Excerpts from the Segem Story Arc

[Carillon]

The Krandor house is too small for such a tedious wait. Biding our time until the meeting – two more days! I can scarce believe it as truth – has made the quarters cramped. Sorting beds has been a challenge. Lindel and Merlin and Finn and Aislinn and I are too many house guests to accommodate comfortably. I think the only advantage to the excess people is that Anna's meals seem almost appropriate in scope. Or they would, had she not adjusted her cooking as well. I swear, the woman thinks she is feeding the entire Kuhl army!

Still, I think Connor and Anna are glad to have their boys near them. And I, I am glad of the company as well. Most of the time. Almost all of the time, even. And yet, there are still moments when the house seems entirely too crowded to bear and I long for solitude. Living with anyone for an extended period of time opens one's eyes to the most irksome of their habits, and I have not escaped this unfortunate consequence of cohabitation. There are times when I want to hurl objects and shout obscenities and scream the most loathsome, awful things I can think of at Connor, just to see if I could shatter that calm, cool disposition and finally find out what lies beneath. His self-control is unnatural. I swear to Mist, I have seen golems show more emotion! The only thing that prevents me from doing all this in my moments of weakness is the knowledge that he would look at me with disapproval and disappointment, like a parent scolding a misbehaving child.

And Anna ... gods above, Anna! I know the woman means well, I do. And yet if I have to hear her tell me I look tired and should rest, or that I am looking too thin these days one more time, I swear I will set a fire in her kitchen! It is as if she thinks I don't know how this has worn me down, or how hollow my reflection looks in the glass each morning. She treats me like a child, and I chafe under her stifling and cloying compassion and kindness. Why can she not realize that if I had appetite I would eat, and that if I could reverie without living through nightmares I would rest? And she moves too quietly! It is ridiculous. The woman tiptoes through her own house! I will be trying to think or read a scroll or tome or mixing a potion or practicing an illusion and like an unwanted summons she's suddenly there at my elbow, mug of tea and plate of food in hand.

Those are precisely the moments I find someone to foist Aislin off on, and disappear to walk the shoreline. It is that, or hurl Anna's crockery across the room. The ocean brings me peace, as it has for so many years now. Next to that wide, horizonless expanse of blue, I am nothing. It could swallow me up and leave no trace of me, and remain utterly unchanged by the act. Jacchri once told me he hates the openness of the ocean because there is nowhere to hide, but it may be precisely this that endears it to me. There is nowhere to hide, and nothing I could do to save myself should the sea attempt to claim me. How odd, that I should find that consoling.

[Carillon]

Neither Acacea nor Steel was at the meeting. More surprisingly, neither was the half-orc. Or rather, not the half-orc we expected. It seems “S” isn't working alone, and sent a minion--another half-orc who seems quite loyal and intelligent, though not as cunning as the other one.

He didn't bring the children. I am not certain now whether I expected this or not. I no longer know what to expect, so numb do I feel these days. The deal that he did propose frustrates me: Strike against Dorand's church, and he will watch and judge our efforts. Employ our creativity and full effort, or Lislea will suffer a far worse fate than Rhiannon. It is vague, and I have no idea what he expects of us, but I have to try. We have already begun to plan.

There is only one thing left noting about the meeting, and that is my desire to draw, quarter, dismember or otherwise murder a Rofireinite by the name of Maximilius. Not only did he accuse me of being in league with the half-orcs (I have never seen Anna want to hurt someone as much as when she heard those words from his lips!), he couldn't hold his tongue. Because of him, S's minion has promised that Liam will lose an eye. Having grown accustomed to these half-orcs and the consequences of stupidity in their presence, I have no reason to disbelieve him.

[Carillon]

I do not think any of us were surprised when the letter came from the temple, three days after the meeting. I was in the middle of feeding Aislin, and finished with alacrity. I did not want to be left behind.

Reus bid us welcome at the temple. I think he spoke more to Connor than to me, but it matters not. Rarely have I seen him look so grim. These horrors haunt him too, I think. How many more like this has he likely endured over the years? He ushered us into a private antechamber, and showed us the message.


If I don't make good on my threats, what confidence might you have with my promises?
Save your demands for when you have satisfied mine.
S


Connor's bargaining for “undamaged goods” had, as I knew it would, failed utterly. Whatever else he is, S seems to keep his word. Next to the letter was a little scrap of bloodied flesh. I did not need to look overlong to know it was Liam's eye.

Connor's visage when he saw the eye ... I have never seen his face flush and darken like that. It was like a storm cloud passing over the sun. He took two breaths, and looked steadier for them. I recall him saying something to Reus about Maximilias Pretorius, and his inability to hold his tongue, but the precise words elude me now. Anna ... I dared not even look at Anna. My memory tells me that she fled the temple quickly. If she said anything before she did so, the words left no imprint in my mind. Connor followed her, bearing the note.

And I ... I who had known this would happen and who had had time to prepare myself ... I already had the icy mask in place, and my emotions under control for once. There was no surprise for me—only a possible mistake for S.

I stayed and claimed the eye, and saw it preserved with abjuration as the head had been. When we have nothing left to lose, we will have a means to scry on the child now. And if he kills him ... well, I heard once it takes naught but a scrap of the flesh for a resurrection spell, once the soul is split from the body. I do not know if Liam could endure another raising, but I will try to find meaning in this, and something to be gained from the cruelty.

[Carillon]

The windows were illuminated by candlelight. It was very late, but no one drew the curtains and snuffed the wicks. Inside the house, quiet voices concocted plans, debated strategies, amended lists and plotted. The discussion went on for a long time. Finally, just before dawn broke, a hooded figure slipped out into the street.

~~~

She didn't let the illusion drop until she had rounded three corners and was quite certain she wasn't being followed. Only then did she pause to sift through the folder of documents she had purchased. She smiled, looking them over. Orders for weapons, letters between crafters, a few official looking documents from the Hempstead guards and council ... and the most expensive of her purchases, a book on weaponsmithing, scribed by a follower of Dorand. As she glanced over the pages, she was already looking at the shape of the letters, the degree of slant and height of loops, the size of the script ...

~~~

They haggled, but she had already decided. They were perfect. They looked the part, and they'd keep their mouths shut. They had no loyalty to the church, but she judged that they'd keep their bargain with her. As she listened to a counteroffer, she calculated how many of them she would need and compared the number to the size of the camp. She multiplied it by the last figure she'd heard and added the cost of the costumes and props they'd already acquired. An even ten thousand or so. She liked the number, and before she could stop herself she heard herself saying “Done,” and shaking a  beefy hand.

She pictured the surprise this would engender if they pulled it off right, and her lapse in concentration caused the illusion to shimmer slightly. None of the mercenaries noticed, and she quickly reasserted magical control. The tedious business of payment negotiations done, they quickly worked out the rest of the details. She smiled as she walked away, and dared to hope.

~~~

She stared accusingly down at the page, knowing right away it was all wrong. The link of the last ligature was too long, and the supralinear and infralinear portions were too short. She caught sight of a flourish that had snuck in – her own script sometimes contained them, but in this matter-of-fact dwarven scrawl the small extraneous stroke stood out like a sore thumb. The majuscules were the worst. They always were.

Angrily, she crumpled the sheet of parchment and pitched it off the desk and into a corner. It bounced off another crumpled ball and rolled a few inches before coming to a stop. She was rushing. She wasn't ready to start the freehand practice. And yet she was impatient – they were running out of time!

With a sigh, she lifted a piece of vellum off a thick stack. That had been expensive. Each piece of the animal skin parchment was so thin it was translucent. It was necessary, for what she needed it for. She rubbed her eyes, already strained from the tedious work, then dipped her quill in the ink. With painstaking care, she started at the beginning, carefully tracing the letters, and mimicking their forms ...

[Carillon]

She hovered in the doorway like a spectre, watching the boy sleep as she rocked Aislin back and forth. His nightmares came less frequently now, though they had not disappeared entirely. Her elven eyes cut through the dark and traced the shape of his form. Even in sleep, she could see faint signs of strain on Finn's face, and she mentally amended her label—this was no boy. There was no trace of childhood left in his eyes. Not after they had told him about his sister.

Aislin thrashed a sleepy fist and pressed her hot, sticky cheek against Jaelle's breast. What was it some wit had said? Love was staying up all night with a sick child, or a healthy adult. She murmured words of comfort to her daughter and slipped away from Finn's bed, back to the ewer of water in her own room. Gently, she sponged Aislin's skin with the tepid liquid, assessing the fever. It was breaking, she thought. The baby's beautiful pale skin was less flushed, and she was breathing more easily now. Nonetheless, it wouldn't do to have her take a chill.

She kissed her daughter and lowered her into the cradle. She paused for a few moments, stroking the wood and admiring the detailing. Whatever else one might say about the man, Sallaron knew what he was doing in the field of carpentry. Then, she turned back to the desk, and the neat piles of papers. She picked one up at random and analyzed the text, then set it down again. They were as good as they could be, and she could make them no better. She left the other neat piles undisturbed.

Tomorrow ... tomorrow she'd find someone to watch Aislin. She hoped the fever was entirely gone by then. It was never easy to leave her daughter, but leaving her when she was sick was far more difficult. Nonetheless, they had little choice. They had taken a long time to plan it all out and set it into motion, and she needed to deliver the papers tomorrow or the next day. She wondered who would be watching her do it, and whether they'd be caught. She realized that she wasn't afraid—or at least not enough to hesitate.

Unable to reverie, she wrapped her favourite shawl around her shoulders and settled into a chair beside the cradle. The shawl was a deep crimson silk from Corsain that Oriana had sent a year ago, along with a letter in her beautiful ink-and-brush calligraphy. Jaelle had written back, thanking her for the shawl, and paid her more generously than usual. Her petite, businesslike couturier had been a godsend of a find, and over the years they had also become good friends.

Jaelle closed her eyes. She saw red blood, and a child's dead eyes, and opened them again. She tried to count backwards from a thousand, first in elven and then in common. When that failed, she tried reciting long passages of Runic Sequencing and Surface Enchantments in her mind, willing the jargon to weigh her down enough to rest. Her mind still raced, so she pulled out a folder of papers and sat and studied them in the flickering candlelight. If she could not reverie, she would do something useful. She sat curled in the chair, and chased the slippery, serpentine consonants of the dragon-tongue around in her mouth.

The hour-rings of the candle disappeared, one by one, and the dark sky through the windowpane bleached in anticipation of the coming dawn. Still, she did not sleep.

[Carillon]

It is done, or as near to done as I can make it. There is nothing to do now but wait and be judged, and show up in Leringard on the appointed day. To find what? A living, breathing child, returned to us, or another bloody sight that will haunt me all my days? That will suppose on whether the bastard half-orc is satisfied with our paltry efforts, I suppose.

I thought about going further and doing much more. Someone—I cannot now recall who—argued that a life was a life, and that if the cost of Lissa's freedom was more than one life, it was a bad bargain. I do not agree. Yes, I am hypocritical, but I value some lives far above others. My own life, the lives of my friends, children's lives ... Aislin's life. There is no limit to the number of lives I would end if Aislin's was at stake. And for these four children, I would have razed a temple, murdered priests ... stained my own soul that theirs might continue to inhabit their bodies. The connection between the flesh and the soul is so fragile. I see that now.

But it is too late for second thoughts. We have done what we have done, and I must live with it. We go on, and keep pressing forward, no matter how much it pains us to do so. I pray to Mist that he returns Lissa to us alive and unharmed, but if [strike]all we receive is another bag of bloody scr[/strike] he does not, there is still Liam. I will not throw away Liam's life if we have failed to save Lislea. And perhaps by then, we will have a better chance of success, or know something more.

Anna has uncovered a lead. She made sketches of the two half-orcs we had seen, and traveled the countryside, showing them to locals and passersby alike. It was in Vehl that someone recognized them both. A farmer, come quite a distance to sell his wares. He recognized them as brothers, and knows their mother, a somewhat reclusive woman named Rellak. Apparently there were three of them, fathered upon her when she was taken by force by an orc raider and left for dead. He made a point to note that though she raised them as best she could, she was never the same afterward.

The time until the meeting is too short. We've not time to follow this lead before claiming Lissa, but it won't be forgotten. Perhaps they aren't even the same men. Half-orcs look much alike, and his description of them—quiet, never any trouble, and smart as whips—only fits insomuch as it describes their intelligence. He didn't know their names, either, or even an initial ... though perhaps “S” means something else? The mother will be able to answer better. Perhaps she will even know where they are holding the children.

Aislin is crying to be fed, and in truth there is little else to write.

[Carillon]

The smell of blood hung in the air. It assaulted her nostrils as soon as they turned the corner, and for a moment Jaelle thought she would retch. Normally the scent didn't bother her, but she knew too well whose blood this might be.

When they saw the butcher, she relaxed for a moment, able to rationalize the source of the smell and connect it to the neat sides of meat hung on the iron hooks of his wheeled cart. The moment lasted as long as it took her to notice the watchful demeanor of the man, and the way he scanned the crowd. The second his expression changed as his eyes touched Connor's blue coat and she realized he was waiting for them, all her calm dissipated.

She heard the words he spoke to them, and she didn't. Her mind was already racing as the butcher stepped forward and greeted Connor. Her eyes were on the package in his outstretched hands, the offering ... if questioned later, she would not have been able to say what had passed between them.

Her stomach twisted and she thought seriously about being ill right there on the cobblestones. She could feel the tension in the air. Watched Connor open the box. Heard the deafening drum of her own pulse in her head as he revealed three neat packages of flesh, and the butcher wheeled his cart away, task completed.

She stood and stared, her expression frozen. This was not the time. Later, when they were alone. Later, when her temper would not jeopardize the last living child he had taken. She tried to silently recite the entire scrying ritual that she had been practicing to keep her calm—backwards. It wasn't working.

And then he stepped out from behind a building, laughing at them. “Forgive my little joke, but you should have seen the looks on your faces!” She wanted to punch him. She wanted to kill him. She wanted to unman him. Unable to do any of these things, she ignored him and focused instead on the child beside him.

If it were possible to communicate through one's thoughts alone, Jaelle still believes that she would have done it that day. She worked on making her gaze gentle and reassuring. Everything about her body was meant to calm the frightened girl—her smile, the way she held her hands, the way she held the girl's gaze. She tried very hard not to notice the half-orc's touch on her fair skin, or when he bent his nose to her golden hair and sniffed, as if catching the bouquet of a delicate perfume. She knew he was taunting them. She still wanted to kill him for it.

And then it mattered not at all, for he was letting go and sending her over to them. The terrified seven-year-old fairly flew across the gap between them, and buried her head into Jaelle's skirts, shaking. Jaelle's arms were around her, and her voice whispered in her ear. Dully, she knew that Connor and the monster were still talking, were beginning the dance of bargaining that would secure the life of the youngest boy, or declare it forfeit. Lissa trembled and clung to her, and Jaelle tried to make a shield of her arms, and to block out for the child what the half-orc was saying about the fate that might await the boy, or how he had forced Lissa to cut out Liam's eye herself.

She would snap if she stayed. In a moment's certainty, she knew this. Connor was there, and Anna, and Argali and all the others. Someone would finish the negotiations. She trusted Connor's control far more than she did her own. In a flash, she scooped the little golden child up into her arms. She was seven, and no longer light, but she found the strength. She murmured a meeting place to Connor and saw him nod out of the corner of her eye. She didn't wait for him to reply. She was already turning, carrying the child away from the docks and from the monster she already knew would haunt her nightmares.

[Carillon]

We have done it. I carried her small, fragile body away from the docks and to the Twin Dragons Inn. She was quiet when I first picked her up and carried her out of the half-orc's sight, but she cried afterwards. I think it was when she finally realized that she was safe that her shoulders began to shake and the tears came. As hard as I tried, I could not make out the words that were interspersed with her racking sobs. I do not know that it mattered, though. I just carried her, her arms and legs wound against me, and ignored the stares of those we passed on the streets.

The woman tending the inn that day was kind to me, and found me a quiet place by a hearth to wait. She brought broth and a blanket, and I held Lissa and rocked her like she was no more than a babe Aislin's age. I do not know yet how bad it is, or how bad it will be. If there are nightmares, I do not yet know the precise triggers, or the demons that haunt her sleep, but I will. I will make it my business to know, just as I made it my business to check her over and assure she was in good health. Though ... not all scars are visible. I do not yet understand all that she has endured.

She ate a little broth, but mostly she just seemed exhausted. I thought of getting a room for her, but she did not want to be out of my presence or my arms. And so we sat together by the hearth, the warm wool of the blanket drawn around both our bodies, and waited for Connor and Anna and the others to return. I told her a tale as we waited. Strangely, it was the one that Razeriem had scribed into a book for me while I carried Aislin. It was the only story I could summon to mind. I admit, I cheated a little when I ran out of words—she seemed so tired, but too frightened to rest, so as I rocked her I murmured an incantation and stroked her hair. I soothed her to sleep with my enchantments, her golden head cradled against my shoulder.

I kept her that way, slumbering peacefully, after the others came back. Some wanted to question her, but their questions could and would wait. They told me, in fits and starts, what I had missed, and what the price for Liam was set at. When I heard it, I wanted to laugh—one of those bitter, jaded laughs. A million true. One month. He knows we will fail. He expects it, perhaps counts upon it. I just do not know his purpose. Does he merely want us to know the child's life was laid in our hands, and we let it slip away? Does he truly need the gold, and acts out of desperation? His motivations are still incomprehensible to me.

No one will pay the blood price for him; this I know. Connor sees no way to obtain so much gold, and will not even try to pay him off. Others refuse to pay him out of principle, arguing that it will teach others that this is an effective strategy. That they may merely kidnap a child whenever they want gold, and the heroes of the land will happily pay. I do not know quite what I think. If it were not so much gold and the others so unwilling, I would do it. I would find a way, even if it involved robbing a bank or begging or selling my services to those with the taste for them. It would be easier to give Liam up as a lost cause, I know, but I cannot. I do not know how to willingly fail at this. More frightening, I am unsure how far I would go to save him.

Everyone was talking at once. It is well that the inn was quiet, or we would have attracted many eyes that day. Some wanted to hunt him, and some wanted to track him backwards and retrace their steps to his campsite. Others were suspicious of the closure of the Hall of Dorand and wanted to investigate, and a small group set out for Lyn, or so I heard. I stayed at the inn, holding Lislea in my arms, and thought about the one lead that was not shared: the mother. It says something, that we have become cynical enough to keep such information to ourselves, lest others ruin that chance.

Anna took her from me before we left the inn. I did not want to let go, but I could sense that she needed to hold the child and feel the tangible evidence that she was safe. I gave her up, and went to talk to Connor and the others, detailing plans. Caerwyn wanted me to point out the site of the original camp that we found the children in, and I sketched the route for him on his map. I badly wanted to take Lissa back into my arms as we set out to leave but I did not know how to ask, so I let Anna take her all the way to the house.

When we arrived, I took Lissa to the hearth while Anna and Connor prepared Finn. We hadn't dared tell him everything, though I expect he could read the nervous energy of the household before we left. I woke her as gently as I could, assuring her that she was still safe and with friends. I asked her whether she wanted to see her brother Finn and her eyes widened as she nodded. While we waited for Connor and Anna to bring Finn I made small talk to her—did she want anything to eat, did she know I'd had a baby of my own since we had last seen one another, and did she want to meet her later, was she warm enough ... I cannot even recall it all. It was trivial stuff, meant only to fill the silence and soothe while we waited.

It is heartbreaking, the small details I found myself watching for. To touch lightly when I woke her, not knowing how she had been woken or by whom since she was taken. To specify which brother was safe and waiting, lest she think Liam was here as well. To phrase everything as choice, knowing she likely  had too little of that as of late. Still, to watch them reunite, brother and sister ... I am not a woman much given to displays of emotion, but if I was I should have needed a handkerchief. She took two steps towards him, and he stood waiting. I wonder what Anna and Connor told him? To go slowly and gently, suspecting how much she had endured, I imagine. He stood there, and one didn't need to be talented at reading the language of the body to see how he yearned to go to her. He had grown since she saw him last, and stands on the awkward precipice between childhood and manhood. No longer a boy, but not yet a man. He should have been a boy a few more years, but that was stolen from him along with so much else.

She took two steps, and then flung herself into a run, and he moved forward as well, and she made a sound or cried out like a little sigh as his arms went around her. They held one another for a time, and I slipped away to find Aislin, down for her nap. I do not know what it was about the sight of them clinging to one another that made me long to have my own child in my arms so badly, but I knew I could not deny the urge. When I returned with her, they were huddled by the fire, heads bowed together, talking like ... well, children. Everything from the most trivial—things Anna had made for dinner that Finn had not liked—to the horrific. Things no child should have to endure.

Unobtrusive, I watched them for a long time and listened. I know already that I will have to question her, and that it may not be easy. She may not want to speak of it, or recall in detail her experience, but her younger brother's life may depend on it. Still, it can wait. We are leaving now for the mountains, to question the mother. Perhaps we shall have all the answers we need from Rellak, and Lissa will be spared all inquiry and left to mend. Somehow, I do not think we will be so fortunate.

[Carillon]

She cradled the mug in her hands and listened to Anna talk. It was actually interesting to watch—she'd never seen Anna like this before. The woman teared up when Anna showed her the sketches. She hadn't expected that. Hadn't expected three monsters to have a mother who still loved them, and hadn't seen them in years. She was glad Anna was handling this. She knew that she could not have been so gentle.

Jaelle stared down into her cup, swirling the dregs. Something about the colour and the simple earthenware reminded her of home—or rather that earliest of homes, and her mother's silent presence. The shape of the cup and the wide bottom was just right for a reading. Spurned by a memory floating to the surface of her mind, she drank the liquid down until only a little remained, then took the cup in her left hand and swirled it quickly three times, left to right. Normally she would invert it now, as her mother had taught her, until all the liquid drained away. She was reluctant to draw attention to herself and disturb Anna's questioning of Rellak, though, so she merely inverted it quickly onto the saucer and then righted it and held the cup gently so as not to disturb the pattern of leaves left in it.

Past on the bottom, present on the sides, and future about the rim ... that was the way of it. She glanced up to see if any had noticed her gesture, but Anna and Rellak were deep in conversation, Anna listening sympathetically to some tale of the triplets as boys. Connor was listening too. She tried to listen, but she was too angry. At least she could stop calling them the half-orcs and name them truly after today: Segemek, Vargen and Nestor. She had names to put her curses to now.

Forcing herself to relax again, she turned the cup in her hands, examining the distribution of the leaves. She remembered her mother's explanation, given in graceful hand gestures that didn't quite translate into words: It is important to observe the leaves from all angles. There are many angles from which to view a life, and each must be considered. We must sometimes look at things from all sides before they become clear.  Remember this. The remembered scent of a soup of roots simmering floated through her mind as she found the shapes among the leaves. Good fortune and bad usually balanced each other, or one sign might strengthen another. Sometimes, it behooved one to gloss over an ill-luck reading and focus instead on the signs of coming fortune--especially with paying customers.

She read her own cup, turning it until the meaning was clear. It was not difficult.  The past, at the bottom: an owl, a broken ring, a ship, and a fan. The present, around the sides: a candle, an anchor (slightly obscured), a knife and a mountain. The future, at the rim: a lock ... a forked and wavy line ...was that an hourglass there, by the handle? An eye ... and she caught her breath as she turned the cup and the last sign became clear. A cross, where two leaves overlapped, emphasized by another leaf slightly off to the side.

It was the dominant sign, and the one her eyes were drawn to like a moth to a flame. She stared, and forgot to listen to the conversation around her. The meaning was so clear she wanted to cry, or to drop the cup and watch it shatter and scatter her destiny on the flagstones. An eye for danger, an hourglass and the forked line ... a decision coming, and soon. And the crossed leaves like that ... sacrifice. Suffering. She quickly covered the cup with her hand, hiding the reading. She swallowed hard, and tried to focus on what Rellak was saying, but had to fight back bile. The tea and the divination had left a bitter taste in her mouth.

[Carillon]

We met with Rellak, in her little farmhouse in the Brech Mountains. Anna did all the talking and asked the questions. I was glad of it. It was odd to sit in front of her and drink her tea and listen to her talk of her sons with love. They are monsters, but she sees them only as her boys. We have left open the possibility of bringing her to our next meeting. I believe she could be of use. If nothing else, perhaps her presence would distract the triplets long enough for us to snatch Liam away and be gone.

Rellak told of us the boys. Apparently Segemek was schooled by Aragen's priests and came back to claim his brothers. Rellak never saw them again, nor knows what became of them. She doesn't know what monsters they became, or that they have kidnapped, robbed, murdered ... mayhaps worse.

Connor is gone—checking records at the Aragenite temple. Anna and I are left behind at the house, caring for the children again. Finn and Lissa are well, though there are still nightmares and bad days. I think there will be for a long time still. Aislin is growing too; she grasps at objects, can hold up her head, and is showing as much curiosity as her mother possesses. I fear it will bring her trouble as she grows—and likely to me as well, by proxy. She is still a shy little girl, and often disturbed by loud or dissonant sounds. She adores Nida, who has taken to watching her while I am away. The feeling is clearly mutual. Lissa and Finn have become fond of my familiar as well, though Lissa was rather dubious when they were first introduced.

Of Liam, we have heard nothing. I already know that we will not have the true in time. I have begun to quietly move funds of my own, freeing some up. I found a buyer nearby for a large order of poison, and sold a few scrolls. The poison I sold even more discreetly than usual. I am quite certain Anna would be positively apoplectic, did she know of my penchant for the killing draught. But there is something so elegant about it, or at least the best poisons. The ones that take pains to conceal their nature, and leave no trace of themselves in scent or taste. The ones that you never feel working, until it is far too late. Yes, I enjoy working with poisons, perhaps moreso than I should. Though I do not make a habit of using them myself, there is an artistry to the making, and besides which they are lucrative. I cannot summon up a million true coins, but perhaps I can gather enough for a shallow bluff or to steal a few precious moments.

I have a dark feeling about this. Most believe Liam is lost to us already, I know. I cannot believe this, but if we do not pay for him in coin we will pay another way. I hope we can be clever enough that the cost is not too dear, but I fear if Connor's search bears no fruit that we may end up paying in blood. The only question will be whose blood ... and how much.

[Carillon]

The crash of the waves against the rocks was rhythmic and soothing. Each violent surge sent white spray flying up into the air. She could taste the salt of it on her lips. The wind whipped at her and threatened to steal the ribbon that she had tied into the girl's hair that morning. Lissa was balancing on a rock, peering into the tidepool below.

“Jaelle! Look, a crab!” The child's head snapped up, searching for Jaelle, her face full of wonder. A moment later, more disappointed, “Oh ... he went away again.”

The elven woman moved forward, hopping lightly from one rock to another. They were slick with seaweed under her boots but she was agile here, at the edge of the sea. She had walked this beach many times herself and didn't fear for her balance. Finally, she reached the same rock the girl was crouched low upon, and moved forward to look over her shoulder.

“It's alright, love,” she whispered into the child's ear. “He has gone to hide under the rock there. Be still with me, and we shall see if he will come out again.” Jaelle drew the girl closer then, wrapping her arms around the child's waist and pulling her cloak around the smaller frame to shelter them both before settling onto the rock, Lissa in her lap. When they were both cocooned in the cloak, safe against the wind, she murmured into the girl's ear again: “That is the secret of tide pools—patience and the ability to be still. Let us see if it will show us its secrets, hmm?”

Cuddled together on the rock, the woman and the girl thought very different things. Lissa's eyes searched the tidepool impatiently, wondering where the small crab had disappeared to. Jaelle, however, was thinking of the girl's brother and the days left in a month, swiftly dwindling away. The plan in her mind, half-formed that morning when she had escaped with the child for a walk, solidified. She was sorry, knowing what she would have to ask, but she knew the knowledge was necessary. Still, she could make it as minimally traumatic as possible. But for that, Lissa would have to be relaxed.

As Jaelle was forming her plan in her mind, the wind finally had its way with Lissa's ribbon. The breeze carried the scrap of blue up and out until it disappeared into the surf. Lissa made a distressed sound as she caught sight of the fabric snaking away, and Jaelle murmured soothingly into her ear again. “Never mind, sweetheart. We shall find you another later.” She ran her fingers through Lissa's golden hair, collecting the windblown strands and cradling the girl's head. Lissa went back to looking into the little miniature sea, trapped in the cauldron formed by the rocks until the the tide came back in. After a minute of watching, she began to protest.

“Jaelle, I don't see him ... where did he go?” Her voice was petulant, almost a whine. Jaelle had to fight back a smile as she hugged the little warm body closer, resting her chin on the girl's shoulder.

“Look again,” she whispered. “You are looking, but you are not yet really seeing, little one.” Freeing one hand from the golden tangles she guided the girl's finger to the icy surface of the pool and a creature below. “Look again ... see there? An anemone. See his little green hands, grasping for a meal? He wants that sculpin there for his supper, I think, but the sculpin is too quick for him.”

The child exclaimed in wonder and Jaelle fought back another smile. “And see? Your friend the crab has come out again ... he is among the snails there, scuttling over to the edge.” Removing her hand from the child's, she went back to stroking her hair and whispering, soft and soothing. “Now he is by the purple seastar there. Do you think those are the seastar's arms or his legs?”

Jaelle started humming, low and soft, listening to Lissa's excited commentary on the tidepool drama. Her fingers ran through the hair again and again, soothing against the scalp. Slowly, she began to exert a little will and began to weave the enchantment. It was a gentle one ... more charm than domination, and a good portion of it entirely non-magical. She could feel Lissa happy and relaxed against her, enraptured by the tide pool. She worked on matching her movements to the rhythm of the waves on the rocks ... in and out, fingers gently stroking, soothing ...

Slowly, Lissa's excitement ebbed like the tide and her giddy energy faded away. The sense of safety and contentment remained behind, and Jaelle's murmured incantation, barely audible above the wind and the surf, worked to amplify it. Lissa's body grew slack against hers, the tension melting out of it. Jaelle kept the cloak wrapped around them both, not wanting the seven-year-old to take a chill, nor sure how long it would take to find out what she needed to know.

“Jaelle?” Lissa's voice had become softer, almost sleepy, like it was at night time after a warm bath when the promise of bed was near.

“Yes, my love?” she whispered into her ear.

“Do the fish and the crabs worry that the sea will forget to come back for them?” Her voice dreamy, like someone who had had just a little too much wine late at night.

Jaelle waited a moment before replying. “What do you think?” she murmured.

She waited a few minutes, but there was no reply. When she looked though, Lissa's blue eyes were open, mesmerized by the sway of the seaweed and the dark ruffled water as the wind dipped low. Her breathing was soft and even. It was time.

“Lissa?” she asked gently. The child made a little “mmm?” noise by way of reply. “I'm going to ask you a few questions ... about the time when you weren't with us, before we came to get you again. Would that be alright?”

She concentrated on the thin trickle of magic flowing through her fingers as she continued to stroke the blonde head. Lissa made another wordless noise, this one clearly an assent.

“Good,” she said, pitching her voice low and hypnotic. “I want you to think back to the temple, with your brothers and sister. Do you remember staying there, and me coming to visit? We used to draw on my parchments together, you and I. I still have some beautiful ones that you did for me, tucked away. Do you remember afterward, when you went away from the temple? I want us to think about that day ... when the man came to get you ...”

Jaelle caught motion out of the corner of her eye—a gull rode the breeze, floating lazily past them. Below, in the microcosm of the sea, the shore crab scuttled from rock to rock, evaluating hiding places. Two hermit crabs battled one another for a prized shell, both looking for a new home. The green tendrils of the anemone waved its prey towards it: Come closer, come closer; the sea urchin's spines cried the opposite: Stay away! Stay back! The starfish inched its way toward a cluster of blue mussels while a barnacle tasted the water with a long feathery yellow appendage.

Below them, the water crept closer and higher as the sea came in, gaining ground with each fresh assault on the shore. All around them, the wind whispered and snatched at the cloak with cold fingers. And perched on the edge of the rock pool, Jaelle held the child against her and soothed her with the charm, and began to ask her questions.

[Carillon]

I have done something that I do not think Anna will like. I have questioned Lissa several times, each time under enchantment. The first time was almost a whim—I honestly did not plan it all out. I told Anna I needed some air and invited the girl to come down the the beach with me. Once I had her there, I wove my magic around her and asked my questions. It was easy enough—she has a child's mind yet, and though children can be stubborn they are also more malleable in many ways.  I do not know for certain that the spell was necessary, but I feared there would be things she would be loathe to remember. I needed honesty from her, and also wanted to spare her as much trauma of the recollection as possible. Gods know it is hard enough to hear some of the things she remembers. I can only imagine what it is like for her to relive them. Perhaps Anna would understand that. I think Connor will.

He is due back any time now. I hope he has something to tell us, but if not at least I have something to tell him. It took a few days, to get the whole tale from her. Mostly, it is because we went slowly. Details are important, and children are more reliable than many give them credit for. They will not remember everything about a situation, but what they do remember is almost always truth. Very rarely do they display the kind of false memories adults do, and a few years ago I think I finally figured out why. The child has experience less of the world. The gaps in her memories are just that—gaps. Give her a few decades and she begins to fill those gaps in with her own details, based on expectation. The child may see the shadowdancer disappear and tell the truth: that it seemed they were gone in less than the blink of an eye. That they were looking right at them, and then they were gone. The common adult who is not accustomed to this uncanny ability will find other ways to explain it, rationalizing what they do not understand and forcing it to fit their perception of the world. They looked away for a moment, and the figure disappeared into a doorway perhaps. They blinked. The man or woman slipped away, but they must not have been paying attention. But far more rarely will they give you the honest answer, and the one that cannot be easily explained away.

Lissa's tale is truth, as best she remembers it. Of this I have little doubt. Any bias or error within it is the fault of her own limited perception. She cannot remember how she or the other three were taken from the temple, nor anything about the chartering of the ship. She remembers being kept below decks, but cannot recall direction. I do not blame her—a seven-year-old can make little sense of sun and stars glimpsed through a porthole. By probing deeper, by following the little details, though ... well, that is how we will find him. There are clues in her story that she does not recognize, things she observed that seem meaningless to her, but I can take those details and put them together like so many pieces of a puzzle, until I grasp the larger pattern.

The ship sailed east from Vehl. This I gleaned from a dozen little details. Land glimpsed briefly, and how rough the sea felt—whether they stayed close to land or left it. Things I know about the wind and the sea in that region, and what side of the ship the sun set on. And of course we have the site of the boat wreck, where Finn was separated from them, just east of the border of Co'rys and Ulgrid.

She told me how she and Rhiannon and Liam were marched for many days and nights east. Most of the time she remembers going along the beach. She did not like the way the stones crunched, and she kept getting pebbles in her boots but they wouldn't let her stop and take them out. “They” were ten to twelve half-orcs, as far as I can tell from her description. She remembers them as big. “Bigger than Connor” was how she described it, though this is not actually so helpful. Connor is only five and a half feet tall—most humans would be bigger than him. Still, tall to a child. It was something in the way she said it and the look in her eyes that makes me think it was half-orcs. I am frustrated by the lack of proof I have of this, but I will trust my intuition in this case.

She remembers the mountains to the north the entire way. She remembers their white tops. She does not have a firm grasp of how long the journey took. I expect it seemed endless to her child's sense of time. She does remember that they finally came to a cabin, not far from the beach. She remembers the sun rising over the ocean each morning, and setting in the mountains. They were on an eastern shore.

She told me how she and Rhiannon and Liam were ignored for the most part, though they were fed and given warm bedding. She said they spent most of their time huddled together in it—the cabin is bitterly cold in her memory. The half-orcs who had taken Finn rejoined the others a couple of weeks after Finn disappeared. Many of the half-orcs came and went, especially the three who seemed in charge. One she remembers everyone deferring to, and from her description this is undeniably Segemek. However, she remembers Vargen as well, and Nestor. All three triplets had a measure of power in the group, though Segemek ruled them all.

Nestor, the triplet we have never met, seems a psychopath from her description. He is volatile, as dangerous as alchemist's fire. The stories she told me made me shiver, and I am hard to unnerve. She described him as large, too—much larger than the others. She said that she had never seen a giant, but that she could not imagine one could be bigger than Nestor. This matches what we know of him. She spent some time describing him to me, before she got frightened and didn't want to continue. We stopped for the day at that point, and I held her and rocked her until she stopped shaking and was ready to head home.

There were other times we had to stop too. Their captors, from what I gathered, were not particularly cruel most of the time. However, it seems Segemek had to exert a fair bit of his power and take a firm hand to keep some of the men away from the children. She will not talk about it except to say the men had nasty eyes, but it was getting dark by the time she was calm enough to take her home. I was certain that Anna would find us and tear my throat out for making her tell me about it. I shudder to think what it would have looked like without my enchantment magic.

There were other things, of course—many details, and one in particular I must tell Connor. She told me how Segemek would often share their room at night but never seemed to sleep. Whenever she awoke during the night, no matter the estimated hour, he was reading scrolls or tomes by candlelight. She told me what he growled one night, after slamming a book shut. I am still mulling the phrase over, but I think it is a key to unlocking something about this man. She told me she feigned sleep and Segemek never knew she was awake. She believes this, but I am not certain. All I can say for sure is that if he knew she was awake, he did not acknowledge it.

A few things I will not tell Connor, nor Anna. I will not tell them of the afternoon she spoke of her sister, or how Rhiannon was taken away from them, screaming, never to be seen again. I can guess what tortures she endured after, and am glad Lissa has been spared this knowledge. I will not tell them of how she confirmed what Segemek told us, either: that he forced her to cut out her brother's eye. I nearly lost my grip on the enchantment when she told me this part in detail. I know I ground my teeth and clenched my jaw when she told me what he said to her. What unspeakable things he threatened Liam with if she did not do it. How he told her she must not blame him for this, or blame herself. That she was being forced to do it because of the deeds of others. He told her this more than once, but I can tell it was lost on her. Perhaps a minor blessing—she is still too young to make the distinction, or to have grasped his meaning. She blames no one but Segemek for what she was forced to do.

Like I noted before, there are differences between children and adults. Lissa's blame is whole and large, and placed firmly on Segemek's shoulders. Mine is more fractured. Oh, I blame the half-orc, but I have found other places to put my blame as well. Perhaps I have too much of it, and have been forced to spread it around. I know I blame Alleina's impetuous actions for Rhiannon's death. I blame the Rofireinite loudmouth for the loss of Liam's eye. I have half a dozen targets at least to blame for the children's initial deaths. I blame the Rofireinite church for losing them to the half-orc a second time. I blame the clerics who ordered me to bed, because I was not there to help Finn or to spare Rhiannon.I blame the gods for all the cruel little twists of fate that have made this worse. I have realized that I even blame Connor a little, for not being able to handle things when I was bedridden. More than anything, though, I blame myself. That is the darkest truth I have found: that I hold myself accountable for the fates of these children, and for the wounds they have endured and may yet be forced to suffer anew.

[Carillon]

They were seated on the rug by the fire when he arrived home. Finn and Lissa were playing with Aislin while Jaelle looked on. Aislin was on her tummy, working on holding herself up and rocking backwards and forwards. Anna had told her that it meant she was getting ready to crawl. Should she not have been crawling months ago? Jaelle wondered to herself sometimes. She was so small for her age, and seemed to do everything at her own pace, which was often slower than Jaelle's expectations. Still, there was plenty of time ... and so many other things to worry about.

It eased the bitterness inside her a little to see the children smile, and to hear her daughter laugh. The baby was the only member of the household who was mostly oblivious to the painful absence of two children who should be there but weren't. Nonetheless, Jaelle had noticed Aislin was sensitive to mood. Often, she would become fussy or start to cry if Jaelle's thoughts drifted to Rhiannon or Liam or the half-orcs when she was feeding or holding her, and she would rarely settle down if Jaelle was already upset or angry.

Jaelle looked up as she heard Connor's footsteps, and met his eyes for a moment. One look, and she felt a chill forming deep in her gut. He didn't look happy, which meant he hadn't found Phillis, or he had found Phillis but hadn't found his answers ... or even that he had found both Phillis and his answers, but that the answers weren't the ones they had been hoping for. With a few murmured words, she asked Finn to mind Aislin for a moment and pushed herself up off the rug to go find out which it was, and to start planning again.

[Carillon]

For all their record keeping and bureaucracy, it seems the Aragenites are still ignorant. Phillis is dead, and his journal left no clue as to what the chink in the armor of his student might be. Like any good little Aragenite, he kept diligent and detailed notes on his travels. It is too bad his years of scribblings aren't worth the parchment they were written on when it comes to Segemek.

Connor tells me they remember the half-orc. They remember him as a diligent student, but not exceptional in any way, save his curious heritage. He studied eclectically, learning mathematics, theology, languages, philosophy, studies of the nature of the world, geography ... all manner of things. They cannot recall any interest that was pursued with more passion than another. Phrased alternatively, save for his pig-face, Segemek was wholly unremarkable, although bright.

How can this be? Surely they didn't lie to Connor—and yet their version of Segemek is too different from mine to bear much resemblance let alone give us the key to his undoing. There is nothing unremarkable about the monster's intelligence. I have known “bright” people. He is not bright. His wits are as sharp as a lethal blade.

The Aragenites told Connor nothing else that was helpful. He never returned after he went to collect his brothers. They do not know where he went. They do not know what his intentions were. They do not recall him showing an inclination to become a priest. They cannot fathom how a crate of records of his studies during his time with them became empty. Really, the scope of their ignorance is astounding.

It is disheartening, to know Connor's search yielded almost nothing. It is terrifying, to know how short we run on time and to know we do not have any viable plan to save him. And yet, truth be told, none of it is surprising. I think by now I have realized that if we are to save Liam, we will be on our own and at the mercy of our wits, cunning, magic and good fortune.

[Carillon]

The candles flickered and the night pressed into the bedroom as Jaelle walked around, setting things straight. Aislin watched her mother from the cot in the corner—watched her make the bed and pack the vials of her alchemy away in their carved wooden boxes after checking each cork to make sure they were tightly sealed. The child watched as her mother put away silk and slippers, warm cloaks, jewelry ... garments were laid to rest in chests after they were folded carefully in protective cloth. The scroll folder was reorganized, each parchment of intricate runes in Jaelle's elegant script laid between protective vellum, then the whole folder bound shut with a leather thong. Jaelle tucked it into the drawer of the small desk she had bought and moved into the room when her stay in Krandor had become more permanent. Her hand paused over a letter in the drawer and she picked it up, unfolding it. She looked across the room at her daughter and felt an ache inside deepen as she set the letter back down. The ache had been growing for a while now, but had worsened tonight when it had all become real. When she had said it all out loud.

It wasn't likely, she told herself. They had a half-dozen other plans, all of which they would attempt before it ever became a possibility. They had talked until her throat had hurt that night. Tomorrow was the appointed day. Tomorrow they would go by portal to Leringard where Segemek would be waiting, holding a little boy hostage for a million true coins. Coins which they did not have. Her green eyes darted to the sack by the bed, full of appraised gems, banker's notes and the valuable mithril coins she had managed to collect. She had totaled it up that afternoon. Thirty-five thousand true. Less than a twentieth of what he had demanded. There was no way the sum would ever appease him, but she didn't need to appease him. All she needed was to buy a little time.

Her ears caught the sound of strained voices in the other room. They were still fighting. Connor's reaction to Anna's proposal had been of the same nature as his reaction to hers, just more vehement. She could clearly see the look in his eyes as she had told him, calmly, what she would do if all else failed. She had been unprepared for the surge of protective anger that had been his reaction. Or perhaps anger wasn't the right word. In fact, now that she thought about it, it wasn't the right word at all but she couldn't think of a better one. Language had always failed her when she tried to define her relationship with her teacher.

She thought about Anna as she began to pack her bag. She too had been a little surprised that Anna was as willing to sacrifice as she was. Both of them knew the risks, knew the expectations ... in short, had a good idea what they might suffer if they were forced to act desperately. The difference, Jaelle thought, was that Anna had more to lose. She knew the little half-elven woman was stronger than she usually gave her credit for, but she still wasn't certain how much something like that would damage Anna's spirit, or her relationship with Connor. She caught another snatch of hushed but strained voices and knew they were trying not to wake Finn or Lissa. Would their love endure that kind of trauma? She didn't know the answer, so her choice was clear.

But how could she possibly explain that to Connor? She couldn't. It was that simple. There was no way to explain that she would risk herself at the hands of the half-orcs not only to save Liam, but to protect Connor and Anna from the same horrors she would willingly face. She thought of Connor's words at the dinner table that night, and knew they were true for her as well. Still, truth be told, there was as much logic as emotion in the decision. She looked at her daughter and knew she was no martyr. She fully expected Connor and Anna to plan a rescue, and knew that Connor's head would be more level if it was her being held and not Anna. She needed his cool logic on her side, and the cold reality was that he would be less affected if it was her being hurt.

A quiet tapping against the glass and a sense of impatience through their empathic link alerted her to the presence of Nida at the window. She thrust it open and the little bat swooped in with the cold night air. One of the candles sputtered and went out as Jaelle pulled the window shut again. Her familiar circled the room twice, then hung upside down from a protective charm over Aislin's cot. Aislin cooed and gurgled with delight as Nida stretched her wings, one at a time, before wrapping herself in the leathery skin. Jaelle watched them both and tried to be calm. Her nerves were already on edge and as always, Nida was sensing it and responding.

Outside her door the tense voices had become quiet whispers or silence ... which, she knew not. They seemed to have made peace, and Jaelle was glad for it. She looked around the room for something else—anything else—to occupy herself with. Her violin sat in its case on the bed. Music might ease the knot in her heart or the twist in her gut but she couldn't play right now and wake the children. She opened the case anyway, running her hands over the smooth mahogany of the violin. The Curvaceous Lady gleamed back at her, but she took out a soft cloth and a gentle polish and worked on her anyway. She checked and straightened the bridge, examined the strings, and wiped any trace of rosin away with a dry cloth. She took up the bow and made sure the horsehair was loosened, then put them both away, drawing the thick red cloth over them before closing the case. The abjuration she had ensured permeated the cloth and case would protect the violin in her absence. She put the case away where it would be safe, already missing the instrument.

The dark sky was lightening outside the window, and she glanced around the room a final time. Her gaze came to rest on the letter on the desk. She didn't have to think about it to know the date in the corner: Oclar 26, 1436. To my daughter, on the day of her birth ... the letter began. She looked once more at Aislin, trying to grab Nida's wings as her familiar dangled over the crib, playing with the little girl ...

She couldn't do it! How could she leave her child? She cared for Liam, yes, but he wasn't hers. Not like Aislin was. How could she go, not knowing for certain that she'd come back? Her bare feet made almost no noise on the wooden floor as she crossed the room and took her child into her arms and cradled her to her breast, rocking her back and forth. The baby, startled to be so suddenly deprived of her leathery plaything and also by the urgency she sensed in her mother, cried out in protest but quickly hushed when Jaelle started to sing wordlessly to her. The familiar bond between them pulled tight—mother and child had done this many times before.

Nida stirred, flapping her wings as she sensed her mistress's rush of emotions. Across the room, a surge of emotions washed over Jaelle. She recalled how she had sung to her daughter when she had carried her within her, and the way she had rested one hand on the gentle curve of her swollen stomach, feeling the child move within. She thought back on their entire history, holding each memory to her like something very precious: the storm and the night of Aislin's conception, the moment she had cried in her arms after those terrifying minutes of silence when she was born, the feeling of the small warm body pressed against hers ... a thousand small details that only Jaelle knew. This is what she risked, and it was too much. She would do what she could for the boy, and hope for the best, but that was all.

She expected to feel relief at her decision, but instead she suddenly felt the weight of the wooden box under her bed—the carved box that contained a child's severed head, carefully preserved. She remembered the tea leaves, and that this plan had been simmering under the surface for weeks.

Ah, no ... she thought. It is too much to ask! You cannot demand this of me. There are other ways, other plans! They are good plans, and they will work. There will be no need for this, so it won't matter that I cannot do it.

She pleaded silently, though whether to the gods and goddesses or Segemek or Rhiannon's unseen spirit itself, she could not say. And with each thought and the answering stillness in the room, her path once again became clear. It made her want to weep, but like so many times in her life the tears did not come. Instead, she bent her head to Aislin's and closed her eyes, taking deep breaths.

A few minutes later, she carried her child over to the desk and weighed down the letter with a paperweight. The orb was made of glass, and depicted a little village and its miniature residents under blooming cherry trees. She had found it in Creedo and had been astounded by the detail—you could see the pattern of the sloping roofs, and of the blossoms on the trees. One could almost imagine the figures were real people, frozen forever in time in their protective bubble of glass.

Ah, to be able to stop time! Aislin's warm body had relaxed in her arms and the sleepy child had finally drifted into reverie. The room was no longer dark, and morning was fast approaching. Swallowing her sorrow, Jaelle carried her daughter over to the comfortable chair by the cot in which she had spent so many sleepless nights and prepared to wait for the dawn and their departure. She knew she wouldn't have to wait long.