Water dripped from every leaf and frond. Mist drifted lazily all around. She realized the roaring she’d heard was behind her. Turning, she saw a waterfall rise above the distant treetops, pouring through a narrow gap in a sheer cliff that formed a “U.” Thick dark clouds swirled above the gap, threatening rain. The water thundered down, smashing the slate gray walls and ledges of the cliff into a broad, deep pool. The cold green water churned and swirled through sharp rocks out of the U in a roiling river over moss-tinged boulders and fallen trees.
The river descended rapidly through what she now recognized as a long valley between two steep arms of very rugged mountains. The gap seemed widest here, but the height of the trees and the thick undergrowth made the width uncertain.
Then she heard the groans. Somewhere to the left, away from the pool and river, moans of misery floated with the mist. She strode in that direction to see what creatures were in such agony, unafraid of any potential threat.
Her march through the thick undergrowth was short, a hundred yards maybe, and certainly heard by the whimpering creatures as she crashed through the bracken and small deciduous trees. Then a broad bowl opened before her, a rich grassy sward bereft of any trees or vegetation. Scattered across the bowl were several thousand blue-clad bodies. With a sudden realization that turned her gullet cold, she recognized them as faeries; not her allies, but the Sluagh Sidhe.
They were beginning to rise, pushing themselves to hands and knees, but there was a dazed, confused look in their eyes. She recognized pain and fear as well. In that instant, the memory of her quest crashed down on her. Somehow, she still clutched the Dragon Pearl. Remembering what must be done, the chill in her gullet instantly turned to fire. These were the ones who had slaughtered her parents and the rest of the mature ones, the same who had caused the deaths of her brothers and had waged unwarranted war on the world of Faery. The moment of vengeance and justice had arrived.
She glanced about for Finaarva. Her time was short, but her revenge would not be complete if he did not witness her breaking the magic, forever dooming the Sluagh Sidhe.
There were too many faeries. Impatiently, she roared. Faeries screeched, many stumbling away from her, and several tumbling down into the bowl. Cries of “Dragons! The dragons have come!” echoed.
She glanced among them, certain she would recognize her enemy when she saw him. However, the urgency of her task was too great to brook any delay.
“Finaarva! Where are you? Finaarva!” The faeries scattered rather than answer, racing away from her. All save one. He was tall, dark haired, and slender, clothed all in black, and his eyes held a sinister gleam.
“Who are you, dragon, to call for the Lord of the Faeries in such a vulgar fashion?” His voice was smooth like one well practiced in the art of machination.
Wu Zhao recognized this faery was dangerous beyond any she’d previously met. Rather than fear, there was naught but fierceness in his dark eyes and pale white face. Instinctively, she knew that if ever there was a faery who could single-handedly challenge a dragon, it was this one. Nevertheless, her rage was such that, when she answered him, he backed away and did not rise to her insult.
“Bring me your master, goblin, or I will destroy you this instant.” The tall faery turned, stumbled, then hurried to find Finaarva. As she waited, she remembered the dagger, then realized she clutched it in her other hand, and readied herself to empty the Dragon Pearl of its magic at the first sign of trouble. She was aware of eyes watching her from the undergrowth and behind the trees bordering the bowl’s rim but ignored them with as much disdain as possible.
She did not have long to wait. The dark-clothed faery with the pale face soon returned, Finaarva behind him as if the fierce faery could shield the king from her wrath. A handful of other faeries followed at a distance, the fear on their faces making it clear they would rather be anywhere else.
Finaarva drew himself up, obviously trying to assert himself. He was even taller than the other faery, his shoulders broad like an ogre with a muscular girth to match. His face was lean and haughty, and she supposed it was handsome according to his race, but she didn’t care for the arrogance emblazoned on his features, or the irritation that glowed in his blue slanted eyes. His long, spiky blonde hair and royal blue clothing were disheveled, giving the faery lord a comical appearance, making it impossible for the haughtiness he exuded to appear as anything fearsome or even worthy of respect.
“What is it you want, dragon?” he sneered.
“Vengeance,” she said softly. Now that she was face to face with her greatest enemy, she felt nothing but a calm confidence. “Vengeance and justice.”
“Hah! What would such a mighty dragon lord know of justice? You are a nameless worm, a tool of Ao Shun. Tell him to dare come himself if he thinks he can deal justice to the king of the Sidhe!”
Wu Zhao tossed her head back and roared with laughter. All the faeries jumped back, and Finaarva’s confidence visibly faltered. “Fool! I am Wu Zhao, your jailor. You are already in your prison, and here is the key!” She held aloft the Dragon Pearl. The milky light inside it swirled slowly, and the red halo shimmered. She lifted the tiny dagger with her other hand. “The gate is sealed.” Then she slammed the knife into the stone.
A small tremor shook the forest as the red halo was sucked back into the Dragon Pearl. Then light—both red and white—flowed out of the wound and dripped to the ground. As it struck the earth, the light steamed and, like dozens of ghostly fingers, tendrils of pale red vapor stretched out towards the faeries. They stood petrified as the tendrils passed through the chest of a faery, then searched out others. Each faery staggered as the vapor exited their back, and a look of horror shrouded their eyes. She saw understanding of their predicament pass over their faces, followed by hatred that was focused on her. They did not approach, but she saw loathing added to their fear and she knew she could not stay long. Whatever disorientation and confusion they had felt was now replaced by a rage that might match her own.
As the tendrils exited the last of the faeries, they snaked outwards and began a weaving motion like a dance as the vapors created some sort of dome that extended outward. Faster and faster the weaving spread. The dome rose, expanding through the trees. Within minutes, it rose past the clifftops, continuing until even the distant glaciers near the mountain peak were enclosed. There it halted, floating for several seconds, growing brighter and brighter until the valley floor glowed with incredible vibrancy. Just when she thought she would be blinded, the light vanished with a loud pop, the echo bouncing up the valley and over the cliff before fading away. As the sound of rushing water and birds returned, she knew the spell was complete.
“Finaarva!” she called out. “I leave you now to your prison. Here you can play king to your heart’s content. Know this, however. Should any Sluagh Sidhe escape, I will hunt that faery down and slay it for the murderer you all are. You do not deserve the mercy shown to you this day but know it is not my mercy; it is Oberon mac Lir who granted it. Dwell on that until you expire.”
She spread her wings and crouched to fly away. At that moment, whatever fear had held the faeries back dissipated, and two score or more rushed her, many with hands raised and fingertips flickering, ready to deliver sorcerous bolts. The rage and sorrow she had suppressed for so long burned with an instant fury, and a fireball that would have been legendary had any other dragon been present to witness it exploded from her gullet. She made no effort to control or suppress it. The faeries had no chance. The fire struck them as several released their magic, igniting it with an even greater heat. She shied back, shielding her face with one wing, and felt the membranes warm to a dangerous level.
The heat passed before she suffered any damage. The scorch mark was wide, a black patch on the sward. The attacking faeries were ashes now. Finaarva and the tall pale faery among the living, too shaken to challenge her. She whirled once and roared, a peal of thunder that echoed through the entire valley. With a final glance at the
faeries cowering in their prison, she beat her wings until she had gained enough momentum, and flew upwards, seeking to explore her new world.
Chapter 18
The Faery
The same day had gone very differently for Tigano.
“You cannot stay here!” Àibell said sternly, her arms crossed. “And I do not want that goblin in our home!”
Tigano closed his eyes, biting back his remark. What he really wanted was a bath and a warm bed, and he definitely did not want to argue with anyone, least of all his wife.
They stood outside the entrance to their bedroom, Àibell with her back to the door, legs firmly planted as if she was a bodyguard. A dusting of ashes covered him. On the other side of the wide hallway, Hagr Twyllo slunk against the stone wall.
The other faeries—Àibell’s extended family—ignored the tableau as they frantically scrambled, hunting for their own children or parents. They were all safe for the moment, but the hardening of Finaarva’s dome had caused a panic and all had dashed for the safety of what now felt like a rabbit warren.
He sighed and opened his eyes. Her pale face, framed by her long jet hair, was exquisite, amplifying his pain from her rejection. He’d thought his return, like a conquering hero, would warm her heart. He’d thought of her and the family first, but the mere sight of the goblin in tow had caused her features to stiffen and her face to harden.
“If I had left Hagr, the dragons would have killed it.” There. He had spoken truth calmly. No manipulation.
Her eyes shifted to the goblin, and he turned as well. It sat hunched, pulling the tatters of its beige robes tight and wobbling from side to side as if wallowing in misery. Its scarred, gangly body seemed greyer than before, and not just from the ashes. It had been so scared and grateful when he’d dropped to the forest floor to grab it before a fireball had incinerated it. Now it just looked pitiful.
He looked back at his wife. There was no pity in her gaze, but the little goblin knew too much for him to dismiss it from his service. Still, with the dome breaking and all certainty gone, he’d hoped she could show some mercy. He would have to find some task for Hagr, some reason to get it out of his home yet keep it tied to him.
“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice softer, although her eyes remained focused on the goblin. “I didn’t mean I don’t want you here, but you have a duty. You must return to Finaarva, either to convince him to surrender, or to help him rebuild his magic.”
He reached out, his hand gently resting on her shoulder, feeling her tense as he touched her before she relaxed and laid her own hand atop his.
“I needed to see that you and your family were safe, Àibell. Finaarva has already damned himself.”
“I know what you did, and I appreciate your choice. Now you need to make another one.” She finally faced him again. “Your power is second to none, husband. No matter what he says, the king respects that, and he fears you. Take the goblin and go. Do what you must. We are safe enough.”
He squeezed her hand, then lifted it to his lips and kissed it. She blushed and he allowed himself a slight smile.
“What I must do, I do for you, my lady. You will be foremost in all my thoughts.” Then he bowed formally and turned to the goblin.
“Come, Hagr. I have a task for you.”
“Yes, master,” Hagr wheezed, rising slowly as if in great pain. The goblin bowed low before Àibell, its nose almost scraping the stone floor.
If Tigano had not glanced back to watch his wife disappear into their bedroom, he might have missed Hagr watching in the same direction. There was no longer any hint of pain on its face; instead, the bulging orange eyes gleamed with murderous hatred. He started, and the pitiful look on the goblin’s face returned instantly, leaving him to wonder if he’d imagined its stare.
By the time he reached his sanctuary, his attention had turned fully to Finaarva and Månefè. With his rival now the king’s closest advisor, his only hope of convincing Finaarva to surrender would be if he could get him alone where Månefè would not contradict him.
He chuckled. Maybe I should tell Finaarva to not surrender. Månefè would certainly tell him to do the opposite! He knew how unlikely that was. Månefè was the more bloodthirsty of the two. No, the only way was to keep his rival away from his meeting with the king.
Glancing about, he spotted his servant fumbling in a box of supplies.
“Hagr!” he commanded and the goblin bounced as if trying to hide whatever it was thinking of stealing.
“Yes, master?” Its voice rasped, oilier than ever.
If it did not know so many of my secrets, I would give it away to Månefè and let it wreak havoc with the cretin’s life. He did not have that luxury, however.
“I said I had a task for you. I need you to distract Lord Månefè so he does not know I am at the palace.”
Hagr’s eyes gleamed, and it glanced towards the box it had been rummaging through.
He sighed. “Hagr, Lord Månefè must not know I have asked you to do this, so you may take a few things if that will help. Just a few, mind you!” He said the last sharply at the eager look in the goblin’s face.
“Master will not be disappointed.” Hagr rubbed its hands together gleefully as it hobbled towards the box.
For a moment, he stared at the goblin, wondering if his decision was wise, then dismissed the thought. If he worried about that, he would have no chance with Finaarva.
“I want you on your way within the hour, Hagr. I will leave in two. I will punish you if Lord Månefè learns of my presence.”
“Yes, master. Do not worry. I will save you like you saved me.”
He had his own preparations to ensure Finaarva or any other faery could not place a glamour on him, or stab him in the back, and barely noticed when Hagr eventually shuffled out of the sanctuary. Before he left, an hour after the goblin, he enacted his changeling magic to hide his departure from the family as well as any prying eyes that might be spying on his home, whether faery or dragon. Only a changeling would see past his magic.
The rotting stench that greeted him as he stepped out of the ancient trunk and onto the rocky beach shocked him. At first, it was the bright pink light from the hardened, cracked dome. Then he gagged, staring in amazement at the vegetation of the nearby forest. Even from a distance, leaves liquefied and branches bent as if heavy with rain. The crack of boughs breaking somewhere in the woods echoed every few seconds.
Wet piles of green detritus surrounded him, as if large candles had melted suddenly. Flies buzzed around each mound. He watched as one fir branch crashed to the ground, half of its needles already missing. Within seconds, it dissolved into a similar pile of sickly green goo. Moments later, a grey haze rose, quickly transforming into a swarm of fully grown flies.
If he had not understood how twisted Finaarva’s magic was before that moment, he knew now, and his mission gained an urgency greater than even the threat of the dragons could provide.
I should be going to assassinate Finaarva, not mollify him. If I were to show Àibell what is happening…no, I don’t have time, not if I hope to convince Finaarva while Hagr distracts Månefè. Maybe later, if this doesn’t work.
The forest only worsened the closer he drew to the battle site. The dome was completely gone a good half-mile in every direction, and trees not destroyed by dragon fire had shattered as the magic failed. Smoke still twirled upward in lazy tendrils, and heat rose from the ground. There was no sign of dragons or the Daoine Sidhe, however, and he sensed their armies had withdrawn. He continued north towards the palace, flying back under the dome when its broken edge reappeared.
By the time he neared the palace, the dome was sparking and he could see bolts of magic shooting from the forest into the cracks and gaping holes where chunks of congealed dome had fallen. Glancing down, countless faeries, staves in hand, unleashed their magic in an attempt to restart Finaarva’s magic. In places, it had worked, for the dome could barely be seen, merely a faint twinkling.
; He hovered, his wings fluttering rapidly, as he realized how quickly the dome was healing. The hardened pink faded to its original translucence within seconds wherever the bolts struck and the sparks spread like a spider spinning its web. However, the task they faced was gargantuan; it could take a year just to restore the dome if the dragons and Daoine Sidhe did not attack.
No faery could be spared to clear the rotting vegetation or its miasma. As he landed in front of the immense brassy red toadstool that was Finaarva’s palace, he realized its gardens were the only unaffected verdure. The change in green was stark: next to the sickly, diseased piles of wet detritus, the garden shrubs appeared vivid. He hesitated, knowing all too well what he’d find inside.
It was worse. Goblins still tended the many flowers as if nothing were wrong while the music of a pair of flutes floated along with motes of faery lights. The nobles, however, must have begun guzzling pure, unrefined nectar the moment they saw the first cracks in the dome. Many lay sprawled in a stupor across a divan or a rug, their clothes in disarray and their butterfly wings spread open. Others staggered through the great hall, barely able to remain upright.
In contrast, there were more guards in their blue-green glass armor than ever, spears in hand as they paraded. A pair stood outside every doorway, their eyes regarding him with suspicion as if he were some possible Daoine Sidhe spy rather than the Lord Changeling.
Once past the half-moon doors, goblins scurried through the ribbed hallways, but the only faeries who strode along the rich, wine-red carpets all had dragonfly wings and wore dark clothing similar to his own. Each one bowed as he passed, several murmuring “My Lord Changeling,” but something in their stance bothered him. Or maybe it was their expressions.
A tingling along his spine warned him to turn around, to flee the palace, but he knew he was too deep within its walls to escape. Footsteps pounded behind him, and he knew some of the changelings were following, but the cadence of their steps was wrong, reminding him of a lion stalking its prey.
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