Note: The sections from the Myrdraal's point of view were not written by me. They are from a roleplay thread at the Wheel of Shadow, and posted here it is for your reading pleasure. I'll write actual chapter-y things after the thread is done and I find out whether she lives or dies or what.
~Chiallabear
Calis entered the room. The myrddraal, one of the original ones, not anything close to his power and ability, had shown this new Darkhoundkin into the room. Darkhoundkin were rare enough - Darkhounds had to find the ones who had the ability - or could be gifted with the ability; no one was quite sure how they did it - to be either wolfkin or darkhoundkin. And then they had to make sure they would be...suitable...material for the Shadow.
Still...their bond with the Darkhounds could not be denied its power and usefulness.... Which was why Calis was here today. Indayende, his master, had sent him here to recruit this Darkhoundkin for his cause. Indayende's lands lay mostly south of the Blight Border - and as such the few men and women who popped up with the ability more often were found by the Wolves first. So any chance to get his hands on on....
Calis stared down at the girl. She wasn't much more than a girl, that was for certain. Calis gave her another once over. She was a bit small for his master's tastes, but her long raven black hair was something he always had enjoyed...and her silver eyes were quite exotic, another thing his Master preferred.
Still, it was not his place as a servant to question. His Servant place was a commander. And this woman had potential to be an excellent scout.
First, however, a test.
A dagger quivered in the floor as it suddenly appeared before the girl. The door behind Calis opened, and a man was dragged out - he was old, and useless, his days as a slave having just ran out. Underfed and malnurished, his eyes still held a faint pleading hope...and an intense fear of Calis and what he represented.
Calis looked at the girl his eyless gaze beating down on her, ten times stronger than any other myrddraal she had ever encountered.
"Kill him"
Kharienthe stared at the myrdraal, mesmerized. She watched him watch her, lips parted a little in anticipation of...of...something; she didn't know quite what. She felt rather than saw his gaze rake her body, but she was not disturbed by it. To the contrary, she felt a thrill run down her spine at the thought. She was suddenly very aware of the state she was in; she had not bathed since leaving her mother's cottage, and her hair was tangled in a dark cloud about her head. Her dress was in rags. Did myrdraal care about such things? She could not even imagine one taking a lover, yet she was sure she had not mistaken his assessing glance.
The door opened then. Guards brought a struggling man into the room, and a knife shuddered in the floor at her feet. An old man, his frame skeletal, his eyes wild with fear and faint hope.
"Kill him," the myrdraal hissed, his voice colder than the steel of the knife that appeared in her hand.
Kharienthe was on her feet in the next moment, circling her prey, her own knife in one hand and the myrdraal's in the other.
How shall I kill him, Daghain? Khar sent her query to the waiting darkhound, an image of the old man wrapped round with Khar's intention to kill him. Where shall I strike?
Throat, came the hunger-ridden, jealous reply. The pack had not eaten in days. As fast as the image of the emaciated throat was sent by Daghain, Khar's knife was buried in the living flesh. Dropping the myrdraal's knife, she tore the wound open with her free hand, eager to eat what would be her first meal in days.
Realizing that the myrdraal still watched, she paused, her fingers still buried in the dying flesh, blood gushing out and spilling onto the floor. She looked up at the eyeless creature, snarling, ready to defend her kill. This meat was hers!