Adventures of a Merchant -2- A Pause in Corels

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Sometimes a guy just needs his Mom, even when scared to face her. But if she is worthy of the name Mom, then she is worthy of knowing the truth. After his prior adventures both are true of Drake and luckily the last is true of his mother.

Adventures of a Merchant: A Pause in Corels
by Arcie Emm

See Prior Adventures:
1. Adventures of a Merchant: A Start

...being continued...

Hello once more and apologies for the delay. But the trade mission to Snaguine did not offer me any time to write and it took much longer then we had planned. In fact it became down right annoying, we spent a good two months trying to get the ear of someone at court; however, they were too caught up in entertaining themselves to talk business. And for the court of Snaguine, entertainment meant hunting. So we tagged along with falcon on arm, or boar spear in hand, or with bows after stags, or even upon boats with lines to fish for sharks. And if we did not attend the hunt, we were there for the midday picnics and nightly parties. It was insane, those people never met an honest day's of work they were not willing to ignore.

When we finally made a break through, it was more good fortune than intelligence. It appears that the nobility just didn't give a damn about trade and that they were only offering lip service. Instead there was an entire class of gentry, kept parceled away in the city of Veilenes, who dealt with all trade for Snaguine. It is actually unfair to say good fortune was the cause of the break through, it was actually good underlings. The Militia officer's who commanded our guards had found themselves a nice brothel that had become their unofficial home. Luckily it was also the unofficial home for merchants visiting from Veilenes. After some discussions between the two groups, our mission moved to the proper city and negotiations proceeded along nicely.

Let me tell you, it was nice to once more deal with professionals after spending all that time trying to see as many creature's innards as possible. And outside of the general mission's purpose of creating a trade treaty, I was able to set up a number of side deals that should serve myself and my patrons, the Deglaces, well in the long term.

Now I am home and once more it is time to write.

Let me start by saying that it is good to be home in Glanlies, every time I return it is with thoughts that it may be time to stop the travelling and buy a home. That it is time to stop living in apartments and tents and inns and sometimes on the ground. Whenever I am in the city, there is a house for sale that catches my fancy. Yet before I can make an offer, I begin to feel restless as there is always another caravan forming or a mission that could use my skills. And if I did settle down, it would mean the end of one of my great pleasures, that first moment of spotting Glanlies on my return.

It always makes me remember the first time.

Wouldn't this have been a great point to have jumped into the second part of my story? To bad I had not planned the end of the first part better to have meshed properly with that line. Instead we left off with my having learned that Mistress Elladoo was taking me first to Corels to visit my family and then on to Glanlies. Enough stuff happened in Corels so that it would not be good to skip the destination and jump all the way to the second destination. Well I suppose I could, after all I did warn in my first submission that my story telling would not always follow a straight path, but in this situation the logical path really does make the most sense. Therefore, I propose we follow the straight path, lacking in panache though it may be.

And since I am the one that wielding the quill, it will actually be a more than a proposal. So as the play masters are want to say, on with the story.

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After learning about the planned trip to Glanlies, the rest of the evening passed in a bit of a haze. When Ensign Tillindal returned, he seemed to have taken the master's advice to heart and decided to ignore me. He did not even glare angrily at me. As for everybody else, the fact that the mistress and Midwife Nerise bracketed me at the head table kept most people away, though they could not keep away the stares directed my way by just about everybody in the room. Those who braved my guardians were quite sympathetic, coming forward to ask how I was doing or to express support for me. Not once did anybody ask me anything like, "So what's it like being a girl?" Likely because the type who would do so were scared away by glares from the sergeant who also sat at the table.

Still not many people got the opportunity to even try to talk to me, before tiredness once more set in. Even though I had spent most of the previous week asleep, it soon became apparent that it was not enough, as my body and mind had been through a lot in the periods when not asleep. So after the third time Nerise stopped me from nodding off Mary came and gathered me up for bed. As promised, she had prepared a new room for me. It was basically the same as the other room that I had been using, but it still felt more comfortable. Before getting into bed Mary assisted me in removing the strange apparel that I was wearing and into a new nightshirt, one that was distinctly feminine, but so very soft. After this she had me brush my hair, then tuck it up under a sleeping cap before allowing me to climb in and go to sleep. Sleep which was quick in coming.

The next few days followed a pattern different than my days of old. When I awoke Mary was there to get me ready for the day and she was there to put me to bed at night. In between, I was never left alone, except the few minutes in the privy. But though never left alone, I was also quite sheltered, usually being chaperoned by either Mistress Elladoo or by Mary or in a few rare instances when neither of those fine ladies were available, with the master or midwife. And based on the way everyone else, even the sergeant, avoided me, it was easy to guess that there was an order to keep their distance.

It is a good indication of where my head was at when you realize that a fifteen year old boy did not chafe under all the mothering I received during those days. Though it was not all nurture-type of mothering, there was also a fair amount of idle-child-not-good-type of mothering. This was most probably the result of them recognizing how easily evil thoughts could darken my mind. And there was a lot to prepare before we would be ready to head to Glanlies. Most importantly for me to be able to travel, they determined I needed more clothing. As even Mary recognized that what she had dressed me in first was not appropriate for all instances.

So the first morning found me still in my room, still in my nightshirt as a member of a sewing party consisting of Mary, Nan Washan and her daughter Cecile. My role was defined from the start with Nan's words, "Mary is right you are a pretty thing, aren't you? Well don't you worry, we will have a wardrobe made up in just a jiff. Now be a good girl and put on this dress so that we can start making the necessary adjustments."

Yes, my role in the sewing party was that of dress maker's dummy. But I was a good dress maker's dummy, while I would have been horrible at any other task, so I couldn't really complain.

By the afternoon I had two new linen shifts, two stocking belts and two pair of linen stockings. For outer wear they had modified two of the mistress's every-day dresses, one brown and one blue, and were well on the way to finishing a fancier one made of a tightly woven, dark green wool. The collection also included another skirt and bodice that had also belonged to the mistress. All in all, as someone who had always made due with at most two pairs of pants and shirts, I thought it was definite overkill. When informed of my opinion Mary just laughed and said, "It will do for now, though we will likely need to get a few things in Corels to tide you over until the mages in Glanlies can do their magic."

"What else could I need, Ma'am? This is way more than I have ever had."

"Well, first off you will needs some new boots."

"Can't Alphonse make me up a new pair of boots?"

Frowning at my mention of the post's cobbler, she replied, "We will see if he has some moccasins already made that will serve you til we reach Corels. But I don't think he is the right person to make the boots for you."

This was surprising to hear. I had thought that Alphonse was quite a proficient cobbler, in fact the master had been quite pleased to have hired him when the old Cobbler had moved back to Glanlies last year. Well the reasoning behind Mary's dislike became apparent as soon as we visited him to measure me up for a pair of moccasins. Alphonse was a lech. Being the first one I met in my new form, he made quite the impression on me. Well actually his greasy paws trying to fondle my calf made the impression. After we left Mary was only half-hearted in her attempt to calm me down when I started tromping back to my room planning to get my crossbow. Not finding it, she finally put a stop to my plan when I started off to the guardroom to find a replacement.

"As much as it would please me and every woman on the post for you stick a bolt into that man, I just can't allow you to do it. And if you did all the men would think that the demoness was lose and you would end up in shackles. Its just something you have to deal with as a pretty girl, Dra'e. All you can do is grin and bear it, while consoling yourself that the best he will ever do is console himself. After all, no woman he doesn't pay will ever do it for him."

"He's a pig!"

"Yes dear, he's a pig!"

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A couple of days later I was with Master Elladoo working on some book-keeping, enjoying immensely the normalcy of the task. In general, normal seemed to be the best way to describe how the master treated me. Both the mistress and Mary seemed to be enjoying the experience, though not in a malicious way. They did support my desire to return to myself, they just felt that as long as I was in a female body that they would treat me as the daughter that the Elladoo's would never have. But the master, he just decided to treat me like nothing was different. Well that's not quite true, he was a bit more solicitous towards me, much like a few years earlier when I had broken my arm. Still he seemed quite confident that the mages in Glanlies would fix me up soon after my arrival, which lead to my confidence in the same.

So there we were working away when a recognizable racket of shouts and animals and carts came from down below. With a nod of permission from the master I moved over to the window to see what it was, "Master it is Clara returned with her caravan from Meeting Point."

Commission Map of the Peninsula of Glanlies

"Ahh that is good, I had expected her to be the first to return. Hopefully the tribes had good fortune with their trapping over the winter and that Clara had better fortune in trading for the results. The monthly commission report has listed furs as a need item. I am sure Clara will be up soon to give a report and I am sure that she will want a report from me. So let's hurry and finish this up before she arrives."

True to his prediction, it was only a few moments before the door swung open with and Clara rushed in asking, "Hiram what's this craziness I am hearing about bandits and Drake being..."

At this point her glance fell upon me and suddenly her speech stopped. If you knew Clara, you would know how improbable it was for her to be made speechless. Clara was an extremely confident lady, she had to be in order to be a female trader on an frontier post such as ours. But she was very successful, much of that had to do with her ability to talk, but this was only made useful as a result of her being a good listener. Beyond that men liked to hear her talk. It was not that she was beautiful like the mistress, though she was a fine looking lady, it was something else that made men want to be around her. What she had is hard to describe; therefore, I will parrot what I once overheard Stork tell some of his fellows, "Clara is so very alive, isn't she?"

Yes, she was very alive. Her eyes danced, she laughed with the best of them and she entranced men, or in my case boys, wherever she went. So to see her struck dumb was definitely unusual, but it did not last long. Another of her strengths, one shared by many on the frontier, was adaptability, "So it isn't all craziness, is it? Drake?"

At my nod, her eyes widened somewhat and she quickly turned to the master for confirmation, "What happened, Hiram?"

As he told her of Sandrelessa and of Darrel she kept glancing in my direction and shaking her head. At the conclusion of the story, she stated, "You know this is the first time that I haven't envied the extra training that you receive Drake."

"Aye Clara, it can be a dangerous path, but usually the one I walk is quite safe. Drake, I am so sorry that the one time it was not, you were the one to be caught in the crossfire."

"It is not your fault Master. It was bad luck combined with me not being strong enough to withstand Sandrelessa's lure."

"Still, I should have done more to ensure your safety."

"If I had been able to follow orders, then nothing would have gone wrong. Though the experience has definitely driven home your lesson that one needs to be careful when dealing with the demon world."

Chuckling at this response, he replied, "Well I wish you had just taken my word for it. But the mages will fix things up when you get to Glanlies. And as you say it will be a good lesson."

"Are you going to reverse the spell Drake? You seem quite comfortable," Clara teased.

"Most definitely, I want to be myself. As for being comfortable, well I think it is more a matter of following the instructions of my tutor, while biding my time."

"Tutor? Ahh, I bet Mary has gotten her hands on you, she must be ecstatic to have you in her clutches?"

The master laughingly agreed, "Aye, she hasn't been piercing me with any of her 'why have you brought us to this Gods-forsaken hole' looks since she got her hands on Drake."

Not really liking the tone that was being used when talking about my new friend, there was a primness in my voice, a primness that would not have sounded so fitting only days before, when I stated, "Mary has been exceedingly kind to me. If she is getting some enjoyment out of the situation then I am happy for her, since she has been working so very hard preparing for the trip while spending so much time with me."

Correctly interpreting the tone of my answer, the master moved the conversation back to business, "Well now that you have heard our story, let's hear about your travels. How went the trading with the tribes, Clara?"

"Well there was good news on that front. Their hunting and trapping went very well during the winter, so they had lots of nice pelts for sale. As per normal the flour and spices were the hot commodities in any exchange, I only wish we had the logistics to carry more of it. Cloth and blankets weren't that big of traders this time around, I brought back over a third of what we took with us."

"Aye, they are always cyclical. If they didn't take much this time, they will want more in the fall. How about the other goods?"

"Well you know they just aren't that into hauling much crap around. So it went about as well as could be expected. Things they use daily sell okay, but luxury sells were rare. Though I actually sold a fancy mirror and brush set this year to one of the war chiefs who got himself a young, new bride. Oh yeah, the knifes traded really well this trip, that new Corels' supplier really came through. They aren't as fancy as the ones we used to get from Glanlies but they are the good every-day knifes and that's what the tribes want. I recommend we use him to restock, though maybe ask for more variety in blade size and type."

"Noted. How about the pots and pans?"

This question brought a sneer of disgust to both his and my face, while Clara's face turned red in anger, "The newest shipment are complete crap. Luckily we had some left over from last year, to fill the few requests that we had. But the new stuff isn't worth the space it takes away from stuff we could actually trade. I was close to dumping it on the ground and leaving it there."

"I don't know what went wrong with them, the Bandleua's always supplied good quality before."

"Course you do Hiram, you're just to nice to say it. The old man knew what he was doing, but since he died his idiot son has been left in charge. I grew up with Furnie and while he was a great partier, he was useless for anything else. Hell I don't even think he knows you can use a pot for a purpose other than for pissing in, and after a night of drinking he doesn't even know that. We definitely need to find a replacement."

"Esselde is going with Drake to Glanlies, I will ask her to find us a new supplier. Heck, I will load up the crap we already have and have her get our money back from the drunkard. I hate losing money because of idiots."

Shaking her head wryly, Clara responded, "I don't think it is even worth the effort. The last letter I received from my sister makes it sound like he is close to receivership and that was a couple months back. Our family dodged a close one there, she was sweet on Furnie, there was even talk of marriage. Happily it didn't happen, I wouldn't want to see good Holnd money keeping idiot Bandleua business practice going."

"Dammit. I won't even get my money back. What are we going to do with a batch of complete shite pots and pans?"

"The Militia is always looking for pots and pans, their patrols are constantly losing stuff so they don't really care that much about quality. I will be passing through there when delivering the pelts to Glanlies and will load up the current stock to take with me. We should at least be able to recoup our losses and if Turin smiles, we may even make some profit."

"Well profit would be nice at this point, but mostly let's worry about cutting our losses. Well enough of the pots and pans, is there anything else I need to know?"

"Actually there was one more thing I found interesting."

The gleam in her eye showed that, like a performer, she had saved the best for last. The master was not quite as eager an audience as I was, as he did not lean forward in his chair, but there was a smile in his voice as he asked, "And what friend Clara, might that be?"

"Well I had a meeting with the High Chief and he was wondering if we had hand tools stock. When I asked about the type of tools, he mentioned saws, hammers and other building supplies. When I replied that we usually did not have them with us, he implied that it would be a good idea to have them on hand next time we meet up for trading."

"Very interesting, Clara. What reason would a nomadic tribe have for building tools?"

"My question exactly Hiram. So I did some asking around and heard the most delicious rumour. Apparently there is a move afoot to establish a permanent camp where we usually meet them for trading."

"That is very interesting. What do you think the possibility is that they may allow someone from the outside to establish a presence at their camp?"

"I would say very high, otherwise I wouldn't have found out as much as I did. I think it may be a good idea for you to head out and visit the chief, boss-to-boss. If you did, we may be able to get a jump on the Fork Post crew. Currently we have better relations with the chief and his people, but he will have expectations of us. One that I caught the implications. Two that you will come and talk to him, he likes me but always asks about you."

"Very good work, Clara. With Esselde in Glanlies, now would be a good time for me to head off for a visit. This could very well lead to a permanent warehouse, which would definitely be a coup for us. But I am going to need someone to run any new post that we set up, would you be interested?"

"I thought you had to be a sorcerer to be a post master?"

The master must have heard the hidden anger in her voice, because he was quite tactful when he replied, "Admittedly the commission only offers its full support to posts with a master, but truly the commission gets more out of us than we get from them. After all, when I made the call on them last week we didn't get any help. Besides which the vast majority of posts are run without any sorcerer present and run quite successfully. No the most important thing for most post-masters is to understand the clientá¨le with whom they are dealing. You know the tribes as well as anybody, that will serve you better than any sorcery. Honestly the sorcery requirements for post masters are not that big of thing."

"Unless you are trying to convince your apprentice to learn sorcery," I could not stop myself from blurting.

Laughing unabashedly at this statement, the master replied, "Exactly, that's the best use I ever found for the requirement. Honestly Clara, you have what we need to run a new post amongst the tribes."

"Aye Hiram, I know I do. I was mostly just pulling your leg." She then lapsed into a moments thought before answering, "But no, I am not ready to leave the road quite yet. It's best to look for someone else. Plus you have to find out if there will even be a post, before you offer its command to anyone."

"Well I have a feeling that you read the situation correctly. But on to other things. Is there anything else to report? If yes, it will have a tough act to follow."

"No, that is all."

"Very good, now it's time to see if my apprentice was paying attention or was just here for comic relief. Drake, what assignments have come out of the discussion between Clara and myself?"

Expecting a question like this I had been trying my hardest to keep track of the discussion, "Yes Master, I believe the following are the assignments. The first is yours, you will be travelling North to talk to Chief Many Song about establishing a post within his territory. Clara is to deliver the pelts to Glanlies via North Fort, while at North Fort she will try to offload our current pots and pan supply. Mistress Elladoo will be tasked with finding a new supplier for pots and pans. She will also talk to the knife supplier to get him to expand the range of items he provides."

"Don't forget that the chief mentioned tools to Clara, we will have to have Esselde look for a supplier for those as well," Master Elladoo reminded.

"How about finding a post master," Clara queried?

"Let's hold off on that for now, as you said it is best not to weigh our catch before we pull in the net. However, if needed, I plan on talking to Eric Soldin. He has really good relations with the tribes, is a hardworking and honest fellow, but he has never been able to bankroll a large operation."

"Good idea, Hiram. Plus I know that his wife is tired of the road. She knows she will never get him to settle down in a real town, but she would be willing to accept an outpost."

"Okay, I think we've covered everything?"

"Actually Master, may I add something?"

"Sure Drake, what is it?"

"It concerns the new cobbler, I do not believe he is working out."

"Alphonse? But he's an excellent craftsman, we are lucky to have someone of his skill at our post. What's wrong with him?"

"Umm, well the women don't like him."

"Huh?"

Luckily Clara came to my rescue allowing me to just sit there blushing that I had brought it up, "Hiram the man is a pervert. I am guessing the reason why you were able to get someone of his skill, way out here, was because nobody wanted him wherever he was before."

"Has he done anything?" the master questioned with quite a bit of fierceness in his voice.

"Not anything of which I am aware, it is more the way he looks at us. Now you know that I am no prude, and enjoy the attention of a man with the best of them, but he makes me feel dirty with his stares. There are dark thoughts lurking in his eyes. Since I am on the road so much, I always can always find another cobbler to help me. But those who are here, year round, are not as fortunate."

"Well I hate to condemn a man who hasn't done anything, but he's useless to me if a good portion of the post is afraid of him. Let me talk to some other people about him, if necessary we will add finding a new cobbler to Esselde's tasks. Now, let's call it a day. I am going to go down and check that the warehouse has the salt ready to ship once the river boat arrives. Then I am going to spend the rest of the day with my wife, from whom I will soon be parted by our separate missions."

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Sorry all, I need to interject something about the last section of my story. When my editors at the Asthelhorne Monthly Biography Journal read my first draft of this submission, they recommended that I leave it out. They felt it doesn't move the story along nor that it is really all that interesting. They may be correct, but they completely missed the most important reason for it to exist, that section more than stories of demons, bandits or even my change reflects who I am. It is the reason my story has the title, Adventures of a Merchant. No matter what has happened to me over the years it has always been based around my mercantile experience. I love the art of the trade, or the moment when you get a lead that may blossom into something beneficial hopefully not just for you, but also for whomever which you are dealing. After all, as Salend Voctor writes in book two of the Annals, 'If you want to make the big score one time, become a con-man. But if you want to have a lasting partnership of benefit, become a merchant.'

Yes, much of my time, even to this day involve discussions such as the one just described. Sure the setting has changed, now it is more often to occur in a salon or fancy office, but the same truths apply. A ten minute conversation may lead to a year of work and years of benefit. And since I am not going to delve into the master's negotiations resulting from the conversation outlined above, let me tell you now that it definitely led to years of benefit for the members of Elladoo post, though it did require quite a bit of hard work.

So the section needs to stay in. Plus I did mention at the end of my previous installment that there would be some merchant talk, so you cannot say I didn't warn you.

However, just to be nice to my editors, who work hard to interpret my scribbled hand writing, we will skip over the meeting with Durk when he returned from his trip a couple of days later. He had been west of the Rillian travelling from farm to farm trading for spring sheared wool, as expected it went very normally and he did not bring back any news of the magnitude obtained by Clara. But his arrival did initiate some frenzied work by the the warehouse crew as they worked all night re-bundling the wool for easier shipping. Once done, it was reloaded, along with the pelts from the North and the crappy pots and pans into a new caravan which Clara had on the road the next day.

A few days after Clara headed out the river boat on which our party was to head South arrived soon after and was quickly unloaded of supplies and wares before being reloaded with salt for a return trip. The evening before we left involved a get together between the Elladoos and myself, where we reviewed the itinerary and purpose of the journey. Parts of which I was looking forward to, such as; being returned to myself and assisting the mistress in negotiating deals with suppliers. For even though she had no official ranking within the commission, she was a master in her own right. Likely it was her birthright as a Deglace. However, there was one task towards which I was not looking forward. That being the visit with my family.

Now it may seem that, since I have mentioned this fear multiple times, that my family and I were not that fond of each other. But that has never been the case we have always got along quite well. But like many successful relationships, one hundred percent honesty is not always the best policy. Not saying that lying is the key to good relationships, but sometimes omitting to tell loved ones everything can prove to be beneficial. The risk with this approach is that one day you are forced to reveal that omission when explaining something that is even worse then what was hidden. At that point all you can do is hope the omitted truth does not bite you too hard. Well this was one of those cases where I was caught omitting a truth and my worry was that the bite taken would be rather large.

There had been fairly regular contact with my parents, mostly through monthly letters explaining my life as a merchant apprentice. Beyond that, there had been visits to Corels at least once, usually twice, per year. But in none of those letters or any of those visits had I mentioned that my apprenticeship involved learning sorcery, minor though it may be. Though unaware of my parents' feelings about sorcery, I could guess. Based on their never disputing Grandmother's beliefs, who had believed that magic was the work of evil, it was easy to surmise that they held the same belief. Furthermore, Corels was the home to the largest congregation of Furigal worshippers in the peninsula, and those who worshipped the God of the Sea were also the most anti-sorcerous group in the peninsula. Sailors tended to be a superstitious lot who spent much of their time out on the realm of their God, who was capricious and demanding. Furthermore, more than any other god or goddess in the Peninsula's pantheon, Furigal was a god of nature. And sorcery is anti-nature. Since my parents, despite not being sailors, were worshippers of Furigal, it was my guess that they too were leery of sorcery.

So my fear was that, though they may not lose their love for me, they may also not be that sympathetic to my plight. They may even believe that my fate was deserved. Thus, for the first time since my encounter with Sandrelessa I was unable to get a good night's sleep, resulting in a rather bleary Drake who boarded the river boat in the morning with the mistress, Mary and our guard, which consisted of Jimi and Stork. The two of them had been chosen for the same reasons that they had been chosen to watch over me while I slept off the results of my demoness inspired rage. Those reason being that they worked well together, were patient and calm, were good at their job and had been retainers with the Deglace's long before they had followed the mistress to the North. However, before they joined us, the master and sergeant had taken them aside to explain my whole story and to try to convince Jimi that I was not possessed by Jiringel. I say try, because he was not quite ready to be convinced. Still it mattered little with Stork along, since he would handle any talking that was necessary.

We had not been on the river for long when all of a sudden we were attacked by river pirates. Well not really, at the time it just seemed that being attacked by pirates would have been preferable to what I was experiencing. For even though the Rillian was calm that day, I was quickly feeling as sick as could be. This was a new experience for me, I had made the trip via river boat multiple time before with not even a hint of sea-sickness. Yet soon I was hanging over the side of the boat getting rid of my breakfast.

It definitely was not an auspicious start to our journey.

The only thing that made the trip bearable was that the river boat did not travel during the night. We spent two of the nights during our trip in outposts similar to ours and one night tied up to the shore, though even then I ended up in a tent on shore since the rocking gentle rocking while tied up was still to much for me. One benefit to this sickness was that I was so caught up in my misery that there was little time to worry about my meeting with my parents. Even when we arrived in Corels, just before dark settled in, all we did was get to one of the better inns, find me a bath so that I could feel human and settled in for the night.

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The next day we were up early, with me feeling much better. My nervousness had returned and as we were getting ready Mary had to chide me rather sternly to stop my fidgeting. When we were ready, she once more had me done up quite fancy. I was decked out in the in the dark green woolen dress, which fit tightly to my body and had yellow embroidered vines up its sleeves. Matching the colour of the dress was a ribbon that Mary used to tie my hair in an intricate series of lose knots. Once more, I was in that bizarre world where I become maiden personified. The only thing was that the garments no longer felt bizarre to wear.

As we were eating breakfast, I could not help but wonder why I had been dressed the way I was, was it part of the plan? For that matter, I did not even know if we had a plan, "Mistress Elladoo, is it part of the plan to have me dressed up like this?"

Looking up from her meal, the mistress smiled at the question before answering, "No, it is just a lovely day and since we are in no longer out in the wilderness, it just seemed appropriate to dress up. See my dress is a similar colour to your's, we're a matched set."

Until that moment, I had not noticed how nicely both she and Mary were dressed, embarrassment from this resulted in a hastily mumbled, "You both look very nice."

Mary, with a smile on her face, to remove any potential sting replied, "Well it is difficult for us old maids to gain notice when we are in your presence, but yes we do look good today."

With a blush, I apologized, "I am sorry for being so addle pated, but I am very nervous."

"We know you are sweetheart," Mistress Elladoo answered. "But you can be sure that both Mary and I are here for you. And unless I have completely lost my ability to read people, your family will also be here for you."

"Thank you so much for the support, both of you. I would have been an even bigger wreck without your guidance and support. But I still wonder how we go about telling my parents what has happened to me. Even I find it is such a hard story to believe and I'm living it."

"I have actually given it quite a bit of thought, Dra'e. I hope to catch them when nobody else is in the bakery at which point I will go in on my own. I will then break the news to them, both of your possession and how that possession has changed you. In addition I will tell them of our plan to have you returned to yourself. Most importantly, I will stress that these changes have not affected who you really are. Once I determine if my read on them is correct I will either come and get you or come out so we can continue on with our task to talk to the knife supplier."

"What will I be doing while you are in talking to my parents, Ma'am?"

"You and Mary will be waiting outside in a carriage that I have ordered. Speaking of which, my ears tell me it has apparently just arrived outside. Let's finish up our breakfast and head on out."

By mutual consent we decided that we were done and stood up to move to the door. Before getting outside we were joined by Stork and Jimi, who preceded us through the door. When outside we all stopped in sudden shock, for though there was a carriage waiting, it was not what we expected. Nor were those who escorted it expected. Before our surprise had a chance to abate one of those escorts, none other than Ensign Elfos Tillindal, moved his horse forward and stated with authority, "Drake of Elladoo Post, you are under arrest."

I am not sure what it says about me that my immediate thought in response was, 'I really need an eke-name', but luckily Mistress Elladoo was there to do my thinking for me.

"Ensign Tillindal, what is the meaning of this?" While the ensign had made his statement with authority, she made hers with fire. Still he was not cowed.

"Mistress Elladoo, we are no longer on your post, you and your husband are not in charge of security in Corels. Instead it is the Militia's responsibility, and it is our belief that security is undermined by allowing a demon possessed individual such as that to run lose," he finished with a gesture in my direction.

"Ensign Tillindal, we are on the way to Glanlies to have Dra'e cured by the Mage's College."

"Then you should have gone directly to Glanlies, Mistress Elladoo. However, you came to Corels and I have a arrest warrant from the Magistrate's Office of Corels for the arrest, please let me do my job."

At his insolent tone Jimi reached for his sword, but just as the guards with Tillindal began to swing their crossbows in his direction the mistress clamped her hand on his to stop his. "May I see the warrant Ensign?"

"Of course Mistress. But you will see that everything is in order."

I watched her with a hopeful eye as she scanned the document. When she frowned my hopes began to be dashed, confirmation of the dashing followed when she turned to me with a sigh and said, "It looks like everything is in order, Dra'e. You will have to go with them for now, but I will have you out of their clutches as soon as I can. For now say nothing until I can obtain a solicitor to advise us."

It was hard to tell who was more nervous, myself or the young soldier who came forward and clamped irons around my wrists. After they were attached it was no longer hard to tell, it was definitely me. The Militia members then surrounded and herded me to the carriage that was not a carriage, being a wooden box, with only a small grating in the door. No not a carriage, just a cart for transporting criminals, apparently the class to which they deemed I belonged.

The ride was hot and smelly, but still shock had not disappeared before the cart pulled into the courtyard of the Militia headquarters. Climbing out was quite difficult in my long dress and with arms clamped together. Luckily one of the men, a corporal by his markings, reached up and helped me down. However, when I murmured my thanks he only looked at me with those opaque eyes common amongst under officers when they did not want their underlings speaking to them. Instead he grasped my upper arm, and none to gently guided me in following the ensign into the building where we soon ended up in a large office housing a Militia colonel.

With a short bow of respect, Tillindal reported to the man, "Colonel Sir, I have returned with the prisoner. Where shall I imprison her?"

The man basically ignored the ensign, instead he focused his attention upon me. After a thorough head to toe inspection he smiled and stated, "I find it rather hard to believe that you were the death of Darrel Haubanks, he was one of the deadliest men I ever met. While you, you appear to be many things, but deadly is not one of them."

Frowning at the colonel's doubting tone, the ensign hurried to explain, "Well Sir, that is what Elladoo explained to me and stated in his report. And that insubordinate, bastard sergeant agreed."

"Hussel agreed did he? I don't know Elladoo from a harem guard, but I remember Hussel. If he stated that she did it, then he believes it. The insubordinate bastard, as you call him, is not smart or slick enough to pull off such a lie. So how did she kill Darrel?"

"They said she is possessed by a demon Sir. That's how she did Darrel and a bunch of his followers in."

"Demon possession you say. Based on Darrel's reputation I think its more likely that she stabbed him while he was sleeping off raping her." He then returned his attention to me to ask, "So which is it girl, were you his victim before you surprised him? Or are you really possessed by a demon?"

I was really beginning to hate the sound of an Glanlies' upper-crust accent. Though the colonel's voice did not have the cruelty that had been lurking in Darrel's voice, its very indifference was not that much better. It caused the fear of my situation to bubble up over my shock and surprise. I forced myself to remember the one voice of this type with which I did not associate fear and latched onto the last thing that voice had said, "I would prefer not to answer until I have a solicitor present."

He just smiled at my response, "Likely the smart thing for you to do, in fact it is the same approach I would take. However, since you won't talk, we will have to return to Ensign Tillindal's question."

"Sir?"

"Your question as to where we should imprison her."

"Yes Sir."

"Well I am not really convinced that she is possessed by a demon, one would think she would be spitting mad if so. Instead she is standing here the pretty little lady. Still I cannot ignore the the possibility that she is demon possessed, so our cells here may not be strong enough to hold her. Therefore, deliver her to the old donjon."

"Yes, Sir!" Tillindal answered with a smile.

If his accent had not already proven that he was not from Corels, then his use of the word donjon would have given it away. Locals, which I still was at that point, always called the old donjon the Hole. It had been given that name about forty years earlier when it had been replaced as the headquarters of the Militia and turned into a prison by the mayor at the time. Since then it had become the home of the most serious criminals; murderers, rapists, rebels, heretics and so forth.

It had received its nick-name, the Hole, as a result of a reputation that once a prisoner went in they never got out. It went beyond being escape proof, anyone sentenced to the Hole was going to live there for the rest of their life, which sometimes could be quite short if they had a dance scheduled with the hang man. Even after death a prisoner's body would be burned and the ashes discarded into the nearest garbage pile. It was and continues to be a very bad place. And that was where they were delivering me.

The entire time that it took to travel from the headquarters to the Hole, once more in the same cart, I was trying to convince myself that I would only be a temporary resident. That I was not going to be one of those who never got out. That the mistress would be able to hire a solicitor to get me free. But that hope was less easy to grasp as the cart rolled through a massive, closing gate.

The same corporal once more helped me down from the cart, but this time he did not immediately lead me anywhere, instead he looked in the direction of Ensign Tillindal who was talking to a captain in a slightly different uniform. Based on the man's advanced age, and his relatively low rank, I surmised that he was the commander of the prison. After all he had the look of the steady, but non-ambitious (which means without political backing) officer who would end up in a relatively dead-end post like Commander of the Hole. The captain showed none of the animation that was in Tillindal's gestures during their conversation, since to him I was just another prisoner. After the explanation was complete he nodded his head and gestured some of his guards in my direction and passed set of orders to one of them. Upon reaching the corporal and I, they took me into their custody with the corporal seeming to be only to happy to hand me over to their control. I guess he was no more excited about heading inside the donjon than me. The difference was he could leave.

Soon a group of four guards were taking me down into the cellars of the keep, which I am sure that you can guess were a dark and dreary place. Walls seeping moisture, proved that digging a hole this close to where a river merged into the sea was not the smartest idea. It also led to the smell of mold and mildew permeating the air.

Much of what I saw was to be expected, but there were some surprises. The first being that we really did not climb that deep into the ground, there appeared to basically be a basement, used for storage, and a sub-basement which held the cells. The second thing that I noticed was how quiet it was, you expect that there would be lots of chatter, yelling and cursing from all these hardened criminals, but there was none. The last surprise was the number of cells. My impression had always been that there were hundreds of murderers lurking underground in the Hole, but if there were actually half a century of cells I would be surprised.

Seemingly at random, at least to me, they led me to one of the numerous cells whose door was open. Looking inside at the grubby cubicle, barely larger the a closet, I was dismayed to see it contained only a filthy pallet laying on the rush covered floor and a vile bucket in the corner. When I stood at the door, looking inwards with horror, one of the guards stated, "What are you looking all disgusted about Missy? This here is one of the better cells."

I turned my head to look at the voice, with disbelief apparently evident on my face, since he continued, "Yep, you are just an accused prisoner so you get one of the nice cells. If you're convicted then you get one of the crap ones."

One of his colleagues chimed in his agreement, "Yep, cells like this one that have no outside walls are the best. They are warmer and don't have the dripping walls. We save the corners for the real bastards."

The first guard continued, "And the rushes are fairly new as well, no other prisoner has been inside since we replaced them."

Hardly believing their bizarre sincerity, it only required a small push to get me the into the cell, then with a warning that I better be quiet if I wanted be fed the door was closed. Leaving me alone in that terrible box, in a darkness that was almost as black as my thoughts.

-------------

I have described the events leading to my imprisonment to a number of people over the years and it has always amazed me how often I am asked, 'Why didn't you fight them? How come you were so passive?' And it has always been difficult to explain the answer. Partially because the type who ask are either the ones who cannot even begin to comprehend being in trouble with the law or they are the ones who do not know me very well. They look at me and wonder how the slayer of Darrel the Roamer could so easily have been made a prisoner. The other thing that makes it hard to explain is that they constantly interrupt and ask additional questions. Maybe I will have better luck explaining via quill than via voice.

Any explanation must start with a few truths about me. Despite my adventures in the bandit camp and some other examples I hope to detail to you at some point, I am not a violent person. Sure if attacked or in danger I will defend myself, but never in my life has it been me who started the violence. In conjunction with this I must admit that violence is not my forte, sure I have had some training, but outside of the crossbow my skills are barely above average. My chances of success against professionals would have been exceedingly small, as to not even being measurable.

What about my demon, you ask? Well honestly, outside of being changed into a girl, the possession did not measure. When you think of possession, or at least when I had thought of possession before it happened to me, you think of it as a constant presence that whispers things like, 'Kill them. Kill them all.' But that was not my experience with Sandrelessa. Outside of the bandit camp and maybe the sickness I had felt on the river, she had never made her presence felt. Still even if it was possible for me to bring her to the forefront, I did not really want to have her in control. It was not a good feeling to be a passenger in my own body, allowing something as insane as a demoness to hold the reins. Who knew what she would do if she was in charge, my belief is that none of it would be good.

Which leads to the second truth about me, I am an orderly type. My belief in the Commission and its rule of the peninsula is rather unshakable. The Militia troops that arrested me, even Ensign Tillindal, and the guards that locked me in the cell were representatives of that organization. They were just doing their jobs, how could I bring myself to attack them? Furthermore, along with my belief in the system that they represented, I also had to believe that the system would find no reason to punish me.

The last big truth was my age. You must not forget that I was still just fifteen years old, and a fifteen year old who was not rebellious beyond the norm. At that age my life revolved around following the orders of my elders, which included darn near everybody. It definitely included the Militia and prison guards.

So those are the reasons, at least the ones I now believe, as to why I did not put up a fight. Actually when they are written down I cannot see why it is so difficult to explain. It may be due to one other reason that rattles around in the back of my mind, one which I have just about convinced myself that I do not believe. The cause of disbelief is that this last reason grew out of the first hours inside that darkened cell, after my arrest, when I asked myself the questions I am now trying to explain away. At that time, the reason that leaped to the forefront of my mind was that I deserved any punishment I received. There was no doubt in my mind that I was demon possessed and having seen the results of that demon possession first hand, there was even less doubt that it was evil to be so possessed. Hence, how could I not be evil? It had only made sense that they should lock me away in some foul hole like the one they did.

Once coming to this cheery conclusion, I had latched onto it and began to explain away other things. I concluded that the real reason for being scared of visiting my parents was not because I was worried about their opinions, no it was because I was not worthy of their good opinions. For it was as obvious as the back of my hand, which at the time I could hardly see, that my becoming inhabited by this evil force was not an accident. No, it was because I was a natural vessel for evil. And the reason for my comfort in the female form was due to some perversity lurking in my soul. My prior belief that it was due to the support and teaching from Mary and Mistress Elladoo actually disguised my taking advantage of their good nature. And...

Damn, thinking about that time is depressing me. Of course endeavors in self hatred are never enjoyable experiences. So in an effort to stop me from wanting to jump off a bridge and to stop you from wanting to gouge out your eyes, let us skip over those hours of personal condemnation. Instead we will focus on the efforts of my would be rescuers.

Now you should be aware that instead of participating in these events, I only learned of them after the fact from those who actually lived them. So I cannot fully vouch for them as whole truths, but those whose descriptions I use are trustworthy. Besides which, there really is no reason for them to lie or exaggerate.

This signals the need for me to take a step away from the role I have played so far in the telling of this story. Until this point I have felt that my role has been that of the host, welcoming you into my home. But for the next short while, at least until we can get through the rest of that day, let me change my hat to the more humble one of narrator.

-------------

Well that did not work out at all well; therefore, I am going to change my mind. I did try and tell the story of my friends. Pages were written about Mistress Elladoo hiring a lawyer and speaking to my parents, of Stork's journey to Glanlies, on their speculations about what was going on and all their efforts to free me. Yet every word was a chore, what they had told me no longer seemed clear. Maybe it is because when they first told me what they did and what went on, while I was locked away, it all made sense. Being closer to the time their stories were more believable or I was much more ready to believe. But now, now there are so many questions that spring to mind as I try to write down their words. How did they reach that conclusion? Why did they do that? Where did they obtain that piece of information?

I suppose I could ask them. Yet will they be able to answer? These questions did not spring to my mind until years later, maybe they never asked the questions of themselves. And how would I ask them? Only Jimi and Mary are readily available, everybody else lives far away or are acquaintances at best. For those who are far away, I suppose I could send a letter. Yet, if I could not write their story, how could I write the proper questions? And though I will visit them in the near future, now is not the time.

No, it is best if I stick to that with which I am comfortable, my own recollections. Even when they involve very little happening, but don't worry we will ignore most of the nothing time. For example, let us delve not to deep into the hours immediately after my imprisonment. How many hours I am not sure, since it is hard to tell time in a basement cell.

You may wonder if my situation improved in those initial hours after my imprisonment. Well I could provide the simple answer, but though that works well in teaching, it is not always the best approach for story telling. Instead let me outline a number of the thoughts I thought and experiences I experienced over those hours.

With the cell door closing my thoughts had settled into a dark mode, and the passing of time did not suddenly turn them sunny. Adventures in self-loathing continued to be the mainstay of my emotional imbalance. Though every once in awhile another thought would creep in to take the foreground, at least for a moment or two. Sometimes they were even semi-positive, such as; being glad that I was not forced to share a cell with some violent criminal or my surprise that there was soup with my bread and water. Then at other times they were not so positive, such as; realizing that I was was actually sharing the cell with a multitude of fleas or that the soup was basically made of water and bread.

There were also periods where I wished that all of this craziness had never happened to me, which was either followed by me promising the Gods anything they wanted if they got me out or by my cursing Master Elladoo for leading me astray. At other times I convinced myself that it was all a mistake, that Mistress Elladoo would be there to save me, but later I would begin to question where she was and why it was taking her so long. I would retreat into worrying that the Elladoo's would wash their hands of me or that my friends would not be my friends or that Mary would be so angry at me getting my dress dirty.

In turn this would lead me towards thinking about being changed into a girl. For such a major change to my life, it was amazing how little of an impact it had on me. Much of this was due to an understanding that it was only temporary, but I had to admit that everyone being so nice to me played a large role. Since my apprenticeship, outside of my training, I had basically been on my own. But after my transformation it had almost seemed like I was part of a family and that felt good. Plus as a fairly plain looking fellow, there was definitely an attraction to all of a sudden being pretty, even if it involved the strangeness of wearing dresses. Though some of the dresses were kind of nice...Pervert!

Sadly even non-negative thoughts could not survive long in the environment in which I had been placed when combined with the state into which I had forced my mind. The doubt and anger and fear had to have their place of prominence. They greedily drove away things that did not put me in despair or turned a sneer on my entertaining ideas that I was dreaming and just needed to wake up or that I should try to figure out a way to escape or that rescue was close at hand.

But if you still prefer the simple answer, then please feel free to ignore the previous four paragraphs. Instead, let me tell you that no, things did not improve. In fact the only change was that at any moment the urge to begin itching would overwhelm me as my cell-mates made their presence known.

-------------

Though one could not tell the time of day in the Hole's cellar, there was a rhythm that had been created to mimic what went on outside. I assumed night had arrived when every second torch in the halls outside of my cell were extinguished. This provided a momentary distraction as I digested how mistaken it had been to think the cell had already been as dark as it could get. But again it was not a strong thought so was quickly pushed away by the other negative things that had set up their squatter's camp within my mind. They squabbled amongst themselves, with each trying to gain ascendancy, though each time one was successful it would soon be pushed aside by another. So rapid were the shifts that I cannot say which held the high ground when I finally, please don't stone me for this, drifted into uneasy sleep.

When I awoke, the number of lit torches was still low, so I guessed that my slumber had not lasted long. Nor had it been restful, since I remembered what had been going on in my dreams and dream memory for me only occur in those moments before I fully awake. The reason for my awakening was readily apparent when I realized that I was freezing. But though cold I was happy that it had woken me, because it was not what had made my slumber restless, no that honour was reserved for my dreams. In them I was back in the bandit camp, Sandrelessa was once more back in control and my memories of the event were extremely vivid, either that or my mind was doing an incredibly good job of creating details. And where the event itself had seemed to flash by in a horrific haze, the dream moved slowly in perfect clarity letting me relive every attack, allowing me to study every face. As they attacked and before they were obliterated each and every one of them wore a face that I did not recognize, but when they lay on the ground shattered and broken their faces turned to those I knew and loved. Yes I was quite happy that the cold awoke me.

But once awake the cold, moment by moment, became worse than my nightmares. Soon I sat with my knees drawn up to my chin, with arms wrapped around my legs. Still it did not help, the cold had sunk in too deep. Finally I found myself needing to get to my feet hoping that moving about would restore some heat. And so I began doing laps around my cell. Two steps, left turn, two steps, left turn, two steps, left turn. On and on I walked, and when I began to think I forced myself to count steps to override thought. And when I lost count it was time to start over again, until I was mindlessly lost in two steps, left turn, two steps, left turn, two steps...

There was no more beating myself up, no self hate, there was just the pacing. It surely would have petered out on its own, but on one of my frequent trips past the door I thought I heard something. After more laps I realized that it was voices, and after even more laps I began to wonder why the voices were whispering. Finally it clicked within my head that it was actually prisoners talking amongst themselves. Wondering what could cause them to risk punishment from the guards finally brought me to a stop by the door. Without the beat of my feet on the ground it was soon possible to make out what they were saying and with understanding the first smile in a long time took up residence on my face. They were actually telling jokes, well not jokes, they were actually taking turns telling the joke.

You know the one, it starts with, "A peg-legged pirate with a parrot on his shoulder walks into an inn. While the pirate is looking about the bartender asks, 'Hey Joe, where have you been and who's your friend?'" It then gets rolling when the parrot answers.

It's a joke that I have heard told in many places by many people and never once has it been the same. But though different there are a number of commonalities. The most important being that it is never in good taste, in fact you can determine a lot about the people you are with by seeing how low the joke sinks within their midst. There is often sex involved, usually either involving a siren or a mermaid, heck I even heard one telling that involved a lobster that night in my dank cell. And in general there is no bodily function taboo in telling the joke, though during that night in the Hole I heard taboos broken that I did not even know existed. Yes my fellow inmates were willing to sink very low indeed, definitely making the joke an entirely different species than the first version I heard it in my bedroom one night from my elder brother. My brother's version was mild compared to those I had heard in the bachelors' quarters at the post, but they in turn were mild compared to the ones I heard that night.

In turns I was shocked, stunned, confused, outraged, thrilled and sick from laughter. Now in the first installment of my tale I dissected an experience with crying, how it made me feel and what it did for me. Now laughter, true belly laughter affects me in a much more positive fashion than crying. The tears from laughter seem to wash away my fears and angst, while tears from crying make them blurry but does make them go away. And after a good laugh, everything is funny, not sad. If I had my druthers, I would always prefer the laughter. Alas, there is usually not a choice, you just deal with what you experience and hope that everything works out for the best.

On that night, the laughter most definitely worked out. The laughter chased away much of my darkness and stood guard against its return. It allowed me to judge myself in a much more positive light, question why I felt bad about what happened in the camp. After all neither Darrel nor his followers would have felt a moment's guilt over anything they planned to do to me or my friends at the post. So what that Sandrelessa lurked inside my body? Based upon what Master Elladoo told me of how the spell worked, it was I who possessed her not the other way around. And true, I was not gnashing my teeth and pulling out my hair about being turned into a girl. But being adaptable was important to us frontier dwellers and honestly it was far from being horrible, some of it was quite nice in fact. Yes I would be glad to return to being a boy, but until then I would make the best of it.

I was going to get out of the Hole, and I was going to go to Glanlies. Despite what that idiot Tillindal may think.

-------------

The laughter served me well over the next number hours, both in sleep and while awake. When I saw the guard whose job it was to empty the buckets I immediately recognized him from one of the jokes and began to giggle. When he did not take kindly to this and threatened me, his rather squeaky voice pushed me into a full-fledged laughter. And when he was about to enter the room and his colleague said, "Leave her alone Clem, she's demon touched," I laughed even harder. Yep the tiniest thing could start me off again; like how silly the intricately tied knots from the day before looked as they loosened in my hair, or the off key whistling of a guard and most definitely the limerick that, though barely readable, had been scratched into the wall.

My guess is that with the amount of cackling I did that day, there was little doubt that anyone who heard would be sure that demon possession was driving me insane. And of course even that was funny. Still by the afternoon laughter was beginning to lose its charm and I found myself trying to figure out something new with which to occupy my mind. First off I tried to remember every song I knew, but though they had put up with my laughter, the guards were unwilling to put up with my singing, they apparently found my voice was just as unable to carry a tune as it had when it was my boy's voice. With this avenue of entertainment discouraged, I fell back on a proper task for any young apprentice merchant, I began testing my memory of the Annals. It is truly amazing how much material is covered in those books and it pleased me how much I remembered. My review also proved how much I did not understand, which led to wishes for paper and a quill to note down questions for the master when next I saw him.

I was in the midst of an internal debate concerning what additional items, which were currently not included on our caravan, we should supply to any outpost opened in the tribes' territory when the door opened. My first thought was that it was time for another tasteless meal, but when I saw multiple men at the door none with a bowl of food, my curiosity was peaked. When one of them gestured for me to approach my positive viewpoint continued and my immediate guess was that I was being released. However, that guess was dismissed when I saw them holding wrist-shackles that they quickly fastened to my arms.

Curiosity got the better of me when instead of leaving the stairwell at the point I had entered yesterday we kept climbing. So working up my nerve, I asked, "Where are you taking me?"

The man who was guiding me with a large hand around my upper arm answered, "We didn't know you were of the Deglace when we put you downstairs yesterday. You high mucky-muck types are to be kept in one of the Tower's cells."

Digesting this explanation raised a number of questions in my mind, but the rather rapid climb up the steep, winding steps in the long skirt of my dress forced my attention to focus upon not stumbling. We passed four more exits before the guards stopped, unlocked the landing door and pulled me through onto a level with four doors similar to those in the basement.

The same man who had answered me originally looked around and stated, "Well you're the only one up here girlie, so take your choice."

After my random point at a door, they took me over, opened it up and in that same not-totally forceful way as the day before pushed me into the cell. Actually it was more of a room than a cell, not a particularly nice room, but not a hole either. The most important difference, the thing that further lifted my spirit, was that there was a bar covered slit in the wall through which both light and fresh air was able to stream. Hardly noticing the rest of the room I quickly moved over to this slit and though it was above my head I could look out and see the sky and more importantly breathe in the fresh sea air. Only after refilling my lungs did I look around the rest of the room and noticed that much had not changed. Sure the room was a different shape, maybe slightly larger, but it still only had a straw covered floor, a flea-infested pallet and a bucket, though maybe not quite as vile as the one in my old cell.

As I leaned against the wall under the slit the guard's statement about being 'of the Deglace' repeated itself in my mind and the questions it had raised earlier now were able to take the place of prominence.. Did he mean it in the general usage? If so, then it meant that Mistress Elladoo was most likely trying to get me out of this prison. But could he have meant it not in the general usage, but in the Glanlies' manner? If so, then she was definitely trying to get me out of prison.

What is meant by in the Glanlies' manner? Well let me delve into the Annals to provide that answer. Not long after the formation of the Commission a bell maker in Freenjie named Edgar Karsen had an apprentice whom he felt should one-day follow in his steps and become the Master of Karsen Bells. If the old master had a daughter he would have married her to the apprentice, but he and his wife had only had sons, two of them. Sadly both had died at a young age in the Sailor's Plague that had devastated Freenjie a number of years earlier. This meant that his sister's eldest son was Edgar's legal heir.

Now while he liked his nephew, and even had him working in the shop, he knew that Paul would never be a master bell maker. He just did not have the gift and most everyone in Freenjie recognized this, including Paul. The only one who could not see it was Paul's mother, Edgar's sister. She was bound and determined that her son would be the master of Karsen Bells. As time passed the apprentice, Sigfri, became journeyman and then as Edgar grew feeble served as master in all but name, meanwhile Paul had settled in as the manager who dealt with supplies and sells. Finally the old master realized that he must do something otherwise it would be to late; therefore, one day he gathered up Paul, Sigfri and his solicitor and went to visit a magistrate.

Initially they had no success, but then Edgar struck upon the idea of adopting Sigfri. At first the magistrate had dismissed this idea due not only to Sigfri being a grown man, but that his parents were also alive and well. Still Edgar was beginning to think it was a better and better idea, so he explained to the magistrate, "Ya see your Honour, it's not so much that I am wanting to make Sigfri my son, its that I want to give him a place in my family similar to what he would have if he married the daughter I don't have."

The judge, who happened to have married into a family wealthier than his own, saw the logic behind this statement and told the group that he needed to talk to some of his colleagues. A decision would be provided at the end of the week, at which time they once more all returned to hear the magistrate's ruling, "You raised some interesting points Master Karsen, causing my fellow magistrates and myself many hours of deep discussion. We felt the key to your request was the concept of how a family survives, grows and renews itself. In fact we asked ourselves, what defines family? Well the traditional answer has family defined by blood; however, as you yourself described, marriage can bring one into a family and blood is only shared with offspring. So if marriage does not join one to their spouses family via blood, then how do they join? This same question can be asked of those children adopted into a family. Therefore, we found that family involves more than just blood.

"So there are already two legal means by which to join a family that does not involve shared blood. This leads to the question as to whether there can be other ways, such as the one that was proposed by you Master Karsen. We recognized that though adoption of a child is possible for all households, marriage is not. This puts families such as yours into a competitive disadvantage. We believe that this can be an unfair disadvantage. Therefore, we rule that a family can contractually choose an adult to join their family."

As a result of this ruling, Karsen Bells passed into the joint hands of Paul and Sigfri who saw that it was brought back into one family when they wed Paul's son to Sigfri's daughter. However, the precedent set in Freenjie was rarely followed, until about seventy years before my imprisonment it made a come back within the wealthiest families, like the Deglace and the Vannigans, when they began to utilize it as a means to broaden their reach. Though before renewing its use, they had redefined the contract into what it now has become, with those being contracted known as the Chosen. The changes had them no longer being seen as members of the family or even equal to those who joined via adoption or marriage, still a Chosen was much more than an employee. The best description of the relationship I ever heard was from a fellow who had been chosen by the Nurnigovs early in his life, when he told me, "You know Drake, rarely have I made important decisions for the Nurnigovs. But by the Gods, rarer even still is one of those decisions that I have not had a hand in implementing."

Those of you not from Glanlies are likely wondering what this all has to do with the guard's use of "of the Deglace". Well it is because that is how the Chosen were often known, at least it was the name they would use when acting for the family. Still I was not sure if the mistress had the authority to make a choice for her family. Or if she could would she able to complete the choosing without me? These and other questions about the Chosen filled my mind for much of my first evening in the tower cell.

And though I was not able to answer, only speculate, it provided me much comfort. Mistress Elladoo, actually I am sure in this situation she was going by her other name of Esselde Deglace, had established the Deglace blanket of protection around me. This was good, for even though the laws of Glanlies applied the same to everyone, the pace of the application was much slower for the privileged.

-------------

Being imprisoned is so very very very very very very boring, it's like being sick without the fun of throwing up. Over the next four days and nights nothing occurred to break up the monotony of my existence, not even the jokes that knocked me out of my funk during my first night. In fact, outside of the food deliverer and the bucket emptier I neither saw nor heard anybody during this time. Even a resumption of my singing endeavors brought about no censure. Still the loneliness was offset by the temperature in the cell, it was not real good, but it was much better than down below. I still had to go for regular walk abouts, but the cold never returned to my bones.

Outside of thinking and singing my entertainment was fairly limited. There was the good ole stand-bye, count the number of stones making up the walls and floors, but seeing as how the number never changes you can only do this so many times before it loses its allure. When that happened I created a new game with the same stones, this involved picking two stones and then placing a finger on the mortar near the first stone I would begin tracing along the mortar from stone to stone until I reached the second one. At one point during this game I actually came upon some lose mortar, which caused some excited scratching in the hopes of finding escape. However, after a bit I realized that even if I removed the stone it would open into the next room, which was not much of an escape. This lead to some searching on the outside wall hoping to find more lose mortar, but it was it was in surprisingly good repair, nor had I looked that hard. After all I wasn't exactly able to fly, so it would not have been much good if I could create a hole. The endeavor did waste a fair amount of time and prove that my new nails were quite strong.

The other thing that provided quite a few hours of distraction was, somewhat embarrassingly, my hair. There is an amazing number of things a bored individual can do with a full head of long hair, specially when that hair is fairly new to the individual. My favourite hair activity had to be the hair waterfall, this is where you gather your hair up up over your head and then let it fall, either in one big batch or let small amounts loose in a continuous cascade. However, hair does not really appreciate this type of abuse, and it resulted in my spending a fair amount of time trying to comb it with my fingers. I also decided to try and copy some of the things that Mary had done to it, specifically braiding. Admittedly I started out doing a fairly crappy job, but hours of free time in which to play with it meant I slowly began to get the hang of it, even with regular stops to rest my arms and fingers.

By the fifth day all these glorious pursuit had lost their thrill. Or in the case of my hair, became to dirty and yucky with which to play. In fact I was finding myself just feeling dirty overall, so much so that I spent quite a bit of time dreaming of bathing. I was in the midst of one such dream, on the morning of my fifth day in the tower cell when the door opened to once more display a group of men, with the one in the lead holding the arm-shackles that implied I would be leaving the cell. The man with the arm-shackles spoke up, "Come over here girlie, time for you to go in front of the magistrate."

Finally, something was happening. So pleased was I with this end to my boredom that I actually hurried over with my arms held out ready for the shackles, then almost skipped down the stairs. Well actually that would have ended with me falling down those stairs, but the guard did not have to do the dreaded upper arm drag. Although it did become necessary when we made it outside and I stopped to just glory in the experience, but soon they had me in another cart and off we went to Corels' court building.

My happiness at the freedom from my cell took a sharp turn downwards when the cart arriving at the court building brought about the realization that I had no clue what was going on. Until this point my entire hopes of freedom had been placed in Mistress Elladoo's hands, an approach that maybe was not all that smart. Still what more could I have done, until they brought me before the magistrates there would be no way for me to know fully against what I would need a defense.

Once at the building they soon had me locked in a room, containing a glorious pitcher of water and bowl with which I tried to wash up. It was of limited benefit, the grime had set in to my clothes and hair, but it did feel good to clean my face, neck and hands. I wished for more, but just as in my cell, even though alone, I was extremely rather about even loosening my clothing. As there was no way for me to control when or who could walk in.

Not long after my wash they came to take me to the court room, a rather plain room with a table and chair at which would sit the magistrate and his clerk, a number of chairs in which a number of people sat and a chair near the door through which I entered. The guards led me to this chair before reaching under my skirts to attach a shackle, chained to a nearby eye bolt in the floor, around my ankle. A new indignity that barely registered, instead my attention was focused upon the chairs and who sat in them.

My eyes, upon entry, had immediately been drawn to my parents and I watched as the shock showed on their faces at my appearances. My mother's shock showed in a her covering much of her face with her hands, though she still peeked over her fingers in my direction. My reaction in turn was one of embarrassment, which caused me to look down at my hands in my lap as I sat, not even acknowledging the smiles of encouragement from the mistress and Mary which I had barely noticed. The room was silent for a couple minutes until the door once more opened behind me, causing a guard to prod me into a standing position along with everyone else in the room.

The figure who entered was shapeless and faceless in a neutral grey cowled robe and leather mask, for the person inside was not to be seen as an individual, instead he or she was an interchangeable Deacon of Jiringel. For it was the deacons of the Goddess of Justice who served as magistrates in the courts on the peninsula of Glanlies. This individual would conduct the trial, ask whatever questions were necessary and would make the final judgement. Solicitors at a trial were there only to provide information to the magistrate or to request a line of questioning. They played a bit part while the sitting magistrate was the conductor of the court room, which was seen as the manifestation of Jiringel's church.

This arrival did drive away my embarrassment with nervousness and I found myself saying Jiringel's Prayer of the Innocent in my mind as the figure took its seat. When the rest of us followed suit, the trial started. There were no preliminaries, instead there was immediately a question from underneath the cowl, in a voice that was rather sexless, even though I assumed the magistrate to be female from height and what little of the form that could be seen beneath her robe, "Who speaks for Corels in this manner?"

"We do your Honour," stated a man in the front row of chairs, standing in conjunction with Ensign Tillindal.

"Administrator Kalok, before we go any further I have questions concerning a number of irregularities concerning this case."

"Irregularities your Honour?" oozed the greasy bastard standing beside the ensign.

"Yes irregularities Administrator. Starting with who issued the arrest warrant for the defendant?"

"I did your Honour."

"Is it normal for you to issue an arrest warrant without first consulting a magistrate Administrator?

"No your Honour; however, law allows the Administrator of the Magistrate's Office to issue an arrest warrant in the case of an emergency."

"What constitutes an emergency Administrator Kalok?"

"There are a number of initiators your Honour. Most of them deal with danger to the city from attack, either from within or from outside. The other type deal with danger to the citizenry of Corels. It was due to these dangers that the warrant was issued."

"All valid initiators Administrator. And we will deal with them in a moment, first we need to finish discussing the irregularities. If as you explain, this is an emergency situation, why did the Magistrate's Council only learn of it yesterday, days after the arrest occurred."

The questioning was definitely making me feel good, but Administrator Kalok seemed not to be bothered in the least as he continued to answer, "Apologies your Honour, there was an issue that arose around the defense of the prisoner which needed to be dealt with before we could proceed any further. As the prisoner is a not of age, it was necessary to determine who should provide a solicitor in support; however, we had two separate claims. The first claim was presented by Esselde Deglace who is the wife of the prisoner's apprentice master. The second claim was presented by the parents of the prisoner, Barmir and Julia. We determined that this issue needed to be resolved before we could proceed."

"Interesting," intoned the magistrate in a manner that actually made Kalok flinch. Then turning to face the side of the room in which my parents and friends sat, asked, "Master Chone I guess that you are here to speak for the defendant. Which party do you represent."

One of the two men whom I did not recognize, sitting with my parents and the mistress stood up, bowed to the magistrate and answered, "Your Honour, I have actually been contracted to represent both parties. The issue that the administrator mentions was resolved the morning after Drake's arrest. Any other delay was totally created by his office..."

"Your Honour," the administrator spouted in outrage.

"Is that true Administrator? Were the two claims put forward by the same solicitor? If so, what was the issue to resolve?"

"They were your Honour. However, we needed ensure that there was no conflict of interest before we could allow Master Chone to speak for both parties."

"Master Chone was there a conflict of interest?"

"Your Honour..."

"I was asking Master Chone, Administrator."

"No your Honour. Both parties were working together through me, almost from the beginning."

"Almost from the beginning? Please explain."

"Yes your Honour. I was initially engaged by Mistress Deglace to determine why Drake had been arrested. However, my queries to the Magistrate's Office were turned aside when they informed me that the mistress did not have standing in this issue. This despite her being the wife and a designated agent of Master Hiram Elladoo, to whom Drake is apprenticed. After this rebuff Mistress Deglace and myself contacted Drake's parents, Barmir and Julia, to explain what had happened. As a result of this discussion they also retained my services. However, when I presented myself at the Magistrate's Office the next day, they still would not provide me any information."

I was pleased to have my guess about the mistress using her birth name validated, but then it did not require much thought to realize that she would use Deglace in this situation. After all, even though we of the post saw her mainly in the context of Master Elladoo's wife it did not mean that she was no longer a Deglace. And it was the simple truth that anywhere outside of a small range surrounding Elladoo's Outpost the name of Deglace carried much more weight than did Elladoo.

While I thought this, the magistrate continued her questioning of the solicitors, "Administrator Kalok, if the issue was resolved so soon, what caused the rest of the delay?"

"Your Honour, when Master Chone presented himself on behalf of the prisoner's parents he also submitted an application from Mistress Deglace requesting that the prisoner be granted Chosen status to the Deglace family. Since this had a role in determining whether Mistress Deglace had standing or not, we felt that it needed to be resolved first before proceeding."

Well that answered the question that had monopolized my mind during the first night in the tower cell. The "of the Deglace" had been in the Glanlies manner. The new question was as to whether it was just a tactical part of my defense, or if it would be pursued if I ever obtained my freedom. I was hoping the second was true, for I was young enough to think it would be wonderful to have such a close tie to one of the families of power. I felt that it would place me in good stead as I pursued my career and rather fun.

"Was it necessary to delay informing the Magistrate's Council until this manner was dealt with Administrator?" the magistrate asked once Kalok finished his explanation.

"I am not sure your Honour. I felt it was best that we ensure that the issue be dealt with properly in order for the prisoner to receive a fair trial."

Yep he was a smooth bastard. Everybody in the room were able to guess that he was not telling the truth, yet there was no way to prove that he lied. The magistrate must have realized this as well for she started upon another line of questioning. "Thank you for your explanation of the irregularities Administrator Kalok. I believe it may be necessary for the Council to review some procedures, but that is for another time. Let us now focus on the case before us. You stated that the arrest of the defendant was the result of an emergency, what was the emergency?"

"Yes your Honour. Six mornings ago Ensign Tillindal of the Corels detachment of the Commission's Militia presented himself at our offices and provided information that a dangerous person was in the City of Corels. He was of the belief that this individual was a great risk to the citizenry as a result of being possessed by a demoness. The ensign was very persuasive in his explanation and being aware of his and the Militia's desire to ensure the people's safety, I issued the warrant."

"So you issued the warrant based upon the testimony of Ensign Tillindal?"

"Yes your Honour."

"Thank you Administrator Kalok, you and Master Chone may sit down while I question the ensign."

"Thank you your Honour."

"Ensign Tillindal is it true that you were the one to request the arrest warrant against the defendant?"

"Yes your Honour."

"What led you to believe that the defendant posed a threat to the community Ensign?"

"Well your Honour about three weeks ago I was in command of the escort for the monthly Hanglish Mine's pickup barge. During our return trip we stopped one evening at Elladoo Outpost at which point I learned that they had recently survived an attack by Darrel the Roamer and his band. During questioning of the Outpost's Master I learned that the reason for their survival was the result of the defendant having killed Darrel and many of his bandits. I found this shocking because they had a well-earned reputation for being a hard-bitten group and for a single individual to wipe so many of them out was rather hard to believe. When I expressed my doubt, Master Elladoo informed my that he believed that the prisoner was able to perform this feat as a result of demon possession."

"What did you do at that time Ensign?"

"Your Honour, being aware of the dangers posed by the demon possessed I immediately offered to take her into custody; however, Master Elladoo and his rude sergeant did not allow me to do so. Something that was their right, poorly thought out though it was."

"You mention the dangers of the demon possessed, what are these dangers Ensign?"

"Well your Honour everybody knows how violent they are. How they are all about killing and based upon Master Elladoo's report this demon possessed girl is all about killing horribly."

Well he was close to the truth, I definitely wanted to tear him limb from limb at that point. And it was not the demon talking. Luckily for the ensign it was the magistrate in charge and not me, for that worthy continued in a slightly scornful tone. "Ahh, everybody knows? Tell me Ensign, has the defendant committed violence against anyone else?"

"Not that I am aware of your Honour. Though it is very possible that something has happened between the point of my leaving Elladoo Post and my arrest of the prisoner."

"Mistress Deglace, has your charge committed any violence other than against the bandits?"

"No your Honour."

I will admit that I wished for a stronger endorsement from the mistress, but as the magistrate's questioning continued I realized that it was not needed and may have just slowed Jiringel's Deacon down, "Ensign did the defendant resist you during her arrest?"

"No your Honour."

"How about during the time in prison or transportation?"

"Well your Honour..."

"May I remind you of how much I like the truth Ensign."

"No need your Honour, the prisoner was not violent in the prison or during transport."

"What you are telling me does not seem to be consistent with your concerns leading to the defendant's arrest Ensign."

Tillindal nervously looked back at Administrator Kalok but that unworthy was looking away and would not meet his gaze. After a questioning 'ahem' from the magistrate he turned back and gamely answered, "I will admit that I am not an expert on possessions your Honour; however, based on the extreme violence the prisoner committed against the bandits I still believe that the prisoner needs to be locked up behind bars."

"Do you really want to go there Ensign?"

"Your Honour?"

"Do you really think the defendant should be kept behind bars for defending herself from rapists and murderers?"

"Umm...well your Honour...um...I guess not?"

"Of course not Ensign. Darrel and his men were scum who deserved to die. Do you have any other reasons for keeping the defendant imprisoned?"

"Umm...no your Honour."

"Administrator Kalok do you?"

"No your Honour, it appears I was overly quick to reach my conclusion."

It took some self control on my part to not blurt out 'Yeah, I believe you,' though I did roll my eyes. While Ensign Tillindal seemed shocked by what had happened, it was easy to tell that it was all expected in the game that Kalok was playing. Nor did he show any surprise when the magistrate stated, "Then I will have to find against the City of Corels, they have no right to continue the imprisonment of Drake of Elladoo Post."

You can likely guess that I did not jump up in glee at this statement, after all things had gone much to easily. Plus everything so far had seemed scripted, with each person playing a rehearsed part in the play. However, in this play not everybody had yet performed, for me the two who I assumed had a major role during act two sat on the side of the room with Kalok and Tillindal. Almost as soon as I had spotted them it had jumped into my mind that they were the two who wanted my head, the others were just their pawns. This was confirmed when the male member of the pair, wearing the sea green robe of a priest of Furigal and decked in the insignia of someone holding a high office, stood and approached the front of the room.

When the man came to a stop he gave a little bow to the magistrate who returned it in kind before knowingly asking, "Father Igtanigus is there something that you would like to add to the proceedings?"

Recognizing the name I guessed that the man would be miffed that the magistrate had used the lesser honorific of Father as opposed to Your Worship. My guess was confirmed when he likewise addressed the magistrate, "Thank you Deacon Smoiners. I would like to bring forward a point of precedence that is important to this case."

"Please go on Father."

"Thank you Deacon. While it is true that the city and the Militia are tasked with providing security and protection to the citizenry, there is actually an ancient compact between the City of Corels and the Followers of Furigal for the latter to provide protection from sorcerous and demonic attack."

"I am aware of the compact Father Igtanigus; however, I do not see how it would apply in this case since there has been no attack."

"True Deacon Smoiners, still the compact allows us to be proactive in ways that is not allowed to the militia. It is our duty to study this child to determine if she is a threat to herself and others. Luckily we have an illustrious visitor in Corels who is able to conduct such an evaluation." Bowing in the direction of the hard faced woman whom had been sitting with him, Father Igtanigus performed the introduction, "Abbess Deanile of the Sisters of the Sea Convent has spent most of her life helping those afflicted by demons. I recommend that we place this child in her care for evaluation."

Well there was another name I recognized and felt likely explained why the administrator had delayed informing the Magistrate's Council about me. As a high ranking official within Corels there would be a very good chance that he was a member of the Followers of Furigal and would not be adverse to providing them a favour; such as, delaying my trial until their chief bully girl could arrive on the scene. My grandmother had often talked about Abbess Deanile, although Grandma had always referred to her as Inquisitor Deanile when extolling her good works. The name caused a thread of fear to wrap itself around me heart, making it so I had to force myself to pay attention to the continuing verbal jousting between the priest and the deacon.

"That was a lucky chance to have the Abbess visiting Corels while this was happening. Still if I understand the compact correctly, is there not a provision for the defendant to have her own expert present during any evaluation?"

"Most defendants do not choose that option Deacon Smoiners."

Which I interpreted to mean that the Followers usually forced the defendant to waive that right. It was a moment in which my faith in Mistress Elladoo was put to the test and rewarded, for that wonderful lady had her solicitor stand, move forward and wait for the magistrate's permission to speak. When granted, he firmly stated, "The defense definitely would like to implement this right your Honour."

Without waiting for permission Igtanigus offered, "We will be happy to provide access to one of the our other experts. I am sure that Abbess Deanile can recommend an able assistant."

"Will that be acceptable, Master Chone?"

"Actually your Honour, the defense will be providing their own expert."

Neither of Furigal's clergy members were pleased to hear this and once more the father jumped in with his reply, "We will not accept any charlatan as an expert. And I would like to remind the Deacon that the College of Mages' application is still waiting approval; therefore, if the defense is hoping to foist one of their members upon us he should know now that it will not be acceptable."

Like a tumbler in a lock, the final component fell into place for me. My arrest was not about me at all, I was just a skirmish in the ongoing battle between the Followers of Furigal and the College of Mages. Approximately every five years the College would apply to establish a presence in Corels and every time the Followers would fight the application. Usually they found it an easy fight, just marshalling the members of their congregation to voice disapproval and having the City Council vote it down, it also helped that council members were often Followers. That they were actually going after me raised a question as to whether their defense was not going as well as normal this time around causing them to see my persecution as an important component in their plan to stop the College. After all, what had happened to me was the result of magic gone wrong, I could definitely serve as a fine object lesson.

While these thoughts raced through my head, Solicitor Chone responded to Father Igtanigus, "Well aware are we of the Followers of Furigal's concerns with the College of Mages; therefore, we submitted a request to the Temple of the Allfather in Glanlies to see if Magister Bewlmon would be willing to journey to Corels to participate in an evaluation of Drake. Happily for all of us he accepted."

This time the name did not mean anything to me, but based on the lemon sucking look upon the Father's face and the eye squinting of his she-wolf, the name was recognizable. Additional confirmation of this was provided by the looks of glee on the faces of my supporters, showing that they felt they had pulled off a great surprise. In turn, my face broke out in a smile when I realized that my parents' faces held the same glee as all the rest. For in that moment I realized that it was aimed at the discomfort of the two members of Furigal's clergy, members who my fears had made me feel my parents would support instead of me. How could I have been so wrong about them? They had never given me reason to doubt, instead I had just jumped to the most negative conclusion.

So yes I smiled at them. A smile that they returned even though it must have been rather bizarre for them to return such a smile from their son, a smile that Mary later described as my fair damsel's smile of delight. The way I felt at that moment I would not have been surprised if Asolde's Angels all of a suddenly appeared singing arias of love. Of course this did not happen, but you must admit it always feels rather excellent to learn that those you want to love you, truly do love you. It is even true, maybe more so, when it occurs while your very life is in danger.

While my side were sharing smiles Father Igtanigus was marshalling his thoughts and soon presented his next objection. "While we recognize and honour the skills of Magister Bewlmon, we fear that if we do not hurry in dealing with the demon inside this child it could turn out to be disastrous. Therefore, we believe it would be unwise for us to wait until the magister can arrive in Corels from Glanlies."

"Master Chone, Father Igtanigus raises a valid concern, do you know when Magister Bewlmon will be able to arrive in Corels?"

"Yes your Honour, he should arrive sometime tonight or tomorrow."

"Well that is hardly any time what so ever after the delays already experienced in this case. Father Igtanigus, will tomorrow be early enough for you?"

With bad grace the father accepted, "Yes Deacon Smoiners, the time frame is acceptable. However, we believe that it would be the safest for us to take control of the possessed until the tests can be conducted."

"Why is that Father Igtanigus?"

"Though this possession has shown limited acts of violence, one can never know when the demon will gain control. In that case it would be much safer for everyone if Abbess Deanile was nearby in order to provide a defense that is beyond the skills of the Militia or prison guards."

This point brought about sour looks on the faces of my supporters as we all realized that it was well reasoned. This was confirmed when the magistrate answered, "Yes that makes good sense Father Igtanigus"

With those word the play came to an end. And though it had started with me believing I was the central figure, it ended with a realization that my only role had been that of a prop.

-------------

I was not immediately placed into the hands of the Followers, but neither did they give me a chance to talk to any of my supporters. Instead, after unshackling my leg, the same guards led me out of the courtroom and back to the chamber in which I had been held upon arrival. Then the wait began, even though there was little doubt in my mind that they were already prepared to take me wherever they planned to take me, nobody immediately showed up to take me where ever they planned to take me. And though I was sure that the Followers were dragging things out to increase my fears, the knowledge did not help. Actually the waiting may have not done it, but when combined with the stories that I remember my Grandma telling me about the inquisitor, I really did become incredibly nervous. They had been tales of warnings meant to teach my siblings, cousins and I what would happen to us if we did not stay on the proper path. It had alway made me feel that she wished that one of us would stray so that she herself could report our wrong-doing and thus prove her faith.

Yes I held no doubt about which side of the room that she would have been sitting on if she had been alive to attend the earlier play. In fact it crossed my mind that maybe the whole affair was her revenge for my not returning from the post to mourn her passing a few years previously. And my guess was that if she was watching from beyond that realizing one of her granchildren was a magician possessed by a demoness would have her spinning in her grave.

After a significant period of this nervous waiting, with my thoughts flipping between hunger and worry, the door was finally flung open and six crossbow wielding, chain armoured men in the sea-blue surcoat of Furigal rushed into the room. When each had his weapon pointed at me they were followed by the inquisitor and three of her sisters all dressed in the habits of the Sisters of the Sea. And though unarmed it was these ladies upon whom my attention focused, for though they were different shapes and sizes they all shared that same hard-faced hatred that I had noticed on their leaders face earlier in the day.

For a few moments the eyes of the quartet studied me, until I lowered my eyes to escape their stares at which point Abbess Deanile said, "Sisters Gertrude and Erene secure the demon-spawn for transport."

At this command, the two burlier women stepped forward, one of whom carried a clanking sack. Walking behind me the one without the sack grabbed both of my wrists and wrenched them behind me back. When I struggled in response the second woman dropped the sack before grabbing a handful of my greasy hair to yank my head back so she could hiss into my ear, "Try something Demon-bitch. Please try something. I don't want to waste my time studying an abomination, it would be so much better if we could just kill you now."

I believed every word she said, her voice hels so much conviction that I just stood there, trembling and saying nothing. She held my head, pulled uncomfortably back, for a few more moments waiting for a response, but when I offered none she finally let go. Reaching into her sack she pulled out something that I assumed by the metallic clanking was wrist shackles but soon proved to be a chain that she wrapped around my lower arms as the other sister forced them to cross behind my back, once the wrapping was complete the chain was kept in place with a heavy lock. As the weight of the chain forced my shoulders to sag she knelt down and attached a pair of leg shackles, joined by a short length of chain, to my two ankles under the hem of my skirt. As a final step in my chaining a last length was hung from those wrapped around my arms and connected to the chain between the leg shackles. Immediately I knew that there was no running away, walking would be difficult enough and every step would be painful.

Finished with their task the two sisters rejoined the inquisitor and once more the four sets of eyes burrowed into me. In that moment the fine hairs on my arms began to stand up as I felt a power emanating from them, though mostly from the sister who had stayed beside the inquisitor. The strange thing is I recognized that this was not the first time that I had felt this, it was just that during the first time there were so many extraordinary things occurring that it did not register. What I felt from the sisters was similar though slightly different to what I had felt from Sandrelessa. It held much of the same anger as had hers, but where Sandrelessa's was tinted by capriciousness, the sisters' held only purpose. A purpose that saw me as an enemy who needed to be destroyed. More than their looks, this power proved to me who was in charge and I did not have the bravery within me to dispute this as truth.

Inquisitor Deanile must have read my understanding of the situation, because she suddenly turned to leave the room while shadowed by her three puppets. Once they were out the door one of the men, whose face held no more kindness than the sisters, gestured at me to follow. So began my long and uncomfortable journey. My earlier expectations were almost immediately proven correct, rare was the short step when my arms and shoulders were not wrenched and the stairs outside the back door were tear inducing. Never had I been so glad to reach the end of a walk, even if it occurred at another prison cart, similar in form to those used by the Militia but bearing the trident emblem of Furigal. Of course there was no chance that I would be able to get in on my own, though they forced me to try, resulting in even more pain and laughter from the men as I struggled and dripped in sweat from my efforts. This went on for a few moments before two of them set down their weapons in order to grab me, each to a side, and toss me head first into the wagon.

Now I did not fly far through the air, just far enough to get my full length through the door, but I had absolutely no way to protect myself upon landing. Due to my flight being head first the landing was rather horrible. The first thing to hit the floor of the cart, not surprisingly, was my face upon which I bounced and slid a couple of feet. And though it had become rather petite, the first part of my face to hit was my nose, which could do nothing except be crushed beneath the pressure even as the wood scraped and cut the rest of my face.

It hurt, but not nearly as much as the pain caused by the next part of me to hit and bounce along the floor. This horrible pain was the result of my breasts being slammed underneath my weight, which resulted in some of the worst pain I had ever felt. Possibly even worse than that time when my neighbor Sammie and I were having a snowball fight and he hit me in that place just under my belt. It was definitely worthy of a bellow, shout, or screech but such an outlet was denied as my stomach also made its impact and knocked the wind completely out of me. By that point I was in such bad shape that the bruising impact of my knees and toes did not immediately register. By the end of my graceless entrance I was lying face down on the floor that when combined with the other factors (broken nose with blood gushing out and the wind knocked out of me) made breathing a most difficult task. Finally, struggling with my bindings, I was able to wrestle myself onto my side and through wheezes and whines able to get some air.

All of this was done without a bit of assistance from my captors, who showed absolutely no concern for my plight. Instead they just closed the door and soon I felt the cart lurch into motion. It was definitely a much longer cart ride this time around, long enough that my nose-bleed had almost stopped on its own by the time we rumbled to a halt. Wrapped up in my misery as I had been it was no surprise to be yanked out into the courtyard of a building on the outskirts of town, a building which I soon learned was the Sisters of the Sea's home within Corels. This learning came about when Sister Erene, or was it Gertrude, stepped forward with her sack and pulled it over my head while stating, "The holy sights within our convent should not be profaned by the eyes of one such as you Demon-bitch."

This shroud did nothing to help my breathing, with which I was still struggling, but worse it made any movement almost impossible as I found when a hand in the back pushed me forward. Before we even made it to the entrance my crashing to the ground had my skirts torn and trickles of blood running down my shins from knees that were scraped raw. That neither of my shoulders was dislocated was a miracle that became a mercy when two of my captors, in their frustration at my pace, each grabbed a hold of an upper arm and began to drag me forward, which in turn resulted in my feet and lower legs bouncing along in a bruising fashion. Irrationally this brought about a surge of anger towards Alphonse the Cobbler, who I had been unable to trust enough to measure and make me sturdier boots. Boots that would have done a better job protecting my feet.

My very helplessness and pain pushed me from worry and fear all the way to hatred. Even Darrel, when he had held me in his clutches, had not earned my hatred to the extent earned by those hypocrites in sea-foam who hid behind a facade of concern and respectability in order to feed their desires for the pain of others. My hatred had a wish, a want for Sandrelessa to come to the forefront and destroy my tormentors. To tear them limb from limb, to see if they enjoyed experiencing the pain in the same fashion that they enjoyed inflicting it.

But I also realized that they wanted Sandrelessa to appear, that it would give them reason to strike me down. Both they and I knew that it would not be the same unfair fight as the one in the bandit camp, yet still it was a chance that I was willing to take at that moment. But the wish itself did not manifest itself into existence. The hatred was not a ploy by the demoness trying to gain control, it was totally my own.

When we finally came to a stop it was in a room full of heat, making me guess that they had taken me to some fiery torture chamber. Vowing to myself that they would not break me, I forced myself to stay on my feet when my arms were released. I even forced my chin up, planning to meet my doom with head held high. Thus when the sack was finally removed from over my head I was somewhat taken aback to find that we were actually in the convent's laundry. Seeing my reaction burly sister number two stated, in a voice that made the first's voice seem like a dulcet tone, "You're disgustingly filthy spawn of evil. It is bad enough that you stain our home with your presence, we will not have you befouling it with your vermin."

They did spare me from one indignity when the inquisitor dismissed the men from the room. Though I doubted that they did it for my sake, it was more likely that they wanted to deprive the men of seeing my naked body than to spare me from their gazes. Once the room held only us girls the burly twins approached, each with a pair of shears, and began to cut away my once pretty dress and shift. After they had completed the removal of my clothes burly number one mentioned that I likely had lice and soon they had shorn me in the most haphazard fashion. They also made the decision, for their safety, to cut my claws. Finished with their shears, they lifted me into a trough at which point they began to douse me in bucket upon bucket of cold water, ignoring that which had been heated. As the next step in my cleansing they scrubbed me with the harsh lye laundry soap and bristled brushes until they determined that it was time to rinse me once more in the cold water.

It was a far cry from that lovely bath that the Mistress had supplied when I had woken after my ordeal with Darrel the Roamer. And what they dressed me in was nothing like the festival garb I had worn that day. Instead, after they temporarily removed my arm chains amidst harsh threats, they supplied me a tight shift made from goats' hair over which they draped a shapeless brown dress. Immediately the shift began to make my skin itch, but before I could try to combat it with a scratch the burlies once more had my arms chained.

This time they did not even make me attempt to walk, they immediately began dragging me to our next destination. While they did this I found myself silently offering an apology to Alphonse as the moccasins he had supplied were still more protective than bare feet. Luckily they did not have far to drag me, soon we came to a small cupboard like room in which they placed me, once more with dire warnings against escape, before leaving me huddled all alone on the floor.

Alone in my self-pity I struggled to breathe through my broken nose and wished I was back at the Elladoo Outpost. I feared the future while hoping that this Magister Bewlmon fellow would be able to save me from the terrible paths of the sisters, the paths I did not want to travel. Meanwhile my vanity forced me to mourn the loss of my hair and my beauty. But I did not go into the black funk in which I had found myself immediately after my arrest, no there was not any self-blame this time, there was just little hope. Once more I found myself turning to the one ray of light available and struggled to my feet to shuffle over to a barred window. Yet this provided no relief, instead I struggled to interpret the meaning of what I saw immediately outside the window.

Finally understanding forced its way through my fuzzy thoughts. It was the stake at which they planned to burn me.

-------------

At some point, despite hunger and pain, I fell asleep. As with the times immediately after my change or after my hurts from Sandrelessa's rampage it was another of those deep, lasting sleeps. When I awoke it appeared that many things seemed to have occurred, the first of which I noticed before even being fully awake was that my breathing came much easier. This brought to my mind something overheard from the conversation between Stork and Jimi after my last such awakening, about how my injuries disappeared during my sleep. It appeared that maybe I was once more the recipient of this supernatural healing.

The next thing that I noticed was that they no longer had me wearing chains, nor was I still dressed in the cilice. Admittedly my hands were still bound, but now they were tied with a length of leather and my wrists crossed in front instead of behind. These changes and the pallet upon which I had been placed meant that I was borderline comfortable. The final piece of good news occurred while I struggled into a sitting a position and a number of strands of hair fell over my eyes. Yes my hair was back, just as long and healthy looking as it had been the morning of my arrest. Maybe this shouldn't of thrilled me as much as it did, after all many consider vanity a sin, but dammit was I happy. I really liked my hair.

Now I am sure there is a sneer or two out amongst you, my readers. Likely at least one of you has thought, 'Well how convenient it is that you can magically be healed and have your hair grow back.' Well to those, I will say that yes it is convenient, but there are drawbacks. Starting, but not ending, with having to be possessed by a demon. Still when I awoke from my not-so-gentle dealings with the bitches in sea-foam, showing minimal signs of their actions, I was once more feeling quite positive. Though quite hungry and thirsty.

The hunger and thirst was dealt with when I noticed a jug of water and hunk of bread beside the door. Initially I began to crawl the few paces towards them before deciding that it insulted my dignity to crawl to my meal like a dog, so I forced myself to my feet and moved the three paces to my meal. And though it was somewhat awkward to eat and drink with my wrists tied I was able to get most of the water and all of the bread down my gullet. Admittedly the bread was somewhat stale and the water rather brown, but it served its purpose well enough. During the meal I furthermore noticed that my nails had also returned to their full, claw length.

Somehow they must have been keeping a watch upon me for I had barely finished when there was a noise at the door and a surprisingly polite, "Please move away from the door."

Curious about the unrecognized voice I stepped back by the window, well actually curiosity combined with fear of what disobedience may bring caused the step back. Once I moved the door opened up and two figures stepped in, one was the silent sister who had oozed and still oozed the most power of the four Sisters of the Sea. The second, also female, was dressed in a brown robe signifying she was a member of Durnst the Allfather's clergy and she too wore an aura of power, hers implying calmness and confidence. And yet, though it did not hold any specific anger towards me, I knew it too would willingly end my existence if I stepped out of line.

It was she who spoke, and who had spoken previously, "Good, I see that you have eaten and drank. You will come with Sister Jeunille and myself to the privy. Then we will take you to see Abbess Deanile and Magister Bewlmon so they can finish their studies of your condition."

That definitely stirred my curiosity making me wonder how long I had been out, as it did not feel as long as my two prior long sleeps, so I worked up my courage and asked, "Excuse me Ma'am, how long was I out?"

The sister pegged me with a scowl, while the lady in brown did not even look at me, though she must have followed my train of thoughts as she answered, "Just since yesterday, the Abbess and Magister looked in on you this morning."

"What about..."

"No more questions, please follow," she interrupted as she walked out of the door.

Taking her at her word I followed, though the sister waited for me as she apparently preferred not to have me at her back. After a stop at the indoor privy, they guided me to a plain room holding a long table behind which two individuals sat. One was my Grandmother's hero, the other I guessed was Magister Bewlmon. He was not as expected, instead of some studious type mouse he was man who carried himself with the bearing of a soldier in the prime of his life. He also proved why it was unworthy to ever question why the clergy of the Father of the Gods wore the dull colour brown. One only needed to see the lustrous brown robe he wore, which made the brown sack I wore look truly like, well a sack. Impeccably groomed as he was, I might have at one point dismissed him as a fop, but I had recently become a bit of a fan of nice clothes and good grooming. Therefore, I took a second look.

What I saw behind a smile, that likely would have caused many a non-newly minted girl to melt, was power. Similar to his companion's in feel, but vaster and more encompassing. It was no surprise to see Inquisitor Deanile appear almost shrunken in the chair beside him, in fact the anger in her eyes no longer seemed to be focused completely upon me. She was not pleased to be so eclipsed and it must have been even worse to have it occur within her own convent. Needless to say, my heart did not weep for her hurt feelings.

Magister Bewlmon did not even pretend to acknowledge her as an equal as he immediately took charge. "Drake of Elladoo Outpost we have some questions for you."

It would have been nice if they had provided me a chair, for the two peppered me with questions for quite a period of time. Well mostly it was the magister asking the questions and he covered a broad range of topics; such as, reviewing every imp summoning I had witnessed, the training that the master had provided in magic, the room in which we committed the summonings, the summoning of Sandrelessa and the aftermath of that summoning. Every once in awhile the inquisitor would try to jump in, like when my description of Sandrelessa set her off on a rant about the evilness of Carthanan demons. I did have to give her credit, my belief that she was just persecuting me as part of a maintaining Furigal's power in Corels was proven to be wrong. She truly was a believer and felt that she needed to protect her flock from my evil. However, as the interview continued, it was also proven that she had little idea about what she was talking. Time after time the magister ended up correcting her, each time she would quickly look past me at her sister, and each time she would not receive the answer she sought. But that did not stop Inquisitor Deanile from battling on. It would have made me uncomfortably embarrassed for her if I did not hate the bitch.

One particular nasty exchange occurred between the magister and inquisitor when I told about Sandrelessa taking control. The magister was quite surprised that the primary emotion I had felt at the time was fear, as opposed to anger or hate. Inquisitor Deanile stated that fear was just an offshoot of hate, so it was not that big of deal, while the magister argued that it was quite different and that he had never heard of a case where fear, instead of anger or hate, caused the demon to take control.

There was one topic about which both seemed to have a number of questions, specifically how I was able to heal so quickly. Each felt this was an abnormal side effect to demon possession. Revelling in his curiosity the magister questioned me about the extent of my injuries after my fight in the bandit camp. When he learned that I had little memory of the event, beyond my exhaustion and being covered in blood, he moved to my injuries from the day before. After another verbal spat about the cause of those injuries between the two senior clergy members, he stood up and approached me before stating, "Hold still please, I wish to confirm you have healed."

I tried to follow his command but did start back when he reached out to touch my face. Shushing me, like one would a pet, he placed a hand over my nose and then moved it to cover the area of my face that had been cut by the cart's floor. He did it in such an impersonal fashion, yet I could feel a whispering thread of somethingness from his hand. As he examined my face he began to frown and then asked, "Her nose was broken and face scraped up?"

"Yes," the inquisitor replied, apparently just as confused about what he was doing as was I.

"Did you injure her in any other way?"

"She was bruised on her lower legs and her knees were scraped up," was the indifferent reply. Even though the question had held an accusation, their earlier spat had proven that she cared not at all that I had been injured, in fact she even appeared to think I was deserving of everything that had happened.

"And you cut off all her hair."

"Yes!"

"I wished I knew what your previous injuries had been young lady. But since I don't I will have to be thorough in my examinations; therefore, I will have to ask you to disrobe."

Well didn't that cause an immediate warmth to grow on my cheeks, yet what could I do? The magister seemed to be on my side and I did not want to anger him. So I decided it was in my interest to obey and sheepishly held out my tied hands. Magister Bewlmon quickly recognized my problem and untied me, after which I slowly pulled the sack dress over my head.

He made it easier on me when he made no acknowledgement of my nakedness, proving if nothing else that he was not like any of the men I knew or the boy I was not that long ago. Instead he visually inspected me head to toe, then slowly circled me to get a close look from every direction. When next he was at my front I noticed that he wore a look of confusion. He took a step closer, held out a hand and asked, "May I."

When I nodded my permission he reached out to brush my torso. Despite my nakedness and the fact that he was a male, the touch was chaste and so soft it barely registered outside of some goose-bumping of my skin. He held his hand in place for a moment before allowing it to glide to another spot on my body, he repeated these steps again and again. If you ever seen a person studying a statue, running their hands and fingers across the stone, then you can visualize how Magister Bewlmon appeared in those moments. Though that image likely does nothing to help you understand my role as statue. His hand never lingered long, nor did it ever seem to be in full contact, yet even with only the slightest touch I felt linked to his hand. Slowly I began to realize that the linkage did exist, that the magister was casting some sort of spell with which he was examining me.

Soon after I began to fight the need to fidget the magister took a step back, told me I could put my dress on and looked towards the inquisitor, "As far as I can tell, she has never had an injury in her life."

"What do you mean Magister? I saw them myself.", Inquisitor Deanile snapped.

"That is as it may be Abbess, but there is no sign of those injuries. Her nose is not misshapen, nor does she bear scars. Furthermore, there are ways to see beneath the skin, to see where bone and tissue has mended itself, yet I was unable to find any indication of such mending. This does not happen, even the smallest child soon experiences hurt. It is as if Drake has been kept in a bottle away from all hurts, but we know this is not the case."

The inquisitor's tone was full of condescension as she replied, "Of course there is no sign, the demon-bearer was magically healed."

Magister Bewlmon responded to her tone and statement with a large heaping of scorn, "Do you know nothing, woman? Only the best magical healing can remove the visible signs of wounds and injuries, but I have never seen even the best remove the hidden damage."

If things were not so serious it would have been funny to see the inquisitor look past me to her sister for a sign of disagreement. And once more, based upon the frown that came over her face, she did not see what she wanted. Still Inquisitor Deanile was not the sort to let a minor thing like facts get in the way of her beliefs, "Well then it is a new style of magical healing."

"I agree that it is something new, but I don't think it is healing. I do have a theory, but I must think on it some more."

"I too have a theory Magister. And unlike you, I do not need to think on it, a demon-possession is a demon-possession. When it occurs, the victim must be killed so that the rest of us in turn do not become victims."

"Well I guess we will just have to present our theories to the Magistrate Smoiners and let her decide which is to believed, won't we?"

"We will, will we?"

I had been happy to have them ignore me as the sparred with each other, but the phrasing and tone question brought the importance of me back into the equation. Happily Magister Bewlmon most have caught the same undertone as did I, because he stated, "Yes we will. And just to see that we do, I will ask Priestess Ellisel to stay the night with Drake to see that no harm comes to her."

This actually caused the inquisitor's nostrils to flare in anger, "I do not think I like what you are implying Magister Bewlmon."

"Oh I am not implying anything Abbess Deanile, I am stating that this child need protection in this house of worship," he answered with a voice full of sarcasm.

"Well I don't extend an invitation to Priestess Ellisel and I command in this convent."

"Then we will just have to take Drake with us, when we leave."

"You can't do that. Magistrate Smoiners placed the demon-bitch in our care to protect the citizenry of Corels."

"And who will protect Drake?"

"We will of course."

"So noted," the magister intoned, in a voice that was much different than he had been using. If I had not seen the look of consternation upon Inquisitor Deanile's face with this intonation, his giving in would have filled me with apprehension. However, her look told me that he had some how tricked her into ensuring my safety.

As I was taken back to my room, I could only hope that she in turn did not come up with a trick to get around his.

-------------

Based upon the passage of time until the next morning, she apparently had not. Actually it would have been quite a relaxing evening, except that I was never able to relax, sure in my expectation that they were not going to let me make it to the next day. Every time there was a noise, it would jostle me awake or draw my attention to the door. Yet the only time there was ever anybody there was once when the silent, powerful Sister Jeunille brought me some bread and small beer (I think more water would have been tastier) for a meal. She also stopped by to take me to the privy a couple of times. And though I expected them at any moment, the burly sisters never came to provide their expected harassment. Even the stake no longer lurked outside of my window.

So it was a rather blurry eyed and tired Drake who greeted the dawn the next morning. Even then I was unwilling to let myself nod off, remembering stories told by Sergeant Hussel that showed the benefit of dawn attacks. Still as the dawn became full morning nothing happened. Instead I began to feel upset with myself for not taking the opportunity to sleep so that I would be at my near best on this important day.

That day started, for real, when a rattle of a key chain signified someone was about to open the door to my room. Expecting one of the sisters as I was, it was definitely surprising to have a group of guards, some the same as before, show up instead. Unlike that last time, they were not nearly as confident looking. I guess they found it easier to bluster and taunt when standing behind their mommies' skirts. Some of my scorn must have shown upon in my face for suddenly their leader's face hardened and he became quite forceful as he grabbed my two arms to tie them together. He then gestured for me to lead them out of the door.

For a moment I considered resisting. My guess is that this was brought about but my sleep lacking brain combined with my suppressed teenager belligerence. Better sense prevailed when I thought that their plan might actually involve me acting up so that they could fall down upon me like an avalanche; furthermore, the men were just lackeys and it was not through them that my freedom would be obtained. So out of the room I walked, being the very image of obedience as they led me once more to the courtyard and a waiting cart.

This ride started out much better, as even though my hands were tied, their being in the front still allowed me to crawl up and into the box by myself. When the door closed I continued my crawl up to the front wall where I shuffled around to sit in a corner. And though the cobblestones made the ride somewhat choppy, the swaying motion of the cart soon started to play upon my tiredness. Causing me to drift in and out of sleep.

In that state one really does not control their thoughts, instead the strangest combination of things can run together creating bizarre adventures in your mind. Dream interpreters will tell you that it is your mind trying to tell you something, trying to warn or remind or convince. On that day my mind was trying to warn via a dream where I found myself walking through the wilderness. Maybe it was more of a float, for though my vision moved past object after object, whenever I tried to see if I was male or female there was nothing of myself to be seen. Soon my movement was interspersed with attacks by tiny carved figurines like the rich buy their children as toys. At first I was able to brush aside the attacks with ease, but continuously there were more and more of those figures between me and my goal, unknown but constantly further away. Just as I began to distinguish where I was heading the figurines all disappeared.

And with their disappearance I jerked fully awake with a head full of questions. Where were the sisters? Why had none of them been along with the guards this morning? Were they not to be protecting the citizens of Corels from Sandrelessa and myself? What were they up too?

Wishing to know what was going on outside of my box, I scrambled over to the door and looked out of the tiny grated window. But the opening was so small that I could see no one or nothing, nor could I hear anything above the rattle of the wheels over cobblestones. Neither of these calmed my mind, for I was sure that Followers of Furigal had something planned. So I stuck to my post, trying to see or hear something. Yet even with this watch, it was not until the cart exited a street into one of the numerous squares, scattered about Corels, that their plan began to take shape. One which would allow them to circumvent the promise that Inquisitor Deanile made to Magister Bewlmon the day before. No they would not cause me any further harm, instead they would allow others, maybe even prompt those others, to do the dirty work for them.

The cart did make fully into the square before it came to a stop. With the end of the noise of the wheels I suddenly heard a murmuring mixed with shouts of anger. Though I could not see anybody, I automatically recognized the sounds.

It was something that was embedded in my memory from the days before my apprenticeship to Master Elladoo. It had been one of those nice summer days where young boys become a bother in any house and I had been set free to roam and find what mischief I may. After meeting a few friends, each making the group braver, we found ourselves moving towards the somewhat forbidden harbour where we planned to do some swimming. We had not gone far when we began to hear many shouts of anger. By unspoken consent our little herd turned in curiosity towards the direction from which the noise came. In a short time we found ourselves staring at a mass of people in a square, much like the one in which the cart had stopped. We had stood and watched in stunned silence as man, who many cursed as a child-slayer, was dragged crying from a house by four large men in the garb of dockworkers.

I had wanted to leave, but the closeness of my friends, forced a bravery that made me stay. On that night and many nights after I had bemoaned that bravery, for it was often an image of the child-slayer rising, kicking and flailing into the air with a rope around his neck that started my nightmares. And if not that image then it was the aftermath, the body swinging beneath the the rocks that were thrown at it.

From within the cart I heard the sounds I had heard on that day of the child-slayer's hanging. It was the sound of an angry mob seeking to inflict their judgement upon someone. Because of my lack of sleep I was unable to immediately make the jump to who was that someone, instead I found myself swearing at our bad luck to happen upon such a group. But a shout of, "There's the cart with the demon-bitch," shattered my calm, making me realise that the mob existed for me.

This was confirmed when I saw, out of the little window, Furigal's guards run past the cart and down the street from which we had come. Their abandonment of me to the mob's mercy brought a clarity that had me curse Inquisitor Deanile to the depths of Aredente's realm. She would not allow Magister Bewlmon to free me, no she would not stand for such a loss, instead she would have her blood. If it was my blood, that would be a minor victory for her. But even more sinister was the other option, most likely her true plan, where Sandrelessa was released to rampage through this mob. Their deaths would be a great victory for her and her cause, so much so that the College of Mages would take years before they could gain a foothold in Corels. At that moment I promised that I would go to my death without fear, for I could not let Sandrelessa ride the waves of that fear. In the next moment I immediately began to doubt my ability to keep that promise.

There was a moment after the guards fled when the mob quieted, but soon that quiet was broken by the thud of stones pelting the side of the cart. One of the stones must have missed its target as suddenly there was a screech from one of the cart's horses and I was flung away from the door at the resulting lurch. This movement reanimated the crowd as someone shouted to stop throwing stones, followed almost immediately by a number of angry, bearded faces appearing at the back of the cart. Already upon my backside from the sudden lurch, I scrambled even further from the door as hands tried to reach through the grating. And though they shouted and cursed I did not hear a word they said, blurring as it did into continuous, angry sound.

When they found the cart's door barred with a heavy metal lock their frustration led to a group of them starting to rock the cart back and forth. Again this brought about a reaction from the horses and based upon a man's yelp that reaction resulted in someone being hurt. Cooler heads took over for a moment as the horses were unhitched and soon they were back to rocking, causing me to slide back and forth across the floor, bouncing off walls as the cart's wheels began to lose their grip upon the ground. As more men added their weight the rocking motion became steadily more extreme until finally it tumbled over onto a side and rolled onto its roof, causing me to fly about bruisingly. However, the cart and lock were well made and they still had no access to me.

Stymied for awhile, they continued to shout and rock the cart over onto its side once more. Again I heard the loudest voice, the commanding voice shout out for axes and not long after that they were obtained and began hacking into the walls, roof and floor, whatever they could reach. Well made as it was, the cart did not put up much of a fight against these blows and soon there was daylight shining in from all directions. It would not be long before the holes were large enough for someone to come in and get me. I could only hope that it would be quick, that there would be no time wasted on talk, such as with Darrel. It had to be quick, or else I would lose all. Yet I was already afraid, my hands trembled, my teeth chattered and I wanted to cry. Nor did closing my eyes to lock away the sight of axe heads breaking through provide any escape. No my attention focused upon the largest hole, as it became larger and larger. I knew it would be soon.

It was. But not from the hole upon which I focused.

Someone must have been attacking the lock for suddenly I caught a flicker out of the corner of my eye as the door swung out, followed by a rush of men, likely more than really fit into the cart, as they grabbed and began to drag me out the door. Trying to remember my promise not to hurt anyone I once more did not fight my captors as they pulled me out into the open.

Blinking in the sunlight, I was finally able to put a face to the loud-mouth as he shouted to drag me to the square's center, which was inhabited by benches and a tall tree, a good hanging tree. As they followed his orders I realised I recognized the man and had seen him recently. However, the last time he had worn the uniform of the Militia and he had been with Ensign Tillindal during my arrest. But not just him, at least two of the men dragging me were also recognizable. It confirmed that this was no random happening, not that this knowledge would do anything for me.

Even though they were about to hang me they displayed none of the cruelty of the burly sisters. Outside of some bumps and bruises I had received while the cart tumbled, I was not hit or dragged or hurt while four large men carried me behind the militia member giving the orders. Admittedly my temporary safety was owed in large part to the proximity to my bearers and one of them shouting, "If any of you bilge-suckers hit me with a rock I am going to tear off your arms and take you swimming."

Still it was not the potential rock throwers who drew my attention, no that was focused upon a man at the centre of the square. Older than the majority of the men, and while the rest of the mob was in a frenzy, he was the picture of calm. Unlike the rest he paid no attention to me, instead he was intently studying what he held in his hands. Yet in that study he was similar to me, for my sight was drawn to him and the rope that held. I knew its purpose.

And I realized my earlier promise could be damned.

And I did not care how my actions would affect anybody, including the Followers or the College.

And I knew that I was not ready to die.

So Inquisitor Deanile got her wish. Suddenly I was no longer a helpless child, girl or boy, at the mercy of an angry mob of men. No I was suddenly strong, I was dangerous. Where seconds earlier I was being carried to my doom by strong men, I now stood alone amongst a suddenly quieting crowd. Those strong men were now on the ground, lying where they had landed after being flung aside by my shaking free of their grasp. Many had their eyes drawn to those groaning figures, before snapping back to stare at me. In those eyes was shock, for though I may have been tall for a woman, each of those men were taller and much heavier then I, nobody could believe that they could so casually be handled by someone as small as I. Recognition of the truth began to show on some of their faces, followed by wariness or fear. Silent questions were asked as to whether they were being payed enough or if this lark was no still worth the entertainment. They had heard the stories of what the demon-possessed could do, maybe even what had happened in Darrel's camp. The men were frozen.

Yet the stories they had heard and my adventures in the camp did not tell the full truth. Maybe it was because it was expected, maybe it was because it occurred with my blessing, maybe it was because of my promise, maybe it was because of who knows, but this time was not like the last time. Where before it had been as if I vacated my body, allowing Sandrelessa to pour in like water into a pot, this time I was still there. Sandrelessa was not alone; furthermore, she was not in charge. I felt her anger and frustration at her confined existence boiling just below the surface and realized that it could easily overflow the top once more. But my initial release of our anger had been as a pot blowing its top, blasting away my bearers in the steam of my fear and Sandrelessa's anger had relieved some of the pressure. The boil was manageable and there was space around me as the mob had taken backward steps. Yet I as well did not know what to do and was also frozen.

Over the next few seconds I glared at those around me, watching as some of the men hesitantly slunk away. They included the disguised militia members, the man with the rope and those who I guessed were in on the plot or were wiser or less brave. Still that left quite a few, many fueled with liquid bravery and nary a lick of common sense amongst the lot of them. Though leaderless for the moment, soon they would notice the rocks in hand or gain confidence in their numbers. Bravery would cause them to spring into action and blood would flow. Most of that blood would be theirs, for I knew that it would require only a little more heat for Sandrelessa to bubble completely to the top.

The question was what should be my next step, would running away cause them to chase or would it be better to threaten attack. And where to run, this was not an area of Corels with which I was familiar. But a decision was required and quickly, they were starting to mumble, to grumble, to regain their frenzy. So I charged, but not to attack, just to scatter. And scatter they did, for bravery had not yet fully regained its grip. With their cohesiveness temporarily torn apart I took my opportunity to plunge down the street from which we had come, at least it did not have a dead end lurking just around the corner. For a moment or two there was only the slap of my bare feet, then they regained their wits and offered a chase.

The street was straight and quite empty, good for running even with bare feet. The sack in which I was dressed was loose and billowy, not really that good for running but better for it than anything else I had worn since the mistress and Mary got their hands upon the new me. And the new me turned out to be a very good runner and not easily winded. Slowly my pursuers fell further behind and slowly I began realizing that it was time to determine a destination. I settled upon the convent, hoping that from there I could hopefully make my way to safety.

No sooner had this plan solidified in my mind before it was pushed aside by the appearance of a group of men upon horseback cantering towards me along the street. My immediate guess was that it was the militia or a group of the Followers' guards and with my confidence in those two organizations being quite dim I looked for a side alley to escape from both them and my chasers. Spotting an opening not too far ahead I pulled more speed from my tiring body and sprinted towards it. With this extra effort I was able to make my target just before they came upon me, yet when it sounded like they road past the alley I had entered my curiosity made me slow and glance back. This showed that not all of them had gone past, at least two had turned to follow behind me. So once more I turned back to focus on my running.

The two who followed were shouting something but it was not until my mind told me that they sounded familiar did I actually listen and hear, "Dammit Drake, slow down. We're trying to help."

These words finally penetrated, telling me that it was Stork who was doing the shouting and even though Sandrelessa was whispering not to trust him, I did. Coming to a stop I turned to see that the other rider was Jimi who looked much less comfortable on his mount than did Stork. Though both of them looked rather marshal, each fully bedecked in armour and bearing a shield and lance, with sword sheathed at their waists. Furthermore, each wore a tabard of a dark blue with silver piping and a emblazoned with a silver vines. It bore a striking similarity to the first dress that I had worn and unlike that time I was able to do the math, put two and two together and recognize the colours and the vines as the Deglace colours and symbol.

However, their appearance though noticeable was of little importance when compared to trying to determine the reason for their presence. "Stork, Jimi, what are you doing here?"

"Supposedly rescuing you, but it looks like you don't need us," Stork answered with a laugh.

It was the laugh that made me suddenly feel safe, driving Sandrelessa back to wherever she lurked while I was not in danger.

-------------

My chasers had not wanted to have anything to do with the members of the Deglace Household Troops. I could see their reasoning when Stork and Jimi escorted me back to the troop, for despite the fancy tabards they were not ornamental, instead they were seasoned veterans commanded by a lieutenant who reminded me of Sergeant Hussel in age and demeanor. When we slotted ourselves into the troop, me uncomfortably riding behind Jimi on his horse, the lieutenant was cursing at and offering dire warnings to anyone who thought they could get away with attacking someone under the protection of the Deglace. Noticing our arrival he continued to vent for a few moments until he was sure that he had the mob cowed, then he gestured for his men to turn horses and head back the way they came.

With all that had befallen me over the last days I was more than willing to put my faith in my rescuers and instead of worrying about where they were taking me, I focused upon staying on the horse behind Jimi, while trying to ignore my now noticeably sore feet. Finally I got my skirt placed so that there was minimal rubbing, though a fair length of my leg showed, and held on tight. Once sure that my next destination was not upon my bum behind the horse my curiosity could be satisfied as I questioned Jimi about what was going on.

Fom him I learned that immediately after my arrest the mistress had sent Stork to Glanlies to obtain assistance, which had resulted in the arrival of Magister Bewlmon, this troop and the family solicitor. Furthermore he informed me that the rescue attempt was the result of information from a local named Falster, the man who was with the mistress and my parents during my court appearance whom had not spoken. He was a member of the Steel Brotherhood, the local supplier of unattached caravan guards, who had been hired to help protect the mistress and Mary while Stork was gone. With the arrival of reinforcements she had kept Falster on to provide local information and it was this channel that had gotten wind of a large sum of coin being offered to anyone willing to participate in a riot. The mistress had made a guess as to the purpose of the mob and had dispatched the troops to ensure that my cart made it to the court house.

Even though they had almost been too late, forcing me to perform the first part of my escape on my own, it was good to be in their midst. The last thing Jimi told me was that even though this was a rescue they could not free me from all harm, they still needed to take me to see the magistrate, to get the decision about what would be done with me.

We received a lot of space as we travelled to the court house, though a number of curious stares were directed at me, so slovenly in was I in appearance compared to the men. Yet we had no trouble until we got to our destination at which point we were confronted by a ten men dressed in the uniform of the guards who had abandoned me to the mob's mercy. When their leader approached the lieutenant and demanded that they turn me over to them. The lieutenant, whom I had learned was named Kelton Saldian, was having none of this and stated that he would keep me in custody so that the Follower's men could run away unhindered if anything scary happened. From that point the conversation went downhill.

I don't think it would have reached the point of violence, but it was not looking like there was going to a resolution when the court house guards decided to take an interest. Since their interest was expressed in significant numbers and punctuated with crossbows both the Deglace troops and Furigal's guards were willing to listen. The compromise that was reached, actually imposed, was that they would take me into their custody, while the two arguing groups would stay outside and do nothing. Seeing as how my dealings with both the prison and court yard guards had been fairly good, and that neither group had seemed to have an hidden agenda, this was acceptable me. Soon I was once more locked in the room in which I had been locked twice before.

Honestly, it was a much happier and positive Drake that was there this time then the last time. I was rather thrilled with my escape from the mob, and particularly ecstatic that I was able to do so without killing anyone. Sure they had given me some bumps and bruises, while adding to my nightmare collection, but it went as good as it could have gone for me. My hope was that my luck would continue to be good for the rest of that day.

Soon I was settled into, what I now see had become my new favourite position, the corner with my arms wrapped around my legs. Drowsy as I had been during my cart ride, my state of excitement made it impossible to nod off. Good thing they did not leave me alone for long, since I had a desperate need for something to happen other than sitting in a jittery heap. But not long after the door had closed it once more opened and the guard who had backed down the arguers out front entered into the room with a couple of others carrying a chair behind him. When I began to stand up he gestured for me to stay where I was.

The reason for the chair was made apparent when a middle aged lady, with short brown hair made her way into the room and sat in the chair. My curiosity about who she was did not last long, for as soon as she spoke I recognized her voice as that of the magistrate, Deacon Smoiners. She studied me for a moment, causing me to fidget under her stare, before stating, "Well child, I have heard many people talk about you over the last number of days, both in my courtroom and in my time away from this building. Yet the one person I have not heard from is you. It really is time for you to speak, including describing what happened today."

Well I won't bore you with repeating what you just finished reading, so let us skip my answer. Though one thing to mention is that I found myself emphasizing that I had killed nobody and had kept my inhabitant in check despite her desires and my situation. I even blurted out my suspicion that I had been set up to do something horrible and that the Militia was involved.

When she heard me state this her eyes hardened, making me think that I had gone too far, letting my mouth run ahead of my mind. Therefore, I felt a fairly large draught of relief when she turned to the guard officer and said, "Captain, see that a request is prepared and sent to the Glanlies' Militia headquarters asking for an inspector to come and see if their is any truth to this young lady's accusation."

It felt good to see that she did not immediately dismiss my suspicions. Yet I had little time for relief as she soon had me describing my experience in the bandit camp and then she had me try to describe why the results were so different this time compared to that time, "I do not know why it was different your Honour. The only thing that comes to my mind is that in Darrel's camp I did not know what would happen. Whereas today I expected it, was prepared for Sandrelessa to make her presence felt. Thus when she arrived, she did not push me completely to the side and take over. We were both there, but I was controlling her strength."

"How about the men of the mob, did you feel the same way about them as you felt about the bandits?"

That question took me aback for a moment, before I realized it was easy to answer, "Well your Honour, I was annoyed with the men in the mob today, but I never really hated them. I felt they were payed off or duped by someone, but I did not feel they were evil. I did not feel they deserved to die. Whereas, I admit that I felt that way about Darrel and his thugs. They were going to do terrible things to my friends."

"So you thought that the bandits deserved to die, while the men in the mob did not?"

"Yes your Honour."

"Well I cannot say that I disagree with you. In fact at least two of the bandits you killed existed under a death sentence signed by myself."

Grasping at that straw and remembering something overheard from Jimi, I said, "I overheard someone guess that maybe it was actually Jiringel's hand guiding my hand in the camp."

Looking back that was an incredibly stupid comment to make to a Deacon of Jiringel, but luckily it only caused her to laughingly explain, "No child, you definitely were not acting for my Goddess or even driven by justice, instead you were driven by fear. That you were not driven by justice is a good thing, because it is not your role, just as it was not the role of those idiots in the mob, to dispense justice. That is the role of my peers and myself who do act for Jiringel."

"Yes your Honour," I answered somewhat sheepishly.

"Yet in your case, neither am I serving justice. There is no justice to be served, it is about potentially stopping the need for future justice. And I am not a seer to see into the future, so I am forced to guess. I don't like guessing; therefore, you need to answer one question for me. Are you a danger to others?"

Despite the magistrate's protest that this case what out of her area of expertise, her question held weight beyond the words. It implied that lies would be so interpreted that only the truth would do, it was as if her Goddess was behind the question. And even though I wanted to answer in a fashion that would place me in a better light, I ended up answering, "Yes your Honour. I am a danger to others."

"Then you understand the truth more than any of the others with whom I have been talking. Better than your friends and family who love you and want you safe. Better than His Worship who sees you as a pawn in a fight for the hearts and minds of his flock. Better than the Abbess who also knows you are danger, but her knowledge is based upon faith instead of truth and she does not fully understand the danger. Better even than Magister Bewlmon who postulates that you are actually a conjoining of the most stable component from Sandrelessa, yourself and the protection spell. That your mind remains because it is not tinged by the madness inherent in demon-kind. That your body is a humanized version of her body, one that has already matured and no longer in the flux that common in a young man such as you are or you were. Meanwhile the spell ensures consistency, ensuring the stability between body and mind does not change.

"It seems like a rather far fetched explanation to me, but his genius is renowned in this field. Yet even with his brilliance missed the most important thing. Within your mind, human and not demon as I believe it is, lurks danger. All of us are a danger to others. Nor have most of us been in a situation where we chosen to be dangerous or control that danger, today you were placed in such a situation and you passed. Therefore, how can I give into the demands of His Worship or the Abbess? I can't, you will be set free Drake of Elladoo Post."

Before I could begin my celebrations, she continued, "However, my judgement does introduce a problem. Can you guess what it is?"

"The Followers?"

"Exactly, they really cannot afford to be seen to lose in this case."

Her phrasing gave me sudden insight into being a commodity, realizing my case could easily be boiled down into a regular deal. As with any deal there is something, let us call it a Drake, that one party wants and the other party owns. In this situation The Followers of Furigal were the buyer and Deacon Smoiners was the seller. But what made it difficult was that when the buyer was powerful and outside of the realm of trade, like the Church, they often expected to get what they wanted with a price that would cause the seller to lose. Non-merchants often see dealing as win vs lose. Just as the con-man was dangerous for the buyer, so is this type of buyer dangerous for the seller.

Salend Voctor whose quote on con-men has already graced the pages of this part of my life also recognized, in his treatise, the dangers posed to merchants by such a buyer. 'Be careful of those who think they deserve to much, for if you let them win they will continue to take from you everything you have. But take even more care to ensure that you don't win either, for that will require them to lose. And if you force them to lose, they will take from you even more.'

No the Followers of Furigal could not accept losing. If they lost, they would not go after the magistrate, that would put them into a conflict with someone as strong as themselves. Instead they would be forced to go after me, ensuring that the evidence of their loss would not flouted for the world to see. It was no longer about justice, instead there was only one answer to the problem, the merchant answer, "Can we offer them a deal your Honour?"

Deacon Smoiners, despite her path in life was still a child of Glanlies, smiled at me as a teacher does when her student answers correctly, "Yes child, we can offer them a deal. But it will mean that you will still have to face some indignities and it will be expensive, though your patron has offered to cover the cost."

"Could you explain your Honour?"

I was not completely happy with her plan and found myself arguing against some of it. But in the end I think we built a deal of which even Salend Voctor would be proud.

-------------

Four days later my bargaining skills found me living like a princess out of a story book. Admittedly I was not a princess in some castle, no I fell under the category of princess held captive at the top of an ugly tower. The part of the magistrate's plan that had raised my hackles the most was her plan to turn me back over to the inquisitor until her plan could be fully realized; however, I had convinced her that this would only lead to bad things happening, like my death or Sandrelessa running amok. She had argued that they would not let me walk free, even if only temporary, while I pleaded for any other solution. We had finally compromised upon sending me back to the Hole, although seeing as how I ended up on the top floor, even higher than my last cell, it could not very well be called the Hole.

My disappointment at still not being free and being sent back there was significantly diminished when I found the cell on the top floor of the tower to actually be nicer than any room that I had ever called my own. It was supposedly set aside for the rich and famous, such as; Ingar Fulstead when he was convicted of killing his wife or General Dessan after he was convicted of treason or apprentice merchants possessed by demons backed by a rich family like the Deglace. You know, the hoitiest of the toity. The room had a four post bed, a book shelf, a desk and oil lamps that I could use well into the night. It was during my time locked in that room where I truly gained an appreciation for the size and breadth of the Annals, which filled much of the book shelf. Since still mostly alone, I found myself voraciously reading through multiple books.

Meanwhile at night, in the soft and clean bed I found myself sleeping like a babe. This was also due to peace of mind, knowing that there were always five of the Deglace troopers on the floor below me, which had been another thing negotiated with the magistrate to help ensure my safety. So I guess I was not like the regular story book princess, locked away in a tower. After all they usually did not have their own guard contingent unless they could sway one of their captor's with their loveliness and charm.

And that wasn't going to happen! Nor was I waiting for some handsome hero to come to the rescue before an evil sorcerer conducted a spell upon me. In fact there was a spell to be cast, but not by an evil sorcerer, no it was to be cast by a Magister of the Allfather Durnst. And I wanted the spell to be cast, the sooner the better. It was high time that this whole sordid affair ended, time for me to get to Glanlies and find someone who could make me become me.

On the fourth day after my run in with the mob and at the top of the tower my wait came to an end with the appearance of a welcome face. It was just after I had finished another bland breakfast of porridge when there was the sound of the key in the door. Expecting it to be the guard coming for my breakfast tray I did not look up from the edition of the Annals I was reading. To be honest my initial excitement about being set free had waned into teenage sullenness as my actual freedom had not materialized. But my attention was grabbed upon hearing a voice exclaim, "Well aren't we just the impolite young miss."

Immediately recognizing the voice I jumped up shouting, "Mary!" Then running over, I enveloped her a great big hug, one she happily returned. I kept her locked in this position for a few moments, thoroughly enjoyed the human contact until she finally muttered, "Sweetling you need to let me breathe."

Embarrassed I quickly backed away with a mumbled "sorry", though I could see by the smile in her eyes that she was not mad. Then seeing that she had a couple bags with her caused me to ask, "It's lovely to see you Mary, but why are you here? Is it time?"

"Well just about Dra'e, but first we have to do something with you."

"Umm...what is that Mary?"

"We have to make you look like less of a street urchin, what are you wearing?"

Looking down at the brown sack dress I had been wearing since my time in the convent I stammered an apology, "I'm so sorry I lost the green dress Mary. But even though it was originally so pretty it became so filthy and I was scared of the inquisitor so I completely forgot about it. Then I awoke and I was wearing this and..."

Guessing how close I was to tears, Mary held up her hand and said, "Peace child, peace. Don't worry about the dress, we are happy that you are safe, or soon to be safe. But the Mistress wants you more than safe, she wants you representing the Deglace in full glory."

"But shouldn't I continue to look meek and humble?" I asked, being a bit concerned about where "in full glory" would lead.

"I carried all this stuff up these many stairs, you will wear them down for me. Besides, it is time for us to show our colours, prove to the Followers of Furigal that they are challenging something bigger than you. That they are challenging the Deglace family."

"Why though Mary, why would the Deglace protect me? Why would the mistress choose me?"

"I can think of four reasons Dra'e, the first being that you were under Mistress Esselde's care when you were arrested. Duty means that she had to do everything she could to assist you, including fully placing her mantle of protection over you. However, it is not completely a thing of the moment, she also recognizes that she owes you for what you did in protecting the post from Darrel. And there is a recognition of your special skills, those that Master Elladoo teaches you alone. Those of you who possess those skills are rare and fewer still are those within the Deglace sphere of influence that have them. It is advantageous to the Deglace to cultivate more Chosen with that skill. But the most important reason is that she likes you, she wants you to be safe."

That suffused my cheeks with the warmth of happiness tinged by embarrassment. Not knowing how to respond I found myself hugging, though more gently, Mary once again. Yes it felt good to be liked.

After our moment she pushed me back and stated, "I wish we could get you a bath and wash your hair, but we will have to make due. Let me request some warm water and a basin at the least, so we can get you somewhat clean."

After she had made that request to one of the guards outside of the door, she attacked my hair. Without the proper tools it had become a bit of a rat's nest and there was much yanking and pulling and hollering. Trying to take my mind off of this I told her about how my hair had grown back, which led to a full story about what happened. This turned out not to be the smartest idea on my part as in her anger at what had been done to me she became even more forceful with the brush.

By the time that she had completed brushing it my hair out so that it once more hung smoothly, water had come. Hanging a cloth across the door grating to protect my privacy, something that I had completely given up since my capture, she had me undress and begin washing while she unpacked her bags. Mary was correct, a bath would have been nice, but at least I was less dingy though the water was much more so.

When I was cleaner Mary wrapped my in the cover from the bed and had me sit in the lone chair and once more started in on my hair. Describing the magic that Mary performs with hair is a daunting task, specially since my understanding does not extend beyond the basics, so lets jump forward a glass turn or two. Nor will you get a description our conversation during that time, for I do not remember it. And conversation may even be misleading, since it basically involved Mary listen to me chatter away about what I had been reading in the Annals. Now normally I am not super talkative, but there is something about solitary captivity that makes a person want to have someone listen to them talk.

Anyways, at the end of our separate endeavors I was in need of a drink and Mary had finished with my hair. My needing of a drink was quickly resolved, while Mary's work was not nearly as quickly admired. For the first time in days my hair, well outside of when I did not have any, no longer hung into my face. She had weaved Deglace blue ribbons into it to create a crown of braids, which still leaving a cascade hanging well down my back.

With her work done on my hair she dug into her pack and pulled out a number of small lidded bowls, which for some reason made me nervous in a completely different way than did imprisonment. Hesitantly I asked, "What do you have there Mary?"

"Just some cosmetics Dra'e."

"Do we really need to use those?"

"Well I did wander all over the market place looking for cosmetics that would best suit you. With your pale complexion it was not an easy task, let me tell you. But if you would rather not, then we don't need to," she responded with a sigh.

Knowing full well what she was doing, I still could not stop myself from giving in with a, "No Mary that is okay; whatever you think is best."

With my grudging approval she attacked me with brushes and smells, leaving my face feeling strange. Truthfully it was not that onerous of experience, there were only a three bowls and one little bottle whose contents she held and used upon me. There was kohl that she used to hilite my eyes and lashes. Then a bowl of a rouge for cheeks and lips. My favourite bowl contained a blue-black lacquer that was used to cover my finger nails, changing them from scary claws into to something much more ornamental. The final container, the bottle, held a perfume smelling of cinnamon which she dabbed at my wrists and throat.

Thus painted and perfumed it was time to get dressed and the outfit she pulled out was not surprising. Though I had not made the leap in logic the first time I wore it, there was no doubt it would be perfect for showing the Deglace colours. And the second time around the shift, boots, bodice and skirt felt much more normal than my first time so dressed. It appeared I was becoming comfortable, or at a minimum used too, my no longer so new form. I did wonder why there were no stockings, but did not say anything because I had found them rather annoying.

Though now ready to head out we found ourselves waiting once more. I queried Mary on what was to happen but she told me that she knew little, though Mistress Esselde had informed her to tell me to trust the deacon. I did not reply that I was already trusting Deacon Smoiners, having placed my life in her hands. My hope, my belief was that her word was good. We spent some time in small talk, but neither of our hearts were into it, both of us were ready and anxiously waiting for the next step, the final step of this bump on our road to Glanlies. There would be time to enjoy each others company when nothing hung over my head; therefore, we found ourselves constantly glancing towards the door, until we were finally rewarded.

It was another sign of my increase in status when it was an officer of the guard who entered the room, accompanied by the Deglace lieutenant. Nor did they place me in irons, though their lack did not make my trip down the stairs noticeably easier. When we did reach the ground floor, with no accidents, and made it outside my final bargaining point with the deacon was on display. No more would I be forced to travel to and from in a prisoner cart, now they transported me in a carriage, not the fanciest but still better than a box on wheels. Once they had Mary and I, along with Jimi and Stork still in their tabards, ensconced within and surrounded by men of both allegiances we rattled out of the Hole's gate for what I hoped was the last time.

Stork who was never one to let an audience go to waste had his appreciation for my appearance quelled rather quickly by Mary. However, he could not stay quiet for long and started to regal me with a tale of his epic ride to Glanlies and back. This time it was Jimi who brought it to a stop when he complained that he was sick and tired of the story. We sat in silence for awhile as Stork pouted, until his face lit up as he thought of something that we may allow him to talk about, "Did you hear about Ensign Tillindal?"

Not surprisingly I had not heard anything about my least favourite Militia officer, but neither had Mary and before she could stop herself she shook her head no. Taking the gesture for approval to continue, he stated, "Well he was killed last night in a duel."

I think I may have smiled when I heard this, but Mary was much more surprised, "A duel? That doesn't make sense. Militia officers don't duel, who did he fight?"

"It was Jocco Wadgins"

"I thought Jocco usually works for the Vannigans?"

Stork nodded his head saying, "Well the official story is that Jocco caught him cheating when they were playing hazard. Supposedly Tillindal was using weighted dice. However, the rumour that is floating around is that Colonel Vannigan was behind it. Supposedly the ensign was the one who bought the mob that attacked you Drake. Speculation is mixed that he may have done so with the colonel's permission, but now that there is an investigator on the way and in either case the ensign would have proven to be an embarrassment or worse to Vannigan's ambitions. The additional benefit for Vannigan is that with the duel's result and Jocco still walking about there well be nobody brave enough to give the investigator any information."

This information made me wonder who truly had been pulling the ensign's strings, and why? It had seemed personal, it had seemed that he was a pawn of the church, and it appeared that he may have been acting for his superior in the Militia. I would never know the truth, but it did confirm the need to pick proper patrons, ones who would shelter and not abandon. Hopefully that was the way of the Deglace.

And so my second enemy, my first true personal nemesis exits the story of my life. His last impact upon me was to provide further understanding of myself, for though it may have made me a better person, I felt no sympathy for Elfos Tillindal. Instead I considered it a good start in my vengeance against my persecutors.

Stork must have sensed something of my thoughts as he became quieter after his report of the news, leaving us to ride in companionable silence, each thinking his or her (place me where you will) own thoughts. Mine fantasized about revenge against the inquisitor or her lackeys while I found myself watching the passing buildings. When I recognized one of those buildings as being the Temple of Asolde my thoughts were jerked back to reality. Being in the Temple District, near the Cathedral of Furigal made me rather antsy. A quick study of my friends showed they shared none of my fears, which did re instill my confidence, but it was a wary confidence. Further confidence was gained when we rumbled past that structure under the icy stares of guards in their hated uniforms. Soon our destination was reached, and seeing that Magister Bewlmon was to conduct whatever was to be conducted, the Hall of Durnst was a logical place.

Giving me a hug of luck Mary murmured that she would stay outside, that magic and Gods unnerved her. So it was Stork and Jimi who escorted me inside the building, one that seemed like a perfect home to the magister. Like the garments that he wore, the Hall was bedecked in a simple yet elegant fashion. Marble was everywhere, from the floor to the ceiling and the pillars in between. Ornamentation was minimalistic, there was a mosaic of grey rocks formed a mountain on the floor and alters in alcoves about the room, each and every one covered in a brown cloth fashioned from the material that had been used to make Magister Bewlmon's robe. It was so very different than the church of my childhood, the Cathedral we had just rode past. Unlike the Cathedral of Furigal it was not a place of ordered benches, a place you went to be preached towards, no this was a place that an individual could come and commune with the Father of our Pantheon. It was a place worthy of him, worthy of what he had allowed us to accomplish. It made me feel safe despite the colour of some of the robes upon those who were there when I arrived.

I was taken aback for each colour signified either a different God or Goddess or allegiance, its wearer a priest or priestess or member in their service. Some of the figures or faces in those robes were familiar; Mistress Elladoo and my parents all in Deglace blue, Deacon Smoiners faceless in her grey, Magister Bewlmon and Priestess Ellisel in their browns, and Sister Jeunille, the one with the power, of Furigal. There were also those I did not recognize as individuals, though I recognized who they represented. There was a middle aged lady dressed in the straw gold robe of Sera the Allmother. A man who could be her brother wearing the green of Turin, God of Merchants. He stood by an older man, the oldest in the room, wearing a pristine white robe signifying his attendance upon Aredente, God of Death. Separated slightly was a beautiful woman, as was to be expected from a Priestess, in the Rose coloured gown of Asolde, Goddess of Love and Beauty. Rounding out the number was the lone figure not in a robe, instead he wore a polished chain mail signifying him to be a Battle Monk of Caling, God of War.

It was a awe-inspiring group, representing all the major players of Glanlies' pantheon. Each and every one of them, outside of my family and friends, imbued with that aura I now recognized was common with magic users, even the Deacon though I had not noticed before. Their presence made me doubt the wisdom of her plan, whatever it may be. However, there was little time to linger on this thought, for with our arrival Magister Bewlmon took charge. Gesturing to a door towards the end of the building he asked everyone to follow him.

The next hall we moved into was much smaller than the first, with only the one door through which we had entered. It too was marble, though a marble that had veins of pinks and reds as opposed to blues and greys. Nor did it have any any alters in alcoves, no the purpose of the room was implied by the mosaic on the floor, a pentagram of pink stone. Remembering Master Elladoo's comments about the superiority of the rhombus over the complexity of the pentagram I had a sudden fit of further nerves wondering what they were going to do. However, I immediately tried to convince myself that a pentagram of stone would offset the problems the master had warned about, additionally I was sure that those in this room controlled powers well beyond those of us who could only perform two spells. Well at least I hoped that was the case.

Upon entry the magister turned to me and asked, "Drake, can you please remove your boots?"

Baffled though I was by this curious question I none the less soon had my boots off and was left feeling the coldness of the marble flooring upon my feet. Looking towards Magister Bewlmon he reached out to take my hand and guide me to the mosaic in the middle of the room, before having me lay down upon my back within the pentagram. When I was positioned in the manner he deemed appropriate and the fall of my hair arranged in a wreathe above my head, he waved Priestess Ellisel forward to kneel on my left while he knelt to my right. Reaching into a pouch that hung at her side she pulled out what appeared to be two chains and handed one to the magister, who looked at me questioningly and asked, "Are you ready Drake?"

At my nod, he intoned, "Father Durnst I call upon you to witness this Chaining of one of your children, beset from within by the unnatural from beyond your realm. I plead for your strength to assist this child in living within your rules for your and your people's glory."

Then both he and the priestess grasped one of my hands and slipped a chain upon each wrist. Immediately after I felt the cool metal upon my arms the two clergy members pulled upon each hand so that they soon had me reaching almost horizontally to the points of the pentagram on either side of me. Not fully understanding I still did not fight their pull as they both held a wrist, with palm down gently near the points. Magister Bewlmon once more spoke, "Father Durnst I beseech you to bind your child's hands so that with them she cannot commit harm upon any of your innocents."

Suddenly the once cool metal of the bracelets began to give off a warmth hotter than that which my wrists could impart in such a short time. It did not burn, but I had little doubt that something had happened, which was further confirmed when Bewlmon and Ellisel released my hand and my arms did not sag from their stretched out position. Surprised and somewhat uncomfortable I tried to move my arms, yet still they did not move, trying once more unsuccessfully the panic must have begun to show in my eyes for Ellisel placed her hand upon my brow, leaned towards my face and whispered, "Calm child, everything is all right."

It may have been my desire for everything to be all right, possibly it was because of her demeanor and my trust for her, or maybe she was channeling her God; whatever it was, with those words and her touch she soothed my panic away. Having already experienced it to my arms, there was little surprise when they repeated their motions at my feet and ankles, wrapping them in an anklet and stretching them to the lowest points of the mosaic before Magister Bewlmon chanted, "Father Durnst I beseech you to bind your child's feet to the earth, to have her walk the paths you desire her to walk."

This time I was prepared for the warmth and my legs being firmly attached to the ground, in fact the only thing in my mind was that with my legs spread apart it was good that my skirt was draped in the fashion it was, because I definitely was not in the most lady like pose. This thought was pushed aside as the pair moved together to my head, close to the topmost point. Knowing what was to happen did not lessen my appreciation for the calming hand that the priestess once more lay across my brow as her colleague fastened a choker around my neck and made one more request, "Father Durnst I beseech you to protect your child's thoughts, to drive away anger and hate, to maintain peace and calm."

Then rising to his feet and offering Priestess Ellisel a hand to help her stand, he looked towards his audience to state, "Brothers, Sisters, Friends and Loved Ones, the Chaining is now complete. Father Durnst, in his wisdom and love, has granted his protection upon this child and upon all innocents from this child. Would the Rusticates confirm my statement."

At this invitation the Priest of Aredente and Sister Jeunille approached to study me and my bindings. I don't know if their God's granted them sight that allowed them to see the invisible tethers holding me to my stone bed, but I do know their God's did not change their touches to dampen the warmth emanating from bracelet, anklet or choker. No their hands held human warmth, not the cold of death or of deep sea. When either looked me in the eyes, I met their glance with open eyes, trying to open my soul to show my innocence. Finally they turned towards Magister, nodded their heads and moved once more to stand near the door.

Smiling his thank you at the two Magister Bewlmon continued, "The Chaining is complete. But though Father Durnst is willing to clasp his children to his chest in time of need and fear, he knows that we must walk free to experience all that he and his family have to offer. But in order to walk free, one must always have a place to return, a place to heal and rest. Who will provide hearth and home to which the child may return no matter how far she walks?"

At this question the Priestess of Sera clasped my mother's hand and guided her to my left side, while the Priestess of Asolde mimicked the action with my father to my right side. After they knelt my parents each reached for a hand and looked me in the face with eyes of care and concern.

Together my mother and the Priestess of Sera the Allmother slid a ring upon the pointing finger of my left hand as the priestess whispered, "The Mother clasps her child to bosom knowing she must let go, yet fearing where her child will walk. She let's go, but with arms outstretched, alway ready to welcome the child's return."

With these words my hand and arm were suddenly free of its binding, soon to be followed by my other hand as my father and the other priestess also placed a finger upon my right pointing finger followed by her saying, "The Father teaches his child duty and honour, love and hope. He allows the child to leave, to grow, in order for the child to return an adult."

Though the priestesses returned to their place by the door, my parents remained with me, each holding a hand. Smiling benevolently at all of us Magister Bewlmon asked his next question, "There are obstacles and dangers on many of the paths upon which Durnst's children walk. But they need not walk alone, who walks with this child?"

This time it was Deacon Smoiners with Jimi and the Battle Monk of Caling with Stork who walked forward to kneel at my feet and place a ring on my littlest toes. The deacon spoke first, "The Friend provides companionship and a helping hand to the child when the path grows steep. He also provides guidance and direction so the child does not stray from the way of the just and true."

Then it was the Battle Monks turn to state, "The Friend provides protection, guarding the back of the child. He also is worthy of protection, and has his own back over which the child must watch."

Unlike my parents, Jimi and Stork did not stay kneeling, instead they moved away with the deacon and battle monk. And though they were friends, I was more than happy to not have them holding my feet. That would have been creepy and if Stork had stayed there he likely would have tried to look up my skirt. But maybe he deserved the honour since he was here for me?

Nah!

I was almost free, only one tether remained, the most uncomfortable of the lot. Thus it was good when Magister Bewlmon asked his last question, "But where does the child walk? Does she walk aimlessly or does she stride with purpose? Who will help the child choose her path?"

By process of elimination I am sure that you can guess that it was Mistress Elladoo and the Priest of Turin who stepped forward to answer. They knelt at my head and wrapped what I later learned was a diadem, matching the rings, under the crown of my hair and centred on my forehead, before the priest spoke, "The Patron provides the path for the child. She points and the child travels, she requests and child finds."

Like my parents, the Mistress stayed kneeling with me, gently rubbing her fingers on my temples beneath the diadem. I felt safe being surround by these three and happy to be the centre of their attention. So focussed was my attention upon them I barely heard the magister finish, "The Chaining is complete. Though the child is free once more, she is bound by the rules of Father Durnst and by the will and wishes of her friend and family."

He allowed a few moments of silence before turning to look at me with a smile, "You may now rise Drake."

Happy to follow his instructions, the marble floor was far from comfortable, and with the help of my father I scrambled to my feet. No sooner had my state become vertical when my mother flung her arms around me to give me a hug as big as the one I had given Mary earlier that day. And just as that hug had felt wonderful, re-establishing contact with the outside world, so too did this re-establish contact with my family. Something that was needed, after all sometimes a boy just needs his mom. My father joined in briefly, awkwardly, but I could not blame him. One thing my change had given me was a greater understanding for the healing properties of a hug, something I never appreciated as a boy. After he let go I saw tears in my mother's eyes, and based upon the black smudge on her finger after she wiped my cheek, there must also have been tears in mine.

When she finally pushed me back so she too could look up into my eyes, I heard her wonder, "I cannot believe how beautiful my son has become. Is it really you Drake?"

"Yes Momma, it's me. I'm sorry."

With that extra sense that mothers have, she was able to interpret my sorry in all the fashions in which it was meant; the worry I had caused her, my doubting of her love, doing magic behind her back, being turned into a girl, not being what she expected me to be and all the other ills that a teenage boy unintentionally bring a mother. Therefore, with that understanding, she was able to both temporarily absolve and let me know that it was not over, "That's okay Sweetie, you didn't mean any harm. We will talk about it more later. But for now you need to thank Mistress Elladoo for all that she has done for you, she has spent a fortune on your freedom."

Turning to that worthy lady I was once more was gathered up into a hug. When she held me close and nobody else could hear, she whispered with a smile, "Oh we will find something for you to do to pay me back."

-------------

After my freedom from imprisonment I was ready to make my escape from the town of Corels, but everyone else was convinced that it was to late to start travelling. Besides which we needed to celebrate, so the mistress hosted a party at The Dancing Dolphin, the inn in which she had been staying and from where I had been arrested. All my family were there, including my parents and my siblings and their families. The oldest was my brother Albert with his wife Sondra and their children Nicole and Annie. And my sisters June and Ester, June with her daughter Jillian who was enthralled with my looks, my new jewelry and particularly my hair. Both of their husbands, whom were sailors, were out with their respective ships and unable to attend. Seeing all the womenfolk of our family in the room Albert had joked to my father that I had joined the other side. Father had laughed, but you could see a wince in his eyes.

In general it was a night for laughter, often at my expense. Outside of Albert's joke, much of the humour was supplied by Stork who had numerous complaints that he finally got to attend a magical ritual involving a beautiful virgin and he did not even get to see her naked. He was constantly spouting, "Take off your boots. Her boots? What's with that?"

That was usually the queue for Jimi to spout, "And her feet, has she ever heard of water?"

Aye it was a good night had by all, many a time I found myself just sitting back soaking in all the good will and humanness surrounding me, being warmed by it all. When my thoughts did turn bleak there was always another joke, another song or a niece climbing in my lap to push the bad away. And then there were the private talks.

The first of these was the one promised by my mother earlier in the day. I found myself in the corner with her, my father and Mistress Elladoo having my parents convincing both myself and the mistress that they really had a right to know what was happening to me. They rather surprised me when they informed us that they had known of Master Elladoo's special skills before they had approved my apprenticeship. Apparently Master Chenester, who had recommended me to the master, had known of my Grandmother's prejudices and had ensured that my parents did not feel the same way. He had learned that they were not completely trusting of it, but that they were aware of its potential benefits. And since then my father had almost swung completely in favour of it when he looked at how much prominence Kumil had gained at the expense of Corels on the West coast of the peninsula.

That conversation taught me that hidden truths are dangerous and that instead of guessing what people think it is better to just ask, even if you do not receive the answer you expect or you do expect it and it is not what you want to hear. And over years there have been many more conversations that have taught the same lesson. Maybe one day I will actually learn it.

The second of conversation was with Mistress Elladoo after I had sneaked away by myself to find her mirror to get a look at the new pieces of jewelry that adorned me as a result of my Chaining. The pieces were custom made, extremely high quality and likely each piece cost more than the yearly salary of any of the post's employees. The bracelets, anklets and choker were copies of each other, varying only in size. They were made of flattened, rectangular links of silver with every link engraved with a different marking commonly used to symbolize each of the members of the pantheon; the mountain of Durnst, the sheaf of Sera, the scale of Turin, the rose of Asolde, the eye of Jiringel, the gauntlet of Caling, the hourglass of Aredente, and even the trident of Furigal. I experienced a moment of panic upon realizing that none of them had a catch, before realizing that they truly were really chains. And though ornamental, my suspicion was that they were also highly functional.

Still they were not as ornamental as the other five pieces. The rings on my fingers and toes, had settings also made of silver, but they were not solid bands instead they were circles of silver wire painstakingly meshed by a master into the appearance of a vine, the silver vine of the Deglace. Further linkage to that family was presented by the dark blue, faceted, oval sapphire mounted on each. The diadem about my forehead took the non-simple design of the rings and took it a step further. Instead of wire, the vine was made of beaten silver that was maybe two finger widths thick at the front and tapered thinner towards to the ends, which were hidden behind my hair. It too held a blue sapphire, a rounded star sapphire of a size that likely cost more than every other piece combined. Like the chained pieces none of them budged when I tried to remove them, making me realize that I was now well worth stealing. Just as Magister Bewlmon had made me feel like a statue in the inquisitor's den, so did having ornamentation attached. And statues were not robbed, nor kidnapped, they were stolen.

After I had gained full appreciation for that in which I was bedecked, my conversation with Mistress Elladoo was based completely around my shamed, groveling embarrassment at being such a burden and thanks for doing so much for me. For her part, great lady that she is, the mistress tried to ease my discomfort by dismissing my thanks and saying that she only did what was expected as a friend and patron. Finally she calmed me down, only to once more make me nervously wonder what she planned for my future when she said, "Don't worry Dra'e, you are worth it. I know my investment today will pay off in the future."

That conversation taught me that the chains created during the Chaining were not only physical. My attachment to the Deglace, with or without a Choosing, was unmistakable. My freedom was not completely my own. Nor was it completely a burden, I was quite happy being linked to the mistress, though still unsure about the rest of her family, none of whom I had met. Yet all their employees and retainers I had met seemed to be happy and loyal, which was a good sign. Still I now had more incentive to end my demon possession and get changed back to myself, for when that happened I would be able to dump the jewelry and return it to the mistress so that she could recover some of her expense.

My last memorable conversation of the evening was with Magister Bewlmon, whom also had been staying at the Dancing Dolphin as a guest of the mistress. It was he who initiated the conversation, joining me in one of the times when I was not surrounded by family. Again the conversation was about the jewelry, but not about their cost nor about their decorative qualities. Instead he told me their role in the Chaining he had performed. They would not end my possession, nor would they stop Sandrelessa from taking control; however, they would limit my body's use to her if she did. First the bracelets and anklets would tighten, causing my hands and feet to become useless. If that did not stop her then the choker would actually begin choking me until I passed out or died. Rather daunted by the role of the Durnst Chains, as he called them, I asked the purpose of the rings and diadem.

Smiling reassuringly at the worry he saw in my eyes, "Worry not child, Father Durnst does not want you in his son Aredente's halls. He will not be capricious in enacting the power of his Chains, but you and through you, the demoness, know what they can do and that will make her extremely cautious. However, neither Father Durnst nor his son Caling would see you at the mercy of the evil of others or unable to provide righteous protection to friends, for they know as you have learned that the world is not always a safe place. You and the demoness have leeway in what the two of you can do together, but it is limited and depends upon your being in control as you were with the mob. Understanding if you are within your leeway is the purpose of the gems in your rings. The stones of your four rings will begin to glow when she rises up from where ever she lurks within your soul, this is okay, it provides warning. However, if she takes control the stone on your forehead will begin to glow and the power of Durnst Chains is likely to become active."

That conversation taught me to fear my pretty chains. Actually it would be truer to say it confirmed my fear of the chains. I had felt their warmth, had tried to remove them from their resting places and remembered being unable to move arm or leg during the Chaining. It had been real, not a sham performed by a group of shysters, though I wished that it had been.

After talking to Master Bewlmon I was in no mood for further conversation, instead it was time to focus on food, drink and song. The specialty of the inn was a spiced, boar stew that was wondrous after the bland prison food upon which I had survived. And the wine, though heavily watered, made me slightly silly. It allowed me to sing, though everybody agreed that they could do without that torture. And it even allowed my niece Nicole to convince me to join her in a dance she had learned from her mother, whose dancing had been one of the things that had attracted Albert.

We would have partied late into the night but a bakery opens early and we planned to be on the road early in the morning. A round of good-byes were made and then interrupted when my mother decided that she needed to come to Glanlies with us in order to protect me. It took a great deal of convincing by myself, the mistress and even my father, but only after I promised to stop and visit for a longer period of time on my return trip was she willing to listen.

And so our pause in Corels, during our journey to Glanlies, came to an end. The next morning there was no unexpected surprise after we breakfasted and moved outside to the carriage, which had brought the magister and his assistant from Glanlies and which we would share on its return.

One would think that a carriage holding five people, we must not forget Mary, would be rather uncomfortable. But if one had ever spent much time in the prison cart, they would not have minded the ride at all. Admittedly there were periods of rocking and bouncing, since we travelled on a lesser road that led directly from Corels to Glanlies, rather than taking the Great Trade Road through North Fort, the path taken by the public coaches. But Priestess Ellisel informed us that the sedate pace at which we travelled made things much more comfortable then their hurried trip in the other direction.

Taking much of four days to make the trip, I came to appreciate the hurry in which they must have been travelling. Even more so, I appreciated the ride that Stork had made to seek assistance. So regularly during the trip I felt myself heaping thanks upon everyone. Stork lapped it up as a kitten did milk, after all he found it so much less work to have someone do his praising then doing it himself. Everybody else finally force me to stop, in fact the magister told me that he had not acted in a totally altruistic fashion, that a large part of his willingness to help was due to his guess that Inquisitor Deanile would be involved and his quest to prove to the world that she was an dangerous idiot.

Even though my thanks were minimized after awhile I found that, just as with the morning when Mary came to prepare me for the Chaining, my chatter would just not stop. Everyone showed great patience as they answered all my many questions or listened to me talk about nothing at all.

On the third day the road improved as we began to travel through the land that directly supported the city of Glanlies. It was very good earth, much of it either tilled for food crops or covered in orchards of fruits and olives. And the vines, they were everywhere. Mistress Deglace could talk about them endlessly as grape vines were the foundation of her families wealth and power. Based upon the number of great estates we passed, they were also the foundation of power and wealth for a number of other families. A day later, during one of these lectures on vines, grapes and wine that the carriage came to a gentle yet surprising stop.

When I tried to gawk past the mistress, being in my customary spot between her and Mary, to see what I could see out the window she said, "Why don't we get out and stretch our legs for a moment.

Always ready for some fresh air I nodded my head and followed the mistress, priestess and magister out the door with a helping hand from the lieutenant, whose troop had stayed with us. Wrapping her arms around one of mine, Mistress Elladoo led me to a rise not to far away and said, "Look Dra'e, you can see Glanlies."

-------------

So even though I was not able to start this part of my tale with the symmetry that would have been so smooth from my previous tale, I now feel that it works just as well to keep the symmety completely within this single writing. And it signals a good place at which to pause my story, as this installment has gone on for a much longer length than I had expected. Surprisingly, those who said that writing about my life would prove cathartic were more correct in this part than the first. I have never shared many of my dark thoughts from my time of imprisonment. I had always felt it would be an unfair burden to place upon my friends. So I thank you all for acting as the vessel in which I could pour some nasty memories.

For now I do not want to dwell any more in the past. It is time to take a break from the quill and the parchment. Instead I think I will spend some time living in the the current and dreaming about the future. Time to make a deal and earn some money, maybe even to visit my family or friends at Elladoo Post, since writing of them makes me feel their absence.

But I will be back, there is more of my story to be told. Also there is a contract with the Greater Asthelhorne House of Publishing that needs to be fulfilled. And I would not have any success as a merchant if I did not live up to my contracts.

Until then, enjoy yourself!

...to be continued...

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The first part

of this story was fun. This second part was darker, far more intricate with all the Renaissance type machinations and repercussions that just kept building as this story went on but just as entertaining. You also did well with the narration, giving it a period flavor that matched the goings on quite nicely.

As for the binding or chaining. Demons on Earth are bound, chained, constrained, subject to another's will and not the masters/mistresses of their own actions in most cases. This setup, though a little more constraining, and less likely to fail than most, would not be all that different than the demoness was used to when dealing with mortals, I think. So onerous as it would be, I don't think it would be all that much worse than normal for a demon called to the human realms. Just my own thoughts there.

Good story, by the way.

Just wanting to give current

Just wanting to give current praise for this wonderful,
complex story..I agree with what has previously been
said.

alissa

Whew!

Quite a production. And quite a production number that ended it -- the binding, that is. After all that effort, it certainly makes a reader suspect that Drake's the only one here who thinks that he'll be changing back any time soon.

(And now for something completely different: the two paragraphs midway through, about the boredom of being locked in the tower, are among the laugh-out-loud funniest things I've read here in a long time. The contrast with the torture to come is all the more intense as a consequence.)

Eric

I'm not sure I like that

I'm not sure I like that idea about the rings.
My little demoness should be given the same privileges as mere (wo)men.
That is, each and everyone chaining her should themselves have been put under the same duress with rings of their own.

Those rings are reducing her to the condition of a slave toiling under Gods of whatever creed.
Also I have great difficulties with seeing a presumably timeless demon wanting to die as a, and in a, human lifespan.
I know trifles to you perhaps but they irritate me :)

Where will her free will be.
Free will implies the possibility to do evil as well as good.
But in her case only good as she will die otherwise.

cheers
Yoron.

A wonderful Fantasy

This is a very nice fantasy story! I enjoyed the first part when I came across it some time ago and this part is just as good. With the family structure, it may be more Renaissance than Medieval. I have a question about painting her nails a blue-black making them seem more ornamental. Many of the animals we fear have black talons and claws so wouldn't this have the opposite effect? Please you have to continue!
grover-

Laquer

Though Drake loves to metaphorically call them claws, the nails being described are just rather long and as can happen when nails get long, somewhat discoloured. This natural state is rather unattractive, painting them makes them less so. In my reading of the tale, it seems that Drake wants to mask the finger nails, changing them from what they were in the bandit camp. As for the colour, it was the closest Mary could find to Deglace blue ;)

Catching story

A very nice and original story. I hope the slow pace of it means we'll get to enjoy many more episodes. I especially like the fact that at no time the reader can feel very sure about what will happen next: you manage to often suddenly steer the story in an unexpected direction. I suspect Drake's arrival in Glanlies will introduce more surprises.

Hugs,

Kimby

Cool

By linking the nail-polish to Deglace blue makes my comment moot! Thanks for the explanation!
Hugs!
grover-