by Caris Roane
Batya closed her eyes against the sudden rush of wind, but as soon as Quinlan breached the tops of the trees, the maddening cacophony began, like a thousand voices all at once, shouting over each other, all trying to talk to her.
As she had earlier, though, she set aside her faeness and brought forward Davido’s daughter, and the troll parts of her that might just be able to make sense of the situation.
She gave herself the same advice she’d given Quinlan. She stopped trying to fight against the sound and instead let it flow through her, a steady stream that soon softened and became an incredible internal melody.
Her vision altered at the same time and as she glanced around she saw the Dead Forest with new eyes, as a vast sea of iridescent leaves, glimmering in blues and green, yellows and purples. “It’s so beautiful.”
Lorelei whispered. “She’s here, just beyond your shield.”
Batya turned to face Margetta as she rose high in the air also. Her lips drew back in a snarl and her voice sounded rough. “If I can’t have her, no one can.”
She extended both arms and her power blasted toward them.
Batya had only a split second, so from deep within, that part that communed with the Dead Forest, she begged the extraordinary entity for help.
Just as Margetta’s power reached them in a searing edge of fire, from beneath Batya’s feet an answering cool wave, of enormous power, rose up from the Dead Forest and swept in Margetta’s direction.
The profound wave gathered the ancient fae up, as well as her force of Invictus wraith-pairs, and swept them all away. Within seconds, they were nothing more than a speck in the sky. Another split-second, and they were gone.
Quinlan dropped them almost immediately back to earth and started issuing orders to send out patrols to find out where the ancient fae and her troops had gone. But Batya laid a hand on his arm. “Let me see if I can find out.”
Quinlan raised his arm. “Hold!” Then the entire brigade stopped all activity.
She closed her eyes and withdrew the enthrallment shield. She opened up her troll sensors and focused on the chatter of the trees around her.
The vibration from the Dead Forest became a long string of sensations, but eventually shaped themselves into words that made sense to Batya. She translated for the forest. “The evil ones have been sent hundreds of miles from here, over the western realm ocean, Maris Sol. It will take them hours to reach land. We’re safe to proceed to Ferrenden Peace.”
A cheer went up from the troll brigade, from Lorelei and from Quinlan.
A portion of the brigade went down the back trail to gather the remains of those trolls who had died in the fire attacks. The rest resumed the trek northeast toward the Snowfields of Rayne, and Ferrenden Peace beyond.
* * * * * * * * *
Quinlan held Batya against him, her head resting on his shoulder. She lay limp in his arms, asleep while he moved them both mile after mile, through the increasingly frigid night air.
Her peaceful slumbers gave him a lot of time to think. With her vibrations stowed, he was more himself than he’d been over the past several days.
Yet he felt restless and uneasy, not because he thought Margetta might suddenly reappear around the next switchback, but because he felt changed.
He’d finally realized something critical, though he hadn’t yet mentioned it to Batya, but his stomach no longer cramped as it had for centuries. The state of chronic blood starvation for every mastyr vampire, had been his painful companion from the time that he’d arrived at mastyr status. Like Ethan and most of the mastyrs, he kept a stable of doneuses to take care of his blood needs. He’d needed constant donations, sometimes more than once a night when battling the Invictus,
And in all those decades, year after year, with a regular changing of his doneuses as one century moved into the next, he’d never been without the cramping in his stomach.
Until now.
Batya’s blood had satisfied him, nourished him, and eradicated what had been horribly painful for most of his adult life.
To his knowledge, this extraordinary experience had only happened to two other mastyr vampires in all the Nine Realms, Mastyr Gerrod of Merhaine Realm and Ethan of Bergisson.
Sweet Goddess, if everything he understood was correct, then Batya was a blood rose, his blood rose.
Which at least explained why he’d been unable to stay away from her.
On some level, he must have known. Ethan had talked about his experience at length, about his erratic behavior, his craving for his woman, his need to protect Samantha as though his own life depended on her survival. Quinlan had also been drawn to Samantha to the point that he and Ethan had essentially fought over her in the Bergisson Guildhall.
But if Batya was his blood rose, then why hadn’t he understood it sooner? Or maybe he had, but he just hadn’t been able to face the truth until now.
Sweet Goddess, a blood rose. And his stomach didn’t hurt.
But what the hell was he supposed to do with her? He didn’t exactly respect her life choices since she lived as an ex-pat and had no desire to return to Grochaire Realm. In his view, realm-folk should have a commitment to their homeland above everything else, including family and personal happiness.
He’d lived by these values, so opposite to what Batya held dear. Although he did give her credit for seeing to the well-being of realm-folk in Lebanon. She wasn’t a selfish person, just badly misguided.
But what was he supposed to do with her?
He had no room in his life for a relationship with a woman, any woman, even if she proved to be his blood rose. Maybe he could visit her occasionally in Lebanon, maybe she’d be willing to become one of his doneuses. Yes, that made sense.
With that much settled, he pulled her closer. The air had grown freezing cold, but he produced a lot of heat which he hoped kept her body temp at a reasonable level.
When he rounded a wide bend in the mountain range, suddenly a vista opened up before him, something he’d only read about in ancient fables, the Snowfields of Rayne.
Batya, wake up. You have to see this.
Hmmm?
She lifted her head and drew in a soft gasp. “Oh, my God.”
He slowed his speed and one by one the troll brigade, with Lorelei, spread out in a single line to either side of him.
A soft, exquisite layer of snow, as far as the eye could see, rolled out before him, unbroken by trees or shrubs. The name made perfect sense. In the glow of his night vision, the snow sparkled beneath a black, star-studded sky. But it wasn’t just the spectacular visual sight, but the essential power that emanated from the field.
“Do you feel it, mastyr?” Henry levitated beside him, head erect, eyes narrowed.
“Yes, a flow of power like nothing I’ve felt before.”
“What do you think the source is?”
Quinlan shook his head. “I have no idea.”
“Okay, so which way to Ferrenden Peace?”
Without even having to think about it, as though the map lived in him now, he pivoted slightly facing northeast. “That way.”
“Can you reach Mastyr Seth? If Margetta finds us again, it would help to have reinforcements.”
“Good question.” He dropped to the snow and set Batya down, waiting for her to find her footing.
Her booted feet sunk just a few inches through a delicate crust with soft powder below. She leaned down and ran her hands over the surface. She even chuckled, like she was amused and delighted at the same time.
What do you feel, Cha? He needed to know. Batya, like Lorelei, had an unusual connection to the land. Maybe the snowfield would speak to her as well.
She rose up and met his gaze. I’m just savoring this soft vibration of energy. It’s lovely, even beautiful. Untouched.
He felt it as well, that realm-folk had not walked in this land for a long time.
He withdrew his cell from the pocket of his leathers and found he had enough bars. Dialing, he was relieved when Set
h picked up immediately.
“I’ve been waiting for your call, Quinlan. Do you have the woman?”
“Yes. The ancient fae gave us quite a bit of trouble and we’ve lost some warriors from my troll brigade.”
“Very sorry to hear it.” Seth spoke in a soft, clipped, careful manner. Of all the mastyrs, Seth held himself in tight control. He was extremely disciplined and though lean as hell, he had as much muscle mass as Quinlan. The vampire worked out with a passion and it showed.
He also had an organized mind that functioned like a computer, always analyzing. And he had one of the largest doneuses stables in all the Nine Realms and fed twice a day, rain or shine. He also had secrets. Some said he killed his brother in a rage over a thousand years ago. Of course, few still lived who could corroborate the story one way or the other. Maybe his sense of discipline came from keeping a volatile temper in check.
Whatever the case, Quinlan trusted Seth with his life. He gave him a rundown of all that had happened and that he now stood on the edge of the snowfields. “By my calculations, we’re fifty miles from Ferrenden Peace. Do you have your map with you? Have you seen the enthrallment over this region roll back?”
“I have. Stunning. Impressive. I have half my Guard with me and we keep advancing in a northwesterly direction, according to your instructions. We’ve hit an exquisite light display in the sky, similar to the earth’s northern lights. Do you see anything like that from your vantage point?”
“No, but I suspect it has something to do with the power this field radiates. I wish I understood more about our myths. I’ll bet the answers to these phenomena show up in our oral traditions.”
“You’re probably right. So, what’s your plan?”
“To keep moving in the direction imprinted in my mind until we meet up. Just keep an eye on your map.”
“Will do.”
When he returned his cell to his pocket, he saw Batya shiver. Without giving it a moment’s thought, he pulled her into his arms then called for her satchel. As soon as she was bundled up in a warm coat, he ordered the brigade to move on.
He rose into the air, the brigade with him, and started across the vast Snowfield of Rayne.
* * * * * * * * *
With her head covered in a warm, furry hood, Batya savored the view as Quinlan flew her mile after mile across the snowfields. The vibrations soothed her and made her smile, even as the land sloped ever downward and the snow began to show more rocks and shrubs.
She realized she’d never been so happy in her entire life, a thought that startled her because it made no sense. After all, she’d just been through a series of harrowing experiences, including communing with the Dead Forest and watching Margetta and her force get blown clear across Grochaire Realm, over five hundred miles and then some. Yet, she felt content as though she belonged here, in Quinlan’s arms, speeding above a white expanse that glittered like diamonds, toward an unknown destination.
How was this even possible, first that she was here and secondly, that she was content?
She’d always preferred her independent, self-ordained path to anything so full of realm meaning and purpose. Yet here she was flying toward a place from her world’s myths called, Ferrenden Peace, a land supposedly ruled by a benevolent and very ancient virgin queen.
She wondered suddenly if that was exactly what they would find once they arrived, a strange kingdom ruled by a woman, also known to be an ancient fae called Rosamunde.
After another hour in the air, Quinlan drew his phone carefully from his pocket, a movement Batya sensed. He could easily upset their trajectory at this speed with a jerk of his wrist.
He’d already called Mastyr Seth twice before, each time checking to make sure that the enthrallment kept rolling back so that Seth and his Guardsmen would arrive at nearly the same time they did.
Quinlan slid his phone back into his pants pocket. We’re getting close, Cha. Seth has his map in front of him. He says the map reveals the border of Ferrenden Peace. He also said that another place name has appeared, the Kingdom of Peace.
No kidding. Then she felt it, a wave of sensation that brought her breath up short. I get it. She laughed.
What is it? He adjusted her again in the circle of his right arm, still holding her tight.
Ferrenden Peace and Kingdom of Peace. I think our language changed the name over the years.
Quinlan smiled as well. You may be right.
And I’m experiencing a new vibration, something euphoric and I think it’s coming from the town itself. You should slow down now. We’re less than a mile away.
I see it. A wall of some kind. Mist maybe.
Right, but the town beyond is lovely, the streets rising to the crest of a hill, the castle on top. Sweet Goddess, this is a fairy tale.
All I see is the wall. He slowed down and after another quarter mile, came to a stop, dropping to stand on a cobbled street lined with trees and grass. “Is this the entrance?”
She didn’t respond at first. So many sensations struck her at once, of awe and of great contentment, and of something like coming home.
Finally, she answered his question. “Yes, we’ve arrived. The gates are right in front of us, not thirty yards away.” She stepped out of the circle of his arms and advanced forward, Quinlan moving to walk beside her.
“Guards,” she called out to the two men posted at either side of the massive, black spiral gate. She sensed the power of the wrought iron, that the gate in one sense was purely ornamental. The mist would hold intruders out. No one simply flew over the gate into Ferrenden Peace. Admittance must be granted.
“Yes, Mistress. How may I help you this fine October day?” She smiled because he sounded like her father. Davido often used expressions just like that. The Guardsmen wore a uniform similar to Quinlan, except with a black leather beret angled over their heads.
“We request entrance. I am Batya, sired by Davido, The Great One, and this is Mastyr Quinlan, ruler of Grochaire Realm.”
At her words, the mist rolled away from the gate and a soft exclamation rose up from the brigade ranks because now the kingdom was visible to everyone.
“You are welcome to enter, Mistress Batya. Indeed, you are expected. Queen Rosamunde gives you and your entourage, full access to our town.”
Her first instinct was to explain that Quinlan and his Troll Brigade were hardly her entourage, but Quinlan gave her arm a squeeze, then thanked the Guardsman.
The gate opened wide.
Once the entire force was inside the city gates, she glanced back and watched as the mist and gate both closed back up.
Quinlan explained that Mastyr Seth would be arriving soon.
The Guardsman nodded. “We are fully informed. The queen has foreseen your visit and all is prepared. Mastyr Seth will join you at the castle in due course. In the meantime, accept the queen’s hospitality. The Mistress of the Hall is here to settle all of you in proper chambers for the night.”
A tall fae, in flight, introduced herself as Gizelda, her ease in the air giving Batya a pang of envy. She explained that she had made arrangements to home-host the entire brigade and that the ladies and Quinlan would be staying at the castle. “If that pleases you, Mastyr Quinlan.”
“Very much so, thank you.”
“Then follow me through the town and when we are nearly at the castle, I’ll direct the brigade into the hands of my assistant, Myra.”
Once Quinlan had them in flight, following the elegant Gizelda up the main street, Batya shook her head over and over. Many of the realm-folk waved to them as they passed by. Flower baskets hung from beautiful black light standards, set at twenty feet intervals. Blue shutters hung beside most of the windows.
At an intersection, a cheering group of troll females, many with low-cut tops, waved and screamed. The cheers became a roar as the brigade moved by.
Batya turned slightly in Quinlan’s arms to watch as each Guardsman smiled and puffed out his chest a little more, spears in the air. Hen
ry saluted the women, which caused another swift burst of shouting.
“We’re definitely expected,” she said quietly. “Those women are dressed to kill and I don’t think they’re working girls.”
Because she was looking behind her, she met Lorelei’s gaze and her friend smiled, tears in her eyes. Batya had been so caught up in her own experience that she hadn’t realized what coming here would mean for the woman Margetta had been pursuing for decades.
“You’re free,” she called back to her.
Lorelei inclined her head. “Free at last.”
Chapter Nine
Quinlan stood by the window in the room assigned to him. Some smart fae foresight had assigned Batya the adjoining bedchamber. She showered while he towel-dried his long hair.
The queen had already provided a meal, so they’d eaten, but Gizelda had made it clear Rosamunde wouldn’t be receiving anyone until the next evening, which was just as well.
He felt like he’d been battling and marching for a week and a vibration up both arms told him he needed to feed soon. He’d spent a lot of energy flying Batya to Ferrenden Peace, known to the locals as the Kingdom of Peace.
He still couldn’t believe he was here.
Ferrenden Peace
But dawn wasn’t too far off. He could feel that vibration as well, the warning tingle up his spine, telling all vampires to seek shelter. He sometimes wondered how his ancestors survived without modern building materials.
Caves, probably.
He recalled one of his doneuses reading some kind of novel recently, a romance, where the vampires lived in caves and did some crazy stuff with chains.
No caverns in his world, just a variety of realm-folk needing his protection against the enemy.
He heard the revelers. The long window faced the main thoroughfare, and even at that distance he could hear the shouting and laughter. Henry and his men needed this time to let things go. They’d be mourning the loss of their fellow warriors when the next evening broke. Henry already had a brief memorial service planned for the fallen. Later, when the brigade returned to Grochaire, proper remembrance services would be taken care of by the families.
