Chapter 23

23.
         Sampras arrived right after the Dark Lord made his statement, rising up out of the ground near Tristian and Johan, forming himself out of the grass and roots themselves, his body crinkling and bristling with leaves and twigs. He spoke in a deep, even manner, though the way his eyes flickered, like there was fire beneath them, and Tristian wondered what his anger might be like. Not that he wanted to experience it, but it did make him wonder.
         Nanri came after that, perhaps even at the same time. Time didn't seem to flow right in the fairy realms, not smoothly at least. It moved in small jumps, shifting forwards and back without any warning, giving everything a hazy dreamlike quality, those early days of spring bottled and shot down to wash over them in shafts of pure sunlight. Trees solemnly kept guard, never abandoning their posts. Nanri was a small woman, gossmer light wings catching the sunlight and refracting it into a million unnameable colors. She didn't so much sit down as hovered, her face serene but wrapped in concern. Her eyes stared uneasily at the Dark Lord.
         All the present fairies were rendered momentarily speechless by the Dark Lord's statement of genocide. Except for Auburon, whose face remained the royal defintion of passivity.
         "Kill everyone . . ." Nanri said, her small voice lilting and high, "is that really necessary?"
         "If you've illusions of grandiosity, it is," Agent One replied darkly, staring straight at the Dark Lord, who only regarded him silently.
         "The very nature of magic itself does not lend to such . . . extreme attempts to correct it . . ." Sampras stated, his voice lumbering across the silence. He didn't so much place himself on the rocky chair as become one with it, flowing into it. "We may damage the fabric itself, if we allow such a thing to happen."
         "I think you'd find that, free from other influences, magic would easily be able to correct itself, given time of course. Time, which, as you know, you have nothing but, due to your near immortal lifespans." The Dark Lord's voice oozed oily smooth, speaking the sheer language of rationality. Tristian could see the undercurrents, corrupt and foul, but the question was whether the fairies would choose to see it or not.
         "But . . ." Hallas said, his voice nearly stuttering in his haste to get the words out, "there is no one closer to magic than we are . . . what shall happen to us if the fabric itself is threatened, will we not damage ourselves as well?"
         "No more than you've been damaged already," the Dark Lord pointed out, waving a black gloved hand around. "The older ones of you might remember the days when magic flowed around like a river . . . think of how it compares to now."
         "You raise an interesting point," Auburon murmured, almost inaubibly, flexing his hand. Colors ran along his knuckles, down his fingers, cycling through all sorts of colors, all, Tristian noticed, except for red. It would reach the brightest of oranges, flare briefly and then fade back to a yellowish hue.
         "Things might get worse," the Dark Lord admitted in a soft, cloying voice, "but in time they shall get better. Better than before, perhaps."
         "And all it would take would be the killing of the human race," Auburon asked suddenly, leaning forward, his eyes alight. "And what would that require of us?"
         "Merely your neutrality," the Dark Lord stated simply. "We shall endevour to make sure that human armies do not invade fairy territories and take care of the rest. All we ask of you is to continue your lives in your realms as they were before and not to interfere in our activities."
         "He asks for nothing that we are not willing to give," Sylvania said to Auburon, her eyes hooded.
         "Indeed," Auburon stated flatly. His pale face still showed no expression in the rapturous sunlight.
         "But he's talking about mass murder!" Michelle suddenly yelled, getting up out of her chair and reaching across the table to yell in the faces of the assembled fairies. "You can't take him seriously, you can't just sit by and let this all happen! It'd be just wrong, you know that!"
         "Silence," Auburon intoned, waving his hand, sending waves of color at Michelle. They intersected her and she gave a small scream, nearly falling back over her chair. Silently, Agent One reached out a robed arm and stopped her descent.
         "You may wish to control your human better, Magent, else my good intentions toward her disappear completely," Auburon stated threateningly, settling himself back down in his chair. Michelle glared at him but said nothing more.
         "She's not my human, or anyone's for that matter," Agent One replied, sounding vaguely irritated at the fairy. Then, glancing at Michelle, he said, "But I have a feeling your presence is going to be disruptive here, Michelle."
         "What?" Michelle sounded shocked at the prospect. "Magent, these people are discussing calmly the slaughter of my own race, I can't just walk away and-"
         "You're going to do just that, Michelle," Agent One said with a hint of menace in his voice.
         "Magent-"
         "Please," Agent One said and there was a hint of compassion in his voice as well this time. His eyes spoke volumes. "I don't like to ask things of people, but I'm asking this of you. Walk away. Your chance will come."
         Michelle locked stares with him for a long time and in a contest of wills, it seemed that the fight could go either way. But eventually she sighed and lifted herself from the chair, her face downcast. "Very well . . ." and she turned to leave.
         "Oh . . . Michelle . . ." Agent One called out and when she turned to face him, a surprised question on her face, he asked, "And if you could, send Tristian over here, I need to discuss something with him. If you would."
         Physically, Michelle reacted to that like she had been slapped in the face and then punched in the stomach before she had recovered fully, but to her credit she hid it quickly. Perhaps only the Agent noticed and his eyes were emotionally. Mutely, Michelle only nodded and headed over to where Tristian and Johan were standing, talking, some distance away now.

* * * * *
         "Mm, are you ever going to fix this, Magent," the queen asked, one hand on the wall and leaning out almost dangerously over the hole in the wall.
         "I figured the draft would do wonders for the royal health, the circulation around here being so poor," Agent Two quipped, still in the same position as before. He figured that his arms should start getting tired by now, if he needed arms. Besides, he was getting used to being little better than a lamp, even if he was holding the entire castle up. At least people were coming to visit him.
         The queen smiled and laughed lightly at his statement. "You have always been the jokester, it seems." She stood up, pacing around the room, examining broken bits of what used to be furniture much the way her husband had previously done. "There are recordings of your previous audiences with kings of ages past, someone had the foresight, it seems. The voices are always different but the words . . ." she stopped and looked at him. "You and your brother are very different."
         "Not really, we just have different ways of achieving the same outcome." He paused for a second. "Er, about those recordings, you guys didn't make one this time, did you? Because I really didn't make out so hot this time out and I'd rather not people be listening to my impression of the walking dead for years to come."
         The queen laughed for a second, then stopped and looked down at the floor. "Your brother still seeks an agreement with the fairies?" The question had obviously been weighing on her mind a long time.
         "Yeah, he's working on it," Agent Two said casually. "But they're not too keen on budging, you know?"
         "Yes, we know," the queen said quietly. "My husband has told you about what happened last time, I take it?"
         "Yeah, mentioned something about Auburon getting a bit extreme in his old age." Agent Two sighed. "The problem with the fairies is that they've never understood that just about every problem you can solve but just not doing anything. Most things in life tend to resolve themselves in one way or another. And for immortals . . ." he gave a shrug as best he could, "let's just say impatience is not the character trait you want in our line of work."
         "But this time requires your help, Magent?" the queen asked, not facing the Agent, staring at her ruined bed, her arms seeming to hug herself.
         "Well . . ." Agent Two temporized on his answer a bit, "you guys probably would do fine on your own, but the Shadow isn't exactly playing fair. So think of it as we're evening the odds a tad."
         The queen seemed to be shaking now. In a faltering voice, she said, "I came here to talk to you, hoping that it would make this feeling . . . it would make me feel better . . ." she turned now and Agent Two could see that she was crying. "Through no fault of your own, it didn't." She sniffed a bit, biting her lip. Not giving the Agent a chance to respond, she continued in the same dread filled voice, "We . . . sensed dark times are coming and so . . . so we consulted the seers and oracles . . . each of them has given us the same ending to this conflict . . ." and her voice caught again, making her words barely audible. "Death."
         "Oracles aren't always the be all and end all of fortune telling, your majesty," Agent Two offered as way of consolation. "There's some room for debate, most of the time."
         "They've predicted all the events so far, Magent. I wish it were not so, but the ending seems preordained."
         "Hell, a stopped clock ran be right twice a day, that means nothing. I mean, did they say anything about my brother's meeting with the fairies." The Agent's voice was filled with casual confidence.
         The queen could only nod, and even that was erratic. When she spoke again, her voice threatened to fade in and out. "It did . . . indeed . . . to the hour . . . and the ending to that, is the same . . . death."
         "Ah, I see," Agent Two replied. "Well, if it helps, you know that old saying that if you extend any story long enough, it's going to end in death."
         "Even your story, Magent?" the queen asked almost slyly, though her face was a mask of sorrow.
         "Oh, hell, sure."

* * * * *
         Tristian and Johan had moved further away from the council, sensing that there was little they could contribute to the conversation and knowing they could see any new developments from their position.
         "It's good to be out of that trap," Johan said, still seemingly dazed from it. He glanced over at the table, his eyes lingering on the Dark Lord, making him shudder slightly. "It was getting a little too surreal for my tastes."
         "Yeah, the Magent told me a little about it," Tristian replied, glad that he hadn't been able to succumb to it, though from the little Johan had said about it, it seemed like he had gotten his heart's desire, or just contentment at least. Tristian was a bit curious to learn what his idea of contentment might be. An end to fighting, just sitting around doing what he had originally set out to do, study and teach? Would that kind of life even satisfy him anymore? He had no answer for that.
         "Frankly, I don't even know what I'm doing here," Johan said, shaking his head. "I could be back protecting my village, at least it'd be something useful. And yet here I am . . . in the fairy forest, standing here as their council meets." He smiled wanly at Tristian.
         "We can always take you back to your village, if you feel your place is there," Tristian said, not sure when they'd get around to doing that, but feeling that he'd best offer anyway. "But the Magent obviously wants you around for a reason, even if he isn't being too clear about it. Hell, most of the time I don't know why he keeps me around."
         "You're full of a lot of doubts, aren't you?" Johan asked suddenly, peering at him like Tristian had just suddenly appeared there. "I can hear it in your voice, ever since I met you."
         "Well . . . a few," Tristian admitted slowly. "I've always been that way I guess, it's just in my nature, but lately . . ." his face grew slowly grim, "I've been wondering if I do more harm than good. Everywhere I go death seems to come, and I feel damned if I do and damned if I don't." He clenched his hands into fists, holding them in front of him, palm up, staring down at them. "I've got all this . . . all these abilities to help and each time it all seems to fall to pieces. I wonder what's the point and then . . . and then, someone needs help and I'm right there again." He looked soberly at Johan. "But I can't spend my life righting random wrongs, can I? There has to be some ulterior point to it, something to make me feel so much less . . . impotent."
         "You just need purpose, Tristian," Johan said, patting the other man on the arm. "You'll find it, eventually."
         "Easy for you to say, it's like-" and then Tristian stopped as he saw someone coming toward them. "Hey, it's Michelle, maybe they've finally come to an agreement."
         "I doubt it," Johan said, "she doesn't look pleased at all."
         "Tristian," Michelle said somewhat abruptly as she came over to them, "the Magent wants you at the table."
         "Oh," was all Tristian said utterly surprised. "Why is that?"
         "Apparently I'm a disrupting influence," Michelle said distastfully, and Tristian figured he'd better just leave while he could. Fortunately Michelle started talking to Johan about what had happened and Tristian took the opportunity to slip away.

* * * * *
         "Good of you to join us, Tristian," Agent One said without turning around as Tristian came over. Used to this sort of behavior, Tristian just silently took a seat.
         "I don't see how his presence will differ from the other human's," Auburon said, and Tristian figured that he was talking about Michelle. She must have done something to irritate the fairy, since his eyes grew slightly darker as he mentioned her name. He probably should have asked her before she left so that he didn't make the same mistake. Oh well.
         "Tristian has a bit of a different perspective on things," Agent One stated. "Besides which, I wanted him here while I bring up what I feel is a very important point."
         "You know you are always welcome to speak your mind here, Magent," Nanri said. Agent One smiled at her briefly before his face turned serious and he turned to the Dark Lord.
         "I think the one thing our mutual friend here hasn't mentioned is just what the Dark Riders are going to do with the land they gain once they've killed everyone, have they now?" Agent One raised his eyebrows at this. "Doesn't that bother anyone here at all? After all once they wipe everyone out, what's going to stop them from just giving it a clean sweep and finishing you all off."
         "It's a good point," Hallas said, giving a shake of his antlers. Several of the others agreed in murmured assessments. Only Auburon still said nothing definite.
         "We would give our word, Magent," the Dark Lord said.
         "Oh and I'm sure that's better than money," Agent One replied with a mild sneer. "Do you honestly expect me to believe that." He smiled again. "And you still didn't answer my first question. Why do you want this land?"
         "To repopulate and develop ourselves as a people," the Dark Lord said without hesitation. Tristian realized that statement could be taken any number of ways. "Our current environment," and he addressed the entire council, "is unsuitable for our needs and we need better lands in which to grow."
         "So you just find some place and slaughter everyone," Tristian said dryly, surprised to hear his own voice. "Am I the only one that sounds insane to? The entire Universe, Dark Lord, and you pick a fully populated place to move to." Tristian leaned back in his chair. "I don't buy it."
         "This human refuses to keep quiet as well, I see," Auburon said, stated and Tristian felt something ripple along the edges of his skin, and he felt uncomfortably hot. Auburon's eyes were glowing, but then Tristian felt something shift in his head, a set of instructions, a mental growl and a snarl, and then Auburon's ageless eyes were open in surprise and perhaps a bit of pain as the colors faded from around him.
         "You are shielding him . . ." Auburon asked the Agent, but the Agent merely shook his head.
         "No need to, you folks should have learned your lesson when your little trap didn't work on him. Tristian's made of stern stuff, stuff magic doesn't work that well on."
         Tristian knew that the only reason he was fine was because of the conditioning, which somehow was counteracting the fairies' magic, even though it hadn't worked that well in the beginning, during the initial battles. Maybe it had to directly affect him, or maybe his conditioning was adapting as he went along. There was so much about it, he didn't know.
         "So now," Agent One said, folding his hands and leaning forward, "the question remains, Dark Lord, why here? Just . . ." and the Agent spread his hands in a questioning gesture, "why?"
         "Actually, Magent, it's quite simple," was all the Dark Lord said, and then he stood up. And it was all he did.

* * * * *
         ". . . just can't believe that the Magent would do that, I mean," Michelle complained, "Tristian can't even sense magic, how is he going to understand the first thing about the problems between us and the fairies."
         "Maybe that's why the Magent asked him there," Johan stated, pacing around a bit. Now he was wishing he had found some place to sit down. "He doesn't have any of the prejudices that we possess, so he can look at the problem with a fresh viewpoint."
         Michelle blinked, and then smiled. "You know, Johan, I didn't even think of that. Of course it makes perfect sense." She walked around as well, stretching her arms, running her hands through her hair. "Gah, I'm not thinking clearly at all, these days, as you can see. But . . ." and she turned to Johan with worried eyes, "I can't forget about those armies out there, trying to kill everyone in sight. I mean, I've lived in the castle practically all my life but you . . . your home is out there," and she gestured widely, representing the world outside the woods, "and yet you're here."
         "I've been wondering the same thing," Johan said quietly, not looking directly at Michelle. "And I don't have an answer for that yet, really, except that . . ." he laughed, "it all goes back to my wife I guess, she would have wanted me here." He shrugged and his voice was full of nostalgic amusement and pain at the same time. "I'm not a fighter, she'd tell me, and there are plenty of those around anyway. She'd say my place is here, planning something, trying to think our way out of this. Because," and he stared off toward the table, seemingly more distant by the moment, "that's what's going to save us here, I think, not fighting, but thinking. That's what I want to believe. Blood never solves anything." He smiled slowly and looked down again. "But that's just me."
         "No, it makes a lot of sense," Michelle said slowly. "I just wish . . . I don't know, we need a miracle . . . sometimes, I feel . . ." trailing off she leaned against a tree for support, crossing her arms and staring over at the table.
         A period of silence followed. Johan appeared to be thinking about something and after a while he said softly to Michelle, "Michelle?"
         "Hm?" without turning to face him.
         "Ah . . . this has been bothering me for a while, but . . . you remember how the fairy trap started, that circle of . . . of monks . . ."
         Small smile now. "Like I could forget. That was just plain weird, especially toward the end."
         "That's what I wanted to ask you about," and his voice hesitated here, "right at the end, on the altar, I saw . . . something and I was wondering if you saw the same-"
         "It was an illusion," Michelle said, much too quickly.
         "I know, but . . ."
         "It had to be," she continued. "It just had to be, they were playing with our minds or something."
         "But if it's not . . ."
         "Then . . ." and she looked up at Johan and shrugged. "Then I don't know. I just don't know."
         And just as Johan was about to pursue the subject further, there was of a soft rustling of leaves from behind them. Johan turned around and grew pale as something stepped out from the trees.
         Three tall shadows fell across them and in the darkness alotted by the trees, something was glowing.
         "Oh no," was all Michelle said, softly.