"Ravahlas su geska," she muttered, and watched the liquid's surface boil and waver, casting shadows upon the mirror below. It pulsed in tune to her heartbeat, sensing her will and forming images to satisfy what she desired. The scene changed and the silhouette of Brookhollow's walls coalesced, tinged in the crimson of the blooded water. Narrowing her eyes, the walls loomed into view, pulling near to the gates her forces would soon push through to gut the city. She bared her teeth as she noticed tiny figures moving along the crude battlements, carrying bows and spears. She searched their ranks, focusing on faces that were blind to her spying eyes. Those faces were set in determination-and some fear, she noted with slight satisfaction. "Fear drives them to stand and fight, regardless of faith," she whispered. "I underestimated their instinct for survival."

Viewing their numbers for a few moments more, she leaned back and smiled despite her irritation. Khaemil had ceased his meditations and turned to watch her as she spread her hands over the bowl, creating ripples in the water's surface with her fingertips. Her eyes, sparkling with cruelty, met his steady gaze. "Their warriors stand against us to defend the city," she said and he stood straighter, hefting his mace as if the battle were merely yards away. "Worry not, dear one. Their oracle witches do not stand with them." He eased his stance but stepped closer, watching as the bowl began to glow with a red light. Morgynn lifted the carved box of bone that contained the secrets of her plague. She dispelled the seal on its lid and gently took the yellowed scrolls from within, tracing her thumbs over the arcane letters and symbols written on the parchments. Leafing carefully through the brittle pages, she pulled one free and sighed in anticipation. Blood flooded to her fingertips, attracted to the magic that tingled along her arms in the scroll's presence. Her eyes became deep crimson orbs as she summoned the spell to her lips. The scene in the bowl changed again. Gone were Brookhollow's walls, replaced by the marbled floors of the Hidden Circle's sanctuary. She smiled. No god interrupted her view of the sanctuary, no divine protection repelled her power. The image grew darker, the distorted and nightmarish forms of several figures moved in and out of view. "The oracles will not act against their god's wishes," she said, slightly amused while choosing from among the shifting silhouettes. Her voice hollowed and hummed with power. "I will make sure they do not."

Dreslya stepped lightly, pushing through the gathered oracles who whispered and pointed. All were aware of her recent exile from such gatherings. Sameska paused in her speech extolling the virtues of those who refused to join the rebellious hunters at the eastern gate.

The high oracle glared down upon this intrusion of her sanctuary, this interruption of her audience. Dreslya glared confidently back, just for a moment, before ignoring Sameska and turning to gather the attention of her fellow oracles. She ascended the lowest step of the dais to address the others, but before she could speak, Sameska gripped her shoulder tightly in aged fingers of rigid iron. "You are unwanted in this chamber, child. Join your sister at the gates." She turned to the oracles. "Share in her blasphemy and none of you will darken this church's doorstep again!" Dres calmly removed Sameska's hand from her shoulder, squeezing just hard enough to show the high oracle that her touch would not be tolerated again. "For many months we have been without prophecy, relying on minor divinations and fethra petals to guide our lives. For a tenday or so, we have suffered the blush, watching loved ones succumb to fever and bleeding sores." She paused to allow her words to sink in. "And only two days ago, we were warned of approaching evil. Have you not wondered why prophecy did not come sooner?" A few in the hushed crowd gasped at Dreslya's open defiance of Sameska's authority, but to the high oracle's growing irritation, many listened closely, while still others nodded quietly.

"Your words ring hollow, Dreslya Loethe. The plague, the storms, and the Hoarite have all come in accordance with the will of Savras and his divine wisdom. Do you now question the prophecy that unfolds before your very eyes?" Dreslya turned and raised her emerald eyes to look upon Sameska as one might view a stubborn child. Her own recent visions gave her new understanding of the high oracle, erasing the old woman's facade of power and control, replacing it with a priestess full of fear and spite. She pitied Sameska, but tempered her pity with anger and concern for her people. "I do not question Savras or his will," she began, her voice uncharacteristically strong and clear. "I question the shepherd of his temple, the seer that might destroy us all." Sameska narrowed her eyes, speechless before this confirmation of betrayal within her own temple. Her anger seethed and boiled as the audience of oracles murmured and watched in shock. Before the high oracle could respond, a cracking sound drew all eyes to the ceiling and the glass dome above. Spider web fractures crawled through the glass like slow lightning captured in myriad colors. The largest cracks, near the center, grew dark and more defined as they began to bleed.

The water's surface bubbled and steamed as Morgynn chanted the words on the scroll. She stirred the bowl with a finger, churning the images into a swirl of shapes and colors. Beyond the sound of her own voice and the blood pounding in her ears, she could hear the dim buzz of words echoing from the scrying bowl-words that changed to screams as her magic took shape in the sanctuary. Each shard of glass tumbled end over end in slow motion as she completed the first portion of the spell. She chanted, watching the reflections of the gathered oracles scattering in the flashing mirrors of the shattered dome. Her hands turned and pushed against the air, shaping the spell and focusing it.

The mind of the creature she summoned was dull and shiftless, a slave to her will. Its airy body spun, snatching the shards from the air, making them one with its body. A single shard caught the reflection of her chosen victim and froze in the tempest of falling glass. She stood alone, dark-haired with pale skin, a single pulse growing stronger as the spell gripped her heart and mind in its vile embrace. The blush was weak in her, only the root of the infection that would make her vulnerable to the spell Morgynn wove. Her blood-born voice roared in the girl's ears as the magic was completed. The blood magus released the bowl from her power, panting and wringing her hands as the magic drained from her body. The scroll had burned away, leaving only a thin dusting of gray ash coating her hands. Gooseflesh rose and fell in waves across her flushed skin and she steadied herself before returning her gaze to the water. "My lady." Khaemil's voice rang with concern as he stared out the tower's window into the darkness of the field and forest beyond. "Something is happening outside." He held his mace in a tight grip, squinting to make out movement near the forest's edge and growling absently through slightly bared fangs. Morgynn barely heard his voice above the torrent of her own heartbeat and was annoyed at the intrusion on her moment of pleasure. She watched the reflection in the bowl as her magic took effect, then reluctantly turned away from the image to join Khaemil at the window. In the rippling waters of the scrying bowl, the young savant stared blindly into a twisting cyclone of crimson razors with eyes that grew clouded with red as cold sweat poured down her face and neck.