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In the deepest hour of night, he had awoken. Startled from sleep, he pulled his sword from its sheath by his bedside in a single instinctive motion, then brandished it to the throat of the pale figure. No pressure responded through the flexible metal, and the figure came toward him unimpeded, impaling itself on his sword as though it did not exist. As, he realized, it was an incorporeal being, it could not be killed by such means. He readied a spell that would compel the ghost's compliance, but the words froze on his lips as he recognized the voice. It was Nyctea. "I am slain," the ghost voice of his fiancee echoed. At first Elanus could not think to utter the spellwords. He looked at the white face, and in it saw the echoed familiarity, yet completely changed in color and solidity and warmth, to white and insubstantial and cold.
"Our love was doomed," the ghost said, "I love you still, but you must live on without me now."
"Who killed you?" he demanded, ready for vengeance. Anger filled him swiftly, covering shock and pain. "They will die, as horribly as I can make it."
But the ghost did not answer, and was fading. Now the spell came rapidly, the spell he needed, mystical words and gestures spilling effortlessly from fingers and lips. He bound the ghost for minutes only, all he had available in the middle of the night, but long enough. He would not keep his love from her rest for longer anyway. "Tell me who sent you to me as a ghost, I wanted you with me but not like this." He marshalled his anger again. "Who?" he demanded.
The ghost was compelled to answer. "Tanagra," she replied.
He would have demanded a true-name, but even a ghost would not know that. "Who is this Tanagra?"
"She is a necromancer, a sister of the College of the Dead," whispered the ghost.
"Why?" One word wrung itself from him.
"She was paid," the ghost told him, and his hold faded then. The ghost was gone.
Two days later, at the high noon hour, when trickles of sunlight penetrated even the Darkwood and the necromancers' power was at its low ebb, Elanus paid a visit to Tanagra. She was a Tier`dal woman of middling age, with fine features and full red lips that threw a spot of color onto the midnight indigo of her skin. Her lavender eyes were large and lustrous, her white lashes framing them long and shining, as was her carefully styled hair in its ornate braids. She looked up from the meticulous work she was doing restoring a two thousand year old handwritten grimoire to see a young warrior standing over her, casting her work into shadow.
Tanagra looked him up and down appreciatively. He was a noble, she saw, dressed in the finest ornate battle armor of the Death Knight, obviously custom made for him and at no little cost paid to the Artisan who'd done the work. Shining mithril skulls held a pattern of blacksteel and translucent velium chainmail in place, the whole strong, relatively light and the strategically placed velium plates hid none of his attractive masculine virtue. The azure of his skin shone through tempting gaps at muscular chest and thighs as well. His gleaming white hair was held back in a single braid that came down to mid-back, and he'd apparently left the helmet that matched the armor at home. She smiled at the stranger.
Elanus gave her no chance to flirt with him or exchange pleasantries. "You were paid," he said bluntly, "to kill a woman called Nyctea. By whom?"
"I think you must be mistaken," Tanagra said mildly. "I deal with those already dead. It is the profession of your college to kill the living, not mine." Though she knew of what and whom he spoke. But he was mistaken about the details; yet she must also hide them from him if she could. Her life would be worth little if she could not. So this was the grandson, she thought. A fine scion of a noble family. She had been well paid to do what she had done. No doubt he would need to be consoled over the loss of his love, and too bad he would be so unlikely to turn to her for that.
"The ghost told me it was you who sent her to me," he said, realizing as he spoke it that it did not, after all, mean she had been the one to kill Nyctea. He had in his emotional state been less clear than he should.
"Ah, yes," Tanagra said, as if now recalling the subject to mind. "Her family paid me to attempt to summon her, to find out if she were still alive after her disappearance. When I found her, she spoke of you, and I sent her to you--"
Elanus interrupted. Secretly he had charmed a pair of bones with a spell that sensed a lie, and the first one had crumbled to dust at this speech -- so he knew it was untrue. "Stop," he said. "Tell me the truth--"
Tanagra interrupted, "That is the truth--" but Elanus pulled the other lie detector from his sleeve. As Tanagra was distracted looking at the bone and realizing from its magical aura what it was, Elanus had drawn his dagger and had it at her throat.
"Speak another lie," he said, "and you will die." They were both noble, so her death would cost his family a hefty price -- but exact nothing beyond that. And she was not a matriarch's favorite grandson, and yet, if she revealed the secret, she would die anyway, and not so swiftly as at a dagger's blade.
Tanagra watched her words carefully. "Your grandmother, she was the one who paid me to send the ghost to you. So you would know the girl was dead, and not try to find her."
Elanus nodded, the bone remained whole. "Go on. Did you kill Nyctea?"
"No! No, I don't kill. You know that was the truth, your bone would have sensed it if it were not. I --" she almost said "don't know who killed Nyctea," but that would have been too close to a lie, she thought, and amended, "believe your grandmother paid one of your cousins to track her down and kill her," she finally said. That was what the grandmother had said, and it had seemed believable. He released his hold, and sheathed his dagger. The bone was still tightly clutched in his fingers. Tanagra took a deep breath, and uttered a short prayer. That she would gain the power to kill, and start with this one. She could sense his anger, and the power of death embodied in him. He would find his revenge. She would be unimportant at first, but as he worked his way through the list of those who had wronged him, his hatred would grow, and so would his power. If he lived, and they did not kill him in their own defense, which they had already gone to great pains not to do. He hated them, and they did not hate him, so he was stronger. She prayed for the hatred to give her the strength to kill, which she had never had. But, at least she had kept the secret she had been paid to keep. She did have that much remaining, and perhaps even to use against him if he prevailed in his vengeance. By the time the necromancer looked up from her prayer, Elanus was gone.
Elanus had come late to command training, and applied himself only to the minimum required of a graduate. A dozen years ago he'd spent two years in the matriculation corps, giving new students to the War College their first lessons in military matters. Then he'd been given thirty knights, told to choose twenty of them to be his cohort. Most Death Knights started this particular course ten or even twenty years earlier in their training, then spent the following ten or twenty years leading larger bodies of soldiers, or even troops of Death Knights. But Elanus had always been more interested in personal combat and the study of necromancy than he had been in military matters. Still, it was required, and he'd willingly studied the thirty candidates, all of whom had been at the college between twelve and twenty-five years, and served at least ten years under Knight Commanders. None of them had much acquaintance with the Death Knights, and Elanus chose to eliminate from his cohort the ones who were most afraid of him. All twenty were still with him, a fact of which he was justifiably proud. None had died, neither in the battles they'd fought together, nor alone by mischief or mischance. None had deserted, dropped out, or in any other way been transfered from his command. He'd needed no replacements. Taken as a whole, his record as a commander was a rare thing in the College of War for this reason alone. And in addition, his cohort had been decorated in six of their thirty-odd engagements. On a small scale, Elanus, despite his uninterest, was an excellent commanding officer. His style was highly unusual. He did not attempt to inspire his troops to hate him, which made his own commanders and instructors concerned, until they realized his goal. He instead let his knights concentrate their hatred on the enemy, and learn to rely on one another fully, and on their leader. This was a technique few Tier`dal could pull off, but it seemed to come naturally to Elanus. Though he'd inspired none of his fellow Death Knights to emulate him, as being nobility they were more tradition minded, and not only that, but there was an unbridgeable gap between the knights and their necromancy-practicing fellow students, that Elanus had bridged rather than closed -- though no other death knight imitated Elanus's technique, quite a few of the Knight Commanders did. Many knights of the War College did not study the role of military commander at all, but those chosen to do so were the best the commoners had to offer, and some nobles as well -- the more flexible nobles, typically. The Acolytes were skeptical at first but even they saw that the god's commandment to hate was not being subverted, only channeled differently and in some ways more effectively. The men and women of Elanus's troop paid little attention to the controversy as they set the example.
He led his troop through their exercises. Twenty knights, none of them nobles. They finished, and he saluted them, then turned to walk away. One of the six women of his troop called, "Sir?" He was not sure which one; strange, he usually recognized all their voices, after all he'd been their commander for ten years.
"Yes?" Elanus answered, not turning around.
"Sir, permission to speak with you privately?" Now he recognized the speaker, Corapipo, the youngest knight in the cohort.
"Granted." He turned, gave her a curt nod, then continued walking off. He heard her rapid footsteps behind him, then she was keeping step beside him.
In private, his troops didn't have to be so formal, and Corapipo was one to take advantage of this. "You don't seem like yourself," she said.
"No?" Elanus answered, letting his voice express a mild distaste.
"No," Corapipo told him firmly. She knew he wanted more explanation, but she was used to taking his orders. She waited for one.
Elanus knew she'd stand there till he told her to go away or to elaborate. He considered, but it would help morale more, the way he ran things, if he gave them an explanation of some kind. "No doubt I am distracted. It will pass. A necromancer set a ghost on me three nights past. I spoke with her yesterday, and it will not happen again."
Corapipo saluted, then said, "May the god fill your heart with the strength of hate." It was a ritual phrase, one not often used in the military context, but more appropriate as an expression of personal support or encouragement.
"Dismissed," Elanus told her. She departed.
If his troop could see it -- and no doubt they'd colluded to get Corapipo to ask him about it, they knew he would take it most easily from her. She was only five years younger than most of his troop, but she had a bit of adolescent vigor to her still.
-- then there was a problem. He stripped off his armor, changing into a more casual outfit of cloth and leather. He'd be mistakable for an Artisan in this, or any kind of off duty warrior, not recognizably nobility. The tan leather and white cloth shirt was sewn in imitation of armor, leather standing in for plates and ornamentation, cloth for chain. The designs on the leather were geometric, symmetrical curving lines and small circles that appeared to represent rivets or nail-heads. The cloth was embroidered with tan floss in overlapping circles, increasing its resemblance to chainmail. The left sleeve from shoulder to elbow was made only of a few narrow strips of leather, ending at a band just above his elbow. The elbow itself was cloth, for flexibility, then a full bracer of leather extended over most of his lower arm, soft and molded perfectly to his flesh. The sleeve ended in a stiffened leather point that extended over the back of his hand. There was no right sleeve -- the leather arched over the right shoulder and stopped there, leaving his right arm bare. The leggings were of plain leather dyed to match that used in the shirt. There were circular cutouts from hip to calf down the outside of the legs, showing off the azure of his skin, and cutouts behind his knees as well, for flexibility. A similar cutout in the shirt surrounded his abdomen, revealing muscle, skin and the waistline of his trousers.
Thus attired, Elanus left the training grounds, then the campus of the College of War entirely, and made his way to the market square. Shoppers thronged there, among the storefronts and carts selling all types of wares. When Elanus passed the tailor shop where he had bought the clothes he was now wearing, he paused. The tailor was something of a friend of his, and he went inside.
"Tyto," he said, greeting the tailor.
"My Lord Elanus," the tailor replied, bowing his head.
Elanus smirked. The excessive show of respect was doubtlessly intended to impress the other customers in the shop with the caliber of his clientele. "I am," he agreed, and did not wink, but might as well have for the answering grin he got from Tyto. "Artisan Tyto," he added, adopting his friend's formality, "we need to talk."
"I'll have my assistant cover for me," Tyto told him. After this was arranged, the tailor accompanied the death knight to a nearby tavern, where they took a booth, sitting across from one another in relative privacy.
"I haven't seen you in a month. You've had news of her, haven't you?" Tyto was sure nothing else would have brought Elanus out of his college down to the market to see him.
"Yes," Elanus agreed. "She's dead. Her ghost paid me a visit."
Tyto's hands made fists, resting on the table. He said nothing. Everything he could think of to say seemed inadequate. There was nothing in the Tier'dal culture to console the bereaved, save the hatred that drove them to revenge. And that wouldn't bring Nyctea back, and it would be useless... as Tyto was well aware who had to have been behind it.
"My grandmother hired one of my cousins to do it. Probably one of my elder aunt's brood." She'd not want to hire one of his cross-cousins, her sons' children. And her youngest daughter had no children old enough to carry it out. "And really there are only two who are the type. The twins."
Tyto nodded, though he knew Elanus's twin cousins by reputation only. Male and female, they were a few decades older than Elanus. Tyto didn't like thinking about them. Their reputation was deserved, as far as he knew, and Elanus would probably have told him if it was not.
"I don't know what to do, Tyto." Elanus looked up, and his eyes slid away from Tyto's. They lit on a strange figure, a Tier'dal man with strange disfiguring tattoos and scars making his face appear completely alien. One of the Faceless. The eyes, bright green, the same color as his own, held him for a long moment, then he pulled his gaze with an effort to Tyto again.
"If you don't think she'll deny it -- and how can she? -- then you should tell Nyctea's family. At least they'll get a good blood price for her, and her ghost will be appeased." Tyto made his suggestion, practical, yet tentative. He knew it was not what Elanus wanted to hear.
As he strolled back to the College of War from the marketplace, Elanus mulled what Tyto had said. Nyctea's family were not the people he wanted to be meeting with at the moment, but he did owe them what he knew, he felt. His decision was solidified when he received word that his cohort was among those to be sent to make an example of a rebellious Eant grove two days hence. Before he went, he would clear up this loose end.
Speaking with Nyctea's clan leader made him decidedly uneasy. Uneasiness made him harsher than he wished to be, with this relative of his lost beloved.
"Lady Vael`mox, Nyctea is dead. I saw her ghost." Elanus was back in his armor for this semi-official visit. Nyctea's aunt regarded him steadily, only the slightest shift in her features giving away the depth of her grief. Nyctea had hinted to him, a few times, about the closeness she and her aunt had shared. The expressions of the two, commoner clan head, noble clan scion, were almost mirrors. "I didn't come to tell you that. What I came to tell you is this. You should seek your blood price from the head of my clan, Duchess Chal`daer. If she refuses, I will provide evidence she was responsible for the death."
The woman's scarlet eyes flickered closed, then open again. "I will do so, then. I am indebted to you."
"Not to me," Elanus said harshly. He turned and exited immediately, looking as though he were stalking out in anger, feeling as though he were fleeing in terror.
His young cousin was waiting at the college gate for him when he returned. "Grandmother wants to see you," she told him earnestly. About thirty years old, she was just entering adolescence. Elanus had been fond of her as a child for the past three decades, and he would have to face the old lady sooner or later, so he agreed. She took his hand as they walked together to the Chal`daer steading.
The naturally grown dwelling was so ancient it was the size of a mansion. His clan's history claimed that it was twenty thousand years old. Eant clan slaves who were older than any living Tier`dal saw to the steading's health and growth daily, so ancient and familiar a part of the clan that they were called aunt and uncle. Elanus and his cousin went up to the rooms of the clan leader, though she left him to enter through the arched doorway alone.
As he stepped into the room, he saw that there were only his mother and grandmother present. He folded his arms across his chest, and faced them squarely, his armor ringing pleasantly as metal struck metal. He wished he had his helm on, but his expression was as much a mask as it would have been, for now.
"Won't you have a seat, Kite," his mother said, gesturing to the chair beside her. His grandmother sat opposite, an oblong table of polished blackwood between them. Elanus made little response, considering whether he should sit. His mother spoke informally, using the vernacular interpretation of his call name, an effect much like a nickname would have. Almost all Tier`dal had call names that were words in the ancient language of their people and of the oldest scrolls they still could read. Most of these words had equivalents in their everyday language, which had evolved and changed quite a bit over the thousands of years. "Elanus" was the ancient word for the one of several birds of prey that they now called kites, and in his adolescence most of his acquaintance had called him Kite. That was half a century over, though, and even his mother rarely called him anything but Elanus anymore. So the death knight wondered what his mother was trying to do.
The armor was heavy, though, and he was not sure this wouldn't take hours, so eventually in practical terms, he'd have to sit; might as well not make it a sign of weakness by doing it now instead of later. He shifted in the chair once seated until his armor was as comfortable as it would be in a wooden chair, and fixed his position. Perfect stillness could be intimidating. "You called me here," Elanus said.
"We did," his grandmother agreed. "Grandson, your college is sending your troops to battle. You will not accompany them. You will stay nearby, at the college or here at the steading." She looked at him steadily, her lavender eyes holding his green ones. "I know this is unwelcome, but it is necessary. There will be other sorties."
"Why would I do that?" Elanus asked, unsure of the answer, and equally determined not to accede to this new restriction. "Let another commander lead my troops? It would be irresponsible of me, and it would be a failure on my part in the eyes of my teachers. I plan to graduate this year."
"Because the scion of a noble house obeys his clan leader, and you have been under personal strain. It is understandable that you would need to miss this battle, but there will be others and it will not affect your graduation."
The last thing Elanus wanted was for his grandmother to use her political power to affect his college standing. It would be a blow to his reputation that might take years to undo, if it were even possible at all. "It would affect many things," he said obliquely, changing the usage from 'what will come to pass' to 'one of many possibilities.'
Elanus's mother broke in. "Kite, I know you're upset, but listen to Mother. She only wants what's best for you."
"Of course," Elanus said flatly. "That is why she paid the twins to kill my fiancee. She wants what's best for me."
"That's not--" his mother began, but his grandmother interrupted.
"Yes, that is why, though I hardly expect you to accept that now. When you are older, you will understand," she said.
"Enough," Elanus said, his anger finally breaking through to reveal itself in his voice. "I know you tried, Mother, but I should never have expected it to work. And you, Duchess," he said, addressing his grandmother with her title as clan leader rather than as his relative, "are more than old enough, but you still do not understand." He added a common Tier`dal saying, that could mean many things. "The dead understand nothing."
Elanus stood and walked out. His mother and grandmother did not try to stop him. His grandmother, because she had said what she wanted to say and was done. His mother, because she did not want to make things worse than they already were.
He thought about the many meanings of the saying as he returned alone to the College of War. Most literally, it meant that when a necromancer spoke with a ghost or spirit, it could be constrained to speak truth, but one had to listen to the words very literally, as the ghost itself no longer was able to reason or create new thoughts or metaphors, even the simple ones that the living took for granted in their communication. Next most literally, it was used as a moderate insult, meaning one was so old and set in her ways that she was as unable to form new ideas as one of the dead. It could also be used as a motivational saying to encourage someone who was losing their will to revenge, growing to understand why the person they were supposed to avenge had been killed, to remind them that the person who was dead could not reach that understanding and still would need vengeance. And finally it could have meant, though this would be taking it to unusual lengths, but he had intended them to wonder, as a death threat: you do not understand, the dead do not understand, hence, you are as good as dead.
He would be taking his cohort on the sortie. Nothing could stop him, least of all orders from Duchess Chal`daer.
***
Like a pack of wolves bringing down a moose from a herd, the Tier`dal under Elanus's command separated one of the rebel eants from the tight line they'd formed and chopped at it with axes and machetes. Huge tree-like fae, with shortened branches as limbs, their faces embedded in their trunks, tried to shuffle to the aid of their brother, but most of Elanus's troop kept them at bay, while the assigned five rendered the isolated eant into firewood.
Once it was dead, they regathered quickly, small quick drow moving far faster than the lumbering eants could manage. They drew together in a small group. From the midst of the eant force, came a cloud of biting insects to harry the drow. Elanus swatted at them as best he could and tried to ignore him. The bugs had been summoned by the eants to try to slow their enemies down. The drow countered with ice. A hailstorm began to rain down on the eants, freezing some of them within its icy wrath. Again Elanus's force moved in quickly, though the insects did cause some delay, and managed to separate another tree-fae from the rest. They prodded it away from the ice and formed up again, five chopping at their victim, the other fifteen keeping any other rebel from coming to the rescue.
Over and over, through ice and wind, they fought. The drow had promised their eant allies no use of fire; wooden beings were terrified of the possibility of it, and so the elemental adepts held off on their most powerful weapon against such beings, for the alliance was the very reason for this battle, and if they should endanger it to win, they would essentially have lost. Ice, wind, and the best magical insect repellent they could manage were their weapons instead, along with the enchanted steel and stone of the knights' weaponry.
Finally, with many drow down and even more eants reduced to splinters, the rebels surrendered. Their mass were frozen and would live on, after the thaw, though many might lose limbs and spend a decade regrowing them. The rebellion had been put down, and the drow army returned home to celebrate.
Three knights under Elanus's command had been wounded badly enough that they had been taken out of the melee, but the acolytes had healed them sufficiently to attend the party. Long into the night, drow raised foaming mugs of intoxicant drink and toasted their victory. Elanus was happier than he had been in... in the entire time since Nyctea's disappearance. He managed to forget everything but the joy of success.
Elanus had even managed to forget that his grandmother had ordered him not to go on the sortie whose success he was now celebrating. He heard a familiar voice say, "We're looking for your commander," and one of his knights was directing a couple of strangers over to his table. No, they weren't strangers, they just weren't part of his cohort and so didn't belong here. But he knew them both well enough. "Hello, Crax. Hello, Clais."
Hearing the names, some of his cohort reacted visibly. Most stiffened, a few put hands to weapons, one drew back visibly -- Elanus tried to commit a memory to discipline that one. But he knew his twin cousins were infamous; of course his knights would react. "Grandmother sends her congratulations, cousin," Clais, the female twin, said in a slow, insolent tone.
"If she sent them by you, she meant them," Elanus countered.
"Of course she did," Crax told him. "And she wants to give them in person, so you'll come with us now."
"Tell her thank you, but I'll celebrate with my troops," Elanus said, too softly.
"Then you won't come with us?" Clais asked, giving him a cheery smile. Something was up. She was too pleased by his refusal. She must have been given permission to force him.
He had enough troops to overpower his cousins, but he had to be careful. He could not let his knights -- commoners -- kill this noble pair, even by accident. But if they went too cautiously, his cousins were wily enough to win the fight, even against such greater numbers -- and they would have no compunction against slaying his knights. Did he want to lose even one of his troops just to avoid obeying his clan head? That wasn't right. And his troops would not want to stand back and watch him taken by force -- even if they did allow it in obedience to his orders, it would damage morale severely.
"I will if I must. She is my clan head, after all, as well as my grandmother." He stood, reluctant to leave, but sure it was the right course of action.
Crax looked disappointed too. Elanus gave him a tight smirk. If he was disappointing them, all the better.
"Let's go, then," Clais said. The three of them left together.
As he walked, Elanus started to regret his decision. He should have had his troops tackle these two, then kill them himself. Part of the same clan, and all noble, no blood price would even have to be paid -- it would be an internal clan matter and his grandmother would be the one to determine the punishment, if any, for the deed. At this point, his revenge would have been taken, and nothing she could do to him then would matter to him. That would have been worth losing a knight -- worth losing all of them, even. He should have done it. "I should have had my troops hold you down while I cut both your throats," he said to Clais.
"Idle threat, Kite," Clais replied. "I should have Crax hold you down while I take what you were giving that little commoner."
"For pleasure or a trophy?" Crax asked her.
Clais laughed. "Either way, he won't be any good to her afterward."
Elanus had started to try to tune them out, but he realized what they were saying. They didn't know Nyctea was dead. He'd been wrong, and they hadn't been the ones to kill her. That, or they didn't know he knew she was dead. "I'm no good to her now." They could take that as however they wished, but if they had thought he didn't know she was dead, that would let them know he did.
They still thought of him as an adolescent, Elanus thought. They didn't take his threats seriously at all. Both had always tormented their younger siblings and cousins, but never killed a relative. They had killed plenty of others, though, even other nobles; and they slew commoners as sport, or claimed that was why, anyway, though everyone believed they were taking assassination pay that more than covered the bloodprices. He realized he didn't want them to take him seriously -- it would give him a better chance against them when he took revenge for Nyctea. If they'd been the ones to kill her, of which he now had doubts.
They arrived back at their clan steading (described in an earlier post in Deep in the Darkwood 1st thread). Three days ago, Elanus had arrived here with the young cousin he was fondest of. Now he was back, with the two elder cousins he most despised. The portents were that this visit would be less pleasant than the last.
Crax and Clais walked up with him to the same room in which he'd met with Duchess Chal`daer on the prior occasion. His mother was present again, along with Crax and Clais's mother, his mother's elder sister. Grandmother sat in her chair, but her daughters were standing, one to either side of her and slightly behind her chair. No one offered a seat to Elanus or the twins this time.
"I see you came willingly," the Duchess said to Elanus. "Obedience to your clan head is not a matter of your convenience, grandson. But I will take this into my consideration. If Clais had had to bring you to me by force, I was going to put you in the dungeons."
The twins' mother smirked, and Elanus's mother frowned.
Grandmother continued, "Do you wish to apologize for your disobedience and beg my forgiveness?"
"No," Elanus said. "You ordered me not to go on the sortie, and I went. My cohort slew a dozen rebels, and our sortie was victorious, the rebellion surrendered and our allies are the more bound to us by our assistance. What I did was right for me, for my troops, and my Prince. I will not apologize for it." He kept most, but not all, of the bitterness out of his voice.
Duchess Chal`daer was impassive. "Very well. I have determined your punishment, then. You will be permitted to continue your studies, but not to go to battle. To drive home the situation you have put yourself in, and keep you from disobeying next time, you will wear chains at all times. Your skill with sword is sufficient to graduate, you need no more studies in that, you are finishing your command studies and may do that while bound."
Elanus, who'd kept composure through all sorts of worse hardships, lost it at this. "What!?" he shouted. His mother glared at him, and he tried to compose himself, not to show such weakness. His reputation would not necessarily suffer from this if he played it right.
"If you remove the chains or have them removed, you will be put in the dungeons for one week. The second time, two weeks. And so on."
"I submit myself to your punishment, Duchess Chal`daer." Elanus saw no real choice. If he refused, he'd be stuck in dungeons. Not that he couldn't handle a few weeks in a dungeon, but it would be a huge setback, he'd probably end up graduating a year later, possibly more if he were imprisoned long enough that his troops were reassigned. It was rare to see a man at college in chains. It usually only happened when he had been married off unwillingly and his new wife thought he'd run off. There had been less and less of that going on, since the Prince disapproved of it strongly -- the unwilling marriages, not just the chaining.
Grandmother smiled. Elanus could tell she was pleased and even a little surprised to see that he was being obedient. He realized that to her mind, he'd been being completely stubborn and unreasonable, and this was a complete turnaround in her eyes. To his own viewpoint, he'd been doing the reasonable thing all along; their ideas of what was reasonable had just begun to coincide more.
"Thank you, Grandson," she said. "There is one more thing."
Elanus waited to hear what this would be.
First, his grandmother dismissed his cousins. "You are no longer needed, Crax. And Clais, neither are you, but for one thing. Will you fetch up a set of chains for Elanus? Then you can go about your own business." Clais smirked and bowed, then left, Crax following her.
"There is a noble lady called Egretta, of house Mel`crae. Do you know her?" asked Duchess Chal`daer.
Elanus had met her. She was a Death Knight like him, about 80 years older, though not a teacher at the College. "We have met a few times. I do not know her well." He remembered a pair of rich purple eyes, smooth red lips in a smile, finely crafted armor making almost no sound as she moved gracefully. She'd had a carrying voice. He had liked her at the time. He frowned, as he began to suspect why his grandmother had asked him this question.
"She remembers you fondly. I would approve of her as a wife for you."
He almost began to protest, but his grandmother went on too quickly.
"I will not order you to marry her. I will only command that you treat her with courtesy and friendship, and consider her suit. And that you do not discuss house Vael`mox or any of its scions with her unless she raises the topic." Duchess Chal`daer finished, waiting.
Elanus waited silently.
"Do you submit yourself to these orders?" the Duchess asked finally.
Elanus felt a tiny sense of victory that he'd made her ask that. Normally she never would have. "I do," he stated, voice uninflected, face immobile.
Just then Clais returned with the chains. "Let me put them on him," she suggested to the Duchess.
Duchess Chal`daer regarded her granddaughter coldly. "You are not to touch him without my orders, Granddaughter. I am arranging a marriage for him."
Clais sighed with put-on disappointment. "Oh very well. I suppose you want to do it yourself?"
"His mother may put them on. Daughter?" At the Duchess's orders, Elanus's mother moved smoothly to take the chains from Clais. "You are dismissed now, Granddaughter."
Elanus waited until Clais had left the room to remove his armor. The chains he would be donning were old and magical ones. They wrapped around each limb, wrist and ankle, as well as around his waist. One limb at a time could be detached for dressing, but while that was done the others would tighten, so that it would not aid escape to do so.
Once he was undressed, his mother wrapped the three lengths of the main chain around his waist. Then she spoke the unlocking word to them, quietly enough that Elanus would not hear it. Only that word, or her death, would remove the chains now. She quickly attached the chains to each of his ankles and then wrists. "Put your greaves back on before I link your ankles," she suggested, and Elanus did so. When his leg armor was back on, his mother attached the chain between his ankles. Then she explained the words that would free each leg, or each arm. She suggested he practice putting on his armored chestpiece with one arm at a time free, the other tightly bound to his side. It was a struggle, but Elanus managed it; it would be slightly easier the second time, and so on, till he would be able to do it almost effortlessly. Then he spoke the final word that returned him to the chains' basic state. This had his arms chained to his side with a bit over a foot of clearance, and his ankles attached with a bit over two feet between them. He took an experimental step and noticed the chains clanked as he walked, like cheap armor would. His mother taught him one more command of the chains. If he pressed his wrists together and said this final word, his wrists would link to one another and be loose from his sides. This might be easier for some tasks, such as eating, that having his arms pinned close to his side would make greatly awkward, if not nearly impossible.
Elanus thought this state would take some getting used to. He was suprised he did not mind it much. It was true, though, that he would not dare lead his troops into battle bound this way. That was frustrating. At least it would not affect his reputation, though; it would be obvious why he could not do it. It would still interfere with his education a bit, but he thought he could work around it.
Back in his room at the College, Elanus considered. There was something about the restriction of the chains that now bound him that soothed him. It was the frustration he felt at having to wait for his revenge, he thought -- the horrible frantic feeling that he had to do something now to avenge Nyctea, had retreated somewhat. It was waiting for the chains to come off. And its distance was what soothed. When he'd figured that much out, he felt even better, though with a tinge of guilt. He should not feel better because Nyctea had to wait for her vengeance. But even without the chains, there would have been delay, because now he didn't know who'd killed her -- he thought it probably was not his cousins, after all. Yet Tanagra had not lied. Maybe his grandmother had lied to her, thinking she might tell him. Maybe his grandmother had hired someone from out of family. Or even a cross cousin after all. Or maybe it had been one of his aunts or uncles. Even a second cousin, there were quite a few of those, though none he thought his grandmother trusted so closely. Maybe she'd had Eants do it. There were too many possibilities.
What about direct revenge on the Duchess herself? If he was to try that, and he knew he would, eventually, it would be years, many of them. He would inevitably fail if he tried too quickly. But by providing a restriction that was so evident, physically and mentally, the bonds quieted his hatred. They gave him a resting space, one where he could turn the heat of the immediate need for revenge into a cold power base of hate. He wondered if that was the real reason Grandmother had declared this on him. Or maybe it was just to entice the new woman she was trying to marry him off to. A lot of women would find a man in chains even more attractive. Nyctea would have. Elanus tried not to think of that. He tried, and failed, and ground his eyes against the chains on his wrist to stop the thoughts. Red and gold flared in his sight.
All thoughts stopped for a while, until a knock at his door woke him.
Elanus was not sure how long it had been. Hours, at least. He had come back in the late hours of the night, and it was either just before, or just after noon now, he could tell by the brightness of the light that filtered in through the window of his room.
Slowly, he sat up. He'd collapsed in his armor, worn out by battle, celebration, and the bout with his grandmother. He felt stiff and prickled all over; his armor was comfortable enough, but sleeping in it always took a price. Elanus stood, stretched as well as he was able with the chains on, not bothering to experiment with their varying modes of bondage to allow further stretching, and went to see who was at the door.
There were two figures, both female, otherwise as different as could be. One was a Tier`dal noblewoman, in the armor of a Death Knight, her purple eyes showing vividly through the eye slits of her helm. This had to be his new suitor, Egretta Mel`Crae. The other was a slender pale elf with long, candy-colored hair, pink with white streaks throughout. She was dressed in a silky emerald green chiton (kind of sleveless short dress, belted at the waist with a sash of matching material).
"Lady Egretta," Elanus said, bowing his head. He opened the door for her. He was going to be completely polite, and he was not going to give her any hope of winning him over, so he determined instantly.
"Lord Elanus," she said, giving him back the same tone, and stepping into his room. She walked over and sat down on his bed, the elf standing beside it, giving the appearance of hovering over her attentively. "This is one of my clan's slaves. I call it Kylie, though it prefers to be called Kyla by day, Kyle by night. I don't prefer to cater to its illusion that it is two persons and not one. But you may do as you wish."
Tier`dal did not typically depersonalize their slaves by calling them "it," and Elanus did not know what to make of this usage of Egretta's. He was starting to think he did not like her at all. It would be harder to be polite if she were this difficult of a personality. "Two persons?" He looked at the creature questioningly.
"She is a mist elf. It's part of their cultural beliefs." She took off her helmet, and shook out her hair. It was long, white, and gleaming, slightly curled to flow over her shoulders and back. Egretta was as beautiful as Elanus remembered her. She smiled and held out a hand to him, which he took in one of his. She had held it very considerately at a level that was easy for him to reach with his arms chained. Now she drew him by it down to sit next to her on his bed. He could not find a way to politely refuse, so he ended up sitting close by her side, her hair flowing against his arm. He could not feel it, but he could imagine how it would feel.
"What brings you to visit me?" Elanus asked in a tone of polite distance.
"Kylie, close the door," Egretta directed the mist elf. The elf maiden hurried to do so, closing it slowly though, so slowly Elanus could not hear a sound when it finally shut tight. Once the door was sealed, Egretta turned to Elanus, her breath warm against his face as she spoke, her eyes holding his. "Lord Elanus, we have met but few times, but every one is engrained in my memory brightly. You have grown into such a man as our kind sees so seldom -- proud, yet not too proud to think for himself; loyal, yet willing to go against clan to do what he believes must be done; intelligence tempered with common sense and beauty so shining everyone who sees you, wants you for her own." She paused, her purple eyes glittering. "I know I do. And I know a little, too, of your recent history. I don't expect you to forget your first love and leap at once into my arms. If you did that, you would not be the man you are. But I have a hope, a surety, even, that with time, you will find a second love. And I have a wish, that it will be with me."
She stood, as she said this last. They were lovely words, Elanus thought, but they could not mean anything to him. "Thank you, Lady Egretta, but you think too highly of me. You..." she put a fingertip to his lips, to quiet him.
"Not yet, not yet. Duchess Chal`daer told me of your punishment, and I thought, he will need assistance. She would not have granted you a slave of your clan, but I will leave Kylie with you. It will serve you well and obediently, and ease your difficulties that you might encounter, being bound and unused to it. And if you have any message for me, Kylie will pass it on." She moved aside her fingertip and kissed his lips lightly, only a feathertouch of warmth. Elanus did not stir at this familiarity.
After she had gone, he was able to work up a bit of anger over her visit. Flattery and lies, she thought she could make him betray Nyctea for that little? He had known women would want him; they always had, before he met Nyctea, while he was with her, and no reason for it to change now. He even knew how this one would proceed, or thought he did: she would visit again, be more familiar, call him Elanus instead of Lord Elanus; touch him more, sit provocatively. Perhaps she'd ask him to show her how the bonds worked, so she could manipulate them. She would not push too hard, for fear of his grandmother.
He missed Nyctea so much. She was so different. He let himself, to wash off the feeling of this Egretta woman, Elanus allowed for the first time in weeks a memory of Nyctea to take him over completely.
And it did. He burned with needing her, as he had been numb, now finally the ice was melting and it stung terribly, but to feel again was still incredible. Elanus thought of how it had been at the height of their relationship, each knowing the other so well, yet remaining a mystery; feeling intuitively what effect each action would have on the other. She'd made him feel so much, so intensely, he would have done anything for her, and wanted to do so; and knowing at the same time she felt the same way about him. His body, unthinkingly, moved to take a position she had always admired him in, and when the chains stopped the movement, he strained against them. "Get this armor off me," he whispered, to Nyctea really, though it was Kyla who moved to assist him. Barely able to see, Elanus half allowed, half assisted the mist elf to remove his armor around and between the chains. He wore nothing under the armor, as it was designed not to chafe and with built in padding and cup where needed, personally sized and designed and made for him as all nobles and most commoners too who wore armor had them done by Artisans specializing in it.
As the afternoon burned down into evening, the Death Knight remembered his lost love, so vividly he almost saw her, and when Kyla asked softly if he wanted her now, it was Nyctea's voice he heard, Nyctea who he wanted, and had. Release into a slave was no more than convenient masturbation, and that was how the part of him that hadn't fallen into the feverish dream state saw it, though that was hardly any of him at all. He hadn't even given himself that much slack since Nyctea had gone, and at this point he was unable to resist his own need even had he been determined to.
Just before night fell, his built up lust and longing had finally been spent. And a good thing, that timing, because Kyla knew she had but moments to prepare herself for the change to come over her. She'd never known her own masters to be so passionate as this one to whom she'd been given by Lady Egretta. That Lady herself, Kyle thought as he came into being, Kyla vanishing till daylight returned, had never been a tenth so passionate with him, even when she had pretended he was this man, who she claimed to desire so greatly. So it was not just that Lord Elanus had been pretending Kyla was his missing lover; it was that, of course, and then it was more.
"You may now see, master, why the Lady calls me 'it'." Kyle spoke in a dry tone. He was always so amused how the Tier`dal expressed their shock at the mist elf facts of life.
Elanus did not disappoint. He had been about to ask the slave girl to clean him up, Now he heard this masculine voice and one hand went for his sword, stopped short by the chain. "Who said that?"
"I am Kyle," the mist elf said matter of factly. "My Lady Mistress loaned me to you earlier today. Or rather, us, Kyla and I."
The Death Knight's jaw wanted to drop. He'd never heard of the mist elf kind before, or their unusual nature. "You... are Kyla?" He knew very well Kyla had been completely female, in the most intimate way possible. And this male elf was calmly pulling on a pair of trousers from a small burlap bag. Elanus could see he was normally male, and continued staring as Kyle fastened his pants closed.
"No, Kyla is my other. My daylight self. I am Kyle." The mist elf shrugged. "My Lady Mistress calls us both Kylie. And 'it', though I assure you she knows we are not."
There was a distinct difference in the feel of the personality between the two ... versions of the slave, Elanus noticed. Kyle was far more talkative than Kyla, less quiet and more direct. Kyle was even a little bit sarcastic, where what few quiet words Kyla had said had seemed simple and sincere. "You are her night self, then, I take it?" The Death Knight felt he was adapting well to this shock. He was sure it ... now he caught himself doing it too... the slave would report to Lady Egretta on however he had acted toward -- them. Yes, he thought 'them' was better than 'it.' What he had to remind himself was that, although they would be serving him, they belonged to clan Mel`crae.
The convenience of having a personal servant made Elanus get used to his chains even faster than he would have normally. His troops were at first discomfitted by his situation, but they got past displaying their dismay quickly, and even were able to joke about it a little. Corapipo quipped about their commander sporting "classically fashionable chainmail."