[Mkguild] Justice in Vengeance Refrain (5)

[Ryx]

            “You’re not so far from human yourself, friend.” Thomas offered 
humorously, “You’ve got some fire mixed into that cold elvish stuff, yourself.”
            “Indeed, my friend, indeed.”  Pushing himself from his seat he bent 
to set down the empty cup once more, “I tire, fellows, and I believe I may see 
if I can snatch a few moments between nightmares.  Until the light of Ya’e’li 
shines upon you in warmth, be at peace.”  They watched him walk away for a few 
moments in silence.
            “Ya’e’li?” Elvmere asked.
            “One of the Elvish high gods from ancient times, represented by the 
sun.” Thomas answered quietly as he leaned back in his chair, “Note the 
similarities between their High One, and our own Eli.”
            “A careful comparison to make, brother.” Elvmere cautioned gently.
            Thomas only laughed jocularly and smiled over his cup while he 
drank.  “And yet it smiles gently upon us in these green forests, and glares 
with baleful heat upon the stones of Yesulam, my good brother Elvmere.  I do not 
decry Eli, I merely note the similarities in the two faiths.  Not much is left 
of the Elvish faiths, in any end.  While I bear my Tree it still makes me mourn 
that wasting away.”
            “To all the world that mourning, Thomas.” Murikeer replied with 
equal gravity.
~~
            Awakening with a twitch Misanthe’s eyes fluttered open and she found 
herself staring up at the moonlit night sky through the leaves of the bush under 
which she had chosen to sleep.  Following the track had been considerably more 
difficult than she had first thought and she was nearly a day behind.  She hoped 
that she had not much further to go lest she loose the faint traces entirely.  
Rising onto her paws she shook herself vigorously before casting her gaze 
outward.  Nothing moved in the night shadows around her for which she was glad, 
there were many wild beasts that would make an easy meal of her in the small 
form she wore.  Lowering her head she caught up the tightly bound bundle, around 
which she had been curled in sleep, in her small muzzle and slipped out from 
under the brush.  Once in the open she gauged the time by the angle of the half 
full moon before striking out once more.
            After a short while she came upon the edge of the forest and paused 
atop a hill to gaze out at the broad swath of open ground before her.  Fields 
stretched out from the edge of the forest; some cultivated, others fallow, while 
slumbering animals used still more.  In the distance she could make out the 
shadow of some distant tower rising from the walled compound of some residence.  
There were no torches upon the walls and only the merest glimmerings of distant 
light through shuttered windows to hint that there was any life within.  The 
trace she followed led toward that distant hulking shadow.
            Moving forward into the grass the vixen disappeared from sight.  
Evading farmyard dogs made her detour several times but she was sly enough to 
evade them with relative ease.  Coming up to the wooden palisade wall she gazed 
up at its distant top.  People, very clear to her sensitive night eyes, walked 
along the crest of the wall on alert patrol.  Sticking close at the base of the 
wall the small fox slunk through the tall grass seeking some gap through which 
she might squeeze.
~~
            Malger looked up from the examination of the worst of his wounds at 
the soft scuff of feet on the stone above his small enclosure.  A shadow 
occluded the sharply angled rays of morning sun as someone came to visit. By the 
familiar soft whisk of the visitor’s footfalls he knew who it was.
            “Have you had pleasant dreams, my prey?” the assassin crooned from 
above with warm but somehow simultaneously sinister cold humor.
            “Splendid.” Malger lied with a growling sigh.  Truth told he had 
gotten very little worthwhile sleep in two days and he was exhausted to the 
core.  He could not eat what was brought to him not for lack of appetite but for 
lack of will.  He simply could not care enough about the food to partake of it.  
He drank water only when his flesh demanded it and even that felt like cold sand 
in his guts.
            “Ah, that is too bad.” His tormentor sighed theatrically as they 
paced slowly around the grate covered opening that served as the top to his 
cell.  A simple gabled construction of wood and shale prevented Malger from 
seeing the sun, or having it glare balefully down at the height of mid-day.  “I 
could share some of mine, if you’d care to join.  I had forgotten what real fear 
felt like; the horror and pain of feeling my failures all over again.  Does that 
dark bitch still favor you with walking her shadow realm, hmmm?  Does she warn 
you of approaching danger, still?”
            “Savor them until you die.”  Malger pushed himself back against the 
wall on the cot and drew his knees up to his chest.  The assassin hit his most 
grievous injury with the accuracy of a murder’s dagger thrust.  Nocturna had 
turned her back to him, the dream realms were out of reach.  For the first time 
since he had discovered the gift he was locked in the blind dreams and horrific 
memories of those without Nocturna’s blessing.  “May you not suffer them long.”  
Why, he grieved, had giving Llyn justice cost him so very, very much?
            The Hand chortled in that androgynous tenor and clucked their 
tongue.  “For shame, wanting to see me suffer.  Because of you I’ve had to 
suffer these five long years, trapped in this weak body after tarrying overlong 
where you went to ground.”  The pacing stopped but all Malger could spy when he 
looked up was a shadow fringed with a halo of scarlet as the sun at the Hand’s 
back shone through the clothing they wore.  “But you did not go to ground, did 
you?  Like the coward always running you just kept fleeing north.  Did you go 
all the way to Nasojassa?  Caralore, perhaps?  I heard that their lord was a 
pleasant fellow.  Though you’re a bit old for his tastes you may have turned his 
fancy nonetheless.”
            Malger canted his head up and forced out a braying laugh that broke 
in mid utterance.  “Ah, heh!  Struck you right in the pride, didn’t I?” he 
snarled angrily, his chest heaving in exhaustion from lack of sleep and too many 
overwhelming emotions.  “Nicked your stones and gave you tits, eh?  All that for 
a few Merchants, I hope it was not worth it.”
            “It will never be worth it!” The Hand spat fiercely, “I will never 
forgive you.  I may just choose not to kill you, but rather haunt you wherever 
you may go until you run out of lovers and friends and brothers and sisters to 
cut.”   The pacing resumed but with more agitation in the unseen woman’s step.  
“Ah, yes, you no longer have brothers or sisters, or a sire for that matter, or 
even mother.  Poor, poor child, all alone.” She gloated.  “Your pupils are so 
handsome, so young and so pretty.  Tell me, have you bedded either of them?  
Both of them?  One at a time, or perhaps both together?”
            “Begone or be done with me.  Take their hands, if you dare.”  He 
stopped trying to track the circular pacing above and dropped his chin to his 
knees.  “If you can.”  Fervently he prayed that Murikeer would see her coming 
and burn her down before he lost his hands or his head.
            The Hand paused for several long moments in the sun where she could 
stand more close to the edge of the grate and look down at him.  “You look 
wonderfully pitiful down there, I want to savor your misery a little time 
more.”  After a moment she laughed.  “I’d lend you a hand getting out of there, 
but I’m all out.  You did not care for the last hand I gave you.”
            “You could give me your hands, wench.  I would thank you for that.”
            “Oh, you are such a lovely thing.  One day, never fear, I shall.  
Wrapped around the hilt of the sword in your guts.”  With that the woman who was 
once a man with no name that Malger ever knew turned and swept away with light, 
mirthful laughter.
~~
            The vastness of the tundra stretched out in all directions without 
limit with crystalline clarity lent by the cold air.  Only the smoke of the 
previous night’s Lutin celebration rose to smudge the horizon a league or so 
distant.  Before them stretched the broad roadway that the Lutins and their 
Giant allies had laboriously built and upon that roadway stood five huge 
towers.  Ponderously the huge constructs moved forward on giant wheels hewn from 
stone toward a long dike that would carry them across a valley.  One side of the 
dike restrained a huge temporary lake and on the other side a steep walled 
valley stretched into the distance.
            “This was the only place I could find where we could slow them.” 
Murikeer said to Thomas, who stood beside him on the vastness of the tundra.  A 
cold wind rippled the short grass at their feet but did not stir so much as a 
single hair upon their heads.  The cold also failed to bite them despite the 
single layer of thin clothing both wore.  “I snuck into their camp the night 
before under an illusion spell much like the one I wore now but far less 
complex.  I had created some magical stones, with the aid of some earth spirits, 
which I slipped into stress points on the axles and wheels of the towers.”
            “They are impressive constructs.” Thomas mused as he rubbed his 
jaw.  “An engineer of masterful skill put a lot of time into their design and 
construction.”
            “Unfortunate for him that I discovered them.” Murikeer chortled.  
“See here just as the second tower passes the mid-point, just above the culverts 
there.” He pointed out the gaping holes some distance below the crest of the 
dike through which water poured in a considerable flow.  Stones laid down that 
face of the dike prevented the water from eroding through the soft earth.  As 
they watched a muted flash sparked from beneath each of the towers.  For some 
moments nothing seemed to happen, then a wheel on the second tower began to list 
and wobble.  Giants and other, smaller forms fled away from the tower as it 
began to tilt.  The first wheel broke loose and tumbled down the valley side of 
the dike, crashing over one of the culverts as it fell.  As the tower leaned 
ever more precariously a second wheel failed, hastening its slow demise.  The 
first tower began to move more quickly while those behind attempted to slow.  
“The magic itself was not terribly powerful, but I placed the stones carefully.  
I was travelling with a mink named Llyn at the time and she used an item I gave 
her to trigger the spell.”
            As the second tower finally fell and the third had lost a wheel of 
its own and began another inexorable fall Thomas watched with slack jawed 
surprise.  “For such simple magic the effects are profound!”  The second tower 
had shattered a culvert in its fall and water was rapidly eating away at the 
dike.  The third tower fell into the widening gulf and, in falling, served only 
to widen the gap further.  “With a single stroke you brought an entire army to 
ruin.”
            “We did.” Murikeer conceded, “For all of her faults Llyn was a 
lovely woman.”  Reaching up he touched the patch over his left eye.  “For her I 
gave up an eye, and much of my power to ceaseless pain, but it was a price I 
would pay again.”
            The sound of door hinges squeaking intruded upon the muffled chaos 
of the falling towers, “Bright gods!” someone exclaimed loudly in surprise.  
Elvmere, unseen somewhere under the illusion of the tundra being played out for 
the archivist’s curiosity, chuckled at the newcomer’s horrified surprise.  With 
a sweep of one hand Murikeer banished the illusion and blinked at the gloom of 
Thomas’ office with the absence of the tundra morning.  Standing in the open 
doorway was a guard that had been assigned to them that morning, his jaw hanging 
open while he blinked stupidly.
            “Ah, Terrlan, our apologies!” Thomas said hastily with a smile, “The 
young lad was showing me an illusion.”
            The guard shook himself but did not encroach any further into the 
room.  His eyes darted about as if expecting some other unexpected magical trick 
to spring out at him.  “Unh!” he grunted irritably with a shake of his head, 
“Damn scary stuff, magic.  I feared some calamity had befallen me when I walked 
into … whatever that was.”
            “A trick of the light, my good man.” Thomas reassured him, “Nothing 
more.  What brings you?”
            “Page Hector just passed word that these fellows can see their 
master at their convenience.” Terrlan offered diffidently.  Elvmere pushed 
himself up from his chair and set aside a book he had been perusing while 
Murikeer regaled Thomas with his past exploits.
            “Now would be most convenient.” Murikeer chuffed.  “Where is he?”
            “In the tower room.”
            “I’ll take you there, lads.” Thomas said as he strode toward the 
door.  Murikeer fell in behind him while the guard stepped back to let Elvmere 
out ahead of them.  The sky was overcast with heavy clouds that cast a pall of 
gloom over the courtyard as they stepped out of the archives and into the main 
courtyard.  Somewhere in the distance thunder growled and the air smelled 
heavily of coming rain.  Thomas set a brisk pace toward the broad base of the 
observatory tower, circling around to one side away from the Temple entry.  The 
ground floor was dominated by that Temple and they had to circle around to the 
back of the tower, and ascend a flight of stairs toward a broad balcony upon 
which two guards stood post to either side of a wide doorway.  While they 
climbed the stair Thomas humorously pointed out the windows, easily reached by 
walking along a narrow ledge, through which one might look in on the Lothanasa’s 
office.  When they reached the balcony one of the guards turned to push the door 
open for them.
            “Terrlan, could you wait here for us?  It’s a pretty narrow climb 
and the three of us are going to be enough of a crowd.” Thomas asked when they 
reached the door.  “Weather’s looking to turn wet, so why not just have a seat 
down here while we ascend.”
            “As you wish, sire.” Terrlan shrugged, well glad to be away from the 
disquieting magical trickery of the one-eyed mage masquerading as a minstrel.  
He started as a small animal slipped between his ankles and darted into the 
tower on the heels of the archivist and the two travelers.  The creature was 
gone too swiftly to identify but he was little alarmed; there were cats aplenty 
roaming about the manor grounds.
            Murikeer was surprised at the spaciousness of the tower when they 
entered the lowest level.  He would have thought that the walls would be far 
thicker than they were; a testament to the skill of the Elves who built it.  
Winding upward around the inner wall of the tower was a flight of stone stairs 
toward which Thomas led them.  The first floor they entered, some two stories 
above the ground over the Temple and Lothanasa’s office, seemed to be some sort 
of armoury.  A quartet of large tables took up much of the floor space with 
their attendant chairs while racks of weaponry were neatly arranged along the 
walls.  Narrow arrowloops let in the wan light of the gloomy day.
            “They’re keeping him in the tower?” Murikeer scoffed in surprise 
while they climbed the narrow stair.
            “Where else better?” Thomas replied back to him with a chuckle.  
“Armoury on the main floor, discounting the Temple, and storage all the way up 
to the top.  Best place in the world to put a dungeon; it’s not as if they can 
easily escape unless they have wings.”  He glanced back over his shoulder at 
Murikeer, “He does not, does he, have wings?”
            Murikeer shook his head, “No.”  The stair narrowed after the first 
level where it had been open to the guard room, forcing them to proceed single 
file.  Murikeer found it hard to imagine how difficult it had been to navigate a 
drunken Malger up the stairwell.
            “What is he, if I may ask?”  Doors on their left led into other 
rooms and they passed four in all while they climbed.
            “A Pine Marten.  Sort of like a weasel, but bigger.”
            “I’m familiar with them, they’re passing common in the woods 
hereabouts.” Thomas led them at last to a fifth door where he stopped, looking 
down.  “What in Eli’s name is that?” He grunted in surprise.  Lying on the floor 
before the door was one of the most grisly things Murikeer could imagine; a 
desiccated hand shrouded in the remains of a woman’s fine glove.  A tangle of 
black muslin had been partially unwrapped from it and there were rings on two of 
the shrunken fingers.
            Using his foot the archivist prodded at the mummified remains in 
disgust.  “Who would leave such a thing as that out here?”
            “Someone particularly sinister.” Murikeer muttered in revulsion, “It 
looks like a hand.”
            Thomas kicked it over to the far wall as he made a sign of the 
tree.  Elvmere stepped back down too steps when he spied the thing and clutched 
at his tree, uttering a silent prayer.  Shuddering at the gruesome remains 
Thomas snatched a key down from a peg Thomas used it to unlock the door and push 
it open slowly.
            Malger, seated upon the stretched canvas cot with his knees drawn up 
to his chest, looked up at the opening door.  He barely registered shock or 
relief when Murikeer sidled past the archivist with Elvmere close behind.  
“Malger, are you well?” The priest asked when he reached the cot and knelt 
before him.  He grasped the minstrel’s hands tightly in concern.
            “Elvmere, Muri, I’m glad to see you.” He sighed, his voice raw 
edged.  His breath was shallow and swift with exhaustion.  The unexpected 
appearance of his friends struck him like a hammer’s blow but he found he could 
not grasp any sort of response.  He was so weary he could hardly bring himself 
to even care.
            “Gods’ blood, Malger, you look like hell.” Murikeer observed, 
sitting down on the end of the bunk.  Thomas entered as well but said nothing.  
“You do not look well at all.”
            “I’m exhausted, Muri.  I have not slept more than an hour since the 
caravan, except when you got me drunk.”  He unclasped his hands and turned them 
to grasp Elvmere’s, giving the illusion concealed raccoon’s rough paws a weak 
squeeze to comfort the concerned priest.
            “Nightmares?” Murikeer asked gently.
            “Gods…” Malger wanly shook his head, “Worse than nightmares, Muri.  
Memories.  All of them, I cannot fight them back.”
            “Memories?” Elvmere asked, glancing at Murikeer in confusion.
            Malger sighed heavily, his head bobbing listlessly on his neck, 
“Memories.  It is what I do, Elvmere.”
            Elvmere nodded, somewhat familiar with Malger’s ability to heal by 
somehow sharing the memories of others through his dream walking.  “I do not 
understand, how are you suffering memories?”  He shifted his weight back onto 
his heels and released Malger’s hands.  “Put your legs down so I can get your 
shirt off, Malger.  I want to examine your wounds.”
            “No, Elvmere.” Malger pushed at his hands weakly when Elvmere tried 
to draw off his shirt.  “You must go, now, both of you.”
            Elvmere blinked, his jaw dropping in surprise.  Even Murikeer raised 
the brow over his good eye curiously. “Go?  Malger, are you divested of your 
wits?  We’re here to help.”
            “For your lives, you must go.” Malger said again with an attempt at 
vehemence that fell short of a petulant growl.
            Elvmere huffed and shook his head.  Leaning forward he grasped 
Malger’s shoulders firmly and gave him a shake, much surprised at how easily he 
swayed the minstrel with the motion.  “No, wait, Malger, you have to slow down.  
The memories, how do they plague you?  What memories?”
            Leaning his head back against the stone wall Malger let out a choked 
sigh and grasped futilely at Elvmere’s arms trying to remove his grasp.  
“Everyone’s memories, Elvmere.  Everyone I’ve ever healed, every memory I’ve 
ever shared with them.  That’s why I bed them, Elvmere, it is the most efficient 
path to their inmost self where those pains reside.  Once I have gotten that 
close, in that moment when the spirit is open, I share their dreams, I share 
their memories.  I take the pain and terror away from the memory into myself, 
leaving them free of the emotions that taint the memory.
            “They still have the memory, but there is no pain for them with it.  
Because I’ve taken the pain with the sharing.”  He tapped his brow, “It’s in 
here, all of it.  Seeing Llyn’s torturers opened the floodgates.  Nocturna has 
turned her back on me, I cannot escape into my dreams.”
            “Why would she?”
            “Nocturna?” Thomas inquired, speaking for the first time.  “He 
follows the daedra?”
            Murikeer looked over to him, “Nocturna stands neutral among the 
pantheon, Thomas.  Neither dark nor light, but theology is not at issue here.  
Just don’t go telling the Lothanasa, she’s already got blinders on as it is.”
            Thomas snorted and shook his head, “No worries there, I shant.”
            Against Malger’s protests Elvmere finally did succeed in drawing off 
his shirt.  Under the guise of the illusion his human flesh was purpled with 
bruises so much that Elvmere let out an involuntary gasp.  Even Murikeer winced 
at the evidence of how much damage he had taken to slaughter Sideshow and his 
men.  Pushing back his empathic response Elvmere leaned close to examine their 
stitching.  “I can’t do this properly through your illusion.” He hissed aside to 
Murikeer and then over his shoulder at the true human among them.
            “He’s seen us already, Elvmere.  Malger should not come as too much 
a surprise.  Take the amulet off if you must.”  Elvmere sighed softly and 
nodded.
            “You must go, leave.”  Malger pushed at him with a grunt.  Elvmere 
rocked back on his heels and scowled, swatting Malger’s hands away.  Catching 
his amulet he fought the minstrel to draw it off.  Immediately the illusion 
vanished to reveal the unkempt fur of Malger’s upper body.  Much of the blood 
and grime had been washed away but he had not been able to properly bathe 
since.  Thomas gasped softly but stood his ground.
            “Astounding.” The archivist breathed, moving closer.  He squatted at 
Elvmere’s side and his eyes drank in the chimeric amalgam of man and animal 
seated before him.  “Truly fantastic, what that curse has wrought.”  Malger 
glared at him with backed ears and showed his teeth through lifted lips.  He 
grunted and hissed a breath as Elvmere tried to gently part his fur to examine 
the stitching they had done two days previous.
            “You have to go!” Malger hissed in pain, “For me, you must flee this 
place!”
            “Malger, you’ve gone witless.” Murikeer chuffed, “Is he fevered, 
Elvmere?”
            The priest touched his fingertips to Malger’s breast for a few 
moments, “No.  His wounds are not festering, that is a blessing.  But he is 
completely exhausted.  Malger, you will not heal properly if you do not eat.”
            “And if you do not flee this place you may not live long enough to 
see me die.” Malger groaned as the priest’s gentle fingers probed his many 
bruises and cuts.  Thomas drew over the basin of water left by servants earlier 
in the day.
            “Why, Malger?” Elvmere asked after a brief nod of thanks to the 
archivist.  Dabbing a clean cloth in the water he began dabbing at the cuts he 
could find under the marten’s dense fur.  Many of them had been too small to 
stitch and, with all of his fur, they could not be bandaged.
            “Malger, we are in no danger here.” Murikeer scolded.
            “You are, Muri, both of you.  I fled to Metamor for a reason, and 
that reason resides here!”
            “What?” Murikeer’s brow furrowed and he tilted his head in 
confusion.
            “Muri, my family was hunted down like dogs by assassins.  One of 
them –“ He choked a gasp and writhed at Elvmere’s touch and the priest jerked 
his hands back with a wince.  “One of them hunted me there.”
            “To Metamor?”
            “Aye.” He nodded and gritted his teeth, hissing breath through them 
and rapping his head back against the wall in a vain attempt to shift the pain 
somewhere else.  Murikeer leaned across and put his hand behind the minstrel’s 
head to stay his destructive behavior. “Tarried too long, lost my track, and – 
ahh!” His body jerked away when Elvmere examined the largest of his stitched 
wounds.  “Gods, Elvmere, please!”
            “Be still, Malger!” Elvmere complained.
            “How can I be still, by the gods, with you trying to rip my wounds 
open afresh?” the marten snarled quite effectively.  Thomas raised an eyebrow 
and looked at the priest as if questioning his wisdom for poking the injured 
beast’s wounds.  Malger’s teeth were sharp, long, and looked plenty capable of 
inflicting considerable injury with a quick bite.
            “Malger, the assassin?” Murikeer prompted.
            “She’s here, Muri, she’s here.” He moaned.  “She found me, and, 
Muri, she’s gods honest evil.  She could give Ba’al lessons in it.  She means to 
kill you.  That is her sport, her manner of torturing her victims before she 
ends them.”  Reaching out Malger caught the skunk’s wrist, “She hacks off 
people’s hands, Muri, hence her appellation, ‘the Hand’.”
            “Who is she, here, Malger?  Have you seen her?” Murikeer asked 
urgently, remembering the trophy left outside the door.  “She left a prize 
outside your door, a mummified hand on the flagstones.”
            Malger sighed and dropped his head back as he jerked a thumb upward 
toward the grate above.  Rain pattered lightly on the roof above that grate but 
none of it found its way into the cell.  “She threw it at me from up there.” He 
muttered morosely, “Gloating over my imprisonment.  I could never see her for 
she stood too far back from the edge, or in the sun glare.  She was wearing red 
this morning when she came to torment me.”  Turning his hand he gazed at the 
ruby ring he wore.  “The hand belonged to a girl I bedded in Silvassa.  That was 
the reason I fled, but she chased me all over Sathmore and the Midlands.  I was 
only able to escape her in Metamor, by becoming this.” He thumped his chest and 
winced at the flare of pain it caused.
            “I will guard against her, then.” Murikeer affirmed, “I’ve got magic 
to deal with that.  Master Rickkter was most skilled in wards of the most 
violent sort.  Should she attempt harm to us she will find unpleasant surprises 
awaiting.”
            “Murikeer, you and Elvmere must flee.  Make for Silvassa, seek out 
Nylene at the Lightbringer Temple.”
            “We’re going nowhere without you, Malger.” Elvmere said 
reassuringly. Settling back on his heels he wiped his hands with another rag.  
The ones he had used to clean Malger’s wounds were tainted red and brown.
            Malger leveled a stare at the priest before him, “And if the Earl 
weighs his justice against me?  What then?”
            “We fight.”
            “Muri?” Elvmere grunted in surprise.
            “Good lad, such a course lacks any wisdom.” Thomas chided gently.
            Murikeer turned a hard look toward the elder man, “You’ve seen what 
I could do as a mere journeyman, sir.  What think you of my abilities that I 
have ascended to Master rank?  I mean not to fight if I can find another course, 
but for Llyn’s justice I will lay waste to all within reach.”
            “Murikeer!” Elvmere scolded, “Such pointless assertions are mere 
folly.  Would you have the Earl lock us in tower cells of our own?  Stay your 
wrath!”
            Murikeer chuffed and nodded and forced his fur down.  Though Thomas 
could not see his ruffled pelt the effect transitioned rather well through the 
illusion in a red flush of anger.  Elvmere handed Malger his amulet back and 
rocked back on his heels before rising.  “We should all becalm ourselves and 
seek more rational avenues to gain Malger’s freedom.  Until then we should 
retire.  I will return this evening, the Earl willing, with food for you.”  He 
gazed down at the marten sternly, “And you will eat, even if I have to sit on 
you and force it down your throat.”
            Malger waved a weak hand at him while he draped the amulet around 
his neck, returning the illusion once again.  Above them the pattering rain had 
become a drumming deluge on the shale roof.  Murikeer did not fancy trying to 
dash across the courtyard under that skyfall.  “Go, I feel near to passing out 
after Elvmere’s torture.  But watch yourselves.  The Hand was – is – one of the 
best assassins money could buy.  I don’t want your hands being thrown at me from 
the grate above.”
            “Nor do we.”  Murikeer gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze.  Thomas 
smiled and favored Malger with a bow and a brief prayer for his good health, an 
utterance which Malger accepted with a vacant stare, and retreated to the door.  
Elvmere followed him and Murikeer left last.
            On their way down the winding stair, lost in their individual 
thoughts, none of them noticed the bundled furry form concealed against the wood 
of an inset doorway as they passed.  Alert eyes watched them pass over the bush 
of tail draped over the animal’s muzzle.
~~


      

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