War Crimes Inc. - Glint explains everything to Sorrel

It's been seven hours and 15 days
Since you took your love away
I go out every night and sleep all day
Since you took your love away
Since you been gone, I can do whatever I want
I can see whomever I choose
I can eat my dinner in a fancy restaurant
But nothing can take away these blues
Sinéad O'Connor

Written with the unstoppable fire of Youki

There’s a knock on Sorrel’s door. There’s been so many this past day: quiet ones, loud ones, from big and small hands, but not the one she most wanted to hear. That one would never come again…

She opens the door reluctantly, to see Glint. The wizard stands there in his usual attire, slightly singed. He’s missing his fire-proof gloves and his familiar. A book in his hands catches Sorrel’s eye. She’s seen his usual spellbook - a small thing, like a notepad almost. This one is larger and looks sinister. It is bound with black leather and decorated with pieces of metal that sparkle slightly, like a vein of silver, making the book resemble the sky on a moonless night.

“Hello, Sorrel. Can I come in?” Glint asks quietly, not looking her in the face.

"Glint," Sorrel can't hide her surprise. "I was just thinking about coming to find you. Please, come in."

Her room at the Fort is pristine, weapons gleaming, books neatly arranged. It looks as if she has only ever stayed here alone, although there is a sealed chest in the corner that must contain something. Glint wonders if Sorrel is hiding traces of Silvia and if this is entirely healthy.

The ranger has a small, charred kettle on a stand above three ash covered lumps of coal in a low tray and as she pulls a wooden chair away from her desk she strikes her tinder box. A tattoo on her forearm glows and the tiny flame roars to life.

"I have tea," she explains. "I learned this from you, and I don't quite have your touch but if you'd care to pass judgement?"

“Thank you, the tea would be lovely,” he says absent-mindedly. He combs a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture that puts out the flame on his head. The wizard looks around the room awkwardly and sits carefully on the nearest chair. He puts the book on his lap and straightens imagined creases on its cover. He sits their quietly, studying Sorrel’s face.

“I know I’m supposed to ask you how you are holding up, but it’s a ridiculous question given the circumstances,” he says in a subdued tone. “So I’ll just ask if you want to talk?”

Sorrel looks at her hands for a long time as if trying to find the answer to Glints question written on her skin.

“I have not yet been able to cry for her,” she says softly. “I am lost somewhere very dark. I’ve been here before and it doesn’t end well. I can feel the violence rising.”

She looks up at Glint and gives a wry smile. “I realise I seem pretty violent to you as it is, although you have helped me reign it in, but you should have seen me when Sana died… and that rage is back.”

She frowns and looks at the new book in Glint's hands. "Although... I have meant to ask you. In Coll's mind. I was 16, the angry frightened girl sold by my parents to become a killer. And you were vast and angry. You used magic I had not seen before. Perhaps you are less of a stranger to rage than I thought."

She checks herself. "I am sorry Glint. I have lost track of the casualties. Have you lost someone?"

Glint sighs, taking a cup of tea from Sorrel’s hands. “Not that I know of. I haven’t done Sending to Root,” he glances up, and answers her questioning gaze: “I haven’t done it because I’m afraid. I’m afraid of silence. If I send and there’s no reply…” he frowns, the tea starts boiling in his hands. He looks down at his hands, and, realising what he’s doing, gives Sorrel a guilty smile. “Well if there’s no reply I just might go ahead and finish what the dragons started and make a big hole in the side of this fort…” he averts his eyes.

“I’m not sure what to tell you, Sorrel. Telling you I’m sorry would be trite. Of course I’m sorry. I’ve never been more sorry in my life. Would have jumped off the wall if it had the slightest chance of doing something, I was fucking yards away, but…” he clenches his fists and takes a deep shaky breath.

The flame on his head grows slightly and dies down just as quickly. When he looks back at Sorrel, he looks almost calm. “The truth is that nothing I say can make it better. So what would you rather I did? What are you in the mood for? Revenge? Consolation? Say the word and I will attempt to give you either.”

Sorrel gives a wry smile. "Glint, you don't have to apologise. It was a battle. No-one could have done anything different. If you'd tried to save her you'd probably be dead. Having fewer friends wouldn't help me through this, trust me. I've lost people when I'm alone and lost people with friends around me. The latter is better every time."

She stares at the wall. "But here's the thing... and maybe you can help me understand this. Disintegration. The spell that took Faust. The spell that leaves no corpse to mourn over, no chance for clerics to revive the fallen. That spell - I think that spell is a war crime. I think the filth that use that spell have no honour and deserve no mercy. I want to make sure that the scum that used that spell on her is dead. And if they aren't, I want to do such things to them that they wish they were. This is the darkness. I can feel it. I want to hunt them down, alive or dead, and tear them apart with the teeth of a thousand corpse worms. It is not healthy. It is corrosive. It corrupts. I can't ask you to join me. But I can ask you - disintegration. Is this an unforgiveable act to a mage? Or is it just me?"

Glint takes a sip of the tea. It’s strong and tugs on his throat. It’s just the tea, of course. “I suppose it depends on the perspective. You know my views on killing. But as far as spells go, I believe there are worse ones. Killing an enemy in a war is deplorable, but honest. Just another mortal implement, like your arrows. Compare that to getting into one’s mind and bending another’s will to your liking. Not tricking people, that’s just relying on the lack of attention,” he waves his hand, conjuring a minor illusion of Strix, and making it disappear in smoke.

“No, I’m talking rewriting what the person is to suit your goals. To me that is worse. But as I said, it’s a matter of perspective.” He takes a long pause, and looks at the fire on the stove, or rather through it. “As for the other thing that you mentioned… the warrior who killed Silvia is dead.” He raises his eyes slowly, and some of the fire keeps reflecting in them even when he’s no longer looking at it. “Do you want to know how he died?”

"Yes," says Sorrel simply.

Glint nods. “I know my spells. And I know that he felt how his eyes and blood started boiling, skin turned to charcoal, heart cooked while still beating, and bones cracked from the heat. It was quick, but he felt every moment of it,” he says dispassionately. “I am quite confident if he was offered a disintegrate spell instead, he’d gladly take it. Was that something along the lines of what you had planned?”

Sorrel turns to face Glint, her mouth open. "I don't know what to say..."

She cannot decide if that death is enough, but she knows it cost Glint to deliver it and more to tell her. She walks across the room, reaches into her backpack and pulls out a small feather and a beautiful, finely wrought silver necklace then kneels beside Glint.

"Although there are depths to you that I am only now beginning to see and still have not had time to understand, I believe that spell cost you something... I don't know how much," she says carefully. "You have given me a chance at life in casting it, however, and I am sworn to you. But more, I want to give you something - irrelevant, tiny, nothing compared to the freedom you have just given me."

She holds out the feather. "This is a Qaal feather. It will become a giant Roc for a day. It can only be used once but the possibilities are immense."

She holds out the necklace. "This is a moon-touched charm. Once per day, it will fortify you - have you met Varga? She has a clockwork amulet, perhaps you know it? This charm gives similar support but only in preserving life."

She looks down at the ground for a moment then back up. "Either or both are yours if you want them."

Glint flinches slightly, but the reverent notes in Sorrel’s voice help him to get a hold of himself. He leans down and takes her hands in his. She can feel heat emanating from his skin - not enough to burn, but enough to remind that the fire on his head is not just an illusion born out of fancy.

“Sorrel, normally, I would not accept gratitude specifically for making someone suffer. And I’d like you to know that the manner in which I killed him was most unconsciously done. I am not immune to anger and emotions, so…” He releases a shaky breath and continues, with a frown. “You’re correct in your assumption that it did cost me. But not by design. If knowing that your principles still require you give me something, I’ll take the necklace, but not as a gift,” he leans further, bumping their foreheads together in an almost childish gesture. “But as a token of our friendship and in hopes that I’ll be able to help others better in future.”

Sorrel smiles and leans her head on his. "It's more than that," she says softly. "I wasn't offering you this in thanks for your killing - although yes, that was the act at the core. These are things of freedom - the freedom to fly, to protect yourself and live, to take risks. You have given me the chance of release. In my bid to find Silvia's killer, I would have slaughtered blindly and without compunction. The sacrifice you made and the courage in telling me I hope has saved lives, mine not the least of them. In the balance the gods hold us, I would hope that is a net easing of the suffering of the world. And they weren't just casual gifts of thanks. They were symbols of freedom so that both of us would remember what you sacrificed to save others."

Glint smiles and huffs a breath of relief in her face. Being so close, she notices the beginnings of crowfeet in the edges of his eyes when the smile reaches them “I’m glad you see it that way,” he says, putting his hands on her shoulders. “I came here in hopes to persuade you not to turn to violence, but it looks like I didn’t have to work half as hard as I thought. I’m glad I could help, but honestly, you’ve freed yourself. It’s not easy to let go,” he leans back, his hands sliding back to the book in his hands, and as soon as he touches it, the smile on his face fades. He gives Sorrel an uncertain look. “Can I tell you something else about Silvia? Or would it be too much?”

Sorrel smiles. “That’s an impossible question. Yes and yes.”

"I think you'll like this one." Glint nods and opens the book in his lap, turning its pages, looking for a particular spread. Sorrel is not much of a scholar herself, but even she can see that the folio looks old and powerful. Its pages are covered with swirls and schemes, detailing spells and rituals she doesn't know. The book looks like it's been through a lot, yet the owner had definitely took great care to preserve the invaluable knowledge within. Finding the right page, Glint tears it out of the book in a swift, almost clinical motion. He closes the book and straightens the torn out page on its cover, tracing the lines with his finger.

"That's what allowed him to cast disintegration spell. This one's known as Contingency," he says in a soft voice. "Usually used by wizards as a last resort, when all is lost. Sort of an order to your own magic to do something when you can't. For instance, to teleport away when you're losing a battle, or to heal oneself after receiving a deathly blow... And he had to resort to it to get out of Derthaad's storm sphere when he saw Silvia approaching. To put it into perspective, he probably knew that he had no chance against Silvia when even slightly encumbered, that she'd strike him down in one blow. And he wasn't a weakling, either, just ask Derthaad." Glint gives an awkward shrug.

"What I'm trying to say is... I didn't know her well, but Silvia was very strong, and fearsome, making even gith knights fear for their lives, and you should be very proud," he hands Sorrel the page. "I thought you might want this to exercise your new ability." He nods at the tattoo on her forearm. "Might be more therapeutic than the kettle..."

Sorrel sits in silence for a long time staring at the page. She feels, after a while, that Glint might be getting uncomfortable as she says nothing, so she reaches out and briefly rests her hand on his arm, asking him to stay. She struggles to find her grip on this story and feels as if she’s clinging to a sheer cliff, with a bottomless fall beneath her.

Her tattoo glows briefly as she considers reducing this offence to ash. Finally, however, she slips the torn page into a hard leather backed account of a human druid’s years in the fey courts.

“Thank you,” she slowly raises her head until she meets Glint’s gaze. “Your magic is powerful indeed my friend. You may protest the skill of sorcerers whose magic works changes on people’s minds, but you seem to be able to alter my reality through conversation alone.”

She smiles. “For the better, I promise…. I may not be able to cry for her. But I may not fall now.”

The expression of surprise lights up Glint's face for a moment, and subsides quickly. He takes a deep grounding breath, and gives Sorrel a careful hug, just wrapping his hands around her shoulders. "I wish I could be of more help. Please let me know if I can, at any point. I... I need to do some notes for the department, on that dragon we downed, before I go to Port Ffirst. I can go to my room or can stay here for a while if you'd rather have a silent human being to just be around? I know people prefer it differently sometimes..."

“This may sound strange, but do you have any thread? Like for mending clothes?”

Glint's eyebrows shoot up. "I... I don't know if I should be more surprised by the question or by the fact that I can answer to it positively. I actually do have some string," he says with a guilty smile, and produces a spool of it from his back pocket.

"Do you mind if I cut a length off?" Sorrel asks, reaching for her dagger. "Then, if you don't mind, I will finally get some rest. Just in case... which room are you?"

"Of course," Glint nods, watching the expert knifework. "I'm in the corner one, overlooking the stables. Or what's left of them... Let me know if you need anything, even if it's a spool of thread," he says with a sad chuckle, and squeezes her forearm affectionately.

Sorrel bows, a far deeper bow than her warrior nod. "Glint, I say this so often that you may not hear it properly, but I am forever at your service."

Glint bows back with reverence, but with an unpractised air of a person who isn't used to such gestures. "You're right, I don't fully understand the meaning of these words, but for what it's worth - I'm at yours." He straightens up and turns to leave.

"They mean thank you, but thank you is not enough," Sorrel's words follow up. "Thank you my friend."

He pauses, half turns and gives a curt nod before going out of the door and leaving Sorrel alone in the room lit with bright yellow rays of the afternoon sun, reminiscent of flames in a fireplace.

Sorrel observes her battle-scarred knuckles for a moment then takes the thread and starts wrapping it around them, making sure to be precise and circle every knuckle at least three times.

As she does she permits snatches of conversation to emerge briefly from her memory before she buries them again and tries, at last, to rest.

A sunny field after the hunger spirit has been defeated and a genuine question - "Silvia, what does being happy feel like?"

Lying back in the grass and gazing into the blue.

Silvia reaching out for her hand. Sorrel clasping Silvia's slim fingers, feeling the tight thread wound around the young girl’s knuckles.

Silvia's whisper, so quiet it could almost be the grass in the wind…

"Live for me Sorrel."