((this is a story that a dear friend wrote for Seriina a couple years back., it is a reflection of who she use to be and to some extent who she is.))
(before the coming of the scourge in the city of Andorhal)
The silent shadows drifted slowly over the gleaming cobbles of the
courtyard and up the pale stone of the walls, leafy splotches from the tall
trees blending with the harder-edged lines of buildings. The rustling of a
slight breeze through leaves was counterpointed only by the occasional muted
sound from the city below: a cat's fighting squall, a late night carriage
rattling on the cobbles. These sounds were faint, though, and failed to break
the spell of silence that seemed to rest lightly over the exquisitely kept
gardens, with their white gravel pathways. One shadow detached itself slowly
from the darkest corner, seeming to drift as naturally as the rest. An observer
would have been hard-pressed to distinguish that lone shadow from any other, had
it not been for the fact that it continued its careful movement on into the
scant moonlight and slipped through the edge of the gardens. There were no
observers, anyway, so the shadow continued its progress unimpeded. The dark
shape froze abruptly as a very faint crunch from the white gravel betrayed that
the shadow had weight. The noise was drowned by the rustling of leaves, and the
shadow flowed over the short hedge to rest noiselessly on the immaculately
manicured lawns it protected. There were no more sounds to betray its progress
as it flowed, almost undetectably, along the side of the hedge and to the edge
of the enormous marble staircase that led up to the gleaming mansion that was
the crown of this hill above the city. The deliberate hesitation turned the
shadow invisible again, enveloped in the darker shadows of the balustrade. The
shadow did not reappear. Moments ticked by, the eerie peacefulness of the
beautiful mansion unbroken. Time seemed suspended briefly. Then, in the window
high above, there was a brief, eldritch flare of bluish light, quickly
extinguished.
The occupant of that room seemed unaware of the light. The shadow had
co-opted a large, wing-backed chair by the ample fireplace, facing it toward the
single occupant of the enormous four-poster bed that dominated the center of the
room. The shadow, seeming to lose patience, sighed loudly and shifted in the
chair. Still, there was no stir or change in the heavy, whistling breath of the
middle-aged man that slumbered on, lumped in the center of a huge mound of
pillows. The louder sigh of exasperation that accompanied the swift rise from
the chair also failed to stir that worthy. Only the light, sharp prick of the
tip of a razor-sharp arrow held below his chin finally aroused the sleeping
behemoth. He gasped in shock, his double-chin quivering, blinking sleep from his
eyes in panic. "Wha..who?" he finally stammered, revealing his wakefulness at
last. The shadow increased the distance between them, moving back to stand at
arm's length, but the glint of firelight against the head of the arrow showed it
was still in evidence. The fat man heaved himself up in haste, only to cower
back against the headboard when the shadow advanced slightly toward him again.
"What is the meaning of this?" he demanded, a reflection of his usual
haughtiness slightly coloring his tone. One indecipherable word from the shadow
breathed forth, resulting in a flare from the fireplace and a corresponding
flicker of flame in the expensive glass-enclosed lantern that rested on the
exquisitely-crafted wooden bedside table. The receding shadows finally revealed
the nature of figure sanding, now, in the center of the room, below the foot of
the bed. The warm light was flattering to the womanly curves of her slim figure,
and threw the sinews of the slender arms, rock-solid with the bow in full
extension, into a sharp relief. The leaping flames alternately revealed and
concealed the aristocratic planes of the mysterious woman's face, the high
cheekbones, the delicately arched brows, the full, sensual lips. Those lips were
quirked in a condescending sneer.
In any other circumstances, the low, dulcet tones of her musical voice
might have aroused the desires of most any man that listened. But the palpable
threat they conveyed washed any hint of seduction away. "I am sent to bring you
a message, my lord." the ironic tone seemed to stiffen the man's courage, and he
straightened up self-consciously, making a move to arise from the bed. A sharp
jerk of the gleaming arrowhead swiftly dissuaded him from that notion. He
settled back again, wide-eyed, hand clenched futilely on the bedcovers. The
deadly voice continued, unperturbed. "The Lady Fanowhen sends her regards." The
man convulsed in shock, his face turning the color of pale whey. "Lilly sent
you?" he quavered, his face showing more despair than fear now. The sneer on
those full, inviting lips widened into a smile of real amusement. "Oh, yes, my
lord," she paused to gauge the effect of those words. The groan of defeat that
accompanied them seemed to satisfy, for she went on with relish. "She wished me
to point out the inadequacy of your arcane defenses, when bought from those who
do not care about your welfare. She suggests you buy some human guards and a
large kennel of beasts to protect you, for the number and power of your enemies
surely outweigh that of your friends, after your actions these last seven
moons." She watched, still as a statue, as the import of her words sank in. He
straightened himself once again, hope and defiance wakening a vestige of dignity
within him, and reflecting what sort of man he might have been.
"Well tell that she-devil that she cannot.." he began, only to be silenced
by the sharp edge of the arrowhead digging once again into his throat. He
swallowed noisily as a small trickle of blood dripped upon the bedcovers. The
silence between them grew, as he stared at her, eyes wide, all semblance of
defiance washed away. The chiming tones of the woman's voice grew until they
seemed to ring in the air with a preternatural power, and her eerie blue eyes,
merely strange before, now glared with eldritch bluish light. "You are alive
only by her grace, at this moment, ingrate. She was the one who contracted me
before any other, knowing many would soon follow. She is the one that warns you
now, with care for your safety. She is the only friend you have left of any
substance, though I do not understand how she could still care for such a
pathetic slug as you. What love you won from her in times past, I do not know,
save only that it is sufficient to save your sorry skin this one last time. If
you have a wit beneath that balding skull of yours, you will heed her warnings
and take steps to protect yourself." The removal of the arrowhead matched the
fading of the eldritch light. The man sagged in relief, a thoughtful look
finally apparent in his eyes. His sounded hesitant now. "Were not the magic
guardians..." He trailed off in embarrassment as a truly amused giggle rang
charmingly through the room.
"My lord, you shared a bed with a sorceress of great power, once upon a
time. What little enchantments you can purchase now are easily circumvented by
one of only middling power. It was always fear of her that kept your enemies at
bay. Now that you have driven even her away, the vultures circle you more
closely every day. Were I you, I would think again about the course you have
taken, and decide whether your stubborn pride is worth it all. She cares for you
even now, or she would not spend the enormous sum it cost to hire my services. I
do not know why such a woman would feel nostalgia for one that seems so unworthy
of it, but if you have even an ounce of self-preservation left, you will follow
her advice."
This last was accompanied by a move toward the window, the bow relaxed now, and
the arrow not in evidence.
Firelight gleamed upon long, tawny hair as she pointed to the drops of
blood upon the coverlet. "That will not be the last time you see your own blood,
this week, if you do not heed her advice." She swung her leg over the sill,
appearing, no longer the shadow, to be almost like any other thief about to make
an escape. She paused at the pleading tone in his voice. "Lady.." he swallowed
at the force of her intense gaze upon him. "Could you carry a message back to
her, from me?" he went on, finally a trace of true bravery showing. A long
moment passed as she stared at him measuringly. He stood there, all trace of
pride and cowardice washed away, humble and yet quietly brave. "It was a great
price she paid, for me to be her messenger, my lord. And I think you have not
the coin for the same." she watched him accept this with palpable regret, and
the acceptance seemed to melt some inner resolve. She removed a small object
from within the folds of clothing and tossed it in his direction. He caught it,
startled, with a surprising amount of finesse from one so cumbersome. "Put your
finger in the hole upon the top, and speak into the hole on the bottom, while
holding it in moonlight." she instructed, as he peered bemusedly at the small
ball. "Your voice will be recorded for your message. When sun is high, place it
in sunlight and put your finger into the bottom hole. She will hear your voice
as recorded now, wherever she may be." He seemed at a loss for words, studying
the ball, and a small quirk of her lips indicated a tiny smile of satisfaction,
as she slipped out of the window.
She was already at the edge of the gardens, heading toward the wall, when she
heard his voice ringing out over the gardens. She glanced up to see him leaning
out the window. "Lady, I thank you!" were his only words, but they rang with the
dignity that had been so lacking before. She nodded once, thoughtfully, as she
ghosted back over the wall. This night would bring many changes to the city, and
as she melted into the night , she breathed deeply of the jasmine-laden air,
contemplating what the future might bring, and confident that her part in the
matter would never be revealed.
