Chapter Four - Part Two
By Darrell Walker
Darrell Walker's Homepage

Aerinn sat his horse, Whitegold, with the ease and comfort of one long used to the saddle. He looked over a rolling landscape of prairie grasses. The land was a mixture of dead brown leaves from the last season and the living green of new growth. A cool spring breeze roughed his long golden hair, carrying with it the scent of damp earth. The early-morning sun, already more than halfway along its climb to the top of the sky, gleamed off Aerinn's silvery armor--the reflective plates bending the sparkling light in all directions. A long, flowing cloak of deep purple stirred against Aerinn's back in the breeze. Whitegold snorted, stamped a foot. Aerinn could feel the powerful muscles between his legs tensing. He patted the horse reassuringly--understanding its distress. He wasn't exactly calm himself.

Aerinn fingered the hilt of his sword, sheathed on the side of his saddle, reassuring himself it was close by. He tightened his grip as a horse and rider crested the next hill. The horse was a black stallion--huge and powerful. The knight on its back wore glistening black armor of plate and mail. Aerinn could barely make out his House's emblem on the horses barding--a black harp crafted from a scorpion's tail. Aerinn's lips tightened into a grim line.

"Is he who you expected, my Prince?"

Aerinn turned towards the low, rumbling voice and smiled at his friend. "It is, Da’din. It is."

The troll was huge, even for a troll. His forearms were almost as thick as Aerinn's thighs. Da’din had sworn an Oath to protect Aerinn. At the time he had not realized Aerinn was a Prince of a Noble House. Aerinn still felt guilty about that. He often wondered had Da’din known what he was getting himself into, would he have sworn the Oath? Probably. The only virtue Da’din possessed a greater helping of than honor and loyalty was courage. "Who is he?" the troll asked, pitching his voice so the approaching knight would not hear.

Aerinn looked back towards the sidhe as he closed the distance at a canter. A long, black tail of hair streamed back from the knight's head. Even from this distance Aerinn could already make out the man's cold, arrogant beauty. "His name is Malaggar," Aerinn replied softly, speaking from the side of his mouth so he could keep his eyes on the approaching knight. "He is the Prince of an obscure unseelie House. Our swords have crossed before, as they shall again today."

The troll blinked at Aerinn. "My Prince," Da’din said slowly, carefully, "he looks dangerous."

Aerinn looked at the troll, his friend. "He is dangerous, Da’din. He represents everything we fight against." He clasped his friend's arm. "Do not worry. Some have used the word dangerous to describe me as well."

The troll grumbled, not happy, but there wasn't much he could do. "What shall I tell the men?" he finally asked, giving in.

Aerinn turned in his saddle to look back at the army spread out in the lowland behind him. The host of sidhe and troll warriors was ready for travel. Each man and woman was armed and armored and stood, vigilant, next to his or her mount. Aerinn felt the unique feeling of a thousand eyes looking into his. Aerinn smiled a little to himself. An army. His army. It was small, numbering barely more than five hundred knights, but Aerinn knew each knight personally, had sparred with each. And most importantly, he trusted each and every man and woman down there with his life. Their loyalties were to his father the King and to House Fiona and the kingdom of Westenmor. But first and foremost, their loyalty was to him.

Aerinn looked to his bannerman, nodded. As the young sidhe began pulling down House Fiona's flag, Aerinn said, "They can watch, Da’din. This concerns them too."

"What has he done, Aerinn?"

Aerinn looked his Oathmate in the eye. "He destroys Glamour, Da’din. You will see."

Da’din's eyes widened suddenly with understanding. "The Circle sent you after him, didn't they?"

Aerinn nodded. "Originally. But now it's become personal." He stopped as the Prince finally reached the summit of the hill, reigning his horse in and bowing low in his saddle to Aerinn. He ignored the troll and bannerman.

"Greetings, Prince Aerinn. I thought I might find you here. Marching home are you?"

Aerinn returned the bow marginally, seated upon his warhorse. Malaggar's eyes narrowed at the slight. Good, Aerinn thought, I want him off-balance. "Greetings, Prince Malaggar. Indeed, as you have said, I am returning to my homeland after a tiresome campaign in the Swamps of Bregdan. I am pleased that you agreed to meet with me."

Malaggar bowed again. "It was my pleasure," he said sibilantly.

Aerinn frowned, in no mood for the man's antics. "It saved me the trouble of having to drag you in behind my horse like the mangy dog you are."

Malaggar's face colored with rage. "How dare you?" he hissed. "They'll make anyone a Prince these days!" Malaggar snorted. "You're barely a wilder, I'll wager!"

Aerinn drew himself, instantly defensive. "I've been wilder for two seasons now," he said angrily and instantly regretted it, seeing the look of satisfaction of Malaggar's face.

"Two seasons? That long?" he asked sarcastically. "Who is she, if you don't mind my asking? Is she actually nobility, or just some commoner whore you dazed with your magic?"

Arbingsol flashed in Aerinn's hand, the shining blade sliding from its sheath in a fluid motion. Malaggar's blade was out an instant later, the sunlight seeming to lose strength when striking its dull surface. Malaggar's sword looked like nothing so much as dried blood. Malaggar laughed loudly, though his eyes flickered over Arbingsol warily, trying to judge the magics it contained. "Now you will fight me?" he asked incredulously.

Aerinn glanced at his bannerman, motioned him forward. The sidhe walked up to the three other men. He stood at rigid attention. At Aerinn's nod, he reached up, unfurled the banner. The flag fell slowly, unfolding its silky length as it slid down the pole. Malaggar's eyes widened when he saw the image patterned into the rich silk: A sidhe knight standing over a sleeping child, sword in hand, as unthinkable, torch-bearing horrors closed in from all sides. Malaggar's eyes met Aerinn's, and he could not hide his fear.

Da’din stepped up to the knight, reaching out his hand to grasp the horse’s bridle. "Highness, if you would please dismount."

Malaggar's eyebrows nearly climbed into his dark hair with indignation. "Who is this commoner who dares to command me?"

Aerinn moved Whitegold closer, placed a hand on Da’din's shoulder. Even through the thick leather armor, he could feel the troll's muscles tighten with anger. "Da’din is a knight, sworn to me. He, also, is a Defender of the Dream."

Malaggar narrowed his eyes. "Those fools would never allow a commoner into the Order."

Da’din pulled back his cloak, revealing the emblem emblazoned on his left arm-greave: the knight protecting the sleeping child.

Aerinn continued, "Malaggar, you know the forms as well as I. You may go with us willingly and face your punishment--"

"And what will that be?" Malaggar interrupted.

"The Circle has decided you would best profit from an ordeal of a humbling nature. You will be clothed in human flesh. You will walk the Earth for the duration of a mortal lifetime."

Malaggar shook his head. "That is unacceptable." He smiled wickedly. "I believe, however, that I have an alternative..."

"That is right," Aerinn said smoothly. "If you do not come willingly, I am to deal with you as I see fit."

"Well, I will not go quietly," Malaggar said softly, "so you're going to have to kill me."

Aerinn nodded. "If that is your choice." He dismounted gracefully. Da’din took Whitegold's lead-reign and led him away from where the battle was to take place.

Malaggar's eyes widened as rank upon rank of sidhe warriors spilled onto the hilltop, bunching together so everyone could find a place. "Is your whole army going to witness your defeat, Aerinn?"

The men grumbled angrily amongst themselves to hear their Prince spoken to in such a way. Aerinn quieted them with an outstretched hand. "You say much, I have observed, but you do little."

Malaggar reddened, Aerinn's soft tone infuriating him. "I remember when you were nothing more than a mote in your mother's imagination as she pleased herself in the dark, awaiting the sound of my horse's steps!" he spat venomously.

Aerinn answered the insult with flashing steel. He lunged forward, driving Arbingsol's point toward Malaggar's stomach. The dark knight saw the attack, blocked it aside with his own blade. He jabbed with his mailed fist, catching Aerinn under the nose.

Aerinn stumbled back, blood spraying over his face. He wiped his eyes, trying to see through the tears, trying to ignore the numbing tingling in his face. Malaggar came at him, blade slicing at Aerinn, wanting his blood. Aerinn parried, Arbingsol sending each strike harmlessly off to the side. Aerinn gave ground, working the blade into a rhythm, feeling out Malaggar's defenses.

Da’din watched the duel uneasily. Lightning flashed as the two powerful faerie blades struck again and again. The clashing of blades was matched only by the occasional clang as a strike penetrated a combatant's defenses and glanced off his armor. Da’din looked at the spear in his hand, ready to toss it to his Prince if he needed it. It was a formidable spear, the weapon of choice of a Defender of the Dream. It had been awarded to Aerinn during his swearing-in ceremony. The weapon lengthened and shortened according to its master's desire. It functioned equally well as a spear, javelin, lance, or pike and was heavily enchanted besides.

Aerinn pounded at Malaggar, trying desperately to find a hole in the man's defenses. Sweat streamed down his face. Glamour gathered around him as he spun on one heel, slicing his blade through a sweeping arc. Malaggar avoided losing his head only by diving to the ground. He rolled to one side, regaining his feet gracefully. Aerinn smiled to himself as the battle-cantrip activated. Malaggar came back at him, his fury redoubling, but this time Aerinn was ready. Subtle feelings tickled his mind. Aerinn had long ago learned to trust his instincts. As the glamour whispered to him of Malaggar's intentions, Aerinn reacted, driving his sharp steel at the sidhe’s vulnerable skin.

Malaggar backed off, his blade raised in guard position. "You know The Game of Swords." he said, referring to an ancient faerie art that only those among the nobility had the time or inclination to learn. He shook his head. "Perhaps I have underestimated you...." Malaggar grew thoughtful for a moment, then looked back to Aerinn. "It would seem we are evenly matched. We will continue this at a later date, Prince Aerinn. You can be sure of that."

"You're not going anywhere, Malaggar!" Aerinn vowed, raising his blade once more.

Malaggar chuckled. "Before I leave, there's one thing I want to tell you." Malaggar faded away, losing color and then substance. Aerinn knew better than to strike at him--he was already gone. As he faded, his last words floated over the prairie.

"I have not forgotten Selene...."

Aerinn woke abruptly, sitting straight up in his bed. He was covered in sweat, and the sheets were damp beneath him. Cassandra mumbled in her sleep, snaked an arm around his waist and was still once more. Aerinn breathed a few shaky breaths. He'd had an army. He looked down at Cassandra's sleeping form. The candlelight accentuated her delicate cheekbones. She was beautiful. Aerinn smiled softly, saying softly to himself, "I think sleeping with this beautiful woman every night is going to my head!"

Aerinn gently woke Cassandra, wanting to tell her of his dream, his fancy of leading an army. Though his heart was light, and he hoped Cassandra would awake in a tender mood, part of him shivered as a chill swept through his soul. And the words echoed in his memory.

"I have not forgotten Selene...."

Aerinn awoke later that morning, rubbing his eyes sleepily. A lone beam of golden sunlight warmed his face from a part in the draperies. He looked over to the depression in the bed where Cassandra had lain. He stroked the sheet with his hand, smoothing out the wrinkles. It was still warm. She hadn't been gone long.

Aerinn got out of bed, stretching as his skin burst into goose bumps in the chilly morning air. Cassandra had left the window open again. Aerinn pulled the drapes the rest of the way back and stepped out onto the balcony. The rich, green lawn of the Resonant spread out before him more than forty feet below before ending at a shimmering curtain of light, rippling through the colors of the spectrum. Aerinn knew what lay beyond that wall, and he was glad he couldn't see it. He'd always hated cities, and Gary wasn't the best of the ones he'd been to.

Aerinn went back inside and sat at the small table in the corner of his bedroom. He tore open a fresh loaf of bread and picked up the jar of apple butter Cassandra had left open for him. He smiled to himself as he spread a generous helping on the still-warm bread. Cassandra was so good to him. He would have to pick her some flowers today.

Aerinn roamed the freehold aimlessly, letting his footsteps lead him. He absently admired the paintings and tapestries on the wall, alternating with view screens, his mind on his current situation. Things with Cassandra had definitely become much more enjoyable. He thought he might be falling in love with her. She certainly was beautiful, and there was no denying the way she made him feel when they were alone together. Aerinn still wasn't sure how deep those feelings ran, or if they were even anything more than sexual, but he thought he knew himself well enough not to worry about which part of his anatomy was making the decisions.

Then there was the matter of his family. Aerinn found it took more and more of an effort to remember them, and it was the same with Amber. He wasn't sure if it was Cassandra's doing or just an ambient effect of spending all of one's time in a freehold. The voice in the portal had warned him of Bedlam. Maybe this was the first sign. Aerinn thought about that for a bit, growing increasingly uncomfortable with wondering whether or not he was going insane. Certainly many sane people would never accept things that were now a part of his daily life.

To turn from such unpleasant thoughts, Aerinn's mind seized on its favorite topic--Selene. Aerinn sighed at the turn his thoughts were taking, but didn't resist. Yes, he had to think about Selene. Was she real or just a figment of his imagination? Aerinn was pretty sure of the answer to that question. The dreams were very vivid and persistent and internally consistent. Plus he'd started dreaming of her before his Chrysalis, so it couldn't be Bedlam. Could it? Aerinn wondered if a sidhe had ever awakened straight into Bedlam. He would have to ask Cassandra.

As his thoughts turned to Cassandra once more, Aerinn turned a corner and realized where he was. He smiled wryly to himself, admonishing himself silently that he really shouldn't be surprised where his steps had taken him. He walked down the hall towards Cassandra's door, realizing too late that he'd forgotten to pick some flowers.

The door slid open almost silently at Aerinn's approach. Cassandra had programmed it to give him immediate access. Aerinn straightened his clothes as he entered, a silly grin lighting his face. She wasn't in the sitting room, so he had a chance to check his hair in the mirror before going into the bedroom. It was a good thing he checked. The wind in the courtyard had blown it every which way. He straightened it impatiently, smiling to himself. He hoped Cassandra was in bed.

Aerinn had not known Cassandra's chambers were so soundproof. Before the door to her room had completely opened he could hear a man's voice, then the sound of someone being hit with an open hand. Cassandra cried out.

Aerinn yanked Soulguider from its sheath as he shouldered into the still-opening door. "Cassandra!"

He looked before him, horrified. A man Aerinn didn't recognize had mounted Cassandra and had her face shoved against the headboard, her hands lashed behind her. The man turned toward Aerinn as he barged in, his eyes widening in surprise.

Rage exploded in Aerinn like boiling magma. He leveled his sword, the tip a mere inch from the surprised man's face. He was beyond speech as the fire raged through his veins, but his blade was steady, and his mind observed from a cold distance. Frantically his eyes scanned Cassandra's body, looking for bruises, welts, marks of any kind. If this man had hurt her... He noted the handprint on her bottom.

The man blanched as he saw his death in Aerinn’s eyes.

Cassandra screamed, "Aerinn!"

Aerinn's eyes leaped to her face, and froze. He did not see fear, or relief, or even anger or outrage. Cassandra's face was a mask of guilt.

The rage that had so quickly overwhelmed him vanished in an instant, leaving Aerinn empty and shaking. The sword dropped from his numb hands, hitting the thick carpet with a dull thud. Aerinn's skin tingled; he was numb all over. His brain had frozen. His eyes locked on hers, burning her expression into his memory.

He looked to the man, who'd managed to cover himself with a sheet while Aerinn's attention had been on Cassandra. He memorized her lover's features, agonized over the differences. He was human, tall, broad-shouldered with curling dark hair and blue eyes. A part of Aerinn's mind taunted him, "It was the eyes; she wanted you for the eyes..." He backed away. Away from him, away from her, away from the smell that filled the room so he could hardly breathe. He recognized part of it, and knew the other for what it was.

"Aerinn..." Cassandra's voice was choked. Why should she be crying? Aerinn backed from the room, letting the door close silently. He stood there a moment, his heart pounding, his brain going in circles. Why had she done this to him?

It wasn't even noon...