Independence Day (Graduation) Sorrel 28/05

Sorrel surveyed her childhood home… well, anyway, the house she grew up in. It hadn’t changed much. It looked smaller than she remembered, and it had more dead assassins on the floor than when she was a child but essentially the same.

Also, whilst her father was sitting as usual in his usual chair, his throat had been ripped out by a crossbow bolt. She walked over to his corpse and looked down at his twisted form. His body had died in pain, but his face had a strange serenity.

She whispered a prayer to Selûne. “Goddess, if my parents served you through their sacrifice, bless their passing and I beg you, unite them at last in the gardens they always dreamed of. Let them be together, free from pain, for as long the moon shines down.”

She looked up to find her comrades watching her carefully. Beets was still bleeding from the wounds she’d received from these savage attackers, but Velania was tending to him.

“Kavel, my brother,” her voice was clear and steady. “You have carried so many burdens for me, but I would ask one more. Please, would you take my father’s body to the temple with me? I cannot leave him here and we need to move quickly. The House will already know their unit has failed.”

Without a word, he reached out and lifted her father, cradling him like a baby. Then, in silence, Sorrel lead the way along the dockside and up the winding narrow street to the simple temple her mother had founded when hope seemed obvious, and death was an impossible idea in the mind of someone so alive.

The party walked to the small graveyard and Sorrel found a little plot with two headstones. The first was carefully carved:

Elsa Darkfire

Mother to Sorrel, Lyra, Vega and Aries

Weep not for you have a mother still.

Sorrel drew in a sharp breath. The line echoed her mother’s letter, telling her of her sisters and the peril they were in.

The children - now grown but still innocent - have been discovered and I'm going there to protect them as best I can.

I'm not the fighter I used to be. Should I fall, I pass this task on to you. She wishes them to be safe, and you have grown to be one of the most formidable champions She could ever ask for.

If you receive only this letter from me and nothing else, I am surely dead. Do not mourn me, for you have a Mother still. A better one than I was. She is with you always and is the solace at the end of all things. May She bless and keep you, and be with you in dark places, when all other lights go out.

Sorrel wondered who had carved these letters. And then she turned to the second stone standing at the head of a freshly dug grave with a pile of dirt and a shovel, with a large grey metallic feather resting on the handle.

Sorrel stared at the feather, puzzled for a minute. “Is this like a Quaal’s feather token?” she puzzled out loud then noticed her companions shaking their heads as they might when a child forgot their own name.

“It is Ja’sathriel, the Jackal,” Velania said eventually, and they all nodded, relieved. “He is always watching you even if you cannot see him.”

Sorrel sighed. “He is another who is present in his absence or absent in his presence,” she spoke to the sky. “Sometimes being there is more important.”

She reached into her backpack and took out her father’s severed hand, sent to her as a threat not so many moons ago. As Kavel lowered the empty body into the waiting grave, she placed the hand on her father’s chest.

“I regret misunderstanding you for my entire life,” she said, then turned to the shovel and started filing his grave, alone in the night.

Or rather, she expected to be alone as she always did, but there were her friends – Kavel, Velania, Marto, Beets and Veridian – knee deep in earth and shovelling alongside her.

Sorrel felt emotion well up inside her, choking her throat so she could not bring herself to thank them for fear of the sobs that would escape. Finally, as they packed the earth nice and tight, she knelt before the graves and prayed that somewhere, Leonas and Elsa were finding each other.

As she knelt there, she saw Veridian’s hands glow with arcane power and soft amber light gouge words into the stone at her father’s grave.

Leonas, husband and lover to Elsa

Father to Sorrel, Lyra, Ares and Vega.

“What would you like beneath that Sorrel?” Veridian’s voice was soft and concerned.

Sorrel thought for a moment.

“He did his best,” she said finally, and the words appeared. The light carved moons on both headstones, waxing and waning, surround by filigree with rope or thread and a hint of red along its coils.

Then, once he was done, she saw nine stars, the nine stars of the goddess, emerge from the marble as if birthed from primordial night to surround the full moon on Elsa’s tombstone. A benediction for a life of service.

Sorrel bowed her head but did not weep. There was work to be done.

“We should stay the night here and rest,” Velania spoke up. “There are wounds that need healing, and it is late. Will the House attack us in the temple?”

Sorrel shook her head. “They would consider it to be in bad taste,” she replied. “They would only do so if specifically paid, and I don’t think anyone’s paying them for this job.”

The rough temple door opened to Velania’s knocking and an elderly priestess Sorrel had never seen before peered out.

“I am sister Madelaine,” her warm voice was deep and kindly. “Who are you and what brings you to the temple in the moonlight?”

“I am a priestess of Selûne, my church is half a world away, and I ask for sanctuary for myself and my companions,” Velania placed her hand on her heart.

“And I am Sorrel Darkfire,” Sorrel spoke up. “My mother is…”

Madelaine reached out and took Sorrel’s hands in hers. They were rough, hardworking hands, the skin cracked and worn through years of toil. It reminded Sorrel of her father’s hands, toughened by ropes and the unforgiving air of the ocean.

“I know who you are, child,” Madelaine smiled. “You are all welcome.”

--

After the pilgrims’ beds had been made up and Madelaine had served them bowls of vegetable stew with hunks of hard waybread, Velania tried to press gold into her hands.

“Where is your temple that you have money to spare? Are there no poor where you come from?” Madelaine seemed affronted.

“Yes, and we give all we can and more, but this is for the poor of Baldur’s Gate,” Velania clasped Madelaine’s hands over the leather purse.

Sorrel slipped out of the room and walked slowly to the altar, kneeling before the rough wooden table and hand carved moons that hadn’t changed since she was a child and used to watch her mother prepare them for midnight services.

For a second, she thought she could smell the carbolic soap her mother used to scrub her hands clean before heading to the temple, but it passed. A memory, nothing more.

From her backpack she pulled a potion Ivan had recommended to her, perhaps a year ago, on an insane trip into the depths of the Angelbark. It had kept him awake all night but without the comedown and potential hallucinations of the plant powder she’d snorted during sentry duty in the jungle wars of Chult.

She had a vigil to perform tonight and a battle against a battalion of the finest soldiers in Faerun tomorrow. Her schedule was simply packed and there was no time allotted for a snooze.

The priestess Madeleine rustled to her knees beside her and asked if she could pray too. Sorrel nodded gratefully, and Madeleine took her hand as she muttered her devotions. Sorrel felt a wellspring of grace and solace build inside her.

Then Madeleine was gone. Sorrel sat with her thoughts for some hours. Memories of her father, the best she could find. His uneasy shopkeeping, his wary trap making, his careful observing of all who passed. She realised he may have lived his life in fear, and she realised now that it wasn’t fear for himself – it was fear of the promises he had made and the souls he had sworn to protect. What she had taken for distance was simply love from a man who had already given everything he had, leaving no hope to fill an empty heart.

Then Sorrel made her greatest vow. The promise that came from beyond her rituals of loyalty to the House – they came from the love she had as a child, still new to the world, the child who was hiding scared within her.

She gave herself to the protection of her sisters until the goddess no longer needed her. This she would do for her sister, for the goddess and for her mother and father. She was the last soldier standing and none would pass her wrath.

Then there was an angel at the altar, and Sorrel averted her eyes from the glory and the terror of radiance in splendour. The odour of sanctity flooded the humble building and she felt voices of power murmuring as if across time beyond comprehension. Her tongue cleaved to the roof of her mouth, and she was afraid.

“Do not fear me, child,” the angels voice was soft, but rang with harmonies outside her understanding.

Sorrel raised her eyes and behold! It was Andromeda, the archangel of Selûne, the mightiest of her messengers, her greatsword resting on her hips and her power veiled that Sorrel might live.

The angel moved across the temple floor and seemed to dimmish until she was of mortal size, her vast wings folding behind her as she knelt beside Sorrel.

Her lips murmured the liturgy but into Sorrel’s mind her voice came, clear as the starlight on a winters evening.

“I feel sorry for your loss,” the voice was calm but soothing. “The question of your parenting is complicated. You have been a child to many parents. You have offered yourself as a warrior. Selune wants the sisters safe.”

Sorrel bowed her head. “This I have sworn.”

“The goddess wants all the sisters Darkfire to live. Can you name them for me?”

Sorrel frowned. “Well… yes, Vega, Lyra and Ares.”

“There are four sisters Darkfire,” the angels voice rang in her soul.

“Is there yet another I have not met?” Sorrel briefly turned towards Andromeda, then averted her eyes as the angel’s aura flared briefly.

“You have forgotten yourself, Sorrel Darkfire, as you so often do,” the voice carried a note of care.

Sorrel found it hard to breathe.

“I don’t belong to anything or anyone,” she began. “But I am beginning to see that I have a family. The sisters are the family and I think I could belong, but I do not know how to belong. I have been alone for my whole life.”

“The fact that you wish to belong to something means that you already belong,” the angel spoke from the most perfect lips Sorrel had ever seen. “Ask for help and it will be granted.”

Sorrel frowned again. “That’s something I’m bad at.”

The angel began to fade, and Sorrel thought she heard laughter.

“We know,” the voice said. “It is almost as if it was a test.”

Behind her she felt Kavel arriving, his presence something that touched her heart before the soft tread of his feet reached her ears.

She reflected briefly that she had not been entirely honest with herself when she said she had been alone her entire life. When she was with her chosen brother she was never alone. He was the first to make her understand that there was more than oaths of loyalty or physical desire that could hold her.

She prayed for Selûne to welcome him and protect him, for he had served the goddess with his life and yet not offered her the rituals or devotions of a temple.

She felt his hand on her shoulder.

“I will sleep here Sorrel, if you don’t mind?”

“Brother, I am so glad you are here,” she smiled. She remembered once more that night in the Angelbark when she had rested on a low hill as he stitched his wounds and slept safely despite the undead patrolling the woods, certain that this goliath would watch over her.

--

Over breakfast, Velania tried to press more money into Madeleine’s hands. The priest eventually yielded, with as much good grace as she could muster, then Veridian took a dagger he had plucked from one of the assassin’s corpses and began to weave an incantation.

Strands of amber swirled around them as he reached through the gaps in reality towards the House. Something rattled in Sorrel’s mind, something she knew she ought to remember, then the spell lifted her up and blew her into a million pieces, assembling, dissembling and reassembling her as she span through some portion of infinity one atom at a time.

Sorrel fucking hated teleportation.

They landed, she snapped back into herself and quelled the brief swell of nausea, then felt a strange vibration thrill through her. They were not on the ground, they were hovering just above, fell to the ground. Marto and Velania sprawled on the floor.

They were in a clearing in a forest.

She searched for the gates to the Garden, the walls of the outer defences, the great gates…

Nothing.

Then she remembered. The House was shielded against teleportation. Which meant they were in the Unwelcome Clearing.

Before she could reach for her longbow, a sable clad figure stepped out from the shadows between the trees.

“Specialist?” a dark voice.

“Specialist,” Sorrel raised her hand in the House greeting. “My name is Sorrel Darkfire, I am here to meet Callimar Daevion'lyr.”

“I know. You are expected.”

“Will you escort us?”

“You know the way.”

Sorrel suddenly felt the subtle differences about this Specialist coalescing into a moment of clarity.

“Specialist, why does the 13th college welcome us? What does Master Reveill want with me?”

“When the other 12 colleges are scared, we must cure the sickness,” the dark voice was rich and menacing. “You are a problem Sorrel Darkfire, the symptom we must resolve.”

“How will this be resolved?”

“The first discipline of the oldest rule. Trial by combat. It has not been used for a century or more, but we have arrived at complicated times and infighting is best.. well, fought within.”

Sorrel nodded and moved forward without a word. She followed the safe path, and the others came behind her. She could feel the hunters around them, the machine of protection, almost silent but deliberately letting her know death was a few steps away.

The ate as they walked, some of Madeleine’s food, some iron rations and a little of the waybread they had left. Soon the Greypeak mountains loomed over them.

It seemed like the path was impassable, but Sorrel took steps in this direction and that and they passed through sheer cliffs and around fatal drops.

At the foot of the first mountain, the forest gave way to a high black iron wall, rubbed smooth and unscalable, towering more than 80ft high, with two vast iron gates under a frowning arch.

All was quiet.

The gates opened slowly and silently, moving on well-oiled hinges, perfectly balanced.

--

The Garden looked much the same as she remembered. Myrtle hedges, orchards filled with every kind of fruit, clusters of date trees, carefully laid out courtyards and rose gardens, water fountains, steps, arches, pavilions and palaces, the most elegant she had ever seen, all covered with gilding and exquisite paintings and through and past them there were runnels, flowing freely with wine and milk and honey and water; and soft music echoing from hidden corners.

Here twelve white marble lions stood guard around an alabaster basin, each beast spouting water from its open, roaring mouth into a shallow circular channel that flowed off in four directions across a stone courtyard. There an orchard wall covered in vines. Before the wall, a grassy sward covered with clover, behind the wall golden pomegranate nodded, heavy with their rich ripe load hanging red on the bough..

The sun was setting, and torches were lit behind them as they walked, passing college after college set in richly worked palaces with might defences barely visible to all but the expert eyes.

First the outer palaces… the College of Learning, home to the House spy networks in the known planes, the College of Plenty, filled with brutal accountants and steely debt collectors, the College of Communication, where mystics perfected propaganda, telekinesis and mind control, the College of Welcome, in charge of recruitment and training and the College of Sharing, responsible for bribery and the hiring of mercenaries.

High on the slopes of the mountain she saw the two Colleges of Care - the College of Delight which taught the sensual arts and the College of Prayer where clerics practiced healing and genetic modifications. Just below them, with a shiver, she turned her eyes from the sickly green light bathing the College of Rest, the hollow stone mausoleum where the undead worked ceaselessly on unspeakable tasks.

And then, across the river, she glimpsed the high steel ramparts and towering battlements of the Palace of Love. In the gardens before it’s impregnable walls lay the four Senior Colleges - the College of Protection, from where the House dispensed violence, the College of Discovery, where laboratories and alchemists practiced unthinkable experiments, the College of Wisdom, where the eldritch arts tore at reality, and finally her home, the College of Persuasion, Callimar’s domain of strange, magic, subtle stratagems and endless stairs leading deep into the heart of the Dark Basement and the Rooms of Enquiry.

As they walked, Sorrel could see black-clad students stepping soundlessly from the hidden doors of each college - assassins, warriors, mages and priests, trained to varying degrees but all deadly to any but the most highly skilled. Soon hundreds of them were at their back, herding the party forward in silence. Their discipline was such that Sorrel could hardly hear the steps of the nearly 600 armed warriors as they strode through the garden, not one word spoken between them.

She slowed her pace a little. They had reached the Deep Water, the river that formed the first line against any force that somehow made it this far into the valley. She knew just a handful of the countless dweomers, and hexes cast on its waters and was glad to see the Bridge of Spies remained in place. The House was not on a war footing, then, whatever the Specialist had implied.

And then that Specialist was beside her. “This will suffice,” the dark voice murmured.

She held up her hand and the party stopped.

Across the water, warriors were arrayed in gear of war, rank upon rank in battle formations. She guessed perhaps some thousand or more, motionless as stone. She realised they were surrounded, hemmed in by closely packed crowds, which surprised her. Usually, the colleges kept a polite distance from each other. This sort of unity was rare.

A figure walked through the battalions on the far shore with a menacing grace and walked to the centre of the bridge. He was the only one not clad in black. His dark brown waistcoat and white shirt were of the finest cloth and his measure gait barely concealed his impatience. One eye was missing, the other glowed red and when he opened his mouth to speak, two white fangs glistened in the torchlight.

“It is Master Reveill of the 13th college,” Sorrel whispered to Kavel. “He is never seen outside.”

The Master spoke, and his voice was carried to every ear although he spoke in soft, measured tones. “We are gathered here tonight because certain individuals for their own personal gain have been raking the name of the House through the mud,” his voice was like stone slabs grinding together. “We seek to hear from certain individuals who might state their case and then settle this for once and for all. The Master will be decided tonight.”

There was a long pause. His eyes scanned the crowd.

“Is Sorrel Darkfire here?”

Sorrel stepped forward and bowed her head.

“Is Callimar Daevion'lyr present?”

Sorrel suddenly saw her Master, standing across the river as if he had always been there, although she could swear she had gazed on that spot just seconds ago and it was empty.

“Is Mistress Mallioch present?”

From behind Sorrel she heard a low voice call ‘oui.’

A figure towering even above Kavel moved forward and paused next to her, looking down briefly, before walking on to the base of the bridge.

Master Reveill’s spoke again, his voice grave and certain. “There is something rotten in the base of this house, in the state of our being. We have survived for centuries because we do what its necessary. There is no Master of the House, a state of affairs that cannot be borne. What should have been a simple discussion with the usual murder and bribery of rivals has been dragged across continents and planes beyond time. Specialists have been made martyrs, made figureheads and sent untrained before their oaths to do the dirty work far from home. We are here to settle the truth of the matter and decide a Master of the House.”

Another long pause.

“Callimar Daevion'lyr, is this your charge?”

The Master turned his gaze to Sorrel.

“Yes, this is Specialist Sorrel Darkfire of the College of Persuasion,” Callimar glanced at her briefly.

“Is it true that Sorrel left the House to go on unsanctioned jobs, hunting down fiends for personal revenge and not for contracts?”

Callimar didn’t look at her this time. “Yes, Master Reveill.”

“And yet, Master Callimar, you proposed that Specialist Darkfire become Master of the College of Persuasion should you ascend. Then we must hear from her. Sorrel Darkfire, did you do these things?”

Sorrel hoped her voice would not betray her. “I did Master Reveill. My unit was on a protection detail, and we were betrayed. These fiends destroyed not just our charges, but every serving member of the House bar me. I was blessed by the kindness of the mages we were protecting. Alas, my comrades were not. Sana, my chosen, was killed in front of my eyes. This was a debt of blood that needed to be paid. I believe it was sanctioned, in its way, by the Master of the House. He knew of my intent, and he did not seek to stop me.”

“And is it true that your family owed a debt to the House, we sent Specialists to gather the debt and you slew House representatives in the course of their duties?”

Sorrel frowned. “It is partly true, Master Reveill. These were not Specialists; they were not fully trained. They were sent to be slaughtered. They had no orders to allow me to pay the debt. They simply attacked and were not skilled enough to deal with what they met. There was powerful magic behind them – illusions of beetles beyond the power of all but the mightiest of mages and Specialist Alastor was in possession of this ring,” she reached into her pack and pulled out the beetle ring she had taken from Alastor’s dead finger.

Although no words were spoken and not a single House warrior moved, Sorrel felt something ripple through the assembled ranks. All knew that the beetle was the sign of Mistress Mallioch, her seal and her banner.

“Mistress Mallioch,” Master Reveill’s voice echoed now. “Did you send untrained resources to claim the three sisters without chance of payment?”

Mistress Mallioch remained silent.

Master Reveill clapped his hands and ripples of octarine power formed a vast zone of truth that covered the bridge and surrounding land and still she did not speak.

“Your silence will suffice,” Master Reveill nodded briefly. “Underhand tactics have been used to further politics that should have been kept within the House. We may put these matters to rest and return to our traditions as the matter of the Master remains unsolved and in its conclusion all will be resolved. There are two nominees. You will settle this now and settle this for good. Mistress Mallioch, do you have champions?”

She nodded her assent and from the massed crowd at her back a 14 strong squad of eldritch knights stepped forward and fanned out along the riverbank. Their weapons crackled with arcane power.

“Master Callimar, do you have champions?”

Callimar kept his gaze focused on Mallioch. “Master Reveill, as every member of the House knows, all of my kill squads, protection teams, infiltration units and dark arts practitioners have been specifically requested on House business. All that remain are my trainees and I refuse to endanger them. I will fight alone.”

Sorrel stepped forward. “Master Reveill, I am a trained Specialist and servant of the College of Persuasion. I volunteer as Callimar’s champion. I fight alone. This is not the concern of my companions who should not be harmed. I invoke the Hospitality of the House.”

Kavel moved up to stand next to her. “Master Reveill?” he rumbled. “Do champions have to be of the house?”

There was a shake of the head. “No.”

“Then I do not need the Hospitality of the House. I fight with my sister.”

As he spoke, Velania, Beets, Marto and Veridian gathered around Sorrel.

“We all fight,” Velania said, her eyes fixed on Mallioch.

Sorrel’s eyes filled with tears of pride, and she dashed them away. There would be time for gratitude later. Her eyes needed to be clear to aim her bow. But she placed her hand on her heart and bowed her head briefly.

“You give me more than you can know,” she said, then walked with them across the bridge to stand by Callimar’s side, pausing briefly by the keystone as if struck by an invisible hand.

Her loyalties had changed.

--

The knights were fast. A small detachment moved across the river and attacked before Sorrel could nock an arrow. They gave battle with Sorrel, Velania and Marto. Sorrel leaped clear and sent arrows hurtling into Mallioch and her attacker.

She saw Callimar wink out. Of course. His favourite position was where you couldn’t see him.

Then a fireball roared across the bridge and Sorrel hurled herself out of the way. Mallioch, the Beetle, was as dangerous as she remembered.

She saw Veridian weave his arcane sigils into the air, carving patterns in reality as heat grew visibly between his hands and four sparks of flame shot up into the air, flickering through the sky like fireflies in the dusk.

Then Veridian pulled his hands down with inhuman speed and ferocity, a great wind roared around every head and a howling whine seared every ear as four blazing meteorites crashed down on the opposite bank in a blaze of heat and light and rock and thunder.

Great gouts of earth were flung up by the impact, surging out to crash down like waves of rock on any foolish enough or slow enough to remain close to the powerful explosions, which ripped lines of light and force through the air, up into a billowing cloud of dust and smoke that reached out to smother the sky, so that the stars themselves winked out.

“Comrade, strong spell,” Kavel nodded approvingly.

As the cloud slowly cleared, she saw the ground covered in bodies. The knights were all but destroyed, just one left standing on the other side whilst the two nearest her stared in horror at the carnage.

Mallioch remained. And… wait… she stared in horror at the slender body of her teacher and Master, Callimar Daevion'lyr, sprawled in the filth.

It briefly occurred to her that, of course, his favourite position was more than the one where you couldn’t see him. It was the one where he was also stabbing you.

Beside her, Beets crashed into an eldritch knight, sending them spinning.

Velania turned to Sorrel and cried “I’ve got him,” before sprinting to the bridge where a heavily armoured knight shoulder charged her into the Deep Water. Fortunately, the runes weren’t charged, and she merely sank like a stone, weighed down by her armour.

Beets hurtled forwards, diving into the flowing river and hauling Velania out, her hair dripping but her eyes still bright. Just before Beets could land her next to Callimar, however, a sable clad figure dashed from the crowd and plunged a dagger into Callimar’s heart – once, twice. His body twitched and lay still, a stillness Sorrel understood from battlefields and morgues.

In her fury, Sorrel summoned the storm and unleashed a lightning arrow into Mallioch, followed by two clean shafts which buried themselves deep in her gut.

Mallioch met Sorrel’s eye, and spat on the ground, pulling a gem from her cloak.

“If I go, I am taking you with me,” she hissed.

Behind her, Sorrel saw brother Kavel crashing his fists into one of the last of the eldritch knights. Veridian’s spells flashed from his hands as he battled Mallioch for control of the battlefield and Marto shielded the mage from attack by another of Mallioch's assassins.

Velania reached out her radiant light, refracted through diamond and into Callimar’s corpse but Mallioch flung a spear of pure darkness that severed the beams.

The last of the knights raised his sword as Mallioch screamed “cut off his head!”

Sorrel howled, Velania stared helpless as the blade came down…

Then, as if in a dream, Sorrel remembered the wooden temple and the grace of Andromeda. You need to ask, the angel had said, and so Sorrel called out to the only force she knew could help her now.

“Ja'Sathriel, please hear me,” she cried. “Help me, please. I need you now.”

There came a blinding flash of light as when Ja'Sathriel descended into Hell at the battle for the soul of Rholor, the High Diviner.

And lo! The archangel Ja'Sathriel and at his side the archangel Andromeda were manifest in all their glory and terror and the heavens  praised them and the very ground itself cowered at their feet.

And Ja'Sathriel reached for the knight with one mighty fist and the warrior crumbled to dust which did not fall to the ground for the world and time itself had stopped for all but Sorrel and her companions.

And great was their wonder as starlight trickled down from on high, dancing as in worship around a great figure slowly forming from the moonlight itself.

And their hearts sang as Bright Nydra, who is Elah, and Lucha, and the child who was called She Who Guides in the time of ancient Netheril when she was newborn, came among them. Young like a spring blushed maiden and yet as old as all eternity to come was her beauty and purity. Hers was the moon's power that governed the tides, caused lycanthropes to twist and curl, and drew poets to the brink of madness, and back again.

And Velania sang with all her heart, the hymn to the goddess taught to the faithful – “Let all on whom my light falls be welcome if they desire to be so. As the silver moon waxes and wanes, so too does all life. Trust in my radiance and know that all love alive under my light shall know my blessing. Turn to the moon, and I will be your true guide.”

Her form reached into the heavens and yet danced amongst them, spinning and laughing yet faceless and unknowable. Their bones shook and great fevers and chills broke out across their bodies for this was no avatar of Selûne, this was the heartbeat of divinity made manifest in grace and awe.

And so, the goddess came to Sorrel Darkfire and behold! Her face was of a starless sky and her song was of the joy of the light that shone on lovers and artists and deeds of glory that may never be told.

Her voice roared like clashing rocks and whispered like a child with her lips against Sorrel’s check. “I have just been waiting for you to ask, Sorrel Darkfire,” she sang softly. “There is no place you can go, no basement, no layer of Hell where I will not be with you if you ask for my help. I once told your sister Velania that she was not put on this earth to fix broken men. I tell you now Sorrel Darkfire, you were not put on this earth to please absent fathers. There are four sisters, and you, Sorrel Darkfire, will lay your cloak over the three to keep them safe and there is no place you can go where I will not aid you if you ask for my help.”

And then the goddess was of the light and the sky and the midnight clear and split as beams of moonlight

Andromeda grabbed Mallioch by the hair and pushed her down, looking over at Sorrel, her sword unsheathed and the fury of Heaven dancing on its blade.

Sorrel shook her head. “It is for Callimar to decide – I am just his champion.”

Ja'Sathriel raised up Callimar’s broken form and the Drow staggered forward one step, two steps and laughed as he raised his shoulders and was unharmed and fresh as if reborn.

Then Callimar and Ja'Sathriel beheld each other for the first time, and they sniffed as if to say - who is this other dog?

Callimar broke away first and turned to Sorrel. “We haven’t won, Darkfire, this is the way of the House. We need a judge’s ruling. Master Reveill, is this a victory for the College of Persuasion if handed to me by divine intervention?”

A rattle of steel and a wish of cloth rushed through the garden as the massed ranks found movement and time flowed freely once more.

“Aye, so say the books,” came a sibilant hiss.

With delicate grace, Callimar drew a long stiletto blade from his cane and slit Mallioch’s throat.

She bucked once then slumped to the ground.

Master Reveill landed on the bridge in a flutter of shadows and spoke with a voice as certain as the grave – “the Master of the House is Callimar Daevion'lyr.”

There came a wave of quiet whispers and murmurs of assent, then the members of the House turned and vanished into the dusk as they returned to their colleges.

--

“He is a good man,” Sorrel watched Callimar walk slowly towards the College of Persuasion.

Ja'Sathriel turned to her incredulously. “A good man? His profession is death, and he excels at it. For money.”

Sorrel inclined her head cautiously. “If Callimar were here, he would say you find this so difficult because you think there are the good people and the bad people,” she said thoughtfully. “He would say you’re wrong. There are, always and only, the bad people, but some of them are on opposite sides. True, he does collect rare thin porcelain and turn it over and over in his blue-white fingers while distant screams echo from the depths of the dungeons. He likes to use the word ‘exquisite’ and when he blinks, they mark it off on the calendar. But he is scrupulously even-handed in his malice and cruelty. I think that’s what I like about him. In a world where everyone has something against someone else for how they look or what they think or who they love or simply their beliefs, I find his ability to be unfair and unjust to everyone without fear or favour to be the closest thing to goodness I can be certain of.”

“It’ll end in trouble, Darkfire,’ Ja'Sathriel sighed. “But then, in my experience, practically everything does. That is the nature of things. All we can do is sing as we go.”

“Why does it matter to you anyway, all of this?” Sorrel swept her hands around at the garden and the craters and the corpses.

“Because I am your guardian angel and your happiness is my charge,” Ja'Sathriel looked up into the night.

Then Sorrel finally turned to look at him. “You are my what? Forgive me but what the holy fuck? Every time you left my heart begged you to stay,” she met his eyes, hers burning furiously. “Are you telling me I had three father figures and still no-one turned up at my sports day?”

“You had to learn to ask,” Ja'Sathriel shrugged.

“Don’t give me that,” Sorrel practically shouted, then paused. She had never seen an angel look awkward before.

She outstretched her arms. Ja'Sathriel looked around uneasily.

“If you tell anyone, I will rend them,” he hissed.

“Promises promises,” Sorrel looked into his eyes.

And the archangel Ja'Sathriel gathered Sorrel Darkfire into his arms and hugged her.

--

The corridor walls of the College of Persuasion were lined with books where they were not lined with devices, preserved specimens, suits of armour or mementos from satisfied customers. All were deadly. The interior designers were clearly going for ‘gothic sublime.’ Labyrinthine hallways and levels disoriented newcomers, and back passages into nearly all the chambers allowed students to sneak around the castle unnoticed at all times.

Sorrel wandered through libraries and training rooms, armouries and laboratories, classrooms and torture chambers before she came to a long, high-ceilinged corridor with countless identical doors leading off. Every step she took was observed by curious students. Some drew themselves to attention as she passed. Others looked away. A few hailed her as Specialist. One or two called her Mistress.

At the end of the corridor, she found the door to the Masters Chambers narrowly open. She knocked and heard an impatient sigh from within so pushed her way in.

These were Callimar’s receiving rooms, so they looked almost decent. Few of the books on the shelves were forbidden, the plants were neither poisonous nor carnivorous and the majority of the weaponry was battlefield legal.

The carpet was old and threadbare, stained in the usual places. And at the far end, his desk next to a crackling fire, sat the Master of the House, his fingers steepled, his eyes hooded as he watched her approach.

“Ah, Darkfire,” he almost smiled. “I appear to have failed in my training. What is the first rule when your allies deploy invisibility?”

“No area of effect attacks as they will have penetrated the foe,” Sorrel nodded. “Honestly, I had my mind on other things. But it worked out.”

“We were lucky,” Callimar shrugged.

“No,” Sorrel pulled out the visitor’s chair and sat without invitation. “Everything that happened today was inevitable. It is what we have both been working towards and we are not people to be trifled with.”

Callimar finally smiled, grim though it was. “Have you considered my offer?”

“You haven’t actually made the offer,” Sorrel pointed out.

“Everything that happened today was inevitable. It is what we have both been working towards and we are not people to be trifled with,” his smile vanished. “The offer was made when you were just a trainee, visiting the Dark Basement for the first time and you know that full well.”

“Yes, I suppose I do,” Sorrel nodded. “But things have changed since then. Until very recently I would have served under you with pleasure and taught these children some real fieldcraft. But…”

“But the three sisters,” Callimar rolled his eyes. “I knew I should have let them perish.”

Sorrel’s eyes blazed. “What part did you play in the threat to my sisters?”

Callimar shrugged. “I had no part to play in any of that.”

Sorrel stared at him. “I find that hard to believe. If your hand had not been raised in my favour I would not have survived the devoted attention of the College of Wisdom. You knew even my room. Why did you not paint a target on my back?”

Callimar shifted uneasily. “I suppose I may have grown slightly fond of you.”

Sorrel leaned back in her chair with a small smile. “That’s what I think I travelled two continents and nearly fought a thousand assassins to hear.”

“You are one of the finest I have trained,” he pushed a sheaf of paper towards her. “The offer is here, it is non-revocable, non-transferable and one time only. You know the penalty for refusing the House.”

“And yet, I must refuse,” Sorrel met his eyes. “Further, I must leave again, and I do not know if I will return.”

“Sorrel Darkfire, the only way to leave the employ of the House is in a coffin,” Callimar raised an eyebrow.

“Then, Master, issue your decision.”

“You really are the most irritating of all the Specialists I have trained,” he sighed. “Very well. I choose as Master of the House to spare your life. You are no longer a Specialist in the college. You cannot call on the House or any of its servants for help or support. You are in the world alone. Your loyalty is no longer required. Sorrel Darkfire the Specialist can ask for nothing.”

Sorrel stood, surprised to find she felt a stab of pain.

“Sit down,” he tutted. “I haven’t finished. But Sorrel Darkfire my friend can ask me for anything, and I will always provide.”

There was a long silence as they regarded each other affectionately.

“My loyalty to the Master of the House is unchanging as long as you are in the post,” she said eventually. “And I look forward to our next meeting with gratitude.”

--

They arrived on Tato Street as dawn rose above Daring Heights. Ja'Sathriel’s strands of teleportation magic drifted into the chill morning air as he surveyed the party then, to Sorrel’s immense surprise, bowed low.

“My ward has chosen her friends well,” he stood and reached the tip of his finger out to brush each forehead, imparting the slightest spark of divine inspiration into each. Then he took Sorrel’s hands and soft moonlight poured from him into the dark bracers Callimar had passed to her.

“Let these become the Bracers of the Moon,” he smiled. “The cunning of the House, the divine light of the goddess, a most unusual combination for a most unusual woman. Since first I met your mother I always knew…”

Sorrel’s eyes widened. “You knew my mother?”

Ja'Sathriel clamped his lips shut and hung his head. “There are things you are not to know yet, Sorrel Darkfire, and I have spoken out of turn. But we have known you from the moment you were born. You are part of a story that will become legend and the Darkfire sisters’ names will inspire legions in ages to come. That, however, all assumes one thing. That you are able to keep them alive for the next ten odd years or so. So many hopes rest on the four of you.”

He raised his gaze to take in Kavel, the blood brother, Velania, the healer-sister, Beets, who knew no fear in defence of her friends, Marto, his soul written through with loyalty and honour, and Veridian, who could change the fabric of reality.

“Perhaps not four after all,” he said thoughtfully. “What is this place Kantas that changes history just for fun?”

“Comrade,” Kavel stepped forward and looked up at the angel. “What are you going to do about your sword in Portal Square?”

Ja'Sathriel laughed like stars erupting gouts of pure radiance and placed his hand on Kavel’s shoulder.

“I think it suits the place,” he said eventually. “I think I might leave it there a little while longer.”

And he was gone.

--

Sorrel sat alone in Sylvia’s house. Kavel had gone to Nathalie. Velania she was sure had gone to the house in woods where her risen devil lay. Marto was back in Hillboro taking care of anyone who came near. Beets was crafting wonders. And Veridian… she felt it better not to speculate.

She would travel to Nathalie’s in the morning to spend time with her brother and her heart swelled at the thought of his happiness, seeing him bound towards her as she stepped through the connecting door. If it hadn’t been for Kavel, she doubted she would have made it this far. For that matter, it was true of all of them. She had thought of herself as a lone assassin – she even dressed the part – but she had failed to see that she was part of a team.

The dust didn’t seem to settle in this kitchen, she noticed. It was as if the house still contained the living.

She thought back to her parents desolate house on Baldur’s Gate docks, to the echoing halls of the College of Persuasion and the pilgrim’s rooms in the Temple. Empty and lonely. Places to shelter, houses but not homes.

Her sisters were waiting at the Tower of the Moon. Idly she counted the rooms here, imagining Lyra choosing the attic, Aries insisting on the armoury and Vega bustling through the corridors with food and kindly advice.

She could hear their laughter, their tears, their squabbles and their battles to be first in the bathroom.

And it felt like she belonged.