Prisantha wipes the ice shavings from her crystal ball of true seeing, and surprisingly, determines to reunite herself with her most prized possession by scrying Halrond. The head of Tritherion’s secular organization is seen riding his horse into a lather across the scrub-plains of Tenh.
“I suppose this means my demand was a success,” she muses. “Although, I am a bit disappointed at his resources.”
“Really,” Jespo says, “a man of his stature riding a horse! How mundane.”
“Halrond has always favored the direct over the supernatural,” Dabus says. “It makes him a better politician, I think.”
“Let us concern ourselves with our enemies,” Sonahmiin says. “Scry the mage.”
Prisantha does so, and disturbingly, her crystal ball reveals a battlefield scene. In a tree-lined river valley, two groups of armored knights hack at one another from horseback. Butrain’s banner can be seen, along with the insignia of several notable Southern Lords. They are opposed by many of the Northern knights who were just yesterday calling for the Liberators’ arrest.
Piscean stands next to the boy-king Pelegrin, on a rise removed from the general melee. He is cloaked by an illusion, however, and seems to mundane eyes to be Furyondy’s new master of arms—Esril’s replacement!
“Where is Esril, anyway?” Jespo wonders, but receives no reply.
As they watch the scene, Piscean is counseling the young king in a fatherly tone. “Choose well my liege,” he says. “You must take care to fight someone worthy of your station.”
As Prisantha breaks her scrying, the Liberators of Tenh discuss their strategy.
“Let us not repeat the debacle in front of the Lords,” Prisantha suggests. “We may find ourselves fighting far too many foes if we enter that battle. We should bring Piscean to us.”
“Well, that would be a refreshing change,” Jespo agrees.
Sonahmiin motions the group for silence, and clasps his hands together. He speaks a wish in Elder Celestial, beseeching Tritherion to return the Liberators to the same state of mind in which they began the day—fully rested, and with a full compliment of spells.
“Well, thank you,” Prisantha says, curtseying to the angel.
“Don’t thank me, earn it,” Sonahmiin replies curtly. “Gratitude is for the hollow halls of Mount Celestia. When you speak to me, you speak to Tritherion, and only deeds interest Him.” And in Prisantha’s head, he sternly adds, “And stop sending dreams to the Liberator!”
Prisantha responds with a sassy wink and a grin. She then demands that Piscean, “Return to your demi-plane at once, and join the Liberator. We are waiting for you, please hurry.” Pris receives the reply “Just a moment, dear,” and says, “I think I got him, but I cannot be sure. We should wait for him here.”
Lucius shakes his head. “All this mumbo-jumbo,” he says. “Did it work? Didn’t it? Here or there what does it really matter? I’m going to stab him in the same spot; his f-cking spine.”
“I want to dispel one of his enchantments,” Gwendolyn says, excitedly. “He is the most powerful wizard I have ever helped to kill.”
“As for myself,” Jespo says, “I resolve not to die.”
“Good thinking, baby!” Regda exclaims.
“You have been getting all Thrommel on us recently,” Heydricus concurs. “I like this strategy; we set an ambush, and no one dies.”
