Mirrored from Sythyry.
“I do not appreciate a bunch of foreigners sneaking into my home. My wife-to-be is quite ill — extremely sick — quite unwell, and needs her rest. She is suffering from a fever of the brain, and may be a bit delusional.” Prince Rastomil’s body stood at the staircase, with five house guards.
“Speaking as a master of the Healer’s Guild, I note that no such thing is even remotely the case,” I said.
Rastomil’s body glanced at all of us. With a distressing lack of any sort of visible magic — we were still in that cursed cloud of hiding-spell — Yerenthax roared at the top of her lungs, and drew the magic sword I had made her, and turned it against me in a sudden and total fury. (Ow! She hits very hard with the thing!)
I, with usual Zi Ri urgent speed, tried poking at her with the Eye of Mirizan and Melizan, to figure out what had been done to her, so I could undo it.
Jyondre, with usual Orren urgent speed, pounced at Yerenthax and removed the Distant Sabre from her hands. This was quite a bloody and painful procedure, and would probably have been a great deal worse if Yerenthax hadn’t been trying to keep from hurting him. Their conversation went something like this:
Yerenthax: “Give me that sword back, Jyondre. I need to kill Sythyry.”
Jyondre: “Why, my dear love and keeper, do you need to kill Sythyry?”
The other bipeds among us were generally embattled at this point, though the details are not terribly interesting. I helped out with a tough ice fairy — the seven-winged burning thing would have been a total disaster in this situation, since we did not want to incinerate much of anything.
Yerenthax: “Zie’s going to force me to break my Word of Honor!”
Jyondre: “You’re not bound by any Words of Honor just now.”
Yerenthax: “Yes … but … zie’ll get me to make one, then force me to break it!”
Jyondre: “Actually, you’re under a mind control spell from someone else.”
Yerenthax: “I’m sure I’m not! Gormoror are all but immune to Ruloc Mentador!” (which more than false, though less than true.)
Jyondre: “I’m sure you are — and it’s a Mutoc Mentador spell, changing your thoughts around, not a Ruloc one. Gormoror don’t resist that much.” (He was wrong — it was Creoc Mentador, making a new obsession in Yerenthax’ mind. Such technical details did not matter.)
Yerenthax: “Oh! Curse it, you’re right, but I still need to kill zir before zie makes me break my Word!”
Jyondre: “How about we turn the tide of this brutal little melee that is going on at the head of the stair first? I give you my word of honor that, if Sythyry tries any tricks on you, I’ll help you thrash zir thoroughly. Besides, Rastomil definitely did cast a mind-spell on you, and whatever Sythyry might be planning to do, Rastomil probably has already done.”
Yerenthax: “An excellent plan!”
Jyondre gave her the Distant Sabre back, and she struck Prince Rastomil’s body once, with a carefully moderated degree of force. He fell down unconscious. (Note: to all monsters and primes who think that taking over someone else’s body is a good idea: your vitality is a matter of how good your spirit is to holding on to your body. In general, your spirit will not be nearly as good at holding on to someone else’s body, especially at first. So, you will be particularly vulnerable to injuries that would barely slow you down in your own body… unless of course you take a different approach to the matter than Nanggi-Zi did.)
With Prince Rastomil’s body down, the household guards stopped fighting us, and whined in considerable confusion.
Fixing Yerenthax: Jyondre and Phaniet lured Yerenthax out of the illusion-cloud, to somewhere where Phaniet could see the spell on Yerenthax. It was a routine sort of Creoc Mentador spell (insofar as those things are routine at all), giving her an intense obsession that I needed to die or I would force her to break her Word of Honor. Breaking it would have been a challenge, both because it was quite a strong spell, and because she would surely have felt that my efforts at spell-breaking were somehow forcing her to break her Word of Honor. The obsession would only last for some hours — fourteen hours, to be precise, which bespeaks a substantial amount of Creoc Mentador power behind the spell — so Jyondre took Yerenthax off to a hotel on the other side of town, and kept her quite occupied until the spell wore off.
Fixing Rastomil: We took Rastomil’s unconsious and possessed body out of the tower, so we could see what the spell on it was like. (Carrying a fallen prince around the city did attract some attention. Fortunately he was a foreign prince, and we had a city guard officer with us, so the attention was limited to smirking and spoken musing that foreigners cannot handle the local liquor.) We got him to the edge of the cloud, and saw a big complicated Mentador-Spiridor ritual working all over him. This surprised nobody at all.
And he went into convulsions. A nasty kind of convulsion, stressing every muscle in his body — that sort is usually fatal pretty fast, since some muscles, like the heart, are useful for life. The convulsions started when we moved him past a certain sharp boundary (not the boundary of the cloud), and stopped when we moved him back over it.
“Well, that explains that mummy corpse,” said Phaniet, and I nodded ruefully.
Rastomil, in Noshi’s body, had been lagging a few steps behind. Evidently Noshi’s legs are sore from various ill-treatments. He said, as he approached us, “I am finding something very painful here, as though my entrails were still back in the tower, and I am stretching them nearly to the breaking point.”
“That’s about right,” said Phaniet. “I’m fairly sure that Noshi, in Kethji’s body in the tower, is keeping them alive.”
So we took him and him (and her and her, too) back to Noshi’s tower, and worked on getting rid of the illusion-cloud instead. And, since this is a major magical working in a foreign city, we sent for Wingsa for advise and legitimacy. (Wingsa is slight relative of mine, fourteen hundred years old, green and yellow scaled, featherless, and best at Corpador and Herbador.)