The Sanguine Tower appeared as a thick column of mist as Krayson and Saveen approached. The great spire had an ominousness to it in the evening, even greater than in the daylight hours. The imposing spike of a tower, softly glowing with diffused gaslight, simply didn't belong among the pastoral spires of Westrun.

As the black edifice began to show through the mist, Krayson let out a long breath that almost felt like relief. Under normal circumstances, crossing the City of Althandor on foot wasn't a particularly daunting task. Doing so with a dragon in tow, keeping a complex ward in place, and avoiding population centers was an altogether different ordeal.

Saveen managed to keep up her disguise. On two or three occasions, her concentration had lapsed, making her face return to blue beneath her fedora and goggles. Thankfully, the only person to see such a slip had been a drunkard that had promptly vowed to lay off the whisky.

Krayson and Saveen often looked over their shoulders as they walked the high-altitude streets. So far, there'd been no sign of pursuit from Elise or those she commanded. Krayson was tempted to believe that he had succeeded, but he told himself not to let his guard down until the bloodsong was out of his veins.

Already, Krayson could feel spell echoes drifting from the tower, faint but noticeable. He could even sense the lingering traces of no less than five apotheoses. He recalled that it was the twenty-first of Elm, a day of advancement when initiates attempted to prove that they were ready to be sworn in as full brothers of the Order. Judging by the apotheoses, at least five new brothers would be wearing red robes soon.

The skybridge serving as the main approach to the Sanguine Tower had fewer people walking its length than others in the city. A young cryer hawked printsheets as he stood on a wooden box and shouted out the more sensational headlines. Otherwise, there wasn't so much as a noodle stand. Though, an enterprising Irdish goodman in a white waistcoat and trousers-- the gray-skinned fellow appeared as a ghost in the mist-- sold carriage tokens and train tickets. Not a half-bad idea, providing those who found themselves here the means to go elsewhere. Several goodfolk waited in queue to hand the Irdish man their coin.

Many found they had business with the Order, now and again, but they were always in a rush to distance themselves from blood mages once those errands were complete.

"I didn't expect so many," Saveen murmured as Krayson led her through the cluster surrounding the ticket seller. A path through the throng materialized as soon as people saw Krayson's red hood and eyes.

"The Order provides services to those who seek us out," Krayson explained. "Some may have come to arrange the divestiture of their bloodsongs, or to apply to the magocracy. Others come to sell their ether."

"Sell it..." Saveen muttered. "You mean as to say, they become daanmen willingly?"

"Very few daanmen didn't. The removal of ether as a punitive measure is all but unheard of and reserved for arcanists who've abused their powers."

"And Aleesh," Saveen said.

"Some Aleesh. I believe it was King Haelin that eased the persecution of their race and spared the half-breed children."

"Like Cardin," Saveen said. "But what of Elise? She was caught and made a daanman. Why wasn't she killed?"

"I don't know. His Grace seemed to already know of her elder blood and believed she was dead. But Elise is convinced he put her under the Lady Tarlen's command. I'm starting to wonder if anyone knows for certain what happened that night she was taken."

Saveen looked over her shoulder at the people around the ticket seller. "They have no idea, do they? That the Five Kingdoms are carrying out a genocide right under their noses. I wonder how many Aleesh are even left."

"Full-blooded? I doubt more than a handful, if even that many. Elise is the only I know of. Even her niece, this Enfri, is a half-breed. Until I met Elise, I'd always believed the Aleesh were extinct. These two empresses are little more than the last spasm of a dying race."

They walked by the cryer. The eight year old boy avoided looking Krayson's way and shouted towards the group around the ticket seller. "Mythical kingdom returns in the south," he yelled in a high-pitched call that carried through the evening mist. "Read about the Empire of Scales. Dragon sightings across the Five Kingdoms!"

Krayson paused mid-stride, then advanced on the cryer. The boy noted his approach and blanched white.

"One sheet," Krayson said, handing over two copper pennies.

"Thank ye, m'lord," the boy squeaked. He pulled one off his stack and practically threw it at Krayson before starting into his yelling again. "Courtesan involvement suspected in Eastrun riots! Are terrorists in hiding within the Spired City? Mistress Cloetta performs her new production. Early reviews of 'The Sorcerer of Parnaia' are in!"

Krayson held the printsheet in front of him as he continued down the skybridge. Saveen read over his shoulder. He skimmed over an editorial about a cannery fire in the Isles of Shoto that promised food shortages for the legions. Then a fanciful and likely fictional first-hand account of one intrepid reporter's adventures among the molten men north of Espalla. Still further, the announcement of Lord Cyril Dothraun's betrothal to Duchess Amelie of Gaulatia. Krayson needed to flip to the third page before he found the article that interested him.

The headline read "Shan Alee, Resurrected Empire or Hoax".

Exclusive to the evening edition, word has reached the printing presses of the Althandor Chronicle that an Altieri house new to its advent has claimed lineage from the mythological Empire of Scales. While the Chronicle is not in the business of reporting fairy tales as fact, sources among the court of King Adeyemi the Akazewi of Melcia, on His Eminence's triennial tour of goodwill across the Five Kingdoms, confirm that House Yora of Ecclesia has indeed made such incredible claims.

That this ludicrous assertion comes so soon after the conclusion of the so-called "Rodrik's Rebellion" in Altier Nashal, and the subsequent collapse of Altieri sovereignty, has led the Chronicle to the following conclusion. The head of House Yora, reported as a woman of nineteen years, the Lady Enfri the Yora, is merely capitalizing on the south's current state of unrest to promote her young house's interests. This inexperienced head of house has gone so far as to proclaim herself the Dragon Empress of Shan Alee. While the infamously superstitious goodfolk of our southern neighbor may be swayed by tales of fancy, the Chronicle asserts that our readership possesses such intelligence as to take such base manipulation as it truly is: a predatory and unconscionable ploy to entice curiosity and garner attention.

That these claims come alongside growing reports of large, winged beasts over the rail lines near Leyr Sholis and even within our own Spired City demonstrate the sway of unfettered imagination. These unverified reports should be ridiculed as the nonsensical delusions that they are.

It went on like that for another column, deriding House Yora and flat out denying the existence of dragons. No mention whatsoever of Aleesh, elder bloodlines, or the fact that the Highest King himself was losing sleep over it.

Krayson grimaced and stopped reading. He honestly couldn't tell if the article's tone derived from sincere skepticism or purposeful misinformation. That the article just under it was about Princess Jin's rumored absence from court was particularly ironic. Krayson was about to crumple the printsheet and toss it over the side of the skybridge when Saveen snatched it from him.

"I wasn't done yet," Saveen said. "How can they say things that aren't true? People might actually believe what they write about the empress."

"They've no reason to believe what the Lady Yora says." Krayson narrowed his eyes when he looked at a headline on the back page.

Five Kingdoms or Four? The South Divided!

At least there hadn't been anything about the Merovech's death. Krayson had half-worried he'd return home to find an army of ambitious arcanists lying in wait for him. Pulling the bloodsong out of a blood runner wasn't easy, or survivable, but for a bloodsong like the Merovech's, there'd undoubtedly be a great number of scoundrels willing to slit him open.

"Printsheets are sensationalist garbage, Saveen," Krayson said. "You'll get more accurate news buying rounds for travelers at a saloon."

Saveen grunted, noncommittal.

Krayson furrowed his brow in irritation at being ignored. "I'm surprised you know how to read. It sounded like you never left your cave in Teularon."

Saveen peered over the top of the printsheet at him. "Cave? You don't know anything, do you?"

"Am I wrong?"

"Very," Saveen huffed. She began mumbling under her breath. "Thinks lairs are caves... Of all the nonsense." She lowered the printsheet to her side with a sharp rustle and glared at him. "I'll have you know, I can read and write in eight different languages."

"Oh? Which ones?" Krayson wasn't all that interested, but he found directing her pique to be preferable to letting it run wild.

"Althandi, obviously. The Aeldenn Tones, Old Gaulatian, Teulite, Espallese, the Tongue of Jade..."

"How in the embrace of hellfire did you learn the language of the Jade Empire? No one in the Five Kingdoms knows how to speak it. Even when the Althandi were permitted to cross the dunes, all trade was done through Espallan interpreters."

Saveen said something in a language that was all elongated vowels and "sh" sounds. Even unintelligible, she managed to sound haughty. Krayson leveled a flat look at her. Doubtless, she didn't realize that any number of linguists would pay armloads of gold marks for her to speak a few sentences where they could hear.

Her demeanor was pleased as she translated herself. "I said the Althandi ambassador shouldn't have been such a prideful child and just bowed to their emperor. The People of Jade revere him as a god, you know. And then you lot tried breaking through the Li Lung Mountains by force and never even got that far."

Krayson snorted. "Careful who you lump me in with. If the Horde ever tried to attack the Jade Empire, things would end differently."

"There are flaws in your reasoning," Saveen said. "First, the Horde has no chance of beating the Espallans on their own land. Have you ever seen a fangblade try to run in loose sand? Second, the Horde isn't stupid enough to start a fight they have no chance of winning."

"That certain, are you?"

"The Althandi haven't beaten them once, and the Teulites have never beaten the Althandi. Simple deductive reasoning." She paused, thoughtful. "Makes me wonder why the Teulites keep fighting the Althandi every generation or so if they can't ever win."

"Because it's not a matter of winning, it's about status amongst the tiger lords. Break your spears upon the Althandi to earn honor and prestige, and even the lord of the lowliest tribe can be named the Tiger King."

Saveen frowned. "That sounds like a stupid way to pick a leader."

"There are worse."

"Another flaw," Saveen said. "That other systems are worse doesn't make only slightly better ones viable. Only less worse."

"It's a shame you never got the chance to meet Brother Dorna. She had a soft spot for girl students who like pointing out logical fallacies." Krayson turned a scowl towards her and her thundering printsheet. "And don't act like I'm defending the Horde. I'm not a..."

Krayson's scowl deepened and he looked away.

Saveen sniffed. "Could have fooled me, the way you're always going on about 'the Horde' this and 'in Teularon' that. What's it like being half one thing and half another when you hate both so much? It sounds miserable."

"What does it matter?" Krayson asked sourly. "I'm neither. I'm a blood runner and nothing else."

Saveen pursed her lips. "Well, at least that's true."

"You've got a mouth for someone wanting me to teach them spellcraft."

She pointedly ignored the comment and made a sound of delight as she perused the printsheet. "Ooh! There's a cultural festival starting tomorrow in Little Nadia. Real, live nymphs are going to be putting on a... Krayson, what's a burlesque?"

Krayson snatched the printsheet and lobbed it over the side of the skybridge. "I told you these things are garbage."

Saveen gasped in dismay then got a mischievous look. "It's something filthy, isn't it?"

Krayson sighed. "Filthy in the way that lets noblemen pretend it's not filthy."

Saveen grumbled about her lost printsheet as they came upon the Sanguine Tower. Even at this later hour, there was something of a line awaiting entry. No more than a half-dozen people.

"So, they're lining up to become daanmen?" Saveen eyed them dubiously. "Why would they do that?"

"Gold is sometimes worth the exchange," Krayson said. "Most people in the world will never become arcanists. Either they can't afford education or they just don't have the desire to. They can come to the tower and undergo a rite to take their stores of ether away in exchange for a purse of gold marks. The goodfolk can use that gold to pay debts or finance a new workshop."

Saveen hummed in understanding. "Once the blood runners have their bloodsongs, what do they do with them?"

"We sell them. Take that fellow there." Krayson indicated a well-dressed man carrying a walking cane. "Runes on his cane, one is a fifth-tier. Penny against a mark, he's a scrivener looking to buy a bloodsong or two to enhance his personal stores of ether. There's a factor of diminishing returns, but it's the fastest way of acquiring arcane power."

Saveen nodded. "I get it, but it seems... I don't know... underhanded, to get stronger by buying it."

"I can't say how it is for dragons, but mortals have few other options. Stores can be increased; casting spells enhances your stores like exercising a muscle. However, it's a long and hard process."

"And you?" Saveen asked. "What are your ether stores like?"

"Not as large as yours. I can tell that much through the bond." He smirked. "But let's say that the brother handing out coins would need to visit the treasury if he wanted to buy my bloodsong off me."

"And the Merovech's bloodsong?"

Krayson's smirk dropped. "We'd have to sell the tower."

Saveen chuckled.

"I don't think I'm impressing upon you how much this bloodsong is worth, Saveen. The Merovech's bloodsong originated before recorded history, within the secret history. It's ancient, the oldest non-elder bloodline on record, and the first man to hold it was a cousin of the original Algara. Six hundred years of being passed down, compounded again and again. Only the elder bloodlines have stronger bloodsongs, and even then, only because of the powers associated with them. If the blood runners wanted to sell this, the price would be entire kingdoms. Whoever receives it will automatically become one of the most powerful arcanists in the world."

Saveen's eyes took on a serious cast. "Which is why Garret can never get it."

"There's something we agree on. I'd place even odds that it'll end up going to Thal Renoit, the Merovech's second apprentice. She's a Gaulatian wizard that's been studying lost schools of magic under magocracy supervision, and her nephew is the prince consort of King Gerard. She's a known quantity and stable choice as a recipient."

Saveen nodded. "Because the person the Merovech named is dead? You haven't talked about your contract much, but I think I'm piecing together what it's all about."

Krayson heard one of his ghosts growling at him with displeasure. He ignored it. It wasn't as if he could just tell Saveen that the Merovech had named the Dragon Empress as his heir. Especially now that he had the king's word that turning the bloodsong over to the masters would suffice for their contract. Thunder, but there was no way Krayson could let Saveen find that out. He silenced the malcontent ghost and lied through his teeth.

"That's right. Even if they're not dead, the masters will sort it all out. Either way, it's not going to be my problem anymore."

Saveen smiled. "I'm sure that comes as a relief. Only, what if they decide it should go to Garret?"

"I doubt that. The masters are extremely conservative when it comes to these things. They won't let a hierarch's bloodsong go to a son unless it's over their dead bodies."

As the statement left his mouth, Krayson wished he could take it back. The Althandi personification of Fate was the sort of miscreant that delighted in taking that kind of talk as a perverse challenge. The frown that Saveen was giving him showed that her thoughts were along the same lines.

"I can't believe you right now," she said flatly.

"I'm sorry."

"Why don't you just say 'everything is looking up' or 'what's the worse that could happen'?"

"I'm very sorry."

"You're some kind of super-witch, and you don't know the first thing about jinxes?"

"That's a superstition."

Saveen huffed and crossed her arms over her chest. "Something happens, I'm blaming you."

"Nothing will..."

Saveen gave him a sharp glare.

"I will take full responsibility," Krayson said instead.

They reached the doors of the tower, passing by the line of petitioners. An older, red-robed clerk was taking names and asking questions at the front of the line. The man glanced Krayson's way before returning to the young woman he was assisting. Brown eyes, not a blood runner but an initiate that never managed to advance. A second clerk, this one an elderly Melcian woman with dark skin and blue eyes, intercepted Krayson before he reached the door.

"Brother," she said in greeting. "Returning from contract?"

"In the midst of one, actually. Brother Joshuan."

By the catch in her breath, she'd heard of him. "Apologies, Brother, but I cannae allow entry into the tower."

"What?" Krayson demanded. "I just told you. I am on current contract. You don't have the authority to deny me entry."

The clerk wrinkled her nose, not fond of his tone. "Nay you, Brother. Her."

Krayson groaned inwardly. He'd let himself get used to having Saveen by his side throughout the day, and he'd forgotten to plan for this. Drat.

"I'm an initiate," Saveen said. "Or, I want to be one. Brother Joshuan promised an introduction to the masters."

Krayson and the clerk both turned their glares towards her. Thunders crash on her head, but that was the most ridiculous lie she could have spouted.

The clerk frowned and turned her glare back towards Krayson. "Is this so?" she asked skeptically.

You've put me in a box here, thundering lizard.

"Let me show you what I can do," Saveen said happily, then she promptly turned herself into a mouse. Her discarded clothing flopped around her in a heap.

The clerk gasped, and the young woman speaking with the other clerk actually screamed.

Krayson ran a palm over his face then bent to scoop up Saveen in his hand. "As you can see," he said tiredly, "her polymorphy is advanced for someone who is self-taught. I thought it would be wise to put her under Brother Calo's tutelage. Before she damages herself. And, she has expressed an interest in initiation."

The clerk blinked in astonishment as she peered closely at Saveen, who was squeaking proudly in Krayson's hand. "Why is she... blue?"

"She has much to learn," Krayson said. "If you don't mind, I'd like to take her inside where she can pull herself together and get dressed."

The clerk nodded gravely. "Aye. We nay want her to hurt herself. Daft girl."

Saveen's squeak sounded affronted.

Krayson gathered up her clothes and went inside, cursing under his breath the whole way. He glowered down at the blue mouse in his hand. "I would prefer not to cause a commotion, Saveen. This will come back and bite me. I live here."

Saveen squeaked, but what that was supposed to communicate was beyond him.

"Don't you dare change back until you're somewhere no one can see."

The next squeak sounded irritated, but accepting.

Entering into the foyer of this level, Krayson noted a group of five initiates in conversation. The boys, aged from eleven to sixteen, would have their eyes pop out of their heads if Saveen decided to change forms now, and not just for the display of polymorphy. Krayson clutched the bundle of clothing tight and quickened his pace. The tower didn't have much in the way of storage closets or empty rooms on this level. Krayson would need to carry Saveen further upwards towards the dormitories and hope no one got too curious about the blue mouse in his hand.

The tower interior was black and gray stone. Hallways had red carpets down the center, and doors were deep brown wood set with brass. Dreary surroundings, but that was the case only in the more public areas. The Order seemed to take pleasure in putting their most ominous faces forward, though the stated purpose was to discourage unnecessary traffic. Other than buying ether or taking contracts, the Order wasn't much interested in interactions with those living outside the walls.

Too many risks were involved. Most folk weren't aware of the difference between a blood runner and a common blood mage. Both commanded dangerous and often disturbing powers, but those in the Order operated solely within the guidelines of the magocracy. No arcanist could find work without following the law. Even the Highest King was held to the precepts set by the congress of hierarchs. After all, Althandor wouldn't hold nearly as much sway over the other kingdoms if it didn't possess the tacit approval of the magocracy.

As Krayson had told Cathis, the magocracy was what bound the Five Kingdoms together. It wasn't solely armies or threats of force, but the will of the hierarchs.

In many ways, the Order was the magocracy. Each of the fifty or so hierarchs in the Five Kingdoms were accompanied by their preservers at all times. Those brothers weren't solely kept on hand for insurance, but as advisors-- even confidants. From the daanmen to the greatest noble houses, blood runners helped shape the governance of magic at every level of society.

From Krayson's palm, Saveen cleared her throat in a distinctively un-mouse-like way. He arched an eyebrow and looked down at her with a frown. "Hush."

She cleared her throat again, louder.

Casting his eyes about for anyone that might hear, Krayson brought her up to his face. "What is it?"

"Something's different about you," she whispered. "You don't walk with a slouch anymore."

"I don't slouch."

Saveen let out an amused hum. "Not anymore, maybe, but you do when you're outside. Hunched over like you're carrying something on your back. Why not here? Is it because you feel safer when you're in your lair?"

Lair? She had some nerve. Though, Krayson did feel a lot less exposed now that he was inside the Sanguine Tower again. He could almost let himself forget about the various death marks on his head or the weeks of incarceration in Cathis' dungeon.

"How do you do that?" Krayson asked to deflect the question.

"Do what?"

"Talk. You're a mouse, and no matter how intelligent it might be, a mouse can't talk. Its anatomy won't allow it."

Saveen tilted her head to the side. "Haven't I spoken to you as an animal before?"

Krayson grunted to the negative. He didn't really want to admit it, but he was intrigued by her polymorphic abilities. They outstripped anything he'd seen demonstrated by a mortal arcanist.

"Well," Saveen said, "I guess this form isn't exactly that of a mouse. Any form we take is a copy. Closer to a sculpture than a perfect representation. It's... instinct, you could say, to adjust the form to what we need."

Krayson pursed his lips. He'd prefer if there was a spell to it that he could figure out how to emulate, but this was valuable information nonetheless. "Does that include your human form?"

Saveen bobbed her tiny head. "Certainly."

"What's different?"

Saveen hummed, considering. "Aside from color? Well, my form is a girl I remember seeing before. She used to come with other women of her tribe to trade with the ogres near my lair. I liked her because she always won more Wager than she lost, but Trell wouldn't let me go to the ogres when mortals were around."

"Probably for the best that Teulites never learned that dragons lived nearby. Trell was right to warn you off. But, what does your form's origin have to do with altering your form?"

"Her legs," Saveen said. "One leg was shorter than the other. Not by much, but enough to make her walk with a limp. I felt bad for stealing her form and changing something like that, but Elise wouldn't have approved of it otherwise."

Krayson wondered why Saveen would feel guilty over making a practical alteration, but didn't care enough to press the issue. Remorse was another of his ghosts, though he couldn't recall ever being much familiar with the emotion. "No human arcanist I've heard of can do this. As a mouse, you form vocal chords to allow you to speak?"

Saveen nodded. "That's the idea. Kimpo is especially good at altering her form, and she learned how from the Storyteller. Kimpo showed me how she rejiggered the way her hands worked for her somatics."

That, if nothing else, caught Krayson's interest. He remembered the odd somatics he'd seen her use and couldn't replicate. He'd tried since he saw them but couldn't manage it. The gesture involving touching the tips of the thumb and little finger across the knuckles was plain impossible without breaking something.

"That's a trick I wouldn't mind learning how to do," Krayson admitted. "I was never much good at polymorphy, unfortunately."

Saveen patted his palm sympathetically with her paw and examined his hand in detail. "A dragon can just hold the anatomy they want in their head to make it happen. I see how your bones work, but to be like Kimpo, you'd need to... Flames!"

Krayson hissed in sudden discomfort. It was like someone pulling on each of his fingers until they popped, only sharper. He nearly dropped Saveen from the shock of it.

"Oh..." Saveen gasped. "Oh! Krayson, you did it!"

"Did it? I didn't do..." He looked at his hand and how the shape of it seemed slightly different. "...anything."

Krayson was well-versed in anatomy, and his hand no longer looked exactly as it should. The palm was more symmetrical, and his little finger was now the same length as his index. Furthermore, the web of flesh between palm and thumb was simply missing. Krayson waggled his fingers and found that they were able to work independently of one another. Moving one no longer had a noticeable effect on the others. He'd trained his hands for years to be more precise, but he'd never been able to fully suppress all sympathetic movement.

Testing himself, Krayson attempted the thumb to little finger somatic. It was effortless.

"Saveen?" he asked.

"Err... Was that me who did that?"

Krayson let a tiny measure of ether flow into his hands, the spell shaped by the somatic. The ether left his body as a curl of fire that then coalesced into a solid length, now more a glowing thread than a flame.

Single-point single somatic results in that. Compound with additional essence somatics, increase the ether, expand to a double somatic utilizing conjuration forms. Thunder take me. With a little practice, I could conjure a robe out of fire.

Try as he might, Krayson couldn't figure out what caused this transmutation of his own body. Rather, the polymorphy. His form had been adjusted, just as Saveen described. What surprised him more was that he was fully convinced that he had little to do with it. Somehow-- he could only begin to speculate on the cause and implications, not to mention applications-- but Saveen had used the bond to polymorph him. The dragon bond was head and shoulders above a simple shared pool of ether.

Krayson licked his lips that had gone dry. "What else can we do?"