Xukuth d'natha Seke Sargtlin d' Oloth

[Alatriel]

She sat alone in the darkness, her blade Kezzar resting on her lap and across her palms, her eyes open but unfocused as she stared across the abyss of the dark cave.

"Train with it with a shield... without.  Armor... no armor. You must devote every free moment of yours to understanding it... the feel... how it moves with you... and how you are able to move it."

Since he dismissed her, she had been doing just that.  She moved with the blade through exercises against invisible foes, foes that she relieved killing in the battles in her mind.  She moved through the battles the way she remembered them, then she stopped and fought the battle in her mind again, but changed things to end it more swiftly now that she could remember the fight, the outcome, and where the openings and weaknesses were.  She'd fought the battle in armor, then she removed the armor to only the soft leathers she wore beneath the plates, concentrating her movements on avoiding the mental image's strikes to move around the envisioned blows rather than being struck by them.  She'd stripped down to not much more than her skin and moved with the blade through combat sequences again and again, focusing on the feel and weight of the blade, how it moved with her, how she moved with it.  

"Then.. you must kill with it.. meditate on your past mistakes in combat.. focus.. and use only the blade to cut down your opponents.. no shield.. you may wear armor if you so desire."

She had killed with the blade.  She'd gone back to the hunting grounds that she had travelled before and challenged the lesser creatures, kobolds, goblins, and proven that they were indeed that.  The blood of her enemies had run down the edge of her blade onto the ground as she pursued the hunt, seeking death, seeking perfection.

"Once you are capable of bringing them down swiftly and with nought but a scratch or two.. you will be moving naturally with the blade."

The goblins had fallen without hardly a scratch to her armor, their pitiful knives glancing off of her shield as she angled it against them the way he had taught her, to off-balance them, to use their attack against them.  Then she fought them without the shield, and found that she was ready for them, to move her body away from the blows, move with them, so that there was hardly a scratch to her body.

"At that point... I will be able to start teaching you..."

She was almost ready.

"Meditate on your past mistakes in combat"

She'd let their taunting get the better of her.  She'd lowered her defenses, acted without thinking rationally, and it had caused her pain and humiliation.  There were no large groups of females to keep these males in their place here.  She was outnumbered.  It was for this reason she had decided to swallow her own pride and ask him to teach her.  He had warned her lest she should decide to try to use his knowledge against him.  If she was to continue on this path, she would find a way to best these males, not only in the field of combat, but in all areas.  If she was to stand a chance against the Geld'arin as well, she would need the practice.

Her thoughts drifted to more pleasant things for a moment.  To the terrified screams of the elven slave, and how they silenced abruptly.  

Mother of Darkness, take my sacrifice.
There would be many more sacrifices to come.

[Alatriel]

He'd had her fight orcs to show him what she had learned.  What she was able to accomplish.  It was easy, moving about between their crude swings, cutting them down effortlessly.  When the largest of their brutes strode forward in his heavy armor, ready to enact vengeance upon the one who had so easily cut down his kin, she danced between his swings, toying with him, until she found her opening, and his head rolled off to one side.

He looked her over critically.  "Very well... you show some potential to work with."  He uprooted one of the orcs' skull poles to mark their territory and brought it with them back to the small inn nearby, ignoring horrified glances from onlookers at the duo's grizzly trophy or banner.

Once inside their room, she had barred the door, checking for any possible hidden dangers as he removed the grisly trophies from their impaling pole.  Setting aside the inn's candle, he set out the six skulls, one by one, in spaced intervals, moving from right to left, smallest to largest.

He drew his blade, Vharcan.  Vengeance.  "Draw."

She eyed him with a measure of suspicion before she drew her own blade, Kezzar.  Ambition.

Unmasked since they had reached solitude, he massaged the handle of his katana in his right hand, seeming to enjoy the feel of the blade in his grip.  She watched him with caution, as she always watched him.  The man was dangerous.  She could not forget this, even if he had agreed to train her.  He was still a dark elf.  And he was still a male.

"With the first step taken, you must now learn to about your inner energy," he began.  "You have understood your blade.  You have fed it.  You know it as a limb.  Now we will fuse you to it."  He held his blade before him, pommel at waist height, tip diagonally aimed at the corner of the ceiling.  "Grip your blade before you; a relaxed, but readied stance."

She did as instructed and took her stance, her blade held in both hands, but she didn't take her eyes off of him.  He seemed confident.  He seemed like his blade was down.  Nothing is ever usually what it seems, Kalandi'ira echoed her own thoughts in her head.  Not with our kind.

"Stop looking at me.  Close your eyes," he instructed.

She glared at him.  That would make things quite convenient...  But she knew if she didn't take the risk, she wouldn't be able to learn anything either.  She had said she wasn't afraid.  She had said she was willing to let him train her.  To learn from him.  She closed her eyes.  Being in a vulnerable state, with an armed male all too close, she could feel her entire body tense.

"Relax," his voice said.  "See yourself ine your mind's eye."

It only made her tense further.

With an irritated sigh he sheathed Vharcan.   She opened one eye briefly to look at him as he disarmed himself.

"Unless you want that eye removed, shut it."  She did so.  "Now... relax," he instructed again.

Her jaw tightened as she tried to force herself to relax, only partially being successful.

"Feel the weight of what you now know... and listen to your own heartbeat... the flow of your blood feeding your muscles.  Explore your body, the most obvious of things that you no longer feel unless in discomfort... remind yourself of their presence."

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, still trying to force herself to relax in a position where every fiber of her being, every element of her training screamed that she was in danger.  After a moment, she asked him, skepticism and some alarm obvious in her voice, but without opening her eyes, "What is the point of this...?"
"You must realize what you have in order to utilize it.  In every warrior... is an energy locked away in their psyche. It can be channelled... once you can find it."

Thoughts and her lifetime of indoctrination made her doubt the words of this male, made her doubt herself for being willing to let one teach her.  A blademistress shouldn't be taught by a male, she should be taught by a female.  This was stupid.

"Typical," his voice spoke, likely at the look on her face.  He snapped his fingers.  "Snap out of it.  I imagine that will not be hard."  She opened her eyes and looked at him.  "Reverse the blade and bring the blunt side down on the skull," he instructed, flicking his hand towards the ogre skull on the far right of the wall table.

She shrugged a shoulder, then reversed the blade as specified.  "Easy enough."  She took a step in and brought the blunt side of the blade down onto the ogre skull.  From the sheer force of the impact, the skull cracked well and good in several places.

"Again."

She eyed him skeptically, then struck the skull once more, one of the cracks spreading outwardly with the second impact.
"Again..." he said, as if bored.

His tone irritated her.  She dropped the blade once more onto the skull, once again only seeming to do a little to help spread the cracks.

"I want it split down the center.  Again."

"Bones don't split with blunt weapons.  They shatter," she responded, irritably.

"Really..." he mused.  "Give me your sword."  He held out his hand to accept it.

"Why, so you can try to split my skull?"


"Do it or I will!" he snapped at her.

She growled slightly, but she turned her katana to offer him the blade, pommel first.  

He snatched it out of her hand quickly, as if frustrated with a child.  She watched him with narrowed eyes and folded arms as he stepped over to the only other ogre skull, leaving the gnoll and orc skulls alone.  He raised the blade slowly above his head after taking a brief moment in silence with closed eyes to judge the weapon, then with elbows widening a bit for a powerful downward strike... "Sssaaah!" he hissed briefly in a wordless shout, his face an image of rage for the second of the strike before composing once again.  The strike caved the skull in two, some pieces shattering off, and cracks evident along the line, but the definition of the blow true.  He had done as he said he wanted her to do.  That which she had said wouldn't happen.

She blinked and stared at the cleaved skull.  "I... may have been... mistaken," she stammered.


"It is not some spriitual nonsense.  There is a literaly energy you will 'feel."  And you will wield it... if you now decide to have some faith..."  He handed her back her blade, respectfully, pommel first.

She took back the katana, still looking a bit thunderstruck by the cleaved skull before her.  

"This is the first lesson, and arguably the hardest.  Now, return to focusing on feeling your body as it is now.  Start with yourself. Take your time.  Then you must try to imagine the blade you wield as a conduit, almost as if you could feel the cold metal as easily as the flesh covering your muscles."

She looked at the skull before her, cracks evident from her previous assaults, then closed her eyes.  She took a few deep breaths, looking at first uncomfortable, then seeming to relax into her stance a bit more with each breath.  He lowered his voice to a calm, almost soothing tone, giving her time and space to center herself.  "Nod gently when you're done.  Don't speak.  Don't open your eyes.  And... avoid frustration."  

She slowed her breathing to calm herself, trying to put herself into a place where she could make herself believe she was alone.  Eventually, she nodded.

"Now, the core of your body," he started again, speech soft, " is where you have the most heat, and the vital organs.  Feel the ehat that emanates from there."  He moved closer and placed a hand on her stomach slowly.  "Relax."

Immediately, with the touch, her entire body tensed defensively.

"Relax," he said again. "Your stomach, your lungs,  your heart, the store of your energy and source of your lifeblood..."

"Would be easier," she said through gritted teeth, "if you weren't touching me"

He did not remove his hand from her stomach.  "You know very well what I could do if I wanted, being paranoid about it will not aid you.  I will not harm you or do anything lewd."

She growled slightly in frustration, but forced herself to relax once more, the feel of his hand on her stomach in some ways seeming to accentuate the feeling of what he was describing to her.

"Now..." he continued, "this is the heat and energy that we will channel into your arms... and down into your strikes.  Flex your muscles beneath your skin... do not move... simply tense..."
He continued to stand beside her, hand in contact with her as he spoke softly, but not whispered, near her ear, feeding her blind consciousness with both sound and touch to aid her visualizations as she started to contract her muscles in her arms.  "Feel the sensation of the contraction... the eventual burn..."  And the burn did come, as it generally would.  The tension from her arms spreading to her neck, her face.  She could feel a muscle in her cheek twitch.  

He touched her bicep lightly, waiting to feel the bulge of the muscle, and then ran his hand smoothly down to her wrist.  "Good..." he crooned.  "Relax... and do it once more."  She let out a long breath, letting the tension flow with the air expelled.  "Get used to the feeling," he continued.  "Put that frustration into it.  It's a good drain for it into something productive."

"Once you feel your body start to get hotter, take in deep breathes, pull your stomach in... expand your ribs for the lungs..."  She tensed her muscles again, feeling the burn in them, feeling her body respond just as he described, and at the same time, she could feel a deep feeling of anger rising along with the heat of her blood in her veins, with the fire in her muscles.  "Keep going," he coached.  "Pay attention to the heat of your body and the sensation of your muscles.  Forget about everything else for now.  Bring the heat and its energy up from your core," he said as she relaxed and then tensed her muscles again.  "Feel it rise."  He slowly started to guide her arms upward in the position for a strike.  Following with the motion, she quickly inhaled a deep breath, then released the energy into a swift downward strike, letting her breath out in a short burst of sound.  

The sound of cracking bone filled the air in a short burst as the blade split the previously cracked skull in half.  Messy, yes, for she had damaged the skull well and truly in her previous strikes, but split in half nonetheless.  She opened her eyes and looked at the skull, her eyebrows raising at her accomplishment as well as a bit of shock at the sensation of the release of energy.  


"Imperfect... but it is... progress," he stated simply.  "Imagine what that does with the sharp side of a well-forged katana."

"My hands are still tingling..."

"That's the energy ebbing on the skin.  It is literally capable of leaving your body and entering the weapon."

"That sort of concentration in a fight would be deadly, though.  It's not like everything is just going to stop."

"You are a warrior, yes, but a novice blade mistress.  First you must learn to channel the energy.  Then I will show you how to 'stop time.'"

She looked at the skull once more.  "I'll try not to be so skeptical."

"Take comfort that I am not being philosophical.  The mind controls all... and the mind is you, so we will see you master it.  Now try again. Relax.  Start over."

Twice more she reconstructed the act.  Not on the first attempt, but with her frustration at herself at failing to reconstruct it, she refocused, recentered... concentrated.  She could feel the energy rising as he said, like a heat in her blood, a warmth in her hands that vibrated, surrounded her, and expanded from her center, to her arms, to her hands, and down through her blade as an extension of her will.  And when she could feel that sensation fully, she was able to split the second and then the third skulls.  

"Again," he instructed after the third skull was well and truly halved.  

But the energy was simply gone.  There was no more warmth left in her, the tension was gone.  She knew that she would not be able to do it again.  "I can't do it again."

"Understandable."

"I hate saying I can't... but... I feel like there's just..." She searched for the right words, trying to find anything that wouldn't make her seem weak, but found nothing.  "Nothing left."

"That is because you have spent yourself.  I will entrust you to practice in my absence.  I will push you harder upon our next meeting, so before you feel ready and summon me, have this consolidated in your mind."

It took a few days before she could recreate the feeling.  Her energy had indeed been spent, and she spent days sitting in meditation, focusing on the feeling of her body, exploring her own energy, where it came from, the sensation of various parts of her at a time, and the feeling of building up that energy to feel as though it surrounded her.  It was easiest to feel in her hands, she discovered, as if the vibrations there could be felt growing, fueled by a quiet and simmering rage.  She felt envigorated after each meditation, but then as the energy ebbed, she felt her body fatigue more, as if it had begged for a release that never came, and simply waned, taking with it more than she had built to begin with.  Once she figured this out, she started to use the meditations before a fight, letting the energy move with her, releasing each bit in small strikes against animals, vermin, and lesser creatures as she fed the will of her blade.  She was almost ready again to summon the teacher.  Not quite... but almost.

[Alatriel]

She went back to a cave and settled into the darkness before she reached into her pack and pulled out the neatly rolled up scroll that the G'elderin had given her.  Her task was begun.  She had managed to pique the interest of the sorcerer and he had drawn her into his stronghold.  He had assigned her a task to prove her worth.  The Beast must not have been far behind her, as he had been dragged in shortly after.  But the Beast's rage was ill-contained, and it was not long before the sorcerer provoked an attack.  As a credit to the beast, he did indeed manage to injure the sorcerer truly but not before the mage used magic to drain more of his life away.  The Beast was dead before he fell.  His mind had simply not caught up with his body yet.

She remembered the words of the priestess, and she gave nothing away, but time would tell the outcome.  For now, she had a mission.  She was no assassin, but that is what the job required.  To seek out a female of a house with holdings in these Isles of Dragons that so recently she had traveled only just a few parts, and found them filled with strange new creatures.  She would need a team for this.  Once the Beast had recovered, perhaps she would put him to work.  And perhaps the monk.  If nothing else, he seemed to be handy with a well placed healing potion.

[Alatriel]

The G'elderin was in a foul mood.  He had learned about the rumors in the deep of the new power struggle.  She had let him know about the lights in the Archer's Tower.  She knew to let him feel the upper hand, let him belief he was stronger, let him believe he was in control.  As he held the acid coated blade to her, she had felt her blood start to race, but she had kept herself under control and told him what he wanted to hear.  He was pulling her into his fold just as he was supposed to.  So far, things were going as planned.

What wasn't planned, and should have been foreseen, was running into her new mentor, the blademaster, as she left the Sanctuary compound.  She should have realized that he was one of the G'elderin's minions.  No matter, it would still work out as planned.  She needed an in, and now she had it.  Not only that, but she had the mentorship of a blademaster in the G'elderin's control.  And now they were going to head back to her city.  She would be able to make contact there.

Yes, things were going quite as planned.

[Alatriel]

She happened upon him in the same cave where she'd first met him.  But this time, instead of being his prey, he'd ensnared someone else.  A new stray.  This one was stubborn.  A simple question.  He could have lied the answer, like she had, but instead he simply refused.  Her sut'rinos handed her a bundle of delicate instruments.  Torture.  She'd never been fond of these more intricate ways of torturing.  Beat the answers out, and if you're done with them, kill them.  That had always been what worked for her in the past.  And yet, now, the weaponmaster she had sworn to learn from was going to teach her something new.  Something she didn't exactly care to learn.  Something the G'elderin wanted her to learn as well.  Something, if she had to learn it, perhaps she would one day use on the G'elderin himself.  

The captured dark elf swore at her.  He taunted her, calling her a slave girl to a male.  Her blood boiled.  She fought with every bit of control she could muster not to simply kill them both right there.

Finally, after far too much prompting, the stray gave his reason, and by the sound of his answer, it was likely a truthful one.  He'd escaped the Test somehow.  No one escapes the Test.

She was angry.  She may have literally gotten under the stray's skin, but he had gotten under hers figuratively.  Nym'roos had scolded her for her lack of control.  He was right.  It was something she'd have to overcome somehow.  But being surrounded by all of these males all of the time, it wasn't going to be easy.

[Alatriel]

The rage had simply kept building.  All of these males everywhere, always seeing her as less than what she was.  The Gelderin had thrown her into a role as consort to her mentor, all making even more light of her skills as a warrior, trying to make her weak.

Night after night the hatred simply built.  Even Nym'roos had faltered in her teaching.  They were all after the same thing: They wanted to prove her incapable.

There he was, in the street, in the open, talking with a darthir.  Their  eyes met, and her anger exploded within.  She followed him.  She confronted him.  When he grabbed at her throat she could feel her blood pounding even as her vision began to dim, but then he released her and the air flooded back in bringing in renewed vigor and life, and the fires of her anger flared.

She attacked.  He was vulnerable.  She had only meant to prove a point, but he pushed her, he called her bluff, and he came at her telling her to finish what she started.

"I'm not afraid to kill you."

And his eyes went wide as her knife found its way into his flesh.  It didn't have to be this way, but now there was no turning back.  She raised her katana, and his eyes saw no more.


But that had been her mistake.  She had failed to consider -where- it was that she had decided to finally best her mentor.  The guards rushed in, and skill or no skill she was soon overpowered.  She was disarmed, stripped of her armor, and left to pace like a wild animal in a cage.  The fires of her anger raged, contained by force, but not nearly close to extinguished.

And then he was there, restored from the death she had dealt him.  Her mentor, her teacher, her master.  And he would show her the error of her ways.  He would show her the true meaning of pain.  She would learn what it meant to fight him, to break the one and only rule he had ever given her.  And she learned exactly how much pain she could endure.

There had been only darkness and pain.  The darkness that had once held promises of strength, now only held the tearing, searing pain of her own flesh and the echoes of her own almost disembodied screams.  It had gone on for an eternity before her anger finally could not shield her from the pain anymore, before the pain had overwhelmed her, and even though she never cried out for mercy, never cried out for him to stop, the pain had overtaken every other emotion.

And then there was finally the blessed release into true darkness.

Eventually the pain had returned, her flesh still feeling the fire of the torture.  She knew that she was broken, and that she was doomed to be nothing but a trophy.  If it meant that the pain would stop, that her own screams would stop echoing in her ears, she would welcome it.

"Do you want to see what you look like?"

"No..."   Her voice was raspy and harsh.

"Why don't you say yes, and I'll let you keep your hand."

"Yes... yes, I'll look.  I'll look."

Pain flared in her eyes again as the dimness of sight was restored to her.  But as she looked down and her body was revealed, there was no damage to it.  She was whole.  

"Drink this." He commanded, but his tone was softer, even gentle.  She did as she was told.  There was no fight left in her.  Not for him.  Never again for him.  "It will take care of the poison."

Slowly, the fire and ache of her skin left her as she choked to drink down the antidote.  

Carefully, gently he picked her up and held her close, turning her face to look at him with the utmost care.  "Kala," he said tenderly, but firmly.  "Do not ever. mess. with. me."

[Alatriel]

Everything changed the moment she finally mastered her ability to focus all of her rage and anger and hatred into a single strike of her sword.  For all of the years that she had practiced and worked for it, now, suddenly, it was part of her.  And with that, things began to fall into place where before they had seemed almost lost.  The Lost Sister had returned, and with it she brought with her the darkness in her blood.

Blood.

She had received a message of a sword that may strike her interest, and indeed it had.  The sword had unique qualities, being able to absorb the blood of her enemies as she struck them down and heal her own wounds in the process.  The blood rejuvenated her with newfound energy to pursure her goals.  She had hidden from the hell orb of the day long enough, and it was time for her enemies to face her own darkness. 

Nym'roos had also returned from whatever he was doing in Katherian, as if he suddenly remembered the apprentice that he had failed to continue to teach.  She could no longer rely on him, but in many ways, she had learned that while useful, she did not have to rely on him.  Her anger at his weaknesses with his dalliances with the darthir had finally been pushed back behind a newfound purpose and an entertaining new alliance.

The Pit-spawn had made her an offer years ago, but now there was little left to stop her from pursuing new alliances.  The Deep was inaccessable at the moment.  If she was to return, she would need an army.  And now with her new goals, one day perhaps there would be one.  She was not the only one building her forces though, as she soon learned from Nym'roos.  He too wanted an army, and he wanted her as his second.  She had her reservations about the arrangement, but she decided to keep both of her options open and pursue her own goals with the pit-spawn as well as aid her mentor in his own.  She would learn everything she could from both of them, and in the end, she knew that she could likely use whatever she needed to further herself, or against them.  Whichever was necessary.

Nym, at the very least, finally seemed to have a renewed darkness about him.  Perhaps he had stopped trying to go native with the weaker paleskins.  His weakness, she decided, would not be her undoing.

And so, she returned to the demon-blooded monster and started furthering her training in differing techniques than those of her blademaster.  And the study would be as intoxicating as the blood that her sword, and she, hungered for so constantly.

[Alatriel]

Kalandi’ira knelt down before the priestess, her head lowered and her neck bare to show her submission to the temple and to the chosen vessels of the Dark Mother’s gifts.  She had been summoned in such a way that indicated that the priestess was not to be trifled with.  There had been talk since she had returned many months past.  There had been a grave mistake made by a powerful sorcerer and the so-called prophet of the Father of Spiders.  But yet, this priestess had become known by a new name as her story was told.  To’ryll Solen-  The Mother of Spiders.

The priestess paced back and forth as she gave her orders to her soldier of the temple. In her words, the orders were simple.  The task force was to leave the Deep in search of the surface stronghold of the sorcerer Ni’haer Helviviir and join him by any means necessary.  Then, once inside, she was to send back any information to the temple by contacts at certain known entrances that she would be able to find.

She was to not reveal any knowledge of the Mother of Spiders or let her mission be known to anyone associated with Ni’haer.  If she failed in her task, she would be killed or exiled.

The Mother of Spiders asked her name.

“Cal’tana Hun’sek, priestess,” she replied without lifting her face.

There was a smile in the priestess’s voice.  “Noble Darkness, indeed.  Go get me what I want, Cal’tana, and you’ll be rewarded.”

 

 

Kala’s eyes opened slowly as the reverie found its end for the moment.  The blue-tinted chest of the Pit-blood rose and fell steadily beneath her cheek.  She closed her eyes again, this time to focus her thoughts back to her recent training, forcing out the aches in her body from its recent uses to concentrate on her other senses.

Taste… The leftover taste of wine of decent vintage still lingered about the edges of her mouth as well as the slight coppery taste of blood.  She smiled slightly before focusing once more and licked her lips to taste just a bit of sweat.  She focused on each of the individual tastes and then savored the three together for a moment before she was satisfied enough to move on.

Smell… She took a slow deep breath in through her nose as she considered the scents around her.  Him.  She could certainly smell him and his own individual scent.  She tried to shut him out and focus on anything else.  The smell of the wine still left in the goblet beside the bed.  She also could smell various scents wafting up from the tavern below- scents so different and varied from what she had known in the Deep.  Her stomach twisted to let her know that she was hungry.

Sound…  She could hear the Pit-blood’s heart beating in her ear, a steady constant rhythm so like her own as if reminding her that they may not be as different as it might appear.  His breath joined in the chorus with its own accompaniment to the drumming of his heart in an effort to lull her back into her reverie.  There was water dripping against the window panes on the other side of the room, and the wind had picked up once more with a storm from the sea.  For several minutes, Kala lay very still, listening to the rhythms of heart and breath and wind and rain coming to her through the darkness.  In her mind’s eye she could see exactly where each element came from inside the room in proximity to her.  Laughter.  There was laughter and conversation coming up from the tavern below, and just the barest thread of music.

Touch.  Touch was the Pit-blood’s favorite lesson as they trained, but while it made it the most entertaining, it was also the most challenging to her focus.  At least while he was still she could concentrate.  She shut out the sounds and the smells and focused on what she felt.  Her body ached.  They had been training hard for several days, and each night they explored other aspects of their interests until every muscle in her body ached and begged for the distant recovery and reflection that reverie promised.  The first thing she could feel was the warmth of his skin against hers and the hardened tone of muscle and bone beneath even in its relaxed state. The soft silk of the sheet that rested lightly over them she could feel only halfway up her back, leaving the upper portion bare enough to feel a draft coming from the northern winds beating against the window.  She shivered as the cool air brushed against her and her skin prickled from the cold.  A large arm raised to rest lightly against her back, holding her lazily and still protecting her from the cold.

“Protect those who are not your enemies,” he’d said was one of the tenets of his code.  Apparently he did not think of her as an enemy.  The feeling, she decided, was not something that was likely to ever be mutual.  Everyone was an enemy to her.  It was the only way to survive.  Kill, or be killed.  To trust was a quick way to meet a sure death.

“Go get me what I want, Cal’tana, and you’ll be rewarded,” the priestess’s voice echoed in her memory as she slipped back into her reverie.  This time, though, as the pit-blood’s arm held her, her mind drifted back again to the stronghold of the sorcerer Ni’haer, and the place where her mind always tended to wander beyond pain and torment into her deepest fears, darkness, and the madness of a broken mind.  She had not given her enough of what she wanted.  She had not been killed, or even officially exiled.  She had simply been forgotten.  The Lost Sister, living up to her name once more.