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Vivienne didn’t need to hear the whispers to assume that Armand was dead—and it appeared to be true from the blood seeping down his front and the apparent loss of the ability to hold up his body. The corners of her mouth fell into a deep frown, and her eyebrows crossed.

“Don’t touch him!” she barked at a few fey who tried to approach the downed knight. They obeyed their returned Lady, and stayed to the side, but with their hands placed worriedly over their mouths.

She turned her eyes to Mabuz, who was standing still with his chest heaving, turning his head from his angry mother to the injured Armand and back to mother… as she beckoned coldly to him. With heavy steps, he came to her. Wordlessly, she pulled off his helm—which had also come from her armory—and then she lowered the hood of Lancelot’s hauberk that Mabuz had also stolen. Then she roughly removed the scabbard from his middle, and sheathed the sword he had been using, and dropped both swords to the ground. After those tasks were completed, she locked eyes with him in an intense expression of rebuke. Her lips tightened suddenly, and she slapped him sharply across his cheek.

“Of all the ways to disobey me, Mabuz,” she reprimanded him lowly. “Remove your brother’s armor.” Mabuz took a deep breath to fortify himself and stared at her with numb eyes. Then he slowly complied with her request and set Lancelot’s armor and gambeson on the ground.

Lancelot had run out at that moment—having regained his strength once the sword was sheathed. The first thing he saw was Vivienne striking Mabuz, and he halted in his tracks at this sight. Mabuz was wearing his armor—but he had expected him to do so for his duel. And then his eyes darted to the bleeding figure on the field.

“Sir Armand!” Lancelot cried, stunned.

“Come here, son,” Vivienne called to Lancelot. He obeyed, but he still sent fretful glances at his injured knightly comrade.

“Your brother has stolen an enchanted sword from my armory, and used it to steal your strength in his duel with your friend, Sir Armand,” Vivienne told Lancelot, punctuating her words with the harshness in her eyes. “What would be a fair punishment for him, do you think?”

Lancelot said nothing to answer her question, for he was still recovering from the shock of what Mabuz had done. At least he now knew the cause of his bouts of weakness… but the revelation also made him face Mabuz with upturned brows, tacitly asking him how he could do something so despicable… something so dishonorable.

“Banishment,” Vivienne condemned following Lancelot’s silence. “Every single person who has stolen from my private armory has been banished—and I can treat my son no different. I hereby banish you from the Lake, Mabuz.” She summoned a bag that contained his few possessions and handed it to him, her lips pursed and posture rigid.

Mabuz took the bag and blinked. He had known this was coming, but the actual sentence still shocked him. Finally, some words came to him. “That’s fine, mother. I can never be happy here, anyway.” He turned to Lancelot, who was speechless, and said to him: “I’m sorry for everything, Lance. I’m sure you’ll be a great knight.” He cast his eyes to the fey as if to say farewell, and then to the villa, which had always been his home. He remembered Armand for a moment, and knew that he had not killed him, and so he didn’t feel the rush of victory like he had expected.

Vivienne’s face turned liquid as she watched her son see the last of everything that was familiar to him. Some emotion broke through, and her anger dissipated, replaced by grief. She could not forget that Mabuz had been the one who pulled her out of the mirror… and she could not forget giving birth to him. She had always been prejudiced against him because of his father, but she was not cold-hearted enough that she had hated her baby.

Her heart ached, and tears came to her eyes. “Mabuz,” she said his name one last time, and pulled him into her arms. “I forgive you for what you have done, but know… this is for the best. A life in the Lake… is just not meant for you, my son.” Mabuz nodded, and then he broke away from his mother.

“I will have him live with me before he can make means for himself,” Nimue spoke, striding forward.

“Yes, that will be good, sister,” Vivienne agreed, wiping her eyes. “Farewell… my son.” She held on to Lancelot’s arm as she watched Nimue and Mabuz depart… and leave the Lake, riding Nimue’s mare. Lancelot had still been too stunned to speak, and had no parting words for his foster-brother. He continued to hold his grieving mother, until he noticed that Armand’s body had slumped over, now prostrate on the ground from having passed out.

“Mother, I must see to Sir Armand,” Lancelot said, leaving Vivienne’s side and hurrying to where Armand lay. The fey watched with flinching eyes as he pulled off the knight’s helmet. They expected that his head would tumble off his shoulders… it remained attached, but the amount of blood seeping from his neck was still quite startling.

“He lives!” Lancelot announced shakily.

“Take him to his room, my son,” Vivienne allowed. “But he is not to be healed by fey magic… as punishment for him engaging in a duel with my son.”

The fey didn’t dare protest. Nor did Lancelot. He noticed that Kantus was in the crowd, so he called him over. “Kantus, will you help me carry Armand?” And with Kantus’s help, he brought Armand’s limp body back into the villa, and into his cubiculum. He set him on the bed. The sheets were soon bloodied, but that wasn’t important enough to fret over. The two squires would have to go about cleaning and bandaging the wound by themselves, since the fey were not allowed to so much as lay their hands on him.

Vivienne, in the meantime, ignored the fey who tried to comfort her and locked herself away in her chambers where she could weep in private.

Mabuz was clinging to his aunt’s middle. He was really beginning to feel an appreciation for her, always coming in to help him when he thought no one cared. He had left the Lake for good and would never return… the thought simply couldn’t sink in.

And they had barely left, when he saw a familiar face. It was Roryn, and he was hauling fresh venison. It brought him relief to see the woodsman… perhaps he could learn to hunt, and that would be his means of feeding himself. Suddenly he felt a great amount of keenness for the man, who had been exiled himself. They seemed to share many experiences in common.

“Hail, Roryn,” Mabuz greeted from behind Nimue. His mouth flickered between a frown and a smile as he decided not to immediately announce his banishment. “Do you need assistance with that meat? Perhaps, some help cooking? I would be pleased to be of use...”

Roryn stopped. He wondered what on Earth Mabuz and Nimue were doing here. He was a bit stumped when Mabuz offered to assist him with the venison. It would be helpful, but... did Maraud want Mabuz in on her ploy? He didn't know, therefore he wasn't sure what to do.

"Sure. If you wish." he said, dividing the haul into two equal parts. He would figure out a way to stall Mabuz while he told Maraud about him, and if she decided not let him in on the plan, then he would offer to walk him back to the lake. Hopefully, though, she would go ahead and let him in on it, because Roryn wasn't sure he could think of a reason to leave the lake twice.

"Alright. Here you are, Mabuz. Lady Nimue... what will you be doing?" he asked, beginning to wonder if this was such a good idea. Even if Maraud let Mabuz in on the secret... could Nimue be trusted? Just how close were Nimue and Vivienne anyway?

Well, Roryn started this, and there was no turning back now.

Mabuz dismounted and accepted his share of the venison to carry. Nimue stayed on her horse, looking reluctant.

“Oh, I will actually be meeting someone… at a location nearby here,” she told Roryn. Her words were secretive, but her tone conveyed that she simply preferred privacy. “Nephew, shall I meet you at Roryn’s home? I’m assuming that is where you are going. Sir Roryn, might you be the owner of the little branch dwelling not far from here?”

---

After Maraud had Alanna thoroughly anointed and pomaded and all-over embrocated, she dressed her in her linen chemise and sat her down. Then she lectured the girl at length on the behavior of ladies, and everything she knew of Guinevere of Cameliard—the Welsh princess, daughter of King Leodegrance, who gifted Arthur with the Round Table as part of his daughter’s dowry.

“And if you wish, you may view her in this orb,” Maraud took out her glass ball and handed it to Alanna. By means of Maraud’s magic, Queen Guinevere could be clearly seen in the orb, weaving a tapestry and speaking with her ladies. “It may help to assume her actions and manner of speech…” She watched Alanna a moment, and then laid her hand on her shoulder sympathetically, for she felt like she was forcing all of this onto the girl who preferred questing and combat to the activities of ladies. “This will be difficult… it would be a challenge even for I to don the guise of the Queen. But at least you only have to convince the Lake folk, the most of which have had very few dealings with Queens, and even less so with the High Queen.”

Kantus watched the duel between Armand and Mabuz with great intensity, marveling every little detail of their combat. Kantus was startled at Mabuz's strength, for he never imagined that Mabuz was so strong, and seemed to fair exceedingly well against Armand, a knight of the round table. Even more shocking was the similarity in how Mabuz and Lancelot fought. Kantus had fought Lancelot before, and the forms of Lancelot and Mabuz were nearly identical, but Kantus just decided they were trained by the same person, blowing off any thoughts of magic, for even though he was starting to grow accustomed to seeing it, it still wasn't the first thing on his mind for situations like this.

Then, Mabuz took the upper hand with a minor strike to Armands arm. Kantus winced as the red spilt forth, for he was eagerly cheering on Armand, who he was starting to become a little more fond of since their play with the ladies and conversation the other day. Plus he didn't much like Mabuz.

Suddenly, it was over. Mabuz had made a clean strike to Armand's neck, and it looked as though Armands neck was attached solely by his helm, and perhaps a few fibers of skin or flesh that hadn't been cut through, and a river of red gushed forth. Instantaneously with this final blow, Vivienne had magically appeared breaking up the fight. This was a shocking encounter, and Kantus' heart dropped when he thought his comrade dead, and he could seem to do nothing but watch in disbelief.

Soon after Vivienne's reprimanding Mabuz for his theft of magical equipment, Lancelot came. Kantus couldn't help but feel glad that Mabuz was being banished, for he had just slain one of his friends over a stupid matter. Kantus' mouth still hung open in shock of Armand's death when Lancelot rebuked the thought, claiming Armand was alive. Kantus Ran over when Lancelot called with all haste to aid taking him for healing.

When they reached the cubiculum, Kantus immediately started bandaging the wounds and doing what he could to help. Kantus didn't know much about healing, but he would do everything in his power to help Armand recover.

The sun was high and the heat uncanny as Lady Morgan rode with her small caravan of servants and a few guards. She languished a fan of peacock feathers about her face and slipped the heavy, white fur stole from her shoulders to the seat next to her. She feared to remove her gloves, as she was nobility among peasantry and a might secretive at that.

She'd chosen to wear black, a typical color of her, and yet such an unfair choice to be layered in. Morgan disliked the land of Gore a bit more than she thought she would when she first married in, but was now thankful for it's lofty peaks and cool tempratues. She hoped to reach them soon, but not before looking in on the happenings of "new court". She referred to it lightly, as she herself didn't find that much gentry or enthusiasm in the lot. Still, she figured, it might be interesting. At lest she could sleep on an actual bed in a room surrounded by four walls, or even just wine might be enough to get her back to Gore alive.

As if on que, arrows from the left and the right hailed the palanquin. Servants scattered adn the guard put up their shields in defense of their queen. Several dirty, scruffy looking bandits emerged from the shrubbery. They claimed the vast treasures (of which there were few, as Morgan didn't find it wise to travel heavely laden) as their own. A battle ensued between the guardians and bandits; in which several of each were killed.

Morgan had seen enough. Slipping her stole back on and keeping the fan close by, she stepped from the palanquin into the fray. An archer, reluctantly took aim at her and shot her in the left of the chest. There was a large roar of approval from the seven or so bandits remaining, followed by a collective gasp at Morgans hastey removal of the arrow.

Blood trickled from the wound, staining her fur. A look of rage consumed Morgans entire frame and she hurled the arrow into the earth. A spark popped from the arrow and a small flame errupted from the protruding weapon. With shock and awe, the bandits and remaining guard watched the flame burn.

Morgans taunt voice broke the astonished silance. "Do not simply stand there and gape! If it's more blood you seek, I'm angery enough to take it from your ranks and show it to you!" She, being usually so passive-aggressive, chalked her unusual bad temprament to the heat and soreness of her back and legs.

The guard fell into line and tried to look fierce, but were really just as bewildered as the rest. The few bandits departed with haste and some swore vendetta at their humiliation, empty promises. The caravan re-assembled and the journey continued.

Roryn nodded to Nimue's question, "I do. Built it myself." he said, then motioned to Mabuz, "Follow me." he said then headed home. Once there, he stopped and took Mabuz's venison.

"I'll take this inside. I need you to wait outside for a moment. Maraud is inside at the moment and I must make sure she is decent before you come inside." he said casually then went through the animal skin door.

"Here is the meat. Dear..." he said outloud before whispering in Maraud's ear, "Mabuz is out there. I didn't bring him in yet because if I didn't know if you wanted him in on the secret. If you don't I'll send him back to the Lake." he said, then awaited her response.

Mennah, now in her started cousin’s arms, was crying uncontrollable, trying to get the words out, but Ralcia seemed to be the only one who could decipher her words, and a look of utter horror etched in her face. The pain and guilt her cousin was afflicted with was almost enough to move her to tears. She had never thought Mabuz a swordsman, and so the possibility that he would defeat Armand Mennah’s knightly friend had never crossed her mind. With sad eyes she stroked Mennah’s hair to soothe her, but to no effect.

“Armand is dead. Mabuz slue him in combat today, though I have no idea how. Mennah asked Armand not to hurt Mabuz last night, and promised her he wouldn’t.” Ralcia explained to the others, in an attempt to explain her cousin’s behavior. Then Roryn came in with meat, and said that Mabuz, the killer himself, was outside. She knew Mennah would feel too guilty to say anything to him, but if Maraud let him in, she would not feel any such qualms, and glared at the door.

Maraud’s heart went out to poor Mennah, who was screaming Armand’s name, and then sobbing horribly. She had the intuition that it was over the duel between Armand and Mabuz, but from the sound of Mennah’s reaction, it sounded as if Armand had died, which was not something she had foreseen at all.

Since Mennah was being comforted by her cousin, Maraud remained standing on the other side of the room. She had not realized how much Mennah cared for Armand… and this brought her more shame when she recalled that Mennah had known of her brief intimate dealings with the bold knight.

And then at that moment, another sufferer from that incident entered—Roryn. She didn’t even take notice of the raw meat he was carrying, for her eyes flew straight to his, worried for Mennah. For she had just heard Ralcia’s revelation, confirming Armand’s death and Mennah’s partial guilt in the matter.

“Mabuz is here?” she whispered back, her anxiety growing tenfold. But she was grateful that Roryn had acted wisely and denied him entrance. “No, you mustn’t bring him inside. First of all, I don’t trust him to honor the secret, and second… it will further torment Mennah to see him again... for he has slain Armand, and she knows of it! He must not come inside.”

On the outside of the hut, however, Mabuz had heard the louder of Mennah’s sobs through the skin door. He even heard the last part of Ralcia’s explanation… so that was why Armand had gone out of his way to halt his attacks! Because Mennah had pleaded him not to! It didn’t take Mabuz long to figure out that Laure and Faustine had falsely reported to him. And somehow Mennah already knew what had happened at the battle, probably through her empathic vision. He couldn’t possibly face Mennah now, he realized as he gripped his hands in torment. Then, in a moment of rashness, he ran off into the woods before Roryn could come back out again.

---

Nimue trotted her mare to the cave by the Lake, where the fey had once taken shelter in. There, she found Merlin, waiting for her as she expected. He was looking intently at a red-eyed crow perched in a shrub, and seemingly nodding his head in conversation as the bird made short accusatory squawks.

“Very well then,” Merlin said gruffly to the crow as Nimue approached, ending the conversation by tapping the bird’s branch with his walking staff and shooing the crow away.

“You have my condolences for your sister,” Merlin said to Nimue, grasping her hand to help her dismount. “But it was either Mab or Vivienne, and I say the nobler sister was spared.”

Nimue smiled sadly at this, for she still had her sympathy for Mab. She raised her eyes and looked into the great prophet’s kind blue ones, but said nothing. “Let us sit and you can tell me of all these recent happenings in the Lake. The water looks calm enough, but I can sense that the people inside it are absolutely raging,” he said, raising his graying brows in emphasis.

“Actually, I must meet my nephew,” Nimue declined, changing her mind about this meeting with Merlin.

“Ah, I see,” Merlin said good-naturedly, smoothing his hand over his white beard. “I also have business to attend to in these parts. There seems to be a lot of orb-peering activity coming from a little forrester’s hut. And as Arthur’s advisor, it is my duty to inquire into the motives of those who wish to spy on his court.” But he said these serious words lightly, even chuckling a little.

Nimue did not know of Maraud’s plan, but she assumed that it was Maraud who was doing the orb-peering. “Well, that hut happens to be where my nephew is waiting for me,” she said glibly. She allowed him to ride with her on her horse, and they soon arrived at Roryn’s dwelling… where Mabuz was nowhere to be seen.

“Perhaps he is inside,” Nimue assumed. She and Merlin dismounted, and walked up to the home. They didn’t knock, and instead simply opened the skin flap and walked in. It was a strange scene inside… for the overlying feeling was that it was a time of mourning, for there was one girl who was lying on a moss bed and weeping heavily. But all the others seemed to be occupied by sewing extravagant gowns, and clear in view were the orbs they were looking at. The air was fairly permeated with fragrance, the only human lady was slick with oil and dressed in her underwear, and then there was one man amongst the six women, holding a great amount of bloody meat.

“Well!” Merlin burst in surprise. "What is going on here?"

Lancelot had sopped up Armand’s blood while Kantus did the bandaging. Then it seemed that there was nothing else they could do without fey healing. So Lancelot went about seeing to his friend’s comfort by carefully removing all of his mail armor, down to his gambeson and cuisses.

He hovered a moment over Armand, concerned by his pallor. He didn’t feel responsible, but he resented Mabuz having filched his skills to inflict such an injury. At that moment, Lancelot was glad his foster-brother was banished... and gladly accepted the possibility that he would never see him again. “Good riddance,” Lancelot muttered under his breath.

He was relieved when Armand woke, and quick to kneel at his side. But he furrowed his brows and leaned forward when he heard the distressing noise coming from the knight’s throat. “Armand, can you speak?” He shot Kantus a glance that asked him what they should do--for he had no knowledge of tending to these types of wounds.

“Merlin!” Maraud gasped loudly, forgetting all about Armand and Mabuz. She could hardly believe her eyes that King Arthur’s most trusted advisor had just now entered their forest hide-out! She heard Alanna’s squeak behind her, and she stood taller and spread her arms to help hide the undressed girl. She tried to adopt a facade of innocence, but it was quite impossible, because he had already seen too much, and her initial reaction did nothing to help her. She gave Nimue a pleading look, but Nimue was eyeing what else was happening in the room.

“My dear lady fey,” Merlin looked down at the startled Maraud. “I believe you have been caught red-handed…” he looked around and tried to choose an apt description for what he suspected. “For some sort of illicit plot to impersonate the Queen and her ladies. Am I not correct?”

Maraud was frozen in horror for a moment, moving her lips in an attempt to speak. After floundering for a pretense, she dropped her shoulders and gave up and confessed thusly: “Aye, Lord Merlin, we are plotting to impersonate the Queen and her ladies.”

The two healing fey, who had been hiding behind the stump table, jumped up and protested. “Maraud! What are you doing?”

But Maraud ignored them and continued, trying to explain herself. “But, my lord, it is not a plan to harm the King or the Queen at all. Nay, it is only to deceive Lady Vivienne and the Lake folk. For, you see, this goodly young lady I have behind me,” she gestured to Alanna. “Her name is Alanna of Greensbury, and she is a unique woman who strives to seek justice through baring arms… and she recently accompanied the young Lancelot du Lac,” she stressed his name, expecting Merlin would have foreseen him already. “On a valiant quest to rescue Lady Vivienne from the dark realm of Queen Mab. But you see, Vivienne will not honor this gallant young lady because of her… humble origins and… unladylike ambitions… and so we have planned to dress Lady Alanna as Queen Guinevere, so she shall be present at the banquet celebrating her efforts.” She heaved a great breath once all of this was relayed. Then she turned behind her and took Alanna’s chin in her hands and turned the girl’s face towards Merlin. “Does she not share a natural likeness with the Queen, my lord?”

Merlin appraised Alanna a moment, scrutinizing her face with his knowing blue eyes. Maraud’s lip trembled in anticipation of his acceptance or disapproval of what he had been told…

“Maraud speaks the entire truth, Merlin,” Nimue added. “I was present when Vivienne was freed, and when she cruelly rejected this worthy young woman. But I had not known of this plot… however, I don’t condemn it.”

“And I’ll have you know that this was a plan suggested by the young Lancelot himself!” Maraud quickly added, sending him cues with her face that suggested the nature of Lancelot and Alanna’s regard for each other.

“Well! Why did you not say so? If Lancelot has suggested it…” Merlin widened his eyes amusedly. “Surely you know what this will mean, my dear lady fey?” He asked Maraud, his tone relaxing. “And granting that this young lady does share a likeness with the Queen…”

“Of course I know what it will mean,” Maraud replied pointedly. “It has already happened!”

“Oh, has it now?” Merlin grinned, casting his eyes on Alanna once more.

“Yes. So, you will allow us to carry it out, Master Merlin?” Maraud asked hopefully.

Merlin waited a moment before he conceded, which caused a chilling bead of sweat to roll down Maraud’s neck.

“Aye... But on the condition that I am present while you all present yourselves. And I want to meet young Lancelot. But first I must ask the lady,” he turned to Alanna and smiled gently. “Lady, are you committing yourself to this plan willingly, or have you been forced into it by these tricky fey? Answer truthfully, now. While I'm not a mind-reader, I'm the King's chief advisor and an accomplished sorcerer. It will do you no good to be anything less than truthful.”

Maraud opened her mouth to protest, but Merlin hushed her, and waited patiently for Alanna.

Kantus rushed to the opposite side of the bed Lancelot was when Armand murmured, and when Lancelot shot him the look, Kantus looked about, and placed his hands on Armand's belly, and was about to start pushing it, for he feared Armand was drowning in his blood, and this, though crude, was the only way he could think to try and release the blood from within him. But just at that moment, Armand spoke, and Kantus was washed with relief. He didn't particularly like being in this situation, he was in no way a healer, and was entirely indecisive in the matter,and Kantus didn't like that feeling. Never the less, Armand was someone Kantus had fought with and risked his life with, and despite Kantus' first unappealing impression of Armand, Kantus wanted to get to know him better, and found Armand to be rather enjoyable the other day, and so Kantus found he was cursed by more grief then he would have liked.

Then Armand made some sort of vocal noise as he tried to say something. Kantus was taken slightly aback, and worried further over his partners injuries, though the fact that he was trying to talk showed Kantus he wasn't actually drowning in blood. Kantus looked at Armands wound with grievious eyes before removing his hands from Armand's belly, and sat beside him once again. "Im glad your not in dead" Kantus said. He didn't realize how poor his word choice was until he had spoken the word's, but they were true none the less.

Lancelot’s face was full of dread. He was grateful that Armand was alive, but how long would he survive with a sword wound to his throat? And his inability to speak, it appeared, was also troubling.

“If only mother…” Lancelot began sorrowfully. But at that moment, Vivienne had just walked in, with a handkerchief clutched in her fist and her eyes puffy.

“I will not have him healed by magic!” she reinforced, looking down at the injured knight, who was now conscious. “It is hardly an unreasonable punishment. I could have him suffer much worse. And he is a knight from the mainland—he should be accustomed to suffering his wounds without fey relief.”

“Mother, I fear he may not survive!” Lancelot said to her emotionally. “And if he does, he may never be able to utter another word for the rest of his life!”

“And justly so. We shall hear no more boasts from Sir Armand the Bold,” Vivienne said. “No more challenges against other ladies’s sons!” Her spite returned to her, and she turned on her heels and left the cubiculum almost as quickly as she had appeared.

“Forgive her, Sir Armand,” Lancelot looked down apologetically at the older knight. He clenched his jaw at the sight of such a valiant knight, losing his lifeblood and confined to a bed… and at a loss of his most courageous words that had always inspired Lancelot, even more the knight’s deeds. He clenched Armand’s hand in his own, and then placed Armand’s hand on top of Mennah's necklace that lay on his chest.

“I will bring Mennah to you,” Lancelot’s eyes lit up. “You need to see her…” He turned to Kantus. “Stay with him. I’ll be back shortly!”

With a set task before him, Lancelot brought himself to his feet and hurriedly left the room. It would do no good for him to try to leave the Lake. Vivienne had her watch over the barrier restored, and now anyone who tried to exit or enter would be allowed to only by her willing. Besides, he did not know how to find Roryn’s home in the forest.

Instead, he brought himself to the seneschal’s chambers and found Saturnus, perusing some large volume at his desk. Saturnus could see clearly that the lad was upset, so he set away his book and stood, placing his hands on Lancelot’s shoulders to calm him.

“Saturnus! I need to speak with Mennah, but she is outside the Lake,” Lancelot told him fretfully.

“She is with her cousin Ralcia, is she not?” Saturnus suspected. Lancelot shook his head in the affirmative.

Saturnus knew what they would do, and he nodded and led Lancelot to the table where he kept his large crystal orb. He sat Lancelot down in the chair and pulled off the cloth covering of the orb. Lancelot was somewhat hesitant… for he had never used the fairy orbs before… and although he had grown up around their usage, he had always refrained from turning to necromancy for his own needs. For it simply wasn’t Christian…

Saturnus stood over Lancelot’s shoulder and waved his hand in front of the orb to conjure an image of Ralcia’s face. “Ah, good. She has her orb out.”

“Ralcia!” Lancelot called out at her through the orb. “I need to speak with Mennah!”