Chapter 25

25.
         The world kept fading in and out, strobed by consciousness, his head spinning vicious circles in tandem with the air. He had to get up and move, had to remember what was going on, had to remember his name. There was blood in the air, blood all around. Tristian strove to get to his feet, feeling his body refusing to respond, feeling his willpower dwindling under pain. For one of the few times in his life, he wanted the conditioning to give in, he wanted to give up all conscious thought and just become a creature of instinct. A fighter. A killer. Still Tristian, but more.
         The Dark Lord was still speaking now, or maybe he wasn't. Tristian could see him sideways, since his head was still lying on the ground. He thought he had raised it but there were gaps in his awareness, gaps in his head. Time seemed to be jerking back and forth, laughing at him all the way. Dirt caked the side of his face and there was probably blood there too. Still leaking into his eyes where the Dark Lord had cut his head.
         Had to get up and move. Repeat the refrain and get something done. Shaking, wobbling, he managed to get to his feet, seeing the table clearly finally. Auburon slumped against a nearby tree, two thin trickles of blood running down his body from two neat holes, one above the other in his chest. His face still carried that lasting surprise, that endless fear. The other fairies were standing there, some with resignation, some with anger, some with pain. Sylvania looked down at the mess that used to be Auburon and there was anguish in her face. In all their faces to a certain extent, it was behind the eyes.
         The air was too still. The other fairies were starting to gently glow, unspeakably beautiful colors. Hallas had bent his head to turn to them, the grim line of his jaw set. Some of Auburon's blood had splattered his antlers.
         "Gather the others," he shouted to Nanri and Sylvania, "summon the host and tell them to ready for war." Turning dead eyes to the Dark Lord, he said, "I will delay this monster as best I can." And then he charged the Dark Lord, raking his antlers across the Dark Rider's face, knocking him off his feet and staggering him.
         "Except you will do no such thing," the Dark Lord said calmly and there was a red swipe in the air. Tristian forced his body to take another step. Everyone seemed to have forgotten about him but he felt like he had forgotton about himself as well. Another step, and in his vision he could see the bloody slant of the blade in the air. Something dank and dead bounced past him, the prongs brushing against his leg. There hadn't even been time to scream. There hadn't even been time to make time.
         And then Tristian was close enough to make a grab at the Dark Lord, his hand reaching out for that evil neck. At the last second the Dark Lord turned and all Tristian got was a handful of cape, the silken cloth still feeling rough against skin. The blade loomed in his sight and fighting back the sudden fear of being cut in half, he made an attempt at the Dark Lord's hand again. Faster than he thought, he managed to connect even as the Dark Lord backhanded him with the other hand, the fork on the hand scraping down his face. Even though he couldn't fire it, it was still deadly as a blungeon.
         "It ends here," Tristian breathed, for lack of something else to say. He thrust the sword hand up, trying to twist the wrist. The armor was cool to the touch of his too warm hand. The eyes blazed at him, implacable, still only a pale reflection of the evil contained in the eyes of his master.
         "Here? No, not here and not just yet," the Dark Lord said, wrenching his arm out of Tristian's grip with a gigantic effort, slashing his other back into Tristian's stomach, knocking the breath out of him. Tristian spun to avoid the next blow, his senses protesting every motion. His head was whirling, everything seemed out of joint, too many hits too soon, he hadn't been engaged in a real fight against a truly deadly opponent for too long and the Dark Lord had gotten the upper advantage too quickly.
         "I'm sure we'll have a final battle one day, Tristian," the Dark Lord continued, even as Tristian staggered back, trying to find some opening, not wanting to madly rush in again. "But this isn't a venue worthy of such an event. If you knew what I knew-ah!"
         The Dark Lord bent forward and whirled, his sword not leaving his grip but he flailed still and cut through the trunk of a tree as he did so. Color surrounded him like a nimbus as Nanri floated toward him, her small wings beating furiously, her eyes set. Her hands were lost in worlds of tints and hues, it made his eyes hurt to even look at it. The Dark Lord jerked again and slammed completely into the tree, wrapping one hand around it to keep his balance. He tried to use his cape as a shield but whatever Nanri was doing burned right through it. She advanced on him, slowly.
         "Tell your people," she nearly snarled, so great was her anger, "tell them that whatever you might think . . . the fairies will not be taken!" The color became even more brilliant until Tristian actually heard a gasp from the Dark Lord in pain. Tristian hung back, nursing his wounds, trying to decide what to do. Once he would have known instantly but now doubt ranged through his mind. Should he run in and snatch the sword, show the Dark Riders that there was nothing that they could do to win this land, or let the fairy finish him off, if that was what she meant to do.
         "Kill him now," Tristian found himself saying, his voice hoarse for some reason. "Before reinforcements come to help him and it's too late."
         "You'll have to do the deed," Sylvania said, standing up from Auburon's body and looking right at Tristian. There was something hard and yet broken in her eyes. "Our magic renders us unable to take life. Nanri can only hold him at bay."
         "But those people who disappeared in your forests," Tristian said, trying to get a grip on his thoughts. Events were happening too fast.
         "Done in by their own fears and minds," Sylvania said. "We cannot stop someone from going mad in our forest and what they do to themselves then we have little control over." She blinked, as if regretting those deaths suddenly. "No, it shall have to be you, Tristian. If you want this maddness stopped, you have to do it now."
         In cold blood. That was what stopped him from immediately rushing forward and slaying the Dark Lord. In the boiling heat of a fight it was easy to justify self defense and the conditioning no doubt erased whatever qualms were left. But just to walk over to someone and kill them, even someone like the Dark Lord . . . still there were four bodies lying around to consider, four bodies directly killed by the Dark Lord. If not for Nanri forcing him back, they all might be dead.
         And so he stepped forward, not sure how he was going to go about it but sure that he would do it. The thought made him feel empty inside, as empty as the Dark Lord was, he was sure. But four deaths had happened already without him being able to stop them, he couldn't handle anymore. Could barely handle himself now. Choice made, he tried to make himself ready. It all seemed to be happening in a haze.
         Fate took the decision out of his hands, as it turned out. The ground trembled briefly under his feet almost as if it was sighing and then before his eyes every single tree in the forest simultaneously caught fire. Heat kicked him in the face and he staggered back, seeing the Dark Lord thrust himself away from his suddenly burning tree with inhuman effort. Nanri shrieked and covered her eyes from the searing heat, faltering in the superheated air. The colors died down but didn't go away completely.
         But it still happened all too fast. Tristian saw the Dark Lord move, even as tears formed in his eyes from the stinging heat, even as fire made every breath a rod of coarse iron jammed down his throat, even as it sapped his strength. Saw him move and move past Tristian, his red blade highlighted against red air, saw it dart out even faster than Tristian could move, saw it slip effortlessly into Nanri's face, out the back like he had just put it next to her head. Illusion. Except that her hands twitched and the colors died and without a sound she sank to the boiling ground, wings stilled, body empty. Blood pooled where her head was.
         The Dark Lord turned to him now and he body was framed by heat and darkness. His eyes were pits of fire by themselves. "And so I enact the second phase." His voice was a study in amusement, casual violence. "Energy, once dispersed can easily be transformed into something else. In this case," and he stared around, satisifed with his handiwork, "heat and fire. Your precious Magent, without realizing it, not only played into my hands but furthered our plan another step." He glanced around and a cone of blackness descended from the sky, covering him, leaving only his eyes, glimmering. "I suspect no one will survive this, except perhaps you. As I said, our final battle perhaps is yet to come. I trust I'll see you again, Tristian." And then his eyes blinked out and the cone ascended again, leaving nothing where something had once been.
         The clearing was thus far untouched but every tree around it was nothing more than a flaming pyre. Smoke hung on the air, causing his lungs to spasm in coughs. Immediately he slowed his breathing, hoping that the conditioning would work on his metabolism and maybe filter the smoke and ash out, or at least work it out of his system faster. He ran over to Sylvania, who was staring at the flames with wide eyes, apparently in shock over the events that had transpired here. Fire was reflected in her sight.
         Reaching her, he grabbed her arm, saying over the crackling roar, "We have to get out of here!" but he had no idea how that would happen. Perhaps she could teleport with her magic, but he didn't know if there was a limit to that and it seemed the entire forest was on fire. Any second now there would be burning trees toppling down on them and this time there would be no Agent to hold them up in the air. All of that felt so long ago but it came back now.
         "I . . ." Sylvania started to say, not resisting his tugs at first. And then she planted herself, refusing to move. "No. My place is here, with Auburon." The body leaned against a fiery tree but showed no signs of being touched by the flames.
         "You'll die here, if you stay," Tristian said, his voice ragged and parched. His skin felt like he had a bad sunburn. He felt like he was stating the obvious.
         "That is only right," Sylvania said simply, and her voice was out of tune to the events around them, like she was detached from reality.
         His hand was still on her arm and the skin was still oddly cool to the touch, in grave contrast to the fevered heat of his palm. They had to leave soon. "I'm not letting someone else die here, if I have to drag you I will."
         Her smile was sad and for him. "You'll drag me nowhere against my will, Tristian. Don't feel as if you've failed, this is only our way. It has to be done this way."
         "No . . ." came the faint voice and both Sylvania and Tristian turned to see something that had to be a miracle. The light had come back to Auburon's eyes and he had shifted his body, leaning on the now cracked table. The holes in his body were still there and he appeared to be holding death off at the edges of life. His eyes flickered between the two of them.
         "Auburon, you still live . . ." Sylvania said nearly breathless, her hand reaching out to touch him.
         He shied away from her touch. "Alas, no, I have died already but I retain enough power to accomplish a few last things before I depart . . ." he grimaced and shook slightly, as if death was trying to claim him as he spoke. "I've not much time."
         "Can you get us out of here?" Tristian asked, not wanting to waste any time then. On the other side of the clearing, a tree gave one final scream before giving up and toppling into the clearing. It flared, causing him to raise his hands to ward the heat off from his face. The underbrush gasped and charred, starting to catch fire.
         Auburon sadly shook his head at the question. "My powers outside Faerie are not what they used to be. Magic is not what it used to be but I see now there are greater threats." There was something forlorn in his eyes as he glanced over the bodies of his fellows littering the clearing, already being licked at by fire. "I see that now." He turned to Sylvania. "There is one place of refuge for you, and you will bring them there."
         "My place is with you," Sylvania said, almost dreamlike, as if she didn't want to believe any of this. "I cannot breath if you do not."
         "Sylvania," Auburon said, his voice hushed, "I only wish itould be different but our reunion must be delayed, even if for a short while. Our parts in this battle are over, it is only up to you to show them the way. The rest they can do, and perhaps hope will live again." He shook his head, trembling, whispered, "So many things . . ." Auburon looked back up at her again. "Do this last task for me, take them down . . ." he winced, his body shuddering in great pain, perhaps feeling the pain of the wounds that slew him. Looking at Tristian, he said, "Go with her, and fight in our memories, in the memories of all who die here. Go and perhaps you might turn the tide."
         Tristian only nodded, too overcome with heat and words to speak further. Then he remembered that they had left some people behind and fear raced through him. Where had they been when everything had happened? "My friends, do you know . . ."
         Auburon nodded, weaker this time. He seemed to be fading as they spoke. "They are still alive, as we speak. I can . . ." and he waved his hand, colors streaming out. Next to him, two forms took shape and in a bending burst of colors, Michelle and Johan appeared. Both seemed to be in the middle of some motion and Johan was clutching his sword. Michelle's robes seemed slightly burnt and Johan had ash covered his face.
         "What?" Michelle yelled, raising her arms as if to summon power and then stopped, numbly realizing where they were. "What happened?" she said, slowly, turning in a slow circle, seeing nothing but death and flames.
         "We were going to tell you that the Magent . . . that he . . ." Johan was trying to say, "but I guess you already know." He looked pale and more than slightly sick.
         "Yes, we do," was all Tristian said. Turning back to Auburon, he said, "But how are we going to get out of here and where are we going?"
         But Sylvania was cradling his head, holding it against her chest. The eyes had closed finally and the face seemed to be more at peace then before at least. Her tears drying on her face even as she cried them. "He is gone and I am alone," she said, closing her eyes to block out the pain. "Alone," she whispered.
         Another tree crashed down, causing everyone to jump. "Tristian, I can get everyone out of here, if we leave now!" Michelle said, raising her arms and letting the blue flickers surround her.
         "I think Auburon had somewhere in mind for us to go to," Tristian said, still staring at the dead Auburon, the grieving Sylvania.
         "Then we have to leave now!" Michelle said, her face covered in perspiration.
         "We shall," Sylvania said softly. Gently she let go of Auburon's body, pressing her lips briefly to his cold forehead. She murmured something like, "I shall see you again," but nobody could be sure. Then she stood up and faced them, her eyes no longer tearful, but determined.
         "I am ready," was all she said.
         "I think we were all ready a while ago," Johan muttered and Michelle smiled slightly at him.
         "Then let's go," Tristian said.
         And, just like that, they were gone, just as a tree lumbered down to strike the ground where they had been standing a second ago.
         Grimly noisy, the forest continued to burn.

* * * * *
         The king was alone in his throne room when the apparition appeared. Mulling over the events of the day, paying particular attention to the last few hours, he thought about the things that kings often mused over.
         And then it appeared.
         Looking straight out, he only saw the top of it at first, but when his eyes caught the flickering right below his vision, he readjusted to see it. He knew it right away. The thing was slightly transparent but of many colors, like a drop of water as seen through a lens, rainwater pooling on the ground. It looked older than he had imagined.
         "Auburon," the king whispered and it was all he could say.
         "Greetings," the apparition said, the voice as full and mighty as he remembered. It sounded out of place with the unreality of the vision. "I wish this were more of a social call, regardless of the status between our races but it is not." The vision paused, as if trying to discern its own status. "I am dead, at the hands of the one known as the Dark Lord, and I have come with a last message for you, my fellow ruler.
         "In the past we have disagreed on many things, the last and harshest disagreement was on magic. I felt that magic should stay the same, that the pulse and ebb that I felt as a youth should never change." The vision ducked its head, as if in deference. "Part of him still feels that way but now having undergone a change myself, I realize that change will come whether we wish it to or not." A grim smile, then. "Perhaps too late for it to do me any good but that is my burden and no other.
         "The argument of magic is useless now, against a greater threat. I have seen this Dark Lord up close, felt his touch and through him the touch of his master." The voice, hushed now. "They mean to slay us all. We are not to be their slaves or their lackeys or their anything, merely their corpses. And they will not stop until that goal is achieved. I have seen that and I believe it is true."
         The eyes that stared at the king were sad and unyielding. "Our time is passed from the world now, perhaps, the blow dealt to us today is greater than anything you could have possibly done to us. We felt we were safe in our forest homes, and that none could touch us. We will survive as a people but be diminished as a race." The steely eyes stared at him, forcing him to heed the words. "If you are victorious here, the world will belong to you and yours. Do not shirk the responsibility."
         Auburon took a pace back, and his voice seemed to come from a great distance. "That is all I have time for. I have many regrets and in another world things might have been different." A wan smile, here. "But alas we only have this world. This world and the next . . ." and with the echo of a distant tunnel the vision faded away.
         The king sat there for a long time, slowly coming to the realization that his knuckles were white as he gripped the arms of his throne. Slowly, he got off, got down the floor, gingerly inspected the area where the apparition had stood.
         Then he ran, heedless of decorum.
         He ran to the room, his room, the room where the Magent still was. The question, which he had been trying to form even as his mind tried to come to grips with what he had just seen, began to leap from his lips even as he entered the room.
         But then he stepped in and stopped. Stopped there in the semi-darkness and stared out the hole that used to be part of his wall. Fresh air ghosted on his face but there was something in that air, something acrid and harsh.
         He saw it.
         A column of smoke in the far distance, rising from the forest. Thick and black and probably huge, to be seen from where they were. It rose and had he been a fanciful man, it may have taken the shape of something evil, like a raven.
         The king looked at the Magent, who had seemed to be sleeping when he had walked in. Ageless and impossibly sad eyes stared at him, and the king felt like he had been hit in the chest.
         "Your brother . . . the fairies . . . have they . . ." but he could get no farther, his mind not wanting to admit to it.
         But even as the Magent tried to form his answer, king heard footsteps behind him. Breathless footsteps.
         "Sire!"
         Not even turning around to see who it was, he merely acknowledged the man. "Yes."
         "We have reports, from the forests. They're all burning, sire, all of them."
         "And any word from the fairies?" he heard himself, a different man, saying.
         "No word, sire. The fairies wouldn't let their forests burn like that though. I think we can only expect the worst. If they're not all dead, then most of them must be."
         He then dismissed the man, or thought he did. The next thing he remembered he was sitting on his bed, the crown next to him, still feeling the weight. He was covering his face with his hands, like he wanted it all to go away. Tears of fright and frustration pressed against his eyes but he didn't give. He had duties. He couldn't give in.
         The king raised himself from the bed, placing the crown back on his head. The Magent appeared to have gone back to a state of sleep, his eyes closed, his face intent and concentrating.
         Without another word, the king departed from the room, already hearing shouts around the castle as the news spread.
         Back in the royal bedroom, the Agent slowly glanced up, staring out into the distance, where smoke drifted. There was no telling what his eyes saw, or what they were trying to say.
         "Come on, guys . . ." he breathed in his raspy voice, and then shut his eyes perhaps to block the sights out and said nothing more.