* * *
Maliar held the ring in the palm of her hand. It felt too light to be solid silver, but that couldn't be helped. Blackthorn wood was light by nature, and she couldn't plate it heavily.
She picked up a green tincture and carefully dripped four drops on the ring. The ring shimmered slightly as she Glamoured the pure rosemary-scented tincture to her purpose.
Then, before it could fade, she bound all the Glamour threads into the ring. It didn't resist the binding, being a ring, and when she was finished, it hummed in her hand and went still.
Maliar smiled. The ring suited her purposes, just as its intended wearer would.
///
Maliar examined the stitching on the slippers, and flicked a bead on her abacus. They were made well enough, if slowly.
The bottom of a purple robe intruded on her vision. "Morerea?"
She noted the accent of a Bog siabra, and shifted her Glamour. Only another enchanter would be able to see what she had done, and an enchanter would never have given away surprise. "Yes."
"You are busy it seems... We must speak. Privately."
She set the slippers aside and flicked another bead on her abacus, as he continued speaking. Did he really think she would speak privately with anyone from the Bog? It would be far too easy to disappear.
"I'll make myself at home, in the Green Rose. We can move along from there." The siabra walked away, his robes swishing as he walked.
Of all the arrogant-! She chanted the magical properties of metal, packing her abacus and the clothing away.
Walking down the streets, she continued to chant magical properties to herself.
Outside Cullin's Inn, she flipped a gold coin to one of the messenger boys. "There is an elf with purple robes at the Green Rose. Tell him that Lady Morerea says she will be drinking in Cullin's."
The boy bit the coin and seemed satisfied with his teethmarks. "Aye, lady."
Inside Cullin's, she waved to the harper and pulled out a stool at one of the tables. Regulars at Cullin's knew her, and if talking with the Bog siabra went wrong, he wouldn't get out alive.
The Bog siabra arrived shortly, and bowed to her with a flourish. "Vendui."
She nodded, accepting both greeting and bow. "Vendui."
The arrogant Bog siabra sat across the table from her. "I do hope you're not -too- busy. For I may keep you a while."
Maliar accepted the snifter and bottle of brandy from one of the servants. How nice that someone had seen she needed a drink. She poured a proper amount. "I see."
"I've come recently from the Bog. As you can see from all this... muck." He tapped the heel of his boot on a stool, knocking a bit of dried mud off.
"There are a -few- boot-shiners in Tir na n'Og," she murmurred.
He ignored her. "I understand there are certain difficulties here in Tir na n'Og."
Maliar nodded.
"There is trouble in the Bog. To be blunt and most likely too forward about the issue. Something you are aware of?" He watched her, looking almost bored.
She watched him over the edge of her snifter for a long time before setting it down. "I am."
"Good. Then perhaps I shall get to the heart of the matter. I am Iaerchatan, my family is of little note at this moment."
"Hm." She glanced at the human who had entered the inn and nodded.
"Hm. Yes." Iaerchatan smirked. "The perils of large cities."
Maliar also smirked. Typical Bog siabra.
"Care to take a stroll?"
She shook her head, and raised her brandy. She wanted to keep this talk on her ground. "Brandy and the outside don't mix as well."
He nodded and scratched the side of his nose. "Very well. I am sure many would care to hear of the Queen's instability."
She shrugged. He was the first one to mention such a thing. Did he think the harper could not hear over a her harp? "Speak in the Siabrian tongue, if you care who hears. No one forces us to speak Common."
He chuckled briefly. "One must practice it at times."
She smiled slightly. A pleasant little jest. "If you are worried about being overheard, though...?"
He shrugged. "You do not seem overly concerned."
She gestured with her free hand, and a shimmering sphere enclosed the two of them, then faded away. A simple but power-intensive ward against being overheard. "Not enough to walk. I wish to rest now."
"Ah. Forgive me for suggesting that strain."
She dismissed the matter with a wave of her snifter. Let him think what he would.
"I am here to throw my lot in with the delegation."
"Hm."
"I have minor information from the Court. Trade influence and experience in managing the lesser races. I do believe I would be an asset to you in these... troubled times."
Maliar tilted her head slightly. Could the factions find no better way to send a spy? Still, best to get what information she could from him. She leaned towards him, setting her snifter aside. "You are from the Court, you say."
A small smile flitted over his thin lips. "From a house of shadows.... Not courtiers, simply out of notice for being so... insignificant."
"Do you follow any Path or Way, Iaerchatan?"
"Any Path or Way? Do you speak of my hobbies? Or my passions?"
She raised an eyebrow. "The Ways are too weighty to be hobbies. The Paths moreso."
"They are tools. Heavy or not."
She blinked. An enchanter? The Court had sent an enchanter to her? Did they think she could not handle one so young? "Essence?"
"The Path of Harmony."
She frowned. A mentalist could be dangerous, even one who spoke as a follower of Essence. "Mm. A mentalist."
"Yes. Simply that. Would my talents not be an asset in dealing with unruly thralls?"
She raised the snifter to her lips. His talents would be an asset in other dealings, as well.
"Or ferreting little sweet secrets from those who hold them?"
He was so very arrogant. But his talents would be useful, if she knew his loyalty. Lasaiena could find it, but she still mourned for Isliffell.
Maliar smiled suddenly. "Perhaps they can."
Iaerchatan folded his arms on the table and smirked. "Why the smile, Morerea?"
"Before I take you, you must take something from me. A sign of... loyalty, as it were."
"Very well then. I have nothing and everything to lose in this gamble."
She smirked. "Don't we all? Give me your hand."
He reached his hand out to her, his palm up. "It is life, it is breath. Without such risk, I'd fall asleep...."
"Mm." Perfect. She lay her arm over his hand to hold him there, and drew her knife.
"And the knife?"
"I prefer not to keep my nails long enough to cut through skin," she said as she cut down her arm lengthwise. She had cut carefully, aware of the flow of lifeblood so close to her knife. Only a bit of blood welled up. She set the knife down and dipped her fingers in the blood.
"Ah, must be easier to stitch slippers that way," he murmurred.
She drew a stylized version of her symbol on his forearm, then overlaid it with both the Sigil of Summons and the Sigil of Pain. He would not ever be out of her grasp. "A promise of your return, Iaerchatan."
"My return?" He smirked faintly as he looked down at the sigil. "Now then...."
She raised an eyebrow as she continued to bleed. Why bring Ambaratodil to her, if there was a mentalist right here? "Have you learned any of a mentalist's healing, as well as a mentalist's mind tricks?"
He barked out a laugh. "Of course."
She tilted her head slightly and held out her arm as it bled sluggishly.
"Three healing tricks.... Ah.... Of course." Iaerchatan trailed his fingertips along the cut, his Glamour knitting everything back together.
"Thank you." Maliar wiped her knife clean and sheathed it, then picked up her snifter, wondering how to politely dismiss him.
"What specific issues should I be aware of within the delegation? Any runaway thralls, malcontent hireling, over-confident initiates?"
She smiled slightly. "Not yet, Iaerchatan. You are not ready yet."
Iaerchatan watched her quietly, smirking.
She tilted her head slightly. "Four days, I think. We shall meet here again in four days."
"And I shall bring you a few things then. At least. Any preference of gifts?"
She finally finished her brandy and looked at him. "Fish."
"Or perhaps I should stick to the rough details? .... Fish it is, then." He stood and bowed to her. "I shall excuse myself to hunt. A pleasure finally putting a face to a name."
She stood and saluted him. "Walk in shadows, Iaerchatan of no family worth mentioning."
He chuckled slightly and left the inn.
Maliar gestured, dismissing the ward. This could be very useful.
///
Maliar carefully wrapped the ring in a square of silk and placed it next to a bloodstone pendant. She smiled tiredly. Such beautiful magics she had made.
She reached out to her most beautiful magic, Erinara.
There was nothing there.
She scrabbled through her Glamour, searching for the bond.
It wasn't there.
She sat suddenly. Erinara was with Cirig. Maliar would have felt her death. If someone had wanted to kill Cirig, they would have to kill Erinara. To keep her from sensing the death, they would have to sever the bond.
The bond could not have been severed to free her. Erinara knew freedom was hers for the asking.
Someone had killed her druid.
Someone would suffer.
Maliar stood up slowly. The matter would be dealt with. No one harmed her and hers.
The End