"An Ivory Tale, Chapter Ten: A Grey Wolf in a Sheep´s Skin" by Toni J Kaukinen

How do you feel about waking up to a day that is bright and, considering the time of the year - winter in this case -, perfect and tolerable? I do, often and usually, but that morning I would not have minded a wintry thunderstorm.
        I had guests already for breakfast, and none of them - not even Nyanvara - made pointed remarks of the fact that I stank like a dead fish. Strange as this might seem, for I am quite sure you have by now understood the way we all mock each other (all fun and games, I assure you), it was merely to be expected. Allow me to explain to some extent.
        Nyanvara was accompanied by Tikr and Erkhan, two scoundrels that had never really liked each other despite similar interests. I had discussed this once with Tikr, who at that time made a remark that the younger fool was not only related to him, and that he was a little too practical with his pranks in addition to looking like a walking flower garden with all those clothes of his. But of course, I asked him, is it not said that one hates in others that which he hates in oneself?
        He laughed at that and told me that if that was true, he would have blasted me into ashes a long time ago. My response was to not bother with a witty retort.
        I half-wished I had made that retort when my guests, though otherwise civil, portrayed signs of uneasiness among each other. Nyanvara, too, found Erkhan unnervingly unpredictable, but she masked it much better than Tikr.
        So this is how it was: neither Nyanvara or Tikr were comfortable enough to make any witty retorts about my condition, and as for Erkhan - well. Erkhan was preoccupied with something, clearly. I could see it plainly. The look of concentration, the absent-mindedness usually not quite so rampant in his behaviour and how he did not smile patronisingly at his elders (and the younger Nyanvara) were all prime evidence.
        Quite enjoying the calm tinged with a little nervousness, I poured them all some wine and stuck to water myself.
        "I suppose you want to know where I have been," I began, breaking the silence. "Unfortunately, there is not much to tell."
        "Not much to tell?" Erkhan said much quicker than I had thought he would. "You... disappeared." His speech sounded even lazier than before. I took a glance at Nyanvara, who shrugged helplessly.
        Tikr thankfully continued. "You've been gone for a moon, give or take a few days. And you say there isn't much to tell?"
        "Well," I responded, "you might note that Sheiko Nightwrought has returned as well. As far as she could ken, she was only gone for a few days. And for myself, I can say that it was a land I have never heard of."
        Erkhan tilted his head; Nyanvara focused her attention on something else.
        "The layer delay?" Erkhan asked, glancing around.
        "The what?" I frowned.
        "Do tell," Tikr said, sounding uncertain over what tone he should use when addressing Erkhan.
        Finally, a smile appeared on Erkhan's face. "The farther you travel through the layers, the longer the delay. Very much like sounds and echoes."
        "Makes sense," Nyanvara muttered, staring into her wine.
        It did nothing of the kind, but I sullenly kept this opinion to myself.
        "Maybe so..." Erkhan said, staring at me smugly.
        I poked my tongue out at him and took a sip of water. "However you please. Where is Sevroa?"
        "Busy," he replied, still with that damnable smug and distracted look on his face. "We got him going fast. Though he certainly doesn't seem too... happy about where he found himself..."
        I smirked and looked at Tikr. "Now, that is no surprise."
        "I think I need some fresh air," the lady among us said, "if you'll excuse me, that is." Neither Tikr or Erkhan replied, and I merely gestured that it was all right with me; she smiled and moved toward the balcony, slowing down to examine my bearskin rug on the way.
        "So," I began, "what news can you tell me?"
        "Not much news to tell," Tikr said, smiling into his wine. "Border skirmishes, mostly – Andre's keeping the border closed as well as he can, but he's going to be in trouble sooner or later. The Border Kingdoms between Turneau and the Ironites already expressed that they'll let people move through their turf, but will defend themselves."
        I glanced at Erkhan expectantly; he nodded. "Yes... I had your Arenda-Nars handle it. We got a piece of land from Border King Mathis. The hide's almost finished there."
        "Good. I want you to... where is Taliat, now that I think about it?"
        "Well, with her Northern Movement," Tikr said. "They're keeping a very close eye on the borders from up north. It got a little tense over there in the last two weeks."
        Erkhan nodded and stared at the wall. His behaviour was slowly getting worrying.
        "All right. Nonetheless, I will have my assistant... Arenda-Ne do some moving."
        Erkhan blinked and turned to look at me. "Arenda-Ne?" he asked with a smirk.
        "Consider it a rank below Arenda-Nar - or such," I muttered, putting my mug on the table and glanced at the door. "I am actually expecting my assistant to come here any moment now."
        "Assistant?" Erkhan continued, smirking. "You're not getting old, are you?"
        "Yes, and none the younger," I said pointedly and shot a glare at him, producing my pipe and tobacco. "I will go out for a smoke, so if you do not mind – have some more wine and keep yourselves civil," I muttered as I got up. I was tempted to call them children, but realised that was too much, and instead only made my way out the front door.
        But as seems to be my fate, my peace was cut short. I had scarcely managed to curse daylight again and light my pipe when I spotted movement in my little garden maze. Tall, veiled from toe to scalp – Ragunn. And a black sheep. The lad waved once at me as he walked up the hill, Lamb in tow. The black sheep was untethered, but that scarcely surprised me.
        "Hullo," he said, looking upward at me from the bottom of the short steps to my house.
        "Good morn to you too, lad," I said, blowing smoke and frowning.
        I apparently took a bit too long staring at him, because he tilted his head expectantly and said, in a particularly diplomatic tone, "Is everything all right, Carenda?"
        "No," I said and squinted at him. "But 'twill do to say you are not the source of my frustration. I was hardly expecting you, though."
        Ragunn nodded. "And neither was I expecting to meet you today, but it occurred to me that something was amiss, today. Yet... you have guests, yes?"
        "Aye, that I do. Will you be so kind and tell me what seems to be amiss?"
        He gave Lamb a long look.
        The sheep, which had up until now seemed rather curious (and for some fleeting moments, frustrated) replied with a look of fear and fascination. It was strange enough for me to cease mulling over my aches and woes; curiosity has understandably always had a strong impact on me. Obviously. There was indeed something odd about the sheep, enough so that I wondered why I had not seen it before. Little details that contributed to the big picture seemed odd, not entirely sheeplike. Behaviour, for one. To be honest, it was not that surprising I had not seen it before: the flaws of the enchantment were very minor, but still there. But to a magicker like Ragunn, perhaps the oddities in the sheep's shape were more pronounced. Something in the very being of Lamb did not fit the idea of a sheep.
        "Well, well," I said, walking down the three stone steps and crouching next to Ragunn, peering at the slowly retreating sheep. "You know you could have said something, your poor creature?"
        She bleated indignantly, which was of course rather rude of someone I had taken care of for the past few days.
        "Quite," I said, glancing at the Voice. "Can you do something about her?"
        "Unfortunately metamorphoses are not my cup of tea, Carenda," the Voice said calmly, smiling under his little mask by the sound of it. "However, I'm certain you know personages who are able to deal with this."
        I nodded, delighted by the way this young man talked. I then smiled crookedly at the sheep and eyed her for a moment longer. "Wait here," I said, turned and walked into my house. Erkhan and Tikr had moved to the balcony with Nyanvara, who was quietly seething about not being left to her peace by the two rivals.
        Tikr was the first to react. "Well, had your smoke? No?"
        "No," I said with a disinterested look. "Erkhan? I have a need for your skills. Whatever you have had during the night, will it hamper with your magick?"
        The man, still absent-minded, gave me a half-unseeing look. "I," he said as he exhaled, "have not had anything."
        "You certainly seem like it," Nyanvara muttered darkly.
        Before anyone else could react, I said to Erkhan: "Let it slide." Erkhan simply raised his eyebrows in askance, as if he had not even heard her, causing not a small amount of confusion in both Tikr and I.
        "What," I said tensely, "then?"
        Erkhan smiled. "I am supplying young master --"
        "Don't say it," Tikr and Nyanvara snapped simultaneously, and thankfully this time Erkhan heard them.
        "-- Sevroa with the power to run illusions," Erkhan said agitatedly, not looking away from me.
        I was thoroughly confused at this point. "So, you did not get him going the way I thought you meant it, but..."
        "Yes," Erkhan said, smiling smugly again. "I had someone outfit his belt, boots and gloves with... certain 'decorative' gems that are --"
        All right. That was quite enough.
        "Milk your self-worth at another time, guest," I grumbled, pointing out whose house he was gracing with his arrogance. "Do you think you could see if you can unravel a little shapeshifter curse?"
        He went quiet at that, looking at Tikr and Nyanvara before glancing at me in a strangely embarrassed look. "No, not before sundown."
        "Why?"
        "If you would have listened to me..."
        "Well, I am now, so talk."
        Carenda Vovet frowned at me, most displeased. "It's hardly easy, Varus. But if I say that I provide him enough magick during the sunlit hours to last for the entire day and night, I have said enough for you to understand the general gist of the matter."
        "And no-one else can do this?"
        He smirked. "I never said that..."
        The blighter.  I cleared my throat, trying to calm myself. "Outside is a Voice who works for Taliat. He is with the poor cursed person. Do you think you two could figure it out?"
        Again, with a displeased look, he stared at me like I was becoming a nuisance. Finally, he nodded.
        "Good. Get to it. I shall make you all food."
        "Mutton, I hope," Erkhan said with bright eyes and left for the door.
        I refrained from saying anything until he was gone. Then: "He has been like that for the past few fortnights?"
        "I wouldn't know," Tikr said, obviously relieved.
        Nyanvara said sarcastically, "And he washes his teeth with the blood of innocent children too, these days. I don't know, Varus. I hardly socialize with this peacock."
        I shrugged. "No matter, then. At least tell me you know what he has done to Sevroa? I never had the chance to hear."
        "Oh, Lord Rainbow here made him look like a Sheadaren crusader," Tikr said, smirking. "He had Sevroa drop by his favourite tailor, too."
        Nyanvara looked like she might grin any moment.
        "He did pay for it himself, I hope," I said, closing my eyes.
        "No," Nyanvara said sweetly. "At least, not at first, but Sevroa somehow – managed to talk some sense into him."
        Tikr scratched his chin for a second, staring at me. "So, what sort of food were you thinking of?"
        "Not mutton," I said, shivering at the ripples in the winds – a sign that the Voice and the hooligan were doing something. "The woman is rather woolly at this moment."
        At that moment, Erkhan opened the door. "Uhm, this may take a while, Varus. Could we borrow your wine cellar?"
        I looked at Nyanvara and Tikr, then nodded to Erkhan. "Feel free to. I will have to go fetch meat and such from Clearspring at any rate, so the house will be yours and yours alone for that time."
        Carenda Vovet nodded, looking exceptionally flustered. "Erm, and would you maybe consider borrowing some of your clothes?"
        
        Having agreed to let Erkhan borrow both my clothes (for the lady, I hoped) and my wine cellar, I decided it was best to leave the two magickers alone with Lamb. To let the poor, unstable Erkhan work in peace, I invited Nyanvara to help me with the food. Tikr, bless his soul, informed us he needed to return to his post in the Teragonian hide. This was not unexpected, and neither was it unwelcome: I had questions I needed to ask Nyanvara.
        I must admit that the way we walked the streets would have seemed odd to you. We walked arms hooked as lovers might, but our expressions were guarded for the majority of the time, except when we would see something that amused either of us. It is polite to smile when another does, after all. Yet, one could have indeed mistaken us for a couple, an old coot and a woman in the  middle of her prime (though of course, I will admit she has always looked young) taking a stroll, looking for something to shop to help pretend the relationship was all right.
        It was not until we reached the food market, a massive tent – or rather, should I say, markethouse built of cloth? - in the centre of Clearspring that we began to relax. We took our time discussing what I ought to prepare (spending quite a bit of time bickering about the merits of ground fowl and deer) and whether or not we should even bother with dessert. In the end, as I ought to have predicted, she talked me into picking much of what she wanted, mercifully allowing me to at least choose what sort of bread to pick up.
        Of course, I turned this to my advantage and offered to buy her a hot drink, seeing as the wind blowing from the coast made the day quite chilly and that she had (forcefully) offered me her kind advice. Nyanvara's smile was that of a pleased cat, and she accepted the offer – immediately acting as if she had come up with the idea and leading me toward the centre of the tent. The centre was isolated from the rest of the tent as well as possible, with some wooden walls and extra curtains to keep the relaxation area as silent as possible. There was a hole in the tent over the area as well; it was especially lovely in the summer when the sun shone inside the tent from there. Or then it rained. That day it allowed Nyanvara to bask in the light for all possible suitors to see. (I secretly hoped there were suitors there, and that they would come to me and look for a fight. It would have been worth it.)
        "This day is going well, Lord Peacock nothwithstanding," Nyanvara commented cheerily, looking at me and my satchel of foodstuffs with no sign of worry at all on her features. I envied her for the ability to not worry when there was trouble brewing down south.
        "Lord Peacock," I began, "may well be a buffoon, but he is scarcely an incompetent one. Still, I will not allow him to use me as a pedestal in my own home, do not worry about that." I smirked. "Of course, the same goes for you, honoured guest."
        She rolled her eyes. "Droll, Varus, droll. I have this feeling you're honeying me up for something. And I know for a fact you don't honey anyone up for no reason at all, even if they are charming ladies." She sized me up, smiling knowingly. "Ah... yes. That would be it, wouldn't it?"
        I am quite sure I was not ogling at her, but I am equally certain I was startled by her perceptiveness. "'Twould, yes," I told her glumly.
        Lady La'lyvain nodded, forehead wrinkling slightly, letting me know she was disappointed in my reaction. "Well then, spit it out. I want to hear it."
        "I was lucky enough to have an altercation with good Ganawade last night. The fool thought he could sneak up on me dramatically. I believe."
        "Well, he always was a peacock, though not as much as Erkhan... Mother forbid you gentlemen would stop being so dramatic about things."
        My reply was a chuckle; she smiled sweetly, irritating me on purpose.
        "No," she continued, "go on. I'm curious to know how this ties in with her."
        I nodded and took a sip of tea, looking over my shoulder at the small crow. "He came to me and more or less blamed me for playing mindgames with Contesq, then immediately told me she is not Contesq. I find this perplexing, Nyanvara, especially so because the nancy told me you would know how dramatic the change in her personality is."
        Nyanvara nodded curtly, squinting at me. "I've never liked her, to be honest. And mark my words, I've known Lumbiawe for as long as she has been stationed in my hide. She was something of a messenger between myself and Ganawade, and Ganawade in turn used her as a messenger between Ybarian's Bleeders for the reason that she knew some of them. Knew, not liked." She smirked at my confused expression. "She was always uncertain about herself. That's not a quality I like in anyone, anarde or human. I believe her peers were teasing her about it as well, considering she was also something of a coward despite her obvious physical strength."
        I stared at her, bewildered. Contesq, a coward? But I remembered the nasty remark Nyanvara had made of her when I complimented Contesq when I first got involved in the mess. "You called her a fool once."
        She nodded, smiling. "Well, obviously, she's still a bit of an idiot, but not as much as before. I called her a fool, because she repeatedly tried to overcome her fears and then got trapped by the same fears. It seemed like the Raddenshaw incident finally helped her overcome those fears... especially considering you forced her to go back to those fears again when she had fled from them, pretty wildly."
        It made sense. In a way. Contesq had seemed intimidated by the place, though there was a strange undertone to it. A veritable bleeding heart that I wanted to turn into a Bleeder. How ironic.
        "It was why Ganawade mostly kept her as his secretary and messenger in the first place," Nyanvara continued, satisfied. "So, it would do to assume he's blaming you for turning his lovely, buxom puppet into a real noble."
        "Maybe so," I said, still slightly worried that maybe, just maybe, Ganawade had meant something else. He had been very upset, and he was certainly no idiot. "Thank you. That eased my mind a bit."
        She blinked at me in surprise, then laughed. "I'm surprised you even let his blatherings bother you like that. You know better."
        I did. I never told her Ganawade called Contesq dead. Instead... "I did not tell you who my Arenda-Ne is, did I?"
        "Mmm, no," Nyanvara said, taking a sip.
        "Oh, I recruited Ybarian again."
        She regarded me sharply, putting her mug on the table. Grinning. "You've totally lost it this time, haven't you?"
        "I think not," I chuckled. "Taliat's little border skirmish troops have cost him friends, a thumb and most importantly, his way too high opinion of himself."
        "My, Varus. For a savant turned backstabber, you're awfully interested in turning lax families into productive families."
        "Oh," I said, "as to that, only if he survives the war. I am experiencing this horrible thing – premonition, let us call it, that if he dies in the war, all his family is going to do is put another feather into their plait and prance about like a bunch of proud robins." I wrinkled my nose, disgusted. Nyanvara did the same – even though she was what we warriors and magickers liked to call a supporter noble (based on the fact that she undoubtedly was noble, just not a fighter), she certainly did something for the good of the nation. Many good things.
        "Well, best of luck to him, then," Nyanvara said sincerely, her expression softening somewhat. "He's another fool, but I haven't seen what his tour with the Mivet's done to him."
        "I am quite happy with him," I said earnestly and smiled at her. "He does what he is told. He even lied to me when ordered by his Arenda."
        Nyanvara appraised me with her gaze for a while, then grinned. "You, Varus, are the oddest bastard I've ever known."
        "I am aware, dear lady. Now, if you are finished, I suggest we go."
        "Certainly. You bastard."
        I am quite happy with that title to this day. She stated it with such heartfelt honesty and a special kind of warmth.

        When we headed back, now more relaxed with each other's company and myself carrying the foodstuffs, we found Ybarian sitting on my stairs, apparently enjoying the peacefulness of my garden, as dead as it looked.
        "He looks different," Nyanvara said to me as we climbed the hill, her smile dying as her usual guarded severity took over.
        "True," I said, seeing him in daylight for the first time. I had not realised just how much weight he had lost – and gained at certain spots – or how tired he looked. Gone was the brimming confidence that I had noted yesterday. As with most people who had served in the Mivet, this only meant they knew a fool with no experience with the sword might be the end of their lives, no matter how skilled they themselves were with the sword. This was what I wanted to see in my Senet as well. Unfortunately, my own devil-may-care swindler's mindset seems to this day penetrate throughout my ranks, even to the much too grim young ones to the older individuals.  The result was soldiers with something of a mix between resignation for death and a manner of taking life to the fullest while taking care of one's duties.
        I hoped Ybarian would change this.
        "Morning, lad," I said to him as we got close enough for him to hear.
        "Hullo," he said, looking up from stack of letters and standing. The way he looked at Nyanvara was interesting; his look was a surprised one, but far from terrified. It was a look of morbid fascination.
        "Good morn, Arenda-Ne," Nyanvara said. "You're looking well."
        "I'm well, thank you. You're looking radiant, lady La'lyvain."
        "That is no joke," I mumbled, rubbing my aching eyes. Her hair shone in the sun, as did the little snow on the ground. I still suffered the pains of a heavy drinker.
        Nyanvara squinted at me amusedly – briefly – and then smiled a little at Ybarian. "Thank you, gentlemen. Have you eaten, Arenda-Ne?"
        Ybarian, who seemed only slightly amused by my mumbling, looked at her. "I might as well admit that I haven't."
        "Then I'm sure Varus is making enough food for six people."
        Again, she made up my mind for me. I smirked. "I myself am not that hungry, so I daresay it ought to be enough unless my poorer guest is not famished. Of course I have seen her munch on grass like there would be no tomorrow for her, but one never knows..."
        Ybarian frowned. "The sheep, Carenda?"
        "Yes, the sheep. Ragunn brought her to me this morning, stating there was something strange about her. We shall see in due time, once Erkhan and Ragunn emerge from my cellar. Now, shall we go in? I have nothing against staying 'frosty', but I would rather not teach you young people bad habits."
        Nyanvara chuckled, nodding at the door. "Take us in, elder."
        So I did, walking up the stairs to my door and letting them in. I myself made my way to the kitchen, telling the two to amuse themselves as they best saw fit. I knew Nyanvara would not let Ybarian stare about uncertainly and attempt to think of things he might be allowed to do, but to my pleasant surprise, Ybarian took this with a smile and walked over to my terrace with the letters and documents. Nyanvara joined him nonetheless, beginning a conversation that in no way hinted that she might have had a bad opinion of him – to put it in other words, without explicitly saying so, she told him he had been given another chance to prove himself as a person.
        I listened to their conversation as I emptied the satchel of all the foodstuffs. After I was done with that, I decided to sate my curiosity – to go and see what the magickers were up to. It was clear already from the inside of my house that forces were at work in the basement, and as it were the closer I inched to my basement the stronger this sensation became.
        Two candles lit the room enough for anarde eyes to see though it was hardly necessary: the ripples of magick bounced off the walls, the supporting main pillar and the three creatures inside with such vibrancy, I could have easily navigated with my eyes closed.
        I could not have seen the candle wax that either of the two had presumably poured on the ground. The patterns were the unmistakable combination of human and anarde magick, specifically the signature sign of Voice magick – as well-informed as I am about these things, I did not presume to disturb the patterns. They were all I just listed; they were also alien in a way.
        The creature in the middle of the patterns, however, caused my blood to turn sour. The horrors from Nowhere were still fresh in my mind, but seeing a sheep's form slowly ebb and form into a slimy human figure covered with black wool gave my stomach a reminder of how my state had been on that very same morning.
        Ragunn sat on one of my chests, swaying like a tree in gale winds: it was clear he had nothing to do with the current ritual. Erkhan stood next to him, keeping his chin up as he watched the magick toss and turn: the thought crossed me that he was ready to step into Ragunn's place and take over the duties again, no matter the risk to the sheep-woman.
        Erkhan beckoned me to him with a flick of his wrist, and I complied. Carefully treading around the patterns and the pulsating form, then skipping over a chest, I made my way next to the two.
        "Not a glorious sight, is it?" Erkhan smiled, now far more alert than before. "It was a nasty piece of magick. I could taste and smell blood while finding the seams, and there was no blood to be found anywhere."
        The way he smiled sickened me even more: he seemed so aware of his brilliance, so uncaring as to what there was to the issue aside from his petty little magick and mysteries. Do not get me wrong: I do like him, but every so often his self-worth fires my temper and I find myself wishing I could pluck a few peacock feathers. This was one such occasion: I merely grunted an answer and attempted to cope with the pulse of magick.
        "I'm slightly worried, though," he added after my awkward silence did not give him the acknowledgement he sought. "I don't know how much you know about these things, but I assume you understood that somehow she did not fit the idea of a sheep."
        "Yes," I admitted, suddenly realising how bloody the air tasted. He was right. "What is the idea behind her?"
        "Her idea is that of an Unhallowed sorceress," Erkhan said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "It took him," he pointed a thumb at the swaying, mumbling Ragunn, "very little time to even find her essential idea of me. Interesting fellow, this Voice, really."
        "Essential idea of me?" I repeated. It was a new concept to me: I wondered if the look on Erkhan's face meant it was a new concept to him as well... or even the Voice.
        He smiled and squinted at the form, which was slowly starting to stabilise. "Oh, I'm just saying. He found out her true form easily enough... the specifics are, we got into the topic and reasoned that if it's possible to return shapeshifters back to their shapes, it's centred around their essential perceptions of themselves. Just a generic idea of a human would be incorrect, just as much as a generic idea of a sheep."
        "Ah. 'tis logical, yes. Is this idea... would it be one that the form remember or how does this work?"
        My peer chuckled. "We found her by memories. I don't know if it will result in an idealised picture of her, but the essential she does exist somewhere in theory... I mean, no, not theory, no. Somewhere in the world or level of ideas."
        The matter was slowly beginning to actually tickle my curiosity, no matter how sickening and disgusting the circumstances were. "So you mean to say there are generic and specific ideas and that they all inhabit a world of ideas to which everything with either abstract and solid definitions adhere?"
        Erkhan tasted the idea for a while. I could see him beginning to think about it as well. "It's something to think about. This is all merely theory, right?"
        "I should think so," I said.
        "All right, then. Whether or not it's make-believe, I can see merit in this sort of idea. There's a physical level and a spiritual level. Both of these owe to the level of ideas, which is structured in a manner we can't really define without guesswork."
        "'Tis worth noting even this is guesswork. We are and exist, and we hardly need to know these things to exist." I paused. "Of course, Voices and magickers rule their power by knowing its form and experimenting with it."
        "That's right," Erkhan smiled. "Say, how's your Unhallowese?"
        "'Tis passable," I said, fishing my pipe from the depths of my pockets. "How long do you think this will take?"
        "It should be soon, now. It's taken very long. The few times I've done this sort of thing, it's been much, much faster... but the magic's also been less complex." It sounded rather odd. I gave Erkhan a long look, expecting to hear why this was difficult. He shrugged. "We talked about this just now. Usually metamorphoses are simple little cantrips. This one... not so. Often the little cantrip is nothing more than a close, close imitation of what could be. It does play with ideas. I've never seen <i>changed</i> ideas."
        "I cannot say I understand," I mumbled, lighting my pipe. "It seemed like a normal metamorphosis to me. How do the Fists and Souls do this?"
        "They borrow spirit traits only. And that's what I meant. If the spirit believes, the body believes too... but if the spirit is changed and the body is too, well, colour me surprised this woman still remembers anything human!"
        "We shall see soon, then. While we wait, perhaps you could expand on that?"
        Erkhan chuckled and shot a worried look at the Voice. "The ferals have a way of suggesting their spirit that they've changed. Physically there is little change: what you see on the outside is just a manifestation of magick and spirit. They're lucky in that they know how to change out of it, but they curse people with the same state sometimes. Of course in most cases they would rather swap spirits between a squirrel and a pesky human, as that's much more efficient."
        "Nasty little surprise, I am sure," I mumbled and looked at the young Ragunn, too. He was still swaying and most definitely awake: this was satisfactory but it was quite unnerving even so.
        "Not as nasty as this. This is... well, the conversation we had. You and I. Him and I. The only reason we did get this far was because Ragunn found enough similarities to deduce there was something lingering."
        It struck me only then that what he had said at first had been an attempt to make curious; it was only paying off now, and curious I was. "This is entirely new then?"
        "Let's say the theory we just had doesn't seem all that insane considering this," he said, nodding at the figure. The woman's form was finalising: the wool had all but gone. There was hair in the normal places, and it seemed the right length as well. I swallowed and tried to look elsewhere.
        Erkhan, of course, was staring shamelessly, though I suspect even to this day his interest in the anatomy of a naked body is purely scientific. He treats aesthetics with thick leather gloves. I believe he is slightly afraid of women, especially Nyanvara. (Though of course, so would be anyone sane!)
        She moved, and all three of us shuddered – all three, including Ragunn, who was still very aware of what was going on, apparently. She moved again, made a sound.
        When I cleared my throat, she fidgeted and uttered something I could not quite make out. I gestured to Erkhan, tugging at the front of my tunic. Understanding my gesture, he handed me a bundle of clothes he had appropriated from my wardrobe and proceeded to whisper something into Ragunn's ear.
        It was only then, when I approached the sorceress, that it occurred to me she might be very dangerous – even so, I was confident that manner of structural change had rattled her. So with only a token amount of care, I walked next to her, crouched and placed the clothes on my basement floor. "Good morning, little Lamb," I said in Unhallowese, "and welcome to Clearspring. I hope you will not be upset that I do not have clothes of the right size for you."
        Indeed I did not. She was slightly taller than me and not as solidly built – likewise I was slightly worried the trousers would not fit her at all. I ought to have worried more about whether or not she knew what the clothes were for anyway, I understand, but I live by assumptions. Right then I assumed she would have her wits back.
        And she did. "Thank you," she croaked in Unhallowese, shaking her matted black hair out of the way of her eyes as she pushed herself to a half-sitting position. I attempted to politely look at her face, and succeeded for the most part.
        I puffed some smoke and waited for her to say or do something next. It was a slightly embarrassing situation altogether. Here I was, sitting in front of a naked sorceress who may or may not have been strong enough to know where she was and who had been taken through not one but three Caedaren outposts of some sort. It was a potentially threatening situation, but I was certain I could handle it – somehow.
        You must note, however: it was our common curiosity that had us unhex her in the first place.
        "Who are you?" I finally asked when she did not do anything but look nauseated and dizzy. Now that the waves of metamorphosis magick were gone, I was aware of Erkhan and the Voice in the background conducting some manner of minor magick.
        "Vanderzee," she mumbled, picking at the bundle of clothes meekly. "I'm a sorceress from... I recently had a manor under the hills near..."
        Now this was rather interesting. "Near where I found you?" I asked, my curiosity tingling. She nodded and tried to say something: I cut her off. "What did this to you?"
        This time, the reaction was pronounced. Her face contorted into a mask of hatred that startled me. "A petty magicker who wanted my collection and tools. He wanted me – to help him, to do things for him and his insignificant little king."
        A sorceress beaten by a magicker, Amanda, is a creature scorned. Sorcerors keep to themselves for the most part as you know, happy to let things happen around them as long as the things go the way they like them to - and Vanderzee did seem to fit the description. I believe Ottaviano knows Vanderzee as well: she is still alive and well, as what would kill a sorceror if not another of their kind, their heir or they themselves?
        I licked my lips as Vanderzee gasped for air and tried to make further explanations. Her fury and annoyance prevented her from doing so, and thus I shushed her and spread out the bundled clothes for her. "Very well. Please do not overexert yourself: you are not in the best of conditions." I paused for a moment and reflected on that statement. "How do you feel?"
        "Angry," she grumbled, locking her eyes on us all. While she examined us, we examined her. The cellar was quite dark now, but lit enough for sharp anarde eyes to make sense of details and brighter colours. She was quite bony, to be honest, with proportionately more leg than torso (which did not serve to make her attractive) and strangely greyed hair. "But weak, as you said..." Her stare sharpened. "I don't intend to sound ungrateful, but what are you going to do now?"
        I stared at her for a while, contemplating this prematurely greyed woman with a youthful, petulant face staring at me -- and the disturbingly feral hunger shining in her eyes. Yes, I could think of a few things. I believed we both wanted a cold dish.
        I smiled. "I shall serve you food."
        Allow me to assure you she was not expecting this answer.

        Ybarian and Nyanvara took it to themselves to see to Vanderzee, Nyanvara of course being the more vocal of the two (as Ybarian did not, in fact, speak Unhallowese). This meant that Ybarian ran hot water and other things to Nyanvara who pretended to be Vanderzee's handmaiden – a prospect I am sure amuses you as much as it amuses me!
        Erkhan and the Voice sat themselves on the porch, discussing something in highly technical terminology I followed only half-heartedly. I knew many of the terms (excepting the newer ones), but I was not interested in this information as I stood in the kitchen preparing food. The secrets are, most of the time, in spices – the ingredients themselves can be quite simple as far as one pays sufficient attention to the spices and possible sauces. My choice that day consisted chiefly of vegetables and of some game. I cannot recall exactly what I made, but I recall some vegetables filled with cheese and garlic, the meat being a separate addition to the dish (as I was nervous over the sheep – in the end she wolfed down more of the game than the vegetables, however).
        As I prepared the food and the magickers talked, I also went over what Vanderzee had said. There was little doubt in my mind King Andre and his pet magicker had some connection to the sorceress's plight – and so, if this was true (and even if not) there was a fair chance we could politely ask good Vanderzee to blast things into fine dust. On the other hand she was hardly in a good condition. Yet, as my pounding curiosity reminded me every second, there must have been something she had noted when her little predicament had befallen her.
        Thoughts of predicaments brought me to consider my own problems. For some time now, the sensations I met every time I attempted to Find Sheiko confused me. Her "scent" - if we were to call it – had changed, and it was like a distant lighthouse, blinking in the night. I reconsidered it for a moment as I fried the last of the meat and, on a moment's whim, attempted to Find Contesq.
        I was met with a deafening sense of nothingness. Fortunately, I caught myself before I dropped my wooden spoon and made a mess, but even so I had to lean against my kitchen table and slowly but surely probe the feeling. Emptiness. Hollow, hollow emptiness – then a flicker, which I could not place anywhere. Ganawade's words came back to me with a terrible roar of fear. Was he right after all? I could not be certain, and it tore at me even worse than certainty of her death, however it had happened.
        Steeling myself, I finished making the food, then slowly sank to lean against the doorframe in the kitchen, still ignoring the technical prattle of Lord Peacock and his Masked Accomplice. It was right then that Nyanvara, Ybarian and a slightly more cheerful if obviously suspicious Vanderzee returned. My half-hearted attention turned from Vanderzee to Ybarian, who stared at me politely yet expectantly. His presence reminded me of things: I straightened, breathed deep and motioned him to come closer. I gave him some instructions – telling him to save it for when he had the time for it – and then asked him to set the table with me.
        "I can't say I was expecting this manner of work," he said a little nervously, as if afraid to push the issue, when we shooed the magickers from the porch in order to set the table.
        "Refrain from expecting," I told him. "Once one begins to expect things of your work and setting boundaries, one stops hearing and seeing."
        "Ah. And what am I hearing and seeing now?"
        I smiled, albeit half-heartedly. "Patience. You are a noble – you are more used to social gatherings and remembrances than commoners who worry only over the practical workings of things."
        "That's right," he said and glanced once at the view, then began to set down the plates.
        "Has it perhaps occurred to that you one hears many things while having the time of one's life - that is to say, getting drunk and filled with all manner of delicacies?"
        Ybarian actually laughed – but very quickly grew serious again, stopped what he was doing and gave me a stare. "No, I suppose not... you don't really take time off, do you?"
         I pondered the question, lighting my pipe once I had put all the food down on the table. There was some truth to his guess. "Once every ten seasons or so, I reserve a summer for myself, go to an island where the sun shines warm and fish is plentiful. Most importantly, however, nobody comes there."
        "And that's all?"
        I nodded, feeling mildly uncomfortable. It was not an easy thing to speak of - my obsession with my work - with my distrust of anyone's capabilities to do better. Yet it was only true. Nobody could do my work better than myself. "Yes. There is never a moment when my time is mine, of course." I pointed at him with my pipe. "And neither is any moment of your time truly yours. It has never been, it will never be. When you understand this, you will no longer have problems with prioritising matters."
        Perhaps it is a chilling way to think. But also, perhaps you will have noted I visit you sometimes, good King, good Queen. Sometimes, of course, being quite often in a season. The reason is simple in addition to the most obvious explanation: I like you more than I consider the pacts between your kingdom and my Nation. You are not the new kind of royalty that do not know anything about being warlords, soldiers or politicians. All they demand is respect, taxes and social order – these are all fine qualities, but I dislike their lowlife pondscum, good-for-nothing leeching. A true noble of any importance does things.
        And this, you understand, is what Ybarian hopefully learned that day. Oh, that is not to say he never learned it – I only mean that I wish he learned it from myself. I sincerely wish so, because he only smiled and set the last of the plates before heading into the wine cellar. I was left with Vanderzee and Nyanvara who passed him on his way.
        "Well," I began, "you are feeling better, I hope."
        Vanderzee's greyed hair was oiled, and it shone beautifully in the rays of the sun. Thin as a reed as she looked, she fit well into the clothes she had been supplied. She smiled a tight, tight smile. "Famished, but well. I thank you for the hospitality, and for the so-called rescue. You know I owe you."
        Such bluntness. I smiled momentarily at Nyanvara, who seemed merely intrigued. "If you say you do, then I will take your word for it and assume you do," I said in a slightly amused tone, squinting as the sorceress blanched a little. "Do take a seat. I hope you do not mind that we drink our wine watered down. Our kind is not known best for alcohol tolerance."
        Vanderzee chuckled as she sat down. "Thank you. Your kind. I confess I don't know much about anardes. Which tribe are you?"
        "If you were to make a guess," I only said, blinking at her curiously.
        "Oh, there's really no need for this, Varus," Nyanvara said. "I took the liberty of introducing everyone. Your manners are so poor these days, elder. Please be a bit more direct."
        "Ever the diplomat, I see," I noted dryly. "Very well. We are the runts of the litter, Vanderzee. We are from the Caedaren north, and I am sure you may have heard something of snowghosts from Deepwild arriving south."
        "Not particularly," she said a little hesitantly. "I don't concern myself with the outside world very much."
        "Ah." Now, that was not an enormous surprise at all.
        She smiled ferally. "At least I didn't use to. Again, thank you for the... ah... rescue. I am a poor... well, no. Not poor. I am a mere student of the world, you see, and my home was attacked by these buffoons from the south."
        "Ah. Straight to the point, still, I see," I interjected.
        "I was explained this is what you want to know."
        Nyanvara had the decency to look at least a little embarrassed, but I paid no attention to her.
        "So," Vanderzee said and cast a longing look at the meat on the table, at which I made an encouraging gesture, "before I knew it, I was... turned into a sheep. In my own laboratory, which was not at all a very unprotected place." Pause. "I... had heard this to have happened before, recently, from my teacher."
        "What?" I blinked a few times. "What do you mean?"
        The sorceress smiled defiantly as she helped herself to some of the food. "I mean, wizards, warlocks, sorcerors and learned men have been disappearing as of late. Very powerful ones, to be honest."
        "And you are one?"
        "A sorceror never tells," she said distractedly, already attacking the food with the ferocity of a mountain cat.
        "Especially not if they are sheep," I noted a little darkly to myself in Daren.
        Nyanvara licked her lips to cover her amusement.
        "Mmhm?"
        "Can you tell us what these assaillants looked like?"
        "Hmph." She swallowed. "They looked very odd. Like a large number of entirely identical soldiers. And the wizard... dark of hair, dour of face. Well, handsome. The beard was trimmed well."
        I sighed. Yes. This sounded like King Andre's doings. "One question, if you please."
        "Yes?"
        I paused and stared at her, marvelling how I had expected her to say "that was one". Shaking it off, I finally asked my question. "Would you like revenge, Vanderzee? It appears we have a common enemy."
        She stopped eating for a while, looking up at Erkhan, Ragunn and Ybarian who all entered the porch in good moods. I found this rather depressing, actually.
        "Yes," she finally said, frowning. "What does it cost?"
        I shook my head and pulled my chair to take my seat. "It costs nothing but co-operation and one vow, with which I can promise to you something."
        She looked a little doubtful. "A vow?"
        "Understand, we like to keep to ourselves. Actually, we would like nothing better, but that is impossible. We live on and in secrecy, and before we tell you anything more, I would like you to know the Sheadaren and we do not get along. We do not get along with a number of human kingdoms, duchies, whatnot."
        "I don't like the sound of this," Vanderzee started, but was cut short by Erkhan.
        "What my moping colleague is trying to say is, if you help us and keep your mouth shut, we can tell you things you'd never hear elsewhere," he smiled.
        And, strangely enough, that did it. Vanderzee bursted into laughter. "Straightforward! I like you, mynheer!"
        Without showing that I took exception to being called a "mister" (it is complicated), I sighed and shared a worried look with Nyanvara.
        "He's hardly that straightforward," Nyanvara commented with a polite smile. "Erkhan was correct, however. We don't know how much you know about things, but nobody knows everything."
        Vanderzee snorted and directed a knowing look at Erkhan and the Voice. The latter of the two stared back like a puppet, masked and stilled. She chewed on a bit of meat for a while, leaving us to think. Out of Nyanvara's insistence as a diplomat that we did not launch into a conversation in our mothertongue, which limited the conversation to myself, Erkhan and Nyanvara.
        We chitchatted about this and that for a while, beginning with how the Grand Illusive (we did not refer to the theatre by name) was about to start showing a series of tragedies the following week. This was, of course, news to me, and as such I welcomed it heartily, no matter how alone listening to Erkhan and Nyanvara talk made me.
        Then I looked at Ybarian, who was sitting and eating quietly, listening but not understanding. Ragunn I was certain understood. He tilted his head and made soft sounds now and then as if commenting on the exchanges. But Ybarian. I regarded the man: handsome, petulant... I could still see the traces of arrogance on his face no matter how humble he acted. I had said earlier that I was not impressed with his leadership skills: that was not altogether true, as I also pointed out his men had followed orders without questioning them. I was thoroughly impressed with his progress in such a short time, but I confess the main reason I wanted this stained sword near was so that I could work the stains off it.
        Vanderzee cleared her throat. "Before I say anything remotely close to a promise of any sort, I want to ask these gentlemen a few questions," she said, indicating at the two magickers with a nod.
        Erkhan smirked at me like a little boy with a childish reason for pride. "After we are done eating, certainly. Can I presume that I can swear you in if you like what I have to show you?"
        Vanderzee smiled. "One thing at a time."

        After the meal with everything taken care of, I sent my guests off, expressing to Erkhan how disappointed I would be if any harm befell the sorceress or, indeed, anyone else.
        I had things to do. Ybarian stayed, helping me go through the reports of the weeks of my absence with relative speed. Things were going poorly indeed. I made plans to return to Raddenshaw and the ruins and the primal den thereabouts, discuss things with Coerai, Dayamo and Clarefaer and, most importantly, travel to  see with my own eyes the severity of the situation in the Borders.
        Throughout my planning and reading, the discussion with Ybarian - everything -, I failed to distract myself from my gloom. My thoughts were on Sheiko, of whom one report had made mention roughly a few days after my disappearance. The report itself was quite entertaining insofar as reports could be. She had threatened to turn some of Eyes into newts again when they had almost shot her. After this they – Sheiko and the Eyes – had proceeded to have a short celebration that did not end even when Sheiko announced her intention to leave. She had walked down the road to Turneau. Literally.
        The depressing part of this was that for her to have made such an appearance meant that she was in actuality making a statement, perhaps to the effect of: 'I am going here – please come at your leisure.' I was curious. I was curious about her, too – and she knew this.
        She used me, but it was nothing new.
        Further proof that she was a woman.

Amanda regarded me curiously as she put down the pages I had presented to her in the middle of the feast. "Your society seems to revolve around trickery," she said, her gaze travelling around the hall, meeting the thunderstruck looks of the guests, challenging them to make a comment about the company she kept.
        "You have not been able to divine that from the relationship I have with your Majesties?" I asked her, using the court jester's tone.  The man did not like me at all and, as such, neither did I. It was rubbing salt in his wounds as he stood in the background, amusing Amanda and Ottaviano's guests, and it was also being somewhat irreverent in front of the guests.
        But they were human nobles, and you do know how I feel about your nobilities, good friends. Let them stare at me: let them think I am a particularly arrogant Sheadaren. (Yes, it was one of my intentions.)
        Ottaviano took the pages next and had me sit next to him. I took great pleasure in displaying my teeth to the guests as I ate the mutton (oh ho ho), waiting for Ottaviano to finish his reading.
        He broke into a laugh at some point in time. "People use you a lot," he whispered to me and handed the pages to a servant. "And to think you had just showed to her how upset you were about being used in the first place."
        I smiled the manner one would in a bind.
        "There are certain things I don't understand," Ottaviano said, stating the obvious. (Yes, Amanda, I too have noticed.) "There's a disrepancy with..."
        "Another time," said I. "All will be made clear: 'tis a mystery, yes, but let us not talk of such things now."
        Amanda rolled her eyes. "Drink and be merry..."
        "Either of the two will suffice," I said cheerfully, artificial though it was.
        You see, I am not at all happy thinking about that particular phase of my story.