-I'm sorry...what is it?"

Mourn didn't answer me but instead slowly lowered himself down to his knees so that Furuc was now the only one standing, then the half-blood set Graul onto his belly. The drake crawled on his own toward the water, obviously intending to cross it.

"Graul, wait, I'll—" Jael started to get up.

"No, Daratrix!" Mourn commanded, too harshly, and she froze, shocked.

The shadow drake closed his hazy eyes and slipped into the stream... which had to be far too cold for his achy joints. He whimpered and while he made it to the other side without being swept away, the ancient beast had some trouble climbing up the bank, digging small claws into the mud, legs quivering in effort. No one moved to help him, however, and he didn't seem to want the help.

"Cross back across the stream, Jael," Nioah said very softly, yet she still jumped, staring at hir wide-eyed; I could hear her heart pounding.

"N-no," she said, very small.

Graul waddled up beside me, stiff and muddy, and he plopped down again to rest his bristly, bearded chin on my bare thigh. He let out a deep puff of air through his nostrils, exhausted. I absently scratched behind his ears as it began to sink in.

The drake had asked to leave Yong-wen and come back here to see his end, after flying one more time on Roh. Mourn was just now growing his wings; Graul would never use his again. Jael intended to stay on the Surface, with Mourn, with newborn magic that could help patch the hole left behind... It was inevitable that Graul was going to die and tear open that hole.

Furuc gestured to Jael for her return across the stream, but she still wouldn't, looking back at me and Gaelan. I looked at Mourn one more time; he breathed very carefully, trying to remain upright and stoic. He looked as though he was waiting for a spear to be pushed through his chest.

"What do you offer, Graul?" I whispered.

The old drake sighed, closing his eyes. "Willing to fill another as I leave. I see resonance in the story—Gaelan a lost mage, like Moryxxyleth as a child. Is why I answer." He opened his eyes. "Ready to die. Okay that it will kill me."

I looked up at Iethys; she sent no thoughts and the goshawk didn't even flutter. Then I looked at Gavin.

"Could it work, Gavin?"

He at least gave me the courtesy of looking at my eyes as he spoke. "It could. The entire process I see in my head is hypothetical, the results unknown even if it works at all. In either case it will put strain on Graul and Gaelan which, if it doesn't work, will likely see one or both dead. So we can gamble on this or continue to wait for the Tilabil, who might or might not be able to do or say anything on the matter."

Neither the guiding siblings nor the storyweaver disagreed with this assessment, which told me that, whatever they were, the Tilabil were not gods that could call back a dispersed Elven soul. I considered, but...I was afraid to make the decision for everyone here. 

Then Graul prodded me with his nose and I realized I wasn't alone in making it. Mourn remained on the opposite side of the stream, having already let his familiar go. It wasn't just my decision, they only needed my determination to see it through.

"Alright. Let's gamble on this."

Only then did some of the tension break; some took it as reason enough to move.

Gavin tapped his chin thoughtfully, looking over us all. "Jael and Nioah should cross back across the stream. Sirana and Graul should stay, and Iethys, if she is willing to watch over us."

*Of course,* she answered.

The storyweaver moved first, taking Jael by her elbow with hir other arm around her, trying to guide her. To my surprise Jael allowed it and didn't fight hijr, stumbling a bit through the water but reaching out to take Mourn's hand when he lifted his. She fell into his lap, overwhelmed with whatever she felt through the new bond, and he wrapped her up in his arms and struggled against squeezing too tight.

The Deathwalker narrowed his eyes at me and made another suggestion. "If we will be blending essences together, I suggest your spiders keep some distance for the duration or they might be caught up and used without intent."

I filled my lungs then let it out slowly, reaching up to ease them out from beneath my hair and setting them up on the grass, telling them to move out and find a place to settle down. *Farther. A bit more. Go farther...*

At some point Gavin must have decided it was enough as he spoke again.

"From what I understand of this place, we can only rely on raw power," he said. "We can't use our various foci, no pastes, no metal, no sapphire. You must find what remains of her consciousness and I will have to guide the two souls together. Are you ready to do this?"

I nodded, giving Graul's tiny shoulder a squeeze.

Now I was shaking.

*******

I had always had some kind of trigger before, a surge of external power another being or from my sapphire, so I felt self-conscious and lost as a placed the pads of my fingers on Gaelan's temples. I was mimicking what I had done for Isboern in the Temple, but he had been fully capable of opening the door for me, I only had to ask.

I didn't sense anything from Gaelan, no answer, and I wasn't sure what to search for. Maybe I didn't have the raw power required, maybe it had always come from the sapphire.

*No. No, no,* I thought, annoyed with myself. There was always something else there, I didn't always have the sapphire when something weird happened. Maybe it enhanced it, like Gavin had just said it was a focus, but I wasn't dependent on it.

*Gaelan, can you hear me? Answer if you can. Gaelan. Gaelan...Gaelan!*

Still, I didn't feel anything except her skin; I was thinking to myself. I didn't know where to start. Isboern had been the exception, starting so peacefully; all other times had been linked to intense physical sensation, to high emotion, and every time I did not really know what would happen - assuming I had the awareness to know something is happening before was over. I was rarely in control if someone else like D'Shea or Mourn—or even Nyx—wasn't providing a frame of magic to stabilize me. My violent links of Pig Eyes, Vesram, and Divigna at Manalar were more than proof of that; what had happened, happened, and I couldn't have told you in advance what I'd been trying to accomplish.

I had agreed to do something deliberate for someone who would not be aware of sensation or emotion at all unless I figured out a path to that border between life and death where she resided. I could already tell that both Mourn and Jael were too close to this to provide any frame. It would be like asking to perform sedated surgery on themselves.

"Gavin," I said tightly, removing my fingers from her temples, "how do I start?"

He raised an eyebrow in silent comment but perhaps wasn't all that surprised given that he had seen most of my very irregular development. He started thinking aloud, looking down at the third Sister. "Most forms of intimacy won't work without removing the bandages, which are the only things keeping her heart beating. Would a kiss be enough?"

I sighed and tried that, but as my fingers had sensed, my lips felt that she was a little too cool and far too unresponsive. Almost too young. I drew back and shook my head, not able to concentrate that way either. In fact it disturbed me.

"Did Isboern teach you any chant or mantra?" he asked.

"Would that have done any good?" I asked, surprised at the idea.

"Clearly he did not. Very well." Gavin gave it further thought. "Psionics seems to have a different root from magic; it does not flow along the Ley Lines. Were you given any insight to its base workings at all? Or must it always be linked to what your body is doing?"

Graul looked up at me, waiting for an answer along with Gavin...probably along with everyone else here except for comatose Gaelan. I felt myself flush and tried to think. Any insight at all...? All that vague feeling and words from Isboern hadn't helped, but I also hadn't been ready to listen to the Godblood. He wanted too much for his patron god.

"To'vah?" Graul suggested.

*Yes, that must be the be-all and end-all solution, mustn't it...?* I thought uncharitably.

The next moment I realized who's thought that was: Ullipmious.

*Consider,* the Illithid had teased me, *If To'vah passed on the First Word of magic, have you not yet considered what passed on the First Thought?*

Yes... I had been given some insight. I had needed it trying to save Shyntre.

"Thought is all that is sentient," I said aloud, reciting, and Gavin straightened up to listen carefully. "Thought becomes Will, Will becomes Word, Word becomes Action, it becomes Magic. Magic from the Word is far down the path from Thought."

I paused, hesitating.

"Go on," Gavin said.

"It's...contextual from the time. From that last vision."

"Go on," he repeated.

"The creatures of the Abyss have unfocused Thought. They cannot move us if we do not wish it. We are the anchor." I blinked. "An I-Illithid told me that."

"Good," Gavin said, his own energy rising as he nodded. "Very good. An anchor is exactly what is needed. You have a path, you need only find the trailhead."

"Nymuer ve," Graul said, and we both paused.

"'Hear me,'" Mourn translated, barely audible and very low. "In To'vah."

I started to deny it, to shake my head, but Gavin interjected, "Why not? I was given a Word for seeing in darkness, but I had to make it my own before it would work. It's not just a language, it is the focus we can't use in another form."

"Psionics aren't magic," I said.

"Both require focus," he said flatly, demonstrating as his aura pushed out harder at me, forcing me to mentally catch my balance not to physically stumble back. "Your sapphire proves it. Both are acts of will becoming manifest. You've been one with To'vah magic, in the Manalara temple. It was something Mourn had performed before with another's arcane magic but that time he used your psionics as his new focus. They *are* compatible regardless of one psion's opinion."

*It is not so!* Ullipmious insisted.

"We are all One!" I said, then shook my head to clear it, swallowing the surge of fear I always felt, blurting things like that which weren't mine. "Argh. No, no, you're right." 

I took a few calming breaths, something Gavin allowed as he effortlessly held his own magic steady, and I looked back down at the drake. "What did you say, again, Graul? How?"

"Nymuer ve," he repeated patiently, rubbing his bristles on me.

*Nymuer ve ...nymuer ve.*

Why not To'vah, indeed?

Alright. I had a place to start.

********

Isboern had told me when I ever felt overwhelmed, to seek that quiet place inside. I was already in a very quiet place with minimal distractions outside of my own fears, I thought, and I wondered if a quiet place within a quiet place was too insular and I could reach no one from there?

Eventually I had to go there, because even repeating the To'vah Word - both using my tongue and my thoughts - and did not seem to "make it my own," as Gavin had suggested it must. I was tired of feeling the eyes on my back, breathing in the expectation and the tension, slowly becoming aware of my hunger and the stiffness of my body. I most certainly felt overwhelmed; I needed a quiet place to work.

I imagined the remote cave where I had first surfaced with my Sisters, the one we had returned to again and again when the daylight and the endurance training became too much, when our bodies required rest. Gaelan would be familiar with it; that was where we had said goodbye.

Embracing, sheltering stone seemed to coalesce around me, as if the colorful mists themselves had become dense to the point that I could touch them. It was silly that an entirely unremarkable layout inside the cave would make me think of sex, but it did. Gaelan and Jael both; even occasionally Elder Rausery wanted a quickie... though never at the same time.

Gaelan still lay in her wrappings, looking as she did within the stone circle, where supposedly the weight of the world was not as heavy, but it was quiet and private and I could hear the Words better as I said them.

I even started to feel them.

*Nymuer ve. Gaelan, nymuer ve.*

I didn't know how long it actually was, it could've been less than an hour or a few days, but I stayed in the cave sending thoughts to Gaelan for almost as long as it had taken me to keep my eyes open to the Sky for a full morning.

Her head turned slightly toward me, of its own volition I thought, and my Words and heart stopped for a beat before I kept repeating, kept reaching out. I realized she had obeyed and turned her ear toward me to listen. To hear me.

*Please...Gaelan...open your eyes.*

She obeyed without audible thought, but even in the soothing darkness I had created for her, this act caused her immense pain as the first glimmer of awareness sparked in her red eyes. Her instantly wailing made me want to run out of the cave, it hurt so much to hear it!




Surfacing Ch. 27



"Sirana! Bring her out!" I heard Gavin call from just outside. "We can't reach you from here!"

*Fuck...ffffuckk...*

I gathered Gaelan's body into my arms, wrappings and all, my ears being constantly stabbed by her screams. I couldn't stop her pain, I didn't know what to do; I could only hope it wouldn't be for nothing.

Gavin was outside with a mostly limp Graul in his arms, and I set Gaelan down on the familiar ledge. I could see the sunset to my right. The day was ending.

"Keep her here, don't let her slip away," the necromancer said as he set the drake beside her. His eyes were very much focused on her yet he was unaffected by her screams.

I could see what he meant, then, about her slipping away: the wispy holes in her body left areas where the wrappings sagged inward, and some of it crept up her neck and even dissolved part of her jaw. The deterioration was speeding up, as if she wanted to disappear.

What was I doing? Should we have just let her go? Why had Mourn carried her all this way in the first place? He had been about to kill her, I saw it, so why didn't he, if it only condemned her to this? Why didn't he kill her??

"Sirana, contain what you can unless you ready to give up," Gavin spoke hoarsely, "in which case I will speed the transition."

In that instant I saw the necromancer in Manalar's crypts again, felt his own joy at slamming a vicious fist into Vo'Traj's chest and drinking the soul of the Ma'ab sorceress who'd long tortured Ada through her still-beating heart. 

That's what Gavin meant about "speeding the transition" for Gaelan; he'd put a hole in her chest. I knew then, without doubt, Gavin had absorbed further knowledge from Vo'Traj that way, the complex mix of memory and essence and ability, a small amount which related to his own mother. He had never told any of us, I hadn't known until the storyweaving.

And why not? He could learn much about Elves if Gaelan was just going to deteriorate and be lost anyway.

"Sirana, try harder, or I will—"

"No!" I barked. "You won't!"

Something invisible inside me sucked together and struck out.

Iethys's goshawk cried out a piercing warning then, and against my will I looked up. Above us she chased a black crow, trying to drive it away from us. The intruder was persistent, however, and capable of as many feats in the air as the bird of prey.

"Gavin?!"

"Don't...do that...again," he groaned, and I blinked and actually focused on how he was, right now.

From the way he held himself, he had been struck in the chest though I could see no bleeding damage. He had been shoved back from Gaelan and the drake, almost off the edge of the ledge...just as I'd willed it. He had caught himself, kept himself from falling off and out of sight, and was only just now working his way back. He was shaking like he was injured.

"Sh-shit, I'm sorry," I said, my fingers feeling numb in fright. "I need your help, Gavin."

His eyes flashed inhumanly at me before going black. "Then do what I told you... and keep your emotions in check!"

As if it was that easy. Her screams wouldn't stop; they wouldn't stop and they filled me up. I was still shaking. I started to cry.

The crow made immense racket as Iethys chased it and Graul anxiously watched Gavin, nudging him to try to recover from what I'd done. At the same time I placed my hands over some of the holes in Gaelan's body, as if I could apply enough pressure to stop bleeding. Or absorb and return the screams through my own mind. I didn't have more Words to use. I needed a different one now that the first one had worked.

*I don't know what to say!*

"Biyrk," Graul murmured, and his next breath rattled as if his air pouch was clogged. "Loerchik, l'gra."

*Biyrk. Biyrk, loerchik. Biyrk l'gra...*

Slow. Slow down. Slow pain. Slow fear.

I held Gaelan's body tightly, repeating the mantra, and her screams lessened to miserable moans as less of the blackened wisps escaped through my fingers. At the same time, Gavin reached out to tear at the wrappings, slowly exposing my Sister's naked flesh beneath. I could hear her heart beat reach a panicked, unstable patter, and Graul's began to sync with it as he rested his chin on Gaelan's bare shoulder, trembling.

The necromancer muttered something as he touched the moaning Drow, black-nail fingertips just digging into her chest like he meant to take her heart—as he had with Jacob, no, no!—as he also reached for Graul, who could not seem to help folding his wings close and tight, shrinking into a partial ball. Gavin stopped then and shook his head.

"No...this won't work," he gasped. "I dare not continue."

*What?!* I demanded. 

*Biyrk l'gra, loerchik l'gra...* 

"We can't stop—!"

Solid black eyes focused on me. "Sirana, you've blocked my method of choice."

"So...so use something else!"

*Biyrk loerchik l'gra...*

So easy to yell at him, so hard to think.

The birds both swooped over our heads, and I was caught repeating my mantra as Gavin had gone still, his eyes still black but now I couldn't tell if he actually saw me or not. He offered no further instructions or suggestions, just kept his pallid hands out and hovering over Gaelan's head and chest. Time itself seemed to slow down as the black wisps coming off of her partially exposed body curled like smoke pressing through a viscous syrup. What had happened? Had I done something? Had he? Did he need time to think of another way? How much time?

I was left alone trying to hold off what would happen next, willing Iethys to clear the sky before we tried to meld the two souls together. Both birds dove at same time for the ledge, seeming intent to crash themselves into it, but their talons and wings came out at the last moment...and both of them changed. Iethys became her Elven self, standing protectively between the black bird and us. The other became...

I wasn't sure. What landed was bipedal, female. Pale skin hidden by a cloak of black feathers. She had a sharp-featured face gilded by long, black, feathery hair. Her eyes were like the polished black of a real crow, and as the woman smiled at Iethys, I saw tiny triangular fangs. Her hands and feet remained covered in black, scaly skin, kind of like Mourn, including the talons. 

Was she a Wilder? Her features were too mixed with an animal to be certain if she was Elven; I couldn't tell if she even retained ears.

"I am not here to spar with you, child," the Crow Woman said to Iethys, her voice a bit raspy and deep like a crow's call. "Two souls rest at the crossroads and they must be dealt with."

Iethys's eyes widened as if she recognized this creature but I was in no state to tell what she thought about it. I still repeated the words, trying to hold things together. I supposed all that really mattered was that the Guiding Sister slowly stepped to one side, allowing a narrow way for the Crow Woman to come closer. Those pools of darkness watched us with intent and purpose.

"Bold of you all, coming to this point. I am curious of the path this shall take."

As she got closer, Graul crawled forward and puffed up his wattle in warning, remaining between Gavin and the Crow Woman. She seemed amused by that display and kneeled before him, bowing her head.

"Greetings, Graul Ir'mrith Sjach."

His hazy, red eyes blinked and his rattle went quiet; now he was listening, and she continued.

"To answer this call severs the final threads of your bond to Moryxxyleth, you know this," she said. "The chill of the grave that the young Dragon's son has held back for so long will rush upon you. Your bones will crumble and your heart will struggle beneath the weight. You are aware of this."

"Yes," he said.

With another nod, she turned that dreadful gaze to me and my Sister. I couldn't move, and I dared not stop whispering my mantra, trying to keep my emotions in check...

A harsh chuckle croaked past those lips. "Gaelan Poly'nidara. The Red Sister whose soul has been scourged by the taint of Chaos. She struggles to even live and can barely register the passage of time. She will not remain as she is much longer, and either of you can hasten it, to set her free."

I didn't look away, but nor did I answer. It seemed more a statement, doubly so when the Crow Woman looked back at Graul. I dared a glance to Iethys, who stood unreadable, her chin up and her dusky arms crossed beneath her breasts.

"You would share her fate, little shadow?" the Crow Woman asked. "Neither of you has more than a handful of days left in your current states. The bond would only ensure that you shall plummet together."

"Is another way," Graul said. "Deathwalker said—" 

"Your ends cannot be changed, that is a certainty," she cut him off with a wave of her talons, and Gavin did not move to debate with her. He did not move at all. "But. Ends can also be new beginnings. You will cease to be Graul, and she shall cease to be Gaelan. This, too, is certain. Is this what you wish, to give yourself up to the bond fully?"

"It is," the little drake stated without pause, puffing up his chest in clear challenge.

I was glad to hear that, even as I still could not understand why. 

The Crown Woman nodded and looked to me. "Your sister is too weak to respond, but you know her mind and her heart well enough. Do you think she would want this as well?"

I swallowed, and the bird hybrid seemed to give me a stern look.

"Answer with certainty of her choice and not your own, lest she hold a grudge into this next life."

*Goddess...*

Did I know her mind and her heart that well? How could I presume to know what she would want? I didn't understand how I could feel tears welling up in my eyes in our current state, and yet I felt it.

I asked again why Mourn hadn't killed her. What had I seen in his mind that made him hesitate? I held her harder, closer, and begged for that memory I'd shared with him in Augran to come back.

*I'm ready to look at it now.*

Really look at it this time. Please.

"S-ssister," said the Drow poisoned by a Warpstone bite, as the half-blood mercenary laid the blade at her neck, adjusting the angle. "P-please, help..."

She had said something else. He didn't quite hear it the first time.

"Help?" he repeated. 

Had he misheard? Had I misheard?

Her too-bright red eyes blinked, and she saw him. She was there; she sensed something about him...! "H-help...m-m'daughter..."

Then she was gone.

Daughter? What that what she said? Did she have reason to live, if there was anything to be done? 

That was it. That was why Mourn had changed his mind. What he saw in Gaelan's face had reminded him of the Wilder, not of the Baenar. So he took her to them.

I frowned. But... Gaelan didn't have a daughter. She was a Red Sister; we didn't have children.

*Ha!* 

The other side of me scoffed at me, at my self-absorbed assumption. Gaelan was only a Red Sister for the last seven years, five years before I was initiated. As I had told Gavin, I had known her for two of them, and she was half a century older than me. She would have had an easy hundred-forty years of life before she joined the Sisterhood, none of which I knew. I didn't even know where she came from in the City, not the way I knew about Jael, having watched her before her initiation and reading a profile or two.

*Make her choice, not my own.* 

Slowly I breathed out, the fear in my chest dissipating like unwelcome smoke on a breeze. I didn't have to worry. Gaelan had made it already when she reached out to Mourn in those two seconds of coherence.

"Yes, this is what she wants," I answered.

The Crow Woman had only been waiting for that. She took up Graul by the scruff of his neck and before he could make a sound I heard a sickening snap and his body dissolved. A distant roar like thunder sounded at the same time that I glimpsed a serpentine strand, a bit black and a bit purple, cleanly cut. It whipped back from where the drake used to be and I followed it, watching it vanish over the clear horizon as the rumble dissipated in the absence of clouds. I looked back, in the hybrid's hand now rested a soul shard. 

I was frozen as she kneeled swiftly beside me and Gaelan, pressing the Graul-shard to her lips.

"Swallow."

The sharp, obsidian edges slid past her lips and down her throat. Gaelan gasped in pain as the shard moved down and she shook in silent agony. The rate at which the wisps arose returned to "real time" and I got over my shock then.

"It's hurting her!"

The Crow Woman blocked me with a hand, keeping herself from being pushed back as Gavin had been, deflecting my psionic strike before I realized I'd done it. 

"Life is often a painful experience."

She said no more as she moved back from me and looked across at Gavin, who finally blinked his void-like eyes and seemed to come out of another trance just in time. He saw the Crow Woman and tilted his head slightly in inquiry and curiosity. He looked down at Gaelan still shaking in my arms.

"She made a soul shard out of Graul," I blurted, again not knowing what to do next. "Gaelan swallowed it."

The Deathwalker smiled to reveal black teeth. "Good. What I would have done had you not struck me, Sirana."

I moaned as I could still hear Gaelan's moans. The wisps were still there, loose threads waving. "She's not healing..."

The Crow Woman had stood up by now beside Iethys, nodding to her. "You see it, yes?"

The Guiding Sister did not speak but nodded affirmative; her blood-red eyes so like her totem animal were wide as she stared at me. Gavin seemed to know what they were going on about.

"Like Deshi," he suggested to me. "Give her breath, give her a head start."

Belatedly I realized the warmth in my belly had flared again, as my unborn often did in response to many of Gavin's castings. Just like that time on the Greyland plains when Deshi clutched his throat unable to breathe, golden sparkles spilled from between my lips as I exhaled. I couldn't easily adjusted my grip, and I was too scared to let her go.

"Pinch her nose closed for me?" I asked Gavin, sort of another apology and peace offering.

One corner of Gavin's mouth quirked up and he shrugged, leaning to trap Gaelan's dark nose between his thin, pale fingers. My vision was blurry as I drew in deep, filling my lungs as I leaned in and pressed my lips to Gaelan, forming that tight seal and pushing air into her disintegrating chest. 

At first most of the golden sparks passed back out through her, but the Crow Woman began to sing softly—strangely her singing voice was infinitely more melodious and lovely than her speaking voice—and Iethys joined in as if she knew the song by heart. The strength and encouragement was clear in the Wilder as she took a step closer. 

Yet parts of the song were missing, I knew, as I could feel a thrum down in my gut; the power flowing from me seemed to fill the gaps. I had to keep breathing thought I kept my eyes open. Slowly I watched as more and more of the gold sparks were contained and did not leave my Sister; part of her even seemed to thrill at the movement of the air itself, and it reminded me of Graul's fluttering throat pouch. 

I stopped breathing into my sister only after I felt the strong heartbeat against me, heard it unfailingly regular in my ears, and leaned up only after she breathed back into my face. She was warm though her eyes were still closed. 

The song from the two shamanesses drew to an end, and the Crow Woman leaned in to whisper softly, "Death is always close little one. I was there when you were born and I am here when you are reborn. Quickly I am forgotten, but I am always there."

The Crow Woman dissolved in a shower of feathers and it honestly did not strike me that I knew her until I saw the look on Gavin's face, just for a moment unguarded. It was the closest thing I'd ever seen in his face to both a Man's desire and worshipful reverence before he covered it up.

*The Grave Mother...*

The chill came unbidden as we drew back from the cave I'd created. What had just happened? Did we just give birth to another Harrowed?

******

My body was freezing and so hungry when I collapsed onto the grass beside Gaelan, vaguely aware of Iethys giving a piercing call again. I forced my eyes open, trying to determine if there was another threat from the sky, but I only saw her spreading her wings to come off the stone to land, transforming into her Elf shape. She took two uncertain steps before she, too, fell.

"Sister!" Furuc boomed and finally passed willingly across the stream to get to her side.

Mourn and Jael were more sluggish crossing over though they did so without Nioah's help, who hovered nearby just in case. They all came close, encircling myself and Gaelan, Gavin and Graul's body. The wrappings around the still-unconscious Sister had dissolved at some point, gone into the ground from what I could tell of the dampness just beneath her. She wasn't awake but she was clearly breathing on her own.

"We...leave," Iethys said shakily, not nearly as well-spoken as when she used her magic to communicate. "Need sun and air, food and strength."

My stomach nearly collapsed in on itself at the next cramp, hearing that. *Food... Oh, fuck, yes, please!!* I tried to sit up but immediately felt dizzy and put my forehead back onto the grass to anchor it. *Fucking Miurag could stop spinning anytime.*

"I stand," Iethys assured Furuc, getting steady on her feet with his help. She breathed out, then nodded. "I walk. Carry one of them, brother."

I gingerly rolled over to see what happened next. Gavin wasn't accepting that possibility for himself; he forced himself up on his hands and got to his feet, saying nothing but glowering, just in case. I can see a familiar strain from the last time he taken mental and metaphysical backlash on my account. At least his nose wasn't bleeding this time.

"Jael?" Nioah asked, and she nodded as well.

"I'll make it," she said stubbornly.

Furuc shared a questioning look with Mourn, as without words they determined he didn't need the big bear to make it out, though the hybrid did stand slightly hunched as if he was wounded as well.

So it was me, Gaelan, and Graul who wouldn't be walking out. I knew better than to try to get up; I was so hungry and my head hurt to the point I would walk in circles within the mist before falling over and passing out. I was barely aware just lying still and only just able to reassure my spiders that it was safe to come back to me.

Furuc, Mourn, and Nioah passed a few hand signs and the storyweaver stepped to escort Iethys as the other two each bent to his task: Mourn lifted me and my spiders, Furuc took Gaelan. Each of them was exceedingly gentle, as if we might chip. I appreciated the slowness.

"Jael," Mourn murmured, his normally rich, bass voice deadened a bit. "Please take Graul."

My younger Sister pursed her mouth tighter—not in protest this time but in bafflement of what she was feeling—and went to carefully lift and cradle a limp Graul in her arms.

I allowed myself to be held, carried across the stream and out of the circle, my arms tightly crossed over my protesting middle. I made sure to keep my mouth shut as well so I wouldn't say something impatient or unthinkingly hurtful; I mostly kept my eyes fixed on Mourn's pronounced collarbones. I couldn't look him in the eye yet. I wanted food first but there was so much more waiting.

"Her heart is strong," Furuc commented quietly, a low rumble, after we had all passed out the stone ring and we paused so Iethys and Nioah could collect our clothing. "Will she wake, or has nothing changed?"

That was the first, unspoken fear all of us had, yes.

Gavin had donned his robe by then, the only one of us dressed, and chose that moment to clear his throat... though I don't think he had been anxious to be the first answer. He'd just been clearing his throat. 




Surfacing Ch. 27



However, when everyone looked expectantly to him, he rubbed his forehead tiredly, picked up his belt and other oddities and said, "The different essences need time to mend together. Following any surgery of flesh, one must remain in bed for a time not to reopen the wound, correct? It is the same here. Let her sleep, and if we need to somehow give her food and drink, we'll see about that when the time comes."

"Will she be like Deshi?" I croaked, wincing at the tenderness of my head, not caring whether the others understood or not as my vision swam for a brief moment. I closed my eyes.

"No," Gavin answered. "I recall no agreement of service. Do you?"

I barely shook my head without speaking. No. I didn't. Just the Crow Woman...Nyx... asking if Gaelan and Graul were both ready to die and be reborn. Unless it was without asking, the Grey Maiden had taken nothing in exchange.

She just showed up when Gavin was blocked and struck. By me. Otherwise, perhaps, we may never have seen her? Iethys had recognized her in that form, though. I knew that she had...

I hissed then, clenching my teeth as my arms tightened on my middle. Fucking Abyss, I needed to eat!!

*****

Once we got outside the giant circle of trees, we paused long enough to sort out our belongings and don clothing and weapons since it was easier than carrying them along with three bodies. I was embarrassed that I still needed Jael's help to dress myself, though; the weakness, dizziness, and stomach pain wasn't going away until I had eaten, I could barely concentrate on wiggling my foot to squeeze it into my boot, and I even blacked out for a few moments when Mourn picked me up again following the replacement of his pants and harness with sliders.

The retreat back out of that ancient, dark forest was longer than it had been the first time, although part of that was that I kept waiting for some light poke through the canopy. It was a muchly delayed response before I realized that it was dusk and would only be getting darker for the entire night before it got any lighter.

Nioah proved a good sprinter, as hijr promised to go retrieve supplies for us and meet us at Gavin's nest before splitting off. It was full dark by the time we reached there and I was squirming, trying not to whimper from the sharp, insistent pains in my hollow stomach, wishing I'd blackout again. I really didn't feel like being carried up the tree ladder until the storyweaver came back and I protested the suggestion.

"No threat on the ground, I suppose," Gavin muttered, turning his head when Furuc and Iethys turned theirs toward their tribemate running back to us with a heavy pack on hir back.

"Here," hijr panted, passing out skins of water and several packages wrapped in oiled skins from... this main production camp I hadn't seen yet.

I didn't care. I just needed what hijr brought. 

First I received more of that strangely refreshing, slightly salty milk drink that Mourn had given me when I had first awoken in the Wilder Valley. Once I had proven I would keep it down, I was given solid food in the form of two of those delicious crushed and pressed bars, then some recently dried meat that still had some teeth to it, a bag of fresh, green pods, another small one with small seeds, and pretty much anything that no one else claimed before I did. I eyed the large wedge of dried fruit halfway to Jael's mouth and she glared at me and took a bite, chewing possessively. 

"I suggest dividing meals out first and simply giving her the rest in the future," Gavin said, giving me half of his as he claimed he didn't need that much; I didn't refuse his offer, and didn't comment as I had my mouth full.

"So I see," Nioah replied in clear amusement. "Any normal psion would be famished after working so long, but one expecting...well...I can only imagine."

"How long was?" Iethys asked curiously.

Furuc looked above us and drew in a deep breath, his long ears shifting slightly to catch whatever sounds carried his way. I didn't understand how that helped him tell time, but he answered, "Two days since we entered the grove."

I almost stopped chewing. Two...days?!

"She'll be hungry again in an hour," Mourn said without looking up from his hands as he tore a piece of meat in half with his claws. He was eating because his body needed it but he didn't look to have much appetite.

"Ah. In that case, I will return with much more," Nioah said, and took off again.

Soon after that we climbed up into the nest, swaddled Gaelan and Graul each in an available blanket from the small storage chest, and let it all sink in. No one spoke for some long moments. Gavin took out his grimoire, unsurprisingly, and kept himself busy as we waited for the inevitable urge to lie in reverie now that we had our bellies full. If it really had been two days, it was coming.

"Morix," Iethys said softly, tenderness in her tone. "Air was Graul's element. How you wish Cyr'henaxl?"

She must not know the Common word for "death ritual." Then again, neither did I.

"I will decide in tomorrow's light," he answered, sitting cross-legged and hunched over on his elbows. "I am too...hm...sore right now."

"Of course," the guiding sister said, and she stepped over to kneel and put an arm around his broad shoulders in affection, the opposite side of Jael. She was also careful not to put pressure on the burgeoning lumps on his back...which looked a little larger, even.

He accepted this with a nod of thanks, saying "Shenho, Inhula'vey," before there followed, firm squeeze on his shoulder from Furuc.

"It'chgiahl furuhana, Graul," the bear-Elf said with intense, deep brown eyes, holding on to Mourn's shoulder another moment more before letting go.

"Shenho, Inhula'koe."

Jael and I glanced at each other uncomfortably and didn't say anything. 

Beyond this point, sleep would drag us down and none of us seemed capable of resisting it, not even Gavin, what with the cool night breeze the sounds of more secretive, nocturnal animals chirruping and rustling about the forest and my spiders going hunting about the hut. Despite my ill-defined but keenly-felt uncertainty, Mourn and Jael encouraged me to lie close with them to sleep. At least we would all be warm. 

Nioah arrived at some point after we had all drifted off but merely placed the supplies in the chest to wait for us and joined us inside the hut which broke the breeze and kept the dew off us. In an hour or so, just as Mourn predicted, I woke up hungry and followed my nose as Nioah anticipated me and push several things from the chest within my reach. I didn't care to break the silence with words so just signed my thanks with a hand and devoured what hijr had given me. The storyweaver didn't speak either and let me eat in peace before I returned back to the warm spot on the floor.

In spite of my being very quiet and try not to wake the others, Mourn's eyes were open. He lay on his side with Jael spooning him, each of them with their arm tucked under their heads; she was sound asleep, I could tell. Mourn had told me before he was uncomfortable on his back because of the spines, but now would probably be agony.

I got down again thinking to spoon with my Sister, as I had been, but the hybrid never looked away and I found I didn't want to put my back to him. Not yet, anyway. I got down on my side facing them, my own arm tucked beneath my head, and get close enough to feel some of the heat without our knees knocking together too bad. I had put myself at eye-level with Mourn since he was awake, and by default Jael was at chest-level.

I watched him in the dark. Perhaps he had had a very short nap? He did look a bit revived, but I could not tell at all was going through his head. I wasn't sure I wanted to know.

*Do you ever sleep?* I signed, one-handed. I was willing to bet Nioah didn't know Drow sign outside of a fire story, even if hijr hadn't started dozing.

Mourn blinked slowly and I heard his tail shift slightly on the floor. His arm had been around Jael's middle, but he lifted it to sign back. *I slept after the story. I slept after escaping Manalar. And after bringing Gaelan here then returning to fight the Chaos cult for you.*

I rolled my eyes. *Without magical assistance, or spending yourself into exhaustion?*

*Then, no.* His answer was blunt and entirely serious, but then he refined it. *Or, not as you do.*

*Clearly.* 

But he did sleep, somehow. I wondered if there was a pattern at all. I smirked and allowed myself a small smile but it faded quickly. 

*I regret shouting at you and Graul,* I said, *especially given what you must have been discussing. I wish I had not done that.*

Mourn nodded. *You were grieving. I understand why. Thank you for the apology.*

I felt my jaw firm up a bit. *And now you are grieving.*

*Graul came here to die. I would be grieving regardless, now or a few more days from now.*

*You won't resent Gaelan if...when she wakes up?*

*It was Graul's choice.*

*That doesn't answer my question.*

Mourn exhaled slowly. *I am curious now what kind of Baenar she will be.*

*You're going to judge her worthy of your familiar's essence? Comparing her to him?*

He shook his head just slightly, still looking sad. *Not if I can help it.*

I let him sit on the defensive for the moment, then asked outright, *What about her daughter?*

He narrowed his eyes briefly at me. *What about her?*

I frowned at him. Of course he hadn't said anything before, but why had I not heard it the first time? Was it because I hadn't been ready to hear it or had he somehow been keeping it secret even then, during that joining when he'd been tied inside me? If the latter...how did I recall it now?

Mourn somehow read my face and he blinked with his realization. *You never even knew she had a daughter. Not until I only now confirmed what I heard.*

*And because of that, you didn't kill her, isn't that so?*

*I know the look of a mother when she fears for a child not yet grown,* he said. Then he hesitated again and corrected, *Among the Wilder.*

*That's what you saw in her?*

He nodded.

*You were so sure.*

*She was dying, she knew it. What did she have to lose showing me the thing she cared for most in her life?*

That seemed to rid the doubt for me. He could hide extended, informational knowledge related to a memory, such as the Wilder—where I would get nothing but a name whispered through strong block. But he hadn't hidden selective, sensory knowledge from within the memory itself, if he was even that good. I had seen Gaelan's face, heard her whispers even the first time; I just hadn't been able to read or understand all of it at the time. My own perception wasn't any more absolute in psionics than it was when I was awake in the real world.

But neither of us would know anything more about Gaelan's daughter unless she woke up, unless she remembered some of who she had been.

We lay in silence still facing each other, our signing hands down upon the floor moment. I was looking at the relative sizes, how his fingers arched taller simply because they were longer with thick, unbending talons. Without thinking too much on it, I lifted my first finger to trace it first along his knuckles then to the stretch between his thumb and forefinger. His skin was hot, rougher than mine, even if the nearest scale patch itself didn't start until one was further up his forearm. 

As a male Drow, this meant he was a hard worker, and a hard fighter. As a Dragon...I really didn't know what his hands meant, whether they would be like this regardless.

Suddenly Mourn lifted his hand to take mine, closing his palm and fingers around it and rubbing his own thumb along the top of my hand, back and forth, back and forth. For a few strokes, his tail mimicked his thumb on my ankle, as I'd removed my boots to sleep. It felt pleasant and I smiled. 

He shifted forward enough to really mold himself to Jael's back, keeping her close as his groin thrust slowly against her; she smiled in her sleep and moved her ass side-to-side encouragingly. I looked up and watched Mourn's eyes close as he drew in a deep breath, scenting her and probably me through his teeth, and let it out, holding my hand tighter.

I was sure I felt more than a flash of mere arousal pass through them; the shared aura, maybe, even if I couldn't see it on command. It was sudden, abrupt, with a trace of urgency. It was welcome, like that rush after a battle when the ones still alive could celebrate being so. Yet it was also sobering, like an affirmation. If anyone else was awake to be watching, I didn't think any of us cared.

Mourn could push his loose pants down easily enough on his own, his tail strong and flexible enough to pull itself out of the restriction as well, but Jael's leather pants were much tighter and the ties to one side were under her hip; and my little Sister seemed intent on preserving things as a pleasant reverie. She managed to grope about, pushing clumsily in sleep at the leather on her hips, eager for the sex but without the awareness and coordination to make it more than fumbling in the dark.

I could help with this, so I did; I shifted closer and reached to tug on her pants and get them out from beneath her left hip so we could push them down to her knees. I ran my fingers through her white bush—now fully recovered from the bare wax-stripping Thena had done in her initiation—and tested between her pouting netherlips gently with my fingers. She gasped and shivered; she was definitely wet, and I was close enough now that she nuzzled at my breasts beneath my shirt, putting her arm around my waist to hold me there while she used her nose and lips to prod at them. I was relieved that she didn't start by biting them.

Mourn's tail looped around Jael's leg and pulled her thighs open just enough as he reached between them to try and fit himself. I narrowed my eyes in amusement, listening to his shuddering breath and watching him try twice to get more than just the crown inside. Part of it was that while Jael was receptive and moist, she was still asleep and this had all begun pretty quickly. He had a fair length of himself that was still entirely dry.

I brought my hand up to my mouth and gathered enough saliva to then reach between Jael's thighs and wrap my fingers around Mourn's shaft, slickening it up for them before aiming him for another shot. He grunted something that might've been surprise or might've been thanks, as he pushed in. I felt Jael's pussy spread and the hard length pass between my fingers until he bottomed out and held himself still, buried deep as her body adjusted; his Daratrix whimpered in pleasure from between my breasts while I gently rubbed her nub with my split-slick fingers.

I think I was smiling and showing teeth the next time I looked up at Mourn's face, about to whisper the suggestion to pound her good until she came, but I reigned the lust back a little when I saw his expression. He wasn't just horny, embracing the sudden urge to get off in the nearest, willing hole. Nor was he merely excited at the prospect of us sharing my Sister when she was only half-aware, as some kind of first-time thrill, though that was certainly part of it for me.

He watched me as if he wanted something, and it reminded me of Auslan the last time I had seen him in the Red Sands. I tried to decide on the word I sought. I was almost certain that Krithannia would've been able to tell me at first glance, though thinking of the Noldor right then brought it to the foreground: specifically mine and Mourn's comparisons of kissing, and what it meant to each of us.

Krithannia had taught him how to kiss, and had given him at least one reason why to do so which was much different than anything he'd witnessed before.

That was it! I recognized it now; he wanted to kiss me. But he was far less certain I would accept if he asked as he had the first time. Especially considering how both Jael and Gaelan were tangled up with him now as well. Maybe even he wasn't sure how to feel about it all. Neither was I, but the idea felt...calming. Or maybe "comforting" was the right word.

I smiled again and huffed out a small breath, reaching up with my damp fingertips—heavily scented by Jael's slit— to lightly touch his jaw. He hadn't blinked at all.

"May I kiss you, Mourn?" I whispered. "I would like to kiss you."

Jael made some sudden delighted noise against my chest, as if he might've become stiffer, or his cock pulsed inside her, or he'd started spreading her with his knot. I never found out exactly what as he leaned his head forward, inviting me to kiss him. He put his arm around me so that I had his large hand spread between my shoulder blades and Jael's dainty one at the small of my back. 

Once again he used only lips, brushing against mine and capturing them to fulfill longer need for earnest connection. I did plenty of light licking and nipping in between the pressing and sucking, holding his face between my hands. We enjoyed slow, sensual kisses for I didn't know how long before Mourn finally thrust his hips, pulling far out of Jael before penetrating again deep. 

I put one hand back down to cup Jael's snatch, rubbing it for her and helping her feel everything down there except her netherhole. She breathed hard and unsteady, yanking up my shirt to kiss and nuzzle my bare breasts, her whimpers growing more and more urgent. Her eyes finally came open and they were wide as she gasped hot breath and a groan against my chest.

"Oh...! F-fuck...!" she squeaked right before she came, her throat clamped down on that hard, sensual spike.

Mourn grunted on three more thrusts, stole one more, wet kiss from me before he hissed and pushed all the way into her, holding himself still and mostly quiet as he climaxed as well. His eyes were closed tight, his face grimacing so close to mine; the growl was almost too low to hear. I stared at them, my body breaking out into a sweat as I felt...something...very intense sweep through me, as I had with Tamuril. I felt their orgasms and maybe, maybe, the aura, too.

Mourn exhaled on a liquid, relieved sigh, coming down with Jael. All the tension seemed to go out of their bodies, and mine along with them. Even though technically I hadn't cum myself, the foggy pleasure settling in my mind and the deep warmth in my belly sure made it feel like I had. We didn't even have the energy to separate and pull up their pants before at least Jael and I fell back asleep.

******

If Gavin or the three Wilder were aware of the fucking during the night, they did not comment on it in the morning. At the same time, it wasn't ignored; both the hybrid and my Sister needed a bucket of water and some cloth to clean up, something Nioah anticipated and had ready, and Iethys that one point give me a beautiful, peaceful smile I thought it could have been a kind of appreciation.

I was probably right as the guiding sister took the hybrid's less-leaden body language as an opportunity to speak quietly with him after our breakfast. They stood farther out on the platform, where Roh had been before she flew over to the waterfall. Furuc and Nioah stood just behind Iethys and they spoke in the Wilder's native language as they worked something out.

Not Gavin, Jael, or myself were invited to do anything but bear witness as Furuc nodded, moving to retrieve Graul's body and carry him out to where the other two and the Dragonblood prepared a small pyre using as a brace the metal poles Gavin had been using a few days ago to heat water.

While they did this, Gavin kneeled down beside Gaelan and took her chin to turn her face toward him as he studied her once again, his eyes trailing down her body though she was covered with a blanket. He tested her fingertips and her toes with a needle from his kit, poking her hands and feet to see a response. I was encouraged to see them jerk slightly in reflex.




Surfacing Ch. 27



"What do you think?" I asked quietly, trying not to disturb the Wilder "Cyr'henaxl" ritual though I protectively called my spiders back about then.

"Healthy enough," he said. "Functioning. Heart is regular and breath is deep."

"Why isn't she awake, then?"

Gavin shrugged. "Trauma, perhaps. What was done was not a painless process without its own unseen damage. I warned you it was hypothetical, I can't predict what will happen next although I would consider it preferable she not be shocked into consciousness too soon."

"Until her body starts wasting away," Jael murmured.

"Indeed. We have a day or more to observe."

"What if she just needs help to link her body and mind?" I asked. "Even a small push?"

Gavin lifted his gaze and raised a black eyebrow at me. "Then I would suggest waiting until the headache has fully gone away before trying."

I didn't ask how he knew that I still had one, I just held on to the sapphire beneath my shirt and nodded.

Our attention was again drawn to the Wilder as they started singing, not too differently from how Iethys had been with the Crow Woman, and Mourn said his own words in To'vah, some kind of farewell as he unwrapped the small, stiff drake. It continued for several minutes but did not last too long before they wound down and shared a nod, stepping back as we all sensed magic coalescing around the half-blood.

"Ixen va'Kiya," Mourn said, a small fireball igniting against the roof of his mouth as if some flammable vapor had been concentrated there. 

Then he exhaled and blew out gently, an open tongue of flame rolling over the body of his long-time companion and catching hold with unnatural tenacity to begin searing and consuming the drake in heat far higher than most wood fires of that size. Even I could tell soon the body would be just ash. Bits were already floating up, caught upon a breeze that was incredibly cooperative, consistently blowing it away from the tree hut.

I caught Gavin staring out toward the waterfall as we waited for the body to burn fully, deeply lost in thought. I moved as close beside him as he generally allowed before being noticeably tense, just so I could keep my voice low.

"You wait to return to Shunraeki," I said.

He nodded. "This has been enlightening, Sirana, but I...hm. I feel a draw to return. I will not ignore it much longer. Certainly not to remain here for however long it takes your lost one to wake up."

I smirked wryly. As if I'd miss out on that. "I suppose we could keep moving her around the valley. She's more resilient now and no longer poised to shatter, thanks to your Crow Woman."

Gavin paused. "I have never seen that form before."

Nice of him to volunteer that. "But the Wilder have."

He grunted. I hesitated briefly before asking outright him. Why not?

"Did Nyx come because of what I did to you?"

"Probably," he answered, still staring at the distant falls with his palms on the railing. "I was psionically connected by that point but you nearly shoved me out. If it all collapsed after escaping your control, regardless of what happened to you and the others, I might not have recovered soon enough to bless the Wilders' 'Grandmother' before she passes on with her siblings."

I frowned. "Is...um...is she that close to death?"

Gavin nodded. "A few weeks, at most, after that last storyweaving. And she is the Ancient Child of whom I've dreamt, I know this. I must speak with her."

First Graul, then the Ancient Child, never mind about the same time, a "few weeks," was supposedly when the Tilabil would awaken—the time I couldn't wait to have them help my Sister—plus Mourn's wings were trying to grow all of a sudden, and hopefully Gaelan would wake up soon—

"We're in transition," the Deathwalker muttered.

I wrinkled my nose. Very obvious, but no harm to just say it.

"We are," Mourn agreed, and we turned to see the fire now nearly out on a smoking pile of ash. "And we should keep moving through it."

Nioah had brought a small ceramic jar on hir last trip and Iethys helped scoop Graul's ashes into it before they lidded it and the storyweaver slipped it into a small pouch tucked into hir pack. Iethys smiled up at Mourn and brushed some of the ash from her fingertips in a line along his widow's peak, said something very complex in her native tongue, and for some reason Nioah took that moment to escape down the tree with the jar before anyone could comment.

"Umm...what—?" Jael began.

"We safeguard it until Morix's wings break through," Furuc said stoutly, arms crossed. "He need not carry its weight while this happens. From what we have seen, it will hurt plenty without it."

"Then what?" I asked.

"He chooses his time to claim it back."

"You're not going to carry it around forever...?" Jael asked uncomfortably.

Mourn shook his head and pointed at the blue Sky. "I take it high and open it."

Well. The imagery was appropriate enough, but he had to learn to fly first; who knew how long this would take? I was quite glad Nioah had taken the jar away.

Fortunately it took no time to come to a consensus; we would leave the nest and return to the waterfall and Shunraeki. Gavin waited there to call Roh back to him while the rest of us got a head start on running. We needed it; I was desperately trying to keep a naked, barely wrapped, and completely dead-weight Gaelan on Furuc's bear back—we frequently had to stop so I could reposition her before she fell off—and I could tell Mourn suffered more from changing his shape with those hot lumps on his back, something Jael tried to avoid while riding on his back but she didn't always succeed from the occasional sharp barks and grunts I heard.

Our last trip to the falls was much more fun; this felt like the walking wounded in about every respect and I was glad when we finally made it. I was a little surprised Gavin had even waited for us before entering the cave; maybe Iethys had persuaded him, as they both stood patiently on the rocky shelf. Of course, Furuc and I still had to climb up there with Gaelan.

"Grip tight," Iethys said. "Very tight, Sirana."

"Um—"

"Hide very tough."

"But—"

"He says you clutch like newt. Why sister keeps slipping."

I scowled between his round, fuzzy ears at the broad, flat head. "Oh, fuck you, Furuc."

The massive bear grunt-snorted, which may have been a laugh. 

*Fine. You like pain, brother-bear?* I folded myself around Gaelan and dug my fingernails into the thick fur with every intent to make the hold uncomfortable and pinching, even as he nodded his head once and started climbing. Of course, my strength would give out before his endurance would, and he did not flinch once.

*Damned male.*

"Actually, she is still clutching very much like a newt," the grey mage commented absently, "if it were mating. Which is considerably more difficult to dislodge than one might think."

I rolled my eyes. "Thanks, Gavin."

"Why do you all know so much about how small creatures fuck?" Jael asked as I carefully dismounted, and she came forward reaching with me for Gaelan. "First Tsah and the spiders, now this! It's weird!"

"Watch in peace," Iethys said as Mourn slowly shifted back to his bipedal form with several deep winces of pain, with Furuc close and effortless behind him.

"Not many opportunities for quiet observation in the Underdark," the hybrid said, as if explaining to the siblings. "Unless it is stalking, it is not a valued habit."

The Wilder nodded in understanding, not surprised probably from knowing Mourn all this time. It was just a reminder of where we came from.

"Allow me," Furuc said, kneeling to lift our unconscious Sister.

"We've been trained to carry one of our own," I said tightly from across her body, my own hands on it.

"I know," the brother guide said, rich eyes meeting mine but no longer outright laughing as far as I could tell. He was serious again. "I like the work."

I sighed and let him carry her. It would have been a given if he'd been a slave down below anyway, but I wasn't going to tell him that.

Shunraeki knew we were here by now and was awake to greet us as she sat up in her high fur bed, her dark, gnarled hand resting once again on the back of a dozing mountain lion—presumably Tsah. The Ancient Child did not ignore the rest of us by any description, but I could tell that her particular attention was for Gavin. If he was more inclined toward making physical contact with others, I think she would've invited him to sit beside her and held his arm.

"Ah, is she not yet well, then?" the old half-human as with some sorrow as Furuc lay Gaelan down at the foot of the bed and adjusted the blanket covering her. I wasn't sure what to think about the way Shunraeki gazed at her with her sorcerer-father's eyes...which then blinked as she looked around in confusion then back to Mourn. 

"Morix, where is Graul?"

She asked that question fully able to read his face. He exhaled slowly, deflating, and she nodded wordlessly and lifted both thin arms to motion him forward. To him she offered the physical contact, and he accepted, kneeling down so she could put arms around his neck and whispered something in his ear. She kept her hands away from the bulges on his back. He nodded and rumbled something in return.

"May I meet her formally now?" Shunraeki asked as she leaned back tiredly against her back support, but she looked at Jael, who seemed to want to shrink away—only stubborn pride kept her from doing so as Mourn stood back up.

"Jael Aurenthietti," he said simply, gently bringing her forward by her shoulders, and Innathi's daughter bowed her head in greeting.

"I'm not Graul's replacement!" my younger sister blurted, not quite angry but certainly defensive, her plain fear overwhelming any social ritual. "I'm not a familiar!"

"I know, child, I know," Shunraeki soothed in her ancient, gravelly voice. "You will be something else, something that did not exist even in my youth. Please come closer, let me see you."

Jael wouldn't have done it on her own, or even at Mourn's nudging; she looked again at me, as if making sure I was still there and wouldn't abandon her. I motioned my chin down, suggesting she sit on the edge of the bed. Reluctantly she did so, uncomfortable being so close to someone so old... Someone the same age as the Valsharess and yet freely offering touch and embrace as if there wasn't the enormous gap of centuries between us.

"Distant cousins, you and I," Shunraeki said gently, taking one gloved hand between her own. "So the fire showed me. You have...heard Soul Drinker's voice." She swallowed. "Your Sirana has met my mother."

I shook my head in the negative without realizing it, but the hybrid Drow looked up at me in silent question. "No. I have met the former Queen of the Drow, essence reformed in another place. I don't think you'd know her as your mother. Not as I saw briefly in the fire."

"A wise distinction," Shunraeki accepted with a sad nod, "just as I do not recognize my father. Mother was murdered. Father killed himself and destroyed our home. Those who return bearing their names are...are not our parents."

"Our" parents. An interesting distinction as well, and it came as no surprise to me that she was briefly distracted, and Gavin turned his head toward to the side as if he heard something.

Furuc gently cleared his throat. "Before you may leave, we must talk of keeping this knowledge from the black dagger."

Mourn nodded in agreement. "We can help with this."

Another good point. Huh. That would be...challenging. I was glad when the guiding siblings and Mourn did not insist on discussing that this instant. *Before we may leave...yeah.*

"So you know of our link," the Ancient Child said again to Jael, who sluggishly nodded, her hand stiff and cradled between her elder's. Shunraeki paused for a moment to read the young Drow's body language and seemingly decided to keep it simple. "I am pleased to meet you, Jael Aurenthietti, and filled with joy that this has happened."

"That what happened?" Jael muttered suspiciously, back rigid.

The ancient grandmother smiled. "That your magic is not only unblocked but not reliant upon your Valsharess or the Priestesses in the Underdark. Believe me, cousin, when I say Mourn will be a very good teacher and he will protect you from undue harm until you have had the chance to blossom."

"If she allows me," Mourn commented, accurately reading my little Sister's reaction to those words and beating me to the punch.

The Wilder smiled in amusement - I even thought the golden mountain cat did somehow— but refrained from outright laughing while Shunraeki did chuckle a little. I didn't only because Jael looked at me again, and she was extremely uncomfortable with the attention and what they were saying.

"You have our blessing, cousin, and I wish only the best for your union," Grandmother said with a final squeeze of Jael's hand before letting go; my Sister was glad to take it back and she truly didn't know what to say.

"Uhm...right," she tried, and I could just hear her heartbeat for a few moments. "L-look, I know you wanted to talk to Gavin, and he wants to talk with you. So I'll just get out of the way."

Honestly, I didn't expect much more than that from a fourth daughter of one of the lowest Houses, left to learn sex and fighting mostly on her own. Some questions would come later, or maybe just some venting in some form; either way she would not willingly stay in the verbal spotlight for long. I wondered what kind of sorceress that would make her.

Jael squeezed between Mourn and me, keeping away from Iethys and Furuc, and was about to try to leave the cave but the hybrid and I both reached out to stop her, him touching her shoulder and me taking her wrist. An unthinking reaction almost caused her to fight us, but she acquiesced within a second and chose to stand slightly more behind me rather than Mourn. Bright copper eyes flicked up to show me the naked need for me to talk with her as I had before, as pretty much the only one - I knew now - who had ever bothered to ask what was going through her mind.

*We'll talk,* I signed where her eyes would see it. *Promise. Now?*

She glanced at Mourn for a reason I didn't catch and shook her head, saying or signing nothing as she stepped to wrap her arms around me from behind. She rested her cheek against my shoulder and the hood of my cloak, looking away from everyone as if willing us to stop paying attention to her. Slowly my spiders eased away from her to the opposite side of my head.

I decided to leave her as she was, giving her bracer a squeeze. Mourn was harder to read but not without sympathy, and that seemingly endless patience.

"Gavin, have you thought about Grandmother's request?" I suggested, just to change the subject, although immediately I followed up with, "Actually, what was the request?"

Everyone was willing to take and, and Shunraeki smiled sagely, wrinkled face more expressive than I had thought possible on either Human or Drow. "My request was for the Deathwalker to help us die well."

Clearing her throat, the old half-blood slowly resettled herself in her bed, looking up at us, particularly Gavin and me.

"I have been so afraid for so many years," she nearly whispered, hoarsely, "what would happen to us. I have dreams of being torn asunder by scavengers in a desolate place, or being locked in a subterranean maze with so many paths leading to a cave-in or an impenetrable wall. I have promised us to no one, no god or goddess, because we were so long pursued and I didn't know why. So many sought to use or keep me, until I found the Tilabil and the Wilder who offered a haven and some answers."

Iethys and Furuc each nodded; some answers, but not all.

"Yet I know we will not pass back into this world as the Wilder do," Shunraeki said. "Not without help, we don't know how. Perhaps part of us simply cannot." Her grey eyes focused on Gavin, whose expression was guarded as ever. "The court Deathwalker of my Mother's time was the only one with any insight or curiosity what would become of us after death. I don't believe he ever found answer or he would not have done what he did."

"He bound the souls of your siblings to you," Gavin murmured, again looking up and around, "the Human part, the one he best understood, so no others could claim them as long as you lived. In exchange, their shared life essence and knowledge has kept you alive long beyond what you might have naturally."

Her eyes brightened as she watched him, nodding. "Y-you understand. I overheard many things about us, and one of them was whether we belonged to the red sands or the Sun. I asked Father about it once, he told me...as long as I worshiped the Sun, He would not leave me in darkness. It sounded like a promise, something he had been told." Tears made her eyes shine. "But I have sensed nothing else but darkness on the borders ever since that night. Only my siblings keep it back."

She gave us a pause before returning us to the question at hand. "Will you help us, Deathwalker? Can you guide us?"

"I must, I think," he said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully with a black-nail finger. "There is more to this than we can see, I do not wish to act too quickly though I know time is of some concern to many of us right now."

"I will tell you anything you wish to know," Shunraeki said to him, "anything I can. That the Maiden has found a way to return through the Ma'ab invasion, and took anchor in you..." The old half-Elf smiled in amusement and affection at him, then shifted eyes to me. "She understands us as well as ever."

Nyx found a way, hm? The thought struck me that perhaps she could have caused the invasion in the first place, directly or indirectly, but I knew Gavin well enough by now to guess his response to such an accusation: just because the Grey Maiden was the only Greylord I knew about didn't mean she was behind everything or controlled all creatures I had yet witnessed. She had a motive linked to this world, perhaps, but growing up where I did, I knew that opportunists were just as successful as schemers, oftentimes with much less effort.

Still, I wondered what she knew about the Ma'ab coming to Miurag.

Gavin clearly had a place to start in Shunraeki's offer to tell him anything as he nodded once, thoughtfully, and shifted his stance. "You mentioned that your father 'killed himself' and destroyed your home. I assume you mean Cris-ri-phon, now known as Lord Brom." He waited for her to confirm with not before he asked, "Why do you say this?"

Shunraeki looked down at the covers covering her legs, her fingers tapping lightly as she thought. "I was not there, you understand, and I was still so young... I did not understand many things, only what those older and more familiar with magic said of it. Certainly the Tilabil offered their insight."

Iethys and Furuc not only did not protest this offer of information for free but made themselves comfortable as well, expecting us to be here for a while. First they retrieved a few folded, leatherwood seats tucked at the back wall and offered them to Gavin, Jael, and me, as well as one for the Wilder sister. Mourn and Furuc sat at the edge of the fur pile, not on plain stone and able to lean an elbow against it. Gaelan and the mountain lion remained on the bed with Shunraeki.

I was glad to sit while able to see everything around me, including the entrance, and my Sister stayed near me while Gavin placed his seat beside the Agent Child. Innathi's daughter could reach out and touch Gavin if she liked, though for now she kept her hands in her lap.

"The Warpstone cults were not a problem for our world before V'Gedra fell," Shunraeki began in what I thought was an odd spot. "Now they burst up in random places and it is up to the most powerful magic users of any area to neutralize them before they become too large. I have not heard of any with true mastery of their skill and an understanding of the Ley Lines who would ignore this problem once he or she became aware of it. I daresay it is the one cause which unites even the most competitive or reclusive mage."




Surfacing Ch. 27



Well. At least that explained why Sarilis and Elder Rausery of all pairings had gone after a Warpstone cult once...

"You're saying there is a connection?" Gavin asked. "Between the Warpstone cults, the Drow ruins, and Brom."

"Mother said as much," I commented, "and Shunraeki confirms it."

The necromancer with quirked an eyebrow and I smiled.

"Don't you remember, Gavin? Brom's man taken by the cult, Connor—our paid target. He bargained for his life, claimed to be Brom's son and said his father lives on the edge of the desert in V'Gedra."

"Oh, yes, Shal-Al-Thon," Gavin said. "I seem to recall he gave us this name."

Shunraeki was at least sharp enough to know he was testing her. She shook her head and offered an answer without his having to ask the question. "I do not recognize that name, but I also do not know who else Brom might have sired in his long life."

"Or Mother was trying anything and everything to confuse us," Mourn murmured.

"The Archon likely sees V'Gedra as if for the first time, two thousand years ago, anytime it is mentioned," Shunraeki said. "There is no difference to her except that what remains in that place is the reason she is here."

We glanced at each other with similar questions our faces though we tacitly agreed to wait for more for asking. Fortunately the Ancient Child kept going.

"It is mostly forgotten now, and the Tilabil have advised that it become so until the Baenar and the Noldor come back from their mutual retreat." Shunraeki gave Jael and me a playful smile, glancing in succession at Mourn and Gavin. "I believe I must share it before I die."

She took a very Elfish, dramatic moment to adjust herself once again in her bed, making us wait. Nobody broke the pause except her.

"The Godblood you know, Captain Isboern, is it? The Varasa. He is the one chosen today to act on behalf of Musanlo, the Brother."

We nodded. So she had seen in the fire.

"The one chosen before him was Cris-ri-phon, my Father," the half-blood said, and waited to see a response and watch our faces.

We were probably gawking in our different ways, and while I knew that particular connection had never occurred to me before, it was not something I would immediately claim to be impossible. It was even amusing to imagine Willven's face when I told him. So the Sun God chose a sorcerer last time but decided to go with a psion this time.

Shunraeki breathed in and out, her chest rattling just a little. "Father failed in his quest, and he should have died and passed on. Since he did not pass on but instead somehow returned to our world..." She swallowed, her grey eyes staring into the past. "We believe he is independent now, he has no loyalty to anything or anyone particular, and uses others, is probably manipulated by others."

I nodded. Certainly nothing about the ancient sorcerer seemed to have any link to Musanlo at all anymore. But this old half-Human was saying there had been the strongest link before, when he was married to the Drow Queen and giving Her children. He was a Godblood? In a manner of speaking. Presumably searching for the Sisters as well, for I had already determined from Innathi that those goddesses had not been known back in her time, either.

"He has caused many problems over the centuries," Shunraeki said of her sire. "Perhaps the only good he has done is in constantly hunting down pockets of Chaos which spring up."

"Not that good," Furuc said derisively. "He caused them."

Jael and I blinked at him, but Mourn nodded and looked to Shunraeki. She was in complete agreement.

"When his Queen and children were all murdered and he was tricked to believe it was his own brother who had done it, he merely wanted the war with the Noldor ended, one way or another." Shunraeki pursed her lips. "It is said... remember, I was taken far away by the Deathwalker, so I witnessed none of this but trust our sources. It is said Cris-ri-phon knew Queen Yivon and King Bouvkivir would come for the final conquest of his capital city, and he sought a way to trap them in one motion. He either found or was given a way to call upon an elemental force no mage has ever had the will to control."

Shunraeki paused and huffed a quiet breath. "And this time was no different."

"What did he call?" Gavin asked obligingly, his fingers threaded together and held close to his lips as he hunched with his elbows on his face.

"Serenity," she exhaled, almost reverent. She splayed her palms out in helpless acceptance. "The Unchanging, normally only seen in balance with its twin."

"Chaos," he answered, and she nodded with a smile.

"Change. Nothing slows down to utter stillness for long, yet everything random has the potential to come to rest or from patterns. All actions of will do not manifest without some balance of the two. This is part of your own mastery, Deathwalker, yes?"

Gavin nodded, grasping what she said immediately, while I had to turn that over in my mind a bit. Twins, the changing and unchanging. Chaos and Serenity. She was claiming magic only came into being using the two at once?

"Equilibrium," Mourn said, and Jael and I looked at him; we realized he was talking to us, willing us to pay attention.

"Yet Serenity was called alone," Shunraeki said. "This should not be within the ability of any mage, we still do not understand how it happened. But it did. It was a suicidal, last effort to destroy the Noldor army and their allies upon the distant, empty sands of the desert." 

She coughed feebly into her hand. "It worked. It took what remained of the Zauyr and Baenar armies as well as their enemies and buried them all in the sand. They are still there, along with V'Gedra. As long as Serenity remains anchored in my home city, Chaos will always follow, trying to dismantle it." She took another rattled breath. "Even if it must undo the whole of the world to see it happen."

In the following quiet after hearing this, after trying to imagine it, in my memory I was again being held in the Archbishop's quarters at Manalar, looking outside the window from high up with Brom behind me, touching me, murmuring to me.

"Battles glorious and brutal like this one," the Archmage had said, "are set in our own world. They begin here, and they end here. Rulers change, balances shift, and energy and souls pass back and forth through the grey nexus from god to mortal and back again, connecting everything while allowing us to move about and touch all that is connected to us. This is as it should be.

"But if certain other forces were ever to gain a strong foothold here and overwhelm that balance, then everyone and everything I have ever seen in my long life will be either torn asunder or stopped in time. This world then becomes a new kind of battlefield, the likes of which you cannot imagine or comprehend."

He had told me what his endless purpose was. He had explained outright, explicitly. I just hadn't been able to understand it.

But Cris had caused and created his own purpose even after failing Musanlo. And later Brom would send me to help him fight it, and I had unknowingly brought in one of the Sister-seekers and the only Elfblood outside of the Wilder who had all of the history behind what the fuck we were even doing at the time.

And that one hadn't shared a single word of it.

I gave Mourn another dirty look, which he sensed and his eyes shifted to meet mine.

"What?" he asked.

"You wouldn't have left," I challenged, "even had I not offered you Brom's platinum Drake. You were coming back to take care of it."

Mourn smiled. "You didn't know that. For what it is worth, I was surprised to find you all in the area, having changed your direction from the inn, and I had also never seen one of those conglomerate monsters before. The cult was getting too large. It was worth the Drake."

Jael frowned with me, but added her own thought. "Are you saying Brom was waiting for something? He could have taken out the cult anytime, but he sent Sirana and Gavin instead."

I swallowed. "He mentioned divinations at Manalar."

"Did he say what they were?" Mourn asked, and I shook my head. "Not extremely specific, perhaps. He let Gavin go, even witnessing the transformation himself."

Shunraeki was shaking her head. "No, Morix, remember, Brom has done many things, so many things that do not seem to make sense unless he simply has no way to remember his past with any consistency. He is a master deceiver partly because he must deceive himself. If he remembered for all time what you and I both know from the Tilabil of his origin, then there are many things, many people, he would not have let slip through his fingers."

"Why we think others manipulate him," Furuc growled. "As if some hold him back, so he does not finish what he began and destroy us all."

Cris-ri-phon's daughter looked at all of us again in turn. "This is all to our benefit, whatever is causing his memory loss. But unfortunately it means we also cannot anticipate him very well from one century to another. He does odd things, makes strange choices that perhaps make sense only to him. I... I was surprised he told Sirana of Innathi by name, and of their children. That...that is a first, as far as we know, as close to his first life his actions have taken him."

"Perhaps seeing a Drow again for the first time since the disaster struck him especially hard," Gavin said, and Shunraeki shrugged helplessly.

"I can only suppose so. Yet now, his being so closely present upon the return of the Maiden's Deathwalker, of Soraveri's Blessing, then clashing with births of Musanlo's new psion protector and the Daratrix Svi'tra." She sighed and looked at each of us. "You must all be so careful that he does not trap you with him in his condemnation. He will try."

Gavin and Mourn glanced at me. Cris had tried once already. My instinctive desire to try and hide Jael from him was spot on. At least she would have Mourn to protect her starting off, but still.

Why did this now have the feeling of a spell-burst set to go off?

******

I wasn't too surprised when we took a break at that point; Shunraeki was coughing and breathing harder from talking this much and Iethys suggested a meal outside for us at this time. 

It did not take much to convince me, though I checked Gaelan's vitals first. Iethys helped me to lift her partially sitting and we were successfully get her to swallow a small mouthful of water. Her breathing changed as she was moved, as if she might be somewhat closer to the surface of her consciousness. It was very encouraging.

Gavin was one who showed the least interest and most annoyance at stopping. He passed on the meal and he remained near the Wilder's Grandmother after she had taken some water and lay down to rest, closing her eyes. At my last glance back, I noticed he watched more of the ceiling and the walls above her than anything. Maybe he planned to talk to them- after all he was the only one who remained behind aside from Tsah in mountain lion form and my unconscious Sister.

"You trust him with her?" Jael whispered to Furuc.

"I doubt he can talk with spirits with all of us staring at him," he replied.

My face broke into a grin. "You didn't see him interrogating a Witch Hunter arsonist's corpse on the floor inside Brom's Inn."

"Probably not his first choice to be watched," Mourn commented.

"And you want him to talk to them?"

The Wilder and the hybrid merely nodded.

Someone had left a wrapped pack filled with more food just outside the cave and we made ourselves relatively comfortable on the rocky shelf, hearing the waterfall not too far from us, feeling its cool mist floating in the air. It was early afternoon though it felt we had not been talking long - however there was the trip over here and the fact that we had slept a bit longer than normal after being in the sacred grove for two days.

Two days. I still wasn't sure that I believed Furuc on that.

Mourn wasn't looking at either me or Jael very much through the meal, but my younger Sister sure was looking often at me. I hadn't forgotten her upset, and she had been very patient. Amazingly enough.

"Want to go for a short walk?" I asked her. "Stretch out the legs, settle the food."

She nodded, glancing at the others.

"We'll wait here," Mourn said, a bit quietly, I thought.

I wasn't sure what either of them expected me to do about this "Daratrix Svi'tra" bond which Shunraeki was so happy about, but Jael clearly had some things to get off her chest.

We couldn't walk very far before we had to climb down, which wasn't very settling for the food to be honest, but when we were out of sight and had gotten close enough to the waterfall that our voices would not carry far, Jael carried on straight into it. Her eyes were bright and wide, her face and body mind with anxiety as she made a gesture back from where we had come.

"You've seen it!" she said in our native tongue. "You see what they're doing."

I folded my hands in front of me. "What are they doing?"

"Teaching me how to serve him! The...the stuff with the hot rocks, the shaming when I flirted with another male, as if that big flea bag can tell me who I can fuck! T-telling me where to go and where to stand during th-the ritual with Gaelan! As if in exchange for his teaching me magic, I have to wait on him! They are acting like I'll never leave his side!"

Yes, I had noticed all those things. And she was about to cry, though she'd never admit it. There had to be a reason she hadn't already exploded in rage and started a fight. Maybe because I had asked her not to, as she was allowed to keep all her weapons as my bodyguard.

"Jael," I said, taking a deep breath as I held her eyes, watching as she subconsciously did the same. "Before we get into that, can you describe to exactly what happened in the forest around Manalar, when we were scouting in teams? Mourn said he 'mated' you and you discovered a way to channel your aura through him. It made your headaches from the Retreat go away, and you have startling skill with a Human-sized double-sword you were never trained to use and a sudden, fearless love of riding on fast-moving creatures." 

I responded encouragingly to her slight smile, leaning a bit closer. "But that is all I know. Is that all there is? Did it just happen like that, with no thought from you? Was it all so easy?"

She shook her head in the negative on those last questions, but I gave her the time she needed to think it over. We each found a tree to lean against and we took turns looking around us to assure privacy, neither of us looking at the same direction at the same time unless it was to make eye contact.

"That whole area was so strange," she said. "The shock to the Ley Line, like they said, made the whole sensing auras thing unreliable at best. Some of the magic didn't work how was supposed to, some of it did, some of it more so."

I nodded, remembering Tamuril's extraordinary aim wearing my ring, and the vicious wildness of her thorny vines growing into the Hellhound and propping him up.

"For me it was much worse, I just didn't show it. But Mourn knew." She swallowed. "You had bargained with him on my behalf, to get him to help me, to teach me something, some spells to focus what Isboern had unlocked. I knew that, and in the forest I was pushing him to do something about it. Now. Before I got you killed."

I arched a brow. "Got...me killed?"

"Yeah." She pursed her lips in what was the strangest smirk I had ever seen in her face, partly self-deprecating and partly proud. "I was quiet in the forest but I was merciless, I kept bringing up his own hesitation when he had me helpless against that tree at the Retreat. I even got his white spines to rise up on his back. It was so strange to me, Sirana, it was like there was a small tear in his aura that I could...well."

She looked down, crossing her arms. "I exploited it. I said I didn't want to have to rely on two psions to grab hold of my brain and make me useful. I didn't want... With all those spinning chains the Hellhounds had... I didn't want you to have to link the three of us again, like in the temple. When I could only be a power gem to be drained, and you were in the middle of the fighting when you shouldn't be. It was the same in that ritual with Tamuril...you had to do all the work, Krithannia just...powered me up, as the 'sexual sorceress—" she snorted "—just so I could help sustain it. I-I wanted to be more involved against the Hellhounds."

This was the kind of thing Drow never spoke about, even in bed. Yet I felt so... relieved, or maybe something else, something loosening or unraveling in my chest and my back, hearing this from her view and daring to believe it was not driven by hatred or solely by envy or covetousness. She did compare herself to me and found something lacking, but she didn't want what I had, or to see me fall or die - she just wanted to push herself harder.

To protect me.

It made me think of our first, long conversation in the Cloister, when I'd had her all to myself on my pallet as the two youngest Red Sisters, but more.

Jael glanced up at me and though I did not say anything, I gestured for her to keep going. She did.

"I reminded him about watching you and him fuck, but joining in and how much it helped the headaches, trying to get him to do what you asked me about in the shower, if I had wanted him to fuck me up against that tree trunk after pummeling me in a mage's fight."

I smirked and waited, watching her eyes change and listening to her heart and her breathing. It was even turning me on a little, saying nothing, yet having her spill all her thoughts and motives in front of me as if they were delicate glass beads and she waited to see if I'd crush them under my boot. I had no intention to do so.

"So," she admitted, "he finally gave me what I wanted, but as usual not in the way that I wanted it. He had me chest-first against the tree, most of the tools and weapons out of the way at least so he could get his cock up inside as he held my neck and under my arm. Except it wasn't the quick, hard fuck that would lessen the headache, he just stayed inside and was very slow, sometime stopped altogether as he kept watch. I felt like bait on a hook, and so humiliated, he wouldn't listen, I was frustrated...fuck, so angry that I couldn't control what was happening to me! Not at any time, it seemed, after...after what Isboern did."

This seemed about the right point to approach her, but she looked startled when I touched her shoulder, maybe for a moment she was afraid I was going to tell her to stop talking, that this was enough and she shouldn't share anymore. She breathed harder and her pupil were still just as wide. I tried putting an arm around her instead, like Krithannia and Tamuril, and then she relaxed more.

"Then what?" I asked quietly.

She swallowed, nodding. "I think... I didn't know at the time, but I think now that he was allowing part of my aura to fill that tear in his, becoming used to it so...so I couldn't agitate him like that again. He could have been very cruel, Sirana, he was the one with all the control and I knew it. Maybe he realized something was going on, the way the Ley Line affected us, that deep, old story still in his veins somehow...and at some point... I still don't really know why he offered." She chewed on her lower lip. "Or maybe I do. If you will really want to hear it."

One corner of my mouth rose up of its own volition. "I'll hear it. What did he offer, and why you think he did?"

She breathed out with nerves and relief. "He offered to teach me to fight, his way, if I really wanted to become of use to you on the Surface. He said that he sensed, after freeing me in the dungeon and after the fight in the temple, that I wouldn't last long without a 'canal' of some kind to control the flow of the 'river' over me, or something like that. He asked if I wanted to join him to be a bodyguard for you while I learned to be a sorceress, he said he would do much more than teach me a trick to make the headaches go away. But I had to be committed 'long past victory at Manalar.'"




Surfacing Ch. 28



Author's Notes: This story is erotic fantasy written by Etaski. I reserve the right to be listed as the author of this story, wherever it is posted. If found posted anywhere except Literotica.com with this note attached, this story is posted without my permission. (c) Etaski 2015.

I am not exactly sure what to say about this chapter except...everyone changes. It's one of the longest I have submitted in a while. And there's a lot of sex. Woot. :)

*******

Surfacing Chapter 28

As it turned out, the Wilder youth did not want to wait anymore to begin Mourn's training, as they insisted on helping him to become accustomed to his new wings.

"They want him to play with them," Furuc clarified. "They have been anxiously waiting for a fortnight now. He always plays 'Chase' with them when he visits. He has been doing it for nearly three centuries and would not disappoint them."

Playing, huh? It looked a little different from my vantage point, which was higher on the shelf near the cave. I honestly wondered if Mourn would ever catch those damned, screeching creatures and silence them. Apparently I muttered something to that effect.

"That's laughter," the brother guide said. "They're happy to have him give chase. They get to practice their own shapeshifting gift against a top hunter."

"And when he catches one? Say it's that spotted fawn, over there. Does he eat it?"

The bear-Elf bumped me with an elbow, choosing not to take me seriously—much to my disappointment. "You're just hungry."

"Shut up."

My stomach growled. The fucker was right.

Mourn was tearing around on four legs down there after some careful testing and shifting of his form over the last hour past sunrise. This was after he had eaten a huge amount of meat following his transformation; he sat listening to us talk to and about Gaelan only long enough to let it settle before he left the cave—he certainly wasn't wasting any time. 

From the glimpses I got through the trees, the hybrid had his wings closed and close to him, staying mostly along the ground as he chased his prey. This was without the prelude of the deadly, stalking silence I knew he preferred when he was actually hungry. A few times I saw him get into an area open enough to be able to leap and spread the wings out wide, gliding back down before landing and closing them up again. Exercising them.

Any burrowing creatures or plant-eating clove-footers were safe diving into tight areas of bush and branch, they figured that out quickly. This had clearly changed as a tactic, as Mourn's new wings did cause him to draw up short on a few occasions, unfamiliar as they were and maybe even throwing him off balance in spite of his lashing tail as counterweight.

As I kept watching, three young wolves—one still a short-legged, grey pup with a wildly wagging, shaggy tail— alongside a narrow-muzzled jackal with ears too big for its head, plus two smaller, lean cats with huge, green eyes all lengthened their stride and tried flanking and circling the huge, dark, reptilian beast, trying to nip at him and harry him one way or the other, only to have to dart back quickly to avoid the sweeping tail.

It did look rather like they were in the endgame of a hunt although I knew perfectly well that Mourn was holding back on the lethal attacks.

There was a heavy handful of strange birds hovering around together which normally wouldn't have anything to do with each other if they were only what they looked like: a golden brown eagle and a black-spotted falcon, a void-black raven, snow-white swan, and a pair of large, grey doves. They looked most eager and excited at the activity, I thought... perhaps because their particular totems had made it only too easy to gain safety from the Dragonblood in previous games, they were excited that soon there would be a true challenge for them to face at last. Once Mourn figured it out. 

Although at this rate, if he didn't slow down any, he might be darting after those Wilder bird-youths through the air by Sunset.

"I'm going to go check on Gaelan," I said, starting to get up but Furuc placed a hand on my shoulder to stop me.

"Wait here a little longer," he suggested. 

Not really suggesting.

"She's awake and talking," I said impatiently, shaking him off. "She certainly doesn't need any more lying around, she has had plenty of that!"

"It's too soon. You and Jael cause her much stress. The Tilabil asked you to give him and Iethys some time to see about strengthening her body after so long in unnatural sleep. Coordination will help her feel more in control when she sees you again."

I frowned and raised one sardonic brow. "More in control?"

Furuc shrugged. "Very well. Better able to defend herself."

"She doesn't need to defend! Not against me and Jael!"

"She doesn't remember your names yet, and something is telling her to be afraid and wary of her vulnerability in front of you," the brother commented, managing to keep any detectable reproach from his tone. "She even regrets speaking her daughter's name so you could hear it."

"What am I going to do about it, send a note back to the Underdark attached to a pigeon's foot?"

"I don't care what you would do, Sirana. This is as she was taught by the Baenar, and we must start there before going forward." He gave me an eyebrow in return. "You should not be surprised."

"I'm not, you arrogant tick. But a little more time before being kicked out would've been..." 

I stopped, thinking back over the look on my Sister's face when she at last identified my race. Our race. Her face had gone blank in fear, like she didn't even remember her own skin color. But maybe it didn't matter if she did. 

As Furuc said, this was the most basic, primitive place we would start: Fear. For herself. For her daughter I'd never known could be used to hurt her, but no doubt D'Shea and others had. Would I have been calm in her place, absolutely fucking helpless, just knowing what little I did about her?

Fuck.

"Never mind," I grumbled. "Fine. Let them get her on her feet first."

Furuc smiled in approval.

"Don't look at me like that," I said grouchily. "I don't need your fucking constant appraisal and I sure as fuck don't need it to be positive, bearskin!"

He grinned wider, saying nothing at first. 

Then: "You need a fight, don't you?"

I took that infuriating, know-it-all tone as an invitation, going for the cheap shot to the high stomach. If he'd been prepared and his abnormally large abdomen muscles tightened up, it wouldn't have worked. But it did. I swear I almost orgasmed when he doubled over and the air whooshed out of his lungs, his impossibly dark, earthy eyes wide in surprise.

Recovery and retribution was just as swift, though my stomach was immune to a punch in kind, as I knew it would be. However, he had no compunction against using hair-grabbing, familiar nerve points, and even licking my ear to distract me as we grappled. 

A bit too soon for my Red Sisterly pride, he had my back flat against him with a hard arm tightening across my right pit and my throat, keeping one hand useless as he gripped the left in a painful twist. His legs locked mine down to where neither of us would move until one of us passed out. If I didn't figure out a way to break the grip, it wouldn't be him.

It crossed my mind he might be as good at wrestling as Jaunda, though I wasn't sure how often he claimed his prize in winning by opening someone's netherhole. His prick wasn't exactly soft against my lower back.

"Mourn's taught you something," I gasped.

"Some," he breathed next to my ear.

"What, not everything?"

He tightened the angle on my wrist. "The Wilder aren't passive to violence."

"Could've fooled me—" I grunted, refusing to give him more than that. Certainly never an "ow." "But you don't... leave the forest to test it."

"We have plenty of skill in defending it."

"As animals."

"But not mindless. Imagine using the instincts and understanding of every creature in the Underdark at once, Sirana, along with the wisdom of the Elves."

I wouldn't mind seeing that in action. Would probably put even the Illithids off their guard.

"Your cock is hard," I commented, still trying to get loose while grinding it harder, in case it worked to distract him.

"Naturally. Bears sometimes use a show of strength to impress a female."

It didn't distract him. My attempts at escape weren't going so well. 

"Heh. You're trying to impress me?"

"You insisted I try, Sirana."

I supposed that I had with that first punch. I still tried to get out. "Strength, huh? What, like knocking over trees?"

He blocked my next attempt to reach a nerve of his own and chuckled, scenting me at the nape of my neck, almost nuzzling. "Yes. Young trees, maybe. Not the ancient ones."

"You're an Elf, Furuc, not a bear." 

Another try to get free, and I admitted to myself I'd have to get seriously injurious to one of us to get out of this hold.

His chest rumbled. "You wanted to play like one."

I huffed. "Right. Very well, I can't get out. Let me go now."

I was testing him, I knew, though for some reason I still couldn't help feeling surprised when he released me, erection and all, without requiring more than that statement of yielding. I tried to decide if that was a relief or disappointment; I knew what would be happening back at the barracks right now in the same situation: my pants would be coming down.

Why did more than one Surface male remind me of Jaunda? And how was she different from the other females I'd known growing up? Some of the male Drow fighters could be similar, as we taught them to be, and Shyntre had been fun to challenge in a similar way, especially knowing I'd always win sooner or later, but... 

Furuc straightened his leather pants as we got to our feet, repositioning his crotch to reduce strain as he breathed deeply, apparently intending to let it go down again. In the morning Sunlight I could really see the red highlights in the brown hair on his head. 

I frowned, aware of a conflict somewhere in my head. Or an incongruence. "You don't want to fuck me?"

His ordinarily low brow moved up a bit in comment but he was willing to meet me head-on. "Perhaps. If there's a right time."

My eyes narrowed at him. "Indifferent?"

He smiled. "Patient. I interpret you are neither."

I snorted. "You could miss out, you know, being too patient."

"Then so be it. The result of being aggressively selfish would be interfering with your training with the Tilabil."

I hadn't thought of that yet, but of course the "Rock" would. "Hm. Any other reason? No conflict with Mourn? Or Morix. Whatever."

"You mean, as there would be with Jael?" he asked, crossing his arms. 

"Yeah. We like to fuck on occasion, the three of us. Or I like to fuck them."

Furuc gave me another look a bit harder to read and shook his head. "Your purpose requires you to maintain independence from a single mate, Sirana. Many of our totems reflect this, including mine. There is the right, receptive moment, and there is freedom afterward."

This was getting kind of interesting in spite of myself. We spoke plainly of sex but not as if it was leading directly into it—primarily because the male said "not right now." Which was only slightly less galling now than it had been when Mourn did it in Augran.

"And how does that compare with how you insisted it should be with Jael?" I asked. "That she be claimed and protected by a single male?"

"For now," he tacked on, his back straight as he nodded in full agreement of his earlier stance. "Starting out in this, she needs focus and boundaries, stability outside of herself. She craves them. She will gain strength this way."

"How the fuck can *you* tell?"

"I've seen it before. She is much different from you. Your boundaries are your own, you created them inside yourself when you accepted independence for your own actions. She never did."

I felt irritated for a reason that was hard to pin down. "You make her sound weak."

Furuc shook his head. "Not my intent. The trade is that she will be more trusting of Morix and the Tilabil than you, and will learn her magic quickly through them. You must still draw your own lines of tolerance, Sirana, every step of the way, and each lesson will be harder, though once you reach over it your self-command will be unshakeable. You and Jael may each still accomplish much and become powerful in what you are, but your paths to get there are not alike."

I stared at him challengingly, and he smiled back, dark eyes smoldering a little like embers in the story fire as he came back to our original topic.

"I would play with and mate a receptive female, with you, Sirana, when you're ready. I would not encourage or be party to impulsive or contrary mate stealing with couples."

I let that sink in, standing in silence as I looked out again at Mourn playing Chase. The game was now much farther away from the waterfall and barely visible but still very, very audible. Jael, at the moment, was at the cool pool by herself, because she'd asked to be. For the time being, Gavin had excused himself back to his nest with Roh and my spiders were happy hunting their own meal inside the cave. 

"And why wouldn't I be ready and 'receptive' now, oh Brother Bear?" I asked, just shy of being snide.

"It would be a mere a distraction from Gaelan's hurtful reaction to you, nothing more," he said bluntly, and I tried not to flinch. "I'd rather you be fully present with me, without a spirit's past lingering overhead. See to Gaelan first, and if you are at peace with her and still want me, I will accept."

Such a formal negotiator for his services. No male got away with that back home.

And yet. Here I was, wondering if the anticipation like he described would be worth it, or whether "so be it" would be enough for me if it didn't happen.

"Let's get you some food," he suggested, reminding me I was still feeling cranky on empty.

What made it even worse was the hovering worry of how the fuck I was going to go take on Sarilis *and* the Valsharess when it seemed like I needed to eat every few hours...

*******

I watched Iethys and Nioah go in and out of the cave a few times that day, and I was quite right that I glimpsed Mourn more and more often gliding just above the tree line before disappearing again, about a half-hour's walk out. The noise followed him, or he follow the noise, and I realized he had to be chasing the arboreal shapeshifters now.

It must be more than just the children playing Chase by now; I even heard some familiar wolves talking to each other now that they no longer lingered near Jael and me. The ground runners and burrowers, the tree climbers and even the swimmers had all been vulnerable to the Dragonblood before, and as the day wore on, those birds—actually all birds, I thought, Elf and natural—were becoming either anxious or excited with the brewing change.

I harrumphed to myself. Just as well that the To'vah Guardians were comfortable in about every element and could theoretically eat just about anything they could catch.

"Is he going to slow down at some point?" Jael asked me, having come back from the pool some time ago. "If he were any closer, he would be making me dizzy."

"No," Furuc butted in. "He will not slow down."

"Going to eat and sleep at that pace, is he?" I asked sarcastically the Wilder only shrugged.

"Morix has not been able to move well in many days. He practices to regain his edge, and you already know he does not sleep every night. How else will he spend his time until the Tilabil is ready for him?"

"You mean until the Tilabil is finished with Gaelan and he doesn't have to stand the same room with her to talk to Rennyn?" I grumbled, and at Furuc's reproach added, "He hasn't looked at her for longer than a few moments at a time, and he left as soon as she struggled to sit up. If I meant to look at his actions, then they tell me he rejects her."

"Or he has not decided what to think," Furuc debated. "Or he is wary of making the situation worse before it can get better for her. Or perhaps he sees something in her that hurts him still and he works to gain strength in one way so he might have more to give in another when the time comes."

Jael and I looked at each other and frowned, having nothing to argue in return beyond our own desires to see things set to right as quickly as possible. I strained to listen for anything that was going on inside the cave with Shunraeki and Iethys and Rennyn, and Gaelan. Unfortunately the waterfall made too much background noise.

What in the Abyss were they telling her? What was she telling them?

Although Mourn had the right idea about practicing. Shyntre's snide comment about looking like a molted crab still came back every so often as I wondered about my skills. I wasn't practicing the Red Sister ones because they didn't seem useful where I was, unless I want to set myself against my hosts. I didn't have my belt anyway. 

I was back to those I had as a Noble, just learning the fucking rules and how to work within them and, where possible, around them. It was loudly obvious that I should be working more on my psionics, yet everything inside was stirred up and roiling and I couldn't focus or go to the quiet place.

Fuck it.

Actually, I meant that. While I could not do a thing about Gaelan with the Tilabil, while Mourn is off testing himself, while Furuc was keeping an eye on us but refusing to rut until some "right time" came along, and while I frankly was too worried and distracted to think it a good idea start flinging my thoughts hither and yon under the pretense of getting better, the only thing I could think about was sex.

I looked at Jael helplessly. "Wanna suck?"

She exhaled and nodded vigorously. "Thought you'd never fucking ask."

Familiar, fragrant, and hot... the only thing that was different this time was a deliriously high sense of hurling through the valley at incredible speed when she climaxed.

******

They had decided to guide Gaelan out for the first time under Moonlight so the adjustment wouldn't be as harsh. I kind of wished I had known that earlier in the day, although it finally occurred to me as the Sun had gotten low.

Gaelan was supported by Iethys and Rennyn each holding an arm; in a different situation, it would've looked like she was a prisoner being taken to her execution only after years of being in a cell. This thought only occurred to me because of how her limbs trembled and she placed bare feet carefully on the rocks as if they had been whipped on the soles and heels. She really was as hale as we could expect her to be; they led her out entirely nude so I could see she was the same body I knew before, uninjured and not so withered as a starving prisoner would be. 

She just seemed so fragile that... I almost didn't see a Drow anymore, red eyes and pure white hair notwithstanding.

Nioah had come up behind them with two hide blankets and hurried ahead to spread one out beside me and Jael, fur-side up, and to wait with the second after allowing it to fall open in hir hands. As they helped Gaelan to sit down safely upon the softness, the storyweaver wrapped the blanket around her shoulders with a comforting whisper.

"Th-thank you," she whispered back hoarsely in Drow.

Rennyn sat on Gaelan's other side from me, deceptively casual, as Iethys went over to sit next to Furuc and Nioah stood somewhere behind us. I didn't blink as the Tilabil's blind, sun-yellow eyes gazed out across the valley—maybe looking at Mourn, maybe not— and Gaelan stared down at her fingernails. 

I had just picked up her scent after hearing what had definitely been her voice, and after enough awkward silence I made myself lightly touch my fingertips to her knee, asking to be acknowledged.




Surfacing Ch. 28



She breathed in deeply at the contact, blinked, and made every conscious effort to lift her chin and look at me, then Jael. 

Gaelan nervously bit her lower lip and said, "Sirana. Jael."

Had she remembered that on her own, or had she been told that? Rennyn could read my expression as I looked at him and he smiled but did not answer it. I sighed.

"Gaelan," I replied. 

She looked so damned wary of me, and I didn't know why. I decided to take a hint from Furuc and just be blunt.

"Why are you afraid of me?"

She put her fingers up to the hollow of her throat and a bit higher, feeling around as if something should be there but was gone. She seemed surprised. She opened her mouth and paused, swallowing before opening her lips again. 

She looked at Rennyn beside her, not me. "I couldn't say it...before. I can speak it, can't I?"

Rennyn nodded encouragingly, then interestingly Gaelan looked at Iethys and Furuc and Nioah, evaluated them, and decided their presence was fine. She definitely wasn't acting like a Drow, though she spoke our language so I couldn't be sure how much the Wilder understood. I couldn't help but wonder if this was the first sign of change after she'd swallowed Graul's soul shard. Maybe she didn't even remember her past...

"I have something I need to confess, Sirana," she said hesitantly. "To you. Even though I-I don't think at this point it would help you to know. I just think... it would help me. Move forward."

Move forward. What Furuc had said as I'd waited all day for this. What could she have to...confess, other than the existence of her daughter? She was right, that wasn't something I needed to hear for her to reclaim some kind of balance. It would have to be something else... 

I felt a creeping, tingling sensation at the back of my head, and it wasn't my spiders. They were still inside the cave. I tensed up before I realized it, all of a sudden not sure that I wanted to hear it. Or that I wanted everyone else listening.

"What is it?" I forced myself to ask, warily.

Gaelan swallowed and clutched the fur blanket closer to her naked body. "Juarinia—"

*STOP!*

She did. Gaelan paused for one baffled moment, looking around as if she wasn't sure where the voice had come from as I clenched my teeth. She was lucky I hadn't just done while awake what I'd done to Gavin in our trance... but I suddenly knew the essence of what she was about to say. 

I already knew it.

*Fucking Abyss. Control it, Sirana.*

I took a slow breath. "Okay. I'm ready. Go on."

Gaelan licked her lips and tried starting it a different way. Something I appreciated. 

"The first time we met wasn't at your trials for the Sisterhood." She forced a tiny smile. "Although my being ordered to... clean you of Shyntre's semen and suck you to climax was appropriate enough for D'Shea to think of it. You'll understand."

I glanced very briefly at Rennyn; he had absolutely no outward response to that detail, he was just listening. I almost wondered if he had already heard it.

"My family..." Gaelan paused, tried again. "It was from my family, from my mother, that your oldest sister bought the compulsion potion that she used on you. ...I was the one who brought it to sell to her." She winced. "I watched what she did to you. B-but never with satisfaction or pleasure, I just...I just..."

My stomach trembled and I wondered if I would lose my most recent meal? I was determined not to. "Just what?"

She had to take another breath. She shivered within her blanket and struggled to look at me. "I was trying to get pregnant and had chosen one of the guards that your House, Sirana. I came back every so often, brought something Juarinia wanted, and she'd let him take a break off duty to couple with me."

I frowned. "Which one?"

It really didn't matter, but I was curious.

"Treyl," she whispered.

I vaguely remembered him; at least he had been an actual guard at my Matron's House Thalluen. Gaelan could have just picked any name off the list from the Red Sister records, true, but the way she'd said his name...

"Natia's sire?" I asked, plucking at a crease in my leathers.

She nodded, and I could hear her heart for a moment as I said her daughter's name. Even though there were innumerable ways she could be lying or inventing a story, somehow, with the Tilabil present, everything felt like the truth so far.

"Your mother made the compulsion potion?" I asked numbly.

Gaelan shook her head in the negative. "She was the fence. I found out later it was just another fucking Noble House messing with things, blackmailing her into doing what would eventually bring the Sisterhood down on us. One error that she thought would ..."

She stopped talking, looking at my face. At the moment I didn't really care about her mother's justification.

"I'm sorry, Sirana," she said. "I couldn't really do anything to stop your sister, or to make her forget about trading with my family."

I shrugged very slightly. Not if she wanted a baby by a specific male and kept showing up at my House, no.

*There was one thing you could do,* Rennyn said softly.

"Only after it was too late!" Gaelan cried, tears springing to her eyes.

*It's never too late if you can make amends, daughter.*

My older Sister sniffed through her nose, her misery particularly raw on her face as she looked at me again. I still wasn't sure what she more she had to add other than being a witness to my abuse, but I was nauseous again.

*Go ahead, Gaelan,* the Tilabil said.

She took another deep breath and spoke to me. "The first time we truly met...was when you were bleeding on the floor in Juarinia's altar shack. S-she realized she had made a critical mistake and summoned me with a healing potion. I saw you, what she'd done, you looked at me, I-I healed you—"

As she described it, something did stir in my memory. Down deep.

"I was afraid of you finding out I was involved," she blurted. "I told you how to break the compulsion. B-but I also 'told' you to forget about having seen me."

Goddess-damned Abyss, there is was. That tiny blank spot I hadn't even realized had been switched out was now filled in with the proper painting. Not Juarinia forcing me to swallow a second potion to heal me with scars, leaving me barren, as I'd described it to myself for decades now...but a reasonably pretty merchant kneeling in the blood, in my blood, urging me to drink, to live, and giving me a reason to try.

*...Drink it, and you will have the chance to kill her and break your silence. Only her death will loosen your tongue...*

It wasn't just the potion I had to take, though, that wasn't enough. There had to be a spell cast by a mage who could enhance the strength enough to save my life. As Juarinia had ordered, but couldn't do herself.

Gaelan rushed ahead. "You were frighteningly determined, Sirana, even as a youth, I knew you'd kill her! I was afraid of you coming after my family when you got older if you remembered!"

I felt something like Ullipmious's thin, spindly fingers digging through a cloudy, gelatinous mass lurching around at the very back of my skull, searching only now that we knew what to look for.

*Ahhh, there it is,* it simpered, grabbing tight hold of what was inside, pulling it out. 

We all listened to Gaelan's old command.

*After this healing, forget my face, forget my actions, but do not forget my words.*

Now I recalled all three—her face, her actions, her words—as the magical suggestion dissolved entirely from around that moment, leaving it clear and unobscured in Ullipmious's hand. And somehow I felt more balanced, able to stand back and look at it from afar.

*A very precise command,* the Illithid commented. *She wanted Juarinia to die, wanted to be free of being at her beck and call. Gaelan condemned her to your wrath when she phrased it this way, yet has been fearful of facing the same fate ever since.*

Huh.

Gaelan was afraid of me. As a Red Sister, she'd done what she could to face it head-on, as we'd been taught. But she hadn't been able to hide it anymore when she woke up just now. For a moment it made me feel powerful...the same way I'd felt after seeing Juarinia to her pyre. That dark, glorious time when I felt I had proven to myself I could take on any cunt who wanted to get in my way and make her regret it.

"You said the Sisterhood came for your family," I murmured.

Gaelan nodded. "Elder D'Shea tracked down the fence, the contraband...us. I-I lost everyone at once."

"But D'Shea kept you," Jael probed cautiously.

"What happened to Natia?" I asked, less cautious.

Our Sister burst out sobbing and couldn't speak right then as Rennyn brought his arm around her, to let her lean against him if she wished. She did more than that, clutching to him as if he was all that kept her from falling off a cliff. Neither seemed to care that the blanket dropped and she was nude from the waist up. Jael and I exchanged a worried glance.

"Did they all die?" I asked.

"N-no," she moaned, holding tight to Rennyn. "O-only Mother. Talade was s-sold, and Boqol is in the Wizard's Tower. N-Natia...oh, goddess..."

The sound she made was so strange—almost a laugh, a sob, and a panicked shriek all at once. Could it be that bad...? Jael and I were both tense to hear it.

Gaelan shook her head and was leaving wet spots on Rennyn's tunic from her tears. She laughed bitterly. "D'Shea gave her to M-Matron Thalluen. She was the youngest child servant in your House while Kaltra was still alive, slowly poisoning your pregnant mother, and Lolth only knows what else she learned from Juarinia! Oh, goddess, Sirana, the eve when you went to kill her at D'Shea's command...I-I c-couldn't be more relieved..."

She broke down again and Rennyn softly shushed, holding her and rubbing her back with his ethereal, blue and green hand, as I worked that around in my head.

My mother had Gaelan's daughter? I would never have known; it would have been after I'd been sent away to Court for fifteen years... in fact, just about eight years ago, right? I did some calculation, trying to place events in their right order. I was missing one critical piece of information. 

"Did you go back to see Treyl again after being summoned to heal me?" I asked.

Gaelan shook her head and said nothing more.

But she'd become pregnant by him, as she had wanted. That was it, then. I'd been seventy-five when my oldest sister nearly killed me. That age was possibly, but more probably not, mature enough to breed safely. Had that been the goal of Juarinia's ritual. 

Natia would only be twenty-five years old; still a shapeless child maybe waist- or chest-tall. Gaelan had been a mother in the common, merchant class for eighteen years before being tested for the Sisterhood; Natia probably even still remembered her mother, if her tending had been good.

Yet D'Shea had given Natia to my mother... Why? I would have loved to hear her reasoning. There was an accidental impression of "swapping daughters," but it might only have been as simple as: this was the House to which her sire belonged, now that the child no longer had a mother. Treyl might even be watching out for her, if he was still alive.

Or it could have been a test, or a punishment as well. Gaelan was immensely upset about her child being given over to a House with known child abusers and she hadn't even mentioned Natia's father as a possible protector. In the face of a sadistic Noble Daughter keen on tormenting a servant, she was right...he wouldn't have been able to provide much help.

However five years after Natia became part of my House, Kaltra was dead by my hand and my mother had survived being murdered. She had given birth to her Fourth Daughter—my younger sister I'd never know, though I remembered seeing the swollen belly at the first and only worship ball I'd attended as a Red Sister. Natia was of an age to help tend and play with this new heir to House Thalluen. The two girls would be of an age to grow up together; that was the best case scenario.

Then it finally dawned on me. "You couldn't speak about any of it. That was your compulsion. It's broken now."

"I died!" Gaelan cried, eye squeezed shut. Her words tumbled out, barely making any sense. "That's what finally broke it! I'm something else now! Something else, I have no idea what, I c-can't leave the Sky again, I have to breathe! I could never breathe down there...and now I know I'll never, ever see Natia again!"

All of a sudden, I was very glad that Mourn wasn't here.

*******

The Wilder and the Tilabil gave us sign without words that we should give Gaelan the time to mourn her past life now that she'd confessed her secret, even if it took all night for her to calm down and stop crying. It was a mild night, well-lit by the Sister Moons, I didn't really mind waiting as I processed my own memories, although I had to get up and stretch now and then. If I could have helped more with the food, I would have. As it was, I got the water.

"Here, drink something," I said to her as she lay boneless against the forever-patient Rennyn, having cried herself into exhaustion over the last few hours.

She nodded and took the waterskin, able to do this herself now. That was an improvement. After drinking she slowly lowered the spout from her lips, watching me though not making eye contact, studying my body.

"By the tangled web," she murmured, drawing a deep breath. She clutched the neck of the waterskin in one hand and Rennyn's shoulder in the other, pushing herself straighter. She stared at me in shock.

I knew what it was. She had mage's eyes, it was my baby—

"You're half past your first year!" she exclaimed. "H-how long have I been gone, how many years?! H-How it is possible? After what Kerse did, how could you catch at all?! You sh-shouldn't be able to—"

"Shhh," Rennyn soothed, and as with Mourn in that intense pain just yesterday, Gaelan calmed down some from her panic.

She swallowed. "What happened to you, Sirana? What changed?" She looked like she wanted to cry again. "Where am I?"

I sat down cross-legged, near enough to benefit from the Tilabil's aura myself. It was...nice. 

"It has only been two seasons since we parted ways," I explained.

"Impossible," she challenged. "You would have had to already been preg—"

She stopped; I smiled.

"I was."

Her eyes narrowed. "Who—?"

"The Consort, where Shyntre suggested to take me. His life magic heals, but had a similar effect as Lolth's Threshold."

Now that I knew Gaelan had had more than one encounter with that particular ritual, I saw that I didn't have to explain further.

"Did D'Shea know?!" Gaelan asked, even more aghast as I nodded. "Were you being punished...?"

"No. She gave me my choice."

"What fucking choice—?"

I felt a bit of twisted happiness hearing how she said that and I chuckled. "This one."

Gaelan stared at me, then my belly, then back again, before pursing her lips and shaking her head. "D'Shea always did favor you. I can't believe you did this...so you are going to stay and give birth here before going back?"

I caught a mental whiff of something interesting; I wasn't sure where it came from—her, me, or a bit of both—but Gaelan crying that she could not leave the Sky to see her daughter, and the idea of me birthing my son here did offer an interesting mutual solution: the grieving mother in her would take him as a surrogate child, though that hope had barely even flickered in her mind.

"Mm. I can't stay that long. I don't have the time."

"What?! What else are you going to do?"

"We're working on it."

"Who's we? Just you and Jael?"

"You'll have to meet Mourn and Gavin."

"Who??"

I was going to relish this. "Jael's half-Dragon mate and my Deathwalker necromancer."

"WHAT!"

I enjoyed one good laugh and leaned in to steal a kiss just on her lips; no tongue. She looked doubly shocked and actually slapped me. It wasn't too hard, even making a loud noise. She just didn't like me enjoying her incredulity this much. I personally didn't know how else to take it other than more somberness and gloom, of which I was temporarily exhausted from embracing.

Again, Rennyn remained without comment that this exchange, perfectly at peace sitting right in between us. Though now he did smile a little.

Gaelan glared at me. "Weren't you given the mission to kill the necromancer at the Tower, not ally with him?"

"Wrong necromancer. We're going to replace him."

She sputtered. "There's two?!" As I nodded, she continued, "A-and what 'half' Dragon are you talking about? How is there only half a Dragon?"

I laughed again at the mental image. "When the other half is Drow. He's been on the Surface for years. Lots of stories about him."

I kept my face close; I so wanted to kiss her again. I liked this way of getting caught up...mainly only because it felt like she was yielding to me again, drawing me in, like we were alone in the barracks. Her mind was working as fast as it could, which was impressive all things considered, but the observers around us seemed to fade away.

"And if there's so many stories, how did he get involved with you?" she asked.

Now I didn't mind softening my grin a bit. "He was the one who saved you after you escaped from the Warpstone cult. He brought you here, because you told him you had a daughter back home."

Gaelan stared at me in silence, then looked away as if she tried to remember that feverish time better. I wasn't sure if she succeeded.

"And...Jael's 'mate'? What does that mean?" 

Gaelan glanced about for our youngest Sister, almost cautiously, but Jael was much farther out along the shelf now, near the waterfall, looking out where Mourn might've been stalking whichever Wilder children had been asleep in the day and were now out and about. She'd grown less comfortable with the waiting and probably wanted to be out "playing" like him.

I considered how to describe this to Gaelan. Mourn wasn't a consort or a trophy; he wasn't a chosen sire, only intended to be kept long enough to catch from him; nor was he a butler or representative in service to any of her political or economic needs. Neither was any of that true in reverse, what Jael might be to him.

"Mm," I considered. "Have you looked at her, as you have me? Do you see what's changed?"

Gaelan swallowed. "I wasn't sure I was even seeing it right. But you mean her aura. She's a mage, somehow...with potential to be like D'Shea, or Shyntre."

That was interesting.

I nodded. "The Valsharess put a block on her, she never knew it until she was captured on her own mission. Someone at Manalar removed the block."

Gaelan winced in sympathy; apparently she could imagine what that was like a lot better than I'd been able to at first. In fact, her emotion made more connection than her logic. "Her mate, so you mean he's a magical one. Able to meld their auras together."

"Interesting," I granted. "Where would you have learned about that?"

Again Gaelan touched her throat as if testing to make sure her compulsion still gone. "Elder D'Shea and Headmaster Phaelous. I-I was only in the same room with them twice, and she was very wary and cold toward him. But...it was obvious. To me. Sometimes auras just...blend. Not often, but I've heard mages do find mates like that. It doesn't even always have to do with making babies."

That made me wonder about Shyntre and Auslan, actually, and their auras. At this point Jael had probably heard, in spite of the waterfall's noise, some mention of her and Mourn and had wandered a little closer to hear. It gave me the opportunity I needed. 

"How about you go play with them?" I suggested, smiling affectionately at her, and Jael blinked.

"Huh?"

"Go play. I know you want to. I'm going to be a while still."

Jael wasn't going to argue at all, but she still hesitated as she weighed the two options. She was trying to be more aware of others around her, of the social balance and I could be happy with the effort, but in this case I really didn't see where her hanging around helped anything.




Surfacing Ch. 28



"Go add another level of danger to the Chase," I said a bit evilly, giving her a wink.

Her dark face broke onto a white grin; she couldn't help herself. "You're sure?"

I nodded. "Go find him."

She nodded. "I'll be back by Sunrise."

Gaelan and I watched how silently she scaled down over the edge, soon disappearing into the forest.

"Hm," my elder Sister said, contemplatively. She'd seen what she needed to see on this subject, but I decided to confirm.

"Mourn is her bodyguard and her teacher while she gets a handle on how much she's changed."

Gaelan smiled almost gently. "I see now. And he brought me here." 

She looked again at Rennyn, who looked back with peace and affection. She looked over at Furuc, Iethys, and Nioah, who were dozing in a loose bundle, sharing body heat, then out over the Moonlit valley.

"It's beautiful," she whispered.

In my mind's eye, I compared it to the glittering web gardens and palatial elegance overlooking a multi-layered, shadow-filled City in eternal darkness...which was literally built down within a massive tomb. If there was resonance of some kind between Graul and Gaelan, and now she said she couldn't breathe down there, that she couldn't leave the Sky...

I didn't blame her. The Air was clean up here. Her element was both light and powerful.

"Yes. It is."

"So..." she asked, more softly than her recent questions. "How is it we're all here, in one place? If you can tell me the basics."

"Basic?" I shrugged. "I left the Tower without finishing my mission to find you and Jael. I defied the Valsharess's orders and came after you."

She stared at me, prompting me to give more of my reasoning which hadn't changed.

"I hated that we were all so young and the ancient slit just sent us all to die. The only purpose was whatever her visions said and the only pretense for us was because we'd killed a Draegloth that tried to kill me. I was pregnant and figured I had the time to try, to find some other way, and then I met the second grey mage who could help me, and..."

She blinked more slowly, letting that absorb. She nodded before I was even finished. She agreed.

"You found Jael, and Mourn, and...Gavin." She frowned out in a general direction toward the two unseen males. "And you found me."

That was simple enough. It had taken a long time, though, and I didn't have the energy to go over everything in between.

"I died, though," she said again.

"What happened?" I asked. "What happened with the cult? Can you tell me something? All Mourn could see was that you had been bitten and the wound was infected, and you had probably been stumbling around in a fever for a couple of days."

Gaelan shivered and at last reached to pull the fur blanket up around her naked shoulders, sadly covering up her breasts. She was going to answer me, I just needed to give her time to see what she could recollect. She whispered something that, with my company lately, was easy to tell it a magical mantra; maybe it provided her with a boost of some kind, some added focus. Rennyn mimicked it, repeating her and lightly touching the back of her hand, and she gasped as she went rigid.

"I remember!" she exclaimed, yet barely with any voice as the others remained undisturbed in their nap.

I leaned forward.

"I followed the way the Elder Rausery had given me. Other than the vast distance and some challenge finding water right before the Midway, it was not too difficult. I traveled at night despite our training for the day, it... It just helped me conserve energy."

Jael had done the same on her way to Manalar, I knew. Honestly, I would've done the same if I had not been part of a group that only traveled in the daytime. I nodded.

"I was following the Ley Lines as it led me in the right direction, but there seemed to be two disturbances along the eastern spine-ridge. I wasn't sure which way to go, as if it was possible the cult had moved South since Rausery's last intelligence...until I..."

She stared down at Rennyn's powerful, peaceful hand.

"What?" I prompted.

"There was a group of Human enforcers near the place to the South, armored Men with symbols such as Rausery described of Manalar. I almost mistook them for the cultists I sought, because none of them were magical but they made all sorts of gestures and chants all the time as if they were. They seemed unstable, chaotic..."

She shook her head. "I trailed them very carefully to the log town, and knew this wasn't the place. Worse than that, there were all sorts of magical triggers everywhere around. I retreated back and North as soon as I found the first magic mark on the perimeter. There was a powerful mage there, but not what I sought, and... I knew this one was too powerful for me. It was like something a Priestess would set, or Phaelous."

I didn't realize I'd sighed in relief until she grimaced.

"I know that you would have investigated, Sirana," she said. "You would have maybe gone in to get more information for our Elders and our Valsharess, and that's what I should've done... But I didn't. It wasn't my mission, and I retreated. I just wanted to save my strength, stick to my mission, and go home..."

I had a wry smile on my face. "Probably the smartest thing you could've done, Gaelan."

She lifted her chin to look at me questioningly. She wanted an answer.

"I unknowingly trailed you there," I said. "The same place. Except I didn't have the benefit of your senses or knowledge, and I fell right into that sorcerer's arms. I almost didn't escape to keep following you."

Her mouth quirked. "But you did, and you probably gained something useful from him, right?"

I nodded. "It was still a blunder. I just got lucky."

"You make your own luck," she said firmly. "You never give up. Unlike me."

We would have our differences about this.

"So what happened after you went North?" I prompted.

She nodded. "I started seeing the twisted trees and feeling the wrongness, I knew I was on the right trail then. Both Elder D'Shea and Rausery told me that enough magic could turn the homestone right and break the illness of its followers. Basically...basically like diluting and flushing out an open sore. I just had to locate the homestone and not get captured by the cultists."

Simple enough, that. Maybe if the cult hadn't grown as large as it had...

Gaelan shrugged and her eyes teared up a bit; she looked ashamed. "They didn't tell me that the homestone could talk, or that it could be a pond of water instead of a stone. The things she said about Natia, about you...Sh-she fed on my fears and doubts like a feast, using it to cancel my magic, to push back at me. Next thing I knew, I was surrounded by them...fighting for my life."

Rennyn put his arm around her again and hugged her; she sighed. 

Certainly I remembered the way Mother had tried to confuse us - she had even tried to scare me, claiming they had already eaten Gaelan. The two magical males I was with, I realized, had probably been the most resistant with whom I could have allied for that particular task. They easily could have turned on me if they'd been weak of mind themselves. Mourn had the benefit of prior knowledge and training, not to mention the willpower of To'vah in general. Gavin was no doubt protected by his patroness; by his very loyalty to her he would not be easily fooled.

If my burgeoning psionics had helped me all at the time, or even my early possession of Soul Drinker, Mother had still been difficult to resist. I could only imagine how it might have been for a completely unprepared, young Drow mage all alone, Red Sister or not.

"How did you get away?" I asked. "They would have followed you and they don't need to sleep or rest."

Gaelan's mouth twisted a bit. "I had one item in reserve, in case things got really bad. Like they did. It was a transport gem...it would put me back where I'd last spent reverie, though that would use it up and it would crumble. I managed it...to disappear from amidst them. Although not before one of them bit me. And not only wouldn't I get another chance to catch them by surprise, but I had no way to heal the wound. None of my spells worked...none of them, and I wasn't even sure where I was going or what I'd do. I-I don't remember much after..."

Her bright red eyes, deepened by the memories, looked around her again. "How did...Mourn...find me?"

"As I was trailing you, he was trailing me. He was intent to kill some of the Men I travelled with."

"The grey mage?"

"All but him." 

Gaelan gave me an odd look and I chuckled, figuring that going into the Ma'ab at the moment might be too much. 

"If you're still curious later, let me know. Mourn was hired to kill the Men I was with but was watching me and Gavin, and he knew I was trapped in the sorcerer's inn for a time. He was hanging around...and he sensed you."

She was quiet for some time. Then: "I could not have made that luck."

I agreed; Mourn had just been in the right place at the right time. Although from his own memory, I knew she'd slurred at the time, even in her delirium, that she'd sensed powerful magic. Maybe she'd headed back South because of Cris-ri-phon...which was darkly amusing to think I could be glad with him for anything that happened to Gaelan after she was bitten by a cult he could have easily taken care of himself.

Talking with her even this much so far, I could tell that it was "mostly" Gaelan. She was familiar, she had most of her important memories; she knew her name and mine, and she could place herself in the here and now. She was alive in truth, though her emotion was bare as she seemed to have lost all her defenses, each learned the hard way down below; her face was more expressive than before. 

The only truly odd thing so far was her mention of being "something else," of being unable to return to the Underdark to stay, of not wanting to be cut off from the Sky despite the fact that she would have to in order to see Natia again. She had been hysterical at the time and I was willing to wait and see if she really meant it.

"Were the Wilder able to heal me?" she asked. "Is that why I'm sitting here now?"

She knew the answer to that, I realized; maybe Iethys and Rennyn had already told her. She was just confirming with me.

"They could cleanse the bite," I said. "They could not replace what was gone. The infection had eaten away at your essence, your magic, as well as your body."

Her lips were tight and she didn't look at any one of us in particular. "And you found something to replace it."

"We had a volunteer," I said carefully. "Someone who wanted to help. He was old and had lived long already. He is drawn to lost mages, he said."

Her eyes filled with tears, communicating so much more feeling now than any Drow I'd known, and she nodded, fully exhausted. Watching her lean against Rennyn, I read that her earlier, panicked confusion was at rest at last and she was focused on sitting where she was, breathing deliberately and watching the Sky and the treetops. I wanted to ask, so I did, but I tried to keep my own self-doubt out of my tone and sound only welcoming.

"Are you glad to be back?"

Gaelan gave it some thought before she answered; it was not a long time, but long enough to tell me there were still a few things of which she was afraid. 

Still, she nodded. "I am."

*******

The Wilder had burned Gaelan's uniform as a precaution, they said, so now they were responsible for clothing her again. They did not tend to make black leather, but they could manage a dark enough brown to suit her, the shirt a little lighter in color than both the pants and the soft-soled, calf-length boots.

"We work for last days," Iethys explained, checking the fit—which was pretty good, form-fitting enough not to get snagged on every bush but also not too tight. "Soon you have hood-cloak."

"Thank you," my older Sister replied. 

Her dark, naked fingers checked over the stitching and the texture of the treated hide, as if she was getting used to them on her curves, maybe even as if she could tell she hadn't worn clothes in a very long while and the weight felt strange on her frame. I noticed I wasn't the only one admiring the way she smoothed her hands over her hips and thighs, either; Furuc was watching as well. We made brief eye contact and he gave me an unrepentant little smile.

Gaelan didn't notice us, but she hesitated then asked, "Mm, what about my belt? My weapons and tools?"

Iethys looked apologetic. "Burned also, but for blades. Could not tell what rotted and what good, little time. Can make new belt with pouch. I help collect to fill."

Gaelan nodded, accepting, and I figured that they were talking about spell components, something I didn't tend to carry myself but had watched Gavin collect for months. It was automatic whenever he had the opportunity to add something to his selection. They certainly couldn't replace the powders and poisons from the Underdark. 

I spoke up. "Jael has been using one of your blades—"

She gave me a strange look.

"We found it after beating the cult's cunt for you."

She smiled a bit but did not look too pleased, given her failure. I hoped she focused on the fact that we'd been following after her, that the blade was proof we really had searched hard for her.

I continued. "But I think Jael would give it back."

Again Gaelan nodded. "I would be...glad to have my weapons back."

When it came time for our next meal, my newly-awakened Sister ate very slowly, sparingly, as if testing how well her body was functioning. She also watched how much I ate and seemed only slightly less amused than everyone else, perhaps tinged with bittersweet memory.

"What, not normal?" I asked, realizing that I wouldn't mind some advice from a female with recent experience, and now I had the opportunity if she was willing to share it.

Gaelan grinned in a wide, encouraging way. "Quite normal. The first year is always the hungriest."

"Is it?" I asked, highly interested. "You mean the second year...?"

"Won't be as bad," she finished. "I'm not sure why it's that way, my mother told me that the first year builds the baby's body, and the second year soaks it in Elven magic. She might be right, but all I knew was that Natia grew really fast at first and I could not get enough to eat, and then my appetite was almost back to normal but I was carrying her around forever, constantly aware of her specific aura."

"How big did you get?" I tried to imagine waddling around with a huge belly for an entire year... Oh, my back. Maybe I would rather just be hungry all the time.

Gaelan shrugged and set down her food bar, making a sphere with her hands just in front of her middle. Her hands seemed as if they recalled exactly how they had stroked her belly before, during her pregnancy. It actually wasn't huge, maybe the size of a hefty, round melon, tight and tidy.

"There was a bit of a surge in appetite and size at the very end," she said, "the clear signal that you're getting close and had better prepare. But there was a long time when the bump was always there but it didn't grow, at least not visibly." She tried to eye my stomach again. "Lift your shirt?"

A bit self-consciously, I did. Again, Gaelan wasn't the only one looking—Rennyn, Iethys, and Furuc all shifted to see better—but she was the only one to reach out and touch cool, gentle hands where my lower belly pressed out ever tighter against my leathers. I had already begun loosening the ties at my hips, now always showing a bit of skin, but I was going to have to alter them more soon, certainly before I left here.

"At least twice as big, maybe a bit more," my Sister said. "It should slow down then."

I nodded and did yet more mental calculation. Mourn had said I should try to get belowground again before the snows hit the mountains in three to four months, as soon as possible. Gaelan was telling me the baby's growth would stabilize another month or two after that. Mourn would consider it "dangerously heavy," and he wasn't wrong in regards to any kind of potential battle, but Gaelan was saying it would be manageable until the very end, right before birth.

Damn it. I'd be going belowground when I was still at my most hungry and growing. Could I wait until that coming "stable" time? Could I push things back just a little... wait until farther into winter and maybe have Mourn teleport us to the portal to the Underdark rather than tramping through the snow.

Shyntre's harsh, frightened face returned in answer, as did his voice saying that Auslan was somehow outside the City right now. The feeling of urgency deep down wouldn't go away. Goddess, I wanted just a little more information. Maybe I should ask Rennyn to let me outside of their protections again and maybe see if I could call Ta'suil...talk to him honestly. No masks or tricks.

Shit. There was absolutely no denying it. No matter what way I went about it, I needed help, all the help I could get. I needed to talk things over with Gavin and Mourn and Jael, plain and outright. I doubted any of the Wilder would leave the valley on a mission like this, but maybe they could help in other ways. Maybe Krithannia and Talov, too, though they'd be busy with Manalar and Isboern and the Guild.

I also remembered that even Tamuril had said she would be in the forest near Sarilis's Tower waiting for me to keep my word about doing away with that necromancer. I wondered who else might be able to help. Deshi, maybe? Could Gavin contact him through the Maiden? If Sarilis might be surprised by what Gavin had become, maybe he'd be doubly caught off guard with a life-death hybrid like the Harrowed.

Many of them I couldn't or wouldn't take into the Underdark, but if there was anything else anyone knew or some practical thing or object they could offer me, at least to help assure Sarilis was taken down quickly, and maybe something I could take with me to use against the Valsharess if necessary... I would accept it with gratitude.

I made accidental eye contact with Rennyn, and he smiled at me in approval.

The night had started to change though the Sun would not show himself for another hour, maybe. Nonetheless a few of the early birds were singing and there was a certain gray and blue added to the black in the Sky. I had not really heard sign of Mourn for hours now; I had the impression that he had gone far to the other side of the valley. Maybe Jael had found him, maybe she was with him, but I would wait to see if she was back by Sunrise as she said. It wouldn't be a big deal if she wasn't; I wasn't her keeper.

I saw Gavin and Roh first— because Roh was so hard to miss when she was in the Sky— and I wondered what Gavin had planned for the day. The others noticed as well and waited for his arrival, though Gaelan understandably got closer to me and murmured, "What is that?"

"The Deathwalker's flying mount. He won her in a battle."

Or maybe more like he repaired her so she could fly again.

"Is it a featherless bird?" she asked. "Where do they live normally?"

"Normally, not here at all," I explained. "A beast from the Greylands. The battle we fought opened the gate to the nexus, and various things came through. Including her."

"Her," Gaelan repeated, squinting at Roh as she got near enough to make her customary, glide-down-and-quick-grapple landing to the side of the stone with a satisfied screech. 

My Sister winced at the sound, and I wasn't sure if she had noticed the rider yet. I could wait. This must be an Abyss of a thing to wake up to.

"Not a bird," she decided on her own, noting the details as Gavin climbed off and down, Furuc scaling partway up to spot him just in case he slipped...which only provided further motivation for my grey mage to keep his grip strong.

"Not really," I agreed. "Not a lizard, either. Not a bat. A mix of those, maybe."




Surfacing Ch. 28



Now Gaelan was focused on the hooded rider making his way down, waiting to see his face. Belatedly, I realized I never really told her what he was.

"He was Human," I leaned to her ear. "Now he looks like a Greylands native."

It was close enough for the time I had to prepare her, trying to suspend her expectations as quickly as possible. I'd almost forgotten how he would appear to others.

"And he's welcome here?" she asked. It had not taken her long to focus on the fact that he was the only non-Elf here.

"Yes," I said. Not much more to say on that. At least at the moment.

Gavin turned around from the cliff wall, his face still partially covered with his hood, and just as he got close enough for her to see in, her startled gasp and defensive posture slightly behind me coincided with Rennyn's greeting. I wasn't sure whether Gavin had picked up on both or not, but he looked at the Tilabil giving him a small bow.

*Good morning, Gavin. I trust you are rested?*

"As I still must be, it seems," he commented blandly.

"What, jealous of those who don't sleep every cycle?" I chuckled. Rennyn was certainly one of those, as was Mourn.

Gavin looked at me. "Envy can be useful. All the better to keep the goal in mind."

My necromancer was trying to figure out a way he could bypass sleep. Why was I not surprised? Even more, I almost believed he'd solve the puzzle, eventually.

"I know it is early," Gavin said, turning back to Rennyn, "but if Shunraeki would see me, I have some questions to ask her. She may also find your presence reassuring, as you can offer me insight on a possible solution."

The Tilabil nodded and swept his blue-green arm out toward the cave entrance. *Let us see if she will give us audience.*

I had no doubt they'd be in there for a while, and I almost asked to go but right then we received our second flying arrival. Even Gavin did not seem annoyed to pause and wait a few more moments. The Sun would be showing soon right behind a set of powerfully flapping wings that, at first glance, resembled a giant eagle with an equally giant fish clutched in its talons below it, weighing it down.

Then I realized it was Mourn gripping Jael by her wrists. He had lifted her off the ground by sheer strength, they were not gliding as Roh had been so they had to be coming from much closer than I realized. She had curled her legs up to keep from swinging to wildly and soon enough I heard her laughing as the half-blood clearly intended to drop her off on the shelf.

Right on time.

Without speaking we all made room, as none of us were sure exactly where or how Mourn was going to land, and at first he didn't.

"Now," he said as they passed overheard, and they both let go.

Jael dropped and rolled, needing the room we'd made but landing uninjured and springing to her feet with a happy, uninhibited squeal as Mourn kept going, banking to the right to turn around. Again, Roh squawked a territorial warning at him and he kept away without harrying the nervous beast. Still, he had to land.

His control wasn't perfect as he achieved a speed and angle which was manageable to get his bare feet on the ground and his wings down without thwapping anyone present upside the head. Iethys, Furuc, and Nioah all gave their own short cheer of applause and he grunted in thanks.

Mourn was breathing hard and I could tell he expended an incredible amount of physical energy since I had last seen him. His muscles were swollen and full of blood as they had been following any of our previous fights; they even twitched here and there. There was a weakness in his stance that simply implied that he had pushed himself as far as he could go and had enjoyed every minute of it. He was even smiling; that was nice to see.

Jael ran up to him and put her arms around his middle. "Oh my fucking goddess, we have to do that again!!"

"Soon," he agreed, still trying to catch his breath. He nodded. "We will."

Gaelan's mouth was sagging a bit looking at him, at them, and she ducked a bit more still behind me, looking between Gavin with the Tilabil, and Mourn with Jael. She may have had the briefest chance before, upon first waking, to see them all, but her naked panic had taken over and everyone but Shunraeki, Iethys, and Rennyn and been told to leave.

Now she could only stare and try to come to terms with what she was seeing. I couldn't really help her with that, but I was starting to see the benefits of being able to wait.

"Gavin," I said loud enough to gain his attention, just because I knew he'd go inside the cave in a moment without a second thought to anyone out here. 

He turned around. I stepped slightly to the side and presented with my hand. 

"Gaelan."

Neither of them knew what I expected them to do. Neither did I, except just some fucking acknowledgement.

The Deathwalker acquiesced to step a bit closer, looking her over as deliberately as if he was mentally undressing her—though his sight was probably going a bit deeper than skin. Clearly it creeped her out as she looked at me for direction.

"The holes are smoothed over," Gavin said with a nod, those inverted, icy-black eyes switching from Gaelan to me. "No differentiation. Whatever could mend, has."

Excellent diagnosis. I even caught Mourn nod once in acceptance, or resignation.

"What..." she croaked, then cleared her throat quickly. "Was it your doing, then?"

"A joint effort," Gavin replied, not responding to her wariness in any particular way. "Sirana desired it enough."

"And you make the effort to see to her desires?" she asked, and I got ready to smile at the joke.

He paused a moment to consider. "I suppose past actions would show that I do."

I blinked, not expecting that answer. At least not as some curious admission or realization such as it was.

"Why?" she asked bluntly. "Why have you traveled with her so long? Why help her to bring me back?"

Gavin looked like he might have wanted a staff for something to hold onto at the moment, just as something for his hands to do. Pondering social behaviors was probably a bit more difficult for him than solving necromantic challenges. At least he proved in his answer that he understood she was inviting insight on his link with me.

"I could take a solitary path and it would not disturb me," he said. "I could study what I wish, make my own design, but it would take much longer to gain what I seek. She possesses an unflagging drive and pulls me along in its wake, for I would never have found those rare individuals I have in so few months or have the connections I now do without aiding her. This benefits my Lady first, and myself as well."

Gaelan nodded like she wasn't surprised. "So, you helped her with me just to keep her happy?"

The grey mage tilted his head slightly. "I do not lend aid because of a fleeting state of mind. It passes, as all things will."

"Desire is fleeting," I commented.

He looked at me. "Not when the object of that desire is on a far horizon, only within reach with continued effort."

That was almost a tart retort. He would know, though; Nyx often stood with a horizon behind her.

"A bargain, then," Gaelan insisted, and again I started to nod in agreement.

"A starting point," he returned as quickly. "I forget a bargain made for bread once I've finished my breakfast. All things considered it is no longer any surprise to me the consequences of allying with Sirana are somewhat more far-reaching. I might expect you have already learned the same."

My older Sister didn't have a reply ready, and Gavin took the opportunity to turn around and start walking toward the cave's entrance, where Rennyn patiently waited.

*Ooookay,* I thought. That was interesting; I hadn't realized he saw things that way. After he was out of sight, I asked her, "Satisfied?"

Gaelan nodded hesitantly, dropping into Drow. "Are all Humans like this? He doesn't act like one less than a century old."

"Doesn't think like one, either," Jael offered, crossing her arms with a smirk.

"Not even close," I answered. "I've even wondered exactly how much time he's spent in the Greylands with Nyx the last two times he's died."

Gaelan's eyes widened. "Two times?"

"Well, his thing *is* death magic," Jael said, not changing her body language. She was enjoying being the one with more information for once.

Gaelan hummed, we paused again, and she was now out of excuses to keep ignoring Mourn, who observed but offered nothing so far to the conversation.

I touched her elbow to turn her slightly. "And...this is Mourn."

She would raise her eyes only slowly, looking over him not unlike how Gavin had looked over her, maybe seeing his aura as well as his body and wings. She blinked like the Sun was too bright already, though it was only just showing. She swallowed.

"Thank you for bringing me here," she said, first thing, "I am glad to be alive."

Though she would not get even half a step closer to him. She was either intimidated or it was something else she sensed about him. Or both.

I looked at the hybrid directly, expectantly. So now he had to give me some idea what he thought about all this, never mind Furuc's excuses on his behalf.

"You're welcome," his voice rumbled, his expression stoic. "And you are very lucky. Please honor my friend's life by knowing your own worth. Sirana will need all the help you can offer her."

********

That day saw the beginning of our training, such as it was. I wasn't entirely sure how Rennyn divided his time and attention so skillfully between us...at least in that nobody became outwardly impatient or resentful when another had his attention—or even inwardly, if everyone else felt as I did—and each was willing to wait their turn. It was as if Rennyn's presence, despite our mutual desire for his attention, made conflict seem a pointless waste, even though I knew and would never argue otherwise that conflict was necessary many parts of living.

*I agree, daughter,* he said when I made that observation. *But I am here for the time needed, no more, no less. There is no need to fight over it, only trust that there will be enough for all.*

Anyone else, and I would have said they were using a will spell of some kind to make everyone act outside their nature. But maybe it was that word that hung in the air: trust. I couldn't help but trust that he was telling the truth.

Rennyn was still very much in demand, though, and I would have said it seemed to give him joy without power, not as a god or a ruler but as someone who would let the youngest, mobile Wilder crawl up and over his shoulders and back as if he was an intriguing cliff face. And he would laugh. That same small toddler, not the wolf pup but one whose totem had not yet manifested itself, managed a leap from Rennyn to Mourn's shoulders, balancing exceedingly well for one so young.

"Ah, another climber," Mourn said, turning back his ears and reaching to detach her just as the small, brown child got hold of his banded queue.

"Mori!" she cried, reaching out her tiny hands, demanding to play.

"When you're a little bigger," he replied and handed her back to her mother, who smiled familiarly at the mercenary and nodded her head in thanks.

"That reminds me," Jael said. "Where did 'Morix' come from? A nickname on your To'vah one, right?"

He nodded. "It was as well as a small Elf can say in hearing it the first time." 

The hybrid pointed toward one of the adult Elves sitting on a low, thick oak branch with a few others, his tanned legs crossed at the ankles and swinging back and forth.

"It's that one's fault."

A rather striking set of river-blue eyes framed by copper hair went wide as the Wilder put a hand to his chest. "What I do??"

Mourn grinned. "I'm told I have too many names."

The Wilder wrinkled his nose. "Pfft! Say who? Long history of Dragonbloods given names without number! Makes it hard to tell who belongs in what story."

"And this is a good thing?" Jael asked with a raised brow.

"Of course! Dragonbloods always in hiding in the stories."

"That's interesting," Gavin said suddenly before I had the chance, startling several Wilder as he'd been so far behind me it was easy to forget he was there. "Why is that?"

The unnamed male looked surprised, then hesitant and looked to Rennyn for guidance, who merely lifted his hand before going back to playing some hand-clapping game with the wolf pup-Elf.

*You brought it up, Tylen,* the Tilabil said without moving his lips, and Mourn's tail flicked a little bit but he waited.

As Tylen decided how to tell his version of an apparent favorite story, I realized this particular male was older than Shyntre, who was doubly older than me. It reminded me just how long Mourn had been coming here if Tylen was one of the first children he'd "chased" and who'd coined his name "Morix" around here. But it was also interesting to reflect that Tylen seemed far less...age-worn than my wizard. Or maybe even me. His three hundred years hadn't been nearly as harsh.

"Dragonbloods all have same interest in rare metal and stones, pulled from deep down and polished to great beauty and possibly to great magic," Tylen said. "They get this from To'vah blood, but their other side make them more predictable to some others. Many stories of weapons and magical items being taken by Dragonbloods but much confusion who has, or had, what. Protects their hoard."

"And how many Dragonbloods are we saying are stealing valuables around the Surface at any one time?" I asked. 

Iethys had said Mourn was "unique." That is a one-of-a-kin word, unless she had used it incorrectly.

Tylen again shrugged and laughed. "We don't know! Too many names!"

I made a face and looked to Mourn. "Not a very satisfying ending. Anything you want to add?"

Mourn's tail flicked again as he considered.

"Come on," I coaxed. "What would you do if you ever met another half-Dragon?"

His ears turned back. He admitted, "Dragonbloods are likely to try and kill the other if they meet in the same territory."

"How do you know?" Jael demanded. "Have you met one?"

"Two," he amended. "The last one was half-Human. Entered Augran about seventy years ago. He's dead."

Both my Sisters and I stared in some alarm. The idea of others sired by Dragons hadn't been made real until just now, and they were killing each other?

"Did he try to kill you or just defended against your attack when you found him in your territory?" I asked.

Mourn frowned, his tail drawing a strong S-curve. "It was not coincidence he was in Augran, Sirana. He had heard of me first, made connections from rumors, probably. He was after my hoard."

"Would steal from each other like chipmunks," Tylen interjected with humorous glee and Mourn gave him a sardonic eyebrow but didn't protest the comparison.

Jael was snickering. "So that was the last one. What about the first one?"

The hybrid grunted and the grimly mocking look moved to the rest of his face. "The previous Guildmaster in Augran. Also half Human."

That was interesting. I crossed my arms and shifted my stance. "You didn't form the Guild out of nothing."

"No. I did change the purpose."

"What, the previous half-blood had less foresight?"

"Correct. He only used it to find and obtain rare objects and live in luxury with females serving him. He also didn't have Krithannia, Talov, and Graul when it came time to defend what he had."

I couldn't help but smile, having this glimpse into his past. What stories could I get from the dark-haired Noldor and the old dwarf later, I wondered?

"Hm. Heard of any others?" Gavin asked.

Mourn tilted a smile at him. "Not confirmed."

I looked over at ever-peaceful Rennyn. I wanted to test.

"Anything wrong with Dragon sons killing each other for treasure or are you just glad the Elf-blood has won both times?"

*So must it be,* Rennyn replied, not really answering my question. *Dragonbloods are born powerful but slower to find the wisdom of either parent by their conflicting nature. May the wisest one hold on to his hoard.*

That was the oddest statement he'd ever said, and the ancient one had said some head-scratchers thus far.

"What do you care about Mourn having enough jewels and coins to make him wealthy?" I asked.

*I do not,* Rennyn said plainly. *But Dragonbloods need a hoard. They must have one. Moryxxyleth follows his blood.* Now the Tilabil smiled, his blind, golden eyes encompassing us all and I forgot my next question. *His wisdom has reached a level any Father would be proud. That Jael comes to him now is proof he is ready.*

My younger Sister squirmed a little at this, but with a small, excited smile rather than the anxious frown from before.

"Indeed. Not so wise, once?" Gavin asked, quietly trying to keep the conversation going.

*If you refer to the creation of the Human's Witch Hunters at Manalar,* the Tilabil answered with a nod. *He has shown great diligence in seeing them stripped of power and the sacred pool transformed through a hopeful rebirth. This is one reason I am here.*

We looked at each other, all except Mourn who stood now with a very straight back, his chin up, his attention fixed on Rennyn. It was as if he'd been waiting for the ancient Elf to say something like this.

"Um, it is?" I asked. "How so?"

*Moryxxyleth has earned back his Baenar master's blades and will now be able to begin teaching Jael.* Rennyn kissed the forehead of the third child he'd held in his lap and set him down to stand up. *Sirana, Gaelan, Gavin, come with us if you will. We will move to the grove. You may stand as witness.*

******** 

We were shushed of any further questions until we were in the proper place. That "proper place" ended up being, once again, just inside the giant ring of trees onto the way of elemental peace. Unsurprisingly, the guiding siblings and the storyweaver met us there.

We were barefoot with toes wiggling pleasurably in the grass, and this was the first time Gaelan was seeing it for herself and so she took her time to absorb the wonder, as we had. I was still allowed my spiders at my nape, as we were all encouraged to bring all our weapons for this, and we waited for what would happen next.

"Wait here, please," Rennyn said, and he vanished.

I didn't expect him to be gone long but I still asked, "Why is there never any sound or light or anything when he does that?" 

Iethys smiled at me, but looked to her brother. Furuc answered for her, probably because he could put a finer point on it. 

"Why would there be when there's no spell to cast?"

I wasn't entirely surprised, but I exchanged glances with my Sisters first then decided to focus on Gavin's response rather than Mourn's. The grey mage had probably already considered and set aside three different theories in the time it took Rennyn to come back.

The Tilabil held a small box made of a dark, reddish wood, polished to a gloss but very simple otherwise. I noticed that the hypnotic, ever shifting color of his skin swirled just a little faster with his hands on the box.

*I do not favor long speeches,* he began, *but as you know we enjoy stories, and our son deserves to hear acknowledgement of how far he's come. His allies should be aware of the significance of this moment to him if they intend to remain at his side.*

We all nodded, probably trying not to seem too eager. Mourn took it upon himself to drop to one knee so that he was no longer towering over the rest of us. His tail was still as it curled to rest around him in a small, not quite complete circle. He wore his harness, his sliders, all his weapons. He waited with his forearm braced on his thigh, somehow a sign for the rest of us to get comfortable in our stances. At ease.

*Moryxxyleth was taught Blade Song by the last remaining Grandmaster among the Baenari. This is an art and a magical discipline which has never been common and cannot be taught en masse, but only one master to one apprentice for many years. During that time, the master cannot shift focus to another apprentice if the first is to achieve their own mastery. Assuming the master keeps their focus on their pupil, it is then up to the apprentice to achieve their potential.*




Surfacing Ch. 28



The Tilabil paused as if inviting questions...so I took it.

"You said there was only one left among the Drow," I said, and Rennyn shifted his attention to me, encouraging. "Are there any left among the Noldor?"

Rennyn shook his head, answering me plainly. *Their path led them to shed lengthy weapons training quickly. The Baenari held on longer, and still do, but the Spider Goddess and their Queen have no patience to invest in such long, unflagging focus.*

"How long?" Jael asked Mourn.

"All the time I was with my mother's family," he answered.

So...about a century plus a decade, from what I recalled from his memories.

"That doesn't seem so long," I said.

*Correct,* Rennyn picked up. *Elves will take two hundred years or more for normal blades, longer with something like the sliders favored by our son's Grandmaster. This is where the Dragonbloods show their power early on, though it is never backed with the wisdom of their elders. Whether Moryxxyleth's Grandmaster knew this or not, he did not have the time remaining to withhold the final transference, else the skill disappear from the Underdark entirely.*

We waited. And the "final transference" was...?

*To learn how to make their own blade,* the Tilabil said, *and in our son's case, to inherit the Grandmaster's blade as well.*

I wasn't the only one to look carefully at the sliders on Mourn's back, and both he and Rennyn smiled while Iethys and Nioah shared a private, amused look as Furuc crossed his arms and smirked. I didn't know was so funny, but other than the weapons being unusual, they didn't look like anything nearly as special or even as old as the double-blade on Jael's back which he was "loaning" her from his hoard.

*Those are not his first blades, his master's and the one he made in the Underdark,* Rennyn finally explained. *Those are the ones developed as his Guild first gained power, as we asked that he surrender his first set until the Witch Hunters had seen their time come to an end.*

I thought back to the fire story, the first one of Mourn leaving Krithannia and Talov in great anger and frustration as the theocracy of Manalar and the rise of the Witch Hunters gained momentum. Other than slaughtering them all, just as he had done to the previous Lord's family which had allowed them to come to being the first place, he could do nothing about it. He ran North and found the great Dire Bear mad with the infection of Chaos and he attacked, let out all his remaining anger, defeated it only with crippling injury to himself.

But maybe the half-blood had deserved it, Mourn had thought at the time. Such use of his power upon first gaining the Guild at the death of another half-Dragon, and he had disrupted the Human worlds between Augran and Manalar by himself every bit as much as an entire Ma'ab army's victorious campaign.

*We met Moryxxyleth when the guiding siblings brought him to us,* Rennyn said. *We heard his story. We welcomed him. When every argument he presented for what he had done could not be laid to rest in his own mind, we offered him a solution: that he divest himself of the weapons and tactics given to him by his family and he rebuild them to be better suited to the challenges he had made for himself upon the surface of Miurag.*

The Tilabil finally bowed his head and opened the small, simple box. *As I said at the very first, there is no doubt, he has earned them back. So we present them to you, dear son, with trust and in support of your greater wisdom. May these return to the Baenari without the shadow of the Underdark clinging to everything they touch.*

It was still a grand speech, all things considered, and I heard the low, powerful double-lub of Mourn's heart as Rennyn open the box. Those of us standing "as witness" were a little confused...

There was only a set of wide-band charm bracelets inside, made of a smoke-black metal with minimal shine. They didn't even match. The charms were odd, angular shapes...

Mourn nodded his head at some subtle signal that I had missed and he slipped off the matching, gold rings he wore on the middle finger of each hand, placing them in Rennyn's open palm as he balanced the box in his other. Then the hybrid stripped off his harness and detached the sliders which had been in his possession from the moment I'd seen him dropping from the trees. The sliders he handed, level and with both hands, over to Furuc, the harness set aside for the moment on the grass.

No more grand words as Mourn reached to take the bracelets, and just as I wondered how in the Abyss he would get them over his big knuckles onto his wrists, I watched as the bracelets themselves adjusted as necessary, not only for him to be able to put them on but to close down just snug enough around his wrists where they wouldn't get caught on anything or slip up and down his forearms.

"Um, very nice?" Jael asked without actually asking.

"Would you like a demonstration?" Mourn asked.

"Yes, please," I said, just then noticing that the charms were specific, individual weapons...and it hit me.

*Oh fucking Hell.*

Mourn backed up, tail lashing excitedly, and turned so that he wasn't actually aiming at any of us when he suddenly had an enormous crossbow in his left hand, ready to fire, and a long dirk in the other. Next, he changed them—they just puffed out of sight and were replaced by a bladed polearm, shorter than those I'd seen before in Yong-wen but the same design, and a chain whip unlike either the Drow or Ma'ab design, but shiny and clean, without barbs or jagged hooks—only a biting point at the tip of the last link. 

Then with, at most, a flick of his tongue behind his teeth, as I couldn't hear any command or see a recognizable gesture, the polearm and whip disappeared and he the next moment gripped a long bow and quiver instead. The bow was sized for him; only an extremely strong arm could even pull it. Based on the fletches and length of the quiver, those were also the biggest arrows I'd ever seen and couldn't imagine being struck by one... impaled straight through and probably pinned to the stone!

Lastly, he shifted and called to him two sliders of similar size to the one's I'd known before, but the decoration of the hilts in the middle were beyond elegant, the folding shadow of the matte blades absolutely distinct and recognizable even at my first glance. These I could easily believe to be a "Grandmaster's" blade. Mourn tested the balance and moved them in a gentle spin without unlocking the hilts, the familiarity obvious. To say he was meeting old friends again was not an understatement.

*Oh, goddess...* 

He could change to all these weapons in an instant; they took up minimal weight and space, and he didn't have to show anyone he was carrying them. He must have been an angry terror when he was younger and first on the Surface, given something like this.

"What are their names?" Jael asked, and Mourn gave her a very generous smile at her insight, his dark wings expanding just a little before folding in closer.

"Heart's Twin and Fang," he answered, indicating the one that somehow *looked* older first and then the younger one second.

Another spin and twirl, and I knew I heard a subtle song just beginning. The people in Yong-wen would probably pass out at the end of a performance with these blades.

*Well met, once again,* Rennyn said, his smile joyous. *Now you have closed the distance and caught up to them, my son.*

"Thank you, Father," Mourn said, bowing his head, and I heard the distinct difference in the use of that word compared to when he said "my sire" and talking about Lethrix. I wondered if he had yet another tone he used when he mentioned his Drow Grandmaster.

And somehow the Valsharess had let that Grandmaster get away? How? When did the split happen? Nothing like this skill remained in our City...

*Jael,* Rennyn said then, drawing her attention from her unblinking stare at Mourn as he handed the empty box to Nioah. *Please hand your weapon to Iethys.*

"Mm," she grunted, hesitating though not needing to be asked a second time before she removed the double blade Mourn had "collected" from the Manalar crypt. Taking a step forward, she handed it out to the guiding sister.

*You agreed to learn a new way of fighting and defending,* he said to her. *Do you intend to stay committed to the path of Blade Song of the Baenari and as the apprentice of Moryxxyleth, a mage of the To'vah?*

She trembled as a feeling too large to hide passed through her, but she tried for a smile. "Yes. But...I-I'm not as serious as him."

Rennyn nodded. *There is more than one way, my daughter.*

"Then, yeah. I mean, yes, I agreed before but now I really mean it, I need to fight and defend, like you say, that's what I want to do," she babbled. Just a little. 

It was cute.

Rennyn smiled and nodded. "Then remove your gloves and offer me your hands, Jael.*

The youngest Red Sister tugged her hands bare, tucking the gloves at her belt and holding out both her hands. She wasn't sure at first whether they should be palm up or palm down but Rennyn reached out to gently turn them palm down. He bent to plant a light kiss on each, then slipped each of Mourn's golden rings onto her hands, one on each middle finger. Like the bracelets, they shrunk down to her size until they were a perfect fit.

She stared at him, at them, in shock.

*Mourn lost his master too young,* Rennyn said. *May you both remain to gain the wisdom of the Tilabil though a full turn of the Stars.*

Her tremors got more noticeable once again. "You really think I can do this?"

I wasn't quite sure who she was asking, but I said, "What else are you going to do? Say no and go make a cozy shed somewhere to sit in and count the Sunsets?"

She gave me a smirking, suddenly-randy, "Gonna beat your cunt when we're alone" look that made me chuckle.

"Coefe," Mourn said abruptly, and she blinked at him in confusion before it sank in that it was the command word.

She reached out both her hands a little tentatively, but managed to sound confident enough when she repeated the word, "Coefe," and Mourn's giant sliders lifted from Furuc's hands and came to hers, the hilts settling in with a solid thump. 

She jolted in surprise at the weight and muttered, "Fuck!" before Rennyn stepped forward to gently close his hands over hers.

As we watched, the set of sliders Mourn had made on the Surface grew smaller, shrinking down like the rings on her fingers until they were the perfect length for her. A small squeak of delight escaped my youngest Sister, as she was clearly much happier about the weight and balance now.

*We will begin training today,* Rennyn said, sharing a nodding look with Mourn before looking directly at Gaelan and myself. *You must be prepared for many things before you leave here.*

My older Sister looked perturbed. "I doubt there's much you can train us on that could compare to this." She nodded toward Mourn and Jael.

*We will train your strengths, nothing more,* Rennyn said kindly, looking to Iethys, who nodded.

"We know Air element magic, Gaelan," the shamaness said with a lovely smile, and I thought her red hawk's eyes comforted the young Drow mage. "You will show talent here, we start here, you and I."

Gaelan didn't question this though she may have wanted to. She glanced briefly toward Mourn, cautiously, and nodded acceptance. Maybe his words about honoring Graul by knowing her own worth had stuck in her head.

"And Sirana?" she asked on my behalf.

I blinked. *Ohhhh, right...*

I hadn't told her yet.

"I'll be practicing my psionics," I said, trying to sound confident and casual, but not *too* casual.

"Your...what?" She turned to stare at me.

I pursed my lips and pulled out my sapphire. Shyntre's sapphire, once upon a time. "Remember this?"

Gaelan focused on it and nodded. "Of course." Then something else struck her and she gasped. "Yes! At the debriefing, D'Shea said it was useless to any Drow but you. She said it absorbs arcane magic...?"

"Not much, just enough for me to use another way when I need a boost," I said, thinking over how there was more than enough magic to go around no matter what had been going on. If any particular mage had noticed the effect, no one had complained to me about it. 

"How?" Gaelan asked bluntly, crossing her arms.

"My trial in the wilderness," I said. "Lolth's Threshold, the after effects...?"

Again, Gaelan was the only one here who didn't need that explained; she had been there. She nodded.

"Combined with the death throes of an active psionic when I was mindlinked to him at the same time..."

She worked to think back. "Before I caught you attacking the Consort."

"Way before. A couple cycles, as I made my way back."

"Not an Illithid."

"Wouldn't be here now if it was. A Duergar. His name was Kain."

She gave me an odd look at that detail, but declared, "D'Shea knew."

"She did. Rausery, too. Not the Prime."

"Fuck."

She was right; her expression said it all. Maybe it wasn't just me then to think about D'Shea and Rausery each choosing to keep certain things from the Prime, or at least "delaying" their reporting, it made me think they had a similar goal in mind. I hoped so. If they didn't, then it wasn't good for the Sisterhood.

"And now?" she asked.

"I need to practice. I haven't been, not even using it unless I needed it in the moment or it just came on me."

"Why not?"

As she said it, I could sense her thoughts; my Sister was trying to figure out just what I could do that was like a grey dwarf, trying to figure if she had ever seen any hints before, and right then it dawned on her what that could mean among the Games of the Drow. It would change everything. 

I indicated her face. "Because of paranoid looks like that. It would mean admitting I wasn't a pure Drow anymore. That I was something everyone feared and distrusted even more than mages. And I don't know how this will affect my baby, either, if he is even 'pure Drow' at all."

Gaelan's face unexpectedly crumbled and the empathy was clear. 

"Oh. Oh, well..." 

She looked toward the Tilabil and the Wilder and back to me. She could only shrug with a small, self-deprecating smile. "I see. Me, neither, I guess. I'm not pure Drow... but I'm here with you."

"As are we," Mourn rumbled, and Jael grinned as she tested a blade twirl like his.

"Fuck, yes," my little Sister said.

********

Rennyn and Iethys would each gave us their time, their insight, and something to do when they were not directly facing one of us—some mental or physical task or challenge, so that not anyone of us would spend any time loitering those first few days.

"You will be fatigued the first day but it will get better," we were told.

Gavin seemed oddly amused at first, and I caught him just before he excused himself.

"Some methods of teaching seem universal, that's all," he said, looking over his shoulder and his eyes seeming to see something that wasn't there. "I shall return to Shunraeki for the time being. Spectators are not usually helpful to novices."

I frowned—okay, pouted—but let him leave. None of us were really novices in anything; all of us had some notable level of skill, if not a mastery. I wondered whether the Deathwalker meant closer to seeing us able to work together using newly discovered strengths. At least that's what I could finally envision for us, and I already knew that if I could see it in my mind, I could make it happen.

That concept ended up being at once very literal yet so abstract in some very new ways within the Wilder valley and the Tilabil's grove.

First I was asked to find that "quiet spot" within the grove and "decorate it," while Rennyn took Mourn and Jael elsewhere, and Iethys offered a guiding arm to Gaelan, drawing her along. Furuc and Nioah also excused themselves. It was surprisingly easy without anyone around, even as I expected my own thoughts to become too loud without any distractions to quiet them.

*Decorate it. Heh.*

The quiet place started out gray and misty, kind of like the grove and a bit of the Greylands, but I recalled how Isboern kept the things dear to him within that place. Each of the Godblood's details had symbolized a stable home and hearth, family he wanted to see again, and basic, uncomplicated work which would nonetheless inevitably build a subtle and complex community.

What about me? What I would do to personalize this state of being?

When next I opened my mind's eye, a bed had appeared. At first glance someone might've called it fancy, the repose of the wealthy with four posts and a canopy overhead and a stark contrast to the rustic, square wood and logs lashed together to form Isboern's bed. I admired the beauty, I couldn't really help it, I was an Elf. The curves of the smooth metal calmed me and simultaneously posed suggestions, and the quality of the craftsmanship went beyond what most Humans might consider good enough.

I could have the wildest, roughest sex on this bed and it wouldn't break. If anyone else watched—be it through scrying spell or through a crack in the door or hole in the wall—the bed would complement the Elves within it, or hanging from it, or tied to it...

I noticed then, placed directly in the middle of the white, spider-silk spread, was a female's pleasuring toy: a rounded, extremely firm pillow with a flat underside, covered tightly in leather. It was the right width for straddling, and perched on top was a smooth, straight phallus which I knew vibrated with a magical word. 

This was something I had always wanted to try, but only the older females at Court could really get away with using this in their leisure, not caring enough to justify why they couldn't get a male to lie down for them. They were bored, or something. It was very competitive for the young female Nobles, counting how many dicks you could get upright and in you. Any female as young as I was didn't have the excuse to be riding a disembodied cock alone.

Yet sometimes—not preferentially, but sometimes!—I had just wanted to take my time and pleasure myself. Take the cycle, if possible, and not have to have someone staring up at me, waiting, maybe have someone to fight, maybe have to watch over my shoulder for someone arriving behind... 

I sighed, looking over the details of the bed.

So this was me, hm? My decoration of choice.

Well. It was only my first piece. I could always add others.

Smiling, I got off of my knees and approached the bed, climbing onto the central smoothness of it and leaning down to test the phallus with my mouth, moistening it up at the same time. It was not a Feldeu, nothing that was the right temperature or felt so soft-skinned and real. However, it was well-made, a combination of flawless glass wrapped in tight, butter-soft leather. 

There were also incredibly comforting ridges curving at the base of the phallus—both sides so it didn't matter which way I faced—against which to grind myself like some kind of weird tongue. Clit or ass, when I thought about it. I looked for the phonetic tag that would give me the command word, hopefully something basic, and I saw three. I did recognize them; not command words but runes I should touch to activate. Even better.

One for vibrate, touch once for slow, twice for faster. There was also one for larger, and one for smaller.

*Mm. Yummy.*

I didn't have reason to wait. I threw my leg over the toy and I got myself seated, the phallus soon penetrating and lodged into place with a hum, followed by my first touch— once—to start the slow vibration.

I discovered my patience for that slow climb could be endless here. It felt so good, so leisurely as I took my time moving on the thing, swiveling my hips, bracing myself to thrust up and down on it, clenching up and moving back and forth along the ridges, forward and back, my chin tilted up, eyes closed...




Surfacing Ch. 28



*Oh, goddess...*

I used the rune for "larger," just for amusement and to feel stretching as I sat still for a while, though I soon brought the size back down to a natural level so I could move easily and with pleasure once again. In fact, I wondered how small the phallus would get if I kept tapping the rune—would it be so that it would go away entirely and it would be like grinding against another female?

I gave it a try, and while it did shrink a bit more, it didn't disappear entirely and then—confusingly—I surprised myself in my own quiet place by missing my aim and hitting the "larger" and "smaller" runes at the same time.

One of the soft ridges behind me grew quickly, like a thin mushroom stalk, and pierced my netherhole in one go, right between my spread ass cheeks.

*OH!!*

I paused, my heart pounding in my ears, then moved with familiarity.

*...Oh, yes!*

Goddess, when was the last time I was fucked in the ass? 

I became so randy so quickly, I was bouncing without a care that my pregnancy-swollen breasts protested my vigor. Then I shifted to a pure grind, loving the feeling of the back-door phallus dragging itself out of my ass before I pressed myself back onto it, my pussy clenching and holding the base of the bigger one in the middle.

*Soon...soon...oh!*

And only then—out of habit, maybe—did I wish someone was watching me, becoming aroused by me, and I wished it would be enough to prompt them to touch me somehow...

Just some real, tactile sensation to hurl me over the edge right as I rode this toy to within a sliver of its resilience—

Someone kissed me, flicking their tongue against my lips, sucking on my lips with a moan.

And I exploded.

*AH! Ah! Oh, goddess, ERGH!!*

My quiet place didn't gain much color or detail at all when I blacked out for a few moments. I returned to consciousness soon after, boneless and relaxed, aware that I gasped for breath and was slumped against someone holding me upright—otherwise I would've been flat on my face. My cheek wasn't pressed to a bare chest, there was a cloth, so I instantly threw out Mourn and Furuc. That chest and accompanying scent was just soft enough to make me think it was one of my Sisters rather than Rennyn—

Except those were tanned, muscular arms in a sleeveless tunic.

"Nioah," I croaked, trying to straighten and hold myself up but I was still bafflingly weak at the moment. The audible grumble and accompanying cramp in my empty belly told me exactly why.

The storyweaver adjusted hir grip to straighten me up and held me more securely so we were face-to-face. Hijr was trembling, heart thudding against mine, and I stared at the lovely, handsome face and mismatched, earth-colored eyes.

"It was time for you to eat," hijr said, voice quivering a little. "My apologies for interrupting."

I was sure I looked baffled, though the mention of food made me grateful that hijr cared enough to keep track. "How did you interrupt me, exactly?"

"You put yourself in a sexual trance," Nioah answered, "I understand. I've...been in such before. Staving off orgasm for hours, a full day, even, until it is... glorious." Hijr smiled at me. "You needed to be brought out, however, so I...helped you. I hope you will forgive me."

I became aware of a moist, musky scent that definitely wasn't mine rising to my nose—even this reminded me of both male and female crotches against which I had pressed my face and mouth before. 

Moving my hips, I felt my pants had been loosened enough for a hand to get down the front. Or maybe more the back. Other than my satisfied cunt drooling plenty in the crotch of my leathers, I couldn't tell at first if I'd had fingers inside it or not. I *could* tell that fingers had recently been inside my ass, lubed slick with my own juice. I guess that answered both questions.

It was a damned good cum; that was for sure.

"Did you climax?" I asked abruptly, and Nioah actually turned a shade darker.

Hijr nodded modestly. "I did. When you did. I can say... it was extraordinary, psion."

I laughed, feeling much better hearing that, leaning for a kiss to assure myself this had been the same Elf who had kissed me in my "trance."

Oh yes. It definitely was.

"Forgiven."

"Thank you." Nioah grinned, patting my rump through my loose pants. "Come eat. The Tilabil will be back for you soon."

Nioah and Furuc both ended up being our "practical" planners, making sure food, water, tools, components and supplies were at hand for all six of us, though neither needed to "wake me up" with an orgasm again—alas—but at least the next time with one of them would be while I was fully awake. 

The brother and the storyteller were tireless in their show of support, something that had made myself and my Sisters uncomfortable at one point, when we were finally in the same spot to compare notes, as we wondered how two such high-ranking Wilder could be content with these most menial tasks. 

They weren't even asked to do this by Rennyn or Iethys, as far as I knew, they just did it. We always needed what they brought us so none of us cared to protest, but the truth was that I just could not imagine anyone in a powerful leadership position back home doing what they were doing and asking nothing in exchange. Nothing that I knew about, anyway.

While Mourn and Jael no doubt had a head-start, Rennyn had to start with basics with me. He asked me many questions about the trance I had "called to my own," and the details within. I told him everything. 

He asked what I thought I'd learned from Isboern, what I thought of the symbols within the various quiet places. He even showed me one of his own "quiet places" and I was glad to see that it included a whole bunch of Stars, though it also had drapery of green vegetation and steaming water cooling down molten hot metal. I smelled again those broad blends of growth and decay, scarcity and plenty, life and death.

"Good," he said with a nod. "This is good. Your clarity of vision is your own, as it always has been. You will not lose that. Next we must determine what strengths the others inside hold apart from you for the time being."

"The others," I repeated.

"Ullipmious and Kain, as well as Kerse."

My nose wrinkled. Joy.

Rennyn chuckled. "But not right this moment. We will wait until they manifest themselves another way first."

I blinked. Another way?

He didn't answer. The Tilabil had more things for me to try, not the least of which included balancing as long as I could on one foot and holding that quiet place in mind at the same time—no sex toys, he was specific to say.

"Add a balance pad to your space and face away from the bed."

It was not nearly as much fun. 

As I was holding that position so long in the mist, I detected short glimpses of things within that grove: Jael practicing a "kata" with a locked slider and a brief look at Mourn flying overhead. At times I wasn't completely sure if I was actually seeing it, if my eyes were open, if I was just imagining it like I had the toy to pass the time. Furuc and Nioah remained nearby to one of us, not usually together, always taking turns, and I would smell them from time to time. 

One time as Iethys thanked Furuc for bringing the spell components and some water, I caught Gaelan sneaking a look at the brother's body, or his body language. It was similar to how he looked at her when she was first dressing herself in Wilder leathers.

*What is it you like, Sister?* I asked, and it seemed I got a silent answer.

*The discipline. The cleanliness and the straight back. Protector.*

Well, I supposed that the Sisterhood might have been responsible for that -

No.

I concentrated, gently following that thread to see where it led me.

It wasn't the Sisterhood. Gaelan had always liked the male guards of the City in their uniforms, their cleanliness, their straight backs. As a merchant with few prospects outside of her own class, she had selected Natia's sire on fairly simple criteria: she liked his looks and his self-control. Beyond that, she had even allowed him to take control of the encounter as they tried to conceive...and he never abused the opportunity. Self-control. Stronger than hers but not outwardly aggressive.

The only comfort she had now from her choice: he was enough of a protector by nature that maybe he would help keep Natia safe.

Until her mother could come back to get her.

My heart thudded steadily in my ears and I smiled, standing on one leg.

When Gaelan came back for a third time with Iethys, I could see she and I really needed a break. And a meal. She looked so flushed and excited and tired, eyes glittering with new insight and knowledge, and she wanted to tell me some about it. I'd definitely listen.

Then I wanted to fuck her. Bad.

"She's right," Gaelan said, tearing off a dense piece of stone-baked bread Furuc had brought. "The air element spells are coming to me like she's just reminding me. I-I'm pretty sure that wasn't there before...but D'Shea never found anything like that to focus on with me." 

I glanced up at Furuc, who kneeled silent nearby; Gaelan didn't look at him to suggest he leave, she just kept talking, nibbling. 

"Not that she tried very hard. Or not that I tried. I didn't want to be there at first, I was only alive in the Sisterhood because I didn't want to die and D'Shea claimed I could earn visits with my daughter."

"Did you ever?" I asked, chewing my own meal.

Her mouth twisted. "A few from afar. Not enough to really see her face, or know how she was doing."

This actually helped explain to me how she was on the bottom rung for five years without dominating anyone else, newest Sister or not—she'd never had the desire. There is something else more important to her, and she didn't care as much as I had how often she was overtaken. Her initial dominance over me had been circumstantial...as well as her focusing on something besides missing Natia: overcoming her fear and wariness of me.

We had both known, even at the time, it wouldn't last.

Again I looked at Furuc, trying to read him. When he looked back at me, accepting whatever challenge I wanted to present, I asked outright. "You keep watching her. You like her, right?"

If Gaelan had been pale like Tamuril, she would have blushed bright pink, glancing again at the larger, reddish-brown male.

The brother smiled slowly at me, then chuckled, shaking his head. "Ah, Sirana. I do like her, and I do find irony that I had been ready to kill her when she was first brought into my home. I have changed my mind and I'm glad Iethys argued with me." 

Furuc nodded to her next. "Gaelan, you look good in our clothing, and you more than any of the Drow sound like the Wilder at heart, listening to you for the last few days. You want to build family and protect it, not work to destroy the lives of others, to gain from their misfortune. Adding Graul's essence to what was already there, and this has created a much stronger Elf who knows herself better, at last, what she has always been."

A small shiver went through my older Sister, hearing him talk to her like that, compliment her on what had always been her "weaknesses" to everyone else. He accepted her. I dared to think that she had always wanted to find a male like this one among our own, and Treyl might've been the closest she could find at the time.

The fact that her lower lip quivered beyond her conscious control should have been a signal to the Wilder, but he obviously needed the hint. I abruptly and eagerly set my food aside for now and rocked forward onto my knees, leaning in to kiss that quivering lip, capture it in a demand for submission.

She did; she didn't pull back from me but answered the kiss, the scent coming off her skin suddenly making my mouth water for more than a taste. She had not been aware for half of it, but she still hadn't had sex with anyone else since we left the training cave. It was possible she wanted it more than I did, but her whimper and the way she clutched me begged me to take the lead and to use her how I would.

I saw a brief memory: Treyl beneath her, impaling her cunt, and a second guard—Zauv. She did recall his name, at least—mounting her from behind, stretching her netherhole. She was mashed between the two males in a strikingly similar position to a definite favorite within the Sisterhood, and they had all the control as they fucked her. Even then, just as it would be later, she enjoyed being the submissive one, female or not. It had been her secret...

It was also how she'd conceived Natia. So much pleasure in the trying.

I pulled my mouth back and forcibly turned her shoulders toward Furuc. "Here, take her. Kiss her."

He raised one eyebrow at me at first, but finally saw and understood the expression on Gaelan's face and apparently decided not to miss this particular opportunity. He came up onto his knees as I was and took both sides of her face in his larger hands, covering her mouth in a gentle but very firm kiss. She slipped her arms around his neck and he straightened, pulling her up onto her knees and bringing her flush against his body, his strong arms holding her tightly against him.

I could see and feel the tremors as I got behind her and ground my crotch against her ass, as Furuc did the same from the front. We both started tugging at the strings holding her pants up and pushed them down only until they got caught on her wide hips and could get our hands inside. I gripped and squeezed her buttocks, kissing the back of her neck, while Furuc stroked her pussy, releasing her mouth to tilt his head and bite down gently on the muscle of her throat.

Gaelan cried out helplessly, giving in to us as she shivered uncontrollably, breathing so quickly. "Oohhh...! Goddess, yes, please...please...!"

Furuc slipped his hand beneath her shirt to grab one breast while I reached around the back for the other. I rolled and pinched her nipple with my fingertips while the male Wilder palmed her breast and closed his fingers down on her other nipple in a firm, unyielding hold. 

The contrast drove her crazy and she yelped and shrieked, her eyes squeezed tight as she pushed her partly-uncovered ass back against me, offering, before doing the same for Furuc, clinging to his front and rubbing her white, furry mound along the ridge in his pants. He groaned his appreciation and made eye contact with me over her shoulder, lightly licking her ear but silently asking me, "What next?"

He wasn't going to play tug of war for control, at least not at the moment. This wasn't a common experience for the serious, protective brother...but he liked it.

And he was willing to learn what *she* liked.

I grinned, hugely, and slid my hand up into Gaelan's hair at the base of her neck, closing my grip on it and pulling her head back to expose her throat to him again. She gasped in mock-fright, waiting to be taken and moaning softly when Furuc trailed light kisses along the curve.

"I want to see her lips wrapped around your hard prick," I said hotly. "She's a great cocksucker, I know. And while she's pleasuring you, I'm going to take down her pants and expose that ass and lick *every* fold and crease."

Gaelan squirmed in delight at my vulgar description, though it almost came across as resistance and Furuc needed the extra look at her face—the eagerness in her glazed, lusty eyes—to be convinced. He nodded silently, heat rolling off him and his pulse in his throat.

"On your back in the grass, show us what you have," I instructed, eager myself to see his erection in prime and ready form, considering it had already poked me in the back a couple times.

With neither hesitation nor false modesty, Furuc laid back and loosened his leather trousers before pushing them down over his hips. As he lifted his ass, Gaelan and I had the same thought and we each seized a pant leg and pulled, stripping him of his only covering. 

My sister stared not only at a proportionately appropriate erection for the largest pureblood male Elf we had ever seen, but she seemed equally fascinated with his legs and how muscular and angular they were, like he had the ability to run at grand speed for a very long time. I had seen Humans and Ma'ab both with similar form but they were also quite a bit hairier without having to go to "bear" form.

Then there was the fun detail that his nut sack was a much deeper brown than the rest of him, while his cock had deep red undertones compared to a Drow male's typical purple ones. Somehow it made me notice the red highlights in his hair even more.

"Like pure copper in a forge," Gaelan commented, her voice still shaking a bit as she crawled forward between his open thighs and reached to wrap ebony fingers around him.

He grunted in pleasure as she stroked him; maybe he tried to think of something to say, or maybe nothing occurred to him right then as he looked between us, trying to read what we intended next.

"Go on," I encouraged, "pink tongue out. Give it a long, lavish lick."

Gaelan giggled a bit at my description and did as I said, enjoying her first taste of cock in months... relishing it probably more than she had in years, if I were to ask her. Pre-Sisterhood time, maybe. She did not need further encouragement to close her mouth entirely over the head, and I watched her tongue work inside her cheeks as she swirled it around. Furuc still said no words but the subtle hitches in his breathing, the gasps and low rumbles, combined with his fingertips digging into the grass more than made up for it.

*Have a taste,* Gaelan signed to me down against his tanned thigh.

Oh, I supposed I could wait to attack her pussy.

We spread the guiding Brother's thighs wider to make room for both of us as I tilted my head underneath Gaelan's and caught my middle teeth gently at the base of his shaft. I held it like a mother cat transporting a kitten, flicking my tongue out at the same time for that ultimate contrast of hard and soft. 

As expected, he made a slightly concerned sound but relaxed when I took my teeth off and wrapped my lips around as much as I could from the side, only giving little nips with my front teeth from there. I next went down to tug at his scrotum with my lips before drawing in the tender ball to roll it around in my mouth. He did taste quite good, and my nose enjoyed his fragrance, a musk which blended with his home in that indefinable way. All the while, Gaelan kept sucking on the top half of his erection as his buttocks periodically clenched beneath him.

*Say something,* I suggested, feeling his balls draw up and nearly leave my mouth.

"Kol'tah raysh," he gasped, clearly enjoying what we were doing.

Good enough. Especially since Gaelan giggled again with her mouth full. I withdrew then, leaving her to it while I got to my knees behind her and jerked on her pants, using a bit more force than necessary to make her squeak, and bunching them down around her knees so she would be more restricted in her movement than Furuc and gave a satisfying slap to her naked ass.

She yelped around his dick, probably drawing cool air quickly along heated, wet flesh as Furuc widened eyes.

"Uh-uh, keep those lips closed," I said with glee. "Concentrate, Gaelan, no matter what I do."

I made certain that her concentration suffered. She struggled to service Furuc as I use every trick I knew to pull every reaction out of her for our entertainment. The Wilder brother did not complain as he watched in fascination and arousal, and it probably helped him hold off a bit longer that her efforts were frequently interrupted. 

He took it upon himself to loosen her hair out of its tie to let it down, running his comparatively darker fingers through her snow-white hair and opting to hold it out of the way for her as she sucked him—no doubt so he could still watch her work him.




Surfacing Ch. 28



Myself, I did notice that her scent and taste were just a little different as I slowly stripped her of boots and pants; it was hard to say how and I focused more on relearning it than resisting it. The other thing I noticed was how tight she seemed as I eased two fingers into her oozing, scalding slit. It reminded me of young Dandan in Yong-wen, the "virgin," and I hesitated, or at least slowed down when her toes curled and her thighs bunched with tension that bordered on discomfort.

Hm. Her ass might be this tight as well, or more, I would have to check with more than my tongue—

Then Furuc warned us that he wouldn't last much longer—he hadn't tugged on himself recently, I supposed—and they were barely words. "Ssss...ergh...soon—"

Gaelan nodded around his cock and sucked harder and faster, encouraging him to finish in her mouth. I agreed that would be a good thing eagerly watched for that moment of glory, my fingers still moving gently inside her and my other hand rubbing from her thigh and flank up to her breast, exploring at leisure as Furuc soared to climax.

That he first huffed a couple grunts and then growled in a fashion that did remind me of his totem was appropriate enough, though I did not know how the seed that he let loose inside my Sister's mouth compared. I also didn't care, as I got my wish and Gaelan wasn't able to swallow it all; a bit of the milky fluid dribbled out and coated her purplish lips before standing out on her dark chin.

Yummy.

I took her shoulders to straighten her up a bit and facer toward me where I kissed her lips and licked at that little bit of semen on her skin. She kissed me back with a moan, touching my waist lightly, her eyes closed, and I could only imagine what a whole mouthful of the stuff had been like. Hints of Surface spices and herbs within the musk, ones I had only caught whiffs of in Augran or within the forests. It suited him.

Furuc was watching us with great appreciation as his erection calmed down and he remained on his back, propped on his elbows. I could read this was not a view which was entirely new to him, our skin and hair colors notwithstanding, but he did not take it for granted either. We finished the kiss and I pulled her Wilder shirt up over her head, at last stripping Gaelan complete naked. Her nipples had hardened for us; her adorable tremble resumed as she waited for the next command.

I pushed at her back. "Here, lie belly down on him. Straddle him, keep it wide, I want access."

She obeyed, welcomed into a cuddle as Furuc accepted her weight upon him and wrapped his arms around her, stroking her back and her arms as he gave her slow, grateful kisses on lips, jaw, and neck, finger-combing her hair.

"You *are* talented at sucking cock," he murmured, and she made a very happy sound.

*Good boy,* I thought, getting myself in the position with a hand on each of her buttocks. He didn't say many words, but when he did, they were the ones she wanted to hear. Positive ones, not controlling. Interesting.

I focused on her back, purple bud now, swirling my tongue in circles before piercing her, rimming her and listening to her gasp as Furuc held her still and in position for me. She was incredibly aroused, not having cum yet, receptive, ready, probably aching...

And yet like her pussy, her asshole was indeed novice-tight. Not simply a matter of it having been a while for her, but whatever physical training had happened during the frequent use in the Sisterhood had been undone...

I was getting hot. I took a moment to pull off my own shirt, throwing it aside.

"Ohhhh," she shivered, thrusting her ass back at me as I resumed, "she's licking my dirty hole..."

She undulated against Furuc, who continually stroked her and kissed her. I could see it was affecting him, too, as he was recovering pretty fast.

Gaelan guided us for the next while as I pleasured her, tried to stretch her out a bit, and she swiveled her hips, encouraging the member between her legs to stand up again. It was working, and I even had the head of Furuc's cock bumping into my chin before long as I teased her back passage. I took a spare moment to suck on the tip, lather it with my tongue, while her slit lubricated his shaft.

*Almost ready...*

Gaelan surprised me when her patience snapped, punctuated with a needful cry. Her hand was suddenly there at the junction of their sexes as she lifted herself and reached down. She gripped him to press his cock into her, practically throwing herself backward. I barely had time to get out of the way as she penetrated herself deep and fast. And wide. 

"AUGH!" she cried in surprise, and I felt the brief flash of pain across her mind and she went still, baffled.

"Shh, shh," Furuc soothed, seeing the look on her face and gathering her close. "Too fast. Relax, hold still. It will pass."

He didn't thrust even once as she trembled for a different reason, and I kept my hands and tongue off her so as not to overstimulate at this point. He kissed her ear and shoulder, murmuring something in the Wilder tongue I didn't understand.

"I'm not a novice, I've had a child!" she protested, trying to control her upset.

"You've also been reborn," he said kindly. "Give it time, some things will come new again."

I noticed as her pussy clutched down experimentally on him and he made a small sound of pleasure, slowly rubbing her back. Not sure what else to do, I joined by gently massaging her lower back with my thumbs, not digging too deep but enough for her to feel it was me. She seemed to appreciate it. As none of us talked she did finally relax and reach a point where she could build her arousal once again.

She lifted herself off him slowly, dark outer lips framing both his large, copper-skinned member and her delicate, pink inner lips, and the pressed back down, her body swallowing him almost whole. Almost. I looked carefully, I couldn't help myself.

She wasn't bleeding, thank goddess. She'd been wet and aroused enough; my finger stretching at done some good, at least. The discomfort had probably come from the depth and width and, as Furuc had said, the speed.

She quickly got over it.

"Ohhh, Furuc," she moaned, gripping hard to his shoulders and riding with growing enthusiasm.

I decided to back out of the way, her pace was a too much for me to do a lot of focused playing, and the dynamic had shifted, I could feel it. For now, Gaelan wanted control over herself after being shaken like that. I took the opportunity to remove my boots and pants, finally naked as the two of them.

Furuc was watching Gaelan's breasts bounce as she fucked him, holding onto her thighs, but he caught me in his periphery and looked over at me. He made the attempt to reach out and brush my bare thigh with his fingertips, and I got closer so he could smooth his palm over it. It felt nice; he had strong hands. 

Gaelan looked over at me as well and smiled, leaning to kiss me, which I accepted, and I felt the Wilder hook his hand around the back of my thigh and tug it toward him.

*What—?*

"Sit on his face," Gaelan interpreted, looking even more excited.

I grinned back. I could do that.

Shifting to brace myself on his chest, easing my knee over so as not to clip his ear, I saw him smile at me just before I squatted over his face. Then his arms wrapped eagerly around my thighs to hold me in place and pull me down to his level as I felt his tongue swipe long and broad along my entire slit before catching my pouting lips to suck on them, massaging with his lips: over them and over my clit.

He was good.

"Ohhh, fuck," I groaned in relief, only now realizing how much I ached.

Gaelan grinned and leaned forward to kiss me as she pleasured practically her entire body with his. I chuckled as I enjoyed his service and thought about the fact that we had not been interrupted. Maybe part of Furuc's and Nioah's presence was to give us fuck breaks as well as meal breaks...

I heard a whisper suspiciously like both Iethys and Rennyn.

*If it is desired. It heals and rejuvenates us.*

*It keeps us healthy.*

Really. Well, Krithannia had advised me to get as much sex I could while pregnant with this baby...

Gaelan came at last with a loud, uninhibited cry, her purple nipples tight and hard almost to points, and I could smell the waft of her sex as her juices leaked out around Furuc's cock. He had slowed down on eating me as he felt her cunt ripple around him, grunting from beneath, his toes flexing, but he managed not to tip over the edge himself. I felt an accompanying flash of heat in my gut but I mostly just stared at her in that glorious, altered state, taking in every detail. She was even more beautiful now.

She pulled herself up and down more slowly, drawing out that last bit just a little more before sighing and contemplating Furuc's taut, well-defined abdominal muscles with her fingertips.

"Mm," she considered as Furuc listened, only occasionally tonguing me now, "if I was ready to try for second catch..."

I raised one eyebrow in a pleased smirk, biting my lip as he kept pleasuring me. Furuc as her next sire? Quite a compliment.

She trailed her finger along his stomach and he shivered. She sighed again, this time with a bit of lighter regret, as she pulled herself off him. His cock slapped wetly against his belly before she cradled it again, drawing on it with her hand to keep him hard.

"But you can't get Sirana pregnant again," she said, grinning at me while talking to him, his head still trapped between my thighs. "Please, fuck her and fill her with your cream so I can drink and suck every drop of it coming out of her cunt..."

Furuc froze a moment at her horny, nasty description—okay, so this was something a bit new to him—but I slapped my palm on that rock-hard middle and he grunted as he had before.

"You'll have to try a bit harder to pin me this time, bearskin."

He growled, and with a squeal of delight we both rolled off him, taking evasive action as he tried to seize my ankle and missed. Even with a growing belly I was fast enough to keep out of reach for long enough to give Gaelan a bit of a show—and to enjoy myself seeing his cock bobbing the way it was. 

Make no mistake, I did want to get caught, but I wasn't going to roll over for him.

He managed to anticipate one of my feints and hooked an arm around my ribs, spinning me around so I lost my footing and he let me roll on the grass so he could pounce, pushing me mostly onto my stomach and hooking an arm across my chest, gripping the opposite shoulder. His hot prick pressed against my haunches as he reached beneath me and lifted at my hips just enough to spear my sex.

"Fuck!" I gasped, pleased and groaning at the same time.

Using my momentary pause as I enjoyed his cock stretching me, Furuc lifted me higher onto my knees to get any pressure off my womb, holding himself stubbornly inside. Then he released his arm from across my chest and gripped my waist, fucking with the sole intent to cum, to spill his seed inside me. 

I was close to the edge myself, but I wanted to wait, draw it out a bit more... I anticipated that hot spurt deep inside me but then I wanted cum on Gaelan's face while she cleaned me out, enjoying his cum straight from my hole as she once had Shyntre's at our Elder's command...

The three of us managed exactly this, and Gaelan ate my gooey slit hungrily until at last I came, nice and loud. 

By the time we were boneless, cuddling, sated, we'd all gotten nice and dirty. Grass stains and sweat... semen and pussy lube everywhere.

********

It wasn't so much that Jael was learning to use the sliders—in that they were sliding around as they twirled—but that she was learning possible two-handed techniques to compliment the first "trial by fire" at Manalar against the Hellhounds. It was too soon to go straight to something so difficult which had taken even Mourn about a decade to be willing to practice without the enchantments in place on the blades which prevented an accidental severing of a digit or limb. 

The hilts were locked in place in the middle and Mourn had the command word that would release them - which he wasn't sharing right then - and his Daratrix wasn't filled with such hubris that she would take insult at the restriction. Where she had started it was difficult enough; before we left here, she needed to know how to move with him, around him, to be the "heel spur" and the "boot dagger" no one saw coming while the big hybrid drew all the attention. She had to do this without tripping up and getting in the way.

I liked the idea of the tactics; I knew they would be very effective down below. Even with accelerated tutoring and the ability to focus on nothing else, however, it was still going to take time.

Meanwhile, I wondered about the double-sword on loan. It seemed she didn't really need it anymore. Not that I wanted it for myself- I was just getting used to the idea that I might be able to do something similar as Gaelan was learning, or relearning depending on how one looked at it. That being an outward strike with something invisible that could shove one or more foes back off their feet. An air blast for her, a psionic one for me.

So far, however, Kain wasn't being cooperative enough to come forward.

*Moryxxyleth wishes to keep this,* Rennyn told me about the double sword from the crypt. *It will go into one of his caches.*

"So from one secret place to another?" I eyed him suspiciously. "Why you smiling like that?"

*Like what, daughter?*

"Like you know something that I don't."

*If you'll forgive me for saying, Sirana, that will always be the case.*

I snorted a chuckle. "I mean specifically about that sword."

*Ah.*

With a nod, Rennyn turned to reach for the weapon, and it obliged him by floating to meet him halfway. He showed me the designs in the hilt, and tiny engravings in the blades; I leaned very close to study them for the first time. On the hilt there were tongues of flame and lines implying strong energy moving straight and fast—maybe light, but I didn't know the source—and a shape kind of like a bird if one looked straight up as it swooped overhead. On the blade itself, after some time in which the Tilabil very patiently held it steady, I finally decided what I was seeing.

"A storm?" I guessed. "Rolling clouds overtaking something too small to see."

*A sand storm,* he refined. *Yes. And they can get that big. No matter what lies in their path, we all look like this.*

I blinked into the second look at the bird. A firebird, going from fire to Sun, actually.

"Fucking Abyss."

Rennyn reached to tuck a stray hair behind my ear, an almost innocent response to my curse. *Of Zauyr make, Cris-ri-phon's empire. This weapon is as old as Soul Drinker, forged with magic to make it lasting as long as the Ley Lines exist. It is only not intelligent. It has not had a demon or a devil bound to it.*

I squinted. "Is that the only way to make a weapon intelligent?"

*No, but a sure way to define its tendencies and make it memorable.*

"How did it end up down in a Manalara crypt?"

*I am sure it has been passed many times among hands. It would certainly be very attractive to any Dragonblood, though the fact that it once belonged to the Archmage is something Moryxxyleth will hold in reserve in case that fact becomes useful at some time.*

I frowned. "And Brom just...forgot about it? He was so close to it. Wouldn't he sense it?"

*With the rift to the Greylands open at the same time and any number of magical beings tossing their spells?* Rennyn smiled. *He would have needed to stumble right on top of it, I think. And even then, he may not remember it.* 

"Yes, Shunraeki mentioned that," I said. "They think others might be fucking with his memories. Or he gets periodic forgetfulness another way."

*Others may be, at that. Yet he has also passed through the Greylands more than once and his existence has never truly seen rebirth,* the Tilabil mused. *His race is not long-lived, yet he has seized both Elven magic on Miurag and nexus flux similar to the Greylords,* he glanced at me with blind, beautiful eyes, *'death magic' if you will, in order to evade his own passing. He is extraordinary, the strongest of wills and he has never died again after being reborn not unlike Gaelan. But his mind suffers greatly for it.*

He paused as I chewed on that, then continued. *I believe he told you that mind linking is something he did not like to practice, even as he claimed he could 'break' into your mind and take anything he wished, yes?*

I remembered that threat clearly, yet I hadn't seized on that contradiction until now. I nodded. 

*I do not know if this has always been true, or how long it has been so, but he fears a mind link any deeper than surface thoughts. What he is willing to do is enough to fool most into believing him some level of omnipotence, but he could not tell when your mind was defending itself, Sirana. He could not see it.*

Rennyn made sure I looked at his eyes then. *Although I am most relieved you formed a shell and did not try to invade his mind as he overwhelmed you, and that you disallowed the two of you to become linked as one, as you became with Moryxxyleth.* His concern for me was palatable. *It would have hurt you so deeply, it may have been the final violation without healing you could not withstand, Sirana.*

He paused, and I dealt with the cold feeling in my stomach as I looked away to catch my breath. Then he continued.

*I believe your undersouls knew this, they have your instincts for survival. Remember that, and trust them as you trust yourself. They are not separate from you, Sirana, not 'splinters' that can be extracted or which have defined borders. It is important you do not forget this truth, even as I understand they must keep their own names for now, while you are the chosen of Soul Drinker.*

I stared at the grass, tugged at it while listening to him. "Is that where the 'crazy' comes from?"

*In essence, yes,* Rennyn said. *The Broken One was divided into pieces, splinters, and contained. So the story goes. The Illithids have more than one Elder Mind, and even as they claim to all be One. Part of this is true, when an Elder Mind shares its existence with the many bodies of its Hive, yet there are still Elder Minds which conflict with each other. They disagree on what their 'Great Work' should be.*

I looked up now, listening intently.

*You might imagine... if all Elder Minds had once been of one body but now believed themselves separate and only, that this 'one body' will do many conflicting things. To others it will seem to make no sense, yet in the moment it does. The conflict will eventually turn on everything that is not 'oneself' and it cannot be at peace with others.*

I didn't really want to imagine that for me, but I said, "What you describe sounds kind of like Cris-ri-phon, too. Just with magic, not psionics."

*Perceptive as always.* Rennyn squeezed me around my shoulders. *Look upon him as an example of what one might become when the will to exist sustains itself without balancing joy for that existence to persist.*

"Joy?" I asked. "Not a goal or reason?"

*He has those. He has stronger motivation than many. Revenge. Power. Grief. With no joy to balance them. I do not mean a moment of contentment or an urge to laugh. There is a joy in living, it persists through all moments of pain because you know it will not only end and you will die, but you will also transform, and both are equal in the end. And this is good for you, good for Miurag, and you know it. That is joy.*

I thought about that, and went back to studying the double-blade. Once possessed by the General-Consort of the desert army lost in the sands, a MAn who didn't really exist anymore. So it went to the next who would use it, and the next, and the next. Like anything made and kept within Miurag, when I thought about it.




Surfacing Ch. 29



Author's Notes: This story is erotic fantasy written by Etaski. I reserve the right to be listed as the author of this story, wherever it is posted. If found posted anywhere except Literotica.com with this note attached, this story is posted without my permission. (c) Etaski 2015.

Muah-ha-ha-haaaah...and so! We shall return to Sirana's first mission at last. While I was writing this, I related to the hubby a parallel for this damned western Tower: kind of like the '49 California Gold Rush with layered invisibility spells. The hubby agreed. You'll see what I mean. ;)

*****

Surfacing Chapter 29

Gaelan and I flew out upon Roh with Gavin, passing back into that same rainy, old growth forest outside. We were low, still, and careful as the Greylands beast was near her maximum burden for confident flight.

I wasn't required to be unconscious this time, even though I wasn't sure I would have been able to find my way back in regardless. The most notable thing below me were the same forbidding mountains I'd seen as I waited with Mourn and the others for the Wilder to come to us, and a wide, potentially bottomless chasm filled with white mist drawing a hard line dead center through the difficult, mysterious terrain.

I did believe I'd felt something magical opening and allowing us out, though, I just couldn't see it. Maybe that had something to do with how Mourn got in and out, as he couldn't have simply flown over the chasm before like he was now.

We returned to the cave where we'd first met Tsah, where we had left Gavin's mare and Hellhound servants as well as all my weapons and tools. It was so very strange seeing them standing there, still and silent and more than a bit smelly...and truly undisturbed. I could overlay my older memory of how I'd last seen them and come up with a match, just add more decay in Night-mare. The large, Ma'ab skeletons were as they'd been, weapons and all.

No one with Elf-blood was delighted with the odor but my big Sister reacted the worst, actually vomiting just outside the mouth of the cave. I was kind of surprised it hadn't been me. It had been agreed upon that I would ride the horse again. Gaelan would ride in the air with Roh and Gavin—not unlike how part of her had come here in the first place, so we had no doubt she'd enjoy it. Mourn would carry Jael on his back, whether flying or running once again; I'd been told he could do a mix of both to keep an eye on us all.

With the consideration of my mount, Mourn and Jael had taken a small detour and nabbed a deer on their way over. The half-blood now dragged the entire thing over and released the fresh carcass in front of Night-mare, who immediately lowered her neck and opened her mouth, the skin of her muzzle shrunken and stretched nearly to bone. She began to eat with incongruent, conical and curved teeth, ripping at the hide and the flesh beneath, swallowing whole chunks without chewing, bobbing her head occasionally to work it down.

"Kuthila igaythi," Gaelan said with a flick and release of something from her pouch.

A stiff wind blew in around one side of the cave, curving back and coming out along the other wall. It effectively pushed out the stale, dead air and most of us took a deeper, easier breath.

"Ah, that's better," Jael said.

At the same time, the Hellhounds reacted to the pressure on their bones and turned their skulls to look at one another, making clumsy, silent hand-sign similar to when they were alive, their jaws briefly clapping at each other. Gaelan gave a little shriek of alarm.

"No, no, it's okay," I said, stepping to touch her arm. "Gavin's said that's just something like muscle memory. They're not really thinking or talking. They won't take any action he doesn't give them. Right, Gavin?"

Gavin grunted indifferently, too busy checking over his mare—he was folding over little thin spots in her hide and somehow sealing them with his finger. It was probably only working because Night-mare was eating.

"Right?" I said louder.

"Correct," he answered. "If the Hellhounds come at you, it's because I told them to do so. Just as I said during our planning."

"I-I forgot," Gaelan admitted. "I've never seen anything like that before."

I patted her shoulder. "It'll get easier. Just ask Gavin any questions you have. He'll tell you."

"What I can," he modified. "When I can."

"At least you agree."

Mourn scuffed the dirt with his feet at the back of the cave as we talked and then he crouched down to dig at it with his hands. It was still soft and loose from when he'd made the hole the first time—no water or creature had ever reached this spot to change how he'd once filled it in.

I let out a breath. No sense delaying the necessary, I supposed.

"I hate this," Jael muttered, folding her arms but keeping her distance.

Gaelan looked at her. "What? And why?"

"Sirana talking to that dagger, and the queen inside," she said, looking at me and shrugging apologetically. "Sorry...I just hate it. I can't help if you need help. I can't even get near you."

"You could," my Deathwalker pointed out.

"I won't," she corrected flatly. "Not after the first time."

"A good idea," he agreed, almost finished with Night-mare's physical. "I'll reiterate Gaelan should not touch Sirana during any communion with the dagger, either. Nor may I interfere, so says the queen herself if we want her cooperation. Mourn could, if needed. He has an invitation and skill enough to hold his own against will-benders of any sort."

The hybrid stood up, dusting off his hands. He'd left the last little bit for me to do, to actually reach into the thin layer of dirt and pull out my things. He nodded now, looking at all of us, showing he'd heard our conversation but resting his eyes on me. 

"Innathi will not try to overtake you while you carry your son, Sirana. Remember that."

"She could always change her mind once I'm too far along to actually abort her like I threatened," I said, hating the taste of my own words in my mouth even as I accepted I'd said that, and I had meant it at the time. "Or she might think of something else."

"She may think of something else, I'll grant, but she will not lightly return to become male, and she believes you would make the choice to kill an infant than let her grow up with her memories and power intact, added to the unknown power of your baby's body." He watched me steadily. "You also understand others would come to do it, even if you ultimately could not make the final blow."

"Like you," I suggested. "Even though you said you don't harm children."

His face hardened, but Gavin took over, turning from his horse to face me and folding his hands in front of him. "Sadly, if such a thing occurs, it is not a child he would be killing but one displaced by a very old and very powerful soul—much worse than the hungry dead at Manalar. It could also be myself given the task, Sirana, or any other linked to the Godblood's quest. Cris-ri-phon and Innathi cannot meet again on Miurag."

Mourn nodded. "Their time is past. If Innathi should ever choose and take a new body, she must use it only give back what she's denied to the world that made her. This is the only fate Lord Brom can look forward to as well. Like Sarilis, Innathi will be easier to destroy at the beginning of such a transformation than waiting centuries for her to gain resources such as her husband did."

"Don't tell her that," I said with a forced laugh, my stomach trembling as tears I didn't ask for started to well in my eyes. "Or this won't work."

"I will not," Mourn said seriously. "I promise."

Both Gaelan and Jael responded to this by taking the few steps to touch me, a solid grip on my shoulder from Jael and Gaelan patted my stomach and squeezed my upper arm. It reminded me that they counted on me as much as I counted on them. This type of thinking was definitely a new thing between us but I did feel better, taking a breath as both my tears and the hard spot in my chest retreated, lifted. 

It felt as though none of us saw it as weak. Not anymore.

"Alright," I said. "I'm ready."

*******

When I reached down into the dirt for my belt with the relic attached, tugged it up and dusted it off, Soul Drinker whispered as if just waking from sleep, and it was a little confused.

*Who...are you?*

With a wry smirk I took hold of the red rune hilt, and pulled. As always Soul Drinker tried to wrest away control. It gave up more quickly this time, acquiescing to my demand.

*I will see her.*

*Yesss...*

It would bide its time a little longer. 

I showed up wearing my Red Sister uniform even as I felt I had a few more choices now in portraying myself to the ancient queen. No sense tipping my hand too early and charging in far too different from how she'd last communed with me, too aggressive when there was no imminent threat. I wouldn't dominate her, she wouldn't touch me in the Elsewhere; we couldn't really come into contact without something happening that we both wanted to avoid, so there was no point to a swift arrival or a test of wills.

I stepped up onto the platform, looking around. Things hadn't changed much. Innathi had decided to use Hellhound-pretender Kurn and the actual Hellhound, Yuncis, for decoration around her elegant, gilded chaise. Both Ma'ab had identical sapphire cock piercings and they kneeled, chins down and hands behind their backs, barrel chests on display.

Innathi lay in full repose between them, looking up at the blue-tinged Stars, her chest rising and falling beneath her white silk dress, one hand smoothing the draping skirt in between her thighs so that it outlined her mound clearly yet it was still hidden from view. She was touching herself lightly; she looked kind of bored.

"We thought you'd run away," she said without looking at me.

"I'm here," I replied, standing straight and patient.

Her brows came down and slowly she turned her head toward me. "What have you been up to, soul warrior?"

"Training."

Another large pause. Her eyes narrowed, and maybe she tried to read me. I didn't feel anything; either she couldn't get close enough for me to need a push back or she hadn't actually thought it worth pressing in. I only knew there weren't any stray thoughts for her to catch like moths in a net.

"For what?" she finally asked.

"A fight with a lich."

Her displeasure showed itself in her two large Ma'ab flinching in pain without being touched. "We aren't going to the Underdark."

I shook my head. "Not yet. We have to destroy a new lich, first."

"We," she repeated with a sneer. "This sounds like you expect us to help you. Just like we were expected to help you with the Ma'ab, and Manalar, and Warpstone. We wait, and wait, we do not interfere with your 'negotiations' as you requested, we stay when we're not welcome where you are—"

"Unfortunate but necessary."

"According to who?" 

She sat up and swept her legs around, touching her feet lightly to the sand-dusted stone. She stared hard with red eyes, trying to hold contact, and now I felt a distinct nudge as her aura flared. A bit of her own lying-detection, I realized.

"Nyx's Herald, of course," I said, holding her eyes. "And the Dragonchild agrees and will help. I will help them, in exchange for their support when I return to the Underdark with you."

The ancient queen calmed some of her irritation hearing this, but shook her head once.

"The Deathwalker will not follow you down below," Innathi said flatly.

"That's interesting you say. Why not? There are natural deaths down there as well as anywhere."

"The Sun doesn't reach there," the desert queen said. "The Deathwalkers by legend were only found where the Sun provided the gift of life. The core of the world was removed from this influence and not part of the pact."

"Did you know about the existence of the Underdark as a living queen?" I asked curiously.

"No. But I have existed a very long time." Innathi smiled, still sitting casually, braced on her slender arms decorated with gold bands. "The Dragonchild, on the other hand...well. He was born there. Of course he can go back. So you're saying Nyx wants this lich destroyed and the Dragonchild has made a bargain to fight for this, and with our help," she indicated herself and me as well as the general area of the Elsewhere, "he will attend us down below as well and stand against Ishuna?"

"Yes," I answered simply.

"Will there be any other quests or contracts between the lich and the Underdark?"

"No, Your Grace."

The Drow queen glanced at her Hellhounds with an attractive, distant smile before she blinked and looked back at me. "A fine bargain, I grant you. Your instincts are good. I wish to speak with the Dragonchild directly."

I frowned, and she straightened up, somehow drawing attention to her breasts before standing up and coming a bit closer. I felt her presence pushing outward.

"If we are to understand our role you'd made for us in the time you've been gone, we will speak with him," she said.

"Who is 'we'?" I asked.

"Myself and Soul Drinker, of course," she said impatiently. "Yes or no?"

"If the answer is no?" I shrugged. "You need not cooperate against the lich but it might get one or more of us killed, and depending who it is we might not go back to the Underdark at all."

Innathi stopped pushing at me, relaxing her aura and putting gently curled fingers up to her lips as she thought carefully what to do next.

"You don't *need* to talk to the Dragonchild about this bargain," I said. "You just want to, Your Grace. This is so, don't try to veil me."

She wasn't pleased with me at all for calling her on that but she wasn't about to lose her temper. "Very well. Yes. I just want to see him for myself."

"Why?"

She hissed slightly, and I noticed several oddly clear curls show in a part of her aura as she considered and discarded a few responses. The final curl straightened out as she made her choice and looked at me again. This was an instant before I realized she'd decided to be truthful.

"Any time he's touched you while you held Soul Drinker, and it has been several times...I've felt closer to home than I've ever been. As if he stood just on the other side of a gate, and I could take hold of his hand and he'd help me step over a puddle to come home...if only the carrying vessel was waiting for me to land within. 

"He is a guardian for our world by his Dragon's blood, but also a mage's match for my own Elf magic. There would be no better anchor to making sure the transference into the Priestess's body happened swiftly and safely. But I would need to speak with him about this."

A mage's match? Like Gaelan had said about D'Shea and Phaelous, and about Jael herself—Innathi's and Ishuna's own descendant. I shouldn't be too surprised, given the blood link and Ishuna's own desire to claim the hybrid as a powerful servant.

So Innathi wanted him, too. I had suspected something like that when she rejected Gavin as my escort but suggested Mourn in this place, I just did not know why. Now it seemed fairly obvious.

"You know he is mature enough to be powerful, but also think he is still young enough to be controlled," I said bluntly.

Innathi smirked a little bit at my statement. "He is only a little younger than me. About five hundred, correct? I am a little over six..."

I shook my head, not playing the game. "You are as old as Ishuna. Possibly older as time seems to move faster here than on Miurag."

She frowned. Then laughed as she stepped with a graceful turn to reach for Yuncis's cock, tickling and tugging on his piercing. He flinched a little bit.

"Very well," she said. "I mentioned once your mercenary reminded me of my husband, yes? Forgive me the fanciful daydreams, Sirana. It has indeed been a...very...long time since I have had an equal in bed. I still feel my desires, and males who cower—" She slapped Kurn's cock hard enough to make him double-over— "are for entertainment only. A true breeding male can't quail before a queen if he would accept the honor."

I narrowed my eyes. "A bit difficult to breed here, isn't it?"

"Impossible," she granted, her mouth twisting sourly. "But when I come back... I will be seeking a new sire, Sirana. Ishuna is dried up and childless. That is the first thing which must change: the new queen of the Drow much be fertile and have children." 

"More mixed bloods?" I said. "Haven't you had twelve already?"

She turned to face me fully, scowling at first but waving her hand to push the memory to the side. She was only looking at the future now. "The Dragonchild is meant to live long without finding insanity like my husband. And what better way than with Dragon blood to strengthen our lineage and our link to our world and push Lolth farther and farther away from us? To protect us from Abyssal taint and their influence?"

I stared without saying anything at first. Then: "Very well. I'll tell him you wish to meet him. It is his choice, though."

"Unacceptable," she stated. "You must convince him to come here."

I paused a moment to look at the Stars and the blue sands. Belatedly I realized how quiet it was; no shrieking voices distracting me, hovering around and above me. They weren't completely gone; they were still there...just farther back, unable to crowd me or tug for my attention. I had evidence my protections were much stronger now; I wondered if that was why Innathi had been more honest as well, even if having this conversation now wasn't in her best interest.

"I will do my best," I said, and she smiled beautifully. "Are you and Soul Drinker ready to travel again?"

She nodded. "Get me my audience with the Dragonchild, Sirana, and we will tell you a few secrets that will help you with the lich."

*******

I sheathed and set the dagger as far away from me and the others as I could stretch before I allowed a particular thought to come back to me. From Rennyn, when he'd been telling me why I could trust Gavin. 

He said, *We know truth from his actions. If he was more like the Ascended, he would try to convince you to allow more and more servants into your service...under the guise of "protecting" you...*

Sex and breeding as an obsession, expanding and controlling and deciding for all others how it should be...just as it was with the blackest side of the undead. No real difference there, just two sides of the same coin.

Innathi wasn't any better than Ishuna, but I had had this feeling for some time now. Whatever it had been like in the desert before we left the Surface, I didn't think we'd had any sort of balance then, either.

"Sirana?" Jael asked quietly. "What's wrong?"

I looked up at her, glanced at the sliders crossed on her back and smiled a bit. I was glad it was her who had them; there was much more potential for our race's future in her than there was in either of her great-grandmothers.

"We can leave any time," I said. "Soul Drinker will cooperate. At some point on our way...Innathi wants me to bring Mourn into a communion to ask him for something specific, and in exchange she'll offer some additional knowledge on how to fight a lich."

"She offers a dual bargain," Mourn commented cautiously. "With you, to pressure you to allow her to bargain directly with me."

I nodded slowly, and Jael clenched her fists. Even Gavin was suspicious as he took his chin lightly into his fingers.

"Hm. What 'specific' thing does she want?" the necromancer asked.

"When it comes time to wed her to her new body," I said. "She has a groom in mind already for her first child."

Gaelan and Jael didn't quite understand the reference to a groom, otherwise their reactions might've been bigger. Gavin and Mourn both did, though; the hybrid's tail lashed with irritation and I saw a flash of fang.

"You are going to follow through on that, then?" Gavin asked. "Giving a Priestess to Soul Drinker."




Surfacing Ch. 29



I shrugged. "I don't want to. We might have to...Innathi is the only one with magic to match Ishuna. If we actually do make it inside the Palace with Soul Drinker..."

Mourn grunted. "I accept, Sirana. But let us be away from here and travel for a day first. She can wait."

True. She'd already proven that.

******

We didn't return to the Midway even as we had to move South for most of the first day, and the travel did not go as fast as it had coming up from Manalar. We turned West around the end of the day, still expecting to be in the forest for a while yet before we would climb in earnest into the mountains, where Mourn and Jael would remain with me more of the time. Roh would have an easier time flying over those mountains and Gavin and Gaelan might glean some early warning signs of how close we could get to the Tower before even he needed to land his beast, where we would do our final planning.

The farther we got from the core of the Wilder forest, the more I noticed the green trees shifting toward a pale, yellow-green. The change of the season had not begun in full; I was told it would eventually change to a pure, golden yellow, orange, and red. It would get cooler, the hours of Sunlight fewer. Given the continuous heat and long headaches I'd lived with ever since first coming out of the mountains on the back of Gavin's then-living mare, it seemed a relief just waiting for us. The nights were already becoming cool and pleasant.

I could see the Western mountains ahead of us only once I'd climbed a tree that night to see what Gavin and Gaelan were seeing. Otherwise, upon the ground where we'd spend out first rest, I was surrounded by tall hulks of wood and needle and leaf, the terrain a rolling and cut through with streams, rich soil filled with the compost of previous season's bounty. I would have otherwise had no idea if I approached the mountains out of which my Sisters and I had originally come.

"Tell us more about the Western land overall," Jael begged Mourn that night as we ate and I recovered from my dizziness and hunger riding Night-mare at such speed through narrow pathways. "You've seen it. You've had the time."

The hybrid nodded slowly, considering her request. "The mountains are very difficult terrain all the way until you reach ocean. Populations are isolated and not common until you reach the coast, where largely Human fishing towns and cities will be more prevalent. It snows in the mountains but only rains on the coast during the winter. The summers are beautiful, warm and bright with Sun but not so hot as the inner land, the Midway, Augran, Manalar..."

Jael, Gaelan, and I watched him with intent eyes, listening.

"Yung-An is farther to the North but has so much coast it only rains up until one reaches the farthest peninsula. It is cooler overall for much of the year but summers have very long days, even longer than you've seen. Likewise, the winters are very dark and wet and chilly. Yet it still never reaches the dry, hard, cold of the East, where the Ma'ab and the Kurgan live."

So he's been there, too. I wasn't surprised. Maybe he'd been to the Eastern red desert, too...

"What about to the South on the West coast?" Gaelan asked.

Mourn half-smiled, almost in chagrin. "I've not managed to spend much time there as of yet, Augran has pulled me back before I am gone too long. But I have discovered something interesting about the area to which we are going."

"Besides the Ley Line intersection," I said.

"Yes, besides that." He paused. "Though this would be knowledge best kept protected, as you've been taught."

We nodded, even Gavin. We didn't all do it the same way but thanks to the Tilabil we all had something to fall back on making sure our minds weren't open scrolls for casual reading.

"Good. So we know of the Tower, and we know of the safest, most direct route open to the Underdark within those same mountains—where you three exited."

We nodded again.

"Between the border of Yung-An and as far to the South as I've traveled in these mountains, there is Isboern's people—a closed group of psions living in isolation—and there is the Noldor stronghold, also very well hidden."

Tamuril had never really said where Isboern was from, she would protect them any encroachment, I knew. I had no idea where to start with the Noldor, there had never been any hint. But...

"Wait," Jael said slowly. "We've all come from the same area?"

"Broadly speaking, yes," Mourn said in amusement. "We are all West. I've even estimated the Noldor City is nearly above the Baenar City —not exact but fairly close."

We stared at him, trying to decide on a first question. The Deathwalker managed it first.

"Are the Queens aware of each other, do you think?" he asked curiously.

Mourn shrugged. "I cannot know. I've seen no evidence, but always possible."

"Do you think this is a newer residence for the Noldor, like the Baenar?" Gavin persisted. "Has Krithannia implied an exodus of their own from somewhere else?"

Mourn shook his head. "That I can say for certain. She says they are still in their ancestral home."

I visualized this in my head. The desert where the Drow had once had their own queendom was Southeast... in essence directly opposite of the Noldor Northwest. Now, whether belowground or not, we were both on the same side. So was Isboern. And Sarilis. And the portal to the Underdark. And...not too far from all this were the Wilder. 

It felt lopsided, although it certainly explained why the people of Yung-An had such reverence for all that was "mystical" but Manalar would be dried up of such a thing, only frightened by it.

I observed, "The two Elf cities used to be spaced farther apart, one each side."

Mourn looked at me...and I knew that look. I pounced.

"What? What else?" I demanded. "I just said something essentially assumptive, even though nothing was wrong with the sentence."

Gavin showed black teeth in an unexpected grin. "A fine point to make, Sirana. I would guess, in that instance, the assumption is in the number of Elf cities there were. Or are."

"More than two," I said, nodding to my ally. "Three, then? Are we counting the Wilder, so four, maybe?"

Mourn gave the necromancer a contemplative look, like he recalled only now that Gavin and I could further each other's ideas quickly.

"So how many?" Gaelan asked, and Jael nodded. We all stared at the half-blood.

"If you ask of purely Elven populations," Mourn said, "there are the three: Noldor, Baenar, and Wilder. The Wilder are the newest, only since the last war which drove the Baenar belowground. There was an older City, older even than those of the Pale and Dark Elves, but it is not purely Elven anymore."

"Where is it?" I asked.

"Far North and East," he answered. "The Baenar at V'Gedra, the Noldor at Niraj, and this ancient place, I never learned the true name. Today it is called 'Vintern Hjem.' These three form the points of a triangle on the continent. The Elvish influence reached most areas at one time. Far to the Southwest may be the place most unknown to the Elves, if there was to be such a place."

"Niraj," I repeated. "That's what the Noldor call the whole world."

"The whole world, as well as their City," Mourn said with a nod.

"And this other 'not pure Elven' place..." Gaelan began.

Jael interjected with a gasp. "The Ice Lord! Lethrix taunted Rennyn something about an Ice Lord loving his children as much as the Tilabil did."

She was right. She had to be.

"But they didn't agree on the methods," I said. "Two powerful males, Rennyn and some Ice Lord. Two powerful females, the Valsharess and the Noldor queen. Four groups of Elves."

Mourn smiled. "Correct. Also two societies with younger, pure Elves ruling, valuing pure breeding. Two other societies with much older beings embracing them, valuing a mixed population."

I squinted. Beings, not Elves. Embracing, not ruling...

"Mixed? What does the Ice Lord breed?" Jael asked.

The hybrid pursed his lips a bit; he wasn't comfortable with the answer. "Imagine if Ishuna had found a comely way to make Draegloth with the Abyss and this planar magic was allowed to develop among the Elves. Also the negotiation is with the Nine Hells rather than the Abyss. On top of that, the Ice Lord is not directly controlled or bound by the Lords of the Nine, either. The Ice Lord is versatile...and old. As old as Rennyn, perhaps."

I glanced at Gavin, who looked back at me, but I had another question. "How close is this ancient Ice City to the Ma'ab?"

"Close enough there is probably influence," Mourn said, "but exactly what kind, I have not been able to discover. The Ice Lord remains as hidden from the world at large as the Tilabil and the two Queens of the Light and Dark."

"Have you been there?" I asked bluntly. "To V-...Vinter?"

"Vintern Hjem," he said again, and I repeated to be able to say it. "And yes,...I found it by accident. Once. I could not stay long, and I'm not sure I could find it again without...some kind of permission." His tail slid along the ground again; his gaze seemed far away. "Forgive me if I keep any further description for another time. It is no insult, and better protection for you."

Right. Not the first time I'd heard that. My Sisters and I glanced at each other, but we decided we had enough on our plates as it was. A glance at Gavin told me, however, that he had another set questions to ask his Lady, if her answers could be any clearer than this. Not a guarantee.

I sighed, considered where we were and what was ahead of us. "So...three more days to Sarilis's Tower?"

Mourn and Jael and Gavin nodded.

"Only because of me and Night-mare and the rough terrain?"

The Deathwalker shrugged, and the hybrid smiled. "No worry. We will all be on the ground walking before long."

"As soon as the land shows the will of its new master," Gavin added.

The black soil and dying trees. Yes.

"How soon do you want to negotiate with Innathi?" I asked. "Tonight? Tomorrow?"

"Tonight," Mourn said. "I doubt being closer to Sarilis and using such power next to the Ley Line crossing will help us."

Alright, then. Tonight. I was willing, but glad the Dragonchild was sure of his choice.

*****

I understood now how Isboern had once carefully settled a willing thread of Gavin's consciousness into the "palm of my hand"—what I'd later consider to be that inner eye of which the Illithids and the psionic Duergar had grown hyper-aware—and then wrapped it up in a psychic gem to take with me before I drew the black dagger. I had made contact with the dominant mind within and Gavin was there holding my hand, with me in between them. Gavin did not need to touch the dagger to see inside the Elsewhere.

As much as Isboern acted wise beyond his years—and he probably was—I noted that he had done the work for me, rather than teaching me. It had probably in the interest of time, Gavin's wariness, my own suspicion, Jael's hatred of him...

It wasn't all Willven's fault, but he was still young, even for a God-touched Human, and he didn't have all the answers for me.

Rennyn hadn't known how to teach me either, not directly, but thanks to the Godblood's gentle touch I knew what it was supposed to feel like, how it should look at the end. Practice and Rennyn's encouragement and confidence in me had done the rest.

Practice, and willing minds strong enough not to be broken by a novice mindreader.

"Innathi is not welcome to my intimacies," Mourn said.

"Got it," I acknowledged. It shouldn't be a problem, and I wanted to protect Jael just as much as he wanted to protect her and Krithannia as well. "She already knows I fucked you, though. And she might be able to guess some of it."

"So be it, but do not offer. I do not trust powerful, covetous females with my known mates."

"Nor should you," I agreed.

Mourn and I did not need to touch to form a mental bond anymore, but it helped. We were safe enough that he convinced me to sit between his legs facing away from him, my back against him and where he could wrap arms and legs and tail around me if desired. I was sure not to get too cold, as I sometimes did in my trances. 

I took my time spinning that protective, symbolic gem in the palm of my hand, checking it for flaws or cracks before pulling the blade loose, summoning a communion with the ever-present, ever-weighty relic latched to my side without a clear end in sight.

I did not land upon steps near the top of the pyramid but halfway down, as I had arriving with Gavin. Similar as to then, the gem became a weight, a solid anchor which forced me to kneel upon the stone to catch my breath. Unlike before, however, the voices weren't loud at all; they were aware, curious, lingering...they were whispers. And they weren't crowding me.

I had all the time I needed to slowly unravel my masking job and show the guest I'd brought with me: the Guild Leader holding my hand. Another contrast to Gavin's arrival: the spirits seemed to know that their queen would be pleased and murmured approval.

*Don't let go,* I thought, and Mourn answered an affirmative by Drow sign.

His tongue flicked out as he looked around at the blue sands, the Moon, at the structure leading up. His tail moved to imply awareness but not hostility or threat. I noticed his vertical pupils dilated some but not as wide as when he was channeling a lot of magic or enjoying a good rut. He was calm as I led him up the steps.

I might have wondered, just for a moment as we made the top, if we were about to see Innathi nude. She had been lounging and touching herself before; I had seen her legs from toes to hips with just a thin slip of silk covering her mound and resting between her thighs. Her arms had been bare as well, her nipples just beneath the cloth. She'd been dreamy and a little flirty, insisting she meet Mourn. Maybe she would be tired of waiting and simply offered herself...

But , no. Innathi was not nude, even as she was alone atop the pyramid. I had to look twice at what I did see.

Against Gavin, Innathi had been dressed in a bright red uniform of her own which covered entire her body; she had possessed a whip to keep her trapped souls in line as they harried and begged Gavin to save them from the Elsewhere. I was glad she did not have a whip in her hand as a show of dominance or control; I already knew Mourn would react very, very poorly to that.

Now, for the Dragonchild, the desert queen wore again a formal outfit which covered her skin from view, though it hid none of her beauty and power. We saw a fine, regal gown of deepest blue and richest gold, accented with gold and ruby jewelry; her pure white hair was swept up and pinned off her neck so it would not touch the high satin collar which would hide her neck from the rear. The gown itself molded close to her body from the shoulders down to her waist before it let out free and flowing to just hide her feet unless she stepped forward. There were long, silky sleeves joining the skirt off her elegant wrists, and a few layers beneath the skirt helped make it fuller, accentuating her waist and her hips to full, fertile, queenly effect. 

Her sister could try to wear something like this in purple and gold, but I doubted Ishuna would look anywhere near as lush and powerful at the same time. If Innathi had once dressed this way for Cris-ri-phon, stood before him like this, I could begin to see where he might have thoughts of courting her favor.

At the same time...wouldn't this dress be absolutely sweltering in the desert...?

Innathi did not speak immediately; her face was lovely but placid and she looked expectantly at me, a certain intensity in her eyes drawing me from my wandering thought.

Oh, yes, the introductions. It was telling that she didn't just step in and lay claim to Mourn right off, even as she'd begun the conversation last time calling Gavin a "boy" before I gave his name. I had insisted on the introductions then.

"Innathi, this is To'vah-krav Moryxxyleth," I said before looking to Mourn. "And this is Her Grace Innathi Au'renthina."

The queen smiled, pleased I had gotten her name right and I felt she might have noticed that Mourn went still a moment. I felt the slight tension in his hand as he reacted to the name so similar to Jael. Even as he'd known they were related, I'd never actually said this before.

"Your Grace," Mourn said first with a nod.

"To'vah-krav," she repeated with a nod, then looked at me. "Excellent pronunciation on all counts, my soul warrior. And thank you for bringing him as I asked. It is a pleasure you are each here."

This would begin far too sweetly, wouldn't it? I was sure she'd prefer he came alone, and I had enough of a headache from the day's ride. Mourn smiled just slightly.

"The same, Your Grace," he said. "Sirana has told me you wish to discuss the Priestess Lelinahdara in the Underdark."

Straight to the point. Innathi tilted her head just slightly, not an unattractive thing at all, and smiled with a dip of her chin.

"I do. Is there a hurry, Dragonchild? I've heard your sire's kin are rarely in such a state. Do I make you uncomfortable? It is not intentional, I assure you."

Mourn did not reply; he waited.

And waited. His tail and wings were calm and he didn't move. I didn't break the silence; I was just the messenger and chaperone...

Innathi sighed softly. "Well. At least tell me if those wings are real, To'vah-krav. They are different from Sirana's last memory of you which I have been able to see. Do they manifest here in the Elsewhere by will, as Sirana's red uniform does, or do they reflect your physical body?"

He allowed a soft grunt and a nod this time. "I have wings now, Your Grace."

"They are recent?" She took her answer from his nod. "How did they come to be?"

Mourn shook his head slightly. "I've not been told what to expect, Your Grace. Every century, my form changes a little more."

"Indeed?" Her face split into a grin as her eyes trailed over him. "So they simply...grew out?"

"Correct. Now, what do you wish to ask me, Your Grace?"

"A Drow with wings," she murmured, temporarily lost in her own thought, and she commented, "They are stunning on you, I must say."

Mourn paused and slowly nodded. "Thank you, Your Grace."

I stood a little bored and holding his hand. Innathi had to move through her power-lust fantasy, I supposed, like any Matron or Priestess with an attractive, agreeable male in front of her. It was so much like home that for the first time I wondered if Innathi had been remembering more and more of being among the living since I found her, or was influenced another way? At our first contact, I would have said she had acted a bit more like Cris.

Now maybe she was acting a bit more like me, and the females I knew? Was it genuine memory or was she simply adapting to the present day, preparing, based on me?

Innathi smiled at his response to her compliment, choosing not to insist on more at this time. "So. What has Sirana told you thus far?"

"That you will assassinate the Valsharess Ishuna if your 'soul warrior' is able to place Soul Drinker into the hands of an arcane Priestess within the Underdark City, as part of an agreement between you and Sirana."

She nodded smartly. "Accurate. And what are your thoughts on this agreement, To'vah-krav?"

"It has potential, Your Grace," he answered.

"You, too, wish to see Ishuna's death?" she challenged, this time demanding an immediate answer.

"Yes," he said simply. "The challenge will be, as always, getting close enough."

"Why do you wish it?"

"They are my reasons, Your Grace."

Anger passed across her face, but he kept talking.

"Rest assured it had been a goal from long before I met Sirana and Soul Drinker."

She narrowed her eyes, trying to read him. I knew that she couldn't; she even switched to me, and I knew she was hiding her discomfort that she could no longer read me as easily as she once did.




Surfacing Ch. 29



I took a bit of pity on her. "He's been asking for information on the City from the first day, Innathi. I believe he is telling the truth."

"Hm." Innathi kept her full lips closed as she smiled slowly. She looked back at Mourn. "And will you remain her bodyguard, and in a way, my own as well, in this undertaking?"

"I will, Your Grace."

Now she showed her teeth in that smile. "Excellent. So the three of us at least must survive this sidetrack of dealing with some new lich, hm?"

"There will be two more headed belowground," Mourn said flatly. "It is to your benefit you do not discount them."

Innathi looked less pleased, but she was careful about it. "I expect one is my blood-child, Jael."

"Correct, Your Grace."

She waited, finally realized she did not have a guess for the second and had to ask. "Who is the other?"

Mourn looked at me this time, and I answered.

"The reason I couldn't take you with me before, Innathi," I said. "I retrieved my second Red Sister. My purpose before I ever met you."

Innathi smiled. "First one Red Sister, now another...You are a stubborn creature, aren't you, Sirana? Are you after vengeance for being sent away, on behalf of yourself and those you saved?"

"Yes," I said directly. "That's why we're bringing you back with us. There can be no better vengeance against the Valsharess."

A small shiver went through her body, visible only in how her dress shimmered. "Oh, I agree. Although one can also argue that you would never have become what you are had she not done exactly this, my warrior."

"Then it was meant to be," I said. "That doesn't mean I should spare her for what she's done to put us all where we are. In another life I might be looking forward to birthing my son within a beautiful city upon the red sands, not dreaming incessantly about them, lost, bitten by scorpions and seeking water and shelter."

Innathi's brow drew down delicately in confusion. "I still do not understand why it is you dreaming of my return, Sirana. Jael has dreamt this as well, it could have been her to find my dagger." 

I could almost hear the lingering thought touching the fore of her mind: *What am I missing?*

I knew which connection she was missing; it was the one about which I had lied to her from the very first meeting when she asked who had sired my baby, now buried even deeper as I made Kerse's shard swallow the gem on Isboern's quest. I had rarely been so grateful when my early instincts paid off to leave me options.

"It could have been Gaelan as well," I said. "I only found Brom and Soul Drinker because I searched for her."

"Gaelan," the desert queen repeated quietly. The name meant nothing to her, but she made a note of it. "Tell me about her."

"An air element mage," I said. "Young but of an age with Jael and me. We trained together in the Sisterhood."

"Where has she been all this time?"

"She was injured fighting Warpstone cultists, where Ishuna sent her."

The queen of the dagger frowned hearing this but let me continue.

"She escaped but suffered a fever and infection. The To'vah-krav had been trailing me and found her nearby. He took her to a mage he knew capable of cleansing the taint. It took her time to heal."

"Hm. He must have found her quickly to be successful."

"He did."

"How incredibly fortunate," Innathi said, a bit suspiciously; she still couldn't verify its truth.

I shrugged. "Your husband was there, you were there, Gaelan was drawn there, so was I, so was the Dragonchild..."

The queen chuckled and nodded. "Very well. Fair point. If only Jael had been drawn as well, we could have avoided all that Ma'ab conflict with the Godblood."

"Soul Drinker fed well, as I recall."

"Indeed."

"And this was something Ishuna had a vision about."

Innathi's expressions shifted frequently, if not extremely. She was being more direct, I figured, since the subtle thought-lifting wasn't working. She still hadn't asked me why. About exactly where I expected, Innathi lost interest in Gaelan entirely.

"What do you know of your false queen's visions?" the desert queen asked.

"More importantly, I know that she hasn't seen you yet," I said bluntly. "Though you can thank Moryxxyleth for covering your mistake—he made his coming, which I believe Ishuna *has* seen in a vision, a certainly by putting himself between you and her."

When she tried to look innocent, I reminded her.

"This was when I last dreamed of the sands, you and Soul Drinker pushed me toward her. Do you remember that?"

Oh, she remembered. Innathi did not look repentant; instead she lifted her chin, a bit arrogant. "I've told you Soul Drinker will not take certain souls, yes? Well. There are also a few which it is compelled to try, if the opportunity presents itself. Ishuna is one of them."

"Which was your doing," I said. "You were the one screaming at me like a wailing horror."

She didn't appreciate the comparison. "Yes, and you refused a prime opportunity based solely on the fact that she holds your Consort prisoner."

Shyntre. I could think of his face, but the pathway to more memories was dark when she tried again to peer into me. Kain still protected him.

"Correct," I replied.

"He will likely die when Ishuna dies, you know," she said. "Their auras have blended, he will feel drawn to protect her. Someone will have to kill him for us," Innathi subtly glanced at Mourn, "for us to get to her. At least Shyntre has made a child in your belly, so his talent will not be lost, Sirana, but you should be aware and come to terms with this if we are to try again."

I took a slow breath rather than become dangerously angry. I couldn't talk about this. 

Innathi took my pause to refocus on Mourn. "So. You prevented Ishuna from seeing me. Yes, I do remember how close you were. Each of us has reason to be glad you are our ally, myself and Sirana. You serve and protect female Drow, then, my dear To'vah-krav."

"So it is, as I've been taught, Your Grace," he acknowledged.

"By whom, Dragonchild?"

This was an astute question. Mourn smiled.

"By my sire, Your Grace."

"Truly?" Innathi looked genuinely surprised. "Tell me about your sire, Moryxxyleth."

Now he shook his head. "Suffice to say he had few rules though they were not to be broken, and few recommendations but he has never been wrong, Your Grace."

That had to be one of the truest things I'd heard come out of Mourn's mouth. Thinking about Lethrix was a good distraction from where my thoughts had been going. Yes, he'd dangled D'Shea in front of me and took joy in enforcing our limited time, but he offered so much more in a ball to be untangled later with diligent curiosity. Chaotic Dragon.

Mourn continued without elaboration. "I'd return to our discussion of your transition, your new body."

"No, not yet," she protested. "Tell me about your master then, the Blade Singer. He was Drow?"

"Yes, Your Grace."

"His name?"

Mourn weighed this one very carefully.

"Please," the dagger queen pressed. "This is an important detail in my people's history and what became of us. If our people split to escape my sister when we were unified under my rule, if Sirana's City has lost all knowledge of Blade Song, then I would know who taught you. If it is who I guess, I may be able to unify us once again."

This persuaded him; he nodded. "His name was Y'shir Matalai'ko."

Innathi exhaled on a laugh of delight, unable to contain it as I quickly thought to seize why that sounded familiar. I got it quickly enough, before she started speaking again.

Matalai was the name of her murdered second son. Shunraeki had said it; Gavin had repeated it in their Deathwalker ritual. I didn't know exactly what the hard "ko" meant, tagged on to the end like that, but it must mean something specific as it wasn't possible that Mourn's teacher had been a long-surviving son of Innathi.

A relative, perhaps. Not a grandson; a direct bloodline would have shown Human blood, a surviving line would have changed a lot, if not everything. Mourn had never mentioned anything like that. He even knew and despised Priestesses of Lolth who birthed Draegloth of their own according to the pact. 

A great-nephew, perhaps?

"Who was my master to you, Your Grace?" Mourn asked for me.

Innathi brought her hands up together and placed the tips at her lips as if thanking some deity. Her eyes were bright and clear. "Y'shir. I knew it. That he survived so long!"

We were required to wait for her to present to us her intense-but-restrained, queenly excitement before she would answer. I could see again where Shunraeki came by the trait. Innathi smoothed over her skirts and took a few deeper, slower breaths with a nod. 

"Y'shir Matalai'ko was the youngest apprentice we had in my kingdom, and he showed great potential. He was named after my second-born son in honor and show of loyalty to me during the tumultuous years of my rule."

"When you were married to Cris-ri-phon," Mourn said.

"Yes, Dragonchild. His mother was one of my staunchest supporters. If Drow have left Ishuna's rule, I can be sure they still feel reverence for me and would see punishment done for my assassination." She laughed again. "Imagine as well if I came back to them!"

I wasn't so sure about that, with the fact that they still worshipped Lolth and Innathi spurned the Spider Goddess outright, but more I had to bite my lip to prevent myself from asking if "Leuren'qo," the firstborn son, had been named after anyone in particular... The problem was that I wasn't supposed to know that. I wasn't supposed to know any of their names.

But I knew them all, because I knew Shunraeki, because I knew the Wilder.

And Ullipmious kept them all safe for me.

"What was your second son's name?" I asked instead. "Y'shir?"

Innathi shook her head. "No. Matalai. He had his father's eyes."

Indeed? I hadn't been able to tell from looking at his ghost.

Mourn crossed his arms. "Cris-ri-phon also taunted me at Manalar, Your Grace, he recognized my technique. Did he know Blade Song?"

Innathi nodded. "He did. One of the first Human sorcerers to live long enough to grasp the skill."

"You told me once the sliders were new," I said to her. "But the double-swords were not."

Again she nodded. "Cris would not know your 'sliders.' He specialized in a single double-blade, casting many spells from it to support his armies." Her expression became sly, teasing. "A...particular, interesting double-blade you found in a certain location recently, am I correct, Moryxxyleth?"

"The Manalar crypt, Your Grace," Mourn confirmed.

"And where is it now?"

"One of my caches, Your Grace."

She grinned, broad and beautiful, her tone flirty. "Oh. You wish to inherit the sword now, hm, Dragonchild? You have my blessing. I can think of no one better, if there is truly no one left in the Underdark who possesses the knowledge."

"There is not, Your Grace."

She bowed her head in solemn acceptance of this and shifted her weight just enough with a reflective breath to draw our eyes both of her cleavage and her hips. "Shall we discuss my new body and our new reign?"

Mourn and I glanced at each other.

"Our reign?" I asked.

"I told you I would reward you for your service, Sirana," she said with slight impatience. "I still mean this, and I will reward the To'vah-krav as well. As handsomely as he desires, for I know all Dragon-kin have healthy appetites." She smirked. "I will also make negotiations between the City and Y'shir's people my top priority, to bring us together once again. With you two by my side, how could this not work?"

She took only a brief look at our expressions before saying, "Think of it, Sirana. How could any Drow with your unique qualities not be among the top of those who rule? You would have perfect safety and immense status for your son from the beginning. He will have every advantage, including a natural, respected protector in the To'vah-krav. Perhaps Moryxxyleth can even teach Blade Song to him, begin the cycle once again. We will be a new royal family, ancient lineage and new strength together, and pull our people back from the edge of the Abyss!"

It took my all to refrain from saying anything about presumption... Mourn managed to keep his tail under control but he did not speak first. His face was like stone, but fortunately that was the baseline he had established early on.

"And this..." I said carefully, "would begin once we bring Soul Drinker to Lelinahdara."

"Yes!" she said excitedly. "And the Dragonchild can assure its success."

"How will I do this, Your Grace?" he asked, standing straight with his arms at his sides.

"Hold Lelinahdara, be sure you are touching her skin somewhere, and then you must touch Soul Drinker after it is drawn," she said. "I will follow your warmth and magic to her and *none* of these others can follow after me, you will keep them out as I become free of this place!"

At this I heard a small surge of moans and voices from far back behind us, reacting to her open distain.

Mourn listened carefully, thought this over, and asked, "Is there anything else I must do, Your Grace?"

Innathi chuckled. "Welcome back your true queen with a kiss. Promise me, Dragonchild."

His jaw shifted a bit and his tail moved a bit more but he exhaled slowly and nodded. "I will do as you say, Your Grace. We will bring you back among the living to take the throne in the Underdark."

She grinned, so pleased at his agreement. "Oh, I wish I could kiss you now, young one."

Mourn paused a moment at that. "Only cooperate with us, Your Grace. Keep Soul Drinker in line, do not be responsible—through action or inaction—for the death or destruction of any in our group. This includes Jael and Gaelan, myself, Sirana and her son, and Gavin, through the time it takes to make you a living Queen of the Drow."

Innathi didn't seem happy to be reminded of the presence of those others, but what kept her agreeable was that neither of us had insisted that the "handsome reward" of a top rule should go to either of the other two females as well. If Innathi couldn't have Jael's body and should she ever find out about Mourn's mate bond with her...I doubted the new queen would let House Aurenthin stand for more than a few months after Ishuna was dead. Jael would be competition and a threat.

"Do you agree on a To'vah bargain, Your Grace?" Mourn asked.

"Do we become a new, powerful family, To'vah-krav?" she tacked on almost coyly. Her eyes flicked to me and back. "Sirana is invited, of course, and I will pursue her as necessary but... you were made for a reason. I bet if you asked your sire, he foresaw my return and a new way to cleanse the Drow of our sins. I want you to serve me, at least as long as it takes to conceive by you."

He blinked. Her earlier talk of a "royal family" actually hadn't made him realize what she meant. He had probably been focused on my child.

I knew why. He claimed he wasn't fertile at all.

"I cannot promise that yet, Your Grace," he said. "But I will take your advice and speak with my sire. We may discuss it. Perhaps you will have your choice of To'vah bargains. What of the one as stated, to make you Queen?"

"Does it include further negotiation once we reach that point?"

"It does."

It was surreal watching this, knowing I had been talking with Mourn exactly this way just a few months ago... Now I just had to trust that he knew what he was doing.

The desert queen considered a few more moments, probably for show, and finally nodded. "Very well. Yes, I agree to your bargain, Dragonchild."

So there was one dart buried into the board. I wondered where the others would land.

"You promised me you would share some knowledge about liches if I brought him to you to discuss a bargain," I reminded her.

"Of course, of course," she said, finally taking a moment to side down within her voluminous skirts upon her daybed. "I'm happy to have my guests stay a little longer. I will tell you what I know, and you can bring it back to Nyx's boy to compare notes. When you are ready to assault the Tower, we will be ready, as well."

I still wondered about that dress, and how heavy it would be, sweating in a place with little shelter or water.

******

"So she knew about the phylactery," I told Gavin later, rubbing my temple slowly to try and work out a brain knot as Gaelan leaned to let me rest and stay warm against her and Jael cuddled with Mourn. I was eating, of course.

The grey mage grunted, his grimoire open and ready in his lap by the glow of a fire we'd lit in a canopied depression of the forest. The firelight fucked with all of our vision, it wasn't ideal, but that was one of the quirks about parchment—mages still needed light to write with the precision necessary for their craft. My scholar did not write anything down yet.

"That bit is not shared as general knowledge," he said. "Did she say from where she obtained her sources?"

"Soul Drinker's been held by a Ma'ab necromancer once," I said. "It didn't last long before she got rid of it, and Soul Drinker allowed it."

"Why?" Jael asked, and I smiled at her. I had asked the same thing.

"Innathi said the Ma'ab sorceress and the dagger both wanted exactly the same thing—souls and life essence—but they would have to share, and neither would do that," I answered. "Innathi quelled the dagger's desire to 'purge' as many competitors as possible among the Ma'ab, since it would make the dagger well-known in the empire and they'd potentially never escape its clutches."

That was one of the curious balances of this relic; it had been controlled by its queen in life, and so it still was in death. The hunger of the dagger was its drive, but its queen was the far-seer and planner, influencing how it would "survive."

"Soul Drinker and Innathi hitched a ride with someone else, a non-Ma'ab they could control, to move farther South where there would be less competition and more obscurity for a while."

"Sounds like a near-miss of things turning very bad for Miurag," Mourn rumbled.

"Agreed," Gavin commented before thinking over something and shaking his head slightly. "A living necromancer should not have need a phylactery based on what I've told you. A Ma'ab sorceress is not a lich."

"But Innathi knew it would have to be destroyed, and to look for it," I insisted. "You said that wasn't common knowledge. She knew."

The Deathwalker sighed as he thought to explain. "Despite the notable concentration of necromancers within their population, the only liches of the Ma'ab are the Ascended, the Seven of the First Tier who rule here after leading them from the Greylands. They purge or consume any upstarts that would seek to take such a step."

"And yet Vo'Traj could live well over a century to hold Vesram and torment your mother," I debated. "And that was not a normal lifespan according to the mortals of their army. They function as Human."

"True. The Ma'ab can prolong their lives by harvesting the souls of their servants, essentially stealing those extra years. Sarilis could do this as well if he had a regular source such as the Ma'ab slum." Gavin looked at Mourn and Jael. "However such practices have not flourished anywhere but among the Ma'ab, as they give birth to and feed on each other, or take slaves from the surrounding lands." 

"Innathi said the sorceress still used a phylactery," I said.

Gavin stared at me. "While alive."

"She used that word."

"Please tell me you asked Innathi how the sorceress used it."

I grinned; I had asked. "To siphon and hold excess power by instilling a magical brand with it. She said this arcane mark could be laid upon any servant, and they would be drawn to serve that sorceress. Their lives would be drained slowly to negate the aging of their mistress. Vo'Traj probably did this to Ada, right? If one destroyed the phylactery, those servants were freed and the sorceress would be hit by the backlash and probably killed. So Innathi was right, the same as a lich, you have to destroy the item to destroy a Ma'ab necromancer or she just heals from her servants."




Surfacing Ch. 29



Gavin grunted, thinking about this.

"But we didn't do that," Jael pointed out with passion as she remembered more of the crypt from my description. "Your spider bit her and Gavin ripped out her heart!"

The Deathwalker nodded in agreement. "Yes, actually, I have been thinking about that. There seemed no time to bring it up before where it would be any help, but now it might."

"What?" I asked, and the others listened as the Deathwalker levelled his gaze at me.

"I have absorbed some of VoTraj's insights and knowledge when I crushed her heart. I believe you discovered that during our healing of Gaelan."

Gaelan tensed beside me; I briefly caught a thought from her: *He can do that...?*

I asked bluntly, "So why do you doubt what I say about the phylactery? Surely you 'absorbed' that if it's all important to her."

"I was testing the accuracy of Innathi's knowledge. I'll grant what you describe is accurate, and Vo'Traj did have a 'phylactery' such as you describe but she called it something different. A Ma'ab word that translates roughly to 'heritage gate' although even that is not a good description. "

"Alright, then what do you want to bring up now about the way Vo'Traj's died?"

"Simply that the Drae'goth we saw possessed the 'heritage gate' for Vo'Traj, as by his very nature he would live longer than her without assistance of any sort and he was kept close to her, as is necessary to use it. The first break in her armor was that mindlink you made with the creature, Sirana, part of why it was so debilitating for you."

My mouth twisted wryly. "Now you're saying it wasn't just me?"

"Oh, it was you and your trauma coming back to haunt you," he stated without blame or comfort, "but Vesram used that connection to temporarily weaken his bond with his mistress, and in doing so lessened the phylactery's effect. The spider bite would not have worked otherwise, and I would not have overwhelmed her as quickly as I did. The piece crumbled just before the Draegloth escaped." 

"Did you see what it was?" Jael asked.

Gavin smiled without humor. "It was a gem attached to a ring, which was attached to his groin somewhere. A piercing, perhaps. I only saw the jewel and metal pieces fall to the ground from beneath his tunic just before he turned invisible."

Gaelan was listening but couldn't really add anything; she rubbed my upper arm as I leaned against her. Mourn nodded thoughtfully and Jael was frowning, trying not to outright scowl.

"What do you suppose happened with him?" my younger Sister asked.

We could only shake our heads. Vesram had disappeared. Escaped, unbound.

"So this 'soul-siphon' phylactery," Mourn said to Gavin, "is not the same as Sarilis."

"Correct," the Deathwalker replied. "And that is as good a word as any, I suppose. In a lich the phylactery acts almost in reverse one could say, but I do not know if a magical brand plays into it at all. Unless Innathi shared anything else?"

He was looking at me. I shrugged. "It might be one way to trace it if he is using any soul energy at all to build its strength."

"Noted," he acknowledged, and he did with his quill. "Interesting to think there are different types of this idea on Miurag, thanks to the Ma'ab. I'd even say the thing inside Kreshel Divigna keeping him alive is like a phylactery, except with Elfish essence instead of necromantic preservatives."

Gaelan chuckled softly at the word "preservatives," and I knew why. We might have both been imagining little jars in a pantry filled with gruesome, pressurized death magic spread. Of course, we wouldn't be laughing if someone opened one of them.

"It's a fair comparison and a curious development, I suppose," Gavin continued, raising a brow at us. "Although Innathi is twisting the value of her knowledge somewhat. Still, this is exactly why both Ma'ab Maknuut and Miurag death mages will want your baby, Sirana, perhaps more so after he's separate and grown."

Okay, that definitely spoiled my urge to laugh.

"Sarilis or anyone else won't get him!" Jael said, immediate and hot, and Mourn and Gaelan each nodded sternly, making me smile a bit.

"And you don't want him?" Gaelan asked the grey mage, direct and quiet.

Gavin paused, narrowed his eyes at her thoughtfully. "I understand how others see the value. I might even wish to experiment with the application, to find the weaknesses, so it was more than theory or borrowed memory. A better arsenal against competitive necromancers, perhaps."

"But?" I prompted, watching at him sort of how Mourn was watching him.

"But," the Deathwalker followed up, "it is not required of me, and would serve no purpose than to make my Lady's allies into enemies. The cost is not worth it."

We each relaxed a little and I said, "So...go on. Sarilis's phylactery."

Gavin nodded. "We can kill Divigna's body over and over again, but they can always transfer this 'phylactery' to a new body and bring him back. It is similar with Sarilis but from what notes I'd taken, a lich can automatically awaken a new body without outside aid. Perhaps they magically brand a body beforehand. In either case unless the phylactery is destroyed, the lich isn't truly slain and can exert its influence."

"Except you said the phylactery will not be inside Sarilis's body," Mourn said, "but hidden elsewhere like Vo'Traj's."

"Yes," Gavin replied.

"And we do not know what it will look like."

Gavin nodded again. "It will be a magical item in order to act as a vessel. It must be something which can withstand an intense transference of this kind, so a hard gem like Vo'Traj, or the skull of a rare, magical creature, or perhaps an ornate box containing precious writings permeated with magic." My scholar looked more directly at Mourn. "Think of anything that you might prefer to keep in your hoard or your library. These would be acceptable as a lich's phylactery."

"So we've speculated. We are also assuming it will be on the premises and not transported elsewhere for safekeeping."

"Correct," Gavin said. "The factors most in our favor are the relatively short time it has been since its creation and the Tilabil's confirmation that thus far he has spent his time gaining control over the area, creating sentries and digging in. It seems he is intent on being left alone while he hones the magic he already knows. But sooner or later he will have to seek new sources of knowledge.

"I can confirm Sarilis did not know teleport or inter-planar spells before I left, and his behavior thus far implies this was not his focus in the past few months. He may not be expecting us to return at all, perhaps assuming we've perished on his errand. That was his plan, after all. I would say he still keeps the phylactery close by as he simply does not have another place he can be sure it is safe besides the Tower."

Mourn acknowledged this reasoning for a second time—when we were planning among the Wilder, the Guild Leader had told us he would have moved his hoard multiple times by now if it had been him in Sarilis's place, but Gavin had needed to convince him that Sarilis was not this way. 

"I lived with the vulture for some time. He's far too grand on himself," Gavin had said with a wrinkle of his shriveled nose. "He's held a Ley Line nexus unopposed for years, and now he's cheated death. As far as he'll be concerned, he's won and is now invincible. The only chink in his armor he'll believe he has is the phylactery and he won't want that out of his direct control. Not only does he not have another place, but he certainly doesn't have anyone he would trust with it."

I observed Mourn's slow acceptance of this. Feeling invincible... in a way that a recently-molted half-Dragon would not. Even knowing he had gained in power, the hybrid was still aware there were other highly-mobile half-bloods out there who would try to kill him and take what he's earned at any time. There was a bit of a difference in the level of planning and paranoia, it seemed.

"So our overall plan to engage will still work," Mourn said. "And we may be looking for arcane marks on objects or bodies, which may or may not be transferring death magic."

The Deathwalker nodded in agreement.

"That sounds like only something Gavin can sense," Gaelan said. "I still don't see how we will help."

"Distraction and aggregate opposition should never be underestimated," Mourn told her. "And there will be plenty of undead to demobilize while we search for the phylactery and overcome its protections."

I liked how he said that. Demobilize. Not kill or destroy. Wasn't accurate anyway.

"Besides, Iethys taught you some very useful tricks, didn't she?" I said to our newest addition...who was also the oldest among my friends.

Gaelan nodded slowly. "I'm not as powerful as her..."

"But you can give anyone in our way some very unpleasant surprises."

She sighed, looking at Mourn. "How much silver did you pull out of your cache?"

"What we could hold," he said again.

"And the silver dust—"

"Most useful in your hands, Gaelan. Use it well."

"Just be mindful where I am when you do," Gavin added.

Gaelan nodded, but she also looked saddened that Mourn had to give up some of his riches for this assault—and he had, but I wasn't sure why she, of all of us, would be reluctant to use what he'd offered. No one else seemed to think he didn't have plenty to spare, not even Jael. Why else was it there if not to be used when needed? 

All of us except Gavin carried at least one enchanted, silver dagger, Mourn would be using silver-tipped bolts when needed, and not one of us was without other magical weapons as well—I even saw Kurn's sword still strapped among Gavin's things on Night-mare. My Deathwalker had assured us it wasn't just creatures from the Greylands with the silver vulnerability. The effects could vary, but silver was a highly reactive metal in death magic in general.

My poor Deathwalker was very tolerant being around so many who had the tools to assassinate him anytime. Like the rest of us, he just had to trust that we wouldn't try. There were agreements with me and the Guild to help reassure him, but it couldn't have been a relaxing thought. Maybe he just put it out of his mind, like I did all the things Mourn *could* do, but didn't, and all the things *I* could do with Soul Drinker...but didn't.

******

We took our rest while it was still dark, planning to travel more in the day despite the discomfort, because Sarilis would be more active at night as well.

"He doesn't have a sun vulnerability, but some of his minions could," Gavin had said, "and the old goat rarely left the Tower during the day anyway, I would be surprised if this changed after his transformation."

"Always be ready to be surprised," Mourn said.

But we still went with the "most likely" scenario.

I awoke to a vaguely familiar scene as the Sky lightened a bit but the Sun had not yet risen: Gaelan still sleeping, the mounts at rest, Gavin actually tending a cook fire—wow, it smelled good—and two others gone. Mourn and Jael.

"Um," I said softly, and Gavin pointed the direction they had gone. I evaluated whether the warm food was ready and realized he'd be urging me away from him until it was done. I'd save him the trouble.

Stretching out, I put on my boots and left to sneak after Mourn and Jael; I wanted to see how close I could approach without being sensed. It distracted me from a slowly gnawing belly and was good practice. Quiet my mind, suppress my aura, be patient.

I couldn't turn flat-out invisible like Kain and Kerse quite yet—maybe someday—but with my hood up and the right mindset, I could "blur" myself a little bit, lighten my footsteps, to where I at least blended into the deeper shade more easily than I had before. When I remained still, my outline was broken up and it almost had to be some other sense, sound or scent, which might give me away—sight alone certainly wouldn't do it, not even a hawk's or a cat's eyes.

I had a guess what the two were doing and it was just as well if I didn't distract them. But I wanted to watch.

It was in these same mountains and similar forest, in a small clearing at the edge of which I'd spied on Kurn practicing his swordplay in the mornings while we rode east toward the Midway. One time he'd decided to stroke himself off afterward and spurt all over a tree trunk. At that time I'd been somewhat confused at my arousal—it wasn't then or now the lying, fugitive Ma'ab himself or even the display of prowess, more I'd found myself dreaming of others based on cues from him—but it was quite pleasant now with no confusion whatsoever.

Mourn and Jael were practicing as Kurn had been, yes, but at the moment they weren't moving very much, or very fast. Similar to the display I'd witnessed in Yong-wen of Bohai and his brothers, similar to what I'd glimpsed here and there in the Wilder valley, master and apprentice were moving through an "ol xunde." Everything was controlled and deliberate, and slow; weapons, movement, breathing, stepping.

These were moves which worked, though it was still hard for me to imagine what they looked like at full speed just watching them. In, up, out, down. Step, turn, push, cross. 

Regardless of how the unfamiliar witness might question its application in a fight, it was still hypnotic. I loved watching; the only thing I really missed was exactly how their auras were changing—just as I couldn't see how the Yungian brothers were changing theirs.

I could sense it in their presence, though: Calm. Quiet. Focus.

I might have thought Mourn had an unfair advantage with the patient Dragon inside versus any pureblood Elf, but now the hybrid had another layer of complexity to add with his wings so he actually didn't appear quite as perfect in all his moves as Jael mirroring him. He made just a little more noise now when they stretched or closed, shifting to allow a long-reach weapon to move around him without slicing a hole through his wing like a sail upon a ship. He was clearly competent, figuring his new techniques out in a constant evolution of thought that would be intimidating to any Human, for certain, and maybe even a skilled Elf, but with Jael, he was starting somewhere new, too.

Likewise, I wasn't fully accustomed to seeing Jael hold onto her own patience this well—but in order for her to succeed, I'd better get used to it. It would become "normal." The idea was that eventually she will have only spent a small portion of her life being so impatient about everything and that reputation would only be a good story. The discipline would be good for her, as Furuc had said, and she'd be glad she stuck with it.

Rennyn had said something similar about me, except it was less impatience and more...

Well. More "me" inside, and less "them."

Mourn and Jael faced each other most of the time, rarely turning their backs as they stepped lightly in the tall grass and the early light strengthened in the clear Sky. Instead of growing aroused—okay, instead of *only* growing aroused...and hungry, damn it—I felt that joy in being alive the Tilabil had described. I'd felt it before, it wasn't new or foreign, it was only that I could recognize it now. Warm and filling, like food but not.

The duo brought their weapon around to a resting stance and straightened up with a bow of the head, which gave me the signal they'd finished.

*Is it time for breakfast, Sirana?* Mourn asked, thinking with exaggerated loudness from some distance away.

I glared, reaching out to strengthen the connection. *Oh, fuck you, my stomach didn't growl or anything!*

He chuckled, tail waving. *Just wait. It will.*

*What was it? Did the wind shift on me and I didn't notice?*

*You were low enough for that not to be the problem.*

*You hear anything? Mind or body?*

*You've forgotten you're carrying Soul Drinker again? Tsk."

"I didn't hear anything it, either!*

*Indeed. You were using all your skill and yet it decided to make itself known to me. Something to bear in mind.*

Oh, yes. That was helpful. I turned my glare toward the relic but somehow refrained from saying "Traitor" aloud. That was a bit of a fuzzy line, these days.

Taking some signal from Mourn, my little Sister turned in my direction as I stood up and she smiled and hurried toward me.

"Good morning!" she said, planting a kiss on my surprised lips before moving past quickly to return to the camp, not lingering near the relic.

Mourn caught up more slowly, his stride deliberate, and I caught his tail moved in a half-lash once as his eyes rested on the dagger but then he looked at me. "Good morning."

My stomach growled then, signaling I'd pushed my luck far enough. They were both traitors...

"Good morning," I sighed. "Is 'she' talking to you?"

Mourn shook his head. "You are a good guardian, Sirana. Jael says she no longer hears its whispers, and neither do I. That may be why it is flaring its aura now and then. Attention-seeking."

"That's not good."

Mourn shrugged. "Why we have an agreement when the danger is clear and present."

He leaned down to kiss me like Jael had. I enjoyed it, but I had a different frown soon afterward.

"You look worried," he commented.

"There was a reason they discouraged genuine affection among fighters underground," I muttered.

There was the unspoken thought there: What if one of us dies in the next few days or weeks or months...?

"And would you be better off now having spurned even the first kiss of affection?" he asked seriously.

I didn't even pause. "No."

"Then what's done is done, and trust yourself in what comes. That is all anyone can do."

"You sound like your Father."

Mourn grinned unexpectedly, his eyes bright in amusement.

My empty, yet still obviously round stomach complained again and I gestured the way back to the camp and the cook fire. I could silence the attention-seeker in my belly more easily than I could the one at my hip. Not for the first time, I wondered how long this would be the case, and which of many possibilities would come where I would need to trust myself?

*******

We talked a lot more about our plans that breakfast, and lunch, and that evening again. It seemed we weren't close enough yet to keep Soul Drinker from being a pain in my ass whenever it decided to "wave hello" at the Dragonblood.

"Just what did you promise her, Mourn?" Jael asked at one point, the beginnings of jealousy apparent.

"That's what it wants you to ask, Jael," he said, like a trainer not a lover.

Then he had asked her step farther away with him, and I knew he had signed his response specifically because we all could read it, but Soul Drinker couldn't—and beyond the immediate area, it couldn't sense him, either.

*I am your teacher, you are my apprentice, we are partners. I will not abandon you, or fail my master to pass on Blade Song. Do not doubt me, trust me, regardless of what other females would have you think.*

Gavin, whatever he was thinking about or comparing that to, nodding almost to himself, and Gaelan smiled a little at me. I was glad when Jael and Mourn sneaked off in the middle of the night, probably for some stress relief, and I remained where I was with a firm vigil over Soul Drinker.

This was just the beginning of how Innathi would work to see her own visions come true.

We got up again, travelled again, just started to turn in the direction of Tamuril's hovel to see if she was there. That was part of the plan; I'd told the others she had insisted at Manalar. Mourn and Jael scouted ahead as it was during this third day that the land changed abruptly for me. Sort of. The speed at which Night-mare had been galloping may have had something to do with it. 

Nonetheless, we evaded our first black patch in the soil just before many of the trees—but not all—seemed to become standing skeletons themselves. The Sun was still up and the Sky was clear, but I could see grey clouds looming up ahead as the mountains became greyer, and blacker. We stopped, and now Roh was easier to see looking up as she clung to the tallest tree; there was still some green, but many of the leaves now carpeted the ground in brown, crunchy husks. Well early in the season, I was told, and not with the feeling of hibernation and eventual renewal.




Surfacing Ch. 29



It was worse than that. 

I forced myself to eat again even as I recovered from the dizziness of travel, and Gavin prodded the black patch, looking for a sentry, I thought. There was none.

"Tamuril showed me one of those," I said, "much closer to the Tower."

"Yes, so you've said." Gavin spoke without looking behind him. "But this isn't the same place."

"No, it isn't. I mean, I also noticed something similar when you buried Night-mare just outside of Manalar when we were sneaking in." I looked around, confused. "If there's nothing here, as you warned there could be...what is this?"

Gavin brushed off his hands and came off his knee to look at me. "Pooling."

We waited, glancing between us.

"Pooling of what?" I asked when he didn't immediately follow-up.

"Not of what. Simply where death far outweighs rebirth," he said, and I got the impression he didn't actually have a formal name for this process.

"Isn't that just rot?" Gaelan asked.

"No," Gavin said. "Even rot has creatures born and growing within it. This soil can be a modest source of rejuvenation for undead creatures as it will be closer to the Tower, but this far out I believe it's unintentional. Part of the chain reaction of what Sarilis is doing."

"And if we stand on it, it'll make us sick," Jael stated.

"Correct," Gavin said.

"Except you."

"Also correct."

"The symptoms again, and how fast?"

"For anyone living, nausea and a growing headache to start, followed by weakness and dizziness, assuming something undead isn't coming straight at you or reaching up to pull you down, as you are a bit of a beacon for them. You have a minute at best where you may fall and not be able to get up. Eventually your body will sink down into the soil."

I was studying Gavin's face as he described this. "You tried it out once when you were alive, didn't you?"

He looked at me. "How else was I supposed to learn what Sarilis kept hidden? Although as I recall, that 'stunt' set Cullen to traipsing after me for a month and sucker punching me when I wasn't looking. The old bastard was annoyed but more giddy with the excuse to abuse me."

Sounded about right, and yes, I remembered Cullen, the undead escort. He "traipsed" after me for a while, too. But without the hitting, because Sarilis had been a host who enjoyed female guests.

I doubted he'd like the three coming for him now nearly as much by the end of it.

"So the day is on its way out," Gaelan said softly, looking around us and I briefly caught a nervous memory of the area around the Warpstone cult in her mind. "We're still using time looking for this 'Druid'?"

Gavin started to nod, and Mourn started to sign an affirmative.

I missed both those because I looked up when I heard a falcon cry. "Hm. Or maybe she just found us."

My far vision still wasn't that great in daylight, but I wasn't talking about seeing the pattern of her feathers. Her call combined with the more purposeful and familiar approach helped identify her for me: Pilla.

Tamuril must be actively searching to pinpoint us... barely a quarter hour after we'd stopped in the area. Maybe she had senses I didn't understand as well. Regardless, I had something of a bad feeling...urgency, if not something worse. Such as the falcon's mistress having been captured or something.

The bird circled once but didn't dive toward the ground. Could I call her? I could give it a try...

*Pilla. Pilla!*

The falcon tightened her circle but not as if in response to me. I shrugged. I couldn't be sure she would recognize "me" this way, anyway. Still, Pilla circled only one more time before turning and flying straight in a line just skirting the prominent border of the dying forest, and as we watched the falcon descended closer to the treetops.

"Follow," Mourn said.

This would probably be the last time Gavin and Gaelan climbed aboard Roh before the beast would have to make her own way to the outcroppings above the Tower—hopefully with impeccable timing. Mourn and Jael remained on the ground with me and we did not push for far-distance speeds but mostly a hard gallop with some sound-muffling spells.

Pilla got there well before us and Gavin still needed to bring down Roh, but Jael, Mourn and I found Tamuril—alone and seemingly well...but staring green needles at us through her eyes as her whole frame seemed rigid as the trunks around us. At least there were living leaves here.

"You've come to stop him, right?" the Druid demanded of me, before she blinked and was thrown off not only by my obvious stomach but also Mourn's wings when she finally looked at him. Then she saw Jael, her new weapons crossing her back in familiar fashion. She gaped, and I answered the question she'd probably forgotten right then.

"Yes, we've come to stop him," I said. "You said to find you before facing off with him."

She didn't reply, so I took the lead.

"So how was Willven when you left, and how long have you been out here? Any news besides," I swept my hand out, "the obvious."

The Noldor looked back and blinked. "Uhm...wait. You first." She indicated Mourn. "Are the wings just part of his shifting?"

"They are now," Jael said. "Didn't used to be."

The Druid glanced at my Sister, noting the weapons on her back which were no longer on Mourn's. "And...those look like his, but...um..."

Jael grinned. "But my size, I know, they are the same, he made them. We're a lot stronger in magic now, Druid. Mourn is teaching me."

"So I see," Tamuril murmured, now seeming a bit wary as Pilla fluffed her feathers on her shoulder. 

The bird blinking and turning her head suspiciously toward us, then toward Gaelan—where her tawny eyes stayed. Tamuril followed the bird's lead. 

"And this must be Gaelan? You were successful in your mission."

I nodded, and even though Gaelan had been warned ahead of time about the Noldor Druid possibly joining us, even though my older Sister possessed the secret origins of the Wilder and saw many with lighter skin colors and accepted them... she still stared at Tamuril like something out of our farthest, most dangerous legends.

"Gaelan's with us," I said with a nod, taking her arm and bringing her fully beside with me. The air mage took a deliberate step forward, trying to form a confident show in front of an ancient enemy race but an individual who was an ally.

Tamuril nodded, herself having taken on a stern, determined gaze leaking the need to protect, even without Willven being here. She had a lot on her mind and she wasn't intimidated. That last part was good, but I hoped she would talk more.

The Druid watched me with her familiar resting on her right shoulder. I could sense her momentary sadness that I had to enter this battle with such a tempting target out in front for all to see but ultimately she knew there was no other way. She nodded and took a breath to calm down, her resolve clear and as she spoke, she looked directly at me, Gaelan, then Mourn and Jael, and finally Gavin.

"I am sorry we don't have time for visiting. Yes, I am here to help you—you clearly see what Sarilis is doing. But... you should know now there is something else in the forest as well. A creature I don't know. I've been tracking it for several days, but neither Pilla nor I have gotten a look at it. At first it seemed to be heading away from the Tower but following the Ley Line. Now in the last day, it's turned around and come back this way at a quick pace. As far as I know, I haven't been herding it but I...was trying to find you before it did. If you were indeed coming."

"How long have you waited?" I asked.

"Since I first showed you where the Tower is," Tami replied with a tiny smirk. "As you agreed."

I smirked back. Point.

She went back to being serious. "Although for the time being I just scouted and watched and kept out of Sarilis's direct sight. You were right, he must have used the upheaval at Manalar to become something else that won't die but will kill everything else around it. I've watched it spread over the last month and hoped the Deathwalker and you all were coming soon. Only very recently did I sense this other creature, though, and I believe it is completely separate from Sarilis."

Mourn tilted his head. "What does your standard tracking tell you?"

The Druid nodded to him; this was familiar territory. "Large, bipedal footprint, five clawed toes, taller than me, could be near you in strength as there is significant weight as well. It has coarse, white hair on its body for certain, I found it snagged on some bark. Scat suggests it is eating well, omnivore, and fully adapted but...while it is magical in a familiar way, something about it is very foreign. And in a way that feels...wrong to me."

As she's been speaking, a clear image had come to me. I couldn't believe it, and yet... 

It had to be Vesram.

Tamuril noticed the way I looked at her. "What?"

"You're a good tracker," I murmured. "Do you have the hair you mentioned?"

She nodded, opening her forest-colored cloak and reaching to pull it out of her belt pouch. She held five, long, distinct white hairs; I took off one glove and reached out; she hesitated only a moment before allowing me to touch them, then take them. Everyone stared at me as I rubbed them between my fingers—far too familiar—and then brought them up beneath my nose to take a quiet sniff.

I looked at Mourn and Gavin with some concern. "Definitely the Draegloth."

Tamuril nodded slowly, frowning in dismayed confirmation. "Willven told me about what he'd seen down in the crypt...I had hoped against the signs."

"We were just talking about him," Jael said, unhappy as well. "What's he doing here?"

"He's probably been following the Ley Line straight to the Tower ever since he escaped the crypt," Gavin said thoughtfully. "If he surfaced from the same place that you did, Sirana, but over a century ago, he may be trying to find it again."

Trying to go home.

"But now he's changed direction," Mourn said. "Toward us."

That sounded right. He could have seen Roh in the Sky, could have sensed us coming—although did that mean Sarilis did, too?—he could have—

I thought back to the crypt, of the Draegloth just before Vo'Traj died, and I had held everyone back so he could escape. Jael had hurt him worse than he'd hurt her, and I didn't think it was just her ferocity keeping him off-guard at the time. I knew he could have done worse but he mostly defended. I'd never pointed that out to anyone and neither had Jael.

Jael took hold of my shoulder, giving it a small shake. "Hey. You okay?"

I nodded, blinking out of my memory. So this was the first trip-up in our plan. A cynical side of me wondered why we had even bothered planning at all. We couldn't continue on and let the Draegloth be at our backs, especially since he might be hunting us, maybe trying to find me since it seemed he hadn't yet found the passage to the Underdark yet—if that was what he came all this way to find.

"Gavin, could I hold your scepter a moment?" I asked, holding out my hand.

"Is that wise?" Gavin asked, his hand mottled by the Sun and the shadow as he reached for a long, leather covering on his belt. "You could summon anything."

"I'm not using magic to summon."

"Then it may not work at all."

"It's a focus for me, isn't it? I know demons are attracted to it. Let me see it."

"And when you bring him closer, then what?" Mourn asked. 

When? That was a big load of confidence.

"Do we kill him? Capture him?"

"Neither," I said flatly. "I want to talk to him first."

"No!" Jael protested. "He's not just going to talk! He sneaked up on us in the crypt! He attacked us!"

"Yes, he will talk," I argued. "He would have talked back at the crypt if he wasn't following Vo'Traj's commands. She had his name to control him."

"And now no one does!" she blurted. "He can do anything he wants! He's a demon!"

"He's half-Drow!" I shot back. "He was born here and is bound here, he can't just leave or be banished to another plane at will! And he's never lived alone until now. He'll be uncertain, he'll want company. He'll talk."

"And then what?" Gaelan inserted, much less aggressively than Jael. "What will you talk about?"

Well...

I looked at Mourn, almost pleading. He'd be the one who'd understand most, being of two worlds from birth. He was being practical, weighing the risks against alternate choices. It might be easier to him to hunt and kill the Draegloth himself—alone even, he could always suggest it—but he did consider my offer.

"You're certain of your read, Sirana?" he asked.

I was shaking a little but trying to still it. "I-It's what Kerse felt. He knew his brothers felt the same, he even knew Vesram before he left. Vesram was a shi-goet, a 'little brother' in the Abyssal language. Kerse was a big brother, r'yn-goet."

Pilla ruffled her feathers as Tamuril shuddered, hearing me speak like that. Gavin looked far more intrigued, maybe even almost convinced...

"Draegloth don't like each *that* much, Sirana," Jael said.

"Far better than they like the Consorts, and they are often kept together in the same pen," I continued, and noted Tamuril was listening, completely silent with enormous eyes. "There were ally-packs within them, just as there would be in the Wizard's Tower or the Cloister. And you know without a doubt that they will work together, Jael—better than anyone of us here, you know this."

She didn't reply, but the hard look she gave me was enough to cause Mourn's tail to react. She remembered; like me, she remembered too much about her youth, and her initiation.

"Work together," the Deathwalker picked up, probably the least perturbed by the upset around us. "In other words...?"

I exhaled on a nod. "I might be able to make him an ally against Sarilis in exchange for taking him back home. It might be what he wants, too. If not, at least we'll know now and can deal with this before we move on to an even riskier challenge. Don't you agree?"

Gavin nodded first and quickly, then Mourn, then Gaelan. Jael crossed her arms, not arguing further but not in support, either. Tamuril seemed haunted enough to be wary along with her bird, but given she'd been tracking him for some time and managed to find us first, she certainly wasn't helpless. Even she gave me a mild nod.

My necromancer pulled out the Ma'ab scepter. "Very well, Sirana. Let me demonstrate the best way to hold it so you might not summon something unexpected."

"Like the Kyton?" I said, trying to tease.

"I expected that," he replied, deadpan. "Hold out your hand. Wrap the white hairs around the handle."

******

It was true what I said: I wasn't summoning anything. Like so many of the "internal" psionics, it wasn't flashy or eventful; no powerful or graceful Words, no somatics, no components or obvious rituals. Most would have said that I was just sitting on the ground, nibbling on a travel ration again, holding the heavy, cold metal of the jeweled and engraved scepter. And I was chatting, encouraging the others to chat as the Sun sank down closer to the horizon. Kind of a boring and uninteresting attempt, from the outside.

I had needed to send Soul Drinker and my spiders farther from me to concentrate; Mourn and Gavin were the guards. Maybe Gavin was right; maybe nothing would happen—but wasn't it better to start here than go straight to the Kyton-summoning power, right on the edge of a lich's zone in the hopes of drawing Vesram out into the open?

"The Noldor don't have halfbreeds of any sort," Tamuril murmured, intently careful about what she chose to say. "The Draegloth...are...?"

"Part of the required worship of Lolth," I answered.

Mourn nodded. "Even my former Matron-Priestesses had them, in a different city."

The Druid blinked at us with wide, green eyes. "The way you simply say your Goddess's name out loud...whenever you want..."

I glanced at Mourn and back. "Yes, I've heard you and Krithannia are nervous to say the name of your God...in case it helped them find you, was it?"

Tamuril reached up to pet her clucking falcon, soothing herself in the process; I got the impression she was quelling panic, fighting a very, very old habit. "Maybe it wouldn't, maybe it's just what we were told...but we're afraid to risk it. No one except the Priests and the queen might know His Name. To the rest of us, He is the Husband, or our Lord of Forgiveness, Father of Truth..."

Jael muffled a derisive snort but immediately apologized. "Sorry. It just...does sound like mind-control through dogma. Lots of that back home, it's only that my House was never fooled because we weren't allowed to be. We stood on the outside and watched everyone else act like idiots trying to curry favor with Lolth and her Priestesses."

"Definitely not 'truth, in either case,'" Mourn agreed.

Tamuril nodded slowly, clearly wondering how much of what she'd been told had been "true" but, in fashion just like her beloved Godblood, steered us back to our purpose. "So the Drow must share some of their essence with the Abyss and make sons. Like...ambassadors from that other place to stay here."

"They are a vulnerability as well," I said. "Kill a Draegloth, and you permanently cripple his mother-Priestess. She loses much of her magic and ages suddenly. I've seen it."

The Druid shuddered. "So...the Priestesses fight hard to keep control of the Drow alongside the queen, yet they themselves can only become so powerful by the will of their Goddess."

"Correct," I said and Gaelan nodded thoughtfully.

"I think..." Tami began, paused, and continued. "I do not *know,* but I have wondered before...if it is the same for our Priests. Only their control is for knowledge of the past, those who lived before us. They hoard it."

"I think you *do* know," Gavin spoke abruptly, quiet and a little ominous though he probably hadn't intended to be. "You know about Krithannia, what knowledge she must have taken from them when she left them. Whether this weakened them."

Again Pilla ruffled her feathers as Tamuril petted her nervously. "I-I...alright, maybe, I...uh..." She looked at me. "I've never said it."

"Try," Gaelan said softly. "It can be...freeing to confess. It lightens the weight so you can carry on."

Tamuril looked at the least familiar Drow among us and studied her, no doubt thinking this was so strange to hear from violet-black lips. "But...what others do with the confession, with the information...you should know."

Gaelan nodded. "Yet keeping it for fear of your 'betters' only protects them, doesn't it? It does not protect you."

"Shouldn't we be talking about the Draegloth?" the Druid returned, glancing at me and stalling further.

"I'm working on it," I said, turning the scepter carefully as Gavin had shown me, avoiding certain markings. "Keep talking. What of Krithannia?" 

In spite of what it looked like, I was doing something, even as dusk was coming on. I listened and "layered" our conversation in my head in a way I'd practiced before with Rennyn. He said it was sort of like weaving a small piece of a veil that put out a welcoming scent and pattern—and it didn't all have to be the same color. A one-path mind wasn't my natural leaning anyway, so my colors and patterns went all over the place, and the veil drifted and floated in various directions, searching for something. For change.

Tamuril looked at Mourn. "You know, don't you? Krithannia told you."

He nodded.

"And you've never said. You never told them."

"It was never mine to say."

"And so now it's mine?"

The hybrid nodded again. "Of course it is, Tamuril. I know how he hurt her, but I've seen only this year how he's hurt you much more."

Deep pain and anger passed over her face and she trembled; Pilla could no longer stay on her tense shoulder but hopped down to land on her leather-clad thigh, looking up at her mistress the way Graul used to look at Mourn when he was worried. I stopped breathing for a moment at the power of the Druid's emotion.




Surfacing Ch. 29



"It was you!" she accused Mourn. 

She still couldn't say it; she'd grabbed onto something else.

"At the Tower, long before Sarilis ever moved in! The Man that Krithannia had with her, and with Talov, when I finally found her on the outside. I knew when I saw you at the Retreat... it had to have been you!"

Mourn nodded. "It was."

He waited, and none of us insisted on what would not be given.

Likewise, I wasn't meaning to spy as the Druid stared at him, complex emotions roiling inside her. Tamuril—in spite of her expressive face and habit of deep feeling—was not easy to read. She wasn't open; she was closed, protecting herself at all times in a natural armor of psychic bark that was hard to pull aside entirely. 

In the shower at Retreat, while I'd sucked hard on the nipples of her marked and cursed breasts, I'd seen a glimpse of a blond Noldor Priest within her mind, but I didn't see or understand the whole story.

It was the same now.

I did recognize a glimpse of "Roewn," the form that Mourn had taken in Augran as he gave me a tour: that of a dark-haired Noiri of good height and a swordsman's body. That was the one and only time Tamuril had actually seen Mourn prior to the battle of Manalar. He'd stayed out of her view ever since, the few times after she'd come to Krithannia. 

The Druid's memory... was of Krithannia fucking Roewn inside the Tower while the Druid spied. That made my heart trip and my face flush, just as it had hers at the time.

*I miss Marikoth...*

That was Tamuril's thought just afterward, as she was aroused and guilty, afraid and confused, yearning for the familiar safety back home. She thought then that she wanted the numb ignorance and bliss of before, something she'd never get back, having had her eyes opened.

*Don't hurt me, brother...please, don't hurt me...*

Brother.

*Brother...!*

My throat locked down on itself as I made the connection between the blond Priest I'd seen, and a name. I had a name now: Marikoth. The Druid was the younger sister of one of the Noldor Queen's Priests. This connection was the equivalent of discovering as if I'd cluelessly caroused with Wilsirathon's younger sibling, far too close to the queen's hand than I'd realized...

No. What this Priest had done that to her, after she came back to confess helping a Human family and being attacked by Drow down below...? It was worse than I'd thought, assuming before it was just some cruel, over-controlling Priests like our own Lolth-worshippers back home, punishing her and exiling her.

But, no. Tamuril had her own older sibling haunting her sleep, just as I had.

"What were you all doing at the Tower back then?" Gavin asked Mourn directly, and clearly he wanted an answer. "How long ago?"

The Guild Leader scratched his chin with a half-smile. "Interesting. I count it was one hundred and four years ago. And it was the first time Tamuril claimed to have seen a Baenar near the Tower."

"I did see her!" she fumed, gladly taking this new direction as her memories of her brother vanished in a swirl of resentment. "You didn't believe me, none of you did! You made me feel stupid! I know what I saw!"

"Please, describe it," Gavin said to her, willing them to cooperate as he strained for every detail. "Describe what you saw, never mind what the Guild said, they can be wrong."

Mourn smirked a bit but didn't argue.

Tamuril still couldn't look directly at the Deathwalker for very long, but she was aware of the irony that he—of all allies—was most willing to hear her out. She looked at me for reassurance, and I gave it to her in a very careful removing of my hand from the scepter, next giving hers a warm squeeze. Gaelan's eyes widened a bit—she hadn't asked too many questions about my connection with the Druid—but she remained silent along with Jael.

The blonde nodded, accepting, wetting her lips before she spoke. "I had been sent to find Krithannia. It was my first time out alone, away from home. They'd said it must be me, that I had been chosen. I did well in the wild, and I followed the Ley Line then as I do now. It's such a familiar path."

She took a breath, green eyes staring down at the green grass as she looked back at her memories. "I found Krithannia and Talov at the Tower, and as I watched them. I-I was surprised at the presence of the dwarf and didn't know how to approach my sister...but before I could decide, I heard a voice speak in the Dark Elf language—I'm certain of what I heard now—and looked behind me. 

"She was a shorter Elf, but beautiful and terrifying Drow, smirking at me and looking eager to hurt me. I was going to shoot her with my bow. Something...unseen behind me, with hot breath, snapped the arrow I had drawn on her and pushed me from behind so I stumbled toward her."

The connection made now was like Mourn, Jael, Gavin, and me all diving with Tamuril for the last remaining sweet on the plate.

"It was Vesram!" Jael cried first. "Even then! Holy fuck, he was at the Tower?!" She looked at Mourn. "You were, too?!"

The hybrid nodded. "It seems I was mistaken, Tamuril. I apologize."

The Druid narrowed her eyes as if she didn't believe him because it had been so easy for him to say.

"Kindly explain what was going on at the Tower at this time," Gavin said with that familiar, fraying patience.

Meanwhile, I had stepped up the psionic coaxing. *Come on, Vesram, you're supposed to be here...you know it.*

"The Guild has always watched Ma'ab movements," Mourn began, and at first I didn't see the relevance, but then it struck me.

The Ma'ab had captured Vesram and his mother...

"The Ma'ab were at the Tower," I said.

"The Ma'ab were headed in the direction of the Tower," Mourn corrected. "A smaller exploration group, not the military outright but they did manage to bring one Hellhound. The best we knew, a lower-Tier noble family had funded passage across the Great Lake and into the mountains just South of Yung-An."

"Why?" Gavin asked, but the Guild Leader shook his head.

"Could be dreams and visions, magic or mundane, like any drive that sends one out to explore. They may have been looking for Ley Lines or something else on this side of the continent. At the time, the Ma'ab were growing quickly in power as they were entering their fourth century here and had overcome many challenges. 

"They were already at war with the Kurgan and soon discovering the choice, stubborn clashes with any of Musanlo's followers, which only helped them learn more. The Ma'ab may have been looking for more power to use against them. The Guild followed them. When they were reported to be heading toward a then little-known crossing of Ley Lines, Krithannia, Talov and I left to dissuade them with all possible methods."

"Leaving Augran wide open?" Jael asked curiously.

"The Ma'ab weren't threatening that area at the time. We could travel quickly, and we had good Men and Women working for us, even then." Mourn returned his gaze to Gavin. "We didn't discover the Tower itself until we extrapolated their direction, but we found it before they did and were just planning how to meet them away from there and keep them from finding it. That was where Tamuril found us."

"And the Drow and her Draegloth were there, too," the Druid insisted.

"Just the two of them?" Gaelan asked skeptically.

"Elder Rausery did tell me the Priestess went without a proper escort," I said. "The Sisterhood knew nothing about it. The Valsharess had to have given the permission to go, though."

"Or gave her no choice," my older Sister responded, "as She did not give us."

An interesting possibility.

*Is that true, Vesram?* I thought. *Were you sent here with your mother by the queen with no recourse?*

My eyes shifted to the East, where it was just a little darker until night arrived in full. I sensed something...familiar.

It was working.

"So what happened at the Tower?" I asked again before Gavin had to for a third time. "What was the end result?"

Mourn exhaled. "Actually, almost nothing."

"Almost?" Jael quirked a white eyebrow.

"I went out to check for possible Baenar sign where Tamuril said. I did scent something—"

"I told you!" the Druid said.

The Guild Leader sighed. "I scented first the spores of a mushroom that cause illusions if the fruiting body is eaten, and the sign showed many of them crushed amid the grass and an animal had cropped them up recently. There was scent and sign of a bear having passed through. There was nothing obvious, and the age-scent of magic is harder to read at the Tower than elsewhere. As that one seemed at least days if not weeks old and you claimed to use no magic outright, Tamuril, it could not have just happened as you said, or so I thought, and I could not linger long."

"Oh yes, but you *could* linger much more, later on that night," she hinted, though I was probably the only one there who knew exactly what she was getting at.

Mourn smiled placidly, the tip of his tail flicking. "I have learned since then that some Hellhounds possess charms that break down the aftertaste of a spell, such as a masking spell which they likely used. Equivalent to sweeping up a powder or cleaning up muddy footprints as one leaves. 

"As I did not know of this detail at the time, even I can misjudge the sign if it's been prematurely degraded right next to a sacred site, Tamuril. I am sorry I doubted you but I did not know you then, only your brother's reputation, and I distrusted your purpose in showing up so mysteriously. I was mistaken, you were telling the truth, but I do not see how I could have made a different choice then, given what I knew."

Tamuril listened to him; she was still frowning, but she listened. Eventually, she nodded in acceptance. 

"The Ma'ab never set eyes upon the Tower," Mourn continued.

"Fortunate," Gavin grumbled.

"Because the Ma'ab found the Priestess and the Draegloth instead?" I asked.

Mound nodded. Less fortunate.

He said, "What we have come to believe. There may have been a chase as well. The Priestess and her son was the new, strange source of power they believed they were searching for, and in overall benefit to the rest of us, the Ma'ab missed the Tower. Instead they took the Priestess and Draegloth back quickly to show their betters, no doubt to hand them over for interrogation, to find where there might be more of them. They could always come back with the army."

"But they never did," I murmured, still concentrating.

"No."

Was that the purpose of the Valsharess sending her? A literal sacrifice to the Ma'ab rather than allowing the abandoned Tower to be explored prematurely, before Sarilis arrived, as Rausery had also been sent to get to know the necromancer... Yet to give the Ma'ab something like what we carried, it was unfathomable.

Unless the pair had managed to keep the Ma'ab distracted all this time...until this year. When so many things were changing.

No, that can't have been the purpose...could it...?

Mourn spoke again. "They retreated quickly, though Talov, Krithannia, and I did not know. Unfortunately by the time we realized this, they had been moving away for some time and they had a chance to fully hide their prizes even from Guild eyes on the way back. I imagine now they'd killed two servants and disposed of the bodies, and the Baenar Priestess and the Draegloth were wrapped in a strong illusion spell to look just like them. There was nothing notable about the reports coming in, only that the Ma'ab were going back where they came from without causing further trouble and without finding that intersection in the Western mountains."

"And then later came Kreshel," I murmured, noting now that we spoke together in full night's darkness.

"Mm-hm," Mourn grunted, shaking his head. "We could have simply hunted them down and killed them all on the way back."

"But that wasn't the balance you'd been taught to keep by then," I said. "You would have needed to presume a lot to think they all had to be wiped out without question."

He nodded. "Exactly. And there was much else going on at the time. Matters in Augran called us back as well. We had neither the leisure nor the need to follow the Ma'ab back across the Lake and into their own territory."

"And had you known what they had in their possession?" Gavin asked curiously.

Mourn gave this some thought, even though he likely had many times before. "We would have taken the Priestess and her son prisoner ourselves, though that would bring a great deal of trouble with the importance in keeping her hidden from the Archmage. 

"We also wouldn't know if any other Ma'ab would have received an advance message about the capture so would have to prepare for that possibility as well—perhaps it would have begun a war directly with the Ma'ab right then. Meanwhile, much else would depend on what she might have said to us, as well as her own actions, or those of her son."

The hybrid gave me a brief glance as he said that.

"You wouldn't have killed her or the half-breed outright," Jael stated.

"No," Mourn answered. "Not until I discovered more of her story. As Isboern did for you upon your capture."

Expelling a small breath, Jael leaned against him and nodded.

I thought this over. Vesram was the only survivor to have that part of the story.

*Come closer, Vesram. You heard us. We will not harm unless you mean to kill us.*

I felt no outright threat in response to that. Only fear.

And loneliness.

Mourn turned his head suddenly, his back straightening as his ears perked up. I hadn't even heard anything and his tongue didn't flick out at first, but he had looked in the right direction.

"Wait," I murmured, confirming that Mourn would do so as I rolled up to my knees and gingerly handed the scepter back to Gavin, getting to my feet.

"Not alone!" Jael hissed. She tried to insist on coming but, to my relief, Mourn grabbed her shoulder.

"Not alone, but not you, Jael," he said bluntly. "You'll threatened him."

She shook him off. "Then it can't be you, either, To'vah-krav merc."

He nodded in agreement, glancing toward Soul Drinker, and gestured to Gavin. "Would you go? The Elfbloods will stay here. We are back-up should you need it, just call."

The Deathwalker nodded and got to his feet with me, brushing off his hands after securing the Ma'ab scepter. "I take it that it worked?"

"He's been coming closer as we've talked," I said, letting my eyes peer into the darkness. We hadn't even lit a fire this time and it was getting cooler. "But he's not on top of us yet. He's wary."

"Hm. Did the scepter help?"

"I think it did."

We stepped forward into the dark, Gavin as comfortable as the rest of us under even weak Moonlight. I opened all my senses—even the new ones I'd learned about counting coup with Mourn in the Wilder forest—and I was confident that I knew what I would face. Part of me was eager and curious. Part of me was ready to defend myself by any means necessary, including breaking a will in return, if that's what it took.

I didn't think it would. Vesram had lost his Priestess and his mother; his own wound of that sort scarred long ago but he still had magic. I had no evidence at all that it had been a rewarding existence for him amid the Ma'ab since surviving his Elf parent. If he and I might compare notes of suffering, his very essence had been fed upon for decades while he carried the sorceress's phylactery on his "groin" somewhere. He was strong to still be alive now, and somehow he had managed to retain critical thought. He was not rabid; his Elf side was holding on.

Without that shocking mindlink back at the crypt, I wouldn't be so certain as I was now that he still held some purpose in life, that he could be bargained with. He wasn't driven mad by his suffering.

Not irredeemably so. No more than me, and he'd been tested far longer.

When I finally stopped, Gavin did as well. I no longer used my eyes because the Draegloth was using the dark and his abilities to their utmost; the vague sense of a matching persona to our conversation was still there, somewhere to my left, but I didn't even hear breathing.

"Vesramshi-goet," I murmured aloud, and I made the hand sign for the clear benefit of my allies as I said, "Come out and talk."

Concentrating as I was on that one mind, I felt a surge of anger which came straight out of fear. I heard chains. All kinds of chains: dragging, twirling, spinning, lashing...

*No chaaiinnsss...*

*No chains,* I promised. *No harm while we talk, shi-goet. Unless you harm first, you are protected.*

He crawled closer; we still couldn't see him, but I signed our every thought with my hands for Gavin's sake. And Mourn's, if he or anyone else was watching somehow—arcane or otherwise. If I didn't already know what I was doing, I would have thought I looked fucking insane, talking to myself with my hands.

*Mmottherrr...*

I shook my head smartly. *Not me. I am not your mother. She is dead. I will speak as Ryn'goet, if you wish.*

He did not respond at first, disappointed but he did not deny this. *Brrotherrr... Alssoo dead...*

*Enough remains in me.*

*He wass almmosst freee...*

*He envies you.*

*Shhould nnot. Freee iss...sss...terrifyinng...*

I found myself smiling a bit. He could think like an Elf. I waited for what he would think next.

What he thought surprised me.

*Mistresss-killerr...he isss besside you.*

*You mean Gavin? The Deathwalker?*

*Yesss...killled Vo'Traj. She ssaid...would claimm himm as Ada's bloodd. Iss thiss trrue?*

This wasn't an idle thought. 

The Ma'ab necromancer had said that, yes, taunted Gavin as a "half-caste" with all the arrogance of her station. And the way the Draegloth thought that name: Ada. 

Vo'Traj had owned both Ada and Vesram; it was reasonable to think they might've seen each other. Mourn would have heard this as well and Gavin was highly recognizable, even without the black spikes coming out of his shoulders. Vesram now even seemed half wary and half excited.

I answered true. *Gavin is Ada's son, yes.*

Now I thought I heard a soft snort. I wasn't sure how to read it.

*Sshhe prommissed.*

*Who promised?*

*Ada. Prromissed to see mme frree. If I frreed her.*

*And did you?*

I sensed an affirmative, signed a "yes" with my own hands, and risked a glance at Gavin. He was still reading my hands, his mouth set in a tight, thin line.

Gavin asked me quietly, "He knew her well enough for her to make a promise to keep beyond the grave?"

Vesram emitted a sound now, an eerie hiss and a chuckle at once. *Forrced to knnow hher, to put onn sshow for Misstress. Coulld hhave been Ada-sson's sssire, Ryn'goet. Ssaw sshadows protectinng hher insstead.*

My hands hesitated a moment, but I translated that without changing it. Gavin straightened up and clenched his hands, keeping his face in that cold, thoughtful frown. 

"Hm. What shadows?"

Typical of him to gloss over the implied sex...

*What kind of shadows protected Ada?* I repeated for him.

Vesram grunted. *Onnes the Ma'ab coulld nnot ssee. Nnot Abysss, nnot Hellls.*

*The nexus? The Greylands?*

Another affirmative.

Shae'goth, maybe. Vesram could see them? Only when they wanted to be seen, or...?

"What do you want now that her promise is fulfilled?" Gavin asked. *Why are you here?*

Vesram did not answer at first. I heard a quiet hiss and imagined he had shrunk back a bit, crouching down.

*Lonely?* I asked.

He growled, but couldn't lie to me how we were speaking. *Yesss. Frree but nneed releasse.*

*From what?*

*Fromm purrpose.*

From purpose? *Do you mean you want something to...'give' purpose?*

*Nnno. Releassse.*

*Ada did not give you that when Gavin tore out the sorceress's heart?*

Vesram's mood brightened a bit at the memory, but he still insisted. *Nnothinng she can givve. ..sss...but you can.*




Surfacing Ch. 29



Okay...

*Ask us for a bargain,* I encouraged.

Vesram had done this before. He set the hard line immediately. *Willl nnot givve you mmy nnamme.*

*I don't want your name. I want something else. Would you trade your magic and skills in service to me and Gavin for guided travel back to the Underdark City?*

I imagined he had tilted his head just now. *Ssss...jusst take mme baack...?*

He was thinking about it. I recognized the sly taste to his perception. It was just like home, and on yet another level I knew just how intelligent an unbound Draegloth could get.

He chuckled again, briefly. *Youu have purrposse in the City...*

I smirked, playfully. *You're so sure?*

*You arre frreee. You faace mmeee...No ffearr of Lolth lefft.*

For a tiny moment, I wondered if I'd misjudged that detail and it should have come up sooner. If the Draegloth had loyalty to Lolth in spite of everything... 

Vesram chuckled, louder now. Gavin and I both shifted so we'd be facing him. We still couldn't see him, but I thought if I threw a cloud of powder over him right now, he'd be outlined as he was before in the crypt. He had come much closer.

*And you?* I asked. *How is your fear of Lolth, son of the Abyss?*

He growled. *I nneed nnot exisst. Alll Drae'goet nneed nnot exisst. Tool for conntrolll of magic Mmotherrss... nnothinng morre.*

He knew.

Vesram was separate, then, like I was. He had seen too much among the Ma'ab to just go back.

*You don't want to return to the City?*

*Did nnot sssay that...but whhyy go baack, Ryn'goet?*

No wonder the Draegloth was willing to talk this way. I couldn't easily lie like I did in words and neither could he. It was cutting through the dung-heap quickly.

*To free two brothers,* I answered.

He paused. *They arre beautifulll onnes you wannt.*

No lying there. *Correct. I must take them from the Valsharess.*

Vesram hissed a laugh again; now we could make out his form as it began to appear. I hadn't realized it the first time, but he was just a little smaller than Kerse had been; Mourn still had him on height and size.

*You desstrroy Priessthood to taake brrotherrs baack?* he asked.

Risky to admit to a Priestess's son.

I answered, *If possible. I know more than one who wants to do so, here and back home.*

The Draegloth nodded in a hum, almost solid now and I could see his yellow, pupilless eyes in his dark face, his shock of white mane down his spine. *Elldder Ssorceresss is one, yesss?*

Elder sorceress.

*D'Shea?*

*Remmemmberr hher.*

*Why?*

*Ryn'goet-Motherr fearred her.*

True. Wilsira did suspect D'Shea would come after her someday, even Kerse knew that. And so my Elder had.

*Yes, D'Shea will destroy the Priesthood, given the chance. She already killed Wilsirathon.*

Vesram's breathing quickened, hearing that name. *Desstroy themm...freee brrotherrs. Iff nnot killl Her, maake Her do withhout Priestesses. Nno more purrposse...nno more suffferinng. Releasse.*

Mourn was going to love that part of the bargain.

*Yes,* I answered. *Will you give your skill to us, half-Elf? Will you follow my word, and if I'm not able, will you follow Gavin's word?*

Vesram hissed and clicked inside of his throat, crouching before us, studying us as we did him. *You do nnot forrget I amm Elf, as all Drrow hhave. Ssee only demonn.*

*I remember. Ryn'goet remembers.*

Vesram nodded. *Ada ssaw...mmade prommise to the Elf, not the demonn..*

*She is intelligent.*

The Draegloth smirked. *Smmall. Annd ugly. Mysself, laarge and ugly.*

*Both intelligent. Both underestimated. You will make things change, bring down the powerful too long in their place.*

He nodded eagerly, and it looked so familiar. I had a thought.

*Do you feel your arms inside? Or your wings yet, Vesram?*

Pain lanced through the connection, the regret, the desire to make Lolth pay. *Llosst with Mmotherr. Innsside but ssstunted. Llike downn beloww, like all goet.*

All Draegloth, except Kerse there at the last. And we'd needed to kill him. We had no choice because he'd chosen to develop his demon side. 

With watching his mother die among the Ma'ab and her soul be transformed into Kreshel Divigna, and with Ada as a companion for some unspoken amount of time, Vesram had chosen to develop his Elf side.

As a result I could talk truthfully with the recently freed prisoner, and our desires even lined up in some way.

*Will you fight our enemies with us, Vesram, until the Priesthood is destroyed?*

The Draegloth nodded. *Yesss. I will hellp. I know howw. I knoww manny thinngs to hellp.*

******

"Oh, God," Tamuril blurted softly, her hand flying to her mouth the first time she saw him.

"At least he's not naked," Gaelan commented dryly, giving the Noldor a nudge with her elbow to knock her out of her shock.

"Sure, get it all out of your systems, then" I said, flipping my gloved hand impatiently. "You're not going to say or do anything he hasn't experienced a thousand times already."

I looked at Jael, who looked back at me mutinously.

"I don't give a flying fuck what he looks like," she said. "I can't trust him any more than I can that dagger of yours."

Vesram growled at her and moved slightly behind me while I remained where I was. "And yet I need to bring Soul Drinker into battle as well, Jael."

"This is crazy."

"What hasn't been so far?" Gavin muttered as he sat down to get his grimoire out. "If one really analyzes what we're doing?"

Jael made a gesture at the Deathwalker then looked at Mourn. "So we're honestly bringing him into our battle group? Right now? Just like that?"

The Guild Leader wasn't quick to make his opinion known; he'd been listening and watching each of us. 

Beyond Tamuril's first shock seeing what Vesram looked like, she said nothing more and her face did not display contempt or disgust, though perhaps a little pity for what our race had to have done to make him—or maybe the visible scars the Ma'ab had given him. Gaelan was making some effort to show me she would trust me and stand by my decision, but she didn't really like Draegloth either. Few Red Sisters did, given our initiation.

I'd been one of the exceptions. Up until Kerse had abducted me with the intent to kill him, I had held a certain fondness for him. His quiet rebellions against his mother, the fact that he actually was enjoyable in a good, hard rut, the fact he could learn and was as dedicated to his chosen female as any of us could really ask... I just hadn't known an Illithid had been driving him to seek the Abyss.

Nothing was driving Vesram except his own life lessons. The same as any of us here.

"What do you think, Deathwalker?" Mourn asked.

"I think he's observed more about necromancers in general than any of you here," Gavin said. "And he is responsible for setting my mother free to seek the monastery where my father was. Vesram shared a bond with Ada in life, for what it's worth."

"So he claims," Jael added.

"Is Sirana psionic or not?" Gavin asked her, lifting his head and looking at her directly. "You will have to decide if your own suspicion outweighs Sirana's power, though whichever you choose, do be consistent about it, if you please."

My little Sister clenched her fist and held it out. "You're asking for a stone upside the head, grey mage."

"Quite a useful choice of action, I should say."

"Fuck you."

"No, thank you."

I saw that coming a flying leap away. I also pinched the bridge of my nose. "Mourn, have you gotten your fill of his scent?"

He nodded and held out one hand, palm up. "I would approach him. I will not attack. First."

I looked over my shoulder at the Draegloth. "Understand?"

Vesram was clearly afraid of Mourn but he nodded. "Yesss."

I stepped out of the way and the Dragonblood closed the distance with the demonblood. They made eye contact, Mourn's tail curling and coiling behind him a few times. Not only was he a bit taller but the wings exaggerated how large Mourn was compared to Vesram, something the Draegloth might even be envious about. 

White spikes and white bristles rose up along their spines, and I worried that a fight was about to break out. Then Vesram suddenly made a sound out of his throat that was hard to describe; it was bestial but not outright threatening. Both of them hissed, sharing breath, baring fangs with eyes still locked a moment before Vesram finally brought his chin up as he hunched down, crouching into the lower position below. His claws were splayed but fingers were relaxed, palms out, and I realized it would take nothing for Mourn to rip his throat out right then, if he chose.

The Draegloth had given him the opportunity; he waited for him to take it.

Mourn grunted with a nod, turning around to rejoin Jael. "He may stay. We can use him. Sirana or Gavin will direct him as needed, and he knows what will happen if he betrays one of us."

Vesram nodded his understanding without needing a prompt as he slowly eased back upright. Jael wanted to protest, I could tell, but she quelled it and nodded with a sigh. If she doubted my "lie detection" during a mindlink out of sheer stubborn hatred for the demonbloods, then at least she doubted Mourn's read on the sincerity of his submissive posture a lot less. At least it was something she could see; it was more real to her that way.

I looked at Vesram. "So. How would you fight against zombies?"

The Draegloth grinned at me. "Fiirre."

******

We knew the longer we stayed out along the border to more likely it was Sarilis would realize he had visitors, and yet we still weren't prepared to head in. Tamuril and Vesram each needed to lay their cards on the table: what spells, skills, and weapons they had at their disposal—and it was true that Vesram had absolutely no trouble lighting a small fire for us. A snap of his fingers followed by a grunt of a word none of us could make out, and poof! After which the demonblood looked to me and Gavin for approval.

"Interesting," Deathwalker said with a small nod. "How big or aggressive can that get?"

"Coulld ssset all on fiirre inn the crypt, take alll airr," he replied in what almost sounded a morbid suicide plan he hadn't been able—or allowed—to implement at the time.

"Duly noted," Gavin said without concern.

We also needed to let the Noldor and the demonblood in on our plan. The initial one, anyway. The rest of it was squarely in the "no plan survives first contact with the enemy" realm of strategy and more a series of possible, semi-coordinated responses.

"You are certain that will work?" Tamuril asked with big eyes on that opening gambit.

Gavin cracked a smile. "Well, I do want to see the old goat's face, if possible."

"More than that," I interjected, "we get one opportunity to take advantage of his hubris. We must dangle the carrot and he must bite."

"We'll know more of him than he will of us by that time," Mourn said. "We play it right, we have a day or more to look for the phylactery."

Tamuril nodded, looking out into the blackness beyond the fire. "But then the minions will be on all sides of us while we look...and uncontrolled."

"Not for long," Gavin said.

"Followw or burrrn," Vesram cooed at the blonde, not only catching onto the plan very quickly but with plenty of eagerness. 

His voice also made Tamuril shiver and Gaelan chuckle in an odd way. Mourn looked at her and that helped me realize it had been just...just a little like Graul.

"And air helps things burn," my big Sister murmured, fanning her fingertips along the grass.

Part of the plan involved food and clean water, too. More than one of us—Tamuril, Mourn, and Gaelan— was capable of purifying water without having to wait for it to boil in a pot most of us didn't have, and we spent that night nesting a few caches of food and water that hopefully wouldn't be spoiled by undead encroachment. Not only Mourn and Jael but also Vesram and Gaelan were proving their skill capturing a few more meaty animals, and Tamuril along with Mourn knew more than one way to temporarily preserve the freshness with magic. We were actually stronger on that front now having the Druid.

Tamuril, Gavin, and I were on "last minute gathering" duty for whatever mushrooms, nuts, roots, vegetables, and smaller creatures we could find, but I ended up eating half of what I worked to gather as my appetite arrived too quickly and frequently to make a productive night—an imbalance the others were trying to even out on the other side. I was only too aware of this. 

Jael hadn't brought it up, but I'd seen her give Vesram the needle eye when we'd offered and he accepted a meal during the planning. I knew what she was thinking—that was extra food we'd packed specifically for me. I figured this was why Mourn had taken him and Gaelan out hunting, to make up for it. More mouths to feed, and all that. 

In spite of certain things being about my belly, I had to watch the others as well and make sure they weren't taking in too little—how would it help for any of them to grow weak from giving up their food too often? Fortunately the only ones truly tempted to do that were Tamuril and Gaelan. Mourn, Gavin, and Jael all backed me up when I put it forward as a reminder that they needed to eat their full share. 

We had to stay in balance this whole time, no matter the newer additions or most especially because of them. Sarilis would have to wait just a little longer, or we'd end up with no basic resources to fall back on once we went inside an area even more barren of plants and animals than Manalar had been.

"There will be plenty of animals," Gavin had remarked. "They simply aren't edible anymore, moving around but rotting."

Tamuril looked so sad hearing this. Sad, but then determined. Honestly, I couldn't wait to see what she could do.

Gavin had been eating less and less since coming back for the third time from the Greylands without Shunraeki, I noticed, yet he wasn't seeming to weaken. He always took a small share and whatever he didn't eat he passed to me.

"So, does the need for at least some food make you alive or not?" I had asked while we had been gathering. "Sarilis no longer needs to eat or drink."

"Or sleep." Gavin shook his head. "I explained that already."

"Tell me again," I said. "I'm going to be doing the talking, at least at first, I need to make sure I understand what you two are."

The grey mage shrugged. "If it can be truly understood. No, I'm not 'alive,' Sirana, Sarilis and I are very similar in that we are both conscious beings suffused with death magic and we will need to be destroyed to be ended, as we will not die. We already have. 

"The difference is that I still retain some of that spark of true life, the essential vital energies. It was a gift that can't be taken or summoned. It was given to me when I was born and given back when I died. When Sarilis killed himself to become a lich, he lost this spark entirely."

I nodded, reflecting that Gavin and I had done this a lot: foraging and discussing the state of being wherever we were.

"And that spark isn't in the phylactery," I prompted.

"No. You can have a ghost of the same soul stuff floating around without that true spark, Sirana. You've seen it."

"How does what you are differ from Deshi, would you say?" I probed. "Just the quantity of that life essence, since you eat food and he eats breath?"

He frowned, ruminating. "Perhaps. Not a poor parallel at all, Sirana, but best keep in mind that Deshi could not survive without a full share of both life and death essence. Theoretically... I could, though it would mean my relationship with my Lady had changed."

He didn't stay on that thought very long. "It is a curious state of being for me...almost symbiosis rather than the parasitism or repulsion these powers normally would enact. Being grave-touched, as it were, my death magic protects and sustains my existence much as how my Lady and the Sun God must work in tandem to create a true balance."

I bit my bottom lip as a thought sprang to mind: outwardly, he was mostly of Ada but his never-named, Manalara sire was still an important part of the portrait. Interesting to think even a dead, immortal Man could have something he might need to acknowledge and accept somewhere later on. Maybe.

"And this is similar for Shunraeki?" I followed up.

"Yes."

"And it will be for all future Deathwalkers?"

He nodded. "This is what will make us different from other necromancers."

"Do you look forward to making more company?" I asked with a bit of a grin.

"No." He raised a brow at me. "First, a Deathwalker must be chosen carefully now; by agreement we are altered from those in the past, elevated. And second, for the foreseeable future, I am the only one who could create one."

"And for that, you have to get very, very close to someone as they die and share your blood with them," I said, less wary of teasing him on this particular topic. "It's kind of like sex, when you think about it. What about when you might initiate another male Deathwalker?"

"Life and death have always been bound together," he responded placidly, flatly refusing to take the bait and maintaining his focus on the root he was digging up.

I was still smiling. "A bit of a burden, then, having to do all the choosing and pursuing?"

"I have some time," he said.

"Sounds like reason to put it off. How much time?"

"Only the gods would claim to know, Sirana. And even they could be wrong."

*******

We each got a little sleep in turn, one of us on watch, before sunrise—and we were waiting for the day, as Sarilis's resources would have slightly more weaknesses in Sunlight than in darkness.

I noticed Vesram had curled up as close to me as he thought the others would allow; he put me between them, and he probably could have reached out with a long arm and touched me with the tips of his claws. He did not try. For now, I only heard some deep, slow breathing. It was a good sign if he could sleep amidst us. Then again, maybe it was in not being alone now that he had his best rest in months.

The Sky lightened just a little. Then it was time to get up.

Roh and Night-mare wouldn't be coming with us initially but rather waiting for Gavin's summons—or in a worse scenario, I could call the horse if needed with the small knucklebone charm tucked within my glove. Pilla would be our eyes above, giving Tamuril advance warning of what was around us as she had at Manalar. Gavin's three Hellhound skeletons would be with him, fully visible as his sole minions versus Sarilis's hundreds.

I did keep my spiders out where they could move if needed, although I worried for them in this battle—if they became over-protective and tried to bite undead creatures, not only did I expect no harm to the zombies but it might somehow poison my babies in return. 

My pair of spiders had their own practice being idle and patient lately, so I pressed regularly my command to continue with it. Their goal was to survive to return to the Underdark. They should only move if I told them to, and most likely to take cover. There had to be something alive for them to attack and I didn't see any easy targets. I knew they could not understand this in such detail and there was no overriding D'Shea's original guardian enchantment, but I'd do my best to keep them well so they could help me later.

Next it came down to the simple fact there was no way to sneak in unseen; this could not be a stealth operation like Manalar, much as we might wish it could be. In a perverted similarity to the Wilder, every undead animal of any size within the dying forest was a sentry for the lich and it was not truly possible to completely suppress all of our life auras to pass by undetected by these warped creatures. We would be gloriously bright beacons, no matter what we did.




Surfacing Ch. 30



Author's Notes: This story is erotic fantasy written by Etaski. I reserve the right to be listed as the author of this story, wherever it is posted. If found posted anywhere except Literotica.com with this note attached, this story is posted without my permission. (c) Etaski 2015.

Hoo-boy! So here we are, the final Underdark chapter before the two plotlines start blending together! :) I will give the same warning here I gave my patrons: This was one of the most challenging chapters to bring together so far. We are dealing with all those layers built up in the previous Underdark chapters now colliding. I admit this chapter took a lot more energy from the writer, so it will likely also require a bit more energy for the reader to comprehend. Please enjoy, and try not to blink. ;)

****** 

Surfacing Chapter 30

The Dragon could always count on the Baenar of the Underdark to pause and collect themselves after each jarring shift, after all who intended to move had done so and taken their consequences, and those who decided to wait a little longer stepped back to just outside the arena. If they never stopped shifting, if they never failed to make a move when an opportunity arose—without regard for longevity—they would destroy themselves. They would not be able to function as a society; in all they had forgotten, they at least had not forgotten that. 

He knew where this tendency had developed; it was an early social survival response to an often chaotic world. He even commended them on it. It showed the Abyss did not have an unbreakable hold on them. Really, starting with their weasel-Queen all the way down to the homeless Drow of the City, it was like a mass of children rough-housing near a cliff and catching themselves just before they rolled off the edge. They often looked down, wide-eyed, and thought to themselves, "Just what the fuck am I doing?!"

Then they'd calm down for a while and watch each other suspiciously, wondering if the other was thinking the same thing or not. Dare one of them speak up and question the way of things...? Invariably, through that pause, they'd convince themselves that the other did not think the same thing at all, and if they didn't move first the other would.

And so Lolth never became bored with her place on Miurag. This was exactly why the Abyss did not have a society to speak of, and why some of them—like the Spider Queen—took advantage of the rules made elsewhere. Because even some of the demons wanted longevity somewhere, if not their home plane.

Lethrix had helped the Baenar recall the difference between home and the Abyss in a good moment just now, though, and he was satisfied with the outcome. It worked out as he had estimated. A few days of chaos and the shifting of positions beginning with Jaunda's return from the wilderness, and now there would be twenty more days of calmer waiting after they had finally—finally!—decided not to do something extraordinarily stupid. Like kill the Dreamwalker or Jaunda.

It also gave him the time required to walk among them and hear a bit of what was on their minds. He had a lot to catch up on.

He liked Rausery. She was interesting, keeping her old leader busy and raising the illusion of chaos for both the "Prime" and the Queen and what was left of the Priestesses, to make it seem like things had not calmed down yet. Meanwhile, her "shadows" behind Rausery's red cloak kept the Dreamwalker safe; things were quite calm for him, and for Jaunda... even for the collateral damage in their supreme sorceress being down in the Queen's prison, which by no viewpoint was a good idea right now.

Lethrix did not believe that was as for as flimsy of a reason as a Red Sister becoming pregnant, either, as Rausery had thought. It had to do with the sorceress's grown boy, and her grown boy's sire, their supreme wizard, both being kept in the Palace after that rumble with the Abyss a bit ago. Which meant it had to do with Lolth and the Driders in some way. But that was such a "given," it was barely worth pointing out.

Those were the two he had to get close to next. He still had a few days. Or cycles.

"Whatever, I love a challenge," he murmured on the Drow streets, surrounded by Baenar as not a one spared more than a glance for the urchin crawling pitiably in the rubbish. The child was watching the tall spires of the Palace.

*******

"If we're not getting Phaelous back anytime soon and if we're waiting the whole of the twenty cycles before the Valsharess will decide to let out either D'Shea or Jaunda, then isn't it my task and my responsibility to see to other matters you're already aware of, Prime? Or are you so distracted by Varessa's ass even you can't make a decision?"

It would have been solid punch to the face in response to that remark, but Rausery caught the Prime's wrist and deflected it to one side. They were alone, so the Elder could get away with it. Not without consequences, but she'd get away with it. She had before. 

They glared at each other, fists clenched. Then Rausery took a punch to her protected gut instead, grunting as much as laughing as she shrugged it off.

"Feel better, Prime? You hearing me now?"

Her superior's dull eyes stared through her; she looked like she hadn't been sleeping much lately. "Rausery, if I didn't need you right now, I swear to Lolth..."

"Yeah, I know. Like the last six or seven times." Rausery gave her that cocky grin that had once convinced the Prime to give her a chance way back at the beginning. "So what do you want to tackle first? The Sisters grabbed a confirmed psionic Duergar and just brought him in a cycle ago. We've got a suppression collar on for now. I could go to the Tower and get Callitro, try out those headbands they're testing. Meanwhile you could talk to the Valsharess again, convince Her to give the Tower wizards to the Sisterhood for the time being, until Phaelous can take over his duties again."

Prime wrinkled her nose and shook her head. "Her Highness won't do it."

"You haven't even brought it up, Prime."

"I don't have to. I know She won't do it. No mixing the sexes, we won't get anything done. Best we can do is keep watching the Illithids through the gem."

Rausery quirked an incredulous eyebrow; did the old warrior just hear herself? "Nothing's happened since it was placed. D'Shea will tell if there's any change."

"Not if we don't lift the magic suppression and get regular reports."

Rausery snorted and decided to say it. "Or it's your best excuse to finally get laid on regular basis. Fuck me, Prime, you're acting like a novice catching her first initiate in the wilderness. You have an entire Cloister of slits and star-holes that could be presented to you. Anytime."

"That's the problem," the Prime muttered, staring off to the side, distracted again before looking back. "So she's not deformed like we always thought."

It took a moment for Rausery to catch up to her...then she remembered asking Sirana a similar question just a few years ago. She and the Prime had wondered if the Priestesses had fucked up D'Shea's body somehow, or if Shyntre's birth had, so she didn't have much sex anymore. Not the case, apparently; D'Shea was just picky.

"So?"

The Prime's left nostril raised. "The sorceress always did think herself above the others once she became an Elder. Wouldn't fuck any one of 'em for fun, I noticed. Barely did the training. Always thought something was wrong with her. The majority of endurance training she didn't do landed on your shoulders."

Rausery shrugged. "One of the perks, really. Her loss if she didn't regularly sample her brood. They are still loyal."

"I'm sure that's where the trouble started," the Prime grumped. "I know Corpora Thena and her sub, Suna, don't respect her even now. Never have. Yet you've never had recurring trouble like she's had."

Rausery cleared her throat. "I don't think it's that simple, Prime. You've forgotten Shyntre already? And how D'Shea acted around him, the compulsion? Thena and Suna in particular saw a lot of that boy when he was here. Then there's the Priestesses fucking with her memories, Phaelous fucking with her head, really I'm surprised she managed as well as she did—"

Predictably, the Prime shrugged it off and didn't want to discuss that anymore. "Still weak enough to get fuckin' pregnant again, by the same fuckin' wizard as the first time. And this time, the Valsharess didn't even want it! I think we'll be looking for a new Elder, Rausery. She just needs to squirt it out, and the Queen will get rid of her."

"Assuming the Illithids don't annihilate us all."

"Pfeh. The Valsharess has a plan."

"Oh? When are you going to tell me, Prime?"

"When She says so."

"So you don't even know."

"Shut your fucking mouth, urchin."

Again the Prime looked off to the side; Rausery didn't really want to know what was going through her mind when the old Drow showed a vicious smirk. "Meanwhile, D'Shea is exactly where the Queen puts her. And just what a protesting Noble needs: some punishment to remind her of her place."

Rausery had to hide her disgust this time, looking down briefly. She did keep her mouth shut this time. *You could not be more wrong. Or more myopic.* 

The Elder tried again, unsuccessfully, to convince the Prime to see the Queen again about the wizards. Again she got that vague hint that the Valsharess was already working on it. The Elder wasn't sure what to do next except try to get something, anything, tangible done before Jaunda's tongue loosened up, along with Vic and Halena's, here in the next week...

When possibly all Abyss broke loose again.

*******

Auslan rubbed his hands together a moment, feeling the slight swelling and soreness even beneath the work gloves. He flexed his fingers. Soon he went back to weaving the rough, fibrous rope for Rausery's shadows. They always needed rope, and he could help. He could do something. Anything to keep his mind off what might be happening in the City.

Even just being barely outside the borders for the first time in his life, despite the feeling which lingered—that he'd escaped and was free from the clutches of Lolth—the Consort still could not fathom the distance that remained between him and the Surface, and the Sun. Auslan would never make it without help. While it was a step in the right direction, he was fully aware of the fact that this was just another semi-secure place in which to wait for something to happen while he was awake. Like D'Shea's quarters, but with company.

The Consort couldn't clean anything beyond uniforms—which apparently he did too loudly, so he wasn't allowed to clean those either—but he could make rope now. Vic had shown him, and Eyin even tested his work and nodded once in approval, taking it with her. Auslan kind of liked doing it... and they actually used it. They weren't coddling him. Next Vic might teach him a bit of whittling of fiberstalk, the first step for bolts on their wrist crossbows... 

Whenever Auslan was asleep, Lethrix showed up fairly often. Not always to talk to him, sometimes just to watch him. Or watch over him. Whichever it was. When the Deep Dragon did talk, it was usually about Shyntre and Sirana, or vaguely linked to them. He wanted to know more, even though his questions were mostly conversational.

"So do you hope male or female?" the Dragon asked.

Ta'suil stared at him, slowly shook his head. "I don't have a preference. Although Sirana already knows it's a boy."

Lethrix hummed with a closed-mouth grin, his enormous body curled in a large half-moon shape on the sands. "A smaller life for the male among the Drow. The opposite for most any other place on Miurag, with a few exceptions. If Blue Eyes had remained in the City, your preference might be for a female child, would it not? She would have it better."

The Consort shook his head. "I feel no pull to have preferences. I've helped make more than twenty children...it winds up being about half and half anyway."

Ada was always there with him, whether Lethrix was or not. Sometimes she joined in on the conversation, though not always.

"I could only make one child," she whispered. "It was difficult."

"Same," Lethrix added casually.

Ta'suil shifted, a little uncomfortable. "Morixxyleth is your only child?"

"This turn, yes," the Dragon said, resting his chin on his paws, unperturbed. A puff of breath through his nostrils only mildly disturbed the red sand. "He wasn't easy, either."

"His Drow name—?"

"For his mother losing all her strength after the birth? Yes, that is true. Not my idea for a name, though I may have understood it better than his Aunt Miz'ri."

Ada smiled a bit, blinking her one flesh eye, the black gem in the other socket cold and glinting. "I gave all my strength to my son. I didn't need it anymore. He would."

Lethrix looked to consider that, tilting his massive head curiously. "Hm. Interesting."

"What?" Ta'suil asked. "You think it could have been the same with Morixxyleth's mother?"

"It definitely wasn't," Lethrix chuckled. "She was Baenar, she saw death differently than our feisty Ada. The boy's mother would have preferred to live, given the option."

The healer stared at the Dragon for a few moments. "Couldn't you have saved her?"

"I could. I did not."

"Why not?"

"She had lived her life as long as she could on her own." 

Ada nodded in understanding and agreement; Ta'suil shook his head in denial and disagreement. Golden, serpentine eyes pinned him. 

"It's worth noting, Dreamwalker, that I also did not kill her, as I did the last Yun-gar female who bore my half-blood some time ago."

Ta'suil shivered. "And that is...what? That is a kindness? A show of affection?"

Lethrix offered a small nod. "Such as I can manage within the rules."

"Whose rules?"

The Dragon had grinned, all teeth. "The ones all of us must live within."

Ada and Ta'suil glanced at each other, the Consort questioning, the Servant of the Shrouds calm and observant. Lethrix tilted his head as if he listened for something only he could hear. He looked back at the two of them. 

"Be wary the next time you are here," the black Dragon said.

Then Auslan had awoken, fully clothed to a level he still wasn't used to—everything but his head was covered. Still, he could get chilly out here, and so he was also sandwiched between Vic and Halena who were keeping him warm on their own break. They were always near when Lethrix was with him on the sands.

There was one brief time when Elder Rausery had managed to join them, but it was over far too quickly. The Elder checked on him, asked him if he was well—he said he was and thanked her for saving his life, in what would be his only chance to say it. She grunted with a nod, then the Elder had grabbed Halena and Eyin and went somewhere else while Vic remained with him.

When the shadow male had shivered and looked around like someone was watching them, the Consort reached out to squeeze his shoulder once, showing that simple comradery he'd decided to accept as truth.

*I know,* Auslan had signed. *It's Iskomitneh.*

Vic's face was scored with worry; even now he couldn't address that directly. *How can you know the things you do, Consort?*

*I told you. I dream like a Dragon.*

********

*Why won't you see D'Shea?* Rausery asked him, signing with her hands, Eyin standing at her side and now a bit better filled in on current events.

*Who?*

*Jaunda's Elder.*

Halena's expression was foreign on her face, and one of mock surprise. *Oh, I'm sorry. Hadn't your queen decided against sending someone to meet me? Hadn't she at last decided to wait?*

*You could ask for a meeting.*

*I have already. In seven more days. I won't be rushed.*

Rausery rolled her eyes, her frustration surging in spite of her control. If she hadn't already hit a stone wall with the Prime...

*You've already made your entrance, Dragon, what difference does it make?*

Halena looked sly. *Oh, not to your queen. It makes a big difference. She's relishing every moment of this.*

*You have an odd definition of 'relish.'*

*And you have an odd desire to help your once-rival out of her cell.*

*I need her out of there,* Rausery signed flatly. *As soon as possible.*

Halena shrugged. *Not my concern. I'd much rather offer to help free her son.*

Rausery squinted. *Shyntre? He's too close to the Valsharess, no one can free him.*

The shadow-puppet's shoulders shook in a silent laugh. *Tell me more about him, and let me be the judge of that. Where did he come from?*

*You already know.*

*From Elder D'Shea's womb, yes, yes.* Halena waved her hand dismissively. *And his sire is your queen's long-time Consort. I remember him. The wizard was well in his power even the last time I was awake. Tell me what you know about their young son, Elder. You've known him his whole life. I know from Jaunda you even took a liking to him. Trained him.*

When Rausery hesitated, Halena's eyes rolled. The Dragon continued. *Listen. I know he recently survived a ritual and is somewhat changed. This is what eats at your queen, why she does not care for your sorceress and does nothing now: Shyntre hasn't managed to do what she needs him to do before she meets me, and if you think he's tucked up safe and out of trouble inside the Palace, well—* More shoulder shaking. *—he is the one currently on the frontlines of your next war before it's even begun. And he's all alone.*

The Elder squinted her eyes. *What frontlines?*

The Dragon grinned impossibly wide on her shadow Drow's face. *I know you prefer to keep both boots on solid ground, Rausery, but imagine your poor mage-son a moment. He now possesses two kinds of magic, that with which he was born and another from the very ends of the world. He likely can't sleep a full eve, and is at his wits end every time he does sleep... and even your training won't sustain him for much longer as your queen wishes him to be more and more like her. Their auras are bound together, a bit like D'Shea and Phaelous, but not natural in the least.*

The Elder Red Sister stared at the Dragon through Halena's eyes, her jaw hurting from clenching her teeth so hard. Very little of that made sense to her—magic from the "ends of the world"? How were D'Shea and Phaelous "naturally" bound together? Did that explain why her peer got pregnant again, even knowing the danger...? 

*If I tell you about him, Dragon, how will that knowledge help Shyntre?*

Halena shrugged. *I never know that exactly ahead of time. You above all others, Red Sister, should know that.*

Rausery was taking yet another big risk. In the end she had to go with trusting D'Shea and Auslan both, that there were things Rausery couldn't see, would never see, but that mattered nonetheless. She had done it once and look what happened: she now had a Dragon-guard possessing her shadows to make sure the Consort remained in good health while she managed the challenges in the City. At least until Sirana came back. He'd done a good job, too, as overall negative as it had seemed at first.

Until then, Shyntre needed help, but no one could help him. Except maybe this Dragon, offering her more. No doubt for his own gain.

Rausery was well aware she was choosing those who would act over those who wouldn't, regardless of loyalty. She didn't figure unwavering loyalty to a stagnant queen was going to see her through the Illithid attack anyway, not when her few superiors would only sit there staring at their cunts and feeding off the mages who mattered like parasites. It made her angry that she could do nothing about it, except agree to this.

How quickly things changed at times.

******

Shyntre had drunk a lot more pots of taze than usual, trying in vain to wash away the thick feeling on his tongue after the walk with Her in reverie, where they'd met that Servant of the Shrouds who knew the Valsharess's birth name, and about a Priestess and her Draegloth son that his Queen had left to die on the Surface some time ago...




Surfacing Ch. 30



He'd never be able to speak of it. The Valsharess had seized hold of his tongue. Not even the twelfth pot made the memory of Her fingers in his mouth any less vivid; his tongue still felt dirty and stiff. His first couple of spoken spells afterward—even something simple like lighting a candle—had struggled to pass through his lips. But slowly it as getting better.

The shock and upset his Queen had experienced sent Her brooding in Her chambers, for a which Shyntre was grateful that he was being left alone. Lelinahdara hadn't dropped by again, either, and he'd overheard a guard whisper at his mother was still down in the dungeons. Alive. Everyone seemed to be regrouping, nursing some wounds, letting the dust settle.

Ta'suil was still alive somewhere. Shyntre could feel this, even if the wizard frequently swallowed moments of panic as he wondered where his brother was, if he was well. D'Shea wasn't in the cloister anymore to protect him, and the only...the only one who could have helped him was Elder Rausery. She truly would have helped him if she could, the young wizard was certain of that, but he was under no illusions that even his Elder could make everything right again. Shyntre hadn't heard any talk of her doings either, not beyond general Red Sister "peacekeeping."

Often he would feel the temptation to try to find his brother in reverie...every time he fell asleep, to be honest, and his dreams would shift in disturbing ways, as if a pathway was open he'd never noticed before and he had only to walk down it to find what he sought.

Then the feeling of the Valsharess breaking into his aura, the violation and helplessness to stop it as it happened, enduring it until She was done...that would return and he'd throw up his last meal into his chamber pot and he'd convince himself that She would know if he tried. He couldn't risk being the weak link. If anything bad happened to Auslan, it wouldn't be because Shyntre got self-indulgent.

He remained in ignorance of what the others were doing. And alone.

There was a knock on his door. An announcement.

Ah, of course. Alone, but for this. Always this.

"Izabal of House Thalluen," the guard told him.

His heart jumped as a pretty, somewhat short Drow wearing a dark red dress was allowed into his room. From Sirana's House...? But the only remaining Daughter was an infant...

The guard finished, "Second cousin to Matron Rohenvi Thalluen."

Shyntre raised a brow. He was getting to the cousins of the Matrons now? He can't have gone through all the Daughters already, not even close...

Someone must have paid a handsome bribe.

Izabal smiled and looked at the guard through flirty, long, white lashes. "Thank you, Renisha."

The female guard quirked her mouth in a wry smile and quietly closed the door. Shyntre was caught more than a little off-guard. Had he been brooding long enough to have completely forgotten his next date? He tried quickly to find his center to where he could perform his duties as quickly as possible. It wasn't going to be easy, though. He wasn't in the mood for doing all the coaxing and instructing and seducing. All the work. 

Then Izabal walked directly to him and the wizard got the feeling he wouldn't have to. The female was forward, and eager; she put her arms around his shoulders, pressed her breasts up against his chest, and kissed him. Gently. Not over-bearing or demanding. She reached down and cupped his genitals through his robe, massaging. It was pleasant and she smelled good; he responded, trying to relax into some simple, straightforward sex.

Yet...

Something was off.

Izabal lifted her lips, looking just slightly up at him. "I like your eyes. They have gold flecks in them."

Shyntre blinked, focusing on her. He was surprised to see it. "So do yours."

She chuckled. She also looked different. Not related to Sirana's mother in any way, he was sure, but more...

Maybe more like Jael. Or the Valsharess Herself...but different. Foreign.

"You aren't House Thalluen," he said bluntly, listening to his instincts if not to the option of waiting and watching. He didn't have the time; the strange female was still stroking him to readiness and he didn't want to just lie down and take it—

"Clever boy," Izabal cooed, seizing Shyntre's hand and placing it at her own crotch. "What else am I not?"

Shyntre was shocked to feel a cock pulsing against his palm through her dress. Her whole body grew hotter against him, too hot to be a regular Drow...

And her aura tasted of precious metal.

*Oh, shit.* 

Not a "her," not exactly. Also not what race she appeared to be, otherwise the Valsharess had missed the most powerful mage in the City's existence right under Her nose, to just walk into his room like this. That couldn't be the case. Shyntre thought he knew who this might be, but he couldn't admit it—

He didn't have to. Izabal reached up to pinch his lips closed with her fingers. Shyntre's eyes widened that two small digits were so strong. 

"I suppose we don't have unlimited time here," she said, her eyes glinting a little stronger gold through the crimson. "Or it might have been fun to test your fabled skills, wizard-Consort."

Shyntre still hadn't taken his hand away from where Izabal had placed it; in fact he held onto the skirt-wrapped erection since the shapeshifter had two similar holds on him—his mouth and his crotch—now pressing him against the wall. He waited, staring at her eyes, willing his question.

*Who are you?*

"Promise not to scream or see us interrupted?" she teased, jerking his cock slowly. "Promise on the lives of your preferred lovers: Blue Eyes and a certain multi-named dreamer, am I right?"

Though his stomach chilled some, Shyntre nodded and she released his lips. They still tingled where her fingers had been.

"Wh-who are you...?"

"I have many names as well," Izabal cooed. "Which do you prefer?"

How was he supposed to answer that? Especially with "her" still touching him through his robes. He should have wanted to throw her off, he should have been angry at the deception...but he couldn't muster even a wasted effort. It made sense. How else was this creature supposed to worm her way into his chambers? It was a worthy charade...

"How do you know them?" he asked first. "Blue Eyes and...?"

Izabal winked at him. This form was beautiful, and her eyes echoed his, or Phaelous's, yet neither had been duplicated to make Shyntre think he was being taunted. They looked natural on her. Similar but unique. Like she could be a relative.

She said, "I watched them save you from the Abyss. I watched them celebrate afterwards that you still lived, embracing each other if they couldn't embrace you."

No two sentences had every sounded to be as much Truth as anything Shyntre had ever heard, making the pleasure of his erection that much more...he wasn't sure. Tears pricked his eyes; he wished he could have been there with them. He ached for them...

Izabal paused in her stroking, tapped a sharp fingernail at his chest with her spare hand, smiling playfully. "You know, this is very much like another story I've heard. I'll have to tell you about it sometime, if you make it through."

Shyntre clenched his jaw briefly, but nodded. "Sure. I'd like to hear it. So...uhh...what are you?"

"Forgive me but I live for the moment when one actually says it. Ask me a name instead."

Carefully the wizard cleared his throat. "Alright. I prefer the one Sirana calls you."

The shapeshifter chuckled and shook her head once. "Alas. That is one your Valsharess will recognize. Not safe for you. Try again."

Not safe for him...?

"Um. The one Auslan calls you?"

Izabal considered this one. "Risky. Unless you plan to visit him in the sands soon?"

"N-no," Shyntre answered, confused and afraid and dreading thinking about it.

She shrugged. "Very well. Probably wise. Try again."

The wizard tried to think, pleasure still radiating up from his groin. "C-can you please stop that?"

"Why? You haven't released me, I notice. Your grip is a little firm as I figure you're nervous, but it's alright. Very nice all the same. I don't mind."

Of course she...he?...was right. Shyntre's attention was held by "Izabal's" expression, in spite of himself. A complete lack of judgement. The look he vaguely remembered wanting to see on a female's face before, almost two centuries ago in the Sanctuary when he'd discovered that pleasure the first time.

Slowly Shyntre peeled his fingers from Izabal's erection and took a deep breath, indeed nervous about liking the scent he smelled. All the same, it was calming and maybe that was the creature's intent. Izabal smiled and let him go as well, before Shyntre would start aching too much. Now he just had to wait for it to go back down.

"How interesting you'd feel, no doubt," Izabal said with distinct regret, those gold-flecked eyes drifting over him, evaluating rather than lusting. "Although... with the Valsharess's claw marks all over you as they are now, it would be an outright challenge to her possession, I know. Pushing her to action too soon. She might even kill you, much to her regret. And you're still waiting, are you not?"

Waiting. Shyntre thought about it. Yes, he was still waiting for someone to save him from the Palace...

It was a stupid wish.

And yet, he had known he wasn't alone after the forming room. He wasn't alone against Her. And here was further proof.

The young wizard nodded. "O-okay. What name would you give me?"

"Izabal isn't good enough?"

"No. Something that reflects what you really are."

Izabal's face screwed up in comical concentration. "Alright. Sargt will do."

"Sargt," Shyntre repeated. At least it was short. "Now...what do you want?"

She grinned. "I want to pick up where your Queen left off."

*******

Before Shyntre really knew what had happened, Sargt had opened the door again and was pulling him outside of his room by his wrist.

"Are you crazy?!" he whispered as the female Drow fluttered her fingers at his guards, two of which began following them as two remained behind to keep his room secure.

"Probably," the creature answered. "Although exactly when did the Valsharess say that you had to quicken *every* egg in those dull, close chambers?"

The wizard squinted at the back of her head. "There were always guards outside."

Again she winked at him, looking over her shoulder. "Not keeping you in. You did that yourself. Why couldn't we do our coupling on a balcony instead?"

The guards behind him snickered, hearing that. They also didn't stop them but set up an easy stance to either side of the glass doors in the middle of a front-facing hallway which gave a splendid view of the City. The balcony was big enough to host a small dinner party; maybe in times past, the Valsharess actually did that.

Sargt tugged him right up to the elegantly formed railing and hopped up to sit facing him, opening her legs wide enough that he could step in between them and her limbs could wrap around him, wrists and ankles locked behind his neck and at the small of his back. Shyntre's entire body stiffened with tension.

"You said it would be a challenge to Her, She can tell," he whispered.

"I notice that isn't a personal protest," Sargt teased, mashing soft breasts against him and cuddling.

"We're not going to—"

"No, but it'll look like it enough for your Renisha and her pal. Just a small illusion, be prepared for a little gossip later on. Don't worry, I'll make you look good. But for now, relax."

Shyntre tried, standing there and shivering slightly as his heart pounded in his ears. The open air, such as it was, drifted across his face and lifted his mood a bit as he thought about how he got here. Next he wondered if the creature was right: could he have stepped outside his chambers at any time? Had he only chained himself?

Maybe he had. But it was to protect someone else. More than one.

"Yes, martyrs do tend to make the worse of their time alive," Sargt commented as if he could hear his thoughts. "Just what are you so afraid of, wizard? What are you waiting for?"

Shyntre couldn't say it aloud—his Queen made certain of that—but he was so tired of being alone. Everything being so dark and painful. In that one moment he was weak, he let his guard down, and Sargt's lovely eyes looked inside. 

It wasn't one way, either; he saw something. Some Truth. Shyntre understood then that his Elder Rausery had done the impossible...she'd gotten Auslan out of the City, thank Goddess. She had also sent him this support...this...

*Oh, fuck! Y-you're that Dragon Jaunda found!!*

Sargt tightened her grip on him, happy beyond reckoning that they found that moment where he actually thought it. The chuckling went on for a while. 

*Hold still...ahhh. Yes. Lovely. So what have we got, hmm? Look around you, not at me. Tell me what you see.*

Trembling, the young wizard looked up and out. He blinked, his mouth hanging open. The City always had some light but many more deep shadows upon shadows, and it was familiar—he'd seen it many times. The only time he'd been struck by its sprawling form and beauty was after returning from the Surface; most of the time he didn't notice.

Now...it looked different. All the shapes were there that should be: the rolling rooftops and curving streets, the patches of gardens and luminescence having little to do with fire or magical light. Yet there were also...gossamer layers of webs, faintly shimmering, laid across the City like a spider's water trap: any newborn insects rising out of the pond would get caught on their first flight. Only a few parts of the Palace—like the balcony on which he stood—wasn't overlaid with this webbing, and Shyntre knew at least some of them were places the Valsharess frequented.

A few moments later, a Drow died somewhere in the City. She called out to Lolth, and the webbing spun her up tight and close and welcoming as the death throes of the wispy yet colorful essence stopped. It would take a long, long time for her to be drunk up, and she was entirely separate from the cavern now, not part of it as she was before... And the more Shyntre looked for it, the more he saw similar cocoons in the webbing of all different sizes spanning the whole of the City.

"H-how am I seeing this?"

"It is what I see. It is what your Valsharess sees. She is making you like her, so you can see it with her. You're almost there, you just need a little push. Keep watching."

"I-I'm not a Priest—"

"I know. More's the pity."

"What—?"

"Watch."

Shyntre blinked and, very afraid of what he'd see, looked again. Beyond the mystical webbing were veins of molten essence running through the rock itself, glints of gold and silver and impossible colors keeping it vibrant even in a place of eternal night. There were veins of clear crystal alongside it, brittle, hard to see; it was more the song of the crystal Shyntre became aware of first, capturing with his ears the deep thrum of the Underdark in an echo chamber until it sounded like a heartbeat alone in the black. 

The heartbeat caused infinitely small vibrations to move along the webbing but otherwise the two did not touch. The colors, on the other hand, fed into the webbing...but the webbing did not feed back into the rock.

"I don't know what this is..." he whispered, his lower lip trembling.

"You will. For now, I'd like to discuss Sirana's return."

Shyntre shook his head. "She can't come back. She shouldn't—"

"You want her to."

"No."

Shyntre glimpsed a shadow treading across the top of the threads hanging like fog in a swamp. He blinked, and it was still there. He recognized the shape.

"Auranka," he whispered.

Sargt quirked a white eyebrow and her eyes slid in the Drider Mistress's direction. "Mm. Unfortunate."

"T-that's what Sirana will become if she returns. S-She's told me, shown me..."

Shyntre's memories of being on the altar returned, the vision of Sirana's scars which he still didn't know their origins, of a different version of the young Red Sister holding him, stroking his hair so tenderly. Their future daughter claimed by the Queen, then Sirana transformed into the other spider-shifter creeping toward them now...

The Dragon-shifter now looked very interested; her Drow eyes were wide. "Ah-ha... now that makes sense. The Illithids will protest, of course, but that's an interesting theory. I even wonder if it could work."

"Wh-what about the Illithids...?" Shyntre asked, tensing up as Auranka's speed picked up and she seemed to be aiming more directly for them.

"Oh. Didn't you know?" Sargt chuckled. "They're waiting for Sirana to return so their Elder Mind can deal with her. Either destroy her or assimilate her, the One hasn't decided. Your queen's going to have a bit of a challenge on her hands, as she will make all of you, all of the City, fight over this one Drow against the master psions. I don't think either of them, the queen or the Elder Mind, will care about Sirana's little half-grown burden, though. Too inconvenient right now, caught in the middle. Your dreamer gave her the gift to help protect her on the Surface, but ironically, it won't do anything for her down here. Yet she can't wait, can she? She's coming for you, for the dreamer. And we have...ohhhh...a mere few months before this all plays out?"

They did?

Shyntre shuddered and tried to pull back, to pull free as Auranka got closer but Sargt held on. "F-fuck you...fuck all of them..."

"Really, Shyntre, you could have been up to speed if you'd just tried a little harder to step outside your room once in a while. It's not a bad thing to question assumed boundaries on a regular basis. It's how your sire has actually survived all this while."

"Didn't ask you!" Shyntre shouted, his guards shifting at the noise and the Drider Mistress streaked toward them, climbing the threads toward the Palace. She would have to jump to reach this particular balcony, but he had no doubt she would do it.

Suddenly Sargt released him and shoved him away so hard that Renisha actually darted forward to catch him before he fell.

"Nice work," the guard muttered good-naturedly, "that was one hell of a climax!"

Renisha did something so strange, then—nodding in respect at blank air, her eyes following nothing in a motion like something moved past her. It took Shyntre a moment to realize what happened. "Izabal" had just sauntered out satisfied.

Meanwhile the Dragon had fallen backward off the balcony, shifting into a great male, reptilian beast—bipedal with huge wings—and opened his mouth wide like he would take a bite of the world. Instead of doing that, however, the Dragon spat a solid stream of acid straight across the webbing right in front of the Drider Mistress, dissolving it, causing her to fall to the ground and have to pick herself back up on all eight legs.

Shyntre heard something he'd only heard in the forming room before—a cry, a hiss, a threat in a maelstrom of anger and joy as the mystical webbing burned and peeled back from part of the Palace. He wanted to vomit again, to think it was just rising out of the City itself...!

"Interffferenccce!" Auranka cried, climbing straight up the side of the Palace wall. "Breaking the rulessss!"

"Not at all, Lady," the Dragon offered with a bow. "Your Queen has a magnificent plan for your glory. Just ask her."

Then he flew away, leaving the wizard to face what would come next as his guards helped him back to his chambers.

*******

"What did he tell you? What did he show you?"

Shyntre couldn't move. He'd been stripped naked and roughly inspected, next to be tied chest-facing to a vertical stone altar sometimes used when it was the expanse of the entire back that was desired for the Priestess, rather than the heart and gut and genitals...




Surfacing Ch. 30



In Shyntre's opinion, there was no better option between the two.

"Valsharess..." he gasped, quivering as She kept touching him possessively, sliding Her hands over him, looking for marks and probing for changes in his aura even though She had already checked him twice. "H-he knows about Sirana being wanted by the Illithids. He knows about Your plans for her return, to make Lolth stronger using her as the new Drider Mistress. He was intrigued, he even thought it could work!"

His Queen calmed down just a little, breathing deeply as She turned a turn around the ornate room, looking paranoid at the walls and tapestries, as if expecting them to dissolve or start dancing... "Of course. Of course, yes."

Eventually She turned around again. "What form did he take? What name? Show Us."

Shyntre cried out at sudden the pain in his head, the invisible claws digging into his mind. He thought of the female Drow, let Her see the image as She dug at him.

"What name?!"

"I-Izabal Sargt!"

"There has been no one in the City with that name," She hissed. "Least of all a cousin to Matron Thalluen."

"I know, my Queen, I know, he did not fool me with the form."

She was quiet a moment, thinking this over. "She had Phaelous's eyes. Your eyes. Yet not exactly."

"S-she did," he agreed. "B-but she could be invented."

"No. He is deliberate. He is teasing Us with something significant..."

She turned away and muttered to Herself, thinking, and Shyntre had the time to think over a few things himself. 

After the Dragon left, Auranka had transformed into her Drow form and took Shyntre from his instantly terrified guards, dragging him from his room to the Valsharess.

"The Dragon ssseduces once again," the Drider Mistress had said.

"No," the Valsharess had breathed, slamming Her fist down. "We have worked and waited too long... No..."

Then Shyntre had been brought to this room. The two had confirmed he had no "Dragon's mark" on him—much to their relief—and the Valsharess reassured Auranka that her time in her current form was coming to an end. Only then did the Drider Mistress leave to scout and see if she could find the meddling beast again.

Neither expected to find him, but the Queen wanted to be alone with Shyntre.

To speculate.

"Izabal was not from Our City," the Valsharess thought aloud. "She was from elsewhere. Yet he knew her. We wonder...it may be so...maybe..." She came close to him. "He did not mention anything else? You've given Us everything."

Shyntre nodded. "Yes, Valsharess."

"Why did he not take you as he took Red Sister Jaunda?"

"He chose not to challenge You in this, my Queen," Shyntre said honestly.

"He chose."

"Yes, Valsharess. He wanted to show me Izabal's face and the balcony where I could see Lolth's glory and Your future in the crystal. H-he said You are giving me a gift, to see what You see, I just need a nudge. I know this is true, I'm sorry I couldn't find Sirana on the sands, I will try again."

The wizard wasn't exactly sure where this was coming from, why he was saying it; all he knew was that anything hinting subversion or rebellion right now was not good, especially since the Dragon probably hadn't intended to get caught, being so sneaky with his name at the start.

There was pushing boundaries. And there was shattering them before it had any benefit beyond death.

The Valsharess was quiet for some time. She spoke again, looking curious. "And...the Dragon showed you the crystal?"

He nodded. "Y-yes, Valsharess."

She smiled a little. "Hm. Perhaps he has finally chosen a side."

Shyntre almost asked if that was a good thing or a bad thing, but stayed silent.

She breathed in slowly, letting it out and sounding the calmest She had been in some time. She even sounded a little hopeful. "We have given you a gift, Shyntre. Yes, We wish you to see as We see. You say you saw Lolth's glory and the crystalline future? Tell Us again."

"The intricate webs laid protectively over the City," he explained. "The...the essence in the cavern, the magic alongside...alongside the...uh..."

"Psionics," She supplied. "Yes. The Illithid and Duergar strengths have no color, Shyntre. We have been able to fill it with color on occasion. This suppresses it but it does not harness it. Lolth wants the crystal to feed Her web the same as the colors do, and Sirana can make this happen. She is color and crystal together now, the bridge We need. It is why she must become the Drider Mistress. To please Lolth."

Shyntre didn't know what to say to this; he kept quiet. She reached up to massage his naked shoulders, leaning close as swaths of tiny bumps rose along his flesh.

She said, "Perhaps at last it is time for you to speak to your sire. To learn how Her Will Be Done."

*********

Phaelous heard something.

Pausing in tracing his grit pattern, the Headmaster did not actually brush it away until he felt the last ward release and knew for certain She was coming in. He was sitting cross-legged on the bare, stone floor when She entered. She had Shyntre with Her.

One glance at his son and he knew something had happened.

He stood up and bowed at the waist. "Your Highness."

"Phaelous." Her tawny eyes stared at him, Her hand lightly resting on Shyntre's shoulder. She waited several long seconds before speaking again. 

"You were right, Phaelous."

He blinked.

"It came seven cycles early, but the Dragon showed Us Our salvation after showing Us our weakness. We had only to wait."

The Headmaster nodded slowly, bowing his head again. 

"You may speak freely," She said.

One more nod. "I am...relieved, Your Highness. Does this mean we will have a defense against the Illithids?"

"We will, if you perform your duty, Headmaster. Teach Our Consort how to create the next Drider Mistress in Lolth's Name."

Phaelous stared at Her for a moment, and all the quiet he'd worked to attain in this small prison vanished as the thoughts returned.

*In Lolth's Name?*

His Queen was maddened, yet She was still brilliant in one way: he could no longer consistently tell whether any self-same action She planned was in Lolth's favor or to the Spider Queen's detriment, and this was the only way to fool a Goddess. If She was indeed fooling the Spider Queen... 

This year was not the first time he had heard that She wanted to be free of the "web hanging over the City," yet this was the year which drove him to make a choice for Her, when it finally came down to whether Varessa D'Shea would have the chance to save their City or not.

The Valsharess had asked him for a divination right then Sirana and the others had left, and he'd told Her what he saw. Later She had asked him about those guardian spiders, reminded him when he'd used them last. So long ago.

Such tension ever since...and when the Dragon awakened at this weakest of times for Her, She had broken. She had confessed this secret desire to D'Shea and himself... confessed it to Her sole arcane Priestess who would not lose all her magic if it came to be.

But She did not confess it to Shyntre, who had left the altar room where both father and son had been raped by Her madness. The young wizard could not bring himself to witness the infant sacrifice which now bound himself, Varessa, Tarra, and the Queen all together in their plan.

Now She said the ritual with Sirana was to be done in Lolth's Name? Was She merely maintaining Her charade? Was She still in denial about D'Shea's importance? Was that why She hadn't decided to let his beloved out yet, or was She only punishing them both for his loving her at all? 

The Queen's visions had to be changing constantly as well; maybe She had legitimately forgotten why the mother of his son had to remain alive. He'd taken some protection against that possibility, he had thought, yet his Queen had only mocked him in Her throne room. His Queen had hinted that She had killed a pregnant mother before. So She could again.

Phaelous dared a glance at Shyntre; his son looked ill. He licked his lips. "I will perform any duty, Highness, but will seven days make a difference? Should we wait for the rest of the Dragon's message?"

The Valsharess looked around the small, bare room. "Are you enjoying your time here, then?"

The Headmaster smiled, just a little. "I am, Highness. Sensory deprivation can be good balance."

"After such sensory *indulgence* on your part, it was overdue, We suppose."

Ah, She was jealous, then; that was why She clutched Shyntre's shoulder so. Regardless the boy's mother-sorceress was the linchpin of this opportunity, whether any of them liked it or not. Varessa would make the difference whether this was an act of faith or one of rebellion by the queen...provided Shyntre and Sirana gave them the opening.

The Valsharess had to relinquish control at some point. D'Shea would act in rebellion against Lolth on the Queen's behalf, Phaelous knew she would. Without D'Shea, then the same ritual would only make Lolth more powerful, would only tighten the web even more. Over time it might even give the Drow that edge they were looking for over the Illithids, making psionic Drow...

Phaelous knew how seductive a thought like that could be inside his Valsharess's head. She couldn't help but think in centuries and millennia, what would grow the City's power. It could easily win out over the desire of personal freedom, of rebelling only to lose all that power, all that opportunity...

He knew this only too well.

The Valsharess swept Her free hand forward, looking at her young Consort. "We will begin now. Start with your memory, Phaelous."

"You will remain here, Highness?"

"We must."

"What about Lelinahdara, Highness?"

"She will be summoned later. We will hear you convey the entire ceremony to Shyntre properly, first."

"Well, let me think, Highness. It has been over seven centuries."

"But such a time as you've never forgotten, Phaelous. Do not be coy."

The Headmaster drew what courage he could, prepared to see the growing look of disgust and horror, of denial, and finally hatred on his son's face as Phaelous described in exacting detail what Shyntre would have to do to Sirana to save their City.

"Y-you said you wanted me to make her catch first, Valsharess," Shyntre whispered hoarsely, turning his head slightly to look behind him. "That I would have the opportunity...Th-this...ah...w-won't—"

"There is no reason they cannot be combined, Consort," the Valsharess said sternly. "Do it right and the transformation may not hold and allow a daughter of you both."

There, Phaelous noted. She was lying. There was some small hint that his Queen remembered the plan. Shyntre could not stop his tremors, however. The Headmaster felt pity but he could not show it; he could only wait and wonder if he'd once looked just like this. It had been just him and the Valsharess back then...

The young mage shook his head. "I-I don't understand, my Queen..."

"You don't have to, Consort. Listen to your sire as he tells you the rest."

"Might I suggest waiting on summoning Lelinahdara after I do?" Phaelous said quietly. "Give Shyntre time to get used to it. His first divine ritual will be his greatest. It might even be better if I speak to the Priestess separately before bringing them together. We have a few cycles yet before Jaunda speaks, no need to rush it."

The Valsharess's bejeweled hand closed and opened a few times. She hesitated, as if She had trouble following his train of thought. Finally She answered, "Very well, Headmaster.

*********

He always made the mistake of thinking it couldn't get worse...

Oh, it had gotten worse. That dream about taking Sirana by trickery, the way Phaelous had taken Auranka...it had been a warning. From who, though? How?

Was that really what his sire had done to the former Priestess to make her what she is? She wasn't even really a Drow anymore, she was a vessel...walking and hunting and forgetting...

The worst part now was that they didn't know Sirana was already pregnant. Shyntre knew that beyond a doubt, neither the Valsharess nor Phaelous knew. All that planning, all that tight timing and detail...none of it accounted for an existing pregnancy. What would they do? The wizard was afraid he already knew. They didn't have another psionic Drow, they wouldn't be able to wait a year for her to give birth. It was against the rules, but they would do the unspeakable.

They would kill his bond brother's child. They would make Shyntre do the work, drag a premature baby out and put something else in his place. As long as the mother remained alive, it wasn't much different than sacrificing Bathila's tainted infant, was it? Of course, Sirana in any natural way should die from such a thing, but they'd keep her alive. Like they kept Auranka alive.

Shyntre stared at nothing, though he was supposed to be eating. His fingertips gripped the tops of his desk and he sat with his elbows on either side of his tray. He smelled nothing, though the food was still warm.

Eventually the Consort closed his eyes, controlled his breathing. He fell into a trance, looking for that door that he'd been ignoring. He didn't need the Valsharess touching him, he didn't need to cum to get there. That was distraction, a way to force him into it, force him through the door...

He would go there willingly. He had to warn her. It was known now: she would be forced to choose between himself and her unborn. She could only have one. He had to tell her not to come back. They'd capture her, torture her... worse, they would make *him* do it. He couldn't look at her face as he...

He had to tell her. Ta'suil would just have to learn to live without him.

He found the grassland. And waited. Eventually she came out to meet him...

When Shyntre came back to his room sometime later—how long, he didn't know—he slammed his fist onto his desk, fracturing a bone in his hand and sloshing his soup all over him. Those were the least of his thoughts as he bellowed out loud in pure rage.

*How dare she? How DARE she?! Doesn't she understand?!*

A moment later the wizard gripped his hand as it started throbbing as fierce as his hatred of everyone, of the whole world. All of it for nothing.

She was going to come back anyway.

How could she think she was going to win?

*********

Tarra didn't go down into the dungeon to visit Curgia again between now and the Dragon's time, as she'd been planning. Primarily because the addled Noble was kept just close enough to D'Shea and could draw attention with her blathering, and the Priestess didn't want the sorceress to overhear anything she couldn't control. 

Sadly, she couldn't control Curgia's volume without breaking the magic ward and stepping inside the cell to slap her across the face. The way D'Shea's presence permeated the place now, and Tarra's own paranoia led her to think Varessa would find a way to close the door behind the Priestess if she did go inside Curgia's cell, even though that should be impossible.

No. The stubborn Elder sorceress refused anyone's help, somehow preferring to submit to the Prime's indignities whenever she dropped by to wrangle whatever cries she could out of the liaison's former ally without risking her new pregnancy.

Then there was Elder Rausery coming to check on Jaunda for the Queen. Further reasons Lelinahdara stayed away from the Palace dungeon: too many high-ranking Red Sisters putting everyone on edge. She could see why the whole lot of the Sisterhood were put in their own Cloister away from the Sanctuary and the Palace, on the very edge of the City.

Instead Tarra now contemplated the dream potion the Valsharess had challenged her to take but hadn't been specific about the time she would do so. Was she ready? Why did she hesitate?

Tarra was afraid, of course. That dream long ago of the red rune dagger had never been a good one, even if it had gotten her noticed by the Queen. Will it have changed, if she saw it again?

Maybe she should find out this very cycle. *Just do it. Take it—*

Tarra exhaled in relief when she received the summons. She tucked the vial inside her Priestess garments—always she kept it on her person now—and left to see the Valsharess in that same, small altar room where she'd first heard the Queen say She would break away from their Spider Goddess...

And replace it with what? A void could not be left behind, any Drow knew this.

When she got to the room and the door closed protectively and privately behind her, she saw Phaelous was there as well.

Tarra curtsied. "Your Highness."

"Lelinahdara. You are prepared to become Our new High Priestess?"

Right now? No...no, there was still more yet to happen...

Tarra cleared her throat. "Yes, my Queen."

"Your ritual in the forming room," the Valsharess said bluntly before She indicated the Headmaster, "and his knowledge of Auranka's transformation. We will listen to you talk, and We will hear your theories, arcane and divine. Then We will tell you what your efforts have made in Shyntre, and We will see Our new Path. You will know what to do."

Tarra nodded, but even she wasn't sure she was following the Game anymore. She was lost but would find her way again.

******

Only Rausery really had the exact timing of when the Dragon's bargain was complete, down to the quarter-mark. It was cheating a little, but she had accepted through this waiting game that it was all treason by this point anyway, so better go in both boots first.

What she couldn't figure was why the Valsharess hadn't called for Jaunda to be taken out of the dungeon already. If she had been in Her place, she would have the Dragon-marked Sister chained beside her at the throne, starting at least the very cycle she was supposed to speak again.

Why wasn't She?

"I told you the queen's been...distracted," the Dragon had spoken through Halena.

"Yeah. By Shyntre."

"Well. He can see now, the way she wants him to."

"Thanks to you. You didn't really help him, did you?"

"On the contrary, now he knows he can walk outside whenever he wants, even if he still doesn't. He's quite afraid of what he'll find, I imagine. I don't blame him, he only has your queen as an intimate example, and her journeys haven't been so enlightening lately."

Rausery hadn't followed any of that and she glared at Halena. "Just... walk outside? Drider shit."

"Oh, come now, Rausery, just because you can't see it..." Halena's face suddenly screwed up in thought. "Jaunda couldn't see it, either, but she still gave your Dreamwalker that bloodstone, didn't she?"

"Why, because you told her to?"

"Not at all. I didn't even know about it until after your young wizard survived the ritual. Jaunda is still her own will, Elder, I don't puppet her as I do this one, I told you that. She wouldn't allow it, and I decided not break her. She was too charming."

Rausery couldn't help but snort a laugh. No one ever called the brusque, randy Lead with a distinct preference for her Feldeu seeking and finding her Sisters' assholes "charming."

"What's your point, Dragon?"

"I think she should be there at Shyntre's next lesson."

Now it was the cycle. One month since Jaunda's bargain. Holy fuck, and still three or four to go before the Illithid attack...? Why wait? Why not bring it to them?

*Oh, yeah. Fucking Sirana. If they'd just pull their heads out of their asses and let me train the wizards... Fuck it all to the Abyss, they should fucking *know* we can't depend on one source for our defense! What is wrong with them all?*

D'Shea's Lead was dozing on her cell cot, her forearm covering her eyes, one leg drawn up. Comfortable and calm by all appearances; this hadn't changed all these weeks since she came back with Dragon cum in all her holes.

"Hey," Rausery said.

Jaunda lifted her head, quickly alert and sitting up. "Elder."




Surfacing Ch. 30



"What's the Dragon's name?"

The Lead swallowed, smacking her lips and her tongue, testing. She cleared her throat, rubbed her bare hands. "Iskomitneh."

Rausery grinned. "Hm. Not what I was expecting."

The younger Sister shook her head, looking bemused. "I know, Elder. I would have liked something shorter."

"Anything you'd want to tell me right now?"

Jaunda rubbed her jaw like it was half-numb. "He has walked among the Illithids just as he has us, Elder."

The Elder scowled. "You're fucking jesting."

"No, Elder. Don't know how long he loitered around the conclave after we left, before he followed us here, but he's playing both sides. The captive we had before definitely made it back to them. That's confirmed through Iskomitneh; don't know what he's confirmed for them about us. But at least that's how they know about Sirana. Unless the Dragon's told them what we've said, they don't know when she's coming back, they're just...preparing for the possibility. They can wait a long time."

While Rausery's own leaders "knew" just about when it would happen yet hadn't been preparing nearly as much. What was the Queen's excuse? The Dragon even wanted it to happen, enough to protect the Consort who was having visions like the Queen, so even confirming that the Dragon danced both sides of the fence didn't make Rausery regret her actions thus far. Doing nothing wasn't her style. At least the Dragon would do something.

"Mm. Good, then. Get dressed, Lead."

Jaunda smiled slightly as reached for her boots, though now she looked more nervous like the Dragon magic which had been keeping her calm was now wearing off. She would hang in there, though; she always did. 

"Elder D'Shea still alive?" she asked quietly. "Haven't heard her or the Prime recently..."

Elder Rausery nodded. "She is. Has to stay where she is, I'm afraid. You have to go upstairs with me, though. Now."

"And do what, Elder?"

Rausery signed that one. *Help Shyntre the way you helped Auslan. However we can.*

At first Jaunda looked confused, but then she seemed to remember something. *Gotcha, Elder.*

"I'm ready."

Only at that point did Elder Rausery call her superior to meet her at the Palace, well away from Varessa D'Shea.

*******

"Enter."

The Prime and the two Red Sisters bowed. "Valsharess."

Phaelous and Lelinahdara turned to look at them, each of them with placid expressions even though Rausery could smell the tang of nerves. Shyntre was beside the Valsharess...actually kneeling beside Her throne the way Rausery had pictured doing with Jaunda as she waited for her to speak...

Her Queen blinked at Jaunda, then clearly remembered now was the time. 

Fucking Abyss, She had actually forgotten?! Why could Rausery even read that? She shouldn't be able to...that was D'Shea's skill.

Everything she'd known was turning upside down.

Rausery pressed down on Jaunda's shoulder, getting her to take to one knee. "Report, Lead."

And so she finally could. She gave a report where she was alone with the Dragon for five cycles after bargaining with him. It was...graphic. A grueling interrogation, as Jaunda clearly expected it to be, particularly with the Prime badgering her unnecessarily about the details of what the Dragon did to her, as if Jaunda could stop him. It distracted them and caused Rausery's and even Lelinahdara's nerves to fray. Even then though, Jaunda acted like it was not as grueling as the five-cycle ordeal itself, the constant testing, the resistance and endurance under Iskomitneh's direct power.

"Iskomitneh," the Queen reflected. "That is the name he gave you?"

"It is, my Queen."

"Not 'Sargt'?" She asked.

"No, my Queen."

"Not 'Lethrix'?"

"No, my Queen, but he did offer 'To'vah' as well."

Jaunda caught Phaelous's eye and the Headmaster almost seemed to get the jest, assuming there was one.

"Why so many names?" the Priestess asked.

"He thinks very highly of himself," the Prime grumbled. "The same why our Spider Queen has many names. The last time he w— well, whatever, regardless...he's not a god."

"We know this," the Valsharess muttered, distracted. "Else he would not be able to breed with our kind."

The Priestess started. "What?"

Most of them looked at Jaunda, but she put her hands up. "Whoa! No. Elder D'Shea already checked, I'm not—"

The Valsharess snapped Her fingers. "We know this as well, do not bore Us, Lead."

Jaunda shut her mouth immediately but the rest of them were left bewildered over those last statements. As the Queen stared off to one side, none of them had the courage to bring it up again.

"About the Illithids, Valsharess," Rausery began.

"Don't waste Her time, Elder," the Prime interjected.

Her temper nearly flared but she just got hold of it; the Elder kept her focus on her Queen. "You've granted us Your Vision that the Illithids are going to attack us. The Prime has had me looking into options—"

"Options that *don't* include the Sisterhood taking over the Tower, Elder," the Prime growled.

The Valsharess frowned at them, pulled out of Her thoughts. "The Tower?"

"Elder Rausery has had a wizard or two doing some experimentation with the suppression collar while we waited for Jaunda to speak, Your Highness," the Prime informed her. "Looking to turn it into a defense piece, something our fighters could wear. I've allowed it and we've even started gathering supplies to make more of them, but Elder Rausery keeps asking for permission to move all of the battle mages under the Sisterhood."

"Absolutely not," the Valsharess said immediately.

The Prime smirked at Rausery with a clear "told you so" expression. Fucking Abyss. Just a "no"? Just like that. Maybe she should have waited and not pushed it, but when was the last time she'd even had an audience? Not since arresting D'Shea. The Prime was constantly blocking her just because they couldn't change the way things were too much...

It was going to get them wiped out.

"Do not worry, Elder," the Valsharess spoke again, this time with more surety and grace. "Lethrix will not want the Illithids to take over this cavern. We know something of him."

"With all due respect, my Queen, that does not mean he will see us remain as we are," Rausery protested. "In fact, if I were him, I'd let the Illithids take over and then wipe them out myself, so both of us were gone. He could do that, right?"

The Prime wasn't so quick to gainsay her now; she saw the point, at least, even if she would continue to do what the Valsharess wanted.

"Then why would the Dragon do this now and not in our past clashes with the mindflayers?" Lelinahdara asked.

"Because he was asleep," Jaunda spoke out of line, fearless and impatient, "and this particular Elder Mind has never held a Drow captive until Sirana. It's young, not quite five hundred years old. It wasn't long they held her, never even got to drag her away, but it was long enough and she was strange enough that they got scared of what they saw. They call her 'the corrupter.'"

"Why?" Phaelous asked curiously when no one else interrupted her.

Jaunda shook her head. "I don't know, but when our captive Illithid escaped, it brought everything about the Priestesses and the Draegloth that it had to the Elder Mind, which was a lot. And yet...they're more scared of Sirana than the Priestesses and all of the Abyss. They're massing now, ready for the possibility she could return. It's the perfect time for the To'vah to be awake."

Rausery couldn't help but smile at the Lead, sharing it with Phaelous before looking at the Queen. "Lead Jaunda's insights are valuable. More will probably come back to her as the spell wears off further."

"So We see," the Valsharess murmured, resting Her chin thoughtfully in Her hand, staring at the Red Sister. She thought about it a moment more. "She will stay with Us for a little longer. Lelinahdara will remain here as well. We instruct the Prime and Elder Rausery to continue this defense plan. Phaelous, you will now return to your Tower and regain control of it. You may work with the Sisterhood as necessary."

Well, that was something.

"What of Elder D'Shea, Valsharess?" Rausery asked.

A final shake of Her head. "She will remain where she is."

Damn it.

"Go."

Rausery made eye contact with Jaunda; the Lead nodded ever-so-slightly. She would help them. She wasn't afraid.

*******

Shyntre had been silent the entire time, listening to everyone else debate and argue and question Jaunda. Hearing her tale, of course, made him shudder inside. Sargt...or Lethrix, or Isko-whatever...could have done all that to him as well. Right in his room, on the same floor with the Queen.

But he didn't. The Dragon had wanted to show him something, as he ultimately had shown the Lead Red Sister what she needed to see. He'd talked with her, it was obvious now; he didn't *only* fuck the living Abyss out of her. Shyntre wondered if he could have held up as well as Jaunda had.

The three of them—himself, Jaunda, and Lelinahdara—soon followed the Queen back to her private altar room. As he'd expected, Jaunda was ordered to strip out of her red uniform down to her skin. She began without complaint, and when he moved to help her out of her armor neither she nor the Valsharess protested. He was only relieved the Queen wasn't preparing a protection circle as they worked; She merely secured the room at large.

Soon Jaunda stood naked, her hair short, her body strong and muscular, straight and proud; she looked pretty much as he remembered those decades ago. She'd been one of the better Red Sisters to please, as it turned out, though he hadn't known it at the time.

Now he watched with a different set of eyes—it wasn't just her, it was him—and he could see a few beautiful whorls of shining, dark yellow curling around her waist and hips, lifting up her stomach to curve just beneath her right breast. It was like she had been painted in golden smoke, though not everyone could see the design embracing her with an odd intimacy.

It had to be the Dragon's mark the Valsharess had been searching for on him but had not found. He wondered if it had faded from how it had looked when it was fresh, or had shrunk perhaps...he thought it might be.

"We still have time," the Valsharess murmured. "One last surge, We think, before it fades and We play again. What would it show Us? Do We dare?"

The Priestess glanced at them, a little nervous, as it was clear the Queen wasn't speaking to anyone but Herself, but she wouldn't ask for clarification. Lelinahdara was even a bit shocked when she got it right away.

"You carry the vial with you, Tarra," the Queen said.

"Y-yes, Your Highness."

"You must drink it here in this room, and We will enhance your vision with Lethrix's last remnants inside Our Lead. We will all See what you were meant to See years ago."

Now Shyntre and Jaunda glanced at each other, him more worried than her.

"Jaunda, upon the altar."

"Knew that was comin'," Jaunda muttered to him wryly, then cleared her throat. "Yes, my Queen."

Waiting until the Red Sister had climbed onto the stone and lay on her back, the Queen next commanded, "Consort, perform your duties."

Shyntre tried not to grimace, already far behind as he touched himself and tried to think about getting hard. *Sure, why not? Right here, instant ramrod...*

Or not.

"If it's all the same, my Queen," Jaunda said, sounding far more relaxed than she should've been in her position, "I've had my fill of dick for a while. Do you just need me to cum? I'll cum for Your Highness."

The Valsharess gave the Red Sister a very odd look, as if She had forgotten that not every one of Her red warriors came from the Noble Houses with their manners. More of them didn't, as a matter of fact, but Shyntre still thought Jaunda was pushing things. He waited for some form of controlling punishment to remind her where she came from...

"Hm. Yes, We command your climax, Lead. It is Dragonlust he put in you, every climax can utilize the magic. This way, We can channel it."

"Gotcha, my Queen. Makes sense. The Consort could suck me instead. It would be faster than him fucking me, I promise, and he's good at it."

The Valsharess looked at the wizard as if She hadn't known that... and only now wondered why the Red Sister knew it. He felt his face heat up. *Please don't get jealous, it was years ago...*

Frowning a little, the Queen agreed with surprising ease. "...Very well. Shyntre, service her with your mouth instead."

He released the breath he was holding and didn't question; this was his preference, too, if he had to make someone climax on command for a spell or ritual. He'd long since learned to lose himself in the musk and the folds, just close his eyes and go at it, make her feel it, make her cum... 

He didn't even have to undress himself as he stepped up and helped the Lead position her hips and crotch to be within easy reach for him, her heels braced at the edge of the stone table. He waited to be told to begin, lightly holding Jaunda's hips.

"Lelinahdara, drink your vial and undress as well. Kneel above the Red Sister's face and let her service you the same way."

"Oo, fun." Jaunda chuckled and then cooed with a beckoning hand, "Come on, Priestess, hop on up. I won't bite."

He heard a scoff from the Priestess, then uncertainty. "Valsharess...?"

Now he looked at Lelinahdara. She was trying to maintain her dignity but Shyntre could tell the Priestess was the one most reluctant. She normally led rituals like this, not served in them. She didn't seem attracted to Jaunda, either.

The Valsharess snapped Her fingers again, pointing at the altar. "Jaunda has merely taken on a little of the Dragon's attitude right now. She feels no fear of this. It is good for you, Tarra, it will keep the ritual strong. Unless you'd like to bring in your Draegloth instead?"

Tarra shook her head immediately and did as she was bid, pulling out a small potion from inside her robes, shrugging out of them to reveal a truly voluptuous form, much different from Jaunda's warrior one. She unstopped the vial and tossed it back, swallowing with a grimace, then dropped the bottle on top of her robes. 

The Priestess crawled onto the altar mostly by herself, though the Red Sister touched and stroked her hips and thighs interestedly while helping her keep her balance. Jaunda sniffed at her crotch and kissed her netherlips immediately, causing Tarra to gasp in surprise.

"I'm not ready yet!"

"So?" Jaunda licked her. "You'll get ready. Shyntre?"

Not able to help a bit of a smile, Shyntre leaned down and started sucking the Lead, holding her muscular thighs open at her discretion. He noticed that she probably hadn't done more than a cursory wipe-down in the dungeon the last few days, but Jaunda always had been one of the sweaty ones. Based on her musk alone, it took him little time to remember what it was she liked.

"Ohhh, fuck, yeah!" she groaned, gripping Tarra's thighs hard and lifting her head up to start sucking herself, pulling down constant and steady until the Priestess was almost smothering her and Jaunda wouldn't have a kink in her neck from the angle.

The Priestess lightly bit her bottom lip. "Mmm..."

"Concentrate, Tarra."

She closed her eyes.

Eventually, so did Shyntre as the Queen chanted, stepping deliberately around them. Instead of distracting them, it seemed to help. He felt Jaunda's heat rise as he tasted her; he avoided spearing her with his tongue because she didn't like that, but he did rim her as well. He listened to the Valsharess's deeper, husky voice and heard Tarra's breath become unstable. The exertion must have been something because soon he caught a whiff of the Priestess's new scent as well.

Briefly he opened his eyes to see Tarra grinding determinedly against the Red Sister's face, twisting her nipples hard. The Dragon mark on Jaunda's skin shimmered, the magic was building, all of their auras were bright and lightly melded...

He felt something shift in his brain just as Jaunda made the stubborn Priestess cum on her face. Then with a muffled roar Jaunda reached for the back of his head to smash his face against her. She squirted all over him, into his mouth, some of it up his nose.

He hit his knees and only needed a few more strokes of his own beneath his robe to add to the fluid on the floor. He felt only his third spasm in his cock when Tarra fell forward onto Jaunda, her face nearly falling into her pussy as she gasped for breath, watching him finish. Shyntre was kneeling, looking up at her and they made eye contact.

"C-come with us," she whispered, pleaded, still afraid. She grabbed his hand, which still held Jaunda's thigh as her feet had slipped off the altar.

He slipped away, and came with them back into the sands.

*******

It was just him and Tarra, with the Valsharess standing just behind them, gripping one shoulder each. Jaunda was nowhere to be seen. They stood upon one of the higher dunes, looking down below at long shadows darkening the deep red sand. The Sun was close to the horizon and without knowing exactly why—something about the exact shade of the light rather than any direction he could only assume—Shyntre thought that it was setting rather than rising.

Night was coming.

Tarra allowed the tiniest whine to escape her throat though she quickly turned her head toward the Valsharess, eyes wide looking for any possible displeasure from her Queen.

"Have you dreamed of this place before, Tarra?" the Valsharess asked, demanding truth.

"The one time I have since confessed to you, Valsharess."

"Any others since?"

"No, Valsharess. It has been over three centuries..."

"But you recognize it."

The Priestess hoped to make do with a nod and a grunt; the Queen allowed it.

"Tell Shyntre your dream."

"I-is it safe to do that here...?"

"No. But We command it."

The Priestess looked back at the horizon but avoided looking directly at the setting Sun then turned her wary gaze to Shyntre. It was clear she didn't enjoy showing weakness in front of him but he hadn't let her get away with pretending she understood what happened after the forming room ritual either. The wizard-Consort was the one ahead of the Priestess-sorceress this time, but he still wished he wasn't. It still wasn't enough to be anything but a useful pawn.

"Much of it is hazy and I do not even now know what it means," Tarra began.

"That is why you are to recount it here," the Valsharess said sternly, throwing off her attempt at building confidence. "Touch Shyntre's hand as you speak, Priestess, and it will be clear."

The Queen still held both of them and Tarra hesitantly, lightly looped her fingers around his, forming a bit of a circle between them.

"I was here," she murmured, "except there was a stone the size of a plow rothe jutting out of the sand, breaking the wind and the only feature to throw a shadow. In its shadow was a black dagger of exotic make, inscribed with red runes I could not read." 

Shyntre didn't interrupt but he could see it clearly thus far. In fact, it seemed to be forming right in front of them...a hazy mirage in deep orange light.

"It whispered to me, cried like an infant needing food," she murmured. "There was a sense of great distance...as if it in itself was a gateway somewhere."

Shyntre shivered, and they stared at the dagger at the base of the looming rock.

"Did you touch it?" the Valsharess asked, more of a prompt.

"No..." Tarra answered softly. "I watched as the sand slowly buried it."

There was a pause. As they watched, so it was. It took a very long time in that spot, and it cried the whole time.

"And then what happened?" the Valsharess asked as only the hilt remained visible.

"Then..." Tarra blinked, tearing her eyes from the stone and looking toward the horizon, searching for something.




Surfacing Ch. 30



And something was there, moving fast and coming from the direction of the setting Sun, moving toward the darker horizon. Shyntre squinted his eyes, and his heart picked up, spreading a slightly sick feeling through his limbs. This had to be dangerous.

"A Noldor..." Tarra whispered. "Riding a beast..."

A horse, Shyntre noted. Though he had never seen one in his brief time on the Surface, Rausery had drawn sketches and someone with more talent had made approved pictures in the Tower's library. He recognized it now, gazing hypnotized at the movement.

The Pale Elf was female and blonde, wearing a pale, flowing tunic. She clung to the back of the horse, fists balled tight in the tangled, white-blond mane that decorated the ridge of the long neck; there was no bridle, no saddle, no way to direct the animal. 

The horse's coat was a shining sorrel red and he charged hard across the red sand. It was difficult for the beast to fight the sand; the nostrils were spread so he could breathe enough air, and his single-toed hooves sank into the loose particles, kicking up clouds of red dust behind him as he held his pale blond tale high in the air. 

Even then, the speed was incredible.

*She will never reach the other side without me...*

Shyntre looked over at Tarra, then glanced back at the Valsharess. That voice hadn't come from either of them. It had come from inside his mind.

"Then what happened?" the Queen asked.

"It turned to trample me," Tarra whispered, clearly afraid as the beast changed direction abruptly, running straight for them.

"And did it?"

The Priestess tried to back up but the Valsharess held her tightly.

"Did it?"

"Yes..." she squeaked. "It hurt, it was horrible...I-I woke up—"

Shyntre stared at the oncoming beast, oddly excited but not at the thought of those pounding hooves tramping and crushing the Priestess's bones. Petty cruelty and pain seemed unimportant right now. He tried to step forward; the Valsharess held him still.

"Let go, my Queen," he said.

"We will not see it trample you instead, Consort."

"He won't. They've been looking for me. Let go."

There was the tiniest of tremors in the Valsharess's hand when She released his shoulder. Neither She nor the Priestess disappeared as he might have guessed; they remained with him, but now Shyntre could step out in front and meet the rider and animal.

It was the strangest thing, watching the Noldor change color as if the beast had just leaped through an unseen waterfall of mud. The closer she got, the darker the pale skin became until it struck a deep brown, taking on reddish highlights like her mount, the blonde hair darkening even more to the color of Surface chestnuts. 

Soon Shyntre could hear the great breaths blown by the stallion as he came up quick and slowed down fast, spraying red sand against the bottom of Shyntre's robe and stomping the dunes. Overfilled with energy the horse reared up and kicked out his front legs, barely missing the wizard's head. Shyntre had forgotten to flinch as he stared.

"There you are!" the Elf said, looking at all three of them. "You're late for the ceremony!"

Swinging off the mount, Shyntre had to look twice. Strong limbs exposed, beautiful but exotic face, the shape of breast and waist and hip was truly baffling...a mix of...

Was the brown Elf male or female?

When were there ever brown Elves...?

"Come, mount up," the rider beckoned to him and a shivering Tarra. "We'll meet you there."

Invited closer, Shyntre moved to reach out his hand and touch the fire-colored horse. Hot and sweating, a distinct smell of the beast, he'd never forget...

"There is no way to steer," he murmured.

The strange Elf didn't hesitate. "He will take you where you need to go. Let me help you up."

The rider cupped his...her...hands and as Shyntre grabbed the long, blond mane and withers. Putting his sandaled foot in the braced hold, he was swiftly boosted up onto the horses' back. He'd never imagined horses were so tall...

"Now you," the brown Elf indicated the Priestess. "Come on, get behind him."

"Go, Tarra," the Valsharess said. "We command this. If you return or not, this will give Us Our answer We seek."

They could all hear Tarra's heartbeat as she stepped forward; her hands gripped him and jabbed him in places on his thighs and arms as she tried to get into position behind him on a beast of which she was clearly terrified.

"Hold on around his waist and squeeze your thighs together," the brown Elf suggested.

Shyntre could barely breathe when Tarra did just that. "Thanks, rider..."

The ambiguous Elf grinned and slapped the horse's haunches, causing him to jerk forward and start off at a long-legged lope. Tarra shrieked and held on even tighter, trying to pull him vertical and backward.

"Lean forward!" he yelled back at her as the horse picked up speed and the spine really started rolling very differently from a lizard.

The Priestess didn't reply but buried her face into his back and leaned forward barely enough to keep them both mounted.

*I have a question for you. Can a lizard outrun a horse?*

The same voice from earlier caused Shyntre to look at the Sky rather than the ground, and he thought he glimpsed something very high up, flying above them as the horse sped atop the sand.

They would see who would get there first.

Tarra didn't relax even as the Sun vanished and the Sky turned purple and night-blue, as Stars appeared and a milky glow heralded the Moons just beyond the opposite horizon. The eternal runner's body heat kept them warm as the rushing air cooled around them, and Shyntre could no longer see the flyer above them unless he wasn't imagining those Stars winking out now and then only to reappear a moment later.

Ahead...their destination. A desert Palace built upon a steep-sided crest; the outer, protective walls sheer and extending the incline even higher into the air. The architecture in Night colors resembled that of the Valsharess's in several subtle ways, with its high-reaching levels and elegant curves, with many places to hide from sight and attack in ambush. The multiple spires rising above all else reminded him of the Wizard's Tower, but the outer walls weaved back and forth around the fortress like a sand snake. Loose, sliding rock filled each dip inward while the outward curves of the walls seemed to push out against unwanted visitors.

The main gate was open, though; a wide archway with a ramp leading to it. It was here the red-blond stallion clearly aimed to go. As they got closer, the wizard waited for anything at all to jump out and block them, leap on them, attack them...

The horse slowed down from a full gallop to a lope, then cantered and finally trotted up the ramp. A young male Drow Shyntre did not recognize stepped out, wearing an extremely strange dress uniform—strange silk in deep blue and red, lined with gold cord, including a matching headpiece and dark boots. He bowed at the waist; he possessed a curved sword at his waist which he did not draw on them.

"My Queen," he said. "He awaits Your Grace with guests."

The young male was looking at Tarra; Shyntre wasn't even sure if he was visible—either assumed to be a servant and below even a guard's notice, or...possibly more disturbing, he couldn't be seen at all. As if he'd cast his invisibility spell without realizing it.

It was this thought which made the wizard better prepared as the horse trotted loudly into the enormous Palace courtyard. He had the thought to slip off the horse opposite of Tarra and hide from the other eyes as the Priestess seemed glad to regain her own feet again. She immediately stilled her tremors as she noticed the others, just a moment after he did.

What Shyntre saw in those first few moments was...extraordinary. It was a gathering of beings of whom he hadn't even ever dreamt. Some were Drow and some were Human; there was one who shrouded himself entirely in grey robes and remained quiet, observing the others. 

The rest engaged each other, the Elf and Human, faces he didn't know but he wondered about the deep brown skin and overall dark shades of hair among the round-eared Humans. It compared to the strange Elf who had helped Shyntre onto the fire horse, though the males Humans were consistently larger and stronger than the female ones. The male Drow seemed slender and short by comparison, but this did not leave them feeling intimidated. 

In fact, they seemed on some better level with the male Humans, making eye contact with anyone, the female Drow granting them a public respect necessary to maintain relations with the Humans, for whom it was the opposite. Shyntre recognized in himself more of the female Human body languages than he did the male—who only reminded him of the Matrons and their self-important Noble Daughters.

Beyond this, all behaved as if there were many more pieces of furniture, more supplies, food and drink, and even more bodies filling the relatively empty space. Some stepped as if they were beside a table, plucking up an appetizer to pop into their mouth. Others walked slowly and talked with invisible ghosts—though the wizard could not hear what they were saying, there was only a low drone—and gesture to each other with passionate thought or debate, fully engaged. The genders were mixed, as were the races.

All eyes were drawn up to a tall Man as he stepped...no, limped into view atop the elevated, open-air pathway lining the courtyard. He stood at the top of some steps that could take him down among the people, but he hesitated. He seemed confused, tired, maybe. Shyntre could see the aura; he was a mage for certain, a powerful one though he held a palm tight to his right side as if he braced some cracked ribs against his own lungs.

He had brown skin like the other Humans, but white hair like a Drow. His hair made him seem younger to Shyntre than he was, as he noticed more lines and courser textures in the skin. Kind of like the Valsharess, but even rougher. If he'd been blond, Shyntre would have thought him as old as his own sire and Headmaster.

Who was this? Why did Shyntre feel so abruptly and deeply...

Afraid.

The wizard hid helplessly behind the glaringly bright horse at the opposite end of the courtyard as the Man's eyes scanned the crowd—

And landed on Tarra.

Again he hesitated—possibly the Man was afraid of something himself—but then he took those careful steps to come down to their same level.

That was when everything changed.

It was early morning now, not night, the Sky a light blue and the Sun not yet scalding, yet it did not feel as if any time had passed. The walls had lightened to show the mix of reds and oranges within the stone, brightening all shadows. More figures filled the courtyard, however, as did those supplies and furniture which had been missing to the night-guests pantomime. All those reappearing guests of the day were yet more variation: additional brown Elves, just a few Pale ones and some matching dwarves—no dark-skinned ones like he was used to—plus many Humans of different colors and dress as well. 

While these others were in vibrant color, the grey-robed Man remained still as if he was not really there, an occasional trick of the eye. One notable change was, however, that his hands had turned dark as Shyntre's in the day, while they had been pale as the Moons at night.

"Aia Innathi..."

The sorcerer had spoken; now he was moving through the crowd toward the Priestess. As he did so, his appearance changed: the skin of his face grew smoother and tighter, his hair turned true black instead of white, and his body language shifted to be less tired and confused—now younger and spellbound, enamored with what he saw.

Tarra gasped as he came closer, and her appearance changed just enough to seem like she was someone else, but Shyntre could still tell it was her. She turned her head to look at him in her panic, as if expecting him to do something, explain something...

He could only watch in wary bewilderment.

The sorcerer bowed formally before her, taking her hand to kiss it; even then, it was obvious he felt he was familiar with her. This was no first meeting, it was a welcoming back. Tarra shivered slightly, confused and wary but not pulling away.

"Your Grace, we've been waiting, and to my heart's joy, now you are here. Our allies have gathered to give their blessing and bear witness to our official union this day. Your people and mine wedded together as surely as you and I shall be." 

The sorcerer then leaned to whisper something else in her ear, private and playful, and he leaned back with a young glint in his eye. Tarra may as well have had a ball of moss stuck in her throat for all her response, but the Man seemed to see and hear something different, something pleasing enough, for he gently drew her toward the grand throne at the far end of the yard—set to be temporary but lavishly decorated to oversee any party held out here.

Given the horse still standing here, and the one guard now looking out and ignoring them, Shyntre wondered where the stables were? What about the barracks and the areas needed to exchange supplies? How could he go from a ramp through an archway and be in this beautiful place?

As Tarra and the sorcerer made their way to the front to stand above everyone else, Shyntre saw three other figures of note. 

Waiting at the throne was a tall, beautiful male Elf, one of the brown ones, wearing only a strangely heavy brown wrap as well. The wrap was a long one, going about his trim waist and extending down to the floor to where Shyntre could see nothing of his legs or feet. His hair was long and perfect, a deep reddish-brown. He reminded the wizard of the Consorts as a whole for how captivating his beauty was coupled with his manner of dress, but his presence was regal and clearly not that of a pleasure servant. He waited for the sorcerer and the Priestess to join him.

To the side—upon the elevated balcony opposite from which the sorcerer had first entered—stood a strange, yet strangely familiar Elf, bald with very long ears, the skin showing mainly in face and arms swirling different colors, from blue to green to yellow and red... The features of the face were that of the same male/female Shyntre had just met, who had told him he was late for this ceremony, but the height was greater and the aura showed only an unlimited patience and peace. 

Lastly, Shyntre saw the Valsharess here as well, except he wasn't sure this was her actual presence. Nonetheless, she was fascinating; she was much younger, beautiful, tugging at his curiosity and resistant interest in just the way Sirana did. She wore a Sky blue gown and a spider pendant, its abdomen formed from a dark amethyst, the rest of it the brightest silver. She watched the proceedings with a subtle distrust and disbelief.

The red horse blew air out of his lungs and stamped once, but otherwise remained patient as Shyntre tried to decide if he should step outside or not...

*That would be a 'yes.'*

A heavy hand clapped on his shoulder and gripped his robe to pull him out from behind the horse.

*Wait, they'll see me—!*

*If they haven't yet, they won't now. Just watch.*

It was Izabal Sargt, or the Dragon in her form, wearing her red dress. She shouldn't be nearly so strong for her size yet she tugged him to some steps where they could sit and looped her arms around his waist, holding him like a companion...or a nursemaid protecting a toddler while keeping it from crawling around unchecked. 

Meanwhile, the horse neighed softly and moved at last over to climb the stairs as well, passing by them and clopping leisurely over to the bald, patient male/female, who greeted the mount with a smile and a stroke on the nose.

It was a ceremony, just as had been said, and without words beyond that vague music on the wind, Shyntre could only read the body language. In it he saw some kind of promise. The sorcerer faced Tarra and held her hands, gazed into her eyes with a naked devotion that made Shyntre squirm a bit. 

*What am I seeing?* the wizard asked Sargt, as the Consort-Elf began a speech of lilting, hypnotizing grace, not a single word of which the wizard could make out. He sensed the Dragon shrug.

*Fuck if I know. Whatever Ishuna searches for, I suppose.*

A sharp stab went through his brain as the young and future queen looked in his direction, as if hearing the name and punishing him for it though she was not able to focus directly on him. Nonetheless the wizard moaned softly. That wasn't how it was supposed to work, he hadn't tried to say the name himself. It shouldn't be so obvious to others...

*Ah. Sorry about that, Dreamwalker. The claw marks go very deep, don't they?*

*I'm not...the Dreamwalker, that's—*

*You embraced that part, didn't you? He gave you the gift willingly. Now you are both Dreamwalker. A good thing, as his particular dreams were becoming too much to bear on his own and you are his most incredibly stubborn brother. You lifted the darkness off his shoulders, took it upon yourself to face it on his behalf. Am I close?*

Shyntre pursed his lips. That seemed so, yes; it was clear here, wherever he was... Yet this had never occurred to him while he was awake. He hadn't even wanted to think about it, afraid She would find out.

Dreamwalkers.

For some reason his eyes drifted toward the Man in the grey robes. 

There was another walker here, wasn't there? He'd seen one before...

Tugging him away from a dream within a dream, Shyntre realized the Human Man also possessed a black dagger with red runes at his side, which he loosened from his belt—sheath and all—to hold up in both hands, flat across his palms.

Tarra trembled, staring at the dagger then back to the sorcerer and to the overseeing Elf ruler, who watched with only a small, expectantly smile. She seemed to understand the words being spoken to her, as she somehow found the courage to reach and take the dagger as she had not been able to when it lay crying on the sands. Tarra repeated some words and motions, bracing herself as she drew the relic from its sheath.

*Not the real thing,* Sargt commented. *Or this would get quite interesting right about now.*

Tarra placed the point of the dagger against the sorcerer's chest, who did not flinch but kept his back straight and chin up, staring only at her in open trust. The Dragon was right; Shyntre did not sense or see anything strange during this final motion of the long promise.

His eyes sweeping the guests once again, Shyntre thought, *If there are Pale Elves here at all, and some other figures of high rank bearing witness...what about the Pale Elf Queen?*

Sargt chuckled. *I hazard a guess that she did not approve and would not attend, sending a few ambassadors in her stead. The seeds of the conflict had already been placed long before this moment, but it germinated on this day.*

Shyntre watched the scene with something approaching awe. *And the brown Elves...they are children of both, aren't they? Mixed bloods.*

*Mixed bloods?* Sargt chuckled. *I suppose you could say that.*

*What about the spirit Elf talking with the horse?*

*Interesting description.*

*That's what he...she...is doing!* he insisted.

*You're right, of course. The 'spirit' Elf is just that. The spirit of the Elves awakened for a time when needed.*

Shyntre shook his head. *I don't understand.*

*That's no surprise.*

******

Tarra felt she was under a spell. She did not feel she was simply dreaming. She could feel the Man touching her, pressing his fingers in too deep somehow...like she was naked and he searched the scars she had obtained in bearing her Draegloth, running fingers possessively over the ridges and ripples. She could see the obsession in his eyes; despite his apparent youth, he was old...very old.




Surfacing Ch. 30



Unlike the others who weren't really there...He was. He was here. He was touching her and she couldn't move.

"Innathi gru, Lo'wicova..."

She had listened to his voice at first, his comforts and praises for a female long dead, and believed for a moment it was her. That was when it had become hard to move, hard to speak anything but the vows he wanted her to repeat. The black dagger she had dreamed about belonged to him! She had feared being taken by it, all those years ago. Now it was happening, now she understood.

She wanted to scream.

Where was Shyntre?

"My wife..."

She tried to resist. His eyes stabbed into her.

"Do not deny me."

He probed again. No one around her reacted at all as she struggled, as she panicked.

Then something broke inside her, she was bleeding the colors of her aura, and the sorcerer lifted his stained fingers to touch it to his lips and Taste her.

Now she did scream.

*HELP! SOMEONE HELP, PLEASE!*

******

Following the end of the ceremony, there was applause and a flurry of movement as a stunned-looking Tarra and the sorcerer stood before them with arms entwined. That was when the grey-robed Man pulled down his hood to show his face; Shyntre felt vaguely disappointed but he didn't know why. He only knew he hadn't seen the face before; it wasn't the white walker from the night desert, leading the restless dead where they needed to go...

*The Grey is losing purchase quickly at this point,* Sargt said thoughtfully. *There is little that one can do but watch the searchers leave her behind. Sooner or later things will get desperate enough for her to steal from him. Not that he didn't ask for it, if you ask me, which I can only assume you are.*

*What? Who?*

*Yep.*

The Valsharess...or rather, the young Ishuna moved then, catching Shyntre's attention instantly. She went first to the bald Elf of swirling colors and asking a question. The spirit bowed its head and replied with something appropriately vague for the young Drow to shake her head and move next to the regal, brown Elf who'd presided over the ceremony. The Queen and her Human Consort were talking amongst the guests. 

Ishuna was suspicious of tall, beautiful male, that was clear, and he relished this, teasing her in a conversation that lasted much longer than that with the spirit Elf. At one point he reached up to touch lightly the spider pendant resting just above her breasts, and for a moment—just a moment as her back straightened and her shoulders rolled back—she seemed to want him to move his hand lower...

Then she broke eye contact and moved away, looking unsettled. She glanced back toward the Queen and her Consort and left the party.

She was gone. The Valsharess wasn't watching anymore...?

Shyntre searched again for the Priestess holding the sorcerer's arm. Tarra was in a daze; she wasn't smiling as everyone seemed to think by looking at her, interacting with her as if she commanded the entire room with the force of her personality. The sorcerer held her tightly, protectively possessive if any dared get too close, smiling in a way that suggested he'd captured the ultimate prize.

*I can't help but wonder how close he got,* Sargt murmured. *Not very close, I imagine. It was an interesting experiment. . The direction was lost in the desert and there weren't enough searchers. He knows it. He still tries to find the guiding Star, though apparently he would try to destroy it nowadays.*

Shyntre felt a tremor, again not understanding most of that. *How...close he got to what?*

*To something like you, Dreamwalker.*

*Like me...?*

*You'll notice he clings to the Drow Priestess but knows the fit isn't quite right.*

*No, not me...* Shyntre thought. *Something like...*

Ta'suil.

The flashback was abrupt, and brutal. Here in this very yard. Fear, and pain. A cry for help.

And a black Dragon.

Shyntre stiffened, his heart pitching straight into his throat as the sorcerer in the middle of the crowd blinked and looked in his direction, forgetting Tarra for the moment. The young Man's face was confused a moment, and then it wavered like an illusion dissipating...

He aged. The hair bleached out, turning from black to white. The guests were starting to fade, the day darkening toward night, even the regal and spirit Elves vanishing. Only the red horse remained, spinning to trot in their direction.

*Ah fuck, now you've done it,* Izabal said with a sigh. *We should go.*

Shyntre blinked as the female form released him and stood up; he scrambled to follow. Even the young wizard's thought was a whisper. *Can't you do anything?*

*Yes, but I won't,* the Dragon said, Shyntre' headache worsening as he spoke. *Friendly advice, little 'walker: get outside V'Gedra. The Grey can't do anything here but you might find help on the horizon. They're fairly obvious when they want to be.*

The horse was descending the steps, readying to place himself beneath Shyntre still on the steps where he could jump on. The wizard looked where the sorcerer was between him and the Priestess, striding toward him with a look of aggressive curiosity, as if he couldn't see his mark but could sense where he was, as all others around them faded and the courtyard became empty and dark with only the Stars above.

Shyntre looked for Izabal Sargt. Gone; all gone but for the Priestess, the sorcerer, and the horse, who nickered urgently. There was nowhere to hide. The wizard didn't move, instead dropping to one knee on the steps and breathing deep, holding steady as Elder Rausery had taught him even as his heart banged against his chest.

Auslan had panicked and run, and the sorcerer had caught him, hurt him; the Human had intended to kill him. Even on a horse, Shyntre would be doing the same thing if he lost his cool. Sargt had only said to get outside the city to look for help, not to immediately run, run as fast as he could...

Shyntre told himself this was no different than the Red Sisters hunting him in the Cloister. Ambush had always worked best, an aggressive defense. If he'd ever found a way out of that place before they'd caught up with him, it would have saved him a lot of...

Well. This place still had the gate wide open. For now, at least. 

"Sh-Shyntre...?" Tarra asked like she could finally see him. She sounded so afraid, confused, and the sorcerer whipped his head around to look at her, then followed her gaze to him on the steps.

"Back already?" the Human said in clear, if strangely-accented Drow, again holding his ribs as if injured. "Show yourself, pretty healer. Still shaking from our little tiff, no doubt. That...or you changed your mind about wanting it."

Shyntre felt his anger flare as he watched the sorcerer reach to shift his erection crudely, as the Red Sisters did, a clear threat of familiar violations, past and present. The wizard's fist tightened as he opened his aura to channel that anger, more visible to his enemy now.

The sorcerer half-grinned as he saw it, a hungry and angry snarl. "Your Draconic bodyguard could not kill me thanks to our little bargain, which I did tried to nullify for simplicity." Low, cruel laughter. "It galled the beast to realize he would have had to let me kill you as I intended in order to be able to finish me off. Now, he must wait until you call me. You need me, sweet little boy, but I don't need you. Are you daring to call upon me now?"

Shyntre narrowed his eyes. 

Not yet. But a little payback would be nice.

The wizard waited until his hands were hot, so hot he knew the next thing he touched would melt and turn to cinders, as the Man with Drow-white hair approached the stairs and the horse snorted and backed away, giving a wide birth around the sorcerer to go to Tarra, nudging her with his nose toward another set of steps where she could climb on. Trembling, the Priestess following the animal's lead.

Shyntre had never seen a female Drow so scared and useless.

Still, the Drow wizard nodded to himself when the horse took care of that part and he remained where he was, letting his aura relax the rest of the way to take the concealment with it. The sorcerer stopped, surprised as he looked at him head to toe.

"You're not the healer," murmured the sorcerer.

"No." Shyntre smiled, placing his burning hands down upon the stone of the steps themselves, his palms pressing where Ta'suil had been attacked. "I've always been his dark side."

Thick, orange fluid seeped out of his fingers, glowing now, clinging and baking the stairs until they were brittle enough to crumble beneath his fingers, the magical gel dripping down to continue cracking the courtyard. The Human sorcerer stared, taking a wary step back as he only now realized he was within flinging range. Shyntre didn't toss any of it at him; that was a waste. He broke more of the stairs, turning them to fine, grey dust as he felt something deeper, down below stir in response.

As it hadn't stirred in a very long time.

"Stop," the Human sorcerer whispered, horrified. "You can't do that. It won't go back the way it was..."

Shyntre shuddered with pleasure at that frightened tone. Yes. The sorcerer was right, it wouldn't go back—not like the broken archway had after his brother of the light had thought himself trapped by the sorcerer with no way out.

Quite the opposite, now, as the wizard-Consort felt he could tear this whole place down with his bare hands... And he would. But not yet. The Dragon had said there weren't enough searchers; there hadn't been enough then, and there wasn't enough now.

"Wait until you're called," Shyntre said, staring at the steel grey eyes. "And try not to cause too much trouble in the meantime, hm?"

It was satisfying watching that uncertainty on an ancient's face, even as Shyntre did not question his own surety of his words. The sorcerer shook his head slowly, staring at the broken stairs like they were a mirage he wanted to see vanish. Shyntre glanced at Tarra, saw that she was finally upon the red horse and the stallion turned around to look at him with intelligent inquiry.

*Friendly advice, little 'walker: get out of V'Gedra.*

Yes, it was time to leave.

The sorcerer watched Shyntre as he stood up and dusted off his cooling hands; the Man let him pass just so he could go to the crumbling staircase and touch it himself, to convince himself it had happened and it couldn't be repaired. It gave the wizard enough time to run to the stallion and hop on, Tarra being at least as useful as a hand-hold to pull himself up as she squealed as if jolted awake.

"Sh-Shyntre, help me..." she wheezed. "He-he wants to keep me, he said he'll find me—"

"We're leaving," he whispered. "We're going back—"

"Now you'll try and take my wife from me...?" the sorcerer's voice rumbled, his broad back stiff and all his muscles tense as he rubbed the fine dust between his fingers by the broken stairs. "You'll break into my home, change it from how I remember...at last I remember! And now you'll take her from me?!"

Shyntre wrapped his arms around Tarra and gripped the long, blond mane, kicking the stallion, who surged forward toward the gate. He quickened his casting and threw back a single blast that the sorcerer would have to counter before he could try something else.

"I know who you are now!" the Man bellowed, countering with ease and casting his own blast to try and bring down the gate again upon their heads. "How could I not taste it until now?! 'Dark brother,' ha! No, you're her dark sister! Ishuna! MURDERESS! I WILL KILL YOU! I WILL AVENGE MY FAMILY!"

Shyntre's breath tightened down at the pain in his head, as his aura flared in answer to Her birth name: a positive identification for the sorcerer. Several stones struck the wizard's shoulder and back and the horse's haunches as the three pitched out just ahead of the full collapse and down the ramp toward the desert sand. 

They weren't out yet, V'Gedra was more than just this Palace, but they had a head start. The ground was firm and unmoving at first, and a strange, sickly-colored cloud of sand and debris was rolling across the abandoned city toward them.

"Shyntre!" Tarra screamed.

"I see it," he growled, forcing her to lean with him to turn the horse toward the softer ground he remembered on his way here, though he had no idea how that might help. Wouldn't it just stir up greater cloud in the dark sandstorm behind them?

"No! We're heading for another!" Tarra cried, looking ahead.

Another sandstorm...?

Shyntre looked up between the horse's back-turned ears. It was definitely a smudge on the horizon but... It reflected Moonlight to give off a ghostly glow. It was calm, the particles suspended and floating, moving slowly if at all...

The Grey.

Sargt said he might find help on the horizon if he got outside V'Gedra.

*Obvious when they want to be.*

"What are you doing?!" Tarra shrieked. "You're aiming right for it!"

Shyntre could only urge the horse faster and faster as the sandstorm caught up on softer ground. It tried to seize the horse's legs in the hard, solid ground but the stallion jumped up twice, rear legs kicking out, and his hooves continued to sink into soft, shifting sand. The wizard lent the mount all the strength he had as the wind attempted to knock them off, trip up the stallion time again, to blind them all with painful grit as their very breath was stolen by the need for water. The cloud wailed and wailed with the mourning voice of the sorcerer, intent on driving them mad with its destructive grief.

He wasn't even sure they were still headed in the right direction...

The transition from the sandstorm to the mist was abrupt and numbing as the pain finally stopped, as the desperate, clinging throes stilled and quiet contemplating reigned after the wake. Shyntre trembled as he clutched to the horse, willing the chaos to leave him alone, just stay out there on the flats...

"Well. This is curious indeed."

The wizard did not know the voice, but when he could lift his head and slowly open his eyes, he instantly knew the figure. Or...one of them.

"Walker," the wizard croaked toward the homely, male Human in his mended, grey robe. 

"Yes?"

It was the same Walker, it had to be. The tall figure held a staff; he was pale-faced with scraggly black hair and dark eyes that glinted a pale blue. He was tall enough to for the withers of the red horse to be only chest-tall to him but gangly enough to not seem like a giant. 

Shyntre remembered the unsettling vision with his mother and Auslan, seeing this figure before being surrounded by the Human dead and suddenly waking up inside a sarcophagus with a Skeleton King. Then Sirana had pushed the lid open and pulled him out. That time, the Walker hadn't seemed to hear or see them on the sands.

Now the Grey Man could definitely see him, could talk to him.

"We're...being followed," he gasped. "Sargt said you could help us."

"Who?"

"The Dragon."

The Walker exchanged a look with his companion, a ghostly-pale female with white hair and skin, wearing an oddly brownish-grey dress with bare feet and...she had the ears of an Elf, though much about her face definitely was not Elf, but Human. Her eyes were even like the Grey Man's: void-black with pupils of pale blue.

"Wh-what is this...?" Tarra finally worked through her cracked lips, and Shyntre felt her push back her hips at him, as if pressing closer would protect them both.

The Walker looked them over, then nodded toward Tarra's waist. "Well. Yes. I suspect as long as you wear that, you will be followed."

Wear what?

Shyntre looked down and saw Tarra still wore a belt which had been put on her at the ceremony. It had the black dagger in its sheath. He started tugging at it.

"Shyntre—"

"Hold still."

It was a stubborn spell, but as soon as he figured it out, as soon as he got it the belt loosened and opened, it fell off and vanished in a shimmer of mirage as soon as it touched the cool sand within the mist.

"There, that will help." The Grey Man studied them both again as the stallion waited patiently with an occasional stamp of his hoof. "Shyntre, then. Shall we walk? It is better to stay moving on the sand when someone searches for you."

Touching the half-Elf lightly at the elbow, the Walker guided her in a direction known only to him, and the red horse stepped forward to follow him, carrying the two Elves. Tarra buried her face in the thick mane and allowed herself to be carried along, so oddly passive, while Shyntre strained to see more than the back of the Walker's hood.

"You're some kind of guide?" he asked.

A nod. "I am."

"Can you show us where to go?"

"Possibly. Where do you wish to go?"

Shyntre went silent the moment he realized he had nowhere to go but the Underdark...and he wasn't sure he wanted to go back yet. If he had a choice, he'd want to see Sirana in one of her less thick-headed moods. Either her or...

Oh, but he couldn't.

The ghostly white mixed-blood turned her head to the Walker, white hair flowing. "He will enter the Grey eventually. He always does."

"If you're not ready, we can evade him," the Walker replied.

"No. No...I think I'm ready. I must be. It is my last chance, isn't it?"

"Possibly. Not necessarily."

"At least where it would make a difference to whom I carry."

He agreed. "Most certainly."

"Then may it be so."

Shyntre asked, "Who are you talking about?"

The pale female in the dull brown dress turned her far-seeing gaze at him. "The one who follows you. We may be able to turn his search to the side for a time. We knew him once."

Shyntre stared at her. "You did?"

She smiled, and it was rather lovely. Shyntre saw innocence a bit like his bond brother's. 

"I was once his daughter. He was once my father. Those former shadows may be able to meet on the edge of the mist."

"Why? As distraction?" the wizard asked. "While we run? To where?"

"You need him to wait on a bargain, don't you?" the Grey Walker said levelly. "She and the others may convince him to wait. Then you need not run at all."

Shyntre looked around again. She and the others? What others? "H-how do you know about the bargain?"

"Better you not ask here and now, wizard."

******

The sweating horse smelled terrible, yet real enough to be comforting. Ever since she had been commanded by the Valsharess to get on this red, hairy beast and be carried off, uncontrolled, across this whole barren wasteland, to see all she had seen, to be pulled this way and that, seized and congratulated and entranced...

Until this moment Tarra truly hadn't believed she would so easily see any realm beyond those of Lolth in her lifetime. Not even in her intention to betray her Priesthood and see if she lived beyond the choice.

Never had any reverie seemed so real. Though she may have only stood near the throne for a short while, fully clothed, with the sorcerer gripping her hands tight as he spoke his vows, he had overwhelmed her.

And briefly she'd lived another lifetime in his memories. The sorcerer had broken something to reach her, to make her remember their love...

He kept calling her Innathi. And Tarra knew what it felt like to be beneath him, to conceive by him, to swallow that powerful surge... No male should be that powerful, to just reach in and mess up all that was inside whether she consented or not... She barely remembered who she was, and it wasn't Innathi.

*It's only in reverie...it's only a vision I must tell the Valsharess...*

Was it? Never had she shared something like this, as if awake and...and... with another Elf.

Shyntre. Sitting behind her, holding her on this horse this whole time. As far as he distrusted her, he could have left her behind at any point or thrown her off the steed as the sandstorm attacked them to lighten the load and gain more speed. Why hadn't he?




Surfacing Ch. 30



Where had the young wizard even been when she first arrived at the desert Palace? To be brought upon a stage and hypnotized by the most powerful male she could ever imagine... How was D'Shea's boy so confident here now? Engaging the sorcerer, helping her escape, knowing where to go. Talking to these two...creatures as if he had some idea what questions to ask. 

Is this what changed after the ritual with D'Shea and Phaelous in the forming room? Is this why the Queen was so pleased? Her precious little, specially-bred wizard was walking inside Her visions...

If this is what the Valsharess had always Seen during Her whole reign...suddenly the arcane Priestess knew why the Queen was being driven mad between this and Lolth. And Shyntre's arrogance after the forming room, as Tarra had questioned him, made utter sense now.

The mist became thinner. They were nearing the edge. She could make out a familiar shape, the Man who had forced her to wed him in her dreams...

"No, no," she mumbled, shaking her head. "He's too powerful, please, don't...!"

"Shhhh," the White Woman with Elf ears hushed in her, stepping forward as the horse and the Grey Man slowed down. "He won't see you, child. Just stay here."

******

With a soft sound of protest from the Priestess, Shyntre slid off the horse, moving slightly behind both the horse and the Grey Man but still with a view of the female Walker approaching the border of their influence.

"Give me back my wife," the sorcerer's voice rumbled, his white hair a shining halo in the Sunlight just beyond, his face in deep shadow. "You think I won't follow you right into the Greylands themselves?"

"Mother is dead, dear Father," she said in that strangely accented Drow. "But I am here. Will you not say hello and bid me well in my journey?"

The Man went utterly still, and Shyntre could tell that expression of shock was genuine. He waited tensely for what would pass over the sorcerer's face next—anger or denial? Accusation and rejection? A blast or a shout, of heat or of cold?

Shyntre wasn't expecting the bottom lip of his open mouth to quiver, followed by a blink or two, and a waver like he was light-headed. The sorcerer looked at the bare-footed Woman from the sand up as just enough of the Sunlight touched her to darken her skin, until she looked like the daughter of a Man and a Drow, her hair glowing an iridescent white. The female Walker waited for him to speak first.

"Shunraeki...?" he said, his voice hoarse. "This is a trick...it can't be...you're grown..."

Shyntre could not see all of her face, but he could hear the smile in her voice. "I was never able to tell you, Father. The steep side of the dunes shows the way the wind is blowing, and by them you can walk in a straight line even during a storm. That's why our people never got lost without magic."

Shyntre saw something moving into his vision, something like green ash pressing down at the misty halo around the two. It made him think of dark, dirty water trying to fill a perfect crystal vessel. It shuddered as the sorcerer tried to choose between seeing what he saw and nothing more...and allowing in everything that followed long, long afterward, flooding it with so much pressure the precious crystal shattered...

For now the halo held strong. The Man remained protected for now, his view of his daughter clear ad unsullied before his eyes.

The Man tentatively lifted his arms, as if he expected to hold nothing more than illusion. "You...you're grown. Shunraeki...did...did you die at this age?"

"Even older." She lifted a slender hand and lightly touched his; he jumped in shock at the contact. Now he knew something was there; something real. "But we were both lost, weren't we? Even with desert tricks up our sleeves. I think only the death magic makes this possible now, yes? Your gift to me. You had more than one kind to give. I know it could not come from Mother."

The sorcerer looked down at the sand, slowly closing his hand around hers, his mouth tight and grey eyes staring at nothing. Shyntre heard Tarra moan softly and felt her tension, half-expected Shunraeki to be pulled out of the thinnest mist and into his clutches. The wizard glanced at the Grey Man, who watched intently but took no action. Not yet.

"Did Lord Indrath never come for you, then?" the desert sorcerer asked. "I...he would have known what to do as you neared your end..."

The White Woman smiled; Shyntre could tell. "He did come to me. Once. Though I'm not sure how he knew I was alive. He offered me safe haven, in your memory."

The sorcerer stared at her face, eyes tracing as if to memorize. And he smiled just a little, the halo of mist remaining strong and unspoiled. "You didn't accept, did you?"

She rubbed her thumb over the back of his rough, dark brown hand. "I found a better place. I was happy, Daddy, to the end. And now I can walk where I must go."

"No, you can't..." he whispered, despair crossing his face as more of the greenish smoke pressed at their white halo. "You are trapped. I...I didn't understand how it worked, Shunraeki, I'm so sorry..."

"No one is born knowing, Father, don't apologize."

"How were you not killed with the rest?"

"Your Court Deathwalker smuggled me out. We were hunted many years... until all the Deathwalkers were gone."

The sorcerer looked up and around at the mist, causing his shadow cast from the Sun to stay faded and light. He looked back at his daughter. "I saw one recently...didn't I?"

"You did." She nodded, seeming proud. "And now you see another. My calling. We are making a new path, Father. We need it."

"Nyx," he said, his voice hoarse again. "She warned me..."

"Which time?" Shunraeki asked cheekily.

He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. "I...searched...when I could remember to do so. I never found you. Or any sign of what became of the others."

"They're here with me, for now. I hold them safe. Do you want to see?"

For a moment he was genuinely afraid, and the sick green tried again to swarm them from one side. "Will...will they blame me...?"

Shunraeki shook her head, pushing back at the unwelcome doubts with an elegant hand. "They are passing at last. It seems a little late for that now, wouldn't you agree?"

"So simple?"

"Why shouldn't it be? They're only passing through."

The sorcerer's grey eyes were intense. "But you—I may yet see you again."

"Not for some time after now," she said regretfully. "Perhaps if you can fulfill your bargains and somehow agree to die. Not before."

The large Man was quiet as he did not blink, finally drawing some of his raw emotion back in to where Shyntre couldn't guess what he was thinking about. Finally however, he lifted a broad hand up to cup her cheek, which she allowed, leaning her head into it and he took one more half-step into the mist rather than trying to draw her out of it.

"I...would like to see," he whispered.

She nodded, and began to loosen the front of her simple dress.

"Uh," Shyntre stiffened in alarm.

"Be still," the Grey Man murmured.

"I don't want to watch this," he whispered back.

"I'm not sure you understand what you're meant to watch. Be still."

Shunraeki did not let her dress drop to her feet as he'd feared; she lowered only enough that Shyntre glimpsed intricate designs that looked like molded pearl set into her darker skin. Then she turned around to face the Walker and himself, and let the dress fall to her waist to show her back to her father.

Now Shyntre wished he could look at what the sorcerer saw; by all indication, it was a wonder that existed nowhere else and the wizard could not understand how anyone could look so...elated.

To the point of falling down. 

The sorcerer collapsed onto his ass in the muted-red sand, and now Shyntre could hear a heartbeat, strong and fast as he shuddered, trying to catch his breath.

"Oh, Daddy," she chuckled, looking over her shoulder down at him, her arms crossing over her breasts to conceal them from casual view. She kneeled down into the sand with him so he could try to look again.

It took him some time to gather the courage but eventually the sorcerer looked again, lifted both quivering hands and lightly traced the designs on her back. Shunraeki just smiled peacefully, her eyes shining a brighter blue, though she gave no indication she could feel his fingers on her skin.

If he was indeed even touching her skin.

At another point he slumped, his forehead now resting against her back as she straightened to bear the added weight.

"What you must have gone through to save them when I could not, Princess," he whispered. "They'll...go back to Musanlo? Despite my renunciation?"

"And take a little of Mother's people with them," she agreed. "And we shall see what happens next."

He was silent again. "What happens next...?"

"I believe you've met them. The new messengers and defenders."

The fingers of one large hand dug and tightened into the sand; his forehead remained resting against her and his eyes remained closed. "The attackers."

"You promised the healer not to seek revenge on them."

He growled. "They're no better than I was. They'll fail and make it worse."

"Maybe so. Perhaps not. You still promised to let them be and help when called."

"I was under duress. I was dying."

"You were not dying, Daddy, you were becoming what you know is coming."

He shook his head. "It's too late. I've already broken that promise."

"Not so. You gave your word, you have not yet taken it back, even if it was by enforcement. We are all weak in ways. It is not too late to break the pattern. It hasn't worked in two thousand years."

He huffed another deep laugh at that and Shunraeki chuckled but did not comment further. He lifted his head, his expression one of despair even with his eyes still closed.

"They'll tear apart everything that matters..."

When he didn't finish the thought, the female Walker allowed a moment to pass, looking down thoughtfully at the sand then back over her shoulder.

"If they do, Daddy, your answer is to thank them."

The misty halo tremored further under a sudden swirl of green ash, shrinking that small, clear sanctuary and for a moment Shyntre thought it would collapse entirely. The Grey Man tensed, responding by pushing out a low, rolling cold that gave the wizard goosebumps on his legs, shoring up the slowly shifting border of the mist.

At the same time the half-Drow reached to cover her father's eyes with her hand, turning herself around and planting a peck on his cheek as she pulled her dress onto her shoulders, covering her luminous back from view. She stood up and released him, and the sorcerer slumped into the sand onto his side, seemingly asleep in the middle of the desert as sand climbed up, starting at his ankles. Soon it would bury him.

The Walker held out his hand to the other. "We should leave. We remain too close."

"We did what we could," she said, almost apologetic as she finished tying her dress closed then taking his hand.

"She knows. It is enough for now. We can lead the Elves out of harm's way."

"Thank you," Shyntre murmured, still not sure where they should go now but he jogged alongside the red horse rather than mount back up again. He could keep up easily enough with the long strides of the Walkers.

He thought over and over what he'd seen just now, wondering about any such relationship where a daughter cared that much for her sire, to speak so gently, or him to weep for his children... or whatever he saw staring into her back.

It must be a Human trait. Daughters would never take that kind of raw emotion from their sire, it was an embarrassment, a sign of weakness—

Tarra sniffled. Shyntre blinked and look up at her; she was lying on her belly on the horse with her face turned away. He tapped her leg and, sure enough, she turned her face toward him. She was weeping, her mouth tight and brows pained.

"Are you injured?" he asked.

"H-how can she show him tenderness?" the Priestess said. "When he's done such horrid things..."

"Uh." Shyntre looked ahead at the backs of the Walkers then back at Tarra, slowing his gait as the horse did. He shook his head in disbelief. "Him? Okay. Let's start with just you, me, and Bathila in the forming room, Tarra—"

"Shut up!" she barked, tensing up. "You don't know what he did to me just now! You weren't there!"

"I was—"

"You weren't! I called for your help!"

"No, you didn't—"

"I did! Of course, you would ignore such screams, wouldn't you, you sullen boy?! Truly as the Sisterhood has trained you!" She stopped abruptly and looked up when the Grey Man turned around. "You...hey, you! I-I want to wake up. I need to wake up. I don't care how you manage it, but do it!"

The homely Man raised a sardonic eyebrow at the tone, then spoke to Shyntre to gall the Priestess further.

"We can seek a healer, if you like. We can't make her awaken. Even if we could, she would still be bleeding."

Shyntre glanced at the Priestess on the red horse; she was glaring at him. He even tried seeing past that and looking at her aura about her head and shoulders. It was blazing brightly. He looked back.

"Why does she need a healer? I don't see any bleeding."

Shunraeki looked sad as she looked at him. "The Archmage pierced her in a way that is slow and difficult to mend."

"The Archmage?" Shyntre asked. "You mean your Father?"

"No, not my Father. The Archmage."

"You're denying him now?"

The Walkers exchanged a glance but it was Shunraeki who explained. 

"The Archmage was never my Father, Shyntre, he came later. I was speaking with the shadow that remained of my Father, this was who you saw. If you should ever encounter that form again, in waking or in dreams, do not expect my Father to come forward so readily. The Archmage tore into your Priestess's Elvish essence, he was drawing on it, feeding on her, possibly to find his way back. They were interrupted somehow, but the wound remains."

Interrupted. By Shyntre feeling what happened the last time the sorcerer tried to attack someone...

"Find his way back?" Shyntre asked.

"He always returns to V'Gedra to be reborn," the Grey Man said. "It can take time for the city to release him once again, and with no little effort on his part. An Elf can always lead him back."

Shyntre glared at the red horse, thinking about the brown spirit Elf hopping down to encourage him onto the beast himself. "And that was where you took us? Where we needed to be? Straight into the mouth of a sinking sand pit?"

The horse burred and snorted with obstinacy, refusing to explain himself.

"Stop talking and help me wake up..." Tarra whimpered, a true beg, and just for a moment Shyntre felt guilty for making her wait.

Even if she was every bit as horrible in her deeds as the Archmage.

"You can't just wake up, Priestess. You need a healer."

"I know where one is nearby," the Grey Man said. "But there will be a price to pay."

"I don't have any valuables..."

"I didn't mean paid to me."

"Then what will this healer accept?"

"Probably nothing."

"What?"

The Grey Man shrugged. "Awareness. That is the price. You will pay it regardless if you will help the Priestess of Lolth."

"Maybe it is time?" Shunraeki asked.

"Sooner or later it must be."

******

If Shyntre had witnessed the White Woman Walker be cheeky in her words before, then he soon discovered the Grey Man was even worse because he didn't even smile when he said it.

A price to pay in awareness. How droll.

The grey mist never lifted and they could have been walking in circles for all he knew. Finally, however, two figures came into view, and Abyss damn him if Shyntre didn't recognize both of them instantly.

Ada, the Servant of the Shrouds who'd taunted the Valsharess before, and beside her...his brother. Ta'suil.

*Oh, fucking Drider shit...*

The wizard hadn't even given into temptation to ask to be guided here, yet here he was, where he most wanted to be. Especially to see that smile come over his face; it hurt to see it. Shyntre thrust forward his arm, palm out, when his lover moved as if to run and throw himself at him.

"Don't."

The Consort froze, glanced at the Walker and his companion, then the red horse. Finally he noticed the Priestess, tense as if in pain and her face buried in the thick mane.

"Oh," he breathed in tangible regret. A moment later he nodded. "Here, bring her down, let me see her."

Shyntre didn't want to; he wanted to have what it took to leave Tarra somewhere in the desert, if there was no other option, where she would never chance to see this very special Consort and look him in those extraordinary eyes...

In response to his hesitation, Shunraeki was the one who helped Tarra down onto the sand and into Ta'suil's care.

"Can we at least cover her eyes?" Shyntre asked the Grey Man.

"The eyes are what the healer needs to see," he replied bluntly.

"Why have you done this?" he hissed. "You could have warned me, now She will be able to find him—"

"She?"

"Our queen."

"Oh. Do you know him?"

Shyntre sputtered, blinking. "You KNEW I did!"

The Grey Man shrugged. "Not really. But now I do."

"Bullshit. What about 'awareness being the price'?"

"Such is the state of being for sentients, isn't it?"

"Don't give me that."

"It is truth."

"So? You know him, too!"

"Vaguely."

"Asshole!"

"Shyntre, quiet down," Ta'suil said, trying to peel one of Tarra's eyelids back as she squirmed and fought him and the White Woman moved to hold her head. "What are you talking about, anyway?"

"This Grey Man is trying to tell me he had no idea he was putting you at risk bringing us here!"

"Grey Man?" The Consort glanced up quickly at the tallest male here before refocusing on his writhing patient. "The Herald. Yes. Well. I have learned the Grey Maiden is hard to predict, I can only make the best of things."

"What Grey Maiden? Not her...?"

"No, that is Ada. They both serve the Grey Maiden. And...so does another, it seems. Hello, Ancient Child."

"Hello, Life Priest," Shunraeki said, looking innocently delighted with the Consort acknowledging her like that, even as she helped him with the Priestess. 

Ta'suil smiled at her. "I am glad he found you."

She beamed. "Me, too."

The Consort nodded and looked back down, touching his fingers to Tarra's neck as if taking her pulse as his aura started to shine with gold flecks. She moaned, clutching to Ta'suil's forearms as he kneeled over her.

"No, please, stop...just stop...please..."

"Shh, calm down, Tarra, it will stop hurting, I promise."

The wizard clutched his forehead in exasperation. "This can't be safe for you, Consort."

"The Grey protects us here, Shyntre, it will not be so easy to be seen."

"But if you help her, sooner or later the Priestess wakes up and gossips about what she's seen!"

"I cannot watch her suffer this way, Shyntre. She will unravel eventually and fall outside the world as if she touched Warpstone."

"Touched...what?!"

Ada had been laughing low through most of this, that same whisper-hoarse voice, enjoying herself now as much as she had teasing the Drow Queen. Shyntre heard an almost sinister quality leak into it which drew his attention. He squinted at her, only now realizing she was the most diminutive one among them.

Such a strange, small Woman, her body pierced to hold her clothes on, that black gem crammed in her eye socket, her hair partially shaved and tattooed, her expressions... Ugly but fascinating, as she had been when she'd first blocked the path to finding Sirana on that faraway grass plain...

But Shyntre did find Sirana eventually and Ada hadn't stopped him then; he had talked to the pregnant Red Sister when the Queen wasn't with him. Not that it did any good to keep her away, to keep the baby safe...




Surfacing Ch. 31



Author's Notes: This story is erotic fantasy written by Etaski. I reserve the right to be listed as the author of this story, wherever it is posted. If found posted anywhere except Literotica.com with this note attached, this story is posted without my permission. (c) Etaski 2016.

This chapter sets the stage for the final big arch. And a few characters need to work about a little bit of their shit. ;) Enjoy!

*****

Surfacing Chapter 31

The rest of the day after Sarilis's demise wasn't quite as grey or as wet. I saw a little blue Sky and golden Sun peeking through heavy clouds as if the weather patterns already wanted to change from their previous stagnation, though that splash of color barely helped the blackened land surrounding the Tower. 

We had to bring in more food from our caches—Mourn and Jael could do that in a fraction of the time it would take any one of us—though we were informed we all had to stay outside regardless and leave Gavin alone for several hours while he "cleansed" the structure itself.

"Couldn't Tamuril help with that?" I had asked.

Gavin's blue irises vanished for a moment just before he blinked and shook his head. "This Tower is to be consecrated in my Lady's name. The Druid could help with reviving some of the damaged forest. You and anyone else willing can help with disposing of the less useful dead."

I looked around significantly at the huge mass of dead. "I take it you've already selected your 'useful' ones?"

"I have. They've been moved into storage for now."

"Not the golem, I hope."

"No, it's too crude and sloppy. I've a better design in mind if I wanted such a servant."

I wrinkled my nose. In other words, that field of hacked up bodies and charred giblets was a good idea only now that the lich was gone. The place was not going to smell like a fresh summer field... which got me again to thinking about Tamuril's hovel just earlier this year in these very mountains.

Well, I supposed, part of the point in doing the work now was so this valley would have wildflowers again, one day.

"Fine," I sighed, making eye contact with Gaelan and Tamuril, who nodded, and signing to Vesram. *Come.*

The four of us made an efficient team. The Draegloth was undoubtedly used to manual labor; he didn't complain about dragging or carrying most bodies around by their foot, whether it had walked, crawled, or flown in life. 

Tamuril "put to rest" anything still moving even slightly before it went into the pyre. Each of those were found for her by Pilla's sharp eye. I could roll bodies along the ground with my psionic focus rather than touch them—it wasn't as though I had a lot of spare gloves to replace any soaked in zombie mucus—and I would add them to a cluster together which the Draegloth then set on fire with a word and a gesture. Gaelan could maintain her concentration and assure the pyre burned hot—abnormally hot.

By the time Mourn and Jael returned and joined the work after a short meal break, I was surprised how quickly it went. The mages had no trouble keeping the smoke wafting in one direction rather than forcing me to outrun its smelly, greasy cloud at every breeze. It was later in the afternoon when Gavin came out on Night-mare to tell us his Tower was "ready."

"Ready, how?" Jael asked.

"Sanctified and warded," he clarified. 

"Does that mean we can sit down somewhere other than mud or a twisted log?"

Gavin shrugged slightly and nodded. "Some of the furniture is still serviceable."

We'd have shelter again tonight, maybe this time with a fire. The Sun was already behind clouds and headed behind plenty of mountains; the temperature would be dropping again. It reminded me that I hadn't yet seen "winter" in this place. It grew much cooler at night, but there was no snow.

Had I really wrangled an invitation from Gavin to stay here at the Tower if I needed a safe place to give birth? It was just because of something Nyx had said to me, wasn't it? Certainly not the beckoning luxuries of good food, healers, and warmth as among the Wilder. Not to mention the charm of its new master...bah. I wondered whether I was going to get any pushback from the others if I went this way. If I got the opportunity to decide.

Probably. And Gavin and Nyx both probably wouldn't care. "Her idea, not mine," he would say. "I told her she would be miserably cold."

I had to think about this. If it came to it.

The first change struck me as I crossed again over the Tower's threshold, through the main gate which now needed repair, and into the courtyard. I wasn't the only one to pause and blink at the difference. Not in how it looked—nothing had changed in appearance. It was in how it touched our senses. All of them.

In spite of Gavin keeping dead bodies and skeletons around, none of which were visible right now except for Night-mare—who was in much better shape after having eaten— I smelled no putrid rot and overwhelming sickness as I had just the previous day. That high pitch of the tremoring Ley Lines wasn't as desperate or grating; it was calmer. 

The air I breathed reminded me of Gavin's garden when he'd been a Man who bled red, though lacking the living plants. I wasn't sure how that worked...maybe it was the soil itself, freshly tilled and fertilized with natural decay, now ready to receive seeds?

There was no doubt Death magic was still here, but...it wasn't the same. It had changed from a contagious, aggressive festering to...something cleaner. Decay existing alongside everything else rather than suppressing any life trying to come back. It was long-existing and at peace; not unlike the Tilabil, actually, just in a less colorful sense. It wrapped us up in a grey cloak and hid us from easy view in just about the same way as the Wilder's sacred grove, I was willing to wager this. It would be harder to be found, either in the dreamscape or in the material.

So this was where my gut instinct proved correct. This was still a Surface sanctuary if I wanted it, cold season and all. There was a dwarven-built stronghold belowground, not unlike home, and it was not as if the snow would last forever; sooner or later the flowers and birds would return. That was the difference—that certainty of spring even as the land fell asleep for winter—which made stepping into the newly sanctified Tower so stunning from how it had been before. 

I could never compare this feeling to anything in the Underdark. We didn't have such change down there. I could only hope this feeling eventually extended out to the rest of the area around us. It needed it.

I wasn't the only one ruminating on this. Mourn's tail glided in constant S-curves as he looked around, his tongue flicking out and his spines flexing unconsciously, rising slightly. Tamuril and Jael were gawking, and Vesram seemed confused—this wasn't a feeling he was used to despite living among necromancers for a century—and Gaelan merely sighed long and with visible relaxation to communicate what she felt.

"Come inside, then," Gavin invited in the exact fashion of a put-upon tutor trying to get unruly children to sit down and read the stupid scrolls for their own good.

"This place feels entirely different," Jael murmured as we walked inside, glancing at Mourn, who nodded.

"Would even Lord Indrath require an invitation now, Deathwalker?" the hybrid asked.

"He would," the grey mage agreed. "Over time I hope to expand the wards to include more of the forest, but not before it is healed."

Tamuril's green eyes scanned all around as Pilla cocked her head this way and that. The Druid still looked so sad, I thought, about too many things, but this Tower was no longer one of them.

"Would you help with that?" I asked her and she started out of whatever she was thinking to blink at me.

Then she nodded urgently. "Y-yes. I couldn't leave it like this..." She glanced warily at Gavin's back. "It would take time, I would need to stay nearby."

The grey mage grunted, glancing over his shoulder. "We can discuss it, Druid. I certainly have no talent for all the intricacies of the bloom."

"You kept a garden for food," I pointed out.

"I could plant a seed in the soil with my fingers and keep it moist," he groused. "If the ground itself cannot sustain the transition of a sprout, nothing happens."

I grinned at his cranky answer. I knew that, I just liked the mental image of the Deathwalker tending small plants as a reminder. I wasn't the only one who smiled about it, either. *What self-respecting necromancer has a green-thumb?* Sarilis had taunted.

One that even an Ice Lord would acquiesce to his being the caretaker of this place. When Indrath had the perfect opportunity to overwhelm each of us with Elfblood and retain his lich puppet on the other side of the continent...he hadn't taken it. Was it solely because of Gavin? Likely, but not because of intimidation.

*She has been sorely missed,* Indrath had said of Nyx.

The Ice Lord had accepted a peace offering: Sarilis's soul trapped in a polished gem of real pneuma flint, pulled right out of Gavin's body. Proof Nyx had influence here again, and Indrath stepped out of our way without any apparent pride protesting his loss. 

None I could see or sense, anyway. Somehow that made the Ice Lord that much more frightening to me. The way Lethrix had teased Rennyn about the other... of his methods being "different but no less effective" for being in love for his children...

*A pity he reached you first,* Indrath had said to me. *But I believe I like that he finally found a daughter with your kind of potential. It took him long enough...*

I pursed my lips. It took him long enough? What did that mean? That Indrath already had an Elf "daughter" with psionics, and Rennyn and the Tilabil were merely catching up?

My eyes slid to Tamuril as well, as we entered the dining hall and got a fire going and a pot to put a group meal's ration within it, adding some purified water for a welcome, hot meal. In spite of what I'd said to calm her down before—about just being glad it had worked out, and Indrath hadn't taken her—I knew that she still had something to fear there.

*I know who you are, beloved. I'd rather you remain here and not be taken away just now. Not when events have suddenly gotten so interesting at the crossroads.*

To call her "beloved," and to give her an instruction: remain here. It implied a certain possession or authority over her...or at the very least, a revisit of this ill-made bargain later on, even if he had claimed it "null and void." Perhaps Rennyn could show mercy and not ask for a specific show of gratitude at a later time; perhaps Indrath could. Maybe that was one difference between them.

I thought we all knew the Noldor was compromised in a way but there was nothing much we could do about it now. It might even be decades...centuries...before Indrath showed himself to her again, but I couldn't shake the feeling in my gut that he would.

Maybe Isboern could help her? Maybe this was more a compromise to the Noldor queen than it was us in particular? Or maybe more immediately, Indrath still had a way to keep an eye on the new Herald of Nyx. And maybe Gavin even knew that, and he didn't care right now.

How much like home it suddenly became with the arrival of that one ancient, diabolic Elf...

As we waited for the food to heat up—and Gavin had no qualms with stirring it now and then, even as Gaelan, Tamuril and myself also took turns—Mourn looked to be in very deep thought, though more like a Guild Leader would be rather than my own musings of personal interactions.

"How much assistance will you need from us before we leave, Deathwalker?" he asked bluntly.

"How much preparation and time will you need for yourselves is my question," Gavin replied, leaning back in the same heavy, wooden chair Sarilis had chosen back in the spring, interlacing his long fingers.

Mourn shook his head slightly. "We have perhaps a week of food cached, if rationed. We'll bring that all in tomorrow. I could fly to good hunting grounds and carry something back, but only if I go alone. Meanwhile, there is little to forage for the rest of you. It will get harder as the season changes further, but right now many animals will be fat. We could only stay two or three weeks if the hunting is good."

"And do what in the meantime?" Gaelan asked.

"Plan," Mourn responded, looking at her but then setting his eyes on me. "There is a lot of information we must know before we leave here."

I sighed and nodded. "I'll answer all your questions. Anything I know."

So the Dragonblood Guild Leader would finally get what he had been asking me for since helping us against the Chaos cult. I wasn't really complaining; it was the only way I could get to Auslan and Shyntre.

Mourn nodded in thanks, then looked at Vesram. "And you? If I have questions, will you lie or omit?"

The Draegloth hadn't selected a chair; he was crouched behind me and Gavin, closer to the wall because he seemed to prefer it and I hadn't told him to do anything else. I waited for a second without looking at him but heard an indecisive snort of air and turned to look over my shoulder, making eye contact. He calmed down, watching me rather than Mourn.

"Do we still free your Drae-goet?" I prompted simply, and Vesram hesitated but then nodded slowly. "Answer Mourn's question, then."

"Sssss," he breathed before looking in the half-Drgaon's direction, chin down. "Will ansswer. No lie, no ommit."

Mourn nodded, looking next at Gaelan, asking her the same question.

"Will I still be given the chance to find Natia?" she asked in return with an arch of her white eyebrow.

"Yes, you will be given the chance to find your daughter."

Gaelan nodded. "Then I'll answer anything I know."

Mourn didn't ask the same question of Jael and she didn't look surprised, which was enormously telling. I had the feeling she'd already talked some; they'd had a lot of time together lately.

Lastly, Mourn looked at Tamuril and Gavin. "It probably will do neither of you any good to hear all details excepting that we may return here, exact timing unknown."

Tamuril nodded in agreement and Gavin shrugged.

"We will be busy anyway, I think," my grey mage said. "I may even be able to work on a useful item or two that you can bring with you."

Mourn blinked but smiled a bit. "That would be welcome, Deathwalker."

I felt the same pull at the corners of my mouth. No shit. I didn't think anyone back home had anything specific to counteract necromancy, not even the Illithids. It really was a pity we couldn't bring him with us. Gavin could see in the dark, and his "thralls" were equally mindless and thus immune to the squidheads' command of will. They could probably walk right up to the psiomancers and punch them in their tentacle faces, so long as Gavin himself stayed out of range.

But Nyx's Herald had to stay here, that was no debate. We had to keep this place, and I needed a haven nearby where we could retreat with Soraveri's chosen, to hide him from anyone awake or asleep, if we made it back to the Surface.

*When,* I chanted to myself. *When we made it back.*

Because really...if we didn't, Isboern and Gavin both would not see their quests through. The new ruler of Manalar especially. Some powerful entities seemed to care about that, not just a deity and a Greylord but some damned old Elves and quite possibly a randy Deep Dragon keeping tabs on a determined half-blood son training a new To'vah mage for the first time in who knew how long? And all of them were aware of V'Gedra, the source of the infection killing the world before its time.

My son quickened again, shifting low in my gut while I was sitting there looking at everyone and just as quickly my attention turned inward. That was only the second time I felt him move and... 

I felt afraid, and queasy. This was a lot on my shoulders. I had to bring back the sire of my son alive, and I couldn't wait until I was in shape again. I had to do it like this, hungry and heavy and vulnerable. While I was at it, I had to grab Shyntre, too, who seemed to be getting more powerful than he wanted to be in becoming more like a Consort, taking on some of Auslan's dream travel ability...

Not to mention that frightening orange gel that seeped from his hands and could burn through hardened bracers even well after he let go. Where had that even come from? He couldn't do that while awake, could he...?

Then again, he had killed a Red Sister before, hadn't he? Or that's what I'd heard, and for some reason the Valsharess hadn't seen him executed. I'd always thought it was linked somehow to what Shyntre had told me once in his bed at the Wizard's Tower: that he had faced a trial like the one which had sent me to the Surface before, and that he was far more frightened of the Valsharess than he'd ever been of the Red Sisters, no matter how we'd abused him.

We. I had been one of them. I remembered how it had been fun for me, hunting and stalking him. I had been fully justified in thinking he'd started it; he'd raped my mouth and ass first, letting me know in no uncertain terms his disdain for me. I had never actually raped him back, I'd never gotten that far but I probably would have sooner or later if I'd ever had control of my own Feldeu. Operative word being, "control."

No, I'd started by annoying the fucking Abyss out of the young wizard, stressing him out with intent and delight, putting him at risk of losing his temper in a way unforgivable for males in the City. Eventually, at last, I got him to give in and just fuck me, hard and angry and rough in the library like I knew he wanted to, and release what was pent up inside him. As if I was doing him a favor.

Of course I had believed so at the time. He couldn't honestly expect anything else in return from me, could he...?

Well. Now he could. If for one moment he could think I was being genuine in feeling any regret at all for how we'd treated each other. Never mind that neither of us could have known anything else then. I knew something else now. He probably didn't.

Although there was something strange going on back home. Shyntre had reached out to me first this last time. He had tried to scare me into not coming back at all...

I still hadn't told anyone.

"Sirana!"

Jael jabbed my upper arm with two knuckles. Hard.

"Owww," I complained, looking at her with a glare. "What?"

"You're not paying attention. Again. This time you don't even have Soul Drinker as an excuse for staring into space."

I rolled my eyes, rubbing my bruise. "I was thinking."

"And so were we. Mourn asked you a question."

"Fine. What was it?" I looked at him expectantly, but he watched me back considering.

"What were you thinking about just now?" he asked.

"That wasn't your question, Mourn."

"It is now."

"Pfft." I looked around. "One of those things that takes too much explanation to have any context."

"We must get started on those things sooner or later," the hybrid countered. "Say it out of context. Forget the explanation."

I looked at him askew, smirking. "You don't say that often."

He exhaled, holding his tail still as to be patient with me. "Talk to us, Sirana. Please. We won a battle but we must try and remain unified even afterward. Selective intelligence will not aid us."

Jael and Gaelan nodded firmly, staring at me. Tamuril looked down with a touch of embarrassment, pursing her pink lips. Gavin watched, as always, silent and observant until he had something to say. About being unified...I supposed I was most concerned about Vesram and Tamuril in what Mourn wanted me to say, but asking them to leave was the opposite of "unified," wasn't it?

Fuck. Don't lie or omit, wasn't what the request? Vesram had even agreed, just after I had. He would follow my lead. But Tamuril would tell Krithannia, wouldn't she? And if either of them were ever captured again by their own people...




Surfacing Ch. 31



I placed a hand on my head at the first twinge of a headache. I couldn't sacrifice the fragile trust right now for something that might never happen in the future.

"I was thinking about Shyntre, and the last time we talked in reverie."

"Back in Yong-wen, you mean?" Mourn asked.

I shook my head. "More recent. Just before we left to come here."

Jael and Gaelan looked surprised as well.

"Before or after we saw my sire and your Elder?" Mourn asked.

"Before. By a couple of weeks."

Jael stiffened. "You didn't tell us this?"

"It was right before Mourn grew his wings, we were all a little distracted," I countered, my voice rising a bit defensively as I crossed my arms. "And it wasn't going to matter if we didn't take the Tower."

"Points conceded," Mourn cut in, placing a big hand on Jael's shoulder and nodding to me. "Now it matters."

Gavin hadn't even blinked as he watched me, his jaw resting on his hand with his index finger resting on his temple. 

I sighed and described to them what I'd seen, starting with "stepping outside" as I'd done meeting Lethrix and D'Shea on more equal footing—but without mentioning the Wilder or the Tilabil explicitly. I told them what the young wizard had said, how angry and afraid he'd seemed, what he'd done to my armor in the vision.

"So Shyntre knew even then the Illithids are preparing," Mourn said first, "and this is not something only the top ones know." 

I felt a deep, cold flush of fear and shame that...I wasn't sure was entirely my own. "I've said I don't know what happened to Ullipmious—the actual one I met—after it staggered away in the Underdark. But clearly some intelligence made it back to the Elder Mind."

The half-Dragon rumbled a low growl and his tail swished along the stone behind him. "Damned if we do, damned if we do not."

"What do you mean?" Gaelan asked.

"If we had any way to mask Sirana's mind with her still being able to use her gifts, that would be ideal. But we'd need Captain Isboern for that and likely more time than we have to train."

Mourn looked at Tamuril, silently asking for her opinion on that. She grimaced and nodded. "Likely. Yes."

"Is there any way for you to ask him for any counsel on this issue, Tamuril?" the To'vah blood asked bluntly.

The Druid's eyes lightened up a little bit as she thought about it. "Possibly. But I would only use it for dire need."

"If the Captain wants us to come back with the Life Priest in hand, the need is dire."

"A-alright," she agreed.

I noticed then that Jael had probably been staring at me for a while. "What now?"

"Is...is that what the Abyssal ritual did to your wizard?" Jael asked carefully. "The one you and Auslan helped him survive?"

"Um. Probably?" I said, a bit helpless to explain.

"Do what?" Gaelan asked, not entirely up to speed.

"He can dream-walk, too, now, without anyone helping him," Jael said firmly, watching me for confirmation. "Elder D'Shea was running the spell last time, using the Consort."

I nodded. "As far as I could tell. He was alone."

Mourn and I made eye contact and he nodded without my having to explain why I knew that detail. Gavin nodded in a familiar, knowing way and caught my whole attention. It was just like when he had been about to tell me he already knew something important about Auslan, and Vesram, and had been biding his time— 

*Son of a—*

"Oh no," I blurted, "you didn't—"

"As long as we're bringing up things that didn't matter unless we succeeded in taking the Tower," Gavin began, amused with my expression.

I thumped my forehead down on the table. My stomach felt hollow as I caught a whiff of the food and the hearth smoke. "Can I at least have some of the soup before you explain?"

*******

We listened to Gavin's own dream-walk of meeting Shyntre while escorting Shunraeki on her journey with mixed amounts of confusion and awe, even though I thought Nyx's Herald was a lot better conveying places so abstract than I was. He was able to retain imagery as if he'd been awake the whole time and draw parallels to things we might have experienced before. Or could imagine. I tried to keep my wooden spoon full and transferring food to my mouth to prevent asking questions until he'd finished.

Vesram had crept closer to Gavin toward the end of the tale, fascinated with the mention of Gavin's having spoken with Ada, as well as the description of Shunraeki. I thought I knew why: another half-Elf trapped in place and looking for a way out. He "felt" joyful and envious at once.

This had taken place just after Shunraeki's transformation, those weeks Gavin had been gone while we trained. I remembered asking him how the journey had gone—and in his eyes I'd seen far too large a tapestry for him to be able to describe just then. Now I understood at least one reason why.

"The Archmage was chasing Shyntre and an injured Priestess on a red horse," Mourn summarized. "Shunraeki confronted him, and she could set Brom to rest for a short while."

"Correct," Gavin said.

"And you took them to the Life Priest protected by your mother, allowing the Priestess of Lolth to be healed before letting them go."

"Necessary," the grey mage replied. "With that injury, the Drow Priestess would have become open to Chaos and a danger to other travelers. As with the Warpstone cults here, where you eradicate them when you find them, such beings must also be dealt with. I assume this would be as close as an Elf can get to being a lingering ghost. Sooner or later she might have even been swept up in the sandstorm and only added to its power."

"But she wasn't eradicated," I said. "She was healed."

"Either works," Gavin said, nodding toward Gaelan, "as one of you knows extremely well. It is also worth noting Shyntre and Auslan had a fairly heated argument in deciding which it should be."

I could imagine this so clearly; in fact I had once spied on them having a "heated" argument before about Auslan's visions in the garden at House Itlaun, culminating in Shyntre shoving the Consort. I'd found it hot at the time; I might still, for all I knew.

I also had no trouble picturing Shyntre being in favor of killing Lelinahdara. It was probably fueled by fear for the Consort's safety, though, not hatred for the Priestess... maybe. What did I really know of Shyntre's time in the Sanctuary, anyway?

"Auslan convinced him to let her be healed. That is good for us." Mourn looked at me. "This is the arcane-Priestess you promised to Innathi?"

I nodded slowly. "Lelinahdara. Yeah. Though I can't figure why she was there."

"Yeah, what were they doing there?" Jael asked the Deathwalker. "Did they say?"

"Shyntre intimated at one point," Gavin noted helpfully, "that the Valsharess herself had sent them both into the sands, looking for an answer."

"An answer to what question?" Mourn asked.

Gavin shook his head. "Unspoken but the answer was whether or not the Priestess was destroyed by what happened in the red sands. Whether anyone would come to her aid. Or so Shyntre said, in addition to your queen now knowing that the Consort is not...'with Lolth at all.'"

*Oh, no...* I felt the need to vomit but stubbornly kept my precious meal.

"The Valsharess knows about Auslan? That he's alive?" I said through a tight throat. "Oh, Goddess, the Spider Queen would want him hunted down immediately! And you saw this weeks ago, Gavin! How do we know it's not already too late?!"

"I would think that you would feel it for certain, Sirana," the grey mage pointed out. "Either quite abruptly, or you would dream it. I take it nothing of the sort has happened?"

Slowly, I shook my head in the negative. I hadn't dreamed anything, and I hadn't felt that Auslan had died...but would I? Shyntre would, I already knew that, but...I supposed we both knew his true name. As did Isboern. Maybe I could ask Tamuril if the Godblood had sensed anything, if he'd seen us fail before we'd even begun.

Goddess, I hoped Gavin was right. Tears came abruptly to my eyes—whether of fear or of hope, I wasn't sure, they'd both slammed into me one after the other. A visible shiver went through me and Jael leaned in to put an arm around me as I took a deeper breath.

*Calm down, calm down.*

"I suppose Nyx would at least hint to you it was pointless for me to leave here?" I asked with a muted laugh.

Gavin showed a tiny sliver of black teeth in a sure smile. "I would imagine so."

So...I would have to go with that. There wasn't anything else right then.

Vesram reached out and poked Gavin's arm with a claw, earning a homely frown of annoyance but also the instant attention he sought. The Draegloth blinked yellow eyes at him.

"Tell your Motherrr thannk you for mme, Ada-sson?" he asked.

Vesram was assuming Gavin would see her again, which I didn't see any reason he wouldn't. Eventually. The Deathwalker kept his frown on the half-blood for several moments but then simply nodded.

Jael's face split into a grin as she looked around at us. "Adason?"

"Huh?" Gaelan looked at her.

"I heard that a lot among the Manalar soldiers," she commented. "Willson, Karleson, Orenson..."

Tamuril nodded. "For more of the commoners."

"With family ties around Taiding," Mourn added. "Never very high rank around Manalar itself, whose nobility used a different method for keeping track of family names."

"But it's what it sounds like, right?" Jael asked him. "Son of Will, son of Oren, that type of thing?"

I smiled then, catching up with her. "Son of Ada."

"It is always the father's name that is taken for the family," Mourn corrected. "Not the mother."

"I'd think Gavin would rather take his mother's name," Jael countered boldly.

"Gavin Adason," my older Sister tested out loud with a nod, looking at him. "Well...it does sound a bit more important than just introducing yourself to the Ice Lord as 'Gavin.'"

My grey mage's previous look of annoyance turned into an outright glare. "Gavin is all I've ever used. I refuse my father's name."

"Then take your mother's," Jael repeated, starting to snicker. "Gavin Adason, Oh Great New Guardian of the Ley Line Tower. Bring back the matron's strength."

I was laughing more in tension release than delight in teasing Gavin so, shrugging and waving my hand. "Oh, leave him alone. We should know by now you can't badger him into doing anything he's reluctant about."

"Spider shit, you can," Jael returned, but shrugged as well. "Fine, fine, I'll stop." She looked at the new master of the Tower again. "I still think it suits you."

"Me, too," Gaelan put in.

Gavin was staring at us but had gotten his expression back under control; he was placid again. He also hadn't stomped out of the room, so that was a good sign. Maybe he did like it and just wouldn't say so right now.

I glanced at Vesram, who had pulled back after saying his peace and starting this whole debate. He crouched patiently, maybe thinking more affectionately about Ada... as he was trying to hide his crotch behind one large hand. I hadn't forgotten what he'd said about being required to perform, and the possibility of being Gavin's sire if things had gone a different way. I was fairly sure Nyx wouldn't have wanted to competition with the Abyss, though.

Adason, though... I liked it.

"If you all wish to judge our family names," Gavin said mildly, "I might point out I have never asked you for any of yours."

I blinked. That was true, wasn't it?

"We are Red Sisters," Gaelan explained. "We give up our family name joining the Sisterhood."

The Deathwalker acknowledged that with a nod. "Interesting. But you surely still remember your family."

Gaelan looked the least happy about that prompt, but Jael just glanced at me looking fairly neutral. I shrugged.

"Are you asking now, Gavin?"

He paused but decided to nod. "It seems a basic way to begin our plans."

"I don't see its relevance," my older Sister responded with a frown.

"You might be surprised," the Deathwalker answered back.

I narrowed my eyes a bit at him, but I actually agreed. We weren't planning explicitly at this point, but we did need to talk about something, figure out what else we needed to do besides have Tamuril reach Isboern even at this distance. I already knew such sessions could highlight exactly what we took for granted that maybe we shouldn't.

Gavin seemed to be getting more and more subtle, didn't he? 

Exhaling slowly, I went first. "I was Sirana Thallensarcei. It means 'third daughter of House Thalluen.' I had two older sisters."

"What about brothers?" Gavin asked.

I shook my head. "No."

"How might they be named if there had been some?"

Before I could answer, I noticed Gaelan-sitting across from Mourn—sitting tensely. I'd missed something just before but now they were making eye contact. They didn't often; the two mostly avoided it.

"Have something to add, Gaelan?" Mourn suggested.

I watched, keeping my mouth closed. Something had come up fast.

She shook her head. "It's pointless."

"It was something about Sirana's House and brothers. I saw your face."

"It might not even be true."

"What?" I asked, my stomach just barely reacting to her nerves. "What is it?"

She pursed her lips but sighed; she needed to get as used to the thought of sharing knowledge of home as me. Jael glanced at Tamuril, who was wide-eyed, hardly daring to blink lest she miss this.

Gaelan grumbled almost in a sulk. "I heard the actual firstborn of Sirana's House was male, that's all."

"What?" I breathed, dumbfounded. An older brother? "I-I've never heard..."

Gaelan nodded, looking at me earnestly, reaching out her brown-gloved hand. "I know, Sirana, please, listen to me. Take this with your usual wit. I heard the gossip among the guards, and they may have been fucking with me. They claimed instant execution if the Matron heard them spreading his name so I don't even know it. If he existed, I don't know what happened to him, if he was killed or if he left. If he left, no one knows if he's alive still. It's been at least four hundred years."

Slowly I nodded. If a mysterious brother existed, he would be about Jaunda's age...and not that much younger than Mourn.

"So all you have is a rumor?" Jael asked skeptically.

"Yes," she answered unapologetically. "If Mourn hadn't insisted, I wouldn't have bothered. And I still don't see how this helps." 

She shrugged, turning to Gavin. "But since no one answered your question, sons have their own titles separate from the females as it doesn't really matter when they were born—just 'first son,' 'second son,' and his title changes with the birth of each female. You wouldn't be able to tell from his title that he was the first child after even one daughter is born. The daughters automatically become higher-ranking, so in the Drow language, Sirana would still be the known as third-born even if she might be the fourth out of the womb, and the older brother would be the Fourth Son by now, even if he was born First Son."

"Fifth Son," I muttered, and Gaelan blinked at me, then seemed to remember.

"Oh, right," she said. D'Shea had confirmed Natia would be a servant and playmate for that youngest Noble. At least I knew for sure I had a younger sister.

The necromancer nodded. "I see. But on a first-born son, wouldn't there have been birth records for a Noble House?"

Gaelan shrugged. "I assume so, but I've never seen those."

"I have," I said. "At my House. There was no male listed, but I don't know how easily they can be altered."

"Easily altered records would make them worthless," the former monk commented.

"Well, you would know," I challenged. "Wasn't there something about burning certain inconvenient records at the monastery?"

Gavin nodded fairly easily, given how he used to put up more defense whenever I brought up this subject. "I think we both know for a fact that Manalara favored changing records to suit their needs. You're saying it could be the same for your city?"

"More likely there would be multiple versions," I explained. "At least two, one for the public eye and one for the Sisterhood. There could easily be another in the Wizard's Tower, in the Palace, or the Sanctuary, or all of them, but I have never seen those."

"But you'd have had no reason to look up those Sisterhood records for your own House?" Mourn asked.

I shook my head. "No, I never had reason or give the time, honestly. I'm not sure where I would have found them either. I was given records on Jael's House and told to study them while I watched her for potential recruitment."

"You what?" Jael asked.

"You knew that already," I returned.

She snorted, kind of incensed but mostly amused. "I knew you watched me, you horny slit, but I didn't know you were studying records of my family history!"

"Just the more recent," I added. "Three generations. So I knew who was supposed to be at your House and a bit about them. To better anticipate them or scare them into silence if they ever saw me. It was more a summary file on each living relative than a birth chart. Sometimes it made reference to a dead relative if it still had a direct effect on one of you, but I always got the feeling it was only partial, whatever Elder D'Shea was willing to show me."

"For the record," Mourn said with a bit of black humor, "we had multiple records just like this where I come from, but each House built their own based on spying on the others. There wasn't a central spying body like the Sisterhood, which means they are even more varied and unreliable."

"Oh, fuck me sideways," Jael grumbled, crossing her arms and slumping in her chair. "How much fucking time and energy do we waste doing this shit?"

Mourn chuckled darkly but didn't answer her. I had my own answer but kept it to myself. Tamuril continued to watch us but seemed very reluctant to get involved. Something about how she was sitting made me think she didn't feel entitled to make any comment. Kind of like a submissive male, actually.

And with a high-ranking Priest for a brother, who was probably in a similar position as any number of our strong-willed and powerful females back home, I could imagine any younger sibling not being willing to speak when others were talking like this.

The Druid wasn't enjoying hearing it, though.

Gavin prompted next, "Your House name, Jael?"

"Aurenthin," she answered readily. "Although my title was Aurenthietti. Means Fourth Daughter of the House."

"It's worth noting Innathi's title is Au'renthina," Mourn said.

"And Ishuna's is Au'renthil," I added.

Gavin nodded, somehow refraining from pulling out his grimoire to take notes. "And those titles mean what?"

"They're older and not used anymore," I said. "I don't know exactly what they indicate. I can try asking Innathi at some point if possible."

Tamuril looked immensely confused; enough to actually speak. "Wh-who—?"

We looked at the Druid and she hesitated, almost went quiet again but she managed to pull her courage back out. Krithannia would have been proud.

"Who are Innathi and Ishuna?" she managed, looking more at me. "And how would you ask one of them?"

Mourn looked at me and nodded; it was all mine to explain, it seemed.

"They are the Drow people's former and current queens," I said. "They were also sisters. Ishuna is now known as the Valsharess. I didn't discover her birth name until I spoke with Innathi."

Tamuril fiddled with a seam on her glove. "And...how would you 'ask' Innathi what those old titles mean?"

My smile was grim. "Her consciousness is inside the relic Soul Drinker. That's how she died."

The Druid really had a very pretty set of green eyes; it always amazed me how big they got. I decided to keep them that way for a bit longer.

"You should know the Ice Lord Indrath made Soul Drinker," I said. "And the Archmage somehow got it from him and gave it as a wedding gift to Innathi, a long time ago."




Surfacing Ch. 31



"One of the few things that could destroy the Archmage if he ever broke his vow to her," Mourn said.

"But Soul Drinker won't take him, since he never has betrayed Innathi," Jael said. "We already tried."

Tamuril's pale cheeks flushed pink for some reason I didn't quite understand. "Oh. But it...the dagger killed her instead?"

"She turned it on herself," I said. "To have a way to still exist so she could get revenge on her sister for killing her half-Human children and stealing her desert throne."

Tamuril grimaced, her face remaining sorrowful as she thought about this. She'd tell Isboern and Krithannia, and that was good with me. At least that knowledge would not be lost entirely if we never came back.

"And she's still talking to you?" she asked me. "Innathi."

I nodded. "And about to get her chance to see her sister again."

"Oh, God," the Druid whispered, only just possibly now realizing the enormity of our next mission.

"Do you know your queen's name, Tamuril?" Mourn asked.

She blinked at him and nodded slowly. "Yes. Queen Yivon. It's not a secret."

The Guild Leader nodded and it was obvious he already knew that; he was leading her for our sake. "But another's name is. The Husband."

Tamuril nodded; this had been brought up before when we'd been talking about Lolth. "Y-yes, I'm sorry, no one knows His true name."

"Someone does," Mourn countered, "just not the Noldor in general."

Exhaling, she nodded agreement.

"How does your name compare to ours, Tam?" Jael asked bluntly. "Sirana and I gave you ours."

Tamuril pushed back her chair, preparing to stand up. She was going to leave, but not because of anger. It was plainly fear, a flight response.

*No, wait, please,* I reached out, touching her mind gently as I could, as Willven might. It worked; she hesitated and did not stand up. *Tamuril, remember what Gaelan said about burdens like yours only protecting the powerful? That's why we're talking—*

*He's my only close relative!* she retorted, and I felt her turmoil—the fear and anger and sadness—dump on my mind like a bucket of frigid water. *I'm not going to give the Guild Leader what he needs to hunt my brother.*

*Krithannia can give Mourn that at any time,* I pointed out. *She probably already has.*

*Then let it be her betrayal, not mine! I wished you'd never seen what you saw about him!*

*You needed to be healed. You still need to. You're stronger but still hurting. And you're staying here. We might fail—*

*You have to come back!* she blurted. *Willven needs you to come back with the Sister-seeker.*

*Then talk to us now. Strengthen the bond with us if that's your chosen future. Staying silent on the subject of your brother won't protect him, and it only hurts you.*

Tamuril was gripping the arms of her wooden chair to show white knuckles, blinking out a tear, then two. She swallowed and breathed in, then out; in and out again. No one said anything aloud, probably unsure if she and I were still "talking."

*Try,* I nudged. *We have more in common with you than not.*

*No, we don't.*

I smiled. *Oh, yes, we do. Willven is the one truly different from you and me, isn't he? Too good and protected to hear all the horrid details, the real face of the Pale Elves, right? I'll bet your first meeting with the Isboern family was unlike anything either of us could have imagined the first time out of our homes.*

The Druid stared at me until I felt the confirmation; I felt her love and need to protect them—and it was much stronger than the fear of protecting the blond Priest.

Finally she licked her lips to wet them. "My name is Tamuril lu'Marikoth. It means 'sister of Marikoth.'"

Jael and Gaelan exchanged glances and my younger Sister tilted her head curiously. "Not anyone's daughter?"

"I am," she said with a bit of acidity, "obviously. But...my...my title changes with the birth and death of each male Noldor in my bloodline. If my father was still alive, I would be Tamuril syl'Wovinkoth."

"And your mother?"

"Fruy'Wovinkoth. Wife of."

"And Marikoth himself?" Mourn asked, managing to sound non-threatening.

Tamuril swallowed. "He was once Marikoth Kyln'Wovinkoth. Now he is simply Marikoth, the head of his line."

My Sisters both had wide eyes, hearing this and possibly only now thinking about it in any depth. The males had all the power among the Noldor, even having a Queen like us.

The Druid didn't have to say more, but she made a decision to do so. "Krithannia... w-was supposed to be his wife. But for a Priest, it's not binding until she proves fertile. There were no children before, um...she left. So she is not his wife."

She left. The way that was said held an enormous hollow spot just aching to be filled. Part of it was, however, that Marikoth had been trying to conceive with the current Guild Mistress, and something about that story had Mourn ready to cut his head off at the first opportunity. I wondered whether my imagination was better or worse than the reality...?

But Tamuril was at the end of her nerves before explaining this part of her family history. She looked at me and Jael. "So...you've said the titles for Third and Fourth Daughters, Sareci and Thietti. The Drow seem to have more children than we do...we rarely get past a second child."

That was interesting.

"Well," Jael admitted, "we kind of have to keep having children. A lot of them die."

Tamuril grimaced, suspecting but still not delighted to hear that. I could see the rate of assassination among the Noldor was much, much slower.

The Druid asked, "What of First and Second titles?"

I nodded, willing to give her that. "Dara for the First, Duv for the Second. Thalluendara and Thalluenduv, for my family."

Mourn gave me an interested look, and I seized on that, too.

"What?" I demanded. "Come on, Mourn, you have to play, too."

He sighed. "My mother's title was Du'Prohn. She was the Second Daughter, and the First Daughter was Dar'Prohn, so some similarity between us remains there as well."

I straightened. "And your title? Were you a first son?"

His ears turned back and his tail slithered. "Gaelan explained, the sons didn't matter as much, and it was the same for us. In any case, like Gavin, I have given up a family title."

"That's not balanced, Mourn, the rest of us are talking," Jael poked him. "Like you wanted us to. Even Tamuril talked."

"It should have been something close to Prohndalik," Gaelan translated.

Mourn nodded once. "I would only answer to maglust, however."

She blinked. "You mean, Prohnmaglust?"

"No, just maglust."

"That's not a title, Mourn, it's a word."

"Any word can become a title."

"Pfft!" Gaelan puffed, which came out as a half-snort; her expression reminded me of Graul calling Mourn a 'hatchling' on occasion when being especially stubborn.

"What is this word, if I may ask?" Gavin spoke after remaining quiet for some time listening to us all. "Drow, I take it? Since Tamuril doesn't seem to recognize it, either."

She shook her head.

"Yeah, it's Drow," Gaelan answered. "Maglust is a word for the concept of being alone or apart without allies. Solitary."

"Which was how it was for some time," Mourn said.

"What, having a name like 'mourn' wasn't good enough to keep reminding you where you came from?" Jael asked, her face screwed up as if she was more than a little annoyed with his former Matron-Aunt.

"Miz'ri bargained for a female child from Lethrix," he said bluntly with an underlying growl. "She got me, and lost her sister in the process, who was the only one able to have more children for her. It put her at a severe, long-term disadvantage against the other Houses and she made sure I knew this every cycle until I could breed a female Dragon-blood for her."

Jael and I exchanged glances; she said what I'd already learned months ago. 

"Ah. But...you...weren't even feeling those urges until you hit the Surface."

He nodded. "Miz'ri never asked Lethrix how a half-blood's maturity progressed. I was physically larger and stronger than the other Drow, that was all that mattered because that was how it was for Miz'ri's Draegloth as well."

"Until you couldn't perform as expected," Gavin stated.

"Yes." Mourn tapped some claws. "Maglust was one small concession I won. My Aunt gave up on when I wouldn't answer to the Drow-son title. I kept it."

"Even as it's not accurate anymore," Jael said. "Starting when you found Graul, or maybe even your Drow squad?"

Mourn didn't reply at first, and Jael continued thoughtfully.

"That must have been one the strangest Drow Houses in existence," she said, seeming fascinated. "Even stranger than mine. An infertile Matron-Priestess with one Draegloth son and one half-Dragon nephew with no other females having children?"

Mourn breathed out through his teeth. "There were a few adult children of the Matron before she had the Draegloth. They ran her military and put me to work. But yes, I was my mother's only child. She was much younger, by a few centuries. Even some of Miz'ri's children were older than my mother."

"Well, then, they could have children, too, right?" Jael asked. "Your House wasn't in danger of dying out."

He agreed. "But other Houses with more siblings of the Matron having children yields many more resources and magic closer to her own than a House relying solely on grandchildren of the Matron herself. She wanted a sibling starting a Dragon-touched line."

"It's the magical heritage that is so important, then," Gavin said. "For all Elves, I'd think."

Pilla had a bad habit of squawking at those times when I'd forgotten she was there and my heart leaped into my throat. Tamuril looked above us where the falcon had taken perch and rubbed her hand along the back of her neck, looking uncomfortable with whatever she'd just shared with her familiar.

"Pilla brought it to mind that Graul is not here, yes?" Mourn said directly and the Druid blinked.

"Mm, yes, but he is old, you may not carry him everywhere," she muttered, and I wondered if she was thinking something similar about Pilla, if the time was coming.

"He was old," Mourn corrected somberly. "He has died."

"Oh," Tamuril whispered. "I...my sympathies, Mourn."

Another slow nod, and a clear moment of remembrance. Mourn exhaled slowly and looked at the Drow who held what was left of his first real companion.

"Moving on. What is your name, Gaelan?"

She looked about as reluctant to divulge that as he had been but she didn't try the same game as Tamuril. She grunted. "Gaelen Poly'nidara. But there's no House with that name in the City, it's just 'firstborn of Polynia.'"

"Your mother."

"A merchant. Yes." She looked angry for a moment, but not at Mourn.

"And Natia?" Gavin asked, clearly getting a handle on Drow nomenclature. "Something like Natia Gaeladara?"

The anger turned quickly as I saw her eyes tears up. "Y-yes, exactly that. Though now she's been given Sirana's House name instead. Natia Thalluen'rith. Servant of."

My shoulders were raised a bit in discomfort. "She'll be Gaeladara again."

The Deathwalker turned to me and pushed us farther, building up the momentum again after it slowing down with the topic of Graul. "What about your son, Sirana? If you were required to give up your House name for the Sisterhood, would he have a name?"

That sent a shock through me and I reacted similarly to Mourn and Gaelan just now. I hated even saying it. "Ah...h-he'd be given a Priestess's name, if he needed one. The Sisterhood is supposed to give any children to the Priesthood."

"A Priestess's name," Gavin repeated. "Like Julir'dal?"

I stared at him. I didn't recognize it but it damned well was an accurate Drow name. "Where the fuck did you hear that?"

"Lelinahdara called Auslan that when she awoke after being healed."

Gaelan nodded, looking at me. "There was a Priestess Juliran once. Son of Juliran."

Right, of course.

"What happened to her?" Jael asked.

"Wilsirathon got her executed and took over her Consorts about fifty years ago," I said. "That was one of the reasons Auslan helped me in the first place against her."

"He had some loyalty for his Priestess-mother?" Gavin asked.

I nodded. "She had been less of a cunt in her treatment of him than Wilsira, or so he told me."

Jael chuckled suddenly. "As Juliran is your baby's grandmother, I hope so."

"Wait, no," Galean straightened up. "Not possible, Juliran wasn't Auslan's actual mother. The Priestesses are all barren after birthing their Draegloth."

Vesram had been extremely quiet as we had been discussing all this but now blinked at us warily as some of us looked at him. He shrugged, pretending ignorance of any point being made.

"Mmm," Mourn considered. "Where do the Consorts come from? We did not have those in my old city."

My Sisters and I could only stare at each other.

"We don't know," I admitted. "A Priesthood secret."

Vesram hissed softly before he spoke, now that a question had been formed. "Conssorts from ritual. Priestesss and chossen male, given into common womb."

Jael was frowning at the Draegloth. "What does that mean?"

Vesram pointed at Gaelan. "Like herrr. Common, ferrtile. Ssstolen, made to carry beautiful sson. Iss actual sson of Priestesss, born of commoner."

A memory from the streets of the City slammed back to me, from when I had been a Red Sister for barely a year and Wilsirathon had me tending to her on a visitation journey. I could see the poisoned Drow in my mind's eye, screaming insanely among the populace that Wilsira had stolen her daughter, had imprisoned herself for questioning it. I hardly remembered her name...Dalia? Dalina? Something like that. But I clearly remembered carrying her dying body across my riding lizard, taking care of the problem, burning the body...

"I once interrogated someone who claimed almost exactly that," I murmured. "She accused Wilsira of stealing her daughter as a secret sacrifice."

"That is... intriguing, I'll admit," Gavin said. "It is possible for your Priestesses to implant an unrelated child into a surrogate womb and have it be birthed alive? This is what it sounds like."

Vesram nodded confirmation. "Yesss. Wilsssira create ritual. Kersse at many birrths. Desscribed to usss."

I hadn't known that—which was kind of a relief, I didn't want to recall Kerse's entire life alongside his mother, serving her however she required. But Vesram was claiming that Auslan really did have a Priestess-Mother, by blood...like a Draegloth, but they had to borrow another body to make it happen. 

In fact, that made all the Draegloth and Consorts half-brothers by blood.

I shuddered at the thought of being one of their chosen. They wouldn't have my son! I couldn't even imagine what they'd do with him. D'Shea had said she wanted to tear down the Priestesses of Lolth so they wouldn't have her daughter... and I wholly agreed. 

Maybe we had to go much farther than tearing down the Priesthood, even, going after the queen. We had to win against Lolth herself, every power she possessed beneath the Surface of Miurag... or maybe not survive at all if we lost. Facing the consequences were staggering when one knew them in advance. It was the opposite of what I'd once thought, still living in the Underdark, that as long as I still drew breath, I had a chance...but that was before I'd seen even a sliver of what Cris-ri-phon had become after he'd failed.

I hadn't chosen this. None of us had. But who else had the awareness, power, and possibility to even try? No one. It was this group, or no one would try again for a very, very long time. My mouth twisted as I thought this. Isboern would be so proud of me.

I wasn't the only one lost in my own thoughts; we were mostly just sitting at the table, empty soup bowls spread around, looking at one another. Maybe we learned a bit too much about each other too quickly; maybe we had to take time to absorb it? Gavin's suggestion to discuss family names had revealed far more about us than I would have thought. We didn't do this belowground; not very often. It was too easily used for accusations of treason or subversion against your own House.

I gently cleared my throat, and Gavin noticed my eyes on him. "So. Did Ada ever tell you where she came from? Other than the Ma'ab. Other than the slum."

His mouth turned down but he didn't try to evade. Wise of him.

"She was more or less the lowest of the low among the Ma'ab," he said. "Not only the bottom caste but an orphan without protection, bartering, scurrying, stealing, and evading around the capital for some time. Eventually she was captured and became a slave to Vo'Traj."

Gavin turned his head to look at Vesram at that point. "Though I suspect you know much more about that portion of her life than I do, even with my advantage of being able to talk with the dead."

Vesram snorted air softly through his nostrils and grunted just enough to acknowledge Gavin, although he clearly wasn't sure whether he was being asked for more information or not. Honestly, neither did I.

"Mmm, yess, I do?" the Draegloth tested.

"Do you know why Vo'Traj claimed her in the first place, Vesram?" I asked directly.

His shoulders relaxed a little and he nodded. "Powerrful aurra. Otherss sslain, Ada sspared. Kept for feeeding."

Just as Gavin had said of Ma'ab sorceresses and their phylactery...or rather the "heritage gate," which had been attached to Vesram's penis for years.

"And kept for breeeding," the demonblood added, almost an afterthought.

Jael straightened, her attention seized in spite of herself. "What? Breeding? Wh...Do you know if Gavin has siblings, too?"

"He doess not," Vesram answered her readily. "Ada would not catch, herr magic resisst all breeder magic but Divigna Hellhound."

Jael narrowed her gaze at him. "How do you know her magic couldn't resist Divigna if Gavin' has no siblings, then? What does that even mean, beast?"

Vesram hissed at her, reacting defensively to the demanding tone and I interceded.

"Your Priestess-Mother's Drow essence is inside Kreshel, right?" I suggested. "It's life magic. He's proven very fertile."

Vesram's only answer was a soft whine and nod. I signed for Jael to stay quiet and we waited a few more moments. It paid off.

"Ada fearred no pain, and no Ma'ab but himm," the demonblood reflected, glancing at Gavin. "Feared not Vo'Traj, not Mother-slayer."

That wasn't quite right. My mouth tightened as I recalled something from the crypt.

"You called Vo'Traj the 'Mother-slayer' when you asked me to kill her," I murmured. "Back in the crypt."

Vesram exhaled through his snout. "Both."

"What?"

"Vo'Traj help, but Chirurgeon of Ssouls iss Mother-sslayer, creator of Elf-life Hellhound."

"Chir of what?"

"The Third Ascended of the Ma'ab," Gavin said, his fingers laced again with the index fingers resting on his lips. He seemed a bit tense. "They call her the Chirurgeon of Souls, or the Divine Physician."

"You mean one of the Seven Liches," Jael said. "Like we just took out."

Gavin shrugged his shoulders a touch. "If you like. Though the comparison to Sarilis would be akin to stating that Kreshel is a mere Hellhound. It understates the difference in power and experience. The Third is the one responsible for harnessing enough life magic for the Ascended to beget heirs, and now Vesram says she made the Eternal Hellhound, the only one my mother had cause for concern in impregnating her against her will and disrupting the Grey Maiden's plans for her to go to Manalar."

Jael grinned. "Well, good thing Vesram helped her escape, then. And it's not like the 'Ascended' is your next target. We're going for a somewhat older cunt."

Gavin just stared at her, and his aura felt weird as he did so. Not only was he finished talking, I thought, but his attention was leaning in that other direction. I interceded again, nodding to my younger Sister with a smile. 




Surfacing Ch. 31



"Right. That's why we're all sitting here." I turned to Mourn. "So. Tamuril reaches out to Isboern, you focus on hunting. What else we can do to help these first few days before I have to go retrieve Soul Drinker?"

Gavin blinked and refocused on me with a grunt just before my older Sister spoke up.

"Put together places to rest," Gaelan said, sitting with her arms folded and looking set on practicality. "Get enough fresh water. Take stock of what we can use or mend. The usual."

Usual for the Sisterhood or the Guild, of course. Lots of work, as always. We weren't going to be bored.

"Nyx," Vesram suggested, looking at Gavin.

"Of course," the Deathwalker answered, focusing his icy gaze on me next. "I will be in communion with my Lady here and there. The door to the lab in the Tower will be closed and locked when I am not to be disturbed." He paused. "I am also to pass on an invitation to the Life Priest's Champion as a gesture of the Grey Maiden's gratitude. Any time before you leave is fine. If you have anything to ask, she is of a mind to grant a boon."

I was surprised by that last part, primarily because it sounded so formal coming from Gavin's mouth. Gratitude? Hadn't we just completed a bargain she knew I'd want to go back on if she hadn't made it binding? Yes. But...well.

*Remember your fucking manners, Noble,* I chided myself. I'd have to think if I had anything to ask...

I cleared my throat and nodded, trying not to but still probably sounding a little confused. "Of course, Deathwalker. I accept. Before I leave."

The windows in the dining hall had been boarded up by Sarilis, or at least by his minions, and we hadn't taken them down so we couldn't see outside. All of us could detect any lingering light leaking through the cracks, however, if there was any to be seen. There was none now. We heard the wind pick up as well and the hearth fire jumped and crackled as it fought the losing battle against the chill.

"You should all rest as much as you need to now," Mourn suggested, "and get an early start. Let us explore for best quarters, preferably with Deathwalker's guidance."

Gavin nodded, and the Dragonblood bowed his head in thanks.

"Then we must simply go on from here."

********

It wasn't drafty at all in the dwarven-built rooms just below the Tower, only a little stuffy, and Gavin showed us those rooms almost immediately, leaving us to our own devices when we liked the temperature. We would make up temporary quarters here but that was the easiest thing about the group decision. The next part was sorting rooms and which bedrolls went where.

Tamuril and Gaelan were both open to having private rooms, though Gaelan said she would also set up with her Sisters and Mourn in a common room, as we wouldn't necessarily all be resting at the same time beyond tonight anyway. This left the question of what to do with Vesram, however. He didn't want his own room, he didn't want to be alone; Jael didn't want him in with us.

"I might want to fuck, and he is not welcome to gawk whenever I do," she said.

I shook my head and shrugged. "He shouldn't be left alone and Gavin won't have him around at all times. I might have to take my own room and I can visit yours given the opportunity."

Her brows crawled halfway up her forehead. "You are not seriously saying you plan to share a room alone with him?"

"When I pick up Soul Drinker again, it is going to be crowded enough."

"And you forgot what happened the last time you were left alone with just those two? The stupid black dagger worked in reverse and your trance took forever!"

I sighed, but Mourn nodded in agreement. He turned to his Daratrix.

"I think it best you allow Vesram to sleep in the same room with us, Jael. If you want private sex, it can be had elsewhere in the Tower."

She grumped, crossing her arms. "Fine. You aren't going to be sleeping anyway."

That was true. Mourn hadn't slept all since growing his wings, and he didn't seem the worse off for it. I couldn't help but wonder when it would catch up to him, though. If he was becoming more and more like his sire... well, Dragons slept for a very long time, sometimes. How that would balance against his Elf side, I still didn't know.

"I will stay with you," Gaelan decided, leaving Tamuril and Pilla as the only ones who might stay apart.

I caught the Druid's eye and made a private suggestion. *You know we won't hurt you. Stay.*

Tamuril looked around the room we'd chosen; it was large enough for everyone. However she shook her head. "I am the only one here who would prefer continual light within stone walls, am I correct? I would rather have a window, too, and I am quite used to the mountain's seasons. I would rather not be underground at all. Neither would Pilla. We can also help Gavin keep watch."

The falcon ruffled her feathers in agreement.

Mourn nodded. "Be it as you wish, Tamuril. Would you accept one of the pearls if you need us?"

She watched him without speaking at first but then nodded. "Yes. Thank you."

So the Druid went back upstairs and the rest of us would bed down all in one room. Whatever "serviceable" furniture Gavin had mentioned was down here was old, and sized for dwarves. This meant every piece was made of heavy oak braced with iron, or of stone, all of it very sturdy, heavy, and not readily moved from place to place. It was also not practical for either Mourn or Vesram to sit or lie down for very long. 

We found one large room with one large bed frame, a cabinet, some hooks on the wall to hang equipment, and a desk. The three Red Sisters could fit all in the frame, adding our rolls laid side-by-side as a makeshift mattress, if we rested just slightly curled up on our sides. Not that much different from the Cloister's barracks, really, but somehow lying raised off the stone floor helped us keep our heat better. 

There was a desk as well if Vesram wanted to try the same trick, but he didn't have a bedroll and wished to sleep at the foot of the bed anyway, like a pet. Mourn crouched by the door, wide awake, while the rest of us would get our much-needed reverie. I thought perhaps I was one of the first to go within completely.

I did not dream at first, I stayed away from whatever path would lead me to the red sands as I had to see after my own strength first. If they wanted me, I already knew they could reach me. On the subject of the reverie itself, Rennyn had clarified a thing or two about that.

*Most times, part of the reverie for all Elves is the need to recall a memory, or see certain things again. We live a long time, some memories need to be refreshed, reaffirmed, or seen from a different angle when our perceptions change, or else we forget them entirely. 

*Having said that, some things can and perhaps should be forgotten, my daughter. Still others are your conscious desire to keep them with you as they define you in some way, apparent or deep down. And still others are those you dare not forget lest you be stricken again by the lesson you dismissed too lightly.*

This was the purpose of reverie, Rennyn had said, but this did not mean that we dreamed our memories exactly as they really happened. They were always true, but very often not what they appeared. If I had not been able to tell that difference that night, I might have woken much sooner and done something regrettable.

As it was, my mind was foggy with the sweet incense I had been breathing most of that evening in the Priestess's quarters, though I could not smell any of it now as my face was shoved between Wilsirathon's spread legs, her excited, wet snatch rubbing all over my nose and mouth and cheeks. The Priestess had me naked and vulnerable as well, instructing her demonblood son to do what he wanted to do anyway. Kerse explored the muscles of my back, and my breasts, smoothing his hand down my flank and my flat belly, squeezing my buttocks until I could feel his claws, just the tips, pricking my skin.

The Draegloth lined up a mercifully smooth cock with my slit and plunged in. It felt good; hot and eager, not a horn or spur to be detected.

I was drugged, my resistance was down, but I was also excited. Wet. When Kerse collected a bit of my lubricant on his thumb before swirling it in circles around my tingling netherhole, my cunt clenched down on him and I moaned with my mouth full of his mother's scarred flesh. She moaned, too, encouraging him to fuck me faster, to spill his seed inside me and risk that swollen belly all Red Sisters feared. I wasn't too worried, so maybe I'd taken my prevention draught beforehand, or maybe Shyntre had done something to help distract us...or maybe this was the time where Kerse had taken my ass instead?

My stomach filled with icy water when I felt another set of hands touching me, exploring my thighs. Wait... Was Kerse becoming that four-armed, winged demon he had embraced, even while he mounted me in front of his mother? Was I about to feel every change he had sustained with my legs still spread for him, including those on his penis? Oh, Goddess, I would be ripped apart! No!

The black cock exploring my depths did not change, however, it remained rewarding rather than punishing. But there were still more hands, six of them maybe... or seven? No, two of them weren't hands at all, but hot, smooth cocks not yet wetted by a generous female, being rubbed against my shoulder and waist.

There were other Draegloth here now, waiting their turn. I couldn't really see them, I could only see a white, matted Drow bush beneath my nose, but once I turned my other senses to them, I could hear them as well as feel them. Four others hissing or snickering softly in pleasure and anticipation. One of them was sniffing my belongings, my red uniform and tools which had been taken off and piled to the side.

I was not in a Noble's House, I realized, not in those opulent quarters given to a visiting Priestess and her entourage. I was not sequestered, submitting in secret. 

I was inside the Draegloth chamber on the twelfth floor of the Sanctuary. Many of the Priestesses did not keep her Draegloth with her at all times as Wilsira did, and all those demonbloods were here when not in use in a ritual.

"Hherr? We get hherr, too?" they murmured to each other.

Suddenly I wasn't even sure that the Draegloth rutting me was Kerse at all. He came abruptly with a deeply pleasured grunt, and he had no knot to push inside me and get locked up; he pulled out with a satisfied sigh and crawled back out of the way. My hole was only just warmed up, ready for the next and now spunked and sloppy for the next one.

The second Draegloth mounted me then, choosing the same hole; he fucked quick and fast in his eagerness and also had no knot. My neck ached and my tongue was tired from the angle of eating out the Priestess as I kneeled, braced on my elbows and knees. I felt more hands and turgid, smooth cocks touch me as I started to sweat.

The Draegloth pulled out of my pussy and swiftly pressed hard into my ass, stretching it quickly and I yelped against Wilsira's netherlips. Preparing myself for a rough ride, I waited...but soon discovered this Draegloth didn't want to actually fuck my ass, he had already poked my cunt to his contentment. He only wanted to cum in there, holding himself still and partly inside, shuddering and gulping in air as he creamed my back passage... Intentionally preparing it for his next brother, the third one.

That Draegloth followed immediately where the second had left off, pressing his cock into my ass and this time going deeper, taking me all the way to his balls. I cried out but the sound was muffled; I was relieved to feel the lubrication as he drew out once then pressed back in. 

His large hands gripped my naked shoulders and he balanced himself on his feet for leverage to begin to thrust—very, very deeply, his full length running again and again through my tight sphincter. I could feel every finger width of his shaft, the hot friction from tip to base and Wilsira chuckled at how wide my eyes were as I tried to work my tongue on her clit, nearly hidden in scar tissue.

Another Draegloth got down and started lapping up the juices oozing from my slit; a fifth one gleefully squeezed on my nipples, and a sixth one gripped my hair and yanked my head up to thrust his cock between my lips. 

Wilsira the Priestess simply vanished, she was no longer on the floor beneath me. I was simply surrounded by Draegloth who had been given permission to fuck the spider-loving shit out of me. I didn't want to cum, but they were going to make me. So much sensation, it was too much! The one licking me with his tongue was not fumbling in ignorance, even though the one twisting my nipples seemed like it was his first time getting his hands on a set of tits. 

The Draegloth cock in my mouth could've gone much deeper, but its owner seemed more interested in enjoying the fact that he tasted good to me. I was sucking on him willingly! He languished his heavy staff on my tongue, left me breathing desperately through my nose as I sucked eagerly, felt my ass plundered, my cunt licked, and all those other hands touching me... Oh, fucking Goddess!

"That's it, Jael. This is it," an undefined, female voice taunted. "The worst that you feared would happen in your own bedroom. The worst has happened. They are all fucking you, all at once, they'll use you for their own pleasure and some part of you will like it. Now what? Is it as bad as you feared? It's over, the wait is finally over. You can't stop it, it is happening. You might as well let go and enjoy it..."

*NO!* I thought, unable to speak with my mouth stopped up, just like my ass.

They had drugged me, this wasn't balanced, I couldn't really fight though I had tried. The Draegloth tasted good, they put something on his cock... My head was swimming. At some point the Draegloth in my ass had finished and another took my ruffled slit again. I felt my pucker-ring trying to shrink back down as it received a short rest, but short it was, as the demonblood who was so patiently licking me stopped and got up for his turn as his brother finished quickly. The cuntsucker then wet his cock only briefly in my pussy before pulling out and stretching my ass back out, plowing it with fresh vigor.

"Aughgh-ffu—" I gargled around stiff meat.

My clit was left in the cold for quite some time, wet, throbbing, and aching as two more Draegloth spurted into my ass one after the other, leaving it soggy and stretched. The very moment my lonely folds were caressed by another long, warm tongue, however...

It set me off. I came like a cave-in.

"Nnggh-GODOHFUCK!"

I woke up.

I woke up with my hand down Jael's leathers, her pussy swollen and soaked and warmly clutching my fingers. Her hand was down my pants as well. I felt at least two of her fingers, maybe three, curled inside my cunt. I wasn't exactly sure who had cried out—both of us?—but she and I stared at each other. Her bright red eyes were very wide and she was gasping hard. I heard her voice in my mind.

*H-how much of that was real?* 

*How much of what?* I asked cautiously.

*Wilsira drugging you, making you take Kerse so many times, trying to make you catch? You seeing her scars?*

*That happened.* I paused. *What about the Draegloth in the Sanctuary? You being trapped in the chamber on the twelfth floor? Your initiation?*

She nodded hesitantly, still shaking from her climax. That had been real, too. *Like I told you, in the Cloister when Elder Rausery gave me to you...*

She hadn't been lying to me in that case, our first time together in bed. That was certain. Some part of her had liked it, yes, but forcing her to lose control like that, without her consent...well. She hated that part as much as Mourn did, and she never wanted another Draegloth or Priestess to know she even could enjoy it. Adding to that...

*I'm not even sure that Mourn should know this about me, he keeps such tight control and doesn't want to share with other males, and he's my teacher...!*

I reached to stroke hair from her damp temple. *Shhh. Shhh, don't worry on that now. That can wait.*

I moved my fingers tenderly inside my slick Sister and Jael blinked and rolled her eyes upward in bliss, her mouth touched with a small smile. She returned the favor, stroking my own wet cunt, and I hummed in my throat. Then I finally looked up at Gaelan. 

She had been awakened as well but not by a mindlink hitting a critical peak. More likely it was just watching the sleep-sex itself between me and Jael, as she was sitting up on the bed with her back to the wall and her leathers open, her fingers buried in her own puss.

She wasn't the only one watching. Mourn and Vesram both had their dicks in their hands, taking in the strong, female scents filling the room through sensitive nose and drawing it across their tongues. For a few seconds we all stared at each other, not knowing what to do as it wasn't self-evident for the first time in a long while.

Mourn made a decision first, approaching the bed in only a few strides and Vesram moved farther out of his way. The To'vah-krav took hold of Jael's ankle to pull her down toward the foot of the bed and she squeaked in obvious anticipation. She had been in between Gaelan and me, but Mourn's pull gave me room to shift up toward the head and make my little Sister much more accessible to the Guild Leader.

*All fours,* I suggested to him with a lascivious grin, holding his metallic eyes as he glanced at me. *Take control.*

He smirked slightly and gave me a tiny nod.

Mourn gripped her hips and turned her over before pulling her up to her knees and shoving her pants down to expose her glistening slit. He was leaking pre-cum and swiftly seated himself inside Jael's twat with the needful grunt.

"FUCK!" she cried, only now getting her balance.

"I intend to, little one," he rumbled, drawing back for his next stroke.

Gaelan crawled closer to me to give them more room as the hard fucking began and she sighed forlornly. "I miss Furuc."

I chuckled. "I can give you the Feldeu in your dreams."

She winked. "Mm, I appreciate it, but... Nah, not right now." She looked over to Vesram. "Hm. He's on his second time, it looks like."

Taking some of her calm as my direction, I glanced toward the wall as well. She was right, Vesram had already finished once. We would have to be careful where we stepped. 

The Draegloth here and now wasn't whining or begging for attention as one back home might have. I had only to recall that he had been a slave among the Ma'ab for half of his life. His hand worked industriously as he kneeled, braced on one set of knuckles and his head down as he took care of himself without making eye contact with us. It seemed he had seen and smelled more than enough to satisfy himself.

And that was a good thing, wasn't it? It wasn't my problem, I didn't need to do anything about it. He wasn't asking, or hinting. Just jerking himself off for the second time after getting the performance Jael had thought she didn't want to give.

A thought came to me that maybe if I helped Vesram out a bit, even just using my hands, that I could make him more loyal and trustworthy taking him back down below...but... 

No. That was what Matrons though back home, not what I had learned. More likely, he would be more needy afterward. It wasn't even necessary. Mourn would be with me and Vesram would follow us or the Dragonblood would just kill him.

Yet... I had no real control over what Vesram actually wanted—and he did want something, there was no doubt— and I had yet to understand what really motivated him.

I had to know before I left here. It mattered to what happened next.

"OHHHhhhh!" Jael moaned loudly, and we looked over to see Mourn's thick, glistening cock now out of her and hanging stiff between his legs, her pussy gaping a bit from its workout while the Dragonblood held her cheeks open and tongued her asshole.




Surfacing Ch. 31



I recognized that particular gooeyness to his saliva; it was thick and stretchy and slightly murky, tasting strongly of magic even from here. Jael squealed very much as I had in the Wilder meadow, waving her butt at the intense sensation. I remembered exactly how that felt, the burning pleasure and hypersensitivity of my skin anywhere that stuff touched. I fully expected Jael to say it...and she did.

"Fuck my ass," she whispered. "Cum in it."

"Yes," Mourn agreed.

"Oh, goddess," Gaelan murmured, putting a hand to her mouth.

This was Jael's first time taking his tool between her luscious cheeks... How did I know that?

"Fuck, holy fuck! Oh my fuck!"

She sounded so surprised when he obliged her, his thick spit easing his way in. I knew that intensity... And Jael was starting to let go, just as she had in the dream we had shared, as she wanted to, even at the cost of being stoutly sore afterward. She loved it.

She had either forgotten about the hated half-blood watching, or now didn't care because neither he nor any of his brothers would get near her, smelling so pungently of Guardian as she did...

I blinked.

*Wait. Whose thought was that?*

I looked at Vesram again, having to force myself to temporarily ignore the enticing view on the bed. Vesram had finished that second climax as Mourn gently stroked in and out of Jael's ass, but now he was creeping back toward the far wall and moving closer to the door. His mane stood up partway and he snorted some heavy scent out of his nose he didn't like.

*Wait,* I commanded, and he stopped, looking at me. I thought he looked slightly guilty, like he'd been caught in his Mother's things. *Did you see her dream, too?*

Vesram glanced at Mourn's winged back and lashing tail, then back at me. *Mmy dreamm, firrst. Ssensed ryn-goet, and you. Then... Vuthtren-bae started.*

Vuthtren-bae?

I received the brief mental image of the whole group of Sanctuary Draegloth gang-fucking a single Drow, and I had my translation.

*Willl not tell,* Vesram promised me. *Willl not touch herrr.*

I swallowed as the demonblood let himself out of the room without another thought of his that I could hear. 

So... was that it? Had I touched Vesram's sleeping mind first, and he remembered Wilsira's incense with me. He now knew exactly what it was like for Kerse to fuck me...until Jael had started dreaming, too. Then it was all mixed together and he knew what it was like to fuck her, too...

That was no good; I would only confuse him and others this way. This was a type of manipulation I knew would backfire on me if I tried to use it with intent. This was ignorance anyway. How did I keep the boundaries from bleeding over like that?

"Yes! Morixxyleth!" Jael gasped, pulling my attention yet again.

My heart leap in my chest just hearing her voice, hearing her saying his own name, not of any Drow family at all, but the sight was even better. She was desperately stroking herself and his tail was wrapped tightly around my Sister's thigh as he sped up just enough to finish inside her with a deep, pleasured growl.

"Yes!" she cried again.

"Fucking goddamn Abyss," Gaelan groaned, touching herself in agonized need, and I smiled watching her do it.

Well. At least that was one impulse that wouldn't get so complicated for me.

I shoved Gaelan onto her back, surprising her, and pulled down her pants all the way. By that point, she allowed me to push her dark thighs apart. Her white bush was full and lush, damp and matted, and she smelled like the warmest, wettest places within the sacred Wilder forest...

"Sirana," she breathed, oh-fuck-yes plainly readable in her wide, red eyes.

I dove down and focused solely on one thing: lapping and sucking that hot snatch much, much better than I ever had Wilsira, in life or in reverie.

*******

We were all back in the dining hall breaking our fast before the Sun rose, including Vesram, who stayed crouched back against the wall with his bowl. He was avoiding eye contact with anyone, and apparently had hovered closer to Gavin for the rest of the night.

Mourn was getting ready to leave and go hunting - the best times for him were dawn and dusk, he said - and the rest of us would do our many, various things. I would leave Soul Drinker well enough alone for now; Tamuril would try to get in touch with Captain Isboern and tell us anything there; the rest of us would be working to find and gather anything of use.

I did look at Gavin at one point. "And you have, or will have, servants to help keep an eye open for trouble?"

He nodded, his fingers laced together. "Anything in particular we are expecting?"

I shook my head. "No, but no telling what attention we've drawn, even if we don't include Lord Indrath."

"The Hellhound skeletons are a bit more advanced than Sarilis's sentries," he told me, "and Night-mare is seeking out the borders of the dead-land for us as we speak."

"And you can see what she sees?"

"If I concentrate. I check on her regularly."

"So that's why your eyes wink out and go black sometimes."

He smiled slightly. I took another three big bites of my breakfast before I continued, half of the chewed mass still in one cheek.

"About Nyx," I said.

"Yes?"

"I was thinking sooner was better than later." I shrugged. "Before I pick up Soul Drinker again."

My grey mage nodded once. "I can see that. Today?"

"If you might wait after I've returned?" Mourn broke in, having just finished his portion. "It will be no later than midday. I would like to be here when you do this as you've become unnaturally cold before in such trances, and we're no longer in the middle of summer."

I nodded easily. "Sure, Mourn, that is no problem. A good idea."

"Time enough for me to prepare," Gavin agreed.

Mourn turned to Tamuril next. "Should we expect further news from the East by the end of today?"

"I will try," she said simply.

"Will there be any way to include Sirana if necessary?"

The Noldor frowned slightly at him. "No. Or, at least, not right away. I will let you know."

We had to be satisfied with that, in spite of her reticence and reluctance to divulge details. We went over a few more of the mundane and practical before breaking for our various chores. When Mourn came back—with or without more food—Gavin and I would get together in his temporary lab at the top of the Tower. He seemed to like the view and didn't mind the draft, at least for now. Sooner or later he'd move down underground, probably take over Sarilis's old lab.

The morning went quickly, Jael and Gaelan left to empty the caches with all they could carry. Like the previous day, the clouds seemed to want to release the Sky; I saw more pale blue and thought the occasional gusts of wind were fresher in my nostrils.  

Halfway up the closest hillside in the rockiest place, I eventually found and removed the blockage in Gavin's old garden which allowed a small stream of water to come down off the rocks and feed a modest stone fountain. It did not look potable yet, too many unknown particles and an odd taint of black in it, but the Druid to be able to help that. It would be good not having to actually haul water from elsewhere prior to purifying it.

It felt like Mourn had just left when I saw him flying back; he was heavily burdened and that was a good sight. He couldn't land still holding whatever was that he hauled with him, so he glided over me and dropped the large boar near me in the garden.

I was grinning as he circled around. *Back already?*

*Will go out once more,* he answered. *Please butcher that for me.*

Okay, next into the Tower's kitchen to clean up a bit more there and work on gutting, draining, skinning, and preserving what I could of the meat... I really hoped there was still salt available.

Gavin somehow became aware of me rummaging around in his former kitchen for tools and joined me, cutting down on the time it took me to find those things. Sarilis really hadn't changed very much in this particular location. Fortunate for us.

"Ready when you are," he told me, wanting to be the one to harvest the organs. No surprise. He also made sectioning the boar's meat, I was almost envious of Gavin's unerringly hand, finding those hidden joints after I'd skinned it.

"Is it stupid to say I'm nervous and don't know what to ask?" I muttered on the upcoming meeting. "You made it sound like such a formal audience."

He didn't answer my question directly. "You have trusted your instincts this long, I see no reason you will stop now."

"So you don't know what she wants to say?"

"Not until she says it."

"Is it just 'thank you'?"

He shrugged and finished removing the haunch. Just this one animal was going to take a while to cure, but we would simultaneously make fresh stew as well. We would have to wait on the roots and autumn selections from Jael and Gaelan to make it a bit more than just meat and water. My stomach rumbled again thinking about it.

"So how do you feel being back here cooking in the kitchen?" I asked. "You're so different now."

I half-expected another shrug or succinct response, but Gavin did pause using his butcher's knife and looked around the spacious, exceedingly useful room. He gave it some thought.

"Not that much different. Less time wasted on bitter memory, perhaps. I am no longer being shoved to the side, more ideas and thoughts come to me. As if the Tower itself wishes to collaborate with me."

I narrowed my eyes. "That has nothing to do with the kitchen."

"You know working with your hands can put other things in focus."

"Well. Okay, point."

He was silent, separating muscle and connective tissue with skill and clear practice.

"So what kind of ideas?" I asked.

"Something to help you against Lolth," was all he'd say.

He just grunted at me after that point, no matter what I asked him.

The next catch that Mourn brought back late in the morning was an entire string of large, fat ducks. Six of them. I can only imagine the aerial battle necessary to collect that many. We would be plucking feathers for a while, and between those, their bones, the boar's hide, and everything else... We had several ready uses for them beyond anything to eat.

"Nice," Jael said with enthusiastic approval after she and Gaelan returned with what we'd collected last week, and Mourn smiled affectionately at her.

She was right. We had a pretty well-stocked kitchen for now, and soon a fresh stream of water just outside. Conditions were rapidly becoming livable at the Tower, in spite of its new Master needing very little of it for himself. That was okay, I was already eating most of his shares anyway.

"Have you heard back from Tamuril yet?" Mourn asked me, and I shook my head no. "Very well. We can set a chill spell on these for now if you want to consult with Nyx."

I nodded. "Anything you want me to ask?"

Mourn shook his head. "Not my place. It is your bargain completed, Sirana. Enjoy the satisfaction, at the very least, and the affirmation of an ally at the most."

I'd try, but that wasn't in my lifelong habit. Bargains were rarely clean back in the Underdark; completing one without discovering a fatal flaw held satisfaction in the sense of victory over another in a competition, but that hardly ever meant one had a sure ally because of it, especially when they were so much more powerful than you. It was like nabbing that promised knowledge or magic item and managing to step back and be forgotten before the Matron or Priestess decided that they wanted it back.

Not the best attitude to take with the Grey Maiden, I knew, given everything that had happened thus far, but I had really helped to strengthen her power here simply by taking a liking to her pious, studious son. 

Because of our alliance, she had Deshi and Shunraeki, and now the Tower as well; contact had been made with Musanlo himself, with lighter but undeniable hints of Soraveri just the gold sparkles coming out of my belly and my breath. Maybe in exchange she had offered Ada up as a protector for Ta'suil as he slept, and helped return Gaelan to me as well. Two for two.

So now what? Maybe that was my only question. What came next? What about the Dark Sister? That was Krithannia's question, but it should also be mine. Difficult as it was for me to look at any extremely powerful female as an ally rather than a queen of sorts, and as impossible as it might be to actually *plan* anything with her, given the fundamental difference in our perceptions, our very existence... She still offered herself as a resource.

Alright, then.

I nodded, cleaning off my hands. "Let's go upstairs, then. I'm ready."

******

I had known that Gavin had a few things for Vesram to do while we worked and waited which were necromancy-related, and truthfully I was relieved to have the mental break. The Draegloth was staying away after the unintentional mindlink in the early morning and I haven't decided what to do about it, if anything. I supposed I had to talk to him soon, work out again where we stood, but he wasn't only waiting on me to do so.

In the meantime, he did not question any chore Gavin suggested that would help him out and even seemed more at ease around this type of magical component, treating them with respect and keeping his curiosity and any inborn demonic mischief to a minimum. Still lots of sniffing, though, I was told.

Vesram was in the lab when I got there, scrubbing what seemed an oddly specific set of bones in a mildly tangy solution. All of them were caked in black soil and mud but were in the process of becoming nearly pure white. As far as I knew it would be me, Gavin, Mourn, and potentially Vesram. I wasn't going to insist that he go and left that as Gavin's call; it was his room. For the time being, the Deathwalker let him stay.

I did not delay anything by asking questions this time but let my grey mage select the items he would need for the ritual and prepare his ritual space. He did give a specific instruction to Vesram as he set down an unidentifiable, hard lump of black on the floor between the circular room's wall and the dead center of the circle.

"Do not approach beyond this point and do not leave the room," Gavin told the Draegloth. "You may continue scrubbing or do nothing but watch, it will not matter. Only leave the guardianship of Sirana to the Dragonblood this time and do not disrupt me."

Vesram nodded while avoiding eye contact with Mourn, though he did glance at me before going back to the black bones. I would have wanted something to hold my attention, too.

"Sit," Gavin invited me. Right down upon the bare floor near the center of the room.

I sighed softly with a wry smile— what else could one expect for a monk?— and sat down cross-legged. I fully expected to be encased in a ritual circle somehow, but this was not the case. Maybe the room itself served as the circle? It was quite simple this time; Gavin collected his kit of fine tools, a few pouches, a small bowl, a squat candleholder, and himself and sat down facing me.

The room is heavily shadowed in places, as the only light source was the natural daylight coming through three windows left open. It was still more than bright enough to see everything as we got started without any pomp.

Gavin unrolled his toolkit and removed a delicately thin bone needle, holding it between long fingers as he reached out with his free hand. "Remove your glove and give me your hand."

*Here we go.*

I took off my glove and held my hand out, as usual a bit distracted by the cooler temperature of Gavin's dry, rough skin. We didn't make direct contact like this often at all so I was highly aware of the touching.

Gavin placed the point of the needle on the pad of my middle finger and jabbed it deeply. My hand jerked in reflex but he held me tightly.

"Ow," I muttered, watching as he squeezed several thick drops of my blood into the bowl. 

He ignored my complaint, as he should because I genuinely was glad he didn't need the same amount of blood from me that he got from Shunraeki. His icy eyes were focused on the fluid and the bowl. He seemed to be counting. *...seven, eight, nine—*

Then he easily exchanged the needle for a small, absorbent square of cloth that he pressed to my finger, curling it up and releasing my hand. He was done with that part and I rested my hand with the throbbing finger lightly against my chest, keeping it elevated.

I tried not to grimace when Gavin picked up the scalpel; I knew what was coming. He slit his wrist with no hesitation and a depth that always pulled a flinch from me in watching, adding a lot more of his own black ichor to the bowl. He stirred the mix, though strangely our bloods did not truly integrate. I could see fine, thin lines of red creating a swirl pattern amid the black. 

Next Gavin reached for a pre-cut line of string, his wrist wound already closing. He dipped the string in the mix and chanted in the Grey tongue.

"Algonishhh trenyulli'ff'reannah..."

It definitely grew colder in here, his spell seeming to draw in any ambient heat and using it as part of the recipe. He continued chanting, and as he withdrew the string, pulling it upward out of the bowl, I watched the fluid congeal around it, drawing in every drop until the bowl was dry. Gavin now held by the wick a black candle with red swirls.

"This candle is for your protection," he told me, wedging it into the squat candle holder so it would remain upright. "It can be seen both here and there. Once lit, it shall mark the time you have remaining. If anything should happen, or you decide to end your consultation early, simply extinguish the flame." Gavin looked toward Mourn. "Similarly if you grow concerned enough, you can extinguish the candle in this realm and she will be brought back."

I had to look at Mourn's expression then; he looked satisfied and gave Gavin an appreciative nod. He had no questions, just stood at attention.

One thing Gavin removed from one of the flatter, longer pouches was a black crow's feather. It immediately brought to my mind the form in which I had last seen Nyx, and the stress I'd experienced in fighting to keep Gaelan's essence from floating away. I wondered if that was how I would see the Grey Maiden again?

"Hold still," he said. "Close your eyes if you cannot."

Well, any Red Sister who couldn't hold still when needed wasn't worth her leather. I partly lowered my eyes to focus more on my posture but kept them open as Gavin traced signs over me with the feather. 

He was not physically marking me nor did I feel the feather itself any place other than around my face and neck and hands, but I could detect the cold traces of his magic surrounding me like a shroud even through my worn, black uniform. Somehow I felt more still, if that made any sense to me, and even a little heavier in a way that had nothing to do with my distended belly.

I was pretty relaxed when Gavin set the feather aside and next brought up flint, steel, and some tinder, efficiently striking a fresh flame, blowing on it gently within his hands before setting it down on the stone and adding more kindling. Rather than build the fire any further, however, he handed me a very thin and very dry stick about as long as my hand. My sensitive nose could detect some kind of extract oil on it.

"Light the incense, then with it light the candle," he instructed. "Quickly before the flame dies."

I nodded and lit the incense and then the candle as he said... and was surprised at how little anything seemed to change after long, quiet moments. The black and red candle had a blue flame, which was interesting, but I wasn't sure what more I had expected to happen. 

My ears first noticed the lack of any sound at all, however, and it was then I realized I was no longer in the Tower room. The transition had been smooth and seamless, the circular walls has simply vanished along with the windows and I flinched at my own abrupt realization.




Surfacing Ch. 31



Alright, I admitted it. It was quite different. Something had definitely changed.

The ceiling was gone, the sky was overcast, and while a soft light permeated the clouds I could detect no Sun nor Moon for certain to be the source. Gavin was gone, and I sat on a small island of stone and dirt in the midst of a calm Lake of blue. 

Unlike when I had intruded on the meeting between Gavin and Willven after all of us had gone into the sacred pool at Manalar, here was no slap of water against stone, no wind, and absolutely no sound of crashing waves. Picking up the candle in its holder, so that I didn't knock it over and extinguish it prematurely, I stood up to turn around, noting how small this bit of land was. In the distance other islands seemed to be floating, shrouded in a gray fog. I carefully edged to look where the water met my little bit of land.

I was almost sorry that I had looked. I could discern no bottom, but that actually wasn't what got to me. Any deep water obscured its floor. No, it was that the island simply stopped at the water's edge, there was no shore extending outward to connect to an implied underwater floor. The land somehow floated upon the surface of the water, and I could have no assurance there even was a bottom of the Lake to be sought.

Raising the candlelight over the water and keeping a firm hold, I saw no creatures in the water either, nothing swimming. After a moment I thought I saw a pale face or a limb, as if a body may be floating under the surface with no scavengers to eat it.

*Fuck!* I thought, stepping back from the shore as my heart jumped and I waited for the body to surface.

It didn't, and when I took that careful step forward again, I saw nothing, as if it was just an illusion. 

The candle itself did not drip onto my hand; it burned slow and clean—but it was still burning. Gavin had said it marked my time here. What was I supposed to do? Where was I, anyway? It wasn't bitterly cold, but there was a palpable chill in the air. Was this some distant place on Miurag, quiet and otherworldly like the sacred grove, or something close to the red sands? Or was it a place in the Greylands?

"No, child. We are somewhere private."

I jumped and spun around, the blue flame flickering with my movement.

"Oh," I breathed. "Nyx."

The Grey Maiden stood near the island's center, once again in the form of a cracked-mask Woman shrouded in tattered robes, as I had first seen her. That was somewhat of a relief, I realized, as the Crow Woman's voice would have been absolutely nerve-racking in this supernatural stillness. The voice coming from the eyeless, emoting, bone-white face had been barely more than a whisper.

"Wh...where are we, then?"

She tilted her head slowly to one side, appearing to be studying me even as she had no gaze. 

"We are tucked to the side of the journey to the crossroads. We are in a place that never quite broke away, flotsam in the aether of creation. Many such places come into being and vanish, not to be found again." She indicated the candle I held, made of Gavin's and my blood. "That candle will burn faster than you think."

I blinked. Implying there was a connection between the two: the candle and the island? Or was she suggesting that I speak first? Wasn't she the one who requested my presence?

"I am glad the Ice Lord welcomes your influence at the crossroads," I said with a bow of my head. "We were not prepared for him, if he had decided to challenge you for it. Did you not see the possibility in order to warn your Deathwalker?"

Nyx smiled a little bit. "Sarilis was a leering gargoyle placed at the back door to dissuade others from wandering. That was the Ice Lord's intent. No warning was needed."

One corner of my mouth tightened but I let that go. "Who is he?"

Now she tilted her head in the other direction. "Ally and antagonist. Visitor and native. Guardian and challenger."

I pressed my lips together. "Alright. How does that compare with the Tilabil? Lethrix implied there was some competition between them. So did Indrath himself."

"They are the same," she said, not really surprising me if I was honest.

I sighed and let that go. It wasn't like this Greylord was known for giving only straight answers. I had been lucky enough so far.

"Forgive me for leading the conversation with this," I said. "I have accepted your invitation and now stand in your audience, Grey Lady. I am ready to ask your purpose, however you will reveal it to me."

The Greylord nodded once and set to her task, though if I had expected more talk, even a simple and clear "thank you" or "ask me for a boon," as Gavin had implied, I didn't get it.

She stepped as close to me as she had been when the Crow Woman was feeding Graul's soul shard to Gaelan, but now I had no crying, writhing body to hold between us and use to distract myself. If I have been able to see any aura clearly right then, Nyx's and mine would be overlapping. I expected the chill I felt, which in her case was really just a lack of body heat such as I was used to, and shored up my nerves to remain still where I was. Backing up would only send me stumbling into that lifeless Nowhere Lake, anyway.

We were of a similar height, she was just a few fingerwidths taller but not towering over me like Gavin did. I both expected and saw—very close to my face—a black beetle once again crawl out of her eye socket onto her flawless cheek. She reached up to pluck it away and hold it between us on an upturned, flat palm.

"Summon your spiders," she said, "those two that remain. Allow them to attack the scarab."

Were they with me...? I could hear my own heartbeat as I slowly tugged at the pouch on my belt with my free hand, loosening it up enough for the two guardian spiders to come out. They climbed onto my hand.

"Attacking death seems a foolish thing to do," I commented, an obvious show of concern at the instruction as the spiders got their bearings on my bracer.

Nyx smiled slightly, as if just acknowledging the jest but nothing more. She waited, her smooth palm still holding her beetle. 

My eyes flicked to my babies, and I hadn't even given them the command when they scurried immediately to lunge at the scarab, and I watched them worked together to try and turn it over onto its back, biting at the head but not wasting their time with the armored body. Some webbing came out to hinder its kicking legs but it never really tried to run away.

Nyx pulled all three small creatures away from me and allowed my spiders to feed within her palm as she kept it open. Just as I confirmed that my guardians weren't shriveling up before my eyes, she spoke once again.

"The methods by which you recognize family are many," her voice that rasping whisper again. "Which is the one you trust most?"

At first those seemed oddly straightforward, a statement and a related question. Then I realized I had no hint of just what she meant by "family." Recognizing them. Did I recognize family at all, particularly those who shared blood, or was it just those I was told were my family as a child in House Thalluen? I hadn't trusted any of them; I hadn't even liked them.

Yet I had memories, experiences of realizing that perhaps I knew or understood someone else, someone in front of me but not of my blood. I could even be glad to see them, after recognizing them, trusting at the very least the instinct that they were somehow interesting to me. They were those at Court, within the Sisterhood, from the Sanctuary...

And quite a few on the Surface.

I shook my head once, a bit helpless. "When I...know. I trust that, I trust myself that I know when they answer something unspoken."

Nyx somehow looked pleased—without eyes, and barely moving her face, she looked pleased. "Is it in the eyes?"

"It can be," I said. "It can be in the words, too. Or the body."

A slight nod. "The scent?"

"That's confirmation. I have to get much closer, or allow them closer, to smell."

Nyx stepped that bit closer; I leaned back slightly but did not take that step toward the water. I noted that the candle was half burned down already.

"And the taste," she said, "it is confirmation as well."

I nodded. "Definitely."

"What scent do you have now, Sirana?"

I blinked. What?

"Do not decide," she nudged. "Simply answer."

"I-I...Gavin, I believe."

"Why?"

"Because he's always channeling your presence. I can't really be this close to you, it is always through him."

"Good. Now stop talking, Sirana. What do you taste?"

I closed my mouth and tried not to think. Just taste. Taste and smell. Whatever I had heard or seen, I already knew. We weren't going to touch. I looked up briefly toward the overcast and closed my eyes, willing my mind to be both as empty and as bright as that.

What I tasted was...crystalline.

No color. Not even grey.

"I will answer you one question as your boon," she whispered.

What had come to me had me shivering, and I exhaled in gratitude. I tried to speak then but the words wouldn't seem to come. I began a few times and stopped after one or two ill-chosen words. Right now, words felt so clunky.

I had to think my question to convey it. *Why did you accept to be Steward of the Winter Throne of Miurag, but not Queen?*

Nyx's smile was tinged with some sad emotion; I could tell even without the eyes. She answered me clear.

*Because a mother might wish to keep one room in a childhood home cared for and timeless, in case her child can one day come back to claim it.*

Somehow I stayed standing after tasting that Truth; had I a true body right then, I might have collapsed and rolled off the edge of the earth. It wasn't even complicated; there was no one involved here that I didn't already know about, yet I was stunned motionless.

After the Broken One needed to be contained, they had asked its creator...its "mother"...to fill the gap it left behind. Family once, family again. I did not know how many Greylords had ever created anything wholly separate and self-sustaining from themselves, given the nexus at best merely "borrowed" all life and energy as it passed through and they constantly fought over that. 

The Grave Mother had felt the desire to create at some distant point in time. She must have. This world, my world, was born the way it was because of it. She had borne a child of pure thought, untethered, completely free in a way none of Nyx's servants were, and she released it to find its own way. Even with her eyes, she might not have seen it being pulled into a living world along with Miurag's Brother and the Sisters...

But that was why Nyx was here now. Why she even cared whether or not this world died prematurely. She knew family.

I swallowed. Musanlo was so much younger than her. How tolerant she'd been thus far of his...his growing pains, of how he's treated her. But then, with the Broken One in their shared past, how could she lay blame on anyone, exactly?

Was...was this the type of Truths Gavin saw sometimes when he communed with her? No wonder he had changed so rapidly since I'd met him.

While I was still, Nyx stretched out her hand to me and my spiders had finished their meal. They jumped from her palm to my shoulder, leaving behind the husk of the scarab, which she closed in her hand, crushing it but not dropping the remains. My babies were content, I could tell, their bellies full. They would not be hungry again for quite some time.

*Lolth wishes to claim the Winter Throne,* Nyx said, gently touching my mind.

"She can't have it," I replied aloud. Then I swallowed and stopped talking. My eyes flicked to the candle again. Three-quarters gone.

The Greylord nodded, approving, and continued. *She is the first, among many others seeking, to find one of those paths leading to Musanlo's family. She has found my child accessible to her at last. In you.*

Uh-oh.

Although my own stomach wasn't calm hearing this, I could not really tell if the Grave Mother was upset about this, if she was warning me, resistant to let me return... None of those emotions seemed to be there. She seemed only to be stating something she has seen within the void of her eyes.

*The brothers answering the Sisters hold something Miurag would see returned to it," she said cryptically, "though that is for the betterment of a garden yet to be. Retrieve them if you will, bring them to the Surface as the Godblood wishes, but they will not be safe anywhere near you as long as Lolth still has her High Priestess searching inside the Broken One's tomb. For you, the Spider Queen may well be tempted to send many more demons creeping again to the light, as she has not done in millennia after your race took over the Dragon's View of the Tomb. They all see it now: the stone has cracked, the seal has shifted.*

*They all see it? Who was 'they'?*

Abruptly, I saw Shyntre's angry, frightened face again. *All of them, Sirana. All of us! The Valsharess, Auranka, the Priestesses, Phaelous, D'Shea, the Prime and the Red Sisters, the Illithids, that fucking Dragon, and me! *

Of those who might actually sense anything of the Broken One, I would alter that list to just Lolth, Lethrix, Ishuna, the Elder Mind...and...?

*As long as Lolth has her High Priestess?*

Nyx nodded confirmation, saying nothing.

Shyntre hadn't mentioned Roshenthanon, the formal "High Priestess" at present, whom Wilsirathon had been planning to supplant to take that title. But that title didn't mean anything to Shyntre right then; she was just lumped in with "the Priestesses." I'd always thought that temporary and swiftly-shifting position had been something just to appease the Priesthood since the Sisterhood had a Prime. High Priestess, yes, whatever.

But my wizard had mentioned Auranka by name. If the High Priestess wasn't the Valsharess, and if it wasn't the forgettable Roshenthanon...

Nyx smiled, again looking pleased. *Be careful you do not look too long into the Abyss, my child. Its gaze can swallow you just as easily as the mouths of its denizens.*

Now I felt every moment of this lack of heat as my fingers ached with the cold clutching to the candle, which was at this point almost nothing more than a puddle of black blood with a tiny blue flame trying not to drown on the short wick. My spiders hurried into the relative warmth of their pouch.

*I see,* I spoke to her, bowing my head as it felt heavy. *I see, and I hear you.*

Nyx nodded. *My Grey Priest will always help you as he can, my child. He has recognized you as family for much of your journey.*

Then the Greylord leaned forward, forming her mouth into a small "o," blowing out the last of the blue flame.

Everything went dark.

*******

"She made it," I heard Gavin say before I had managed even to open my eyes. "You may touch her now."

Fuck, my ass was sore, my legs nearly asleep. If Mourn wanted to draw me close and warm me, he was going to have to do most of the work. The most I could do was hold onto his shoulders as he dragged me backward a bit, allowing me to stretch out again. I was cold again and Mourn was almost burning up. The contrast was bone-melting and I inhaled deeply of the scent at his neck, centering myself that much more quickly back in my true body.

"Is all well?" he asked, and I paused to consider before I nodded.

"I trust that you will consider," Gavin said as he was cleaning up the items of his floor, "whether anything that was said to you is best shared, or not, before speaking it," 

"Did you hear any of it?" I croaked.

"No. This audience was for you alone."

I nodded. The Grey Maiden had said that little island had been private. I lightly touched my pouch, feeling my spiders move and confirming they were well enough sight unseen. They couldn't tell me if they "remembered" seeing anything or doing anything strange, like eating scarab that crawled out of Nyx's eye, but at least they weren't stressed. I considered, as Gavin had suggested.

"There is one thing that is best shared right away."

None of the three males present asked me what it was, but they were all paying attention. 

I turned my head to look at Vesram. "You want to see the Priesthood destroyed, right? The Drae-goet freed."

The half-blood blinked his yellow eyes at me and nodded carefully.

"You realize that if we succeeded in that, we would cripple Lolth's connection to Miurag."

Vesram tilted his head, drawing back his black lips to expose a few fangs. "Rrrealize, yess."

"Cripple, but not cut off entirely," I said. "To do that, we also need to destroy her High Priestess."

"The Valsharess?" Gavin suggested.

"I'd always thought so, but no. The Drider Mistress, Auranka."

The Draegloth rumbled in his throat, sounding concerned - as he well should be - and I heard the Dragonblood's tail sliding along the stone behind us. 

Turning my head, I looked directly at Mourn. "I asked you something once before, but you never answered."

"What did you ask?" he prompted.

"I asked you whether your... concern with the Valsharess and her City was your idea, or your sire's? She never did anything to you, from what you've told us. You were born outside the City, you grew up, you escaped and came to the Surface. What is the reason for your interest in my City, and specifically my queen?"

Mourn blinked slowly. "My sire may not cull legitimate divine links to other planes at his whim. No To'vah can."

That was a giant, leading statement with a big piece missing. 

I narrowed my eyes. "But you can."

The Guild Leader smiled at me, fully. He looked predatory. "I can. If I survive long enough to try."

"That is what your sire has fucking wanted from the start!" I accused.

He was unapologetic. "Now...or later, yes."

"Why you wanted to bargain with me for details about the City. He gave you the task and you had to start somewhere."

"Correct." He held me a little closer, sliding a very warm hand down my back. "And the opportunity came to me better than I could have imagined."

I glared at him. No jesting. Lethrix could probably barely contain himself when he got that close look at Jael in addition to taunting me, teasing me to come back to the Underdark.

"Do you owe him this?" I asked. "What does he have over you?"

Now Mourn did not look quite as open about the details, but at least he nodded and said, "This is the only objective I have remaining from him."

"What objective? Say it aloud."

He was ready to talk or he wouldn't look so amused. "Challenge Lolth's High Priestess. See how strong the Spider Queen's connection to 'her people' really is. Like you, I assumed it to be the Valsharess, since she is the reason the Baenar went underground."

I nodded, feeling somewhat better having some straight answers about his motives. "And this is the last objective, you said. Implying you had others before."

"A few."

"Why follow them?"

"Why did you follow objectives given by your Elder D'Shea as a Red Sister? Why will you still, if she can convince you to try?"

Point.

"Because I'd learn something from an Elder to help me survive," I said.

"Exactly."

That fucking Dragon, indeed, and the Deathwalker was pondering something deeply when I looked at him. I could tell.

"What do you want to ask me, Gavin?"

He nodded slightly at me, choosing his words. "Can you say why your own mission has suddenly solidified into something no small bit grander than to retrieve Auslan and Shyntre and evade the Illithids long enough to return to the Surface?"

I found I could not answer immediately, but nonetheless I answered. 

"Yes. What Nyx showed me..." I swallowed, feeling that sober weight again. This was also necessary to share. "Auslan...the Life Priest, he won't be safe even coming to the Surface if Auranka and the Valsharess live, and neither will our son if he's born. Not ever."




Surfacing Ch. 31



"Lolth's servants will come after them?" Gavin asked.

I licked my lips. "Eventually. But first they'll come after me, either down below or up top. If they catch me, then I will go after Auslan and our son. And neither of them will be able to hide from me as they can from Lolth."

Mourn tensed and growled. "Lolth wants you as a hunter-servant?"

"More. Lolth wants me as a replacement for Auranka," I said. "Because of my psionics."

"Ah, yes," Gavin murmured, contemplative. "The next High Priestess of Lolth on Miurag. Of course, this makes sense. The Spider Queen is a goddess of the Elves, and one of her Elves is now a link to the Broken One. The Fourth Throne. She could become a Goddess-Queen in truth."

I heard Mourn's tail slithering again. "Hmm. And an Elder Mind nearest to the City has learned of Sirana and has not decided what to do about her. No wonder the Illithids will...protest this, when Valsharess tries."

To put it mildly. I also had my confirmation that Mourn had heard Rennyn's tale for the birth of the world as well, and Gavin knew much more than he'd ever said.

"Desstroy it all," Vesram murmured, almost too quiet for any but Elf-ears to hear.

Mourn nodded in agreement. "The ultimate goal is still to bring the Consort up to join the Godblood's quest if at all possible... But the priority, the first objective, if they are to have any hope of not being harried by Lolth's agents and others they tell every step away, is not merely to cripple but to destroy Lolth's power on Miurag."

"That includes destroying me, if they succeed in getting me," I said, staring at my round belly and imagining for one vivid moment becoming a Drider.

"They won't succeed," Mourn said with a finality I ignored.

"Just promise you'll make it quick, To'vah. I don't want to exist like that."

The Dragonblood snarled at me. Then forced me to look up and kissed me. I had no idea if that was a promise or not.

"What will be put in Lolth's place?" Gavin asked, ignoring the abrupt display of affection. "The Sisters are only now being vaguely remembered. Not even Manalar has had a chance to fully embrace the Grey Maiden, let alone their oldest Goddesses. Most likely another believer of Lolth will simply step forward and rekindle worship among the populace."

Mourn shook his head. "That is where my sire can help. It would take time for Lolth to make contact again and he would not make it easy for her. Likely not in this generation of Drow. She will try but my sire would be there to block her. He would also be free to hunt down stray Draegloth elsewhere in the Underdark, if he desired."

"So there's no one else, so we can all worship the Dragon instead?" I could not help but say. "He'd love that, wouldn't he?"

"To rule is not a Guardian's fundamental desire, Sirana."

"Then what is?"

"To guard."

"Pfft! Obviously. And be appreciated."

"On occasion. It is likely Lethrix has already located a Drow of some power who has no loyalty to Lolth. He will tap her to fill the void."

"Or him."

"Tapping a male leader would be too large a change, too quickly. Lethrix will select a female, Sirana."

I hadn't stopped glaring at the thought of Lethrix taking over. "Where is it his right to select one at all?"

Mourn shrugged, pausing to think how to explain. "Where the Drow chose to live, Sirana. You are in his territory. He was there long before Ishuna and Lolth led them below, and if the Spider Goddess is shut out by the will of Miurag's natives, then it is his responsibility to shore up the borders to keep her out."

"Lethrix hasn't enjoyed sharing the space with Lolth," Gavin said, "if he helped create you to go against her on his behalf."

Mourn shrugged. "He shares space with all the Underdark and listens to the heartbeat at the core of the world. That is where I can't see as far as my sire can and I would not suggest to know his mind beyond a certain point. I'm sure you understand, Death Priest."

Gavin nodded easily enough, and I even had a solid example why the Deathwalker would indeed understand. How far Nyx seemed able to see was mind-wringing. She had said that Lethrix and Lolth could both see something shifting down there, a seal broken.  

Something to do with both the "Dragon's View of the Tomb," which had to be the big cavern in which the City existed, and the Broken One. The more I thought on it, the more I figured this probably had more to do with it than the Dragon simply not wanting Lolth to be worshipped in the Underdark. 

Otherwise the To'vah might have moved a few pieces on the board a bit sooner.

I pressed my lips, feeling almost back to normal—if hungry again—and sitting comfortably in Mourn's lap, less angry now. Instead, I was curious. "Was there a Dragon in the desert when we lived there, too?"

The hybrid nodded. "There is."

"Is it a red Dragon, by chance?"

"Fire-orange. Where Brom's people got the firebird symbol they used."

The Phoenix, the sorcerer had called it. The symbol on his ring, the one that Ishuna would recognize and had told Elder Rausery to be on the watch.

I smiled without showing my teeth. "Mm. Does everyone have their own To'vah looking out for their little corner of Miurag?"

Mourn's tone lightened, hearing my own appreciation. "They do. Whether they know it or not."

*******

All of us except for Gavin eventually returned to the kitchen or in the rooms just adjoining, as we waited for the Druid to come back. There was actually quite a bit of work to do after a successful hunt.

"I will remain here," my Deathwalker said a bit cryptically. "I have something I must work on."

He had mentioned already that he was considering ways to help me against Lolth. He had said that even before I spoke with Nyx and she had shown me what would be necessary, and why, and assured me that Gavin would always help me if he could.

It made me feel strange for a moment, even though he wasn't the only one I had met who might provide me with assistance if I asked and not ask for a straining cost in return. I knew Krithannia and Talov were such contacts, as was Captain Isboern, not to mention the Tilabil and the Wilder. But this was part of their nature; they had done it many times before with others. It was nothing new to them but merely an expectation that I myself had to learn how to respect if I wanted to keep them as allies.

Gavin did not come across this same way. He had not done it many times before with others, I was probably his first. For whatever reason I have never asked too much of him than he could give, and perhaps he had followed my lead. 

Beyond that, having insight on a rare, unspoken connection between me, Gavin, and his Matron Greylord... and possibly even with my baby, when I looked back and saw how often Nyx had considered my son whenever magic needed to be done, hinting at the possible best place to give birth even as I'd been on the cusp of losing him...

I just felt strange when Gavin said what he had. It only took a look at Mourn and a chin-nod to Vesram to get all of us to leave Gavin alone. Soon after we met up with Jael and Gaelan who had brought in more water and were sorting out our food supplies. We all got to work, though it wasn't long before the subject of Tamuril came up again.

"I think we should go out and find her," Gaelan said at one point. "At least see what she's up to. She's been gone most of the day."

"Gavin's eyes say she is mostly wandering and meditating," Mourn said. "She has also kept her agreement and has assured me she is not in trouble through the pearl."

"How long ago was that?"

"A few hours but we can give her more time."

"Well, Gaelan's probably got it right," Jael disagreed. "She was there when Tam thought she wasn't in trouble the last time, and the pale one is moody enough, maybe she wants to be chased after in spite of what she said. I get the feeling the Noldor play these games just as much as we do."

"Let's not go that path right now," I broke in. "She regretted what she'd done with the devilbloods. I know it was genuine. She was afraid of having to tell Isboern about this as well, since she seems to only be bringing bad news lately. If Mourn is getting updates through the pearl and Gavin's not concerned with anything Roh or his flyers are seeing, then leave her alone. Do not go tracking her."

"Yes, Lead," Jael said with a sweet, cheeky smile as I glared at her.

Gaelan chuckled but shrugged. "I'll second that. It was inevitable anyway if we'd stayed in the Cloister longer. And the Draegloth already wants to follow you everywhere you go."

Both of them glanced at Vesram, who was crouched by the hearth tending one of two fires currently smoking and drying the meat. The Draegloth blinked at the attention, but proved he was listening as always.

"Ssirranna lead," he murmured, not disagreeing with Gaelan's assessment of him.

I grimaced. "Lead what, exactly?"

"Us, going back underground. When, where, who, why," Jael said with that playful confidence that suited her. Then she looked at Mourn, just as he nodded in apparent agreement with the rest of them. "Though I'll want to hear more on 'how' from him."

Oh, good.

"Seconded," I said with a wry smile as the hybrid looked up. "How many missions have you been on for the Guild, Mourn?"

"On the Surface, with Krithannia and Talov?" He was stretching more meat on a plank as he spoke, his tail relaxed as it waved with his movements, his wings folded as close as he could for the room. "Mm. Two thousand twenty-one. Many more if I count when I belonged to my Aunt."

Gaelan's mouth dropped as she paused plucking a duck. "You don't remember each one?"

Mourn shrugged a bit. "Not on demand while awake. If you were to ask me this moment about my seven hundred and twenty-fifth, I could not tell you. But... yes, I can recall each one, given the time and effort. Many such memories are more alike than not, and I do not always learn anything of value. But I kept myself busy on the Surface and it added up."

To gather a network, to collect and hoard weapons and treasure, to travel and learn all he could of the continent... And one of the first things Mourn told me about himself which had made my own jaw drop was that he remembered the "taste" of every piece of metal in his hoard, so it was dangerous to steal from him and hope he wouldn't notice.

For more than three hundred years, I had no trouble accepting the number.

"So you'll lead us on the 'how'?"

"Given enough intelligence from the rest of you, yes."

We nodded in acceptance, looking at each other with a bit of careful relief. From the pure experience standpoint, he was the ranking assassin and operative among us by enough of a long shot that none of us felt the need to say that aloud. 

I had only recently realized how glad I was that his Dragonblood seemed to keep him from a pressing interest in ruling the Drow—he truly only seemed to want to guard, challenge, or disrupt, which wasn't the same thing as controlling or dominating. I felt that difference whenever we mind-linked, not to mention it was apparent when he was balls deep in either me or Jael, fucking us how we wanted to be fucked, not choosing for us.

Hells, Innathi even could tell this; that was why she wanted him, too.

A bit later, something I had not seen in a while creeped into the kitchen then. It was a severed hand rather like the one I had seen at Brom's Inn and which Gavin had sacrificed to break that black vial remotely. We all straightened up and went silent, staring at it. It possessed nothing, merely stood up on its stump and signed a simple Drow phrase:

*Pale Elf return.*

We exchanged glances.

"Um, thank you?" I said to the creeper.

It crawled away as we finished up whatever we're working on and prepared to step out of the kitchen. We heard Pilla's feathered wings carry her into the main dining hall, though she made no calls to get our attention. Nonetheless if Tamuril was back, we were admittedly anxious to speak with her.

She didn't have a chance to sit down, though she looked tired as she set down a dark, lumpy sack by her chair. She blinked at us. "Oh. Hello."

"Are you all right?" I asked. "How are things at Manalar?"

She smiled a little bit, taking a seat at the dining table as the falcon perched on the back of it. She massaged the back of her neck as if it was stiff. "Overall well, to both. Thank you for asking."

We all took our previous seats, myself next to the Druid, and Vesram crouched closer to the wall like before. I spared a glance that way and signed asking whether he wanted to take a chair; he shook his head in refusal.

I shrugged slightly. *As you wish.*

It was hard to argue with the Draegloth when he always looked so patient and...not content, that was not the word. Nor was it "undeserving," as I might expect from a slave convinced of his lowness, whether by Drow or by Ma'ab. Vesram was already discussing outright rebellion against the Priestesses, he clearly did not feel either content or undeserving as a silent attendant, standing apart until summoned.

Or rather... Vesram wasn't acting this way because he could do nothing else if he tried. That just didn't feel right. I had to accept that he chose it, for whatever reason. It did make things easier with Mourn and Jael, I had to admit, that the Draegloth did not seek conflict with them, and my instincts already honed for detecting—even expecting—alternate motives or plots wasn't being triggered. The Draegloth was always there, and he heard everything. Just as he had back home in the City. Just as he had among the Ma'ab.

Vesram would need to give us as much intelligence as we gave him, or he could not be allowed to live. We would see soon, but right now I needed to focus on Tamuril.

"So what news?"

Tamuril nodded, looking between us while alternately loosening a finger or two in her glove for reseating it with a firm tug. "I made contact from afar, though please do not ask me how."

Jael made a face at that but said nothing. After all, Mourn had ways to keep in touch with Krithannia and Talov from this far, too—they might have something to do with the pearls, but maybe not, and we didn't require him to explain. 

The Druid was nervous; she spoke with a stilted formality I hadn't really heard before. "Willven greets all of you and is elated to hear of our success in claiming this Tower in the name of the Grey Maiden. He was unsettled to hear about the Ice Lord, as this figure is new to him as well."

Mourn nodded; he had that question answered.

Tamuril looked at me. "He was intrigued how much you seemed to learn to speak without voice and to move or apply force to objects with your will. He knew there had to be a teacher, he pressed me on this. You understand why this would be of great concern to him."

I frowned a bit. "So what did you tell him?"

"Under his oath that he would protect the knowledge as he protects anything related to his quest," she assured me, "I told him there was an ancient Elf who had something to do with the recovery of your missing Red Sister as well as your training, and who is opposed to the Ice Lord."

"How are you so sure about that?" Jael asked with arched brow.

Tamuril swallowed. "I heard what he said, Lord Indrath. H-he said Sirana's skill was based in the Dragon legends rather than those of the psions, so I know she received support and guidance for raw talent rather than instruction from an unknown source of his own kind."

Mourn grunted, not terribly pleased but we all needed to accept that things were changing and certain secrets couldn't be kept quite as quiet as before. "I take it this was a relief to him as well."

"It was," Tamuril said, looking to him next. "The only trained psions to whom Willven does not have some connection are those in the Underdark." Slowly her gaze shifted to me again. "I have confirmed for him this is still true, and Willven expressed his admiration for what your teacher was able to do for you, Sirana, when you had such need and refused his help."

I nodded, remembering more the Tilabil with fondness, as it seemed fairly safe to do so. "Can psions find each other over long distances, kind of like how you just spoke with him?"

Tamuril's posture shifted uncomfortably. "If they could...Willven would have known his son had died long before I walked across the land to tell him."

Good point. And awkward. I shifted myself.

"So a 'connection' means something else," Jael filled in for me.

Tamuril nodded, willing to give us this as her eyes flicked toward the stairway and the soft-soled footsteps we all heard coming. "Human psions are...very rare compared Human mages, which are themselves rare. What I mean there is a blood connection somewhere in those few trained groups Willven has found outside his own family. They all have some Paxian traits, and none of them thought it was a good idea to try to gain influence or power over the mundane public, being so few in number."

"Definitely odd for Humans," Gavin said wryly as he walked in to join us. He was either taking a break from his work or his curiosity of what Tamuril would be saying got the better of him.

Tamuril understood the remark but wasn't judging as she tried to explain. "These other groups all had one warning 'dream' in common: draw the wrath of the gods and be destroyed. Or that's how they tried to describe it to Willven. It did not always make sense or be that clear but that was the direction they all went, independently: only to find each other and remain hidden."

"Odd," Jael commented.

Mourn and I glanced at each other. It made sense to me. Of course, I hadn't been born this way so I supposed I never had that shared warning. Or felt that pull. I was drawing a lot of attention from the gods, though.

"Except Isboern himself," my younger Sister continued. "He did exactly that. Drew the attention of a God and he gained influence and power with the 'mundane public.'"

Tamuril pursed her lips. "Yes. Willven answered a call. Something changed for him. He's unlike all the others." The Druid's clear, green eyes slid to me. "Except you. He was quite happy to find you, if he did not make that clear."

"Actually, he did," I said. "I was just less 'happy' to find him."

Gaelan was smiling, amused as she propped her head on her elbow. "Meaning this Human Captain Isboern has more in common with a Drow than his own secret family right now?"

"In a way, I suppose," Tamuril said a bit softly, and I lifted a soft thought when she glanced at me. *Willven...and myself.* 

I blinked. Hm. "Outcasts of exiles, all of us?"

That actually had Mourn and Gavin smiling.

"Astute," the Deathwalker commented. "Few will thank us for altering things as quickly as we must."

"Few will even know," Mourn returned, "or be able to see its scope. We've already met those that will and the challenge has been accepted."

It sure had been.

"So what did Isboern have to say about Sirana?" Jael prodded. "Anything more he can do from this distance? I don't figure he can leave the city at this time."

"Not without leaving the sacred pool and his people crippled and vulnerable, no," the Druid agreed, again looking at me. "He is willing to try a day-long lesson to try and convey how to mask your mind from other telepaths once he and I have recovered from today. It would take both of us, and we would need at least three days' rest before we try. He said he will prepare and anticipate for the third or fourth day. If he senses nothing by the end of the fifth, then he will know you've declined." 

She gently cleared her throat. "Neither of us know how effective this will be against those in the Underdark, and you would need time to recover afterward as well."

"Sounds grueling," I said. "Would I be able to stop and eat?"