"Trial for a Shudra, Trial for a Race"

Log Date:
	8/8/00

Log Cast:
	Thalia, Amipal, Faanshi, Achmed (NPC emitted by Khalid), Roxana

Log Intro:
	There are times when the life of the young shudra healer Faanshi
grows so odd that she can only wonder if she is dreaming -- and the 
aftermath of the ritual of Invoking the Flame qualifies as one of them. 
Fallen victim to the strange vision-inducing dust that masked Sylvans blew
upon the participants of the ritual, Faanshi found herself quickly ushered
away from the scene by Sumai, Warlord of Clan Messala... and not only 
carried in the Warlord's own massive arms back to the safety of Atesh-Gah,
but even given over to his Clan's shudra women for the night, so that she
might be bathed and tended, and sleep out the effects of the dust in peace
and quiet. Faanshi could not remember a time when she was ever fussed over 
so much; to be sure, her revered heart-mother Ulima had always tenderly cared
for her in her times of sickness, but not even that kind old priestess could
match the honor that the Messala women did her, bathing her in warm water,
anointing her with oil, and at last laying her down to rest swathed in
clean white linen. 
	Too dazed by the dust she had inhaled to take their ministrations
as anything other than a strangely pleasant dream, the young halfbreed 
submitted to the shudra women's care without complaint or protest, and 
slipped easily into further dreams...
	Where she was a Varati maiden of pure blood, a Warlord's daughter
with a father and mother who were proud of her and spoke her name with joy...
	Where the trees of the trackless forests stretched their branches
above her head, while she walked the woods as a Sylvan, her face uplifted
to the sun, its warmth upon her bare cheeks...
	Where she was _Faanshi_, but where no one looked askance at her
too-pale skin or her scarred ears, where she lived in peace and healed the
sick, and bore her loving husband many strong sons... and no one cared that
they were Mongrel children, for she and her family dwelled in Avalon...
	Where Lyre Talespinner, brown eyes alight, swept her up into his
arms and sang a song for no one's ears but hers.
	But dreams eventually yield to waking... and as the morning after
the ruined ritual comes to Atesh-Gah, Faanshi will be needing that wondrous
restful sleep she has been granted, for she is about to undergo the rudest
of awakenings....

*===========================< In Character Time >===========================*
             Time of day:  Morning
          Date on Aether:  Wednesday, November 27, 3906.
           Year on Earth:  1506 A.D. 
       Phase of the Moon:  Waxing Crescent
                  Season:  Fall
                 Weather:  Rain
             Temperature:  Cool
*==========================================================================*

Queen's Chambers - Atesh-Gah - Haven(#1694RJ)
     A harmonious blending of Air and Flame: Empyrean decorating intimately 
  joins with the architecture belonging to the people of the Neverending Fire, 
  the union composing a symphony designed to sing to the soul of the Varati's 
  foreign Queen.
     Extravagant. Four pillars stand about the expansive room, equidistant 
  from each other, and hold up a domed ceiling between them. Upon this concave 
  surface is painted a night sky, points of light set against a deep-blue 
  backdrop. The flickering illumination from oil lamps plays upon the 
  gold-inlay of the stars, creating the illusion that they twinkle and shine 
  just like their inspiration out there in the heavens. Tapestries and mosaics 
  almost completely hide the walls and floors, each one telling a tale of the 
  Varati people through woven thread and coloured tiles. Finely carved doors 
  lead out to a wide balcony, peaked windows, covered with lattice-work, offer 
  views upon the grounds below, and an archway supplies a glimpse of the 
  bedroom beyond.
     Elegant. Where the room itself is heavy and rich, the furniture within it 
  is fragile and graceful in appearance--crafted for those of the winged race. 
  The decorating is spacious and airey, accomplished with a minimalistic 
  approach in mind: backless chairs and couches, constructed more for lounging 
  than sitting, are placed about the chamber with low tables situated close 
  by. Frescos decorate the walls where the tapestries do not and upon 
  pedastals here and there are ethereal statues and exquistely painted vases.
          **Required reading: +view here/guards**
Contents:
Amipal
Thalia
Faanshi and Zarima's Room - Atesh-Gah - Haven(#1551Je)
Obvious exits:
King's Chambers <KC>  Hallway <O>

The night has fled, escaping into the morn, leaving behind only faint traces 
  of darkness chased into the corners of the brightly lit room. Slightly later 
  than Thalia's normal rising hour, the sun has broached the horizon and 
  climbs speedily up the sky. Seated upon a backless couch, Thalia holds in 
  her hand a piece of heavy parchment which she scans with a furrowed brow. 
  The Queen sips a cup of kaffe as she waits for the results of her summons.

Amipal stands quietly in his customary place, a little behind and to one side 
  of the winged woman. His sable garb is, as always, carefully groomed, his 
  expression placid, but the faint shadows under his eyes suggest that this 
  last night has not been a restful one.

Those women who are in the Maharani's service have reported somewhat bemusdly 
  that none of them have seen the shudra healer Faanshi this morning -- and in 
  particular, the scribe Zarima with whom the halfbreed shares a room has 
  reported with a not entirely disguised disdain that the girl never made it 
  to her cot the night before, for she was assuredly not in it when Zarima 
  awoke this morning. But the Lion of Fire last charged with tracking 
  Faanshi's movements through the city has reported -- in support of Amipal's 
  own first-hand observation on the matter -- that the Warlord of Messala was 
  seen carrying the girl into the chambers Clan Messala uses within the 
  embassy. Perhaps it is from there, then, that Faanshi arrives. The girl 
  enters the Queen's presence with all due speed and slightly breathless 
  besides, though she does not pause to catch her breath before immediately 
  prostrating herself upon the floor, her forehead to her hands.

Thalia says, her voice soft, "Rise, Faanshi. I have some questions to put to 
  you as does Kaimakam Amipal." She does not wait for Faanshi to obey her 
  command before continuing. "You have told me in the past that you have 
  interacted with the Warlord of Messala and he has sought out your 
  association. Thus, I would ask you, do you know why the Warlord and his 
  warriors remain in this city while my husband is in Masada?"

Amipal's dark eyes go to the shudra as she lays herself before the queen, his 
  only change in either posture or countenance. For the moment he waits in 
  silence, dispassionate and patient as old stone.

Faanshi has learned that when her mistress says 'rise', she means 'stand', and 
  thus the maiden lifts herself to her feet. As she does she might be noted to 
  go still for a moment, perhaps in surprise, though there is no other easily 
  discernible reaction about her face or frame. "The Imphadi Warlord did not 
  choose to address that with me, Imphada Maharani," she shyly replies on her 
  way up. Then she simply waits, her gaze upon the floor, hands clasped behind 
  her back.

Thalia asks, "Do you know what Warlord Messala does with his time? You have 
  needed to heal him in the past and you were with him at the ceremony last 
  night. Tell me what Warlord Messala does in your presence, Faanshi, then 
  Kaimakam Amipal has some more pressing questions for you."

The shudra maiden draws in a soft breath, not entirely certain what to make of 
  this line of questioning -- but not about to avoid a direct question from 
  her Queen. "He has called upon me to try to teach his personal healer, 
  Imphada," she murmurs, in a tone that goes even shyer to make up for the 
  fact that she cannot escape into the refuge of speaking more softly, not 
  here, not now... not to mention her lingering uncertainty over the entire 
  concept of attempting to teach a healer herself. That same uncertainty lurks 
  beneath her next words as she goes on, "And he has... asked me questions. 
  About healing. Last night he came and got me when I was..." Her voice 
  hitches ever so slightly, in barely controlled chagrin. "Ill from the dust. 
  He gave me to his shudra women and they took care of me." There is another 
  pause, this one longer, before Faanshi concludes humbly and maybe even 
  marvellingly, "The Imphadi upholds the holy surahs when he speaks to me."

Thalia's eyes narrow and the blue orbs become mere lines between slits. "Ah 
  yes, the dust. Kaimakam Amipal, I believe you have concern with 
  aforementioned dust. If you will, the shudra is yours to query."

Amipal inclines his head politely, taking a smooth step forward; his midnight 
  gaze has not left the young shudra before the Maharani, and it does not do 
  so now. "One last question regarding Messala, if I may," he qualifies, in 
  his customarily soft voice. "Were you with the Warlord when he and the Nabi 
  Niamh crossed paths in returning from last evening's ceremony?"

Faanshi swallows behind her veil, though the only outward sign of this is a 
  fractional pause as the questioning changes hands. Whether the maiden is 
  troubled by the topic at hand or by being under the interrogation of the 
  Kaimakam, however, is anyone's guess. "Yes, Imphadi," she answers, her voice 
  small.

Amipal nods again, unsurprised as he often seems to be in the course of such 
  questioning; one wonders why he bothers in the first place. "Could you 
  describe, for your mistress, your impression of the nature of their 
  altercation, and what in fact passed between them?" There is no hostility in 
  his voice, but it is clear that the polite request is in fact closer to a 
  command.

Thalia fans herself with the parchment that she holds in her hand, but she 
  listens quietly and intently for Faanshi's answer.

"Yes, Imphadi," murmurs the shudra obediently, while she struggles not to let 
  her hands reflect her inner nervousness. "I was... dazed. I-I remember the 
  Imphadi Warlord told me I had been poisoned and he showed his wrath that the 
  ritual h-had been broken. We stopped because I" -- here, her voice drops to 
  a near mumble, though it is still audible -- "was h-having trouble walking" 
  -- back up it comes, then -- "and I remember that he spoke of finding th-the 
  ones who broke the ritual and punishing them. Then the Nabi came and t-told 
  him not to, and they argued and w-were very angry at each other."

Thalia rubs her finger against her chin, considering Faanshi's reply. She 
  seems quite thoughtful, but she does not interject any of her own questions 
  as of yet.

The soldier's expression darkens a subtle shade, and hint of steel undergirds 
  his words as he murmrus, "It is not, as you certainly realise, the place of 
  Messala to punish within this mulk. It is to he hoped, for his sake, that in 
  his cooler hours the Warlord Sumai reaches the same conclusion." Then, after 
  a pause, "Were Messala weapons trained on the Nabi at any time during the 
  disagreement?"

Faanshi is not about to comment upon the tempers of Warlords, either. Sumai 
  might have proven himself to be startlingly compassionate to lowly creatures 
  like halfbreed shudra, but he is still a Warlord, and the thought of him in 
  a temper sets off uncomfortable echoes in her memory. Between that and the 
  unyielding tone of the Kaimakam, the girl's voice goes noticeably hoarse. "I 
  am... not sure, Imphadi," she admits. "I-I had my eyes closed a lot... I... 
  think I heard noises, like weapons."

Amipal nods once more, apparently satisfied on this point-- at least for the 
  moment. Dark eyes go sidelong to the winged woman seated beside him as if 
  for approval, then fix upon the shudra once more. Without preamble, he 
  intones gently, "During last night's ceremony, masked Sylvans were observed 
  distributing a... powder, which appears to have had the capacity to... 
  alter, one's behaviour." A somewhat uncomfortable pause follows-- during 
  which the man resolutely avoids looking Thalia's way-- before he presses, 
  on, "Are you familiar with this substance? Have you seen it used or heard it 
  discussed among your acquaintence?"

Faanshi can be heard to exhale, very tinily, but she does not otherwise shift 
  position. She remains standing there, a picture of slender, scarlet-clad 
  nervousness. "No, Imphadi," she answers, and only now does her gentle voice 
  takes on a trifle more assurance, now that the topic has become something 
  about which she possessed at least a few precious grains of knowledge. "Only 
  my teacher has taught me of herbs... or ever spoken to me of them... of the 
  Sylvans that I know. I know that there are some herbs that can do... what 
  the powder did, if enough of them are breathed in, or taken."

Thalia chooses to take this moment to have a sip of her kaffe, but she seems 
  rather less than pleased that the Sylvans chose to invade a Varati ceremony 
  with such utter disrespect.

Amipal takes a slow step forward, closing the distance between himself and 
  Faanshi; the degree of difference is small, almost a shifting of weight, but 
  under the circumstances it is near to being palpable. "Did you recognize any 
  of the Sylvans on the beach that evening?" Eyes of pitch continue to study 
  the young woman's veiled features with cool attention.

"No, Imphadi," murmurs the maiden, voice going smaller. Faanshi's still not 
  looking up. But perhaps she feels that small closing of distance, 
  nevertheless.

Amipal's lips thin, but it seems more the surfacing of mild frustration than 
  anything approaching anger; his still tone is largely unchanged as he 
  returns, "To whom would you yourself make appeal, Faanshi, if you were 
  interested in ascertaining their identities? And might your teacher-- what's 
  the name?-- might your teacher speculate, if you asked, as to what our 
  mysterious substance may have been?"

"Imphada FallingStar would talk to me about it, yes, Imphadi." Faanshi's voice 
  remains soft and earnest, her eyes downcast. She pauses then, chewing for a 
  moment on her lip, though this goes unseen behind her thick veil. Then she 
  goes on, "I have... one friend, but I think he is out of the city right now 
  because he was going to take a trip into the forest... I could ask my 
  teacher. Or a-a smith that I have met, who helped me heal my friend who is 
  gone."

Amipal turns his gaze once more on the Varati Queen, one dark eyebrow 
  half-raised in query; he awaits some indication from her before returning to 
  his place. The questions, mercifully, appear to have ceased coming.

Thalia says, in voice which is still soft, yet determined, "I would know which 
  Sylvans or which tribe is responsible for dishonoring our festival. It is a 
  shame upon the Varati that this has occured and should other warlords 
  besides Messala choose to take up arms and slaughter your Sylvan breathen 
  for their insult, Faanshi, I would find myself hard pressed to stop them. 
  You will find me those responsible so that only they will atone for their 
  actions, so that I may prevent Warlord Sumai from venturing forth and 
  punishing Sylvans in my mulk, or you can allow the Sylvans to suffer the 
  wrath of those who have been justly offended. I am quite certain that when 
  Khalid hears of this insult, he would fully support a slaughter of all 
  Sylvan tribes near Haven. I am would much prefer this did not occur. You 
  will work with Kaimakam Amipal and find me the perpetrators, Faanshi, or the 
  other half of your Kin will be bathed in blood."

Faanshi is already standing more or less motionless, but as the Maharani's 
  implacable words roll over her, the shudra maiden seems to turn to a statue 
  of ice. Color drains sharply out of what little of her countenance is 
  visible, while imagination sketches her images of FallingStar, of 
  Prying-Eagle, of RagingSpirit, of the ancient blind woman who said she knows 
  Faanshi's own father, struck down by the swords of the Children of Fire. Her 
  healer's heart cries out painfully in her breast even as a little corner of 
  her mind takes marginal comfort in the apparent fact that Thalia is willing 
  to give her this chance to keep innocents from being harmed, when the Varati 
  could very well go and punish the Sylvans without bothering to call upon a 
  humble halfbreed to find the actual miscreants who did the deed.
But she says none of this. All she does say, in a voice turned taut with 
  strain, is "I hear... and obey, Maharani." And somehow, the shudra manages
  to make herself bow as she says it.

Achmed arrives via an ornately designed door which allows access to the king's 
  chambers.
Achmed has arrived.

Amipal offers the young woman a final glance following the Maharani's words-- 
  an assessment, perhaps, and not an especially appreciative one. But he too 
  inclines his head politely, stepping smoothly backward into position.

Escorted by two of the Queen's Agni-Haidar warriors, a disheveled priest 
  nearly stumbles into the room. Of towering stature and fine features, he 
  nevertheless carries himself as if having newly suffered some torturous 
  burden. Moving with uneven and weak cadence, he approaches the 
  Maharani..leaving behind a barely discernible trail of crimson spots upon 
  the marbled floor.

Achmed
A towering Varati male swathed in the red robes of an Atarvani Priest. Those 
  crimson Akhund garments have lately been soiled by sweat and grime. He walks 
  in disjointed fashion, as if his legs were loath to endure labor any longer. 
  A pool of crimson darker than the cloth it stains adorns the Priests right 
  shoulder.

Thalia having delivered her dictate to Faanshi and heard the obedient reply, 
  appears satisfied. She is about to reach for her kaffe when the arrival of 
  the priest traps her entire attention. Her blue eyes widen and the fair 
  features drain to a paper white. She looks from the two Agni-Haidar to the 
  priest between them then asks, as genially as possible, "What brings you 
  here, disciple of Atar?"

Amipal's silent attention shifts with Thalia's to the wounded messenger. The 
  blood doesn't seem to bother him-- at least not to judge from his impassive 
  expression-- but his gaze does flick once in Faanshi's direction before 
  returning to target.

The Atarvani Priest's stumbling gait slows to a halt. As legs strain under the 
  simple burden of standing, the Akhund intones emotionlessly..almost 
  disbelievingly, "..Maharani...I am Achmed ibn al'Hassif, Akhund. I..." his 
  words trail off into silence and eyes glass over near lifelessly.

Faanshi jolts visibly at the commotion at the suite's outer doors -- but that 
  alone is not enough to make her move. What _does_ seize her attention and 
  jerk her around as though she has just been shot in the back is the blast of 
  pain that assaults her senses as soon as the wounded man comes close enough. 
  The halfbreed maiden's features crinkle up in sympathetic agony, her green 
  eyes automatically going liquid and her hand flying unthinkingly up as if to 
  try to shield her face from great heat. She makes no sound. She does not 
  dare. But now her magic is awake, and she shoots a desperate glance at the 
  Queen. "Imphada," she then blurts desperately, "permit me--?"

Thalia waves a hand toward the priest, indicating that Faanshi should move 
  forth and use her gift.

Achmed blinks in suddenly startlement, the priest having suddenly realized is 
  inanimation. He struggles to continue, voice cracked and faint, "I have come 
  from Masada...I was one of the few who were sent to escort the God-King into 
  the city from one of the few tunnels still unblocked. I remember seeing 
  him..." The man's experience hangs on him as if a heavy weight, "..when he 
  walked toward us..how his eyes glowed like the fires of Ashur Masad...and 
  then...." Lips quiver, disjointedly pulling back into a horrified rictus, 
  "....gone."

There are very few things that can provoke the shudra Faanshi into decisive 
  action -- but blatant, obvious need for the one great gift Ashur Masad and 
  Ushas have granted her is one of them. Who this man is, his purpose for 
  coming before the Queen, and how far he might have come are all irrelevant. 
  An entirely uncharacteristic focus seizes her up in its grasp as she flies 
  to the priest's side, coming up just behind him so as not to obstruct 
  Thalia's view of him, or his of her. For a fraction of an instant shock 
  wells across her green eyes at the man's gasped news, but even that is 
  irrelevant, for she must help him now. Her hands settle upon him, one on 
  either side of the place where a crossbow bolt must have pierced him, and 
  the aether flares golden as her power unleashes itself into him.

Amipal doesn't regard the healing, despite the power evident in that golden 
  glow; his midnight gaze has tracked slowly to the floor, his dusky brow has 
  furrowed. The silent soldier seems to be puzzling through a paradox, as if 
  someone had just informed him in all sincerity that the day beyond the 
  latticed windows was, in fact, night.

Thalia demands, almost seeming unconcerned for the state of the messenger, 
  "What do you mean gone? Who is gone? Gone where?" Perhaps, given the 
  forcefulness of her questions, she suspects the answers.

Roxana slips in from the hallway, having passed by the guards standing outside.
Roxana has arrived.

The soiled crimson robes of the Atarvani ripple unnaturally as the Akhund's 
  flesh knits together in violent fashion. The same spasm of pain that racks 
  his body also contorts the coarse features of his face and threatens to send 
  him stumbling once more. Only by some unseen hand of the divine does he 
  remain standing, soon turning his attention to the Maharani and choking, 
  "The Amir-al is lost to us, Imphada. The stone of the tunnel was weakened by 
  shapers, and I saw the magic of my brothers splinter through the rock and 
  explode it...." Weakness overcomes the Akhund. Knees buckle, and the man 
  drops to the floor. Only outstretched hands prevent a sickening spill, "...a 
  mountain of rock fell upon our God. He has not stirred since, and we have 
  not yet unearthed him from his tomb."

The Amir-al is _what_?! The words sound themselves in Faanshi's consciousness, 
  but they make no impact, not yet. Still entirely caught up in pouring her 
  power into the dangerously exhausted man, the maiden involuntarily 
  practically collapses along with him, her hands still pressed against his 
  flesh. The wound smooths itself over beneath his bloodstained clothing, but 
  the halfbreed doesn't stop until she has sent flowing forth a share of her 
  own strength into the priest.

Amipal lifts his head, sharing a long, silent look with his bretheren arrayed 
  about the chamber; between them float the dreadful, scarcely-considered 
  contingencies, the ancient rituals passed down with the generations but so 
  often lost in the daily press of affairs... the Kaimakam turns his attention 
  to the morning sky, seeking sunlight through the shadow of this dire news. 
  "It's a test of some sort," he murmurs, largely to himself. "Our divine lord 
  has many shifts to weigh the faith of his children, and this is a trial for 
  our time..."

Roxana, admitted to the Queen's Chambers by one of the outside Agni-Haidar, 
  arrives in time to catch the Atarvani's last words. She blanches and hurries 
  to the Maharani's side, a kerchief of silk appearing in her hand from one 
  fold or other of her clothing. She offers the cloth to the Queen as she 
  looks across at Amipal - what will the Kaimakam do, and can she help at all, 
  even though she is but a woman?

Thalia says, with the sort of voice that relatives use when in denial, "He is 
  not dead. He is not lost. You will break him free of the mountain." She 
  states the words emphatically, without any room for argument. "He is the God 
  of Fire. He can raise a mountain through his flame as he did in Lycenae. 
  There is not any reason he could not melt the very stone which in tombs him, 
  except, perhaps, he wishes Masada to remain whole. He is not lost. You will 
  free him. In doing so, you will free the Varati people from their confusion 
  and save Masada." With that, it seems that Thalia dismisses the possibility 
  that Khalid might be in dire straits. "Now, tell me, how have the rebels 
  reacted to this development?" She ignores the cloth offered by Roxana, 
  instead choosing to look calmly, but quite sternly at the Atarvani priest.

Achmed lifts his head wearily to gaze at the Maharani, but lacks the strength 
  to offer any manner of arguement. His voice, still grating with fatigue, 
  struggles with words, "We are still trying to..." he pauses, choosing 
  carefully the next words, "..free him, Maharani. The rebels have continued 
  the assault. They commit their reserves now too. Everything. Yet the Clans 
  show signs of dissent between them. Even so, Masada cannot hold for long."

Thalia asks Achmed, but looks over at Amipal as she does so, "Do we have any 
  further reserves? Masada must be held until Khalid can be freed."

Faanshi remains kneeling behind the priest -- but now, it's more due to a drop 
  in her own strength, with the white-golden warmth and energy she has poured 
  forth into the injured man to not only mend his wound, but clear his mind as 
  well. She says nothing. But the hands she finally lifts away from the 
  Akhund's bloodied garb are trembling violently, and her eyes above her veil 
  have turned nearly black against the skin that's gone paler than that of 
  anyone else in the room save Thalia herself.

Achmed offers lamely, "We have the shudra and vaisya in the Vara. Those not 
  already in service fashioning armor and bringing water can be armed, but it 
  is up to Nayaka Faisal. Outside Masada, we have nothing that can break 
  through the traitor Clans unless we assemble all Agni-Haidar in the Kingdom, 
  and that would take a..." he does not finish the sentence, useless as it 
  would be to offer the answer.

Amipal doesn't appear to have noticed the look. A chill has settled over him, 
  one more entire than his customary stillness; it is a grim resolve, a 
  perverse involvement in the experience of the worst. It is cold and fine. 
  The attention he returns to the Queen-Maharani borders on frightening in its 
  sheer, lifeless calm. And he waits.

Roxana is lost in indecision, not knowing whether to mention that she can 
  divert her Clan or not. Instead, she settles for retrieving a small phial 
  from its hiding place, stimulants for those who have spent too much of 
  themselves in magic. The phial proves difficult to find, however, as she 
  rummages in the folds of her sari.

Thalia drums her fingers on the arm of her couch. "What sort of dissent are 
  the Clans showing? Is there any way they can be broken from within?" Again, 
  she repeats, "Masada must be held until Khalid is freed."

Achmed struggles to push himself to his feet once again, salvaging whatever 
  manner of dignity can be harvested from the grim reality that now exists. 
  His efforts are tenuous at best, and more than once gravity threatens to 
  drag him again. The Akhund manages to overcome and answers the Maharani, "I 
  do not know, Imphada. The Clans are notorious for their rivalries, even when 
  united in a common cause. This unit cannot last long, especially when one 
  among them decides to claim Masada for his own Mulk."

Roxana's searching of her person goes unnoticed by Faanshi. So does Amipal's 
  grim, stoic silence. Now that the priest is no longer sending waves of pain 
  slicing across her senses, _he_ even retreats in importance in the halfbreed 
  girl's awareness. She does not move, and neither does she speak; her hands 
  drop heavily to her lap and stay there, and with closed eyes she bows her 
  head and struggles to keep her mind clear enough to listen should she 
  receive further orders. But she cannot stop her thoughts from filling with 
  fervent prayer all the same. _Holy Ushas, Lady of Dawn, be with Thy Son and 
  let Him return to His children! Holy Ushas, Lady of Dawn, be with Thy Son..._

Thalia replies, practically, "Then break the clans from within. Sow dissent 
  among them. Spread rumors that each desires Masada for its own. Use the 
  mages among you who can speak into the mind. Plant seeds of doubt. Spread 
  your naraki and shudra into their ranks with rumors that each Clan desires 
  Masada, that indeed, is ready to betray another for it. Spread the word that 
  even as they fight futily for Masada, other clans have already claimed 
  Avalon as their own and that their deaths are meaningless. Say anything, but 
  break them from within, Imphadi."

Amipal studies the Empyrean woman's expression with a certain idle interest. 
  "Speak to Seraskier Zuhayr, your majesty," he murmurs. "Now, while the 
  matter of the Amir-al's disappearance is still in doubt. We will march on 
  Masada and die before it, if need be. Soon-- very soon, perhaps-- this will 
  not be possible."

Achmed breaths heavily and nods weary assent, "I will do as you command, 
  Imphada..."

Roxana's searching ceases as she finds her objective, and she stares at the 
  tiny red phial within her hand. "Clan Al'Gul at least can be drawn off. I 
  will send a message to my Father as soon as is possible, O Maharani."

Avalon. As if hearing this black news of the Son of the Dawn weren't enough to 
  rattle Faanshi's composure, the utterance of the name of that place sends 
  another arrow shooting through her heart. She knows nothing of the actual 
  progression of the war the heretics are waging upon the faithful of Atar, 
  but the mere possibility that Avalon might fall beneath Varati might, that 
  the Clans may battle with one another over the land Mongrel men and women 
  are trying to hold for their own, is almost too terrifying to contemplate on 
  top of the rest of the Atarvani's report. Rab, Danyel, little RisingWing, 
  Gaiden -- Thomas Murako. And Lyre Talespinner, most of all. Fear for them 
  all turns her cold within and at last brings silent tears out to wet her 
  eyes for all that she does not dare to make any audible noise as she kneels 
  there upon the floor.

Thalia drums her fingers some more, thinking with great focus. "I will send 
  whatever reinforcements I can, but before you leave, Imphadi, take the 
  remaining warriors of Behzad and Messala with you. I do not need them to 
  protect me. If the rebel clans desire my life, they can march through the 
  Sylvan lands to take it," she says to Achmed. A curt nod is given Roxana, 
  "Do so." Finally, she adds to Amipal, "And yes, I will speak to the 
  Seraskier. Please, have him brought here."

Achmed wavers unsteadily and offers in a less than confident manner, "I 
  ...will speak to their Warlords on your behalf, Maharani." He takes a step 
  back, begining his retreat. Those steps are careful and measured, the Akhund 
  aware that a misstep could send him sprawling.

Thalia says to Achmed, "Convince them to go with you. I want all the fighting 
  men out of Haven and Atesh-Gah. If the rebel clans wants me, then they will 
  have to come here and get me. They will have to leave Masada."

Achmed goes through the door and into the king's personal living space.
Achmed has left.

Roxana stands and walks over to Faanshi, passing her the small red phial of 
  liquid. "Drink this." The maiden looks troubled, a crease having appeared 
  between her brows. How to phrase a believeable message, and where to send 
  her warring kin, that is the question.

Amipal intones a gentle, "I will send word to the Seraskier that you wish to 
  speak to him, Maharani." For a moment he stands silently, bemusedly, in 
  place, then starts into motion towards the door; he leans out, speaking in 
  low tones to one of the men standing at attention on the far side.

"Yes, Imphada..." Faanshi's voice, normally soft to begin with, is now a 
  wraith of its usual cadences and comes out of her as though she speaks from 
  a great distance away. She lifts her wet face towards Roxana only enough to 
  mark the location of her hand, then with shaking fingers accepts the vial 
  proffered her. With shaking fingers, she opens it, and gulps down tiny sips 
  of its contents.

Word is given, and the sound of booted feet receding up the marbled hallway 
  bespeak the departure of one of the Lions on his errand. Amipal swings back 
  into view, returning to the distraught gathering nearer the center of the 
  room; dark eyes go to Roxana, and after a considering moment, he says, 
  "You'll show me, I trust, the letter you intend to dispatch."

Roxana curtseys deeply to Amipal. "Of course, Kaimakam. Do you have any 
  preferences for where they are to go?"

The stuff in the red vial hits Faanshi's system, chasing back a leaden 
  exhaustion now threatening to slow her reflexes and weigh down her limbs. 
  One part of her mind unthinkingly identifies at least some of what the 
  kshatri maiden must have put into the little container, and the halfbreed 
  acknowledges the taste of the mixture and its effects with as much gratitude 
  as she can muster. But she doesn't let herself drink it all -- only what she 
  needs, and not a drop more. Still she says nothing. Nor does Faanshi rise, 
  though she does steal a damp-eyed peek at Roxana to wait for an opportunity 
  to return to the vial to her.

Amipal waves off the young woman's obeisance with one hand, his mind clearly 
  at work on other matters. "We'll consider what they may best believe," he 
  concludes. "Now is a time to think."

Thalia seems to wake up to the fact that people are still in the room. "I 
  believe that I need to consider all the options available. For now, you are 
  all dismissed."

Roxana curtseys deeply to the Maharani, more shallowly to the Kaimakam, and 
  turns towards the door. There is a message to write and send, and a Goddess 
  to offer prayers to. Khalid-Atar may still be alive, or he may be forced to 
  return at some later date, but he will come back - Roxana will pray that it 
  be soon.

Amipal returns silently to his place beside the Varati Queen's chair, more by 
  force of habit than through any real volition.

Now, and only now, does Faanshi finally pull herself to her feet, the vial 
  still clutched in her fingers. All right -- later, then, will she return the 
  vial to Roxana. She has been dismissed, and thus does the shudra bow as 
  gracefully as she can manage to the Maharani... back off on silent sandaled 
  feet to the door... and stumble out through it. Only when she is out in the 
  corridor does she then permit herself to flee.

[End log.]