| Felanya ordered the Kael'adahn to set their talons to the earth while still a ways from Shivralliah, and trot the last eight kilometers towards the city, stopping in the thin forest to allow the Cleansers to dismount and finish the short distance that remained on foot. It would be idiotic to ride the Beasts all the way to the gates, Felanya had reasoned with Dalnek. Such imprudent action would throw the city - and once word spread, the span of Sharan'akar - into a panic. After all, Beasts from the Rift were all long dead, slain by the Acharya and the now dead Houses years upon years ago. Varesh was the first to dismount, the Kael'adahn made him uneasy. He struggled to control the energies lifting Dharin from the back of the scaled monster. The tail of the Kael'adahn twitched impatiently, its head tilted and turned to watch its brethren with dark, smoldering eyes. The Beast snorted, shifting its limbs as it waited for the pale, fearsome beings to speak the words that meant freedom - at least until they were needed again. The Beast had no capacity to question its master, it knew only that to survive it must follow the commands of those who could erase its existence. Several moments passed until the softer voice spoke the word of temporary freedom, and set conditions for the pack's departure. They were to slowly backtrack, treading carefully until they reached blackened earth again. Once they reached the blighted grounds of Serfahlen, they could take flight once more and return to the rest of the brood. Corridan produced a rope from the folds of his deep black robes, and the hands of the captured Cleansers were bound, and the Cair’leih bonds were removed. It would not be wise, Dalnek had warned, to announce to the world that there was conflict among the Cleansers. If questioned, the Mage was to say that these Cleansers had been rescued from the Blighted Plains, and were bound for their own safety, as it was well known that too much time in the Plains placed a strain on one's mind. The Cleansers were partially led, mostly dragged to the gates of Shivralliah. Mal'aran had begun slipping in and out of consciousness during the brief transit, so Lyahr was ordered to carry her still weeping form to the gates and into the city. Dharin was prodded into awareness, and made to march on his own. Jenya, wild-eyed and silent, moved as he was told and made the Magi uneasy. The ground before the city was soft, covered with wilting grass. The walls surrounding Shivralliah loomed over the heads of the Cleansers, the pale stone glinted in the light of the sun. Corridan smiled as the party passed beneath the massive arch. He mouthed the word "home," not wanting to speak it aloud after the Acharya's warning. Despite the caution, there were still friends he wished to see, one in particular whom he was sure would welcome him without hesitation or questions. Though, if Dalnek got his wish, they would spend as little time as possible in this city. People made him uneasy. The orders from Dalnek were to seek an inn that had room for all eight of them, then to meet with the man Acharya had sent them to find. Acharya had given them few details on who this man was, or why they were to meet him. Their orders had come suddenly, and the Acharya had appeared to speak with Dalnek in person rather than sending a messenger with orders tediously scribed in great detail. Dalnek still had not shared with his companions what exactly those orders had been; yet they had followed his orders on faith before and were still alive. Common folk milled about, shouting brief descriptions of their wares and forcing the group to move slowly. Corridan led, taking in the city he had not visited in a few years, or so his memory told him from time to time. Felanya kept a hand on Dharin's shoulder, guiding the Tracker as Varesh kept him moving. Dalnek had placed a hand on the back of Jenya's neck, ever wary of the Sun-Chylde. Lyahr kept pace behind the two, carrying the weeping Mage and musing on Felanya's claim that his touch and those of Varesh and Dalnek leeched energy. As far as he had observed, the opposite was truer. When touching the skin of a being that did not possess a Jihann, it felt as if energy seeped from him into the person he had touched. Curious, he thought to himself. The eight weaved through the streets of the city, looking for an inn that Corridan claimed to remember frequenting before joining the Magi. He could not remember the name, but swore he was looking for a sign displaying a sinister crow and a knife-wielding ape. The search went on, to the darker, dirtier parts of the city and everyone in the group refused to ask for guidance. In a less than pristine corner of the city, tucked away from the eyes of the wealthier denizens, was the inn of The Raven and the Murderer. For a reason he could not explain, Corridan had been drawn to this place for as long as his hole-riddled memory could tell him; the name had always brought a sadistic grin to his face. The innkeeper, a wisp of a man standing behind a wooden counter, exhibited no surprise as the group poured through his door. The ceiling was low, the rooms were small and the wood used for paneling was rotting away. There was most likely little that would surprise the people that worked in this place. After quickly taking in the condition of the building, and the lack of visitors, Dalnek faked a smirk of respect in the man's direction and asked for rooms. "All eight of us, old man." "And how are you going to pay?" Rancid, ragged breaths whistled in and out of the man's rickety frame. "I don't feel that I need to, actually," he grinned. "But you will give the rooms to us nonetheless, or lose what life is left in that shell you call a body." The innkeeper grumbled. He was too used to such threats for them to mean anything to him, but there were other people here that most likely deserved to live. He produced four keys, pushing them across the scarred surface. "Upstairs. Out of my sight." He ignored the embarrassed nod from the Mage carrying another weeping Mage and set himself to fuming about the arrogance of youth, especially those in power. The eight moved up creaking stairs, which, despite appearances were well put-together. The keys, slightly rusted, had ornate designs along and atop them, each corresponding to a carving on a door. Dalnek randomly distributed keys, but paired up the Cleansers. He would watch Dharin himself, Felanya was to watch the Seer; Varesh would handle Jenya; that left Corridan and Lyahr to the last room. Lyahr set the Seer on her feet, smirking as Felanya let the Mage fall, and began dragging her into the room. The opal-haired Mage's chest shuddered as she sobbed. The door shut behind Felanya, and the rest of the group retreated into their rooms, awaiting Dalnek to inform them as to what was next. After shutting the door, Felanya looked quickly around the room, dropping the Seer's arms, leaving her lying in the floor. In the middle of the wall across from her was a tiny window. There was a small washroom to the left; its door was slightly ajar. She noticed there was only one bed; its covers were slightly askew. A small knee-high cabinet to the right, scarred and scraped, held papers and ink tubes for writing behind its glass doors. The wooden floor had not been swept in some time; a thin layer of dust rested long undisturbed. She stepped over the weeping brat-Mage's body, to the cabinet, her eyes on the window. People milled about in the streets, living their normal lives, gossiping about memories and better times. Memories were important to the masses, for reasons Felanya could no longer fathom. The few memories she possessed, other than a few of her time in Trinlayra, were very unpleasant. All of them were filled with blood and shouting; from time to time she could see a being that reminded her of herself, but with darker, normal hair, weeping. She remembered - vaguely - a life she had led before being taken from the Lariian Fields only days ago. She could recall torture in the Fields, hot irons, but there had been pain before that and a deep blackness. There had been a time that stretched itself out to what seemed like a forever, and before that she could almost remember dying, blood seeping from grievous wounds... but there was something more; a memory she reached for but could never quite touch... She reached for the latch on the cabinet door and was pulled backward. Her left arm was twisted behind her back, something sharp and icy was held to her throat. "Do not scream," a deep, male voice whispered. The speaker was grinning. Felanya took a slow breath, regaining calm. "Raelehn," she whispered, and a tiny shockwave burst from the Jihann in her palm into the stomach of the man who tried to hold her. She turned as the man fell backward, and raised her left hand, prepared to start the Rite of Tarashar - incineration. Her mouth had only begun to form the first words before she stopped herself, crossing her arms and tapping her foot. "Blast you, Sylvae. Get up." The man rose to his feet, still grinning. "You're fast," he said, needlessly dusting himself off. He was tall, and a maroon strip of cloth kept his onyx hair away from his face. His skin was unnatural; it looked as if it should have belonged to someone else, and had been pieced together. His dark brown eyes glittered with amusement as he gave Felanya a quick hug. "Why are you here? Last I heard, Acharya had ordered you over to the Crescent." She spoke of Taes'kenar, the continent that lay past Shordisalen, to the east. Sylvae nodded, looking at the opal-haired Mage that had regained consciousness and awareness. "I finished with my task. Menial work, but I supposed there was a reason he needed me there. Now I see why, you have been having all the fun without me." He snickered as the girl on the floor began gasping and trying to form words. "Look not to me, I haven't any idea what is going on. I am with others," she shrugged. "They feel familiar, but I suppose every Mage does, after a while. Can you pick her up?" Felanya stepped to the door, knowing that Sylvae would most likely do as she asked. There was a respect between the two, as there was between most Magi that spent time in Trinlayra together. She knocked on the door to the right of her own, where she had seen Dharin and Dalnek enter. "Company," she chimed to the Mage on the other side. The door opened, and she edged past Dalnek. It took him an instant to register that the tall, black-haired, dark-eyed Mage holding the Seer was the man he had been sent to meet. He pulled the door open wider, murmured something incomprehensible and went to gather the other Trackers. Felanya had taken a seat on the bed once she saw the look on Dalnek's face. She did not know him well, but she knew that look meant they would be here for a while. Sylvae dropped the Seer on the ground, smirking as her head hit the floor and bounced slightly. The girl let out a slight groan, her eyes still wide. She recognized the Mage standing over her, but could not force out any words. There were not many living people that had frightened her, and fewer still that were supposed to be dead. Sylvae looked to the bound, bleeding form on the other bed. Dharin's lip was split, and a shallow cut on his temple oozed profusely. His breath was shallow, but even as he slept. "Interesting," Sylvae raised an eyebrow. "The Then'kael and the Seer. I wasn't told about him," he mused. Felanya had begun to reply, but the door opened and the other five Cleansers stepped into the relatively tiny room. "Why is he here, Dalnek?" Varesh jutted his chin in Sylvae's direction. He was the big terrible monster the Taer'shal told their children of to scare them into good behavior and utter submission, after the Acharya. His power was not as great as the Seer's - yet. But his cruelty and ruthlessness made up for the short time that would need to pass before he became the Acharya's favourite. Sylvae was the worst of the worst, as far as most people knew, and they only knew what he had done. If they knew his thoughts, his past and what truly made him the Worst, the Acharya would have put him to death immediately after he had been found instead of carefully mending him, giving him new skin. Sylvae ignored the glares from the golden-haired Tracker. He did not know nor did he care what the conflict here was. He had an order that he intended to follow, after a fashion. "I'm here to do my job. You may want to cover their eyes," he gestured to Jenya and Dharin. Lyahr stepped outside, not certain what was next, but certain that he would not want to watch. Corridan whispered a word meaning blindness, and grinned when Jenya's eyes turned deep black. Varesh looked at the unconscious, black-haired Tracker and shrugged. It was not necessary to waste energy blinding one whose eyes were not even open. The Seer began squirming on the ground, weak and incoherent. The opal tears she had shed earlier had dried and made themselves a part of her skin. Sylvae produced the knife that he had held to Felanya's throat earlier, and sat on the whimpering Mage's stomach. "Now, now sister," he grinned. He had not spoken that word in thirteen years. "This won't hurt me a bit." Sylvae chuckled, taunting the writhing girl beneath him. "Open wide, Malan Kenara. I owe you this." He gripped her jaw firmly in one hand, and whispered a few words. Onyx coloured air folded itself, seeping between her lips and prying her mouth open. Dalnek watched as the hued Cair'leih grasped the Mage's tongue and stretched it towards her brother. New tears seeped from Mal'aran's eyes. She was too weak to raise an arm to fight him off. She gurgled and gasped, whining softly as blood filled her mouth. She was being Silenced. |