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<blockquote data-quote="RangerWickett" data-source="post: 5124594" data-attributes="member: 63"><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><strong>Chapter Seven</strong></span></p><p></p><p>“I can’t believe you were fool enough to come back here,” said the guard.</p><p></p><p>Rantle hid his amusement at the similarity to the previous night. This time, however, he was trying to weasel his way into the home of Councilwoman Bhari, and the guard trying to stop him likely did not want to maim him. Unfortunately, Rantle was exhausted from a night without sleep filled with a great deal of running and hiding, and so he knew he was being less persuasive than usual.</p><p></p><p>“Just,” he started, “just get Pravati out here. If she sees me in the state I’m in, and doesn’t want to let me in, I’ll go. Are you going to turn me out at a time like this?”</p><p></p><p>Of the three guards at the gate, only one spoke, and if Rantle were better-rested he would have been able to remember his name. However, they looked like they had not gotten much sleep either, and Rantle guessed their ceremonial breastplates and greaves had been put to use the night before keeping people from looting the manor. Conspicuously, one of the guards was missing his pike.</p><p></p><p>Like most of the council members, Pravati Bhari had a manor house near Summer’s Bluff, the plateau above which the colossus of Coaltongue towered. The rich manors of the central district consisted of fenced-off compounds of beautiful multi-story buildings connected by glass-windowed skybridges so their owners never had to go outside. The merchants who actually owned Pravati’s manor only used two of the six buildings in the compound, and Pravati’s only family were her parents who had their own home, so when Rantle had stayed here he had practically had three entire four-story homes to himself.</p><p></p><p>The guard frowned at Diogenes. “Who’s he?”</p><p></p><p>“This man saved my life,” Rantle said. “And he can help the councilwoman. Please, let us in.”</p><p></p><p> “She’s at a meeting now,” the guard said. “Go inside and wait in the den. We’ll let you know when she gets back. Don’t roam.”</p><p></p><p>The smell of ash hung thick in the early morning air. The Ragesian dractyl riders had focused their attacks here in the central district, and a few nearby buildings had burned down to husks of scorched stone and wood. The roads were wide enough here that few fires had spread, however, and Councilwoman Bhari’s manor was untouched.</p><p></p><p>As they headed toward the first building, Diogenes whispered to Rantle, “You lead an interesting life.”</p><p></p><p>Rantle casually led the wizard inside and to the foyer. The spacious home felt hollow, its few meagerly decorations being those adornments left by the previous councilman’s family whom Pravati had forced out two years earlier.</p><p></p><p>They deposited all they had stolen from Shealis on the foyer’s plain table. Rantle lay the two-handed sword against the wall, frowning briefly, wondering whether it was worth the effort he was putting into carrying it along. </p><p></p><p>With a shrug, Rantle threw himself into a leather chair, then groaned. Diogenes sat on a couch across from him and pulled out a cigarette.</p><p></p><p>“Explain,” he said with a yawn, “and make it the quick version. I hope this woman of yours takes her good time getting back.”</p><p></p><p>“We can’t take too long,” Rantle said. “Who knows if Torrent has already left the city?”</p><p></p><p>Diogenes slumped back wearily. “We’ll get up in a few hours, and I can try to figure out the spell with a clear head. Just tell me my bedtime story. What’s your history with this councilwoman?”</p><p></p><p>“Fine,” Rantle said. </p><p></p><p>After a moment to gather his thoughts, he explained.</p><p></p><p>“Three months back, this guy Dirus and I were trying to sneak in here and make off with some jingle in the buildings Pravati never uses. I didn’t know her back then. She stumbled upon me during the job, and I made up a lie that she fell for.”</p><p></p><p>“Must be gullible,” Diogenes chuckled. “‘Pravati.’ She’s Chathan?”</p><p></p><p>Rantle shrugged. “Her family came from Chathus after it was conquered. Her grandfather was apparently in the Resistance forty years ago.”</p><p></p><p>“What did you tell her?” Diogenes said. “The lie.”</p><p></p><p>“I said I was a poet who had been performing for the Weyne family, who actually own these buildings. I said I was walking through the emptiness, looking for my muse.”</p><p></p><p>Diogenes lit his cigarette with his wand.</p><p></p><p>“After that,” Rantle said, “Dirus and I figured we could take our time. I kept slinging bad poems at Prati, and she kept inviting me over, which kept her busy whenever Dirus was in the other buildings carrying stuff away. But Dirus got gold stuck under his nails, and took enough that Prati’s guards started to notice. The guy at the gate, . . . is his name Linard? Anyway, he suspected me and laid a trap. The next time I was over, I went to check on Dirus while Prati was sleeping, and the guard found us both.”</p><p></p><p>“Let’s see,” Diogenes said. “Guard’s still alive. You’ve still got all your parts. Did you tell him Dirus was the muse you’d been looking for?”</p><p></p><p>Rantle sighed. “Nah. I saved my skin. Ended up that Prati believed I had fought the ‘scoundrel’ in order to protect her.”</p><p></p><p>Diogenes shifted on the couch, trying to get comfortable. He put out the cigarette on the floor, finding it difficult to smoke while lying on his back. </p><p></p><p>“Why’d you leave?” he asked.</p><p></p><p>Rantle leaned back and took a moment to answer.</p><p></p><p>“I kept coming for two months, and eventually I was staying here full-time. There was all this news about the Ragesians coming, and I was worried about my sister. So I took all I thought I’d be able to fence, and decided I’d get Katrina to leave with me when I saw her next.”</p><p></p><p>“Katrina is the sister you have this unhealthy obsession with?”</p><p></p><p>Rantle snorted in frustration, but nodded.</p><p></p><p>Diogenes shifted again, then sat up and took off his coat for the first time since Rantle had met him. To take off his coat he had to slip his right arm out of a harness, revealing that what Rantle had thought was his right arm tucked into a pocket was just a carved piece of wood. The shoulders of the coat were broader than his actual shoulders, supported by a frame, so that there was plenty of room for both his real arm and fake arm. Without the coat, Diogenes was fairly slender, with a bit of pudge at his waist. Whatever hair he was losing from the top of his head had apparently migrated to his chest and arms.</p><p></p><p>Rantle gestured at the coat.</p><p></p><p>“Is that some sort of magic?”</p><p></p><p>Diogenes lay the strange coat on the ground, folding it so the fake arm would be less apparent.</p><p></p><p>“We’re both liars. But I plan mine, which is why I’m better. Another wizard sees this, he thinks my hand’s in my pocket, so I can’t grab a wand or cord to cast a spell. How clever I am.”</p><p></p><p>With a contented sigh, Diogenes lay back on the couch and closed his eyes. Rantle shrugged and did the same in his chair.</p><p></p><p>“Oh, Diogenes,” Rantle said. “When we see Prati, call me Roscoe. You know?”</p><p></p><p>“Sure,” Diogenes said, “but only if you call me ‘The Great Diogenes.’”</p><p></p><p style="text-align: center">* * *</p><p></p><p>A tender, desperate pout crossed Pravati’s lips, and she embraced Rantle.</p><p></p><p>“Must you go, Roscoe? I can find a dozen other soldiers who could-”</p><p></p><p>“No,” Rantle said. “You need soldiers here. I am but a poet, yet this is a chance I can be of help to our city. I will do whatever it takes to keep you safe, even if it means going away again.”</p><p></p><p>Pravati pressed her face against his chest, her perfumed hair brushing across his mouth and nose.</p><p></p><p>“My new year’s dream was to see you again. I was so frightened when you vanished.”</p><p></p><p>“The city needed me,” Rantle said. “Don’t worry. I handled myself fine against Ragesian spies, and this is just the road.”</p><p></p><p>Pravati nodded bravely. She looked over her shoulder to the study, from which chanting and strange incenses were emanating.</p><p></p><p>“The Great Diogenes will protect you?” she asked.</p><p></p><p>“Yes my love, just as he’s protecting this house.” Rantle grinned daringly. “The Ragesians would be fools to try to stop us. Now, Prati, we’re going to need to leave soon.”</p><p></p><p>Pravati squeezed him tightly, hints of tears in her eyes. She looked up longingly and whispered, “Fate is so cruel. I see you again, and there is not even time for us to go to bed one final time.”</p><p></p><p>Rantle bit his lip and looked away.</p><p></p><p>From the other room, the chanting stopped and Diogenes called out.</p><p></p><p>“Oh, woe! This spell does vex my powers mightily. It will be long before I can bend the arcane forces to my sorcerous whim. An hour, probably, in case anyone cares.”</p><p></p><p>Rantle looked down at Pravati’s dark, hopeful eyes.</p><p></p><p>“Fate is never cruel to true love,” he said.</p><p></p><p style="text-align: center">* * *</p><p></p><p>Rantle, cleanly dressed, looked down over Diogenes’s shoulder at the mirror he had laid upon the dining room table. Beside it lay a frayed rope and a small cup filled with smoldering incense, and one of the books they had stolen from Shealis sat open nearby. Other random ornaments for the new year’s wishing festival cluttered the edges of the table.</p><p></p><p>“So that’s where the mirror went off to,” Rantle said. “I was going to shave. You need this for the magic?”</p><p></p><p>Diogenes looked at him like he was a child stating the obvious, and he nodded slowly.</p><p></p><p>“Did she complain about you being so scruffy?” he asked. “I can wait if you need to look handsome before we go fleeing for our lives. Or shall we get on with this?”</p><p></p><p>“Nah,” Rantle smiled. “I’m satisfied for now.”</p><p></p><p>“I’m so proud of you,” Diogenes said. “Alright, so here’s how this works. While our benefactor is busy getting us what we need for the journey, I concentrate on the person we want, and if I can keep a clear enough image in my mind, eventually her current location will appear in the mirror. Then if I want I can deliver a message of up to twenty-five words to her, and she can reply in kind.”</p><p></p><p>“Twenty-five words?” Rantle asked.</p><p></p><p>Diogenes shrugged. “The scrying spell Shealis had a focus from was of alchemical origin. Alchemy is old formulaic magic, with countless arbitrary rules, and why am I bothering explaining this to you? Do you care?”</p><p></p><p>“Not really,” Rantle chuckled.</p><p></p><p>“Twenty-five words then.” </p><p></p><p>Diogenes turned his attention back to the mirror. Rantle watched for a moment, then threw himself into another chair at the table. He idly picked up a wishing urn from the table and shook it to make sure it was empty.</p><p></p><p>“Did you make a wish yet?” he asked.</p><p></p><p>“No.” Diogenes didn’t look up. “As much as it shocked me to learn that our little festival actually does possess some magical heft, I know better than to wish for something. You never quite get what you want.”</p><p></p><p>“I need something new to wish for. I usually wished, ‘If I get arrested, let it be for something worthwhile.’ It always worked so far.”</p><p></p><p>“So what worthwhile things did you get arrested for?”</p><p></p><p>“Never got arrested.” Rantle grinned.</p><p></p><p>Diogenes huffed a short laugh, then went back to focusing on Shealis’s book. Rantle sat silently across from him, pondering what to wish for, but then after a few moments, Diogenes grumbled and frowned.</p><p></p><p>“I knew there would be a problem,” Rantle said.</p><p></p><p>“No, just a possible one. It’s technical, but this is something you <em>should</em> care about. Many types of magic, like this scrying spell, can be thwarted if the target’s mind resists.”</p><p></p><p>Rantle waited, hoping Diogenes would get the cue that he had no idea what that meant.</p><p></p><p>Diogenes sighed. “Alright. If I were to try to make you confess to that woman about how much you’ve stolen from her, I would have to connect to your mind and force you to do what I want. You wouldn’t want me to do that, and the psyche shield of every conscious mind resists hostile compulsions.”</p><p></p><p>“‘My mind won’t do what you want it to’?” Rantle said, guessing the meaning of the wizard’s explanation. “That’s comforting.”</p><p></p><p>“Effectively. There are ways around it. I can direct more energy into the spell, though that’s harder with an alchemical ritual like this. I’m using someone else’s array, so everything is predetermined, and I can’t easily alter it. A personal item of the target makes a link easier. Or if I suggest something you secretly want, even if you don’t want to admit it, you’re more willing to accept it. All those let the spell do it’s job.</p><p></p><p>“But,” Diogenes continued, “if we’re keeping the same sort of good luck that let us get this far, this ‘Torrent’ will recognize you as not an enemy, and will want to be found by you. So stick around, and try not to fall asleep.”</p><p></p><p>Rantle settled into a chair beside Diogenes and busied himself writing a letter while the wizard chanted under his breath. It was nearly noon, though the sky was still dark from smoke. Rantle was anxious to leave, but all he could do was sit quietly, ponder the news Pravati had shared about the fighting, and scratch out a farewell to hopefully apologize to her for his deception.</p><p></p><p>Pravati had gained her position because of popular support for her pledges to work against corruption, but Rantle knew that the guilds each had a hand in convincing the merchants to endorse her. Pravati meant well, but she could not see her own puppet strings. Rantle wanted to think his parting note to her might prompt her to actually become the decent leader she wanted to be.</p><p></p><p>Finally, after ten minutes of writing and listening to Diogenes drone, the room began to brighten like the clouds were parting, but Rantle realized the glow was coming from the surface of the mirror.</p><p></p><p>“That’s her!” Rantle said.</p><p></p><p>Rantle’s initial enthusiasm faded quickly. In the shining image, he could see Torrent, as well as the woman with her whose name Rantle had forgotten, and what might have been the top of the ugly jispin man’s head. Their surroundings looked like roughly-carved stone, fairly dark, but with an angled square of light, slashed into sections by strips of shadow, like sunshine coming through a window. Or, as Rantle soon realized, the bars of a prison cell.</p><p></p><p>The three of them were sitting on the ground, hunched low and huddled in traveling cloaks, and each was manacled, hands to feet.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="RangerWickett, post: 5124594, member: 63"] [size=3][b]Chapter Seven[/b][/size] “I can’t believe you were fool enough to come back here,” said the guard. Rantle hid his amusement at the similarity to the previous night. This time, however, he was trying to weasel his way into the home of Councilwoman Bhari, and the guard trying to stop him likely did not want to maim him. Unfortunately, Rantle was exhausted from a night without sleep filled with a great deal of running and hiding, and so he knew he was being less persuasive than usual. “Just,” he started, “just get Pravati out here. If she sees me in the state I’m in, and doesn’t want to let me in, I’ll go. Are you going to turn me out at a time like this?” Of the three guards at the gate, only one spoke, and if Rantle were better-rested he would have been able to remember his name. However, they looked like they had not gotten much sleep either, and Rantle guessed their ceremonial breastplates and greaves had been put to use the night before keeping people from looting the manor. Conspicuously, one of the guards was missing his pike. Like most of the council members, Pravati Bhari had a manor house near Summer’s Bluff, the plateau above which the colossus of Coaltongue towered. The rich manors of the central district consisted of fenced-off compounds of beautiful multi-story buildings connected by glass-windowed skybridges so their owners never had to go outside. The merchants who actually owned Pravati’s manor only used two of the six buildings in the compound, and Pravati’s only family were her parents who had their own home, so when Rantle had stayed here he had practically had three entire four-story homes to himself. The guard frowned at Diogenes. “Who’s he?” “This man saved my life,” Rantle said. “And he can help the councilwoman. Please, let us in.” “She’s at a meeting now,” the guard said. “Go inside and wait in the den. We’ll let you know when she gets back. Don’t roam.” The smell of ash hung thick in the early morning air. The Ragesian dractyl riders had focused their attacks here in the central district, and a few nearby buildings had burned down to husks of scorched stone and wood. The roads were wide enough here that few fires had spread, however, and Councilwoman Bhari’s manor was untouched. As they headed toward the first building, Diogenes whispered to Rantle, “You lead an interesting life.” Rantle casually led the wizard inside and to the foyer. The spacious home felt hollow, its few meagerly decorations being those adornments left by the previous councilman’s family whom Pravati had forced out two years earlier. They deposited all they had stolen from Shealis on the foyer’s plain table. Rantle lay the two-handed sword against the wall, frowning briefly, wondering whether it was worth the effort he was putting into carrying it along. With a shrug, Rantle threw himself into a leather chair, then groaned. Diogenes sat on a couch across from him and pulled out a cigarette. “Explain,” he said with a yawn, “and make it the quick version. I hope this woman of yours takes her good time getting back.” “We can’t take too long,” Rantle said. “Who knows if Torrent has already left the city?” Diogenes slumped back wearily. “We’ll get up in a few hours, and I can try to figure out the spell with a clear head. Just tell me my bedtime story. What’s your history with this councilwoman?” “Fine,” Rantle said. After a moment to gather his thoughts, he explained. “Three months back, this guy Dirus and I were trying to sneak in here and make off with some jingle in the buildings Pravati never uses. I didn’t know her back then. She stumbled upon me during the job, and I made up a lie that she fell for.” “Must be gullible,” Diogenes chuckled. “‘Pravati.’ She’s Chathan?” Rantle shrugged. “Her family came from Chathus after it was conquered. Her grandfather was apparently in the Resistance forty years ago.” “What did you tell her?” Diogenes said. “The lie.” “I said I was a poet who had been performing for the Weyne family, who actually own these buildings. I said I was walking through the emptiness, looking for my muse.” Diogenes lit his cigarette with his wand. “After that,” Rantle said, “Dirus and I figured we could take our time. I kept slinging bad poems at Prati, and she kept inviting me over, which kept her busy whenever Dirus was in the other buildings carrying stuff away. But Dirus got gold stuck under his nails, and took enough that Prati’s guards started to notice. The guy at the gate, . . . is his name Linard? Anyway, he suspected me and laid a trap. The next time I was over, I went to check on Dirus while Prati was sleeping, and the guard found us both.” “Let’s see,” Diogenes said. “Guard’s still alive. You’ve still got all your parts. Did you tell him Dirus was the muse you’d been looking for?” Rantle sighed. “Nah. I saved my skin. Ended up that Prati believed I had fought the ‘scoundrel’ in order to protect her.” Diogenes shifted on the couch, trying to get comfortable. He put out the cigarette on the floor, finding it difficult to smoke while lying on his back. “Why’d you leave?” he asked. Rantle leaned back and took a moment to answer. “I kept coming for two months, and eventually I was staying here full-time. There was all this news about the Ragesians coming, and I was worried about my sister. So I took all I thought I’d be able to fence, and decided I’d get Katrina to leave with me when I saw her next.” “Katrina is the sister you have this unhealthy obsession with?” Rantle snorted in frustration, but nodded. Diogenes shifted again, then sat up and took off his coat for the first time since Rantle had met him. To take off his coat he had to slip his right arm out of a harness, revealing that what Rantle had thought was his right arm tucked into a pocket was just a carved piece of wood. The shoulders of the coat were broader than his actual shoulders, supported by a frame, so that there was plenty of room for both his real arm and fake arm. Without the coat, Diogenes was fairly slender, with a bit of pudge at his waist. Whatever hair he was losing from the top of his head had apparently migrated to his chest and arms. Rantle gestured at the coat. “Is that some sort of magic?” Diogenes lay the strange coat on the ground, folding it so the fake arm would be less apparent. “We’re both liars. But I plan mine, which is why I’m better. Another wizard sees this, he thinks my hand’s in my pocket, so I can’t grab a wand or cord to cast a spell. How clever I am.” With a contented sigh, Diogenes lay back on the couch and closed his eyes. Rantle shrugged and did the same in his chair. “Oh, Diogenes,” Rantle said. “When we see Prati, call me Roscoe. You know?” “Sure,” Diogenes said, “but only if you call me ‘The Great Diogenes.’” [center]* * *[/center] A tender, desperate pout crossed Pravati’s lips, and she embraced Rantle. “Must you go, Roscoe? I can find a dozen other soldiers who could-” “No,” Rantle said. “You need soldiers here. I am but a poet, yet this is a chance I can be of help to our city. I will do whatever it takes to keep you safe, even if it means going away again.” Pravati pressed her face against his chest, her perfumed hair brushing across his mouth and nose. “My new year’s dream was to see you again. I was so frightened when you vanished.” “The city needed me,” Rantle said. “Don’t worry. I handled myself fine against Ragesian spies, and this is just the road.” Pravati nodded bravely. She looked over her shoulder to the study, from which chanting and strange incenses were emanating. “The Great Diogenes will protect you?” she asked. “Yes my love, just as he’s protecting this house.” Rantle grinned daringly. “The Ragesians would be fools to try to stop us. Now, Prati, we’re going to need to leave soon.” Pravati squeezed him tightly, hints of tears in her eyes. She looked up longingly and whispered, “Fate is so cruel. I see you again, and there is not even time for us to go to bed one final time.” Rantle bit his lip and looked away. From the other room, the chanting stopped and Diogenes called out. “Oh, woe! This spell does vex my powers mightily. It will be long before I can bend the arcane forces to my sorcerous whim. An hour, probably, in case anyone cares.” Rantle looked down at Pravati’s dark, hopeful eyes. “Fate is never cruel to true love,” he said. [center]* * *[/center] Rantle, cleanly dressed, looked down over Diogenes’s shoulder at the mirror he had laid upon the dining room table. Beside it lay a frayed rope and a small cup filled with smoldering incense, and one of the books they had stolen from Shealis sat open nearby. Other random ornaments for the new year’s wishing festival cluttered the edges of the table. “So that’s where the mirror went off to,” Rantle said. “I was going to shave. You need this for the magic?” Diogenes looked at him like he was a child stating the obvious, and he nodded slowly. “Did she complain about you being so scruffy?” he asked. “I can wait if you need to look handsome before we go fleeing for our lives. Or shall we get on with this?” “Nah,” Rantle smiled. “I’m satisfied for now.” “I’m so proud of you,” Diogenes said. “Alright, so here’s how this works. While our benefactor is busy getting us what we need for the journey, I concentrate on the person we want, and if I can keep a clear enough image in my mind, eventually her current location will appear in the mirror. Then if I want I can deliver a message of up to twenty-five words to her, and she can reply in kind.” “Twenty-five words?” Rantle asked. Diogenes shrugged. “The scrying spell Shealis had a focus from was of alchemical origin. Alchemy is old formulaic magic, with countless arbitrary rules, and why am I bothering explaining this to you? Do you care?” “Not really,” Rantle chuckled. “Twenty-five words then.” Diogenes turned his attention back to the mirror. Rantle watched for a moment, then threw himself into another chair at the table. He idly picked up a wishing urn from the table and shook it to make sure it was empty. “Did you make a wish yet?” he asked. “No.” Diogenes didn’t look up. “As much as it shocked me to learn that our little festival actually does possess some magical heft, I know better than to wish for something. You never quite get what you want.” “I need something new to wish for. I usually wished, ‘If I get arrested, let it be for something worthwhile.’ It always worked so far.” “So what worthwhile things did you get arrested for?” “Never got arrested.” Rantle grinned. Diogenes huffed a short laugh, then went back to focusing on Shealis’s book. Rantle sat silently across from him, pondering what to wish for, but then after a few moments, Diogenes grumbled and frowned. “I knew there would be a problem,” Rantle said. “No, just a possible one. It’s technical, but this is something you [i]should[/i] care about. Many types of magic, like this scrying spell, can be thwarted if the target’s mind resists.” Rantle waited, hoping Diogenes would get the cue that he had no idea what that meant. Diogenes sighed. “Alright. If I were to try to make you confess to that woman about how much you’ve stolen from her, I would have to connect to your mind and force you to do what I want. You wouldn’t want me to do that, and the psyche shield of every conscious mind resists hostile compulsions.” “‘My mind won’t do what you want it to’?” Rantle said, guessing the meaning of the wizard’s explanation. “That’s comforting.” “Effectively. There are ways around it. I can direct more energy into the spell, though that’s harder with an alchemical ritual like this. I’m using someone else’s array, so everything is predetermined, and I can’t easily alter it. A personal item of the target makes a link easier. Or if I suggest something you secretly want, even if you don’t want to admit it, you’re more willing to accept it. All those let the spell do it’s job. “But,” Diogenes continued, “if we’re keeping the same sort of good luck that let us get this far, this ‘Torrent’ will recognize you as not an enemy, and will want to be found by you. So stick around, and try not to fall asleep.” Rantle settled into a chair beside Diogenes and busied himself writing a letter while the wizard chanted under his breath. It was nearly noon, though the sky was still dark from smoke. Rantle was anxious to leave, but all he could do was sit quietly, ponder the news Pravati had shared about the fighting, and scratch out a farewell to hopefully apologize to her for his deception. Pravati had gained her position because of popular support for her pledges to work against corruption, but Rantle knew that the guilds each had a hand in convincing the merchants to endorse her. Pravati meant well, but she could not see her own puppet strings. Rantle wanted to think his parting note to her might prompt her to actually become the decent leader she wanted to be. Finally, after ten minutes of writing and listening to Diogenes drone, the room began to brighten like the clouds were parting, but Rantle realized the glow was coming from the surface of the mirror. “That’s her!” Rantle said. Rantle’s initial enthusiasm faded quickly. In the shining image, he could see Torrent, as well as the woman with her whose name Rantle had forgotten, and what might have been the top of the ugly jispin man’s head. Their surroundings looked like roughly-carved stone, fairly dark, but with an angled square of light, slashed into sections by strips of shadow, like sunshine coming through a window. Or, as Rantle soon realized, the bars of a prison cell. The three of them were sitting on the ground, hunched low and huddled in traveling cloaks, and each was manacled, hands to feet. [/QUOTE]
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