Which Witch

[Wendell]

22 Ashan 717

They had raced to Rharne from Ne’haer in a stolen boat, and docked along the coast rather than travelling up river. A rowboat had been waiting, the raven they had sent had clearly made it to land, and one of Wendell’s co-workers had been waiting. He went by the name Wolf, stood at about six and a half feet tall, and didn't do a lot of talking.

“Any of the lightning knights follow you?” Wendell asked.

Wolf shook his head.

Sugar climbed down into the rowboat, looking a little green after the long trip, and still wobbly on her feet. “Careful,” Wendell helped coach her onto the smaller vessel. “There you go.” He jumped aboard without hesitation and was swiftly followed by Haraji, one of Freya’s men.

They had taken the rowboat to shore and hidden the boat beneath the dunes before making the trek to Rharne, one that had taken a few days. By the time they reached the city, their schooner had been discovered, and authorities were on the lookout for any ne'er do wells in the lower quarter. Sugar had returned to her home, and despite the temptation to follow or seek out the familiar comforts of his own dwelling, Wendell had chosen to stick with Haraji. The last thing he needed was to be stabbed in the back by another member of Freya’s gang.

Camped near the docks, the two men took turns watching every boat that came and went, looking for one in particular, the same boat Gorroc had managed to steal him away in from these very shores a few seasons ago, hoping to sell Wendell as a pleasure slave, one that might have fetched a fine price on the black market, if Gorroc’s goal had ever been achieved.

“There,” Haraji pointed. It had just gone dust, but even in the dim light, Wendell would have recognised Caed anywhere. The pirate stuck out like a sore thumb, black as coal, and tough as they came.

Wendell got up from the chair he had been snoozing in and pulled on his cloak. “Let's go welcome our friend home.”

Haraji spat. “Fist or knife?”

Wendell cocked a brow, “bucket,” he pointed.

“I can see why she liked you, companion.”

A pang of guilt struck the man low in his gut. He didn't like Haraji referring to Freya in past tense, as far as any of them knew she was still alive, and they were going to find her.

Caed gasped for air before his head was plunged back into the bucket, fingers scratching at the wooden floor. Wendell had the man’s thick, curly hair held tight in his balled fist, and kept the man submerged until his whole body convulsed. Another gasp, followed by another dunking, before the pirate was permitted to speak.

“Why'd you take off without us?” Haraji asked.

Caed shook, throwing his weight to one side in an attempt to wrestle free, but his feet were tied at the ankles and Wendell held one of his arms in an armlock. His fingers were crushed and bloody, two of them broken where both his attackers had stepped on his free hand, pinning it to the floorboards.

“He asked you a question,” Wendell pushed the man before grabbing his hair again to pull him upright.

“Why are you doing this?” Caed looked frightened, perhaps even confused. “I taught you everything you know!”

“Then let me teach you something,” Wendell whispered close to the man’s ear. “Never cross me.” He didn't give the man a chance to answer before he was forced head down into the bucket once more. This went on for some time before it seemed Caed was ready to participate.

“I was protecting our investment!” he hissed. “There is a meeting arranged for tonight! Let me go and I'll take you to the place.”

“How do we know it's not a trap?” Haraji asked.

“Trust me!”

“Little good that did us,” Wendell said.

“Please, I swear on my life it is no trap. I swear on Freya’s life!”

Wendell kicked them man. “Freya might be dead because of you! You sarding coward!”

Caed cried out and bowed, his limbs going limp. “It's a meeting with the witch doctor to accept payment for the drugs. Her men are unloading them from the ship right now, but she wanted to meet away from the docks and sample the quality before offering payment.

Haraji looked across at Wendell and nodded, and Wendell let go of Caed and even helped the man to his feet. They sheathed their weapons and followed Caed to the right place, both a little apprehensive. If this deal didn't go well, if they didn't get what they were owed for the drugs, they wouldn't be able to go to Blackbrine and buy a ship big enough to save Freya. They couldn't afford for anything to go wrong, so Wendell made Caed a promise he wouldn't quickly forget.

“This is the place,” Caed assured them, and Haraji stepped forward to knock on the door.

[Plague]

Above the banks and muddy ground the sky twisted its bruised and grey body, trying to wring out the storm. Instead the wind carried the promise of rain while the clouds withheld. Caed nursed his shattered hand as Wendell and the other pushed him onward. Down along the bank they went, furtive shadows in the wake of oncoming fury. The place of meeting was the skeleton of a cabin, the ambition of a hunter or fisher left to rot in the weather. Guttering light flashed from inside, and the wind hollowed out the place where a roof should be, dipping in and out with weeping screams.

Caed swallowed hard and looked back to his captors, nodding at the door and speaking at last. Haraji shared a look with Wendell before stepping ahead of Caed and rapping against the warped wood with three knuckles. The door protested the intrusion, swinging forward on surprisingly well oiled hinges. It smacked the interior of the cabin and nearly came back around, pausing halfway and falling still. Haraji grimaced and stepped back, putting a hand on the small of Caed's back and pushing him through first. If there was a trap, then Caed would be the first to spring it.

The inside of the cabin was surprisingly open. A dirt floor and the ruined remnants of what may have once been furniture, pushed against the walls. Two braziers set on iron poles stood straight from the ground, casting limbs of flailing flames over the lip. The wind warred to kill it, but the blaze stubbornly clung to life. The Witch Doctor was the only one in the space, sitting between the two braziers on an oak chest with banded steel bent over the lid. She was a vision of incandescent beauty, too bright to seem anything but intimidating. The cloak that she wore seemed tight in the wrong places, leaving little to the imagination of her body. Both pale hands were crossed over her knees, clasped. When Caed entered, followed by Haraji and Wendell, she smiled and put her hands back, leaning over the chest before slowly standing. Her shadow moved strangely against the flicker of the flames, almost as if it had a life of its own.

"My, my," She murmured, lifting a finger to her lips and tapping lightly, "I didn't expect you required so many to collect a small reward." Kneeling by the chest, she drew a hand along the lid, her gaze shifting between all three men, "My instructions were clear. Your....captain? I presume, she would come alone. And yet here you three are, and no captain."

Smiling, she clapped her hands together once and almost as if on cue, the thunder distantly boomed. "There is a story here, isn't there? Come, come, tell me your tale."

[Wendell]

What caused a man to fear things, Wendell pondered to himself when faced with each new door, the unknown, terrible tales, his experiences? He thought he saw a glimpse of fear in Haraji’s eyes before they ventured into the abandoned fishing shed. Caed cupped his crippled fingers and muttered something under his breath, content just to stand near the fire after being so long at sea.

All three of them looked weathered by the journey, but it was Caed who looked the most sleep deprived, believing he had done more than his fair share to secure his cargo and see that it was delivered on time. Perhaps that had been the uttered curse on his tongue, that the gold should be his and no one else's.

“Lost,” Caed spoke first, “taken.”

“Dead,” Haraji corrected him, sure Gorroc had not spared her.

Wendell folded his arms, studying the woman. He had expected something else, he reminded himself then, not to do that. “Taken, dead, what does it matter?” he finally spoke. “You have what you ordered. We are in the business of shipping, not storytelling.”

The door slammed hard behind him, and though he did not so much as flinch, he felt every hair on his body stand on end.

Just the wind.

Of the three of them, Wendell appeared the least intimidating. He wasn't dressed with rings on his fingers or chains of silver and gold, he had no material wealth. Even his clothes were plain, donning a pair of worn leather paths, stood in a set of boots that were close to talking, and wearing a long-sleeved shirt that looked two sizes too big, and very... lived in.

Wendell had been marked by their missing captain, as a slave, with a creature that resembled a dragon inked into the skin of his neck on the left side. Across his hips he wore a simple brown belt, decorated with a single dagger, but his hands were clean, he had never killed a man, unlike his companions. They wore their wealth as freely as they did their fears, easy to read, predictable, but they had their uses.

Caed hissed. “I brought the shipment in, I got past the guards, I deserve the reward.”

Haraji gave him a stern look, thinking that just maybe, Caed wanted him to break the rest of his fingers. “You should tell her,” he encouraged. “What does it hurt to know?”

Knowing is everything, Wendell thinks, but it takes a moment for him to decide to speak. “I was taken by an associate of our dear captain, and given this,” he pulled down the neck of his shirt to reveal the rest of the tattoo. It was a protection mark, something that made him one of Freya’s kin, if pirates honoured such things.

“We sailed from Rharne to the jungle city,” Wendell elaborated, “the poisoned city to collect your shipment. Some of the crew rebelled and were… dispatched. From there we travelled to a number of provinces in Ne’haer. The authorities were onto us, we had to stay low and on the night we planned to leave the western shores, we were confronted by a disgruntled pissant that goes by the name of Gorroc.”

“Ex crew,” Caed interrupted.

Wendell looked at him, and lifted his jaw in a defiant gesture, as if to tell the man without doing so, that it might be best if he kept his mouth shut. “I was stabbed,” Wendell raised his shirt to reveal the scar above his left hip. “Caed took off with the ship, Freya was taken by Gorroc,” and Haraji was nowhere to be seen, he thought to himself all of the sudden. Where had Haraji been on the night Freya was taken?

“Being a resourceful lot, securing a second boat was little trouble, but after all that time at sea, and doing so well to beat Caed here home, he doesn't look very pleased to see us.”

Caed’s shoulders tightened and he refused to look at Wendell, his teeth locked together as a hard line formed across his right cheek.

“Which makes me think he knows something we don't.” Wendell cocked a brow in the witch doctor’s direction, perhaps it was her turn to tell a story?

“I want my gold!” Caed demanded.

Wendell booted him in the back of the leg, and the pirate buckled and took a knee. “Manners,” he said, as if scolding a dog.

[Plague]

She was, if anything, a rapt listener. Each word they spoke she devoured with her silence, following the fractured recounting between the sailors with polite attention. When Wendell caught her eye, insinuating Caed might know something he did not, her smile grew wider still. Despite her ghoulish glee it was impossible to look upon her and not feel a little spell bound. Her beauty did not approach the sexual, but transcended into the artistic. Even the wind seemed to bend in deference around her, daring not to catch strands of her silver-white hair and tug them across her face.

The flames guttered, blazed, leaped, and clawed at the edges of the braziers, desperately trying to escape, to fly with the wind that taunted them so.

Finally, she stood, so sudden and so fluid that Haraji took a reflexive step backward, steeling himself in a more advantageous stance. Her eyes were on Caed, though, and took no notice of his unease.

"See?" She said, spreading her hands out, "You're storytellers after all. Even sailors and grave diggers tell tales, gentlemen. Stories are not business, they are our lives, the currency of our experience and adventures." Her steps made no sound as they slipped across the dirt.

Haraji reached out suddenly, his grip hard on Wendell's shoulder.

"She leaves no tracks." He hissed, a strangled whisper that drew Wendell's eyes to mark the very same observation. Where the witch stepped, the ground did not hold impression. She was quicker than the sailors had supposed, and from across the inside of the room she had crossed to stand above Caed in what seemed like a few quick strides. The sailor looked up at her, trying and unable to avert his eyes from her own.

"Before we begin, dear, I believe you have something of mine? A token entrusted to your...perhaps late captain?" Caed did avert his eyes then, turning them to the dirt and holding his injured hand a little tighter.

"Sold it, for coi-" Or at least he began to say it, but the Witch was upon him, sliding her body against his. Knotted muscle and salt-puckered scars rippled against her own sensuous body as she folded around him. To Wendell, she seemed a snake of cloth and silver hair a moment and Haraji instinctively gripped the hilt of his weapon, beginning to draw it out.

But the moment was over and the witch drew back, holding a fine chain knotted around her fingers. At the end, a beautiful cylinder of polished metal dangled, gleaming bronze and silver depending on whether it was in the darkness or the flickering brazier light. About seven inches long, its length was carved with strange symbols, covering each surface with cryptic swirls and angles. Caed shivered involuntarily as the Witch withdrew from him, but she had left him unharmed. Haraji kept a hand clenched around the handle of his weapon, however, his muscles rigid with coiled apprehension.

The cylinder turned in the light for a moment before the Witch slipped it around her own neck and hid the cylinder in between the cloak and her bare skin.

"Fortuitous you did not," She said to Caed, returning to the chest and delicately snapping the latch open, "It would have found its way to me eventually, but it always helps when such things are more conveniently returned." One hand disappeared into the chest and then withdrew, holding a bag that stretched with the weight of coins inside. She shook it appreciatively, eyes on each one of the sailors individually before approaching with the bag.

She paused, only eight feet from the three, balancing the bag of gold from hand to hand.

"But who do I give it to, I wonder?" She looked between the three men. "Which one of you is captain now? To whom do I award the spoils for a job well done?"

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[Wendell]

The air coursed around the witch as if moving through invisible veins, the three men shuffling uncomfortably on their feet, like leaves stirred by the breeze. She caused the hairs on Wendell’s arms to prickle, and he closed his hands together behind his back, the same hands that jumped in front of him as the witch wrapped about Caed like a white ribbon, reclaiming what she believed was hers.

Whatever fear he had seen in Haraji’s stare, he felt in the tense fingers clutching at his shoulder. It was true her footfalls made not a sound and left no mark on the earth. A ghost? The man tried to rationalise what he was seeing, quickly adding it to the pile of many things he had seen that could not be explained in this life.

With outstretched hands, the bag of coin was passed back and forth in front of them, a piece of meat dangled before starving lions. Did the witch enjoy a show as much as she did a tale? Caed glanced at Wendell and lowered his gaze, closing his good hand into a tight fist as he restrained himself from reaching for and taking the purse.

“I'll take it,” Haraji told the witch. “How much?”

Wendell shrugged, “he is the only one who can count.” It wasn't true of course.

Caed looked as if he had been forced to swallow venom.

“Don't worry,” Haraji smirked, “you'll get your cut.” Traitor, the look he gave Caed would accuse.

Wendell didn't trust either of them, but he knew Caed hadn't sailed to Rharne alone, so if he had a gang outside somewhere ready to jump them, it would be Haraji’s turn to earn himself a scar or two. Coin, after all, was of little importance to a dead man.

“If that is all,” Wendell said, while tucking his thumbs into his belt.

[Plague]

"It could be."

Her whisper was a promise, but conditional. She extended a hand with the satchel, jangling the coins. Haraji stepped out to claim it, careful to keep a hand on his weapon and the other reaching for the bag. His fingers in inches, she snatched it back from him and laughed. In any other circumstances, it might have been a charming laugh. Bells, Wendell found himself thinking, it sounded a little like small bells. Haraji grimaced but did not draw his weapon. He knew enough about reading an opponent to get the idea she knew a lot he didn't. This was her turf, her place, and her gold. The crew was at a disadvantage.

"We had a deal," Haraji said levelly, keeping his voice calm, "We delivered the goods, and now we get paid."

"I made a deal with Freya DuCarinos, a child of Iron and Salt. I did not include you, Blood slayer, or you," she nodded to Caed, "Coward, or you," her eyes danced on Wendell "Half-soul. In fact, I was clear on my instructions. Your companion is fortunate not to be dead but..." she trailed off, "I needed him for this." Whatever she had said to Haraji darkened in fury on his face and he drew his blade in one fluid motion.

"How dare you," He hissed, knuckles white on the grip, "I'm not-"

"His name was Rashar and he whispers from the black depths." the witch said, tilting her head slightly to the side, "Do you want to know what he has to say about his younger brother?"

Haraji shouted, a strangled cry, and brought his blade forward and down toward the Witch. The shadows at her feet writhed, but more wildly than even the flames could coax and rose up into a surging mass of black. Arms, legs, claws, two burning eyes and Haraji's blade vanished into the viscous smoky thing as it placed both hands on his shoulders, forcing him down to his knees.

Caed cursed and stumbled back for the door as the Witch turned her gaze up and upon the traitor. He threw open the door to escape but stopped, falling backwards onto the dirt floor with a startled gasp and kicking away. At the door stood three men that Wendell didn't recognize. In the oncoming storm their features were dark and their arms hung slack at their sides. Their eyes were empty, clouded, and it took Wendell a moment to see the signs of their death on their body. The first had been run through, three neat wounds that darkened his simple shirt and his pants. One behind him had a vicious, bloody maw opened in the side of his head, where something heavy had struck him repeatedly. The last had a wan smile below his empty frown, carved into his throat. The three dead men stood at the door without moving, swaying slightly in the buffeting wind.

Haraji struggled with the shadow specter and the Witch turned her eyes on Wendell.

"I intend to hold my bargain. You may leave with the thirty thousand pieces of gold promised...however," She was holding a blade now, a jagged knife that looked as though it were fashioned out of a kaleidoscope in glass. Wendell never saw her draw it. "I find myself in need of reliable men. Men who know the stakes, the dangers, and seek them anyways. Men who tell stories and men who can do what is necessary."

She lays the pouch of gold on the ground, just out of Haraji's reach as he struggled with the shadow creature and strolled towards Wendell. Caed choked back terror and beat a retreat across the room toward one of the weathered walls, his eyes everywhere. Without a weapon he was at the mercy of any event that transpired here.

Looking Wendell up and down she lifted the blade out in an outstretched hand, "Bought and sold, my poor wanderer, betrayed and forsaken. I have a job for you and in return, I will tell you where Freya can be found." She held out the blade, "Cut down your traitor and I will give you a new crew, a new ship to sail, and a purpose to your travels." She did not withdraw the offered blade. The handle was of a dull metal, not unlike the pendant, flashing bronze or silver in the whipping light. "Stories are told by the living, Legends are held by the dead. When they tell your story, Wendell, son of spirit and flesh, what will they say? Are you a man who rises to destiny, or fades into obscurity?"

Her smile was not cruel, but earnest. "Tell me you want nothing, none of it, just the gold and your freedom and all three of you walk from here with your prize. We will never cross paths again. Or..." She pushed the dagger out, proffered and balanced on her delicate hand "Take the blade, and show me you want more."

[Wendell]

So this was what it was to stand in the middle of a hurricane. Wendell watched the events unfold around him, terror struck into a sense of calm that unnerved him. Was this what peace felt like, would this be the end, the calm before the storm? If it was, he refused to go to his grave having pissed himself, begging like a thief about to lose a hand for stealing a loaf of bread. He had done nothing wrong, but show up.

The coin was thrown down in front of Haraji, but Caed made no attempt to dive for it, sure then, that this would be his end. Wendell turned about to look upon the figures in the doorway, and couldn't help but wonder if the blade extended to him would turn Caed into one of those… things.

Wendell took the knife, and Caed pressed himself hard against the wall, as if it might accept him or maybe let him pass through, defying the laws of the physical world. Wendell turned the blade over in his hand, if just to study it, and cast it aside to the ground, but not before cutting into his own hand, deep enough to draw blood, a mark to remind himself that he was free to choose, that he was bigger than his hate. The cut would leave a scar, but perhaps that had been his intention.

“If you wish to make a deal with me, Witch, let's make a deal,” he raised his hands, blood pooling on the palm of his left hand before running down his arm to stain the loose fabric that had gathered at his elbow. “And you will work with me,” he lowered his arms, “not because I killed a man, but because I did not.” In fact, Wendell even intended to pay Caed for his efforts after this. It would be loyalty won without bribe, which had been the exact reason some of Freya’s men had turned against her; no one could pay people to care.

A man needed three things in life to be happy, a woman to love, something to look forward to, and purpose. “Tell me what you desire, and if reasonable, I will carry out your wishes. Trust me, Witch, and you will find that trust returned.”

Wendell was looking for purpose, he had been his whole life, floating from one job, place, and woman, to the next. He had been thrust into a world he knew nothing about, and within the span of three seasons, was already keeping his promise to the people who had enslaved him. Their boat was his, their gold was his, and now, they would owe him their lives.

Wendell extended his hand, blood falling away from the tips of his fingers. “You won't need anyone else, I can promise you that.”

[Plague]

Where strange metal parted skin, shoots of pearlescent brilliance slid into Wendell's veins and scurried up his arm. Although the blade now shone from the dirt where the sailor had dropped it, the strange pull of its power seemed to continue. Blood that ran freely from his fingers and down his arm languidly reached toward the blade, slithering through dirt and mud drawn by an unheard command. The blade gobbled the blood that ran to it, and the cut on Wendell's hand did close, but it gleamed the hue of pearl rather than the dull white of scar tissue. The shadow holding down Haraji released him suddenly, dashing across Wendell's feet and retrieving the blade. Haraji had already drawn his own and stepped back between the witch and Wendell, although his motives were obscured in panic. Did he just want to put himself closer to the door, or did he think himself a capable guardian against the witch's power?

The shadow returned the blade to the witch and she took it. A grin crossed her faith, followed by a laugh, a long and full sound that filled the room and tore the teeth from the wind howling above. It was an honest mirth. "Such bravery, such foolish bravado! Oh, you creatures, such marvelous decisions." The storm ceased its howl above them, as though the weather had been shamed into a gentle lull. The witch took the blade and turned it over and over in her hand, tapping the tip to her own skin where the same pearl-like threads of color poured out. Momentarily the likeness of Wendell's own face appeared before fading away as those lines of colors ran up her arm to disappear within her cloak.

"Very well, boy, we'll deal...but only because you've provided me such unexpected fun." She waved her hand and the figures at the door stepped back, turning wordlessly into the evening and shuffling into shadow. Her own shadow settled back behind her and lost its savage countenance. The fire was once again the fire and she was a small, but beautiful woman. Even the knife had vanished, somehow gone on her as though it had never been drawn.

"Verity Philt, a girl in Rynmere...Andaris. I had strict instructions to bring her, unharmed, to my presence but it seems that my coin was not sufficient enough to procure competent help. Bring her to me comfortable, unharmed, and healthy and I will reward you. As a token of returning your...daring gesture, I will tell you that Freya can be found in Rynmere as well. Or at least she is as of this moment." The witch inclined her head as though listening and then nodded solemnly, "I can't imagine she'll venture far." She indicated the gold, "There was a ship I was having comissioned with the Blackbrine. You will take that coin and buy it. A small skiff such as yours wouldn't do for the work I'll need you to eventually do, I suspect you'll need something a touch grander. Crew and supplies you'll find in Blackbrine. Seek out the shipwright Moskom and tell him the The White Raven is to be turned over to you, with the gold you've brought. He may...protest, but prove you're worth her and he'll relinquish."

She took a few steps back from the three men, retreating to the treasure chest where she took a gentle seat, "Your word is your bond, Wendell, and that's struck by blood. Betray the blood and yours will do you a similar turn." She smiled again, earnest. "You'll face no issue going from here and this coin I've given...there is so much more for reliable men or in your case..." she fixed Wendell with a smile, "Man."

Haraji spit into the dirt but took a step back toward the door.

"Let's go," He said shortly, scowling, "Dog, pick yourself up and crawl after...or we'll leave you with her."

Caed didn't snarl at the insult but cradled his injured hand and stood, striding quickly to where Haraji menaced the Witch with a blade.

"Do hurry," She bid them with a gentle wave, "It's the season of storms around these parts."

[Wendell]

A curse on his blood, or a blessing? Wendell peered at the scar, his new contract. Wendell had his word, and now the witch had it too. He would go to Blackbrine and secure the ship, sail on to Rynmere and seek out the girl. He did not request a timeframe, good things took time, after all, and he intended to do this job right.

At the mention of Freya’s name, he had noticed a shift in Haraji’s stance, his urge to leave, to heed the witch’s words. Was she a Necromancer, he wondered, would loyalty buy him a lesson in the dark arts one day, a taste of such power? He felt a shift in himself, the pull of his blood, longing for the blade, sensing it even when it was out of sight. Would he know when the witch was near, like a dangerous compass? The thought sent a chill down his spine.

Haraji took hold of the gold and Caed jumped to his feet, cautious as he walked in a half circle, keeping an eye on the witch as he turned himself over to bad company, the lesser of two evils.

“Verity Philt,” Wendell nodded, “I will bring her to you alive, comfortable,” he used her word, but expected that this Verity Philt would not come willingly. “And as long as I serve you, my face is my own,” he warned her, he had seen his likeness in the moments following their deal. If she wanted a good servant, a live one, she would need to learn to trust him, but in turn Wendell needed that trust to be returned.

He waited for Haraji and Caed to leave before following them out. They would travel to Blackbrine in order to purchase the ship, and from there they would sail on to Rynmere in search of Freya and the woman the witch had tasked him with returning to her. Wendell stopped in the doorway, there was something he needed. “A blood rune,” he said, half tempted to believe the witch knew his thoughts, “for safe passage to the city that sailed.”

[Plague]

When Wendell dipped in, the witch had somehow moved to just a few feet shy of the door. She watched him, passively, as the dark sky overhead debated on rain. Extending her left hand towards him, he noted the rune clasped gently between thin fingers. Hers was a knowing smile as he took it from her, gingerly, careful of the speed she'd shown just earlier. In the dark of the oncoming storm, the haunting phantoms she had called her gone. Only the heavy aimless foot tracks lay muddy in the dirt.

"Clever, Wendell, clever," She said to him, "I had wondered how you planned to gain access to the Blackbrine without the Rune...but I've no doubt your resourcefulness would find a way." She turned from him, gliding back across the room (Because he could not see her feet beneath the cloak and she moved as if they did not touch the floor), to caress a hand along the chest she had brought.

"Two hours, Wendell," She told him, looking up at the sky, "And then the storm will be upon you. Be safe."