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Lingering outside of the local mercantile, Voreyn Zahir is busy shuffling through pieces of parchment clutched tightly in her pale hands. Off to her right, a young pageboy in simple Zahir livery is bouncing around from foot to foot in order to keep himself entertained. Before long, the Duchess grows impatient with his bouncing around in her periphery, and she snaps at the boy: "Henry, do be STILL, please. We will be leaving in just a few minutes. Why don't you go see to the horses? I've a mind to take a jaunt to Eventide to view the construction."
From the shadows lingers a solitary figure, shrouded in dark, muted shades, assisting in blending into the surroundings. The figure is silent, barely moving, very easily overlooked.
Not prone to scouring the shadows, Voreyn fails to notice anyone creeping about. Instead, she pauses on one particular missive and frowns down at the parchment. A vertical crease - a "stress line" - appears centered on her brow just above her nose. Her lips turn down at the corners, and with a quiet huff she crumples up the letter in her hand and shoves it down into a skirt pocket. "Spineless swine, honestly," she mutters to herself before glancing up from beneath her lashes. "Henry, go check on the horses," she orders, spying the boy wandering perilously close to the shadows and out of the flickering sphere of safety cast by the lanterns hanging outside the mercantile. With a sigh, the pageboy flitters off toward the still busy stables to check on their horses.
~A word, if you would, Duchess.~ The resonating voice creeps into Voreyn's mind, hovering on the outskirts of consciousness. ~Do not sic your guards on me. If I meant you harm, I would have seen it done already. I would like to leave this encounter with everyone as mentally intact as they are now.~
At first, Voreyn glances behind her as if expecting someone to have come up to speak to her. She is startled into gasping at the fact that nobody is in her immediate vicinity, and the shock is enough to cause her to sway on her feet. Reaching out with one hand, she braces herself against the side of the building, standing just beneath one of the permanent lanterns. The other hand is still clutching her paperwork, and she quickly stuffs it beneath her elbow while simultaneously peering about as if perhaps to catch sight of her invisible stalker.
"Who is it? Who's there?" she whispers, not expecting anyone to actually answer her. It is quite possible she is merely going mad--but just in case the voice is /real/, she does nothing to warrant the attention of her guards just yet.
A soft chuckle slips into Voreyn's mind. ~Why, I am the mage everyone fears so much,~ the voice replies. ~But I come on a mission of non-violence. Find us a place where we shall not be disturbed, and we may speak of why I am here, seeking you out.~
The Duchess hisses loudly, a sharp and angry inhalation of breath between her teeth. She spares another flicker of a glance about her before stepping away from the mercantile building and tugging her cloak straight defiantly. "Well then /you/ are just going to have to wait a few minutes," she mutters beneath her breath, reaching up to rub her nose in order to hide her moving lips from anyone who might be looking her way. No need to think the woman is going insane, after all.
Striding quickly toward the stables, she shoves her papers into a satchel and thrusts it toward her pageboy who is busy feeding carrots to their mounts. "Take this, Henry, and keep it safe. Do not stray from the stables until I return. I have some business to attend to, and I will be back shortly. Reins, please." The last is directed toward the stableboy, who hands Voreyn her horse's reins. Without missing a beat, she slips a foot into the stirrup and swings herself up to sit sidesaddle like a lady. Another moment is spent arranging her skirts artfully about her bent knees before shaking the reins and sending her horse off into a canter down Zahir road that leads out of Fanghill and on its way to Hedgehem. "This way, there is a clearing nearby half a mile down the road, invisible nuisance, but if you want to kill me you had best make it thorough. My guards are everywhere."
~I will follow,~ the voice affirms, ~And as I said, Duchess, if I had wished you dead, you would already be as such.~
"Hmph, much like you killed the last Duchy, I imagine," Voreyn grumbles, whipping her reins and kicking her horse up into a canter. The buildings of Fanghill melt away as she exits the township and follows a curve in the road, putting her out of direct eyesight from the guards at the gate. Just before she follows the curve through, she veers off to the left sharply and disappears between two innocuous pines. It only takes a minute of guiding her mount carefully through the underbrush that she escapes the forested confines into a clearing lit only by moonlight and echoing with the rustling sounds of nocturnal activity.
"Here, Mage," she calls loudly now, turning her mount about in a circle and scanning the treeline carefully for any human-shaped shadows. "Here we can speak freely, and you need no longer to invade my mind. It makes me skull itch and leaves my ears ringing."
There is a rustling along the trees before they part, but no figure emerges. It's as if they move of their own accord. Footsteps rustle along the grassy clearing. Out of nothingness comes the shrouded figure of Seventeen, fading into the light. The cloak's hood hides any facial features or allows too much to be discerned of the body type.
"Who says I had any part to play in the assassination of the last Duchy?" The voice is feminine, though lowered from its natural timbre. "You are braver than I would have thought, Zahir," the Shadow figure muses. A smile can be heard on the voice. "You may refer to me as Seventeen."
The near invisible figure is enough to disturb Voreyn's mount, and she takes another minute of jerking on the reins and cooing quietly to the mare to calm it down considerably. Even so, she allows the horse to back up several steps from the shifting, shadowy waver of "air" in front of her. "It takes a brave, and possibly foolish, woman to demand her title from the Emperor. I consider myself to be a little bit of both." She frowns deeply, reaching forward to stroke her mount's neck gently in order to keep it under control and some semblance of security. "So I am to call you 'Seventeen'? Is that the number of people who have fallen victim to the Shadow through you? Why are you here? Why do you want to talk to /me/, of all people?"
A chuckle emerges from beneath the hood, "Oh, you have sass. I quite enjoy that," she muses with delight. "No, Zahir, I came before you tonight to give you fair warning. Lomasa is mounting an attack against you," Seventeen informs. A packet of papers are withdrawn from beneath the cloak, tied together by a piece of twine, and tossed down at the Duchess's feet. "Evidence, as I know you would not believe it from the lips of a mage. Why else would so large a force be drawn into one township?"
The packet are careful recordings of weapons distributions, guard rotations and even a few scraps of partial correspondence that could indicate the beginning of an invasion force.
This bit of information startles Voreyn into silence for a moment. Her eyebrows shoot upward, rising as high as they can possibly go and threatening to disappear into her hairline altogether. Her eyes are wide and glittering in the moonlight, and the sudden tension in her body causes her mount to dance sideways and whinny nervously. Shaking herself out of her stupor, the Duchess once again calms her mare, but this time she slips down from her saddle and lands upon the soft grass with a quiet thump of velvet slippers.
Clutching the reins in her left hand, she advances on the wavering image slowly, eyes focused on the packet. "Why?" she finally inquires in a hushed voice, swallowing audibly. Her gaze rises and she casts a hasty glance around the clearing as if checking for anyone spying on this rendezvous. "Why would you give these to me? What do you want in exchange for this information?"
"My reasons are my own," Seventeen says gruffly. "But perhaps I wish to see a better Fastheld, and if there is something I could do to see that vision come true, then I will see it done, no matter the cost." Shoulders lift into a shrug. "I believe this concludes our business, Zahir." She gestures back the way they came. "Safe passage, as promised. I will do you no harm, as you are no threat to me and I do not kill innocents."
A few more steps forward, and Voreyn leans over to snatch up the most precious set of documents she has possibly ever touched. She turns to tuck them into a saddlebag, cinching it shut tightly before glancing back to where she imagines the mage must be standing. "I have to admit that I have no more idea who you are now that we have met, mage," she answers quietly, and her lips turn down into a severe frown. "Unfortunately, I cannot guarantee your own safety should you ever be revealed to me. I am not a particularly pious woman, but neither am I a traitor to my people."
With a sigh, she turns and swings herself back up into her saddle, taking a moment to adjust her skirts and settle the reins 'just so' within her fists. "For your sake, and because I would hate to have to kill someone who has just attempted to save me from possible ruin, I would recommend that you stay away from my townships. Light ble--well, my apologies for being so crass in my farewell. Safe travels to you, Mage. Go, Redleaf." The horse takes off into a nervous trot heading back out of the
There is silence from the mage for a moment before a quiet laugh. "I come and go as I will, Zahir," she says softly, perhaps too softly for Voreyn to hear. "Because that is what is needed of me." She shakes her head, "Be wary in how you use the information, or it could still lead to your ruin." With a flicker, Seventeen is gone.