Varandur

“How did you find me?” Rhia giggled, gazing down through the branches of the weeping willow, right into the crystal blue eyes of her new playmate.
“The tree gave you away!” he said with a laugh. He reached up to her perch, a warm, inviting smile on his pale lips.
She looked at him quizzically and jumped down into his arms. That he might drop her never even crossed her mind. He’d never drop her. “How’d it do that? I didn’t hear anything!”
He set her lightly on her feet. “Really? And you’re even a Daughter of Elbereth! The trees talk quite clearly if you just listen to them. They’ll even talk to you if you’re polite.” He took her hand and placed it on the willow’s trunk, resting his own hand over hers. “Go ahead, listen.”
She sent him a skeptical look, but closed her eyes and listened as hard as she could. After a few minutes, she looked up at him, tears forming in her eyes. “I don’t hear anything, Tobias…”

She’d never heard anything, never even so much as a whisper. But she knew in her heart he hadn’t been lying. “Sometimes they only talk to you when you need them,” he’d said to stop her crying. She choked back the tears and shook the memory from her head. This was no time to dwell on the past. But, just maybe, he’d been right. And she certainly needed their help.
She tentatively stepped away from Tom and approached one of the oaks lining the clearing. She swallowed, and almost laughed at herself. “What am I afraid of?” She shook her head and lifted her hand to touch the bark. Nothing. Her brow furrowed, determined not to give up as easily as she had the hundreds of times in the past.
She closed her eyes, and willed herself to listen harder. A few more minutes, and all she heard was the chattering of squirrels who were settling in for the night. Why? Why couldn’t she hear them? She bit her lip in desperation and rested her forehead against the tree.
Suddenly, her ears filled with the cheerful gossip of a hundred voices. Her eyes snapped open in surprise, but she dared not pull away. It was them… She licked her lips, and swallowed the lump of joy in her throat. Okay; ‘be polite’, he’d said.
“Excuse me-“
The forest fell silent, and she filled with the feeling of a thousand eyes suddenly watching her. She trembled with a sense of dread, but steeled herself to it.
“Excuse me, but I need-“
Before she could even say it, a powerful wind swept through the clearing and her ears filled with screams and curses. She gasped, miraculously keeping a hold on the tree and the scream in her chest.
“Who are you?!”
“A half-blood!”
“It’s a dark one! A dark one has the gift!”
“How can this be?!”
“We’re doomed!”
“Get away! Don’t touch me! Get off of me!”
“Please,” Rhia pleaded urgently, keeping her voice low. “Please, I need your help! My friend is hurt, he’s going hungry!”
“Blood! She is the murderer!”
“Murderer!”
Rhia’s eyes stung from the tears and her head ached from so many screams. “I only wish to know where the Highway is! Please, you must tell me!” She hadn’t realized until then that she had wrapped her arms around the tree. The screams and accusations only grew louder and she let out a sob. No wonder they had never spoken to her before. She was a demi-Drow, a sworn enemy of the Wood and all of their domain, the very forests they inhabited. “You have to help me…”
A gentler breeze pushed into the clearing, cutting through the harsh wind and screams. With it came an even gentler voice to silence the chaos. “That is enough.” The voice was deep, and wise. It must have belonged to a very old tree. Rhia pulled back from the oak and lifted a hand to wipe the tears from her face. Again, a soft breeze brushed past her, fluttering through her hair and across her cheek. “Do not fret, child. I have watched you, and saw what you did yesterday. I have kept close watch on you ever since you entered my forest, and have heard many tales of your plight from the birds that migrated to these woods. Those men hunted you down, with no knowledge of who you were or what you’d been through. They are dead, and the world is better for it. You have been through much, Daughter.”
At “Daughter”, the woods came alive with chatter again, this time with voices of disbelief and a different kind of fear. They hadn’t realized.
The deep voice hushed them again with the breeze, and Rhia felt a warmth touch her heart and her soul. “You wish for guidance, Daughter?”
“Y-yes, please. Just until my friend wakes up.”
“Very well. I will guide you. Do not fear, little one. You have been alone long enough.”
“Thank-you.”
“Go get on your horse. I will give him the strength to carry you.”
She wouldn’t question how he would do that, just simply left the oak and hurried back to Tom’s side. It took a moment to convince her aching muscles that she really did want to climb back up there. With little more than a groan, though, she was seated in the saddle.
“Sit tight, Daughter. Your horse will know where to go. Trust him, and do not interfere.”
She nodded and let the rains lay on Tom’s neck, instead taking hold of his mane. Sure enough, Tom began to walk and, without hesitation, stepped out of the clearing.
As Tom found the right trail, Rhia felt that warmth begin to leave her. Her eyes widened and she sat straighter in the saddle. “Wait!”
The warmth tickled her heart in the form of a fatherly chuckle. “You will be safe, Daughter.”
“N-no, that’s not it. I trust you.”
The voice took on a curious tone. “What, then?”
“I…I was hoping you might tell me your name.”
“Ah, yes.” The sensation of a smile filled her. ‘We do not carry names, we trees. But the Elves have referred to me as Varandur.”
She closed her eyes and let the name echo across her heart. It was warm, and strangely familiar. “You truly have been with me a long time, haven’t you?”
“Yes, Daughter.”
“Thank-you; for everything. I will always remember your name, and your kindness.”
“Very good, child,” he said with the same warmth. “Do not fear to call on our aid ever again. I will make sure knowledge of your soul travels far, so you will never be alone.”
She had to fight back tears all over again, and didn’t protest this time when the warmth receded. She no longer felt alone. She bent forward to rest her cheek against Tom’s mane. “Carry us to safety, friend. You know the way.”
Tom snorted and bobbed his head, and ever so slightly picked up the pace. It would not be long now, she hoped.

Mercenaries

“Momma, look!”
She glanced down at the little girl, broad smile filling her lips. She was only three years old, with a mixture of innocence and intelligence that a number of her previous daughters had inherited. It was unsettling to some, but Rhia knew it for what it was. The girl had fair skin, and a head full of blonde curls. Currently, she was holding up a small white flower, a ladybug perched on the petal.
“What’cha got there?” she asked the girl as she crouched down beside her.
“It’s a bug!”
They laughed, and she took the flower from her daughter’s hand. “Do you know what kind of bug?” The girl shook her head, causing the curls to flounce around her face. “It’s called a ladybug.”
“But what if it’s a boy?” They laughed again, this time causing the bug to fly away, and the girl quickly chased after it. She ran across the field, back towards the small house on the hill, overlooking the vast country around them.

* * *

“Boss?”
Rhia broke from her reverie, once again gazing down at the little white flower in her hand. The mercenary band was perched on a ridge, a camp of bandits set up in the valley below. They’d kidnapped the daughter of a lesser lord, and the crown was doing nothing to help. Rhia, of course, had been in the right place at the right time, and was now tasked with retrieving the girl.
“How should we proceed?” her current number two asked.
She glanced sideways at him, then smiled. It was a smile to make one’s skin crawl. She held up the white flower in her palm, and with a thought, it burst into flames, curling up into a small pile of ashes only to be carried off by the wind.
“Burn them,” she said. “Leave the girl to me.”
“Right,” he said with a smirk. He tugged his horse around and went to give the orders. Without notice, without any rallying call from Rhia, without war cries to alert the camp below, the men descended. They quickly spread chaos and flames, setting not only the encampment on fire, but the bandits as well. Not a single sword was drawn by her men, all meeting their fate by flames. It gave her men a challenge, but it also had its purpose.
Rhia descended among the chaos. Her horse walked straight and true despite the flames and shouting, trusting her hand. She didn’t rush, never rising above a walk, almost appearing to go by in slow motion among the chaos around her. She’d spotted the tent she was looking for from the ridge, and so went straight for it. None seemed to notice her, too busy burning or trying not to burn.
There was no one guarding the tent when she arrived, but the flames had begun to work their way up the tent lines, soon to engulf the whole place. She swung down from her horse, which waited patiently where Rhia left him. Swift steps carried her into the tent, and her sharp eyes pinpointed the prize.
And what a prize. Rhia slowly smiled at the sight of the girl. Sixteen, with three feet of rich, chocolate hair, fair skin with a touch of freckles on her nose. Her clothes were stained, torn, and roughed up. Rhia was more than sure the girl was by far no longer a virgin. She was spoiled goods, no longer valuable for the treaty marriage she had been arranged for. Precisely what Rhia had been hoping for.
She strode across the tent and reached down, taking hold of the girl by the ropes that bound her. She’d been unconscious – fainted, perhaps – but she stirred when lifted to her feet. Seeing Rhia before her, her eyes grew wide, but Rhia quickly motioned for her to be silent. Realizing she wasn’t one of the bandits, the girl clamed her mouth shut and followed Rhia out of the tent. Rhia helped her up onto the horse, a difficult task with the girl still bound by ropes, and then swung up behind her. She wheeled the horse around and urged him into a brisk run back the way they’d come.
When they reached the ridge, some of her men had already rallied back there. Rhia carefully untied the ropes from the girl, then dropped to the ground. She tugged off one of the girl’s shoes and started to walk away.
“Hey!” the girl exclaimed, finally over the shock of the whole rescue mission. “Who are you people? What are you doing with my shoe?” Her voice was quite pretty, and Rhia idly wondered if she sang.
She turned to look back, calm smile on her face. “We’ve come to take you home. Your shoe is the key.” The girl didn’t look as though she understood, but she would soon enough. Rhia continued on her way, finding her number two among those that had rallied back. “Take these. Find a corpse for them, then burn it again.”
The man grinned and took the rope and shoe. “She’s quite the looker, ain’t she?”
“Yes. Yes, she is.”

* * *

“You said you were taking me home!”
Rhia stood in the main common room of the mercenaries’ headquarters. It was actually a large system of caves, magickal lights filling the place with some kind of warmth. It was home. Unfortunately, not the home Ms. Brixby had been hoping for.
“I thought you came to rescue me!”
Rhia stepped forward, and handed the girl a piece of sheepskin, on which were the orders by her father in regards to her rescue. She hesitated, but took the orders and quickly read through them. Then she read through them again, slower.
“This…this isn’t from my father.”
“The seal is his,” Rhia said calmly.
The sheepskin fell from the girl’s hands and she let out a sob. Rhia bent to retrieve the orders, tucking them into a pocket of her cloak. “You still wish to go home?”
Her eyes grew wide as she looked up to Rhia. “No, please. I can’t go back now. I can’t.”
“Very well. Then welcome home.”
“I can really stay here?”
“Under two conditions: Serve me, and remain beautiful.”
The girl’s brow furrowed, but a small chorus of giggles interrupted her thoughts. She glanced up, taking in the room for the first time. In the main chamber, Rhia’s men watched from the various tables set up around them. Above, along a balcony that led back into another series of caves, was a small crowd of women. They were beautiful, of various ages, sizes, races, all of them well dressed, if not a bit scantily. A hint of dread touched the girl’s face.
“Is this a…a brothel?”
They giggled again, and Rhia chuckled as well. “Not at all. These women are my servants.”
“What do…what do they do?”
“Anything I ask,” Rhia said simply. “Do you accept, or shall I carry out your father’s orders?”
She paled and looked quickly back to Rhia. “I accept.”
“Wonderful! Lacey, come show Ms. Brixby to her new room. Get her cleaned up and fed for me, will you?”
An older woman of the group, nearing her forties, but still rather stunning, stepped away from the group and headed down the stairs. “Of course, mistress.”
Rhia watched the girl as she was led away, then turned to her number two. “That went well. Take these,” she said, handing him the orders. “Burn them with the originals. Send Phillip to give Lord Brixby the news of his daughter’s unfortunate end.”
“Righto, boss. Anything else?”
“Not now. Keep to your own room tonight.”
“What if she’s not enough?”
Rhia smirked, glancing up towards the emptied balcony. “Oh, she’ll be enough. She has so much to be thankful for, after all.”
He chuckled and left her side, off to do her bidding.

* * *

“What’s your name, doll?”
“Susan,” the girl answered, glancing around at the ring of faces surrounding the tub. Lacey was washing the dirt from her back, while one of the other girls combed perfume through her hair. “Are you all…like me?”
“Some of us. Others are runaways. Some of us just came when she called. The mistress has an eye for a pretty face.”
Susan frowned. “What is it you all do?”
“Keep her happy,” one of the other girls replied.
“How?” she asked with a hint of hesitation. These girls looked happy enough, but something about Rhia made Susan think she was difficult to please.
“All different ways. Sometimes it’s just bringing her food, spirits, making her fire or drawing her bath. Now and then she requires help in dressing, or looking after should she be injured on a job.”
“We keep the boys happy, too,” another added with a response of giggles.
Susan tensed at that, but Lacey patted her shoulder. “I don’t think you’ll have to worry about that, dear,” she said. “The mistress has other plans for you, I believe.”
“Wh-what kind of plans?”
“Well, there’s one last job we have. It happens to be the most coveted job.” Lacey retrieved a pale, filling it with some of the steaming water. “The mistress often prefers a woman warms her bed.” Susan’s eyes widened, but as she went to protest, she could only gasp as the hot water was poured over her. Just what had she agreed to?
* * *

Susan wasn’t quite sure how it happened, but more than a week had passed, and she found herself wondering how she’d ever survived outside of this mercenary woman’s grasp. The first night had been terrifying. She still had nightmares of the men that had used her, and she’d begun to think of Rhia like those men. But it wasn’t that way at all. That night, Rhia made Susan feel new; clean; beautiful. Now, Susan did everything she could to please Rhia in return.
For the first three nights, she’d fallen asleep nestled safe in Rhia’s arms. The next few nights, however, she was sent to sleep in an antechamber off of Rhia’s quarters. She’d learned in those nights that Rhia had a ferocious, unquenchable appetite among the men, especially with her number two.
In fact, the woman seemed to have many faces, many sides. In one situation, she was calm and collected, in another stern, another fierce and commanding. And yet, when Susan was alone with her, she was gentle, affectionate, and all but purred as they caressed. Susan sat behind her now in the hot spring nestled deep in the caves. She scrubbed the grime from Rhia’s back, taking in the sight of all of those scars. Just how did a woman so young come to be the person before her? It puzzled Susan.
Rhia straightened up, brushing away Susan’s hands as she turned towards the doorway. A few seconds later, Susan heard footsteps approaching. A man appeared, one Susan didn’t recognize. Rhia leaned against the side of the spring, resting her chin on her hand.
“Phillip. Is that blood I smell?”
The man flinched, absently shifting his hand under his cloak. “Ma’am-“
“You failed me, didn’t you, Phillip?” Her voice was so calm, and yet Phillip trembled. “You did. And yet you came back. I’m impressed with your courage.”
“Y-you are?”
She smiled and motioned him to come forward. He didn’t dare disobey. “Oh yes,” she said as he approached. Most would have simply run away, or killed themselves quickly.”
“I couldn’t. I had to tell you they’re coming here to get her back.”
“Coming here? I see. Thank-you for that. Tell me,” she said, beckoning him closer. He hesitantly crouched down beside the spring. “Did they torture our location from you?”
He smiled. “No, ma’am.”
Rhia returned the smile and reached up to stroke the man’s face. “Well done, Phillip, on that much. And yet,” she said, her hand reaching back behind his head, acquiring a firm grip on the back of his neck. “You came back.”
Phillip’s eyes widened as he realized his mistake. “Ma’am, I-“
The smile vanished from Rhia’s face, and she pulled his head down with a violent jerk. He struggled, and managed not to get pulled all of the way into the spring, but Rhia didn’t need all of him. She thrust his face into the water, just up to his ears so he could still hear her. He thrashed and fought, but Rhia’s grip was like iron, her arm never moving.
“You’ve brought them down upon us, you fool. Brave? You’re not brave. You’re stupid. All you had to do was keep your mouth shut and lay low, but you couldn’t do that. Then you had the nerve to return despite failing? I did not teach you well enough. But it’s too late. Good-bye, Phillip.”
Susan watched the whole exchange with increasing horror. She shrank back to the far side of the spring, trying to escape the desperate splashing. Before her eyes, the man’s life faded away, and he eventually fell still. Rhia released him, and left him face down in the water. She turned, leaned back against the side of the spring beside the corpse to face her. A calm smile touched her lips.
“Sing for me.”

Last two for now

Seth yanwed, a flick of his wrist parrying another attack. The training yard was filled with spectators, infantrymen and knights both filling in along the walls to watch the sparring match. Many of these men had gone up against Seth’s current match, and every one of them had lost miserably – and painfully. And yet Seth barely took a step. He leaned to the side to avoid another strike. His supple wrist twirled the saber up to snap the flat of the blade against Rhia’s cheek.
 The slap angered Rhia as it was, but the cheer from the crowd, and the faint twinkle in Seth’s eye, pissed her off. Everyone had seen the fight between them during the summer’s competition, and she knew they were now going to see that he could have defeated her, could have taken her place. Would he have faired better against the wraith she had then faced? Seth knew the answer, and it wasn’t what everyone else would think.
 Rhia struck out again; her anger sped up her attacks, but decreased their accuracy and deadliness. Seth caught the practice sword between his arm and ribs. The flat of his saber smacked Rhia’s wrist, and she released the sword. He furthered the insult by once again slapping her cheek with the flat of the blade. She scowled at him, but the lack of a sword far from diminished her fighting spirit. The bout wasn’t over yet.
 Seth took up her practice sword in his spare hand. It didn’t necessarily give him better odds – it wouldn’t have helped any of the soldiers watching. But it made for a better show. “Focus,” he said softly. Rhia met his eyes, realizing he was talking to her. She looked insulted; who was he to coach his mother, the little whelp? But, to spite him, she took the advice.
 Seth didn’t attack, giving Rhia the first move. He hated her guts, but he loved her too much not to try to make her better. It would make his life easier if he didn’t have to keep saving her. He wasn’t sure she’d ever get over her emotions leading her actions, and maybe that was part of the secret to her skill, but it was certainly the key to her downfall against Seth, every time.
 She was still angry, but she wasn’t blinded by it. Her vision may well still have been tainted red, but Seth noted an immediate change in her stance. She charged in two swift steps, bringing her up to face him. He took a half step back and arched his saber up to meet her. She ducked, pivoting with the momentum to strike his shoulder with her elbow. She struck with the other hand like a knife at his ribs. He managed to step back to absorb the second blow, but she was quick, and the sharp pain even from the minimized force caused him to drop the saber.
 When she ducked down for the sword, Seth sighed a bit inside. He’d been impressed with the maneuver, and thought maybe he’d unlocked a little bit of her genius, but now he saw the effect of suppressing her emotions. Her anger would have led her on in the attack, pressing him until there was another opening. It may have never come, but luck seemed always on her side in those situations. But, logic said get the weapon. Unfortunately it left her vulnerable. As she dropped down for the saber, Seth leveled the practice sword at her throat.
 “Checkmate.”
 She scowled at the boredom in his voice, but yielded, the match lost.


The ringing of boot heels on cold stone filled the old corridors. The lack of carpet or decoration left nothing to swallow the echoes that trailed down the empty halls they passed. Rhia would have to inform someone that the castle guards’ shoes were better off with a soft sole. Even without her fine hearing, she’d have plenty of notice to duck and hide as they passed. And that’s precisely what she did.
 She wasn’t a spy; no traitor, conspirator, or assassin, at least not anymore. The guards would probably pause to give her a salute if they saw her. Unfortunately, she wasn’t entirely innocent on this outing, either. Time and again she’d been warned, scolded even, for doing what she was about to do, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. They could fix the problem themselves if they got around to finding and sealing up all of the secret passages, and yet Rhia continued to find them.
 The guards passed and Rhia stepped out of the room she’d hidden in. If she remembered right, it was six paces forward, and the fourth stone up on the North wall. Her fingers glided over the rough wall, a memory sparked by the feel of the stone’s grain. A stormy night, screaming, the smell of burning hair mixed with a hint of desert flower – her own hair singed by the brutal flames. Panic, desperation, so little time, she must hurry.
 A loud click broke the spell of that memory, and once more the day came back to her. Winter, snow, lavender from her bath soap, mold and must from the passage she’d just unsealed. She shook off the bad memories and stepped through the small portal. So many memories; times like these, she hated Damascus. She hated it with a passion. She hated it for being the home of so much she cared about. Not just Ramirez; not just the people. People came and went. For as much as she would fight to save the people she cared about, she’d just as soon pick them up and move them someplace safer if their city was in danger. Lord knew she’d done that well enough before.
 No, she cared about more than the people. She cared for the kingdom. She’d helped, as foolish as it may have been, to build that kingdom. A century ago, she’d seen the potential in that kingdom to become everything Babylon should have been. She paused in the dark corridor and closed her eyes. Oh, Babylon. She rested her head back against the wall and swallowed the lamentations that rose in her chest. It wouldn’t do to be discovered over sorrow for a long-dead empire.
 She let out a long breath and resumed her silent march through the dark. The path wound for quite a ways through the castle, up and down stairs, some of which had crumbled over time and disrepair. Despite the winding way, she knew precisely where in the castle she was at all times. There were few secrets in that building that she had not uncovered, and many of them remained with her alone. The passage was one of them.
 She came upon yet another set of stairs, but these led no where. Once, many years ago, a trap door had been positioned at the top of the stairs, but after that one, stormy night, it had been sealed over. Why the other end had never been secured, she didn’t know. Perhaps they’d figured one side was enough. For whatever reason, she was glad. She moved to the steps, and sat so that her back rested against the sealed ceiling.
 Ten feet above her, sitting on his dais, was the king, listening to the endless audience, performing his mundane, kingly duties.
 Rhia didn’t think of Janos as her king. Only three men in her life had ever earned that recognition from her. She often wondered if Janos ever truly thought of her as his subject. Others had done so, though most of them learned the hard way that she was nothing of the sort. One does not subject a typhoon, or a volcano. One could learn to survive their outbursts, or even make use of them to some degree, but the forces of nature are unpredictable and do as they please.
 And yet the people of that city thought of her as something besides a force of nature, more than a monster, as she often called herself. They chose not to see her as someone different, someone who existed in many ways outside of time. Maybe it was because she acted human. She’d lived so long among them that she thought and acted much as they did, in ways other Elves never had. They saw her as one of them, as a friend, colleague, comrade, and more. Sometimes those feelings extended to a fault, or set them up for surprise and disappointment. She often felt stifled by it, as though mortal boundaries were being strapped around her, like a saddle on a wild horse. More than once, she’d wanted to run, to escape it. She’d stood many a night on the city wall, Killian at her side, warring with herself. Stay; go. Fight for happiness, for their happiness; run, return to her ways, her life, and leave the humans to their own mortal problems.
 Her face lowered to her knees. She could hear Janos’ calm, commanding voice as he responded to one of the many requests being brought before him. How many kings had she known? How many had she raised, taught, befriended, and bowed before? Hundreds. Thousands, maybe. A few of them stood out to her. Constantine, Richard, Xerxes. Oh, Babylon… Would she remember Janos? Maybe. He befuddled her at times. So easily did he swing from stern, proper, kingly behavior to that of friendship, and just as quickly back again that she didn’t know just how to approach him. It was good that he didn’t hold her close as a friend. She was a threat to his kingdom: she’d assassinated the king before his father, had hopes of doing the same to his father, and made an attempt to do it to Janos himself, even though that was a slight misunderstanding. The fact that she made it clear a few times that she didn’t quite swear allegiance to him as king made her untrustworthy, despite all of her efforts to protect and rebuild the city.
 It was when he was friendly that she didn’t quite know what to do with herself. Many a king she had befriended and counseled, been close to and frank with, even loved. Those moments of care from Janos kindled memories of those times, causing her to wish she could feel that same closeness to him. He was quite the king in her eyes, after all. He reminded her of certain kings that she chose to remember. If she ever found peace with Janos, she was sure she would remember him as well.
 She sighed and did her best to still her thoughts. She focused on the voices above her, listening to Janos work. She resolved to tell him of this passage, so he could have it closed off. Perhaps he would thank her for it. Perhaps.

Two more.

The kids ran along the beach, laughing, the wind tugging at their hair. Not a care in the world for children. One of the older boys stopped by a tidal pool, and the younger children quickly turned back to crowd around him. He pointed at the various critters in the pool, the youngins listening with rapt attention. He was teaching them, likely the same way his father had taught him. Their father was probably a sailor, or maybe a soldier, not around to do the same things for his younger children.
 While everyone’s attention was on the pool, the oldest child, a girl with sandy blonde hair, snuck up on them. All of a sudden, she reached out and splashed the older brother in the face. The kids shouted and screamed, running off down the beach laughing as the boy took to chasing his sister.
 One of the smallest children, a little girl who looked very much like her big sister, broke away from the group without their notice. She wandered up the beach towards something that had caught her eye. After glancing over her shoulder and seeing nothing, Rhia realized it was her the girl was coming to see. She sat up straighter, a smile touching her lips.
 The girl came to a stop just in front of her, the wind tangled in her hair. “Hi,” she said with the simple innocence of a young child. It tugged at Rhia’s heart, and it took all of the self control she could muster to keep from snatching that little girl up into her arms.
 “Hello there,” she managed to reply.
 The girl stuck out her hand, something clenched in her fist.
 “For me?” Rhia asked, somewhat shocked by the sudden gift. The girl simply nodded. She reached up and the girl dropped a shell into her hand. “It’s pretty,” Rhia said after a brief once-over of it.
 “Put it to your ear,” the girl said. Rhia smiled and did as she was told. The sounds of the beach were dimmed in that ear and she heard the steady thrum and roar in its place. “John says it’s the sound of the blood in your ear, but sissy says it’s the sound of the ocean.”
 Rhia lowered the shell to her lap and gazed at the girl. “Which do you think it is?”
 “Well…John’s really smart, but it sounds a lot like the ocean,” she said, apparently torn.
 A smile crept back onto her lips. “Well, perhaps it’s both.”
 That smile spread to the girl, quickly filling in the suntanned little face. “Yeah!” Struck by that new possibility, the girl whipped around and raced back down the beach to her siblings, calling out for her big brother all the while.
 “Make a new friend?” came a voice over her shoulder.
 Rhia wiped her eyes on her sleeve and glanced back at Ramirez. “I suppose so,” she said with a weak smile.
 His own smile faded upon seeing her distress, and he sat down beside her. His arm slipped around her and pulled her close. She sank against him, the shell clutched in her hand.
 “I’m sorry,” she said softly, brushing a few tears away once more. “I just… I miss that feeling. I miss being a mother.”
 “I know,” he replied.

Rhia hated this day. Just about the only thing that could take her mind off of it was off being trained by a crazy old wizard. Even her nightly rounds in the city couldn’t free her mind from it. Snow was lightly falling, a sense of purity falling over that broken city. It only dampened her spirits and further chilled her aching heart.
 Her mind was far off, and she wasn’t quite paying attention to what she was doing, or where she was going. She should have been on the rooftops, hidden, but the relative quiet of the city in recent days led her to simply stroll the streets. Unfortunately, not all was quiet in Damascus that night. She stepped past an alley, her mind so filled with thoughts of that day in past years, that she didn’t hear him. A hand darted out and grabbed her roughly around her mouth. A swift tug drew her into the alley. Whoever it was didn’t giver her a chance to retaliate; if it had been a robbery or a rape, she might have stood a chance, but this man wanted only one thing.
 Rhia’s eyes widened at the sharp, familiar pain of a blade passing through her. Her senses grew sharp; she could smell stale whiskey, taste tobacco on the fingers around her mouth, hear the shuddered breath of the man behind her, but it’s what she saw that stunned her. The sword had passed clear through her back and out her front, and though covered in her blood and a handful of snowflakes, Rhia could tell it was a soldier’s sword.
 In the next moment, the sword was withdrawn, and she was released. She wanted to turn, to see who it was who’d done this to her, but her legs would no longer support her, and she crashed to the ground. Footsteps rushed away, leaving her alone in the alley. She couldn’t die…right?
 “The fox is cunning,” spoke a voice in the night. Rhia’s wasn’t sure how much time had passed; minutes, hours maybe. Her eyes fluttered open, and she struggled for a breath.
 “The raven…is late,” she managed. She could taste the blood in her mouth, and was sure the puddle by her head was more than just melted snow. When silence followed, Rhia almost believed Jace had left thanks to her little bit of sarcasm, but for whatever reason, he hadn’t, and crouched down beside her.
 “You were careless.”
 “Quite,” she wheezed, fighting the urge to roll her eyes.
 “Why?”
 She glanced up at the cowled face, wondering if Jace had developed a sense of humor, but no, he was serious. “Long story.”
 If the answer displeased him, she couldn’t tell, but he mercifully left it at that. He hoisted her up, and started out of Downtown. She could only hope he was taking her someplace safe and warm. At least warm.

Various samples

Step back. Parry. Step forward. Slice. Thrust. Sidestep. Stab. Again.
 Her mornings seemed always to consist of training. At about nine and a half thousand years old, she couldn’t really afford to let her body fall out of practice. It was the only way to stay young, to stay awake; alive. Even after a morning of rigorous love-making with Ramirez, she could still feel it, still feel the years tugging at her, threatening her youth. Her heart had already failed her once in the past year, as the weeks of rest from her many acquired wounds allowed the years a chance to catch up with her.
 She could feel him watching her, likely having finished his breakfast, now procrastinating his preparations for work. How could she expect them to understand how it was the Elfin body worked? They treated her like a human, unable or unwilling to understand the differences. She would lie in bed, head resting against Ramirez’s chest, listening to his heartbeat. Steady, sure, predictable; the tick of a clock that cannot be wound, doomed to one day stop and never begin again. She envied humans that much.
 But her clock could be wound. Her youth could be prolonged, and had been for nine millennia. SO long as she had a need for it, it would stay. She dared not fall asleep if she could help it, for fear that the simple act of a peaceful sleep would signal her body it was okay to age. She could not let that happen. How would she defend herself if her arms were too weak to raise a sword? How would she care for the ones she loved?
 One last thrust, a bead of sweat arching from the edge of her nose and splitting on the blade of the obsidian rapier she practiced with. Killian understood. It thrived on being held in her hand, even if air was all it sliced. It grew impatient should she set it aside for too long, knowing what it would mean for itself if Rhia grew old. No heir had presented himself as being worthy to weild the weapon. Rhia’s was the only hand that could hold it. Without her, Killian would be lost, left in some dark corner to collect dust forever more.
 There had been one heir; the boy had inherited the precise make-up of Rhia’s Drow magick. Killian had resonated with that boy’s aura, and it had grown eager at the prospect of finally being passed on, to new hands that might be a little bit more blood-thirsty than Rhia’s now were. But the king had killed that boy. Killian had desired nothing more than to pick that man apart, layer by layer, to feed on his spirit, and the weapon had kept Rhia’s anger and hurt alive for fifty years to achieve it. But, alas, the king had died by other means, and his son now sat on the throne. It frustrated Killian to now serve the heir of the man who’d stolen the life of Killian’s new master. But it had little choice. Besides, it had tasted plenty of flesh in the past year; it should not complain.
 “You’ll be late,” Rhia said as she stepped back inside Ramirez handed her a towel to wipe the sweat from her face, and simply smiled. Rhia couldn’t help but smile back. That pure heart, smiling at her; her reason for staying young; it warmed her own wounded heart, brought back a little light to a place swamped by darkness. “Go on, silly man. We both have work to do.”
 He chuckled and kissed her cheek. “Be careful tonight,” he said, then turned and left the kitchen.
 “You, as well,” she said softly, and watched after him until he disappeared around the corner.



 “How did you do that?”
 The blacksmith laughed and rested the raw steel back into the flames. “Come; I’ll show you.”
 Rhia stepped forward, the smithing apron heavy against her torso and thighs. She pulled on the gloves, and after a moment, withdrew the heated metal from the flames. Once it was clamped to the anvil, Durham stepped up behind her and positioned her hands on the tools she’d never before used, and guided her through the modern technique.
 “It seems hasty,” she said as she lifted the metal to give it a look.
 “These swords are expendable,” Durham tried to explain, but Rhia only shook her head.
 “No sword is expendable.”
 “Our lives are not so long as yours.”
 Rhia blinked and looked up at him. Few outright admitted that difference to her face. It was refreshing to know they at least were aware of it, but the statement itself still stung.
 “We cannot afford to spend years, or even weeks, forming a single blade for each infantryman. Their swords will not be used for centuries, passed on down generations. That tradition is reserved for those of a higher order.” He took the metal from her hands and returned it to the flames. “Besides, even the finest-crafted swords will someday break.”
 Rhia’s hand lifted to her chest, still able to feel the pinch of scar tissue where Ramirez’s sword had driven into her, only to be snapped in half. “I suppose you’re right,” she said, her voice trailing off. A smile touched her lips and she looked back up at him. “Show me again.”
 He smiled back, and began again.


Zelda wandered the castle halls. She was well dressed, having been outfitted with a new wardrobe as a token of gratitude by the crown. She’d even been gifted with a finely carved and inlaid walking staff. She continued to refuse medical attention, but the king had insisted on the staff. She continued to wear the blindfold, as it seemed to put people more at ease rather than watching her empty eyes stare past them.
 She was being escorted, a soldier following a few paces behind, but she paid him little mind. There was only one soldier in this castle she had any interest in, only one who might understand her, and what she’d gone through in service for the kingdom. But she never saw him anymore.
 The city was nice, but the crowds made her nervous. She could sense people’s injuries, and she longed to help them. But she knew word of a healer would spread, and they’d find her again. So, she spent much of her days in the castle familiarizing herself with the layout. She was currently exploring a different wing, expanding the mental map.
 She paused mid-step, head canted to one side, picking up a familiar sound. She turned and stepped out into a large common room. Each footstep echoed back that same sound, proving her assumption correct. Before long, her fingertips came to rest on the smooth, ebony wood of a piano. She walked slowly around it, her fingers tracing the edges, until she came to the bench. She eased down onto it, special care paid to her broken ribs, and laid her staff on the floor beside her.
 “Soldier,” she called softly to the man who’d been following her. His steps had ceased when she reached the piano, but she knew well that he was there. The steps resumed at her call, and he came to stand beside her.
 “Yes, ma’am?” he asked with a voice that mimicked her own softness, as though it would simply be wrong to speak any louder.
“I find myself terribly thirsty, but I am very much in need of a rest. Would it be too much trouble to ask you to fetch us some tea?”
 He hesitated. The man was sharp, good at his job. He wasn’t there primarily to keep her well and safe, but to ensure she wasn’t, in fact, a spy, or anything of that sort. But she acted well, and even Roran couldn’t discern if she spoke truth or was trying to get rid of him. She was a guest, however, and it would be better to assume she was being honest. He dipped his head and smiled, even if she couldn’t see it. “Of course, ma’am.”
 She listened to him depart, and when he was a good distance down the hall, she turned her attention to the piano. IT had been a few years since last she’d sat at one. She gently lifted the cover from the keys, felt the cool ivory beneath her fingertips. She’d been able to see the last time she’d played; she wondered if she still had enough joy to play the songs she once knew.
 She timidly played through a couple of warm-up exercises, stumbling every so often on the keys as she tried to remember how it felt. She nearly gave up, her hands on the lid, when she felt his presence. She wasn’t sure how long it had been since she last was with him, but feeling him there now stirred something in her heart. Her fingers found the keys again, and she played. The comfort his gaze brought to her flowed out into the music, and for the first time since coming to Damascus, she felt at ease.
 Minutes passed as she played, though it felt to her like hours, and his presence remained all the while. When she heard the far-off echo of footsteps, she finally halted the song. She slowly lowered the lid, then reached up to her blindfold. She pushed it up, revealing one, clear blue eye, and looked up into the shadows.
 “Thank-you,” she said, voice filled with genuine gratitude, “for checking on me. For whatever reason…thank-you.”
 She felt his presence linger, then vanish. The blindfold tucked back down over her eye just as Roran returned with a tray of tea.



“Just sit still,” Rhia demanded, as she straightened Jocelyn’s head for the dozenth time.
 “But that hurts,” she retorted with a pout.
 “It does not. You’re just being stubborn.” She used the ivory comb to part out another lock of Jocelyn’s hair, continuing the pattern of plaits and braids. “You promised to humor me in this.”
 “I’ll tell you any joke you want, just stop the torture!”
 Rhia laughed and shook her head. “You know what I mean.”
 “Okay, okay.” She finally sat still, doing her best not to wince as Rhia tugged the braid tight. “How long has it been?”
 “Since when?” Rhia asked.
 “Now you’re being stubborn,” Jocelyn said gently.
 She smiled faintly, looking off into space as she filled out the braid. “Close to three centuries, I suppose. And my last daughter didn’t have hair near as pliant as yours,” she added with a chuckle.
 “I’m sorry.”
 “For what?” Rhia asked, this time genuinely curious. When Jocelyn didn’t respond, likely unable to find a gentle way to explain, Rhia sighed. “Sometimes I wonder if it’s cruel of me, to bring them into this world. There are times when I will do everything I can not to love, just in case that love becomes fruitful. But, as they say, it’s better to have loved late than never.”
 Jocelyn blinked, and glanced back at Rhia. “I don’t think that’s how that saying goes.”
 Rhia scowled and tugged on her hair to straighten out her head again. “Stop moving.”


Tyrael watched his masters from the hearth rug. He was curled up, his furry back and wings to the flames, muzzle propped up on a spare log. They were having an argument again. His mistress was standing on one side of the room, shouting at his master in a language the poor man couldn’t understand. He glowered at her for it.
 “If you’re going to speak to me in that tone, at least have the decency to use the Common tongue,” he said coolly. His years as a soldier were likely all that kept him calm and collected in the face of such a storm.
 Mistress’ hands clenched, and Tyrael’s golden eyes made out the traces of magick flickering around her fists, and could hear Killian beginning to hum with the faint hope that maybe, just maybe, it would get to do this guy in and get back to its usual on-the-run life with its Mistress. But she had more control than that, at least. Tyrael’s tail flicked lazily as his Mistress relaxed.
 “You just wouldn’t understand,” she said.
 “Not when you speak Elf,” he replied.
 That anger flared up again as she scowled. “You don’t even care,” she spat at him, and turned for the stairs to head up to their room.
 “Now that’s just not true,” Master said, his patience growing thin as he stood to follow after her.
 Tyrael sighed. Their arguments tended to always wind up in the same place, the two always waging war one way or another. As their voices rose, Tyrael pushed himself up to his feet. He stretched, tucked his wings against his sides, and followed. He should at least make sure they don’t hurt each other before taking it to their bed.
 He trotted up the stairs and came to sit in their bedroom doorway. Mistress was standing before the window, arms folded over her chest in a defensive posture, while Master stood a few paces away by a reading chair, arms at his sides.
 “-ordered you to be there,” Master was saying, still trying to keep calm.
 “I don’t take orders from him!” Mistress said hotly.
 He stiffened, hands flexing. “You swore your allegiance-“
 “To the kingdom. I swore to protect it, to serve it, but I will not be a dog to be ordered to heel whenever that man wishes!”
 “You still think of me that way? As a dog?”
 Mistress scowled again. Tyrael had to hand it to his Master for not flinching in the face of that anger; even a black dragon would pause when presented with it. “That isn’t the point, Ramirez.”
 “Then what is, Rhia? Are you defying orders just to prove a point?”
 She turned away, but Master quickly stepped forward and caught her arm, turning her back around to face him just in time to see the tear trickle down her cheek. “Please help me to understand.”
 “I won’t go down there,” she said softly, unable to meet his gaze as more tears fell.
 “You’ve said that. Why?”
 She shook her head, but Master gave her a stern shake and tilted his head to meet her gaze. “Tell. Me.”
 “Why isn’t it enough to know I don’t want to do it?” she demanded, pain filling her eyes.
 “Because I have to report a reason back to the king for your refusal of orders.”
 Anger flared in those eyes again, and she tried to push herself away from him. “Then make something up!”
 He held on tight to her, not letting her run away this time. “I want to know why you’re so frightened.”
 Tyrael saw the anger fade again from his Mistress. Master had said what she’d been waiting for. He watched her sink into Master’s arms, and knew there would be no fear of the two attacking each other for the rest of the evening. There was no telling about tomorrow, but for now, his job was done. He turned and trotted back down to the hearth. Strong jaws dragged a log over and onto the embers, a quick burst of fiery breath bringing the fire back to life. He curled up, and promptly dozed off.


Seth wandered along the outside edge of the city wall. Most of the people had long forgotten the line of defense Rhia had set up along the walls, but they were still there. He traced the lines of those runes, his eyes examining each crossing, each point of contact. It was a good spell. Even his master had been impressed. That was precisely why he was there now, studying and memorizing the spell, to take it back to his master.
 The runes were well kept, though Seth didn’t detect any trace of a spell to protect them. He could see the marks of sticks, swords, and other implements that had been used to maintain them. Not all had forgotten their presence, then. He withdrew a small book from his bag, and copied the shape and orientation of one of the circles he came upon. The Northern seal, he supposed.
 An amulet around his neck pulsated with an emerald glow, and he paused in his reckoning. He took a breath, and let it out with a long sigh, then reached up for the amulet. Before his fingers could touch it, the pulsating stopped.
 “I heard that sigh,” came a stern voice in Seth’s mind. Few things in the world could rattle him, but his master’s voice was one of them, and he flinched. Memories of having to scrape out and wash the insides of the cauldrons Merlin used to experiment in whenever he misbehaved came rushing back at the sound of that stern voice.
 “Sorry, master.”
 “Yes, yes, what have you got for me? Anything?”
 “This protection field is quite interesting. I’m not so sure you’ll be able to replica-“
 “Rune magick mumbo-jumbo; what about the crumpets?”
 Seth blinked, snapping the journal shut. “I thought you were being metaphorical,” he said dully.
 “Damascus makes the best crumpets! The magick can wait, but those bakeries won’t always be-“ His voice cut out, the soft hum of the amulet ceasing, just as Seth felt the presence of someone else.
 “They’re very interesting, aren’t they?” came a familiar voice over his shoulder.
 Seth turned to face the old wizard, casually tucking the journal back into his back. “Good morning, Matoya.”
 “Morning, my boy. Care for a crumpet?” he asked, holding up a bag of sweet-smelling pastries.
 Seth’s eye twitched, just slightly. “No, thank-you.”
 “No, I don’t suppose you’d be into sweets. Your mother does fine work,” he said. The swift changes of topic caught Seth off guard. It was something he should be used to, the way a wizard’s mind works, but his own single-mindedness made it difficult to adapt.
 “She knows a thing or two,” he admitted.
 “You wish she didn’t?”
 “We’d all be better off.”
 “You mean she’d be better off,” Matoya stated.
 “Everyone.”
 “Are you sure?”
 “Quite.”
 Matoya smiled a knowing smile. Why was it wizards always knew things everyone else didn’t? Age wasn’t the only reason; if that were the case, he’d know things like that as well. “What about this city?” Matoya asked. “How would they be now without her magick?”
 “She intervenes, yes. Who is to say she’s intervening for the better side? Or perhaps someone else would have risen to glory in her place had she never been here.”
 “There is no doubt history would be greatly changed should she not have been around. But that is not to say it would have been for the best.”
 “Then what about you? Why do you not intervene?”
 Matoya smiled again. “Why do you?”
 “Not for the sake of humans.”
 “For your own sake?”
 “For hers.”
 The old wizard nodded faintly, then turned away to walk back the way he’d come. “The shop on Porter Street has the best crumpets,” he called back.
 Once the old man had vanished around a bend, the amulet hummed again. “I don’t like that man.”
 Seth smiled, just a little. “I do.”

Motivations, One

Step back. Parry. Step forward. Slice. Thrust. Sidestep. Stab. Again.
 Her mornings seemed always to consist of training. At about nine and a half thousand years old, she couldn’t really afford to let her body fall out of practice. It was the only way to stay young, to stay awake; alive. Even after a morning of rigorous love-making with Ramirez, she could still feel it, still feel the years tugging at her, threatening her youth. Her heart had already failed her once in the past year, as the weeks of rest from her many acquired wounds allowed the years a chance to catch up with her.
 She could feel him watching her, likely having finished his breakfast, now procrastinating his preparations for work. How could she expect them to understand how it was the Elfin body worked? They treated her like a human, unable or unwilling to understand the differences. She would lie in bed, head resting against Ramirez’s chest, listening to his heartbeat. Steady, sure, predictable; the tick of a clock that cannot be wound, doomed to one day stop and never begin again. She envied humans that much.
 But her clock could be wound. Her youth could be prolonged, and had been for nine millennia. SO long as she had a need for it, it would stay. She dared not fall asleep if she could help it, for fear that the simple act of a peaceful sleep would signal her body it was okay to age. She could not let that happen. How would she defend herself if her arms were too weak to raise a sword? How would she care for the ones she loved?
 One last thrust, a bead of sweat arching from the edge of her nose and splitting on the blade of the obsidian rapier she practiced with. Killian understood. It thrived on being held in her hand, even if air was all it sliced. It grew impatient should she set it aside for too long, knowing what it would mean for itself if Rhia grew old. No heir had presented himself as being worthy to weild the weapon. Rhia’s was the only hand that could hold it. Without her, Killian would be lost, left in some dark corner to collect dust forever more.
 There had been one heir; the boy had inherited the precise make-up of Rhia’s Drow magick. Killian had resonated with that boy’s aura, and it had grown eager at the prospect of finally being passed on, to new hands that might be a little bit more blood-thirsty than Rhia’s now were. But the king had killed that boy. Killian had desired nothing more than to pick that man apart, layer by layer, to feed on his spirit, and the weapon had kept Rhia’s anger and hurt alive for fifty years to achieve it. But, alas, the king had died by other means, and his son now sat on the throne. It frustrated Killian to now serve the heir of the man who’d stolen the life of Killian’s new master. But it had little choice. Besides, it had tasted plenty of flesh in the past year; it should not complain.
 “You’ll be late,” Rhia said as she stepped back inside Ramirez handed her a towel to wipe the sweat from her face, and simply smiled. Rhia couldn’t help but smile back. That pure heart, smiling at her; her reason for staying young; it warmed her own wounded heart, brought back a little light to a place swamped by darkness. “Go on, silly man. We both have work to do.”
 He chuckled and kissed her cheek. “Be careful tonight,” he said, then turned and left the kitchen.
 “You, as well,” she said softly, and watched after him until he disappeared around the corner.