Saltstone was much as she remembered, although seemed even shabbier now, compared to the glories of the other cities she had seen since leaving the place to become an adventurer. The air stunk of rotting plants, most of the place slowly sliding downwards into the marsh or the sea, or both. Only the places built upon stone blocks had any permanence, everything else merely temporary, awaiting an undignified descent into the brackish swamp-water. They rode around the edge of the town, an old road providing some stability, the parts where the ancient magic had faded being sodden bogs, until they reached their destination.

The family estate was, of course, much as it always was – surrounded by a wall of black basalt topped with metal spikes, spackled with rust so that they appeared bloody and tainted. The gardens, such as they were, were choked with weeds, the trees almost certainly dead under the weight of patristic plants that lived on them. Even in her youth, it had been impossible to tell who or what the statues had depicted, now they were invisible beneath various spiked and nettled weeds. The manor itself was as an ungainly melding of fortress, scholar’s manse and noble’s retreat, different parts running into each other, all in varying degrees of dilapidation. Most of the windows were bricked or boarded up, that being deemed easier than repairing cracked glass.

In front of the grand entranceway was a stone obelisk, stark black stone resisting the encroachment of the ivy and the erosion of the sea wind. A sickly green light surmounted this, flaring up as they approached, until Kivata raised her arm, to reveal an ugly bracelet of black iron. It flashed in answer, whatever warding spells were currently in place getting withdrawn. On the whole, the place had changed little, save for looking a little more run-down than before.

‘Your “companions” will be shown to chambers in the coach house, where the other hirelings are kept until needed.’

Janaxia turned to look at it – even more decrepit than the rest, with sagging timbers and holes in the roof. Still, it meant that any attempt at containing them would be easy to defeat, between Semari’s speed and Vrintar’s power. ‘Very well.’

The soldiers moved towards them, then hesitated as Vrintar’s hands moved towards her axes.

Try to stay out of trouble. It is unlikely you will be accosted, but if so please respond appropriately. Vrintar nodded, removing her hands from her weapons, and allowing the guards to escort them away.

Kivata led Janaxia into the house itself, gesturing imperiously at the doors to make them open at their approach (actually a counterweight mechanic, a pulley hidden from view, easy to pull on with even minor arcane powers), before leading her through the silent halls. As they progressed, Janaxia tried to supress her trepidation – before, when she had been marched through these passages to her Mother’s chambers, it had been to be punished for some sin or infraction. But she was a powerful sorceress in her own right now, bearing artefacts of power. Mother would surely not punish her, would she?

As they walked, Janaxia noticed that Kivata’s posture shifted, her shoulders drooping, steps slowing somewhat. It seemed that she must still be frightened of Mother. Although probably not without good reason! Kivata’s steps slowed even more, and it took Janaxia several steps to realise that the hall must be dark, even more of the windows blocked than when she had grown up here. Other than that, it looked much the same as she remembered, stained paintings along the wall, details impossible to make out, even the nameplates worn away and illegible.

She strode forward, moving ahead of Kivata. ‘Come, sister. We shouldn’t keep Mother waiting.’ The hallway was cluttered, random debris making footing uneven, at least for someone that couldn’t see, and she smiled hearing Kivata stumble behind her, choking back a curse. Janaxia simply walked faster, taking some measure of satisfaction from the proof of her superiority.

Mother’s apartments were still in the same place, protective runes springing to life as they approached. Janaxia resisted the urge to try and dispel them – Mother may well have placed failsafes into the spells, to counteract such attempts. And it wouldn’t do to show the extent of her growth unless forced to, in case of any attack.

She had to wait until Kivata caught up, her bracelet serving to stop the runes activating, the lights dimming at her approach. Something else useful to note – it was the bracelet, rather than any particular ritual required. She let Kivata knock on the door, waiting until a chime sounded. Kivata pushed the door open, Janaxia sweeping past into Mother’s rooms.

These at least had changed – they were now filled with a baffling variety of magical equipment, coils of metal and glass floating in mid-air, some parts fading in and out of vision. The scent of blood was heavy in the air, a groan coming from one of the side chambers – Mother must be experimenting with fresh resources again. There was a gurgle, the scent of blood getting stronger, followed by the incantation of a spell. Not one she recognised the specifics of, but… necromancy, of some kind? Perhaps a binding or a summoning? Far more advanced than anything she had studied.

A few moments later, her mother entered – the years had not been kind to her, her form even more crabbed and withered than before, her robes bearing powerful protective sorceries but stained from her labours, sleeves still wet with (someone else’s) blood. Several wands hung from her waist, all gleaming with power, and rings of power shone on her fingers, an amulet of blackest obsidian hanging around her neck. Her expression was cold as she looked at Janaxia, taking in her appearance. Janaxia resisted the urge to reflexively apologise, keeping her appearance as it was rather than changing it to fit in. Then her eyes dropped, seeing the Rod of Usorc on Janaxia’s waist.

‘Kivata, you are not needed, begone. Janaxia, you were successful? Or else this will go poorly for you.’

As Kivata turned around and left, Janaxia removed the skull from her pouch, glad to be rid of the thing, heavy and bulky on her hip, dragging her belt and robes off balance. And poorly-crafted, to boot – an item of such power wasn’t meant to fade into bone-dust, leaving her pouch filled with unpleasant, dirty grit! ‘It was simple enough to acquire.’

‘Oh? I had heard that Slavamir Davash had been slain, although it seems improbable such as you managed to defeat his like in combat. Still, I suppose seduction and treachery is as effective as anything else, and he wasn’t truly dedicated to the path of lichdom. An effective tactic for you.’ She looked at Janaxia’s clothing. ‘Kindly comport yourself appropriately here – however you may behave elsewhere, in this house, you are a scion of the Uth Tremari, and will behave appropriately.’ She held out her hand expectantly.

Janaxia handed the skull over, her mother’s eyes gleaming, crabbed hand almost grabbing it away. She tossed it into the air, an unseen force grasping it and conveying it to the centre of a ritual circle, along with a trail of motes of bone-dust, the thing almost falling apart, bone visibly translucent in places. ‘Excellent. Such ancient wisdom will only add to our power.’ The teeth of the skull clicked and clattered, lights sparking within the gems, a dark aura flickering around the eyes. ‘And you won’t be needing that, either. Hand it over.’

Mother gestured at the Rod of Usorc. Janaxia lifted it, giving it a warning shake as the limbs started to move, stilling it again. She already had it extended, the habit of obedience too strong to break, no opportunity to ask to keep it – she had done the work to earn it, after all. As it changed hands, the skeleton animated more fully, head twisting around to look at Poratia, the clawed hands scrabbling at the air, the whole thing making a loud chittering sound, almost like mocking laughter.

Poratia froze in place, a look of concentration on her face. Strange – the wand had made a cursory attempt to control her, but the mental lashes had been weak and easy to ignore, and the wand surprisingly amenable to control, at least partially. But Mother was still stood rigidly, eyes glassily focused on nothing, her hand shaking slightly, arm rigid and tense.

As the wand continued to chitter and clatter, Mother attempting to exert her will on it, Janaxia took the chance to look about some more. She didn’t move, not wanting to draw Mother’s displeasure. The devices were something of a divergence from the normal ‘rune-carved bone and sigil-inscribed flesh’ aesthetic; they were now strange, whirling things of brass, glass and obsidian, elements of them phasing out of normal reality, creating soft gusts of wind as air was channelled between different dimensions. The runes on them were of transportation and divination, seeking something in the furthest realms, somewhere out beyond mortal knowing. In the centre of the binding circle, where there would normally be some token of the thing being sought, there was only a hand-sized slab of black metal, the edges jagged and sharp-looking. Hakara would be in her element! At least, once she got used to the surroundings; the Academy probably had been cleaner and more proper in its arrangements.

From the back room came a gasping, wailing moan of agony, the sound of chains clinking. Mother must be animating a servant of some kind – probably something more advanced than a common skeleton or zombie, either of which she could have ordered someone else to create.

Time ticked by, Mother and the wand seemingly locked in communion, both fighting for dominance. Quite why she was making such a thing of it was a mystery – the wand had seemed quite cowed already. Unless Mother was making a more complicated pact with the device? It would probably be more potent if willingly serving, allowed to advance whatever its own goals were, rather than intimidated into service. Although fear had been far easier, and it had shown no interest in communication, retreating into passivity and not responding when she had tried to communicate with it.

Janaxia was starting to wonder if she should leave and return later, when Poratia gulped in a heaving, tremulous breath, lettering the wand drop from her grip. It landed on the desk with a clatter, the skeleton more animated now, landing on all fours, clawed hands gouging scratches in the hard wood, the chittering even more mocking than before.

‘Wretched thing! It rejects my will.’ She looked at Janaxia, eyes calculating. ‘I am intrigued. Take it up.’

Janaxia reached forward, the wand trying to crawl away, not fast enough. Do please cooperate, it will go far easier for you. It froze in place, allowing her to pick it up. It made a desultory attempt to penetrate her spirit again, a vaguely diffused blob of energy achieving nothing, far weaker than even its previous weak attempts at mental lances. She knocked it against the table as a precautionary warning, in case it thought to rebel somehow.

‘Hmmmm, strange.’ Mother approached her, fingers tracing a spell, green lightning arching around her fingers. She gestured, the energy shooting forward and into Janaxia, knocking the air from her lungs and holding her in place, paralyzing her body. She grunted in pain, trying not to show any fear or shock, schooling her features to be carefully neutral. Mother’s hand touched hers, the skin chill and leathery as she painfully bent Janaxia’s fingers back one by one, being careful not to touch the wand herself. Paralysed as she was, Janaxia could scarcely breath, as her fingers were wrenched and yanked. She felt a prickling, burning sensation on her chest, as though her skin were crawling, but couldn’t move to scratch or investigate. The wand fell, landing on her foot, making her thankful she was at least wearing sturdy shoes.

‘Strange. It seems… afraid of you. Not that there is anything fearsome about you.’ She grabbed Janaxia’s chin, pulling on it until their eyes meet, Janaxia wanting to look away or blink, but held in paralysis still, as she met her mother’s green-eyed stare. ‘You have been away quite some time, my daughter. You may have proven yourself useful, removing that Iristari brat, but know that your wilful disobedience will be permitted no longer.’

The grip moved to her neck, hand resting against her throat, above the choker, ready to squeeze. ‘That you are alive is something of a surprise, that you have been of any use whatsoever even moreso. In order to prove yourself, you must undergo the Rites of Confirmation that you have missed. Even Kivata, pathetic though she is, has managed to attain the fourth circle. If your experience cannot surpass that, then… well, I suppose I can find something for you to do, or at least your body.’

She squeezed, not hard, but enough to make breathing harder. ‘I trust you agree with my judgement?’ The spell relaxed, just a fraction, enough for Janaxia to speak, choking out an answer.

‘Yes, Mother.’

The grip tightened, cutting off her air fully. ‘Archmagus Uth Tremari, to you. You may yet earn the acknowledgement of blood, but it seems your time alone has created an unwholesome independent streak. Never forget – you are mine, to use and shape as I see fit. That you were successful in your mission is only the first step in regaining my trust. That you left this place, without my permission, means you are the lowest here, and will be treated as such.’ The grip tightened again, Janaxia feeling herself start to black out as air was denied her, before it was released, Mother removing the spell and Janaxia sinking to her knees, gulping in breath.

‘Ye….es, Archmagus Uth Tremari.’ She kept her head down in submission, not wanting to draw any further punishment.

‘Very good. Now go to your chambers and prepare yourself for your first trial.’ A hand grabbed her hair, pulling her head up, yanking at her crimson fringe. ‘And this… You should concern yourself more with pursuit of arcane power rather than the trivialities of your appearence. Ready yourself; should you pass, it will be useful to me, and be less painful for you. And take that thing with you, it is useless to me.’

She turned back to her work, clearly considering the conversation over. Janaxia didn’t dare wait until she was fully recovered, instead forcing herself to pick up the wand and stand, managing not to wobble as she moved towards the doorway, trying to breathe through her choking and panic. She couldn’t muster the energy to open it magically, instead fumbling with the handle, trying to open it as quietly as possible, hoping that her clumsy rattles wouldn’t earn herself another punishment.

As soon as she was alone in the hallway, she sank against the wall, taking deep breaths, ignoring the rank scent of blood and salt in the air. She rubbed her neck, taking some comfort in the choker, its warmth and solidity, and thoughts of Stathis, granting her some comfort. And now she was to undertake her trials? Some preparation would be necessary then – she had little desire to find out what alternate plans Mother had for her, should she fail, and there were few other places for her to flee to.