She-Elf

Chapter One: Imbireth Imbenen

“Hold, for I sense something,” whispered Halad to his companion. The lithe slender elf moved forward with his race’s characteristic grace, while his mortal companion obeyed and stayed still. Halad of the Elfish Valley was a tall, fair elf, with intelligent eyes and a less suspicious manner towards mortals than most of his race. The companion bowed to Halad’s seven hundred years of experience.

“I hear nothing,” the mortal said, ill at ease in the dense forest that surrounded the Elfish Valley. Tall, dark haired, and roguish, with a week’s stubble shading his face, he hardly seemed the epitome of mankind. His clothes, hair and face were rugged and dirty, but his eyes shone magnificently, seeming all the brighter for their surroundings as they flicked here and there around the wood. His intelligence was as apparent as Halad's, but in the mortal’s eyes was also a sense of humor, a wariness, and a haunted shine that flickered in and out of sight. He lacked Halad's serenity, especially when in the middle of a deep forest. One heavily scarred hand tightly gripped his sword hilt. The sword itself was wrapped in soft dark leather, with only the pummel showing, with a polished, deep blue crystal shimmering under the mortal’s hand.

“I cannot hear it either” admitted the elf, his entire body tight and prepared to spring at a moments notice. “But still I sense eyes watching us.” He took a deep breath and called out softly, his words rippling with the power of the elfish speech. “My name is Halad, son of Galhad, of the Elfish Valley. Show yourself.”

“An elf of the Valley? Halad?” a female voice, deep yet light floated down from the trees: a young voice filled with power and feeling. Domigan’s hand unwittingly relaxed on his sword hilt but his nerves were on fire, as if in combat. He strained to understand their conversation as if he could will his way to understanding.

“Yes. Who are you? Show yourself.” Halad’s stance had also relaxed although his voice remained accusing and stern.

“You do not remember me, Halad?” the other speaker asked in mock-distress. The voice spoke now in Common, as if the speaker could sense Domigan’s intense desire to understand the dialogue. Even when a merry laugh followed the question, Halad still did not smile, clearly mistrustful.

“Who are you? I don’t know when to remember you from.”

“I did not think you would forget me so easily.” The voice laughed again, clearly scornful of Halad’s insistent Elfish. “Cousin.” The men both whirled around as the voice sounded behind them, Halad’s bow drawn with an arrow at the ready and Domigan with his sword in guard. Drawn the blade was a strange blue, with a shimmering light and a line running across it about three quarters of the down from the tip.
Both men froze immediately upon turning seeing two arrows expertly knocked in a very tall long bow. The bow had strange silver markings that were, Domigan guess, High Elfish. Domigan’s interest in his potential opponent’s weapon did not stop him from feeling the bowman’s eyes rove his blade.

“Are you my true cousin? Impossible, I have no cousins!” Halad held his arrow steady, ignoring the mortal’s uneasy and uncomprehending attentiveness to the Elf bow.

“Ouch, that hurts!” laughed the voice. “You can’t remember any Cousin Yirandiel?” The She-Elf stepped forward so her face fell into the light. Halad dropped his arrow in surprise. Domigan dropped his blade from guard and his eyes went from the striking bow to the stunning face. Young and fair, as are all elf faces for the first thousand years of life, this She-Elf had a hazel eyes highly unusual for an elf (especially a She-Elf) dancing under dark brows and a smile playing about her naturally red lips on her a milky white face. In short, she was the most enchanting female Domigan had ever seen. A second glance showed a dirty smudge on her high cheekbone, and a ragged scarf containing her hair so well that not a wisp showed through. None of this detracted from her marked beauty.

“Yirandiel? What are you doing out here?” Halad, not admiring the She-Elf’s beauty, took the She-Elf’s identity as a personal insult. The girl smiled at his displeasure and removed the arrows from her bow.

“That’s a nice greeting considering you have been away for thirteen seasons. I began to worry you would not come back.” Her face was as playful as her voice with only her furtive glances about revealing any care for danger.

“Yirandiel, you still haven’t told me what you are doing out here.” Halad’s voice was a sharp contrast, all seriousness and worry. “Does Garyupleh know?” Halad gripped the girl’s arms for emphasis.

“Take Care.” Yirandiel warned Halad in lilted Elfish, and pulled her arm back resentfully before spreading an innocent smile on her red lips and shrugging. “I am keeping watch.” Halad frowned slightly, showing great distress on an Elf’s face, and Yirandiel smiled impishly at the elf’s companion. “Who is this, Halad, for he is no elf, not even a Bene Hiruncienko.” Yirandiel saw that Domigan could not understand her native tongue. “An archer elf of the sea. Bene is man, Hiruncien is sea, ko means of.” Domigan smiled back, his eyes filled with approval.

“This is Domigan, a Traveler.” Halad said formally.

“Travelers do not find their way easily to the Valley without at least one elf’s favor. I hope you do not endanger Imbireth Imbenen, Halad." She spoke in Elfish but looked intently at Domigan. Her eyes glazed slightly and she spoke with the depth of prophecy. She blinked the vision away. "What would Isbeneth say to that? And you his favorite archer?”

“Yirandiel, I find your manners worse than when I left you. It is rude to speak Elfish when Domigan cannot understand.”

“I am but a She-Elf, with no manners at all. And you were speaking Elfish earlier if I remember correctly.” He took a step forward, angry at her insolent tone, and she quickly drew three arrows. “Will you force me to turn you into an immortal pincushion?”

“As though an Isurtaneth could shoot one arrow straight” scoffed Harad. “Then again, little She-Elf, you might have managed it once or twice.” He flicked one of the arrows with his fingernail. Suddenly Yirandiel let fly the arrows and Domigan’s hat was pinned to a tree about three hundred feet away, the arrows forming a near perfect equilateral triangle.
The girl giggled. “I think you owe me an apology, Halad.”

“Apology!” Halad echoed furiously, slipping into Elfish without realizing. “I think you owe Domigan’s hat an apology!”

The bright eyes turned to Domigan and smiled enticingly at him. “My cousin finds me infernally rude, Traveler Domigan. And he seems to think a She-Elf is so low she should apologize to a hat. I hope you do not share this opinion? I would hate to think that everyone thought like Halad.”

“My hat needs no apology, Lady Elf.” Domigan bowed to her and retrieved her arrows. “It will find much vindictive pleasure when rain leaks in through the holes onto my head.”

Yirandiel giggled, and smiled at him. Then she opened her mouth and a high tune swept out. It did not seem as if Yirandiel were singing, and the notes echoed with raw power and small flecks of golden light began to float into the trees around them. It a beautiful sound to hear, though one that Domigan could only remember as a whistle or bird call of some sort. “That should bring the official guard to you, stupid as they are. I will see you both in the Valley.” Then she slipped away, leaving Domigan breathless.

“She does that to us all.” Halad placed a hand on the Traveler’s shoulder.

“She does it to you, her cousin?” Domigan asked incredulously as his fingers ran over the holes in his hat.

“I am not really her cousin, Domigan. I might be a fifth cousin, at best, twice removed. And I do not believe Yirandiel does it on purpose.” Halad’s eyes flitted subtly downwards, a sign Domigan had learned to read as embarrassment.

“Are all Elfish women so beautiful?” Domigan would normally have abated his questions when he saw the forthright Halad embarrassed but something had possessed him to continue. “I had heard they were fair but I thought that they would be as fair as the men are, but not so stunning.”

“I can think of no woman to match Yirandiel. That does not mean there are no women fairer, but there is no woman so stunning as you put it. Stunning is indeed the right word for Yirandiel. And here come the guard.”


Chapter Two: Wild Child


"Peace, Friends. I am Halad, son of Galhad, of the Elfish Valley.” Six elves emerged silently from the trees.

“Halad? You are home for good?” Their leader gripped Halad’s forearm in greeting. He was the tallest and handsome, although he continually shot furtive glances all around, making him twitch.

“Yes." Halad bowed to Domigan, but continued in Elfish. "Yamrin, Piyorgen, Gloylas, Friyim, Ramarden, and Ornilas, may I present Domigan, the mortal Traveler. He is come to stay with me for a while, in the Valley.”

“Men are seldom allowed in the Valley, Halad.” Ornilas, the leader, hissed reproachfully as he eyed Domigan, standing still for a rare few moments.

“Ornilas, you are fearful? Domigan is a Traveler, and Travelers are our sworn allies: our mortal Brothers. Give him the hospitality he deserves." He switched to Common and increased his volume from the whisper. "Now come, I wish to see the King.”

“The King or the Wild Child?” Piyorgen asked crudely slurring the beauty of their language. He was the second tallest, but he slouched.

“Wild Child?” Halad rounded on him, angry.

Ornilas put a hand on Halad’s shoulder and spoke softly and sadly to him, dropping his voice even though it was clear Domigan could not comprehend. “Yirandiel has grown up headstrong. She disobeyed the Council, and Piyorgen has seen her scouting here. Even in the Valley things are not perfect.” Ornilas shook his head.

“Perhaps a mate and a child would hold her down.” Gloylas put in from the back of the group, eyeing Halad hopefully.

“No Chance.. Yirandiel thinks of me as a Cousin.”

Ornilas flashed a glare at Gloylas and te younger Elf fell silent. He spoke loudly in Common, sketching Elf runes in the air with his ring fingers to allow everyone to understand. “Come, Halad and Traveler. There is still a way to walk before you can see the King. Yamrin and Ramarden will take you to the Valley. Piyorgen would but he has shown an inability to hold his tongue, even around Strangers.” The young guard bowed his head, properly abashed.

“Good bye for now.”

“And to you.”


Yamrin lead the way down to the Valley, springing lightly over the logs and stones that littered the forest floor, as all the elves did. Domigan felt quite foolish as he stumbled for although he was sturdy and well balanced, the going was steep. And treacherous, he thought, as small stones and dirt fell away from under his feet. The elves were so light that they did not notice.

There was a giggle from the trees and elves and Traveler froze.

“If you are of the Valley, show yourself.”

There was no response. Then Halad realized and began to whisper urgently to Yamrin. “Don’t shoot! This is a friend.”

Yamrin hand signaled Ramarden not to shoot. “Who?”

Halad hesitated. “I should not tell.”

“If you do not tell, we shoot. The stranger has not identified himself.”

“Please, Yamrin.”

“No.”

“It’s Yirandiel.”

“Yirandiel!” hissed Yamrin. Then he faced the trees and shouted. “Isurtaneth, show yourself.”

“Thanks a lot, Halad.” Yirandiel’s voice shot sharply through the trees. Ramarden seemed in shock, although it was silent shock.

“Come out and return to the Valley with us.”

“No, Yamrin. I will not.”

“Yirandiel, as a sergeant of the Watch, I command you to return with us.”

“Yamrin, as your friend, I ask you to please leave me.”

“Come out.”

“No.”

“Why will you not even come out?”

“You will be angry.”

“What have you done, Isurtaneth?” Halad asked eagerly, curious as to what antics would create a reaction Yirandiel would fear.

“None of your business, Halad. Now please, Yamrin.”

“If you do not come, Yirandiel, I shall have to tell Garyupleh I left you out here alone.”

“Yamrin! Please!”
“No. Come out.” Yirandiel slid into their sight. The elfish men stared at her in horror. She wore a dirty overdress, cut off at the knee, revealing leggings like the male-elfs wore. “Yirandiel! What the hell are you wearing?”

“I told you you would be angry..”

“Angry! Yirandiel, your dress!”

“I have another, proper, dress hidden.”

“Yirandiel, why would you do this?”

“I am keeping watch. Without me, you would not have found Domigan and Halad. You should be thanking me.” Domigan's ears perked at the sound of his name.

“Thank- Yirandiel! Halad, Ramarden, place Yirandiel under arrest. She will go straight to the king when we return to the Valley.”

“Yamrin!”

“I am sorry, Yirandiel, but I have no choice.” He whispered gently to her.

“No choice!

“It is for your own good.” She spat in his face, and threw off the imprisoning arms of Halad and Ramarden and ran. A spell downed her within two yards. Yamrin wiped his hands as though they were dirty. “Halad. Ramarden. Pick up the Isurtaneth.” He turned to Domigan sadly, and switched to Common. “Come Traveler Domigan. Wipe Yirandiel’s behavior from your mind. Come to the Valley.” Yamrin led Domigan a few hundred more feet and waved his hand at the grand landscape- a city tucked into a rock face, spliced by waterfalls, and bright with flowers, soaking up the sunshine that the wood couldn’t steal. “Welcome to Imbireth Imbenen… the Elfish Valley.”


Chapter Three: Isbeneth


The group walked into the King’s Chamber. Yamrin in front, followed by Halad and Domigan, and then Ramarden carrying Yirandiel, her body limp and unconscious.

Yamrin bowed. “Isbeneth.” The Elf King raised his hands. He was a handsome, regal man with dark brown hair braided with silver. His eyes were piercing and unrelenting, the color of his hair and equally unusual. On his forehead a circlet of silver marked him as a Seer, one with magic.

“Sargeant Yamrin, why are you returned so early? Your watch does not end for another three and a half turns.” The Elf-King’s voice was deep and powerful, but filled with peace; listening to it, Domigan felt perfectly at ease.

“Isbeneth, we have brought those who we found in the forest. The Archer Halad has returned with his friend, a Traveler.” Yamrin nodded to the pair and they stepped forward.

“Well met, my nephew. How do you do? You have been away too long.”

“I am well, Isbeneth, and have brought a friend and ally, the Traveler Domigan.” Halad nodded to Domigan, who bowed, his hand releasing his sword hilt. The King nodded to him and then halted, his pupils dilating. The King sketched the Elf Runes in the air as Ornilas had, only his glowed gold in the air, shimmering gently.

“Traveler, you are more than you pretend to be.” The King shook his head. “You know this.”

“A Traveler is all that I claim. It is all that I wish.” Domigan bowed again, impressed by the King’s power.

“For now. Who is the last foundling?”

Yamrin stood forward. “I am truly sorry, Isbeneth. We found her in the forest… like this.” He nodded and Ramarden laid Yirandiel on the step before the throne.

“You found him unconscious?” The King did not look, burrowing his eyes into Yamrin's instead. The sargeant was clearly uneasy.

“No, we stunned… when…tried to run.” Yamrin’s normally strong baritone faded into a mutter.

“Yamrin, what are you trying not to tell me? I am too tired to See it today.”

“The one we found… was… Isurtaneth Yirandiel, Isbeneth.” Yamrin blurted out the last three words.

“Yirandiel!” The King leapt off of his throne. He lifted his hands, and the stun, in an instant and signaled Yamrin and Ramarden to lift the She-Elf to her feet. Yirandiel did not seem abashed.

“I never knew you could stun. Why didn’t you tell me you were a Seer, Yamrin.” The girl ignored the King’s glare. In fact she ignored him all together.

“I am no Seer," muttered Yamrin. Domigan noticed how changed his manner was in the Elf-King's prescence... or maybe it was only that he could actually understand now. Yamrin bowed to the She-Elf and continued. "We have spelled pendants to stun, Yirandiel. I would not have stunned you if you had not run.”

“That’s very comforting.”

“Enough! Yirandiel, what were you doing? Why would you even think of..?”

“Your scouts are no good. I found Halad and Domigan. If they had been dwarfs and I had not been there they would have attacked the Valley with no hindrance.”

“And if they had been dwarfs you would be lying dead in the forest or hauled with them as their captive.”

“How can you say that? I am a better archer than Yamrin, and he is a Sargeant.” Yirandiel’s face was so animated, fierce and angry Yamrin, Halad, Domigan, and Ramarden backed away, but it had no effect on the King.

“And your clothes, Yirandiel? How do you explain that?”

The She-Elf tossed her head defiantly. “Am I supposed to climb and track in one of those dresses?”

“No, you are not supposed to climb and track at all. Yirandiel, you have displeased me more than I can say. Step forward.” The Elf-girl tossed her head like an unbroken horse. The King’s eyes narrowed and she floated forward. He touched her forehead with his baby finger and she screamed.

Halad, Yamrin, and Domigan started forward but Yirandiel was not screaming from pain, but from indignation. She lashed out at the King with her tongue, swearing fluently in Common and all six dialects of Elvish (Domigan appreciated that he could still understand-- even for a Traveler, that caliber of swearing was worth hearing). The King motioned and three guards dragged her from the room, but not easily. Yirandiel bit, scratched, and screamed like a mad vixen. “I am sorry you had to see that, Traveler Domigan." The Elf-King stared after Yirandiel. "You will soon learn that there are few Elves who would ever behave like that, and no other Elf-girl. She is the exception to every rule.”

“What did you do to her, Isbeneth?” Halad wanted to know.

“I bound her, to within the City districts. She will no longer be able to leave, even with escort.” Halad looked appalled. “It had to be done, Halad. She is turning into a wild animal. I do not know what to do.” It surprised both of them that the King had so calmly admitted he did not know what to do. “There has never been an Elf-girl like her.”

“She is peerless.” Halad said softly.

The King smiled. “I suppose that is one way to put it. Please, Halad, do not leave too soon. I feel that your presence may be calming.”

“You wish me to tame Yirandiel?”

“Ah no, Halad, I meant your presence may be calming for me.”


Chapter Three: Paths


Halad and Domigan sat peacefully on the grass that lay on the path from the forest entrance to the Main Road of Imbireth, as the city was often called. Facing the longest waterfall of the city, the Great Hall shading them from the late afternoon sun they sipped from goblets of cool water drawn from the falls. Above the clashing of the water they could hear birds and rustling in the trees that had been persuaded to grow on the rock face.

Suddenly a white cloaked figure dropped next to Halad. “Why did you tell them it was me?” Dom registered a double take. Clean, with brushed, (abundant,) flowing ruddy brown-blonde hair, a Seer's silver circlet and a lacy white dress that flowed around her in a nonexistent breeze, Yirandiel hardly looked like the same thing that had yelled at the King that morning.

“They would have shot at you, Yirandiel. I didn’t want you hurt.”

“So now I am a prisoner.”

“Yirandiel, it’s your own fault. You did go where you aren’t allowed. You went into the forests alone, you silly girl.”

“I didn’t get hurt.”

“And who’s to say that if I hadn’t stopped them, they wouldn’t have shot you? That would have hurt, Isurtaneth.” Halad's voice hardened slightly and an edge in his voice revealed how much he cared.

“And sitting in here all day with nothing to do won’t hurt more?” Yirandiel refused to tone down her assault, insensitive to his pain.

“Well do what the other She-Elves do.” He feigned indifference.

“Brush my hair all day and coo over babies?” scorned Yirandiel.

“What about the Great Halls?” Dom suggested. “I’m sure they’d let you in there.” Yirandiel looked at him, scathingly before she remembered who he was.

“I spent all my childhood locked in there. I don’t wish to reenter it.”

“Yirandiel, go work at the mill if you must, just don’t be depressing.” Halad stood and pulled her up, close to him. Her back was perfectly straight and her chest and hips were only inches from his. He looked down at her and smiled ruefully. “You will break every He-Elf’s heart if you do.” He kissed her forehead, his fingertips light on her lace covered shoulders. “Maybe Garyupleh will let you organize a dance.” He bowed to her and walked off.

“As if I think of nothing but flirting.” Yirandiel complained to the air in front of her before she turned eagerly to Dom, eyes bright with enthusiasm. “Will you tell me everything you have learned over your travels?”

“Everything?” Dom laughed. “Milady Yirandiel, I have been traveling for twelve years. Surely you don’t wish to learn all that.”

“Do I not?” He smiled at her and she smiled back, and sank to the ground in a single flowing movement. He took a drink from his goblet refreshing his suddenly dry mouth and began to speak.

When he stopped, hours later, Yirandiel sighed happily. “I envy you. Even your fights with goblins, ogres, and trolls. One of your twelve years carries more meaning, life and memory than all of my six hundred. Alas, that I was born a woman.”

“Would you be a man if you could? Battles are not all glory and triumph. They are despair, death, and sorrow. Sometimes even boredom.”

“More boring than watching girls comb their hair, rub oils and cosmetics into their skin, dress, undress, dress, undress, and birth babies?”

“I wouldn’t mind seeing the elfish girls undress and comb their hair.” Domigan raised his eyes amusedly. Yirandiel flashed him a quick smile.

“Good. Let’s trade places. You can have the boredom, the patronization, the lustful glances, the screaming and spitting babies, the ever-knotting hair, and these stupid lacy dresses. And the binding mark. You can especially have the binding mark.”

“Poor Yirandiel. Do you miss the forest?”

She bowed her head. “I love it in there. It’s like taking away my air.”

“You are immortal, you can live without air.”

“And they all know it. But what is the point of existence if you are denied true life?” The question hit Domigan uncomfortably. Yirandiel perceived this and ducked her head to look into his bowed eyes. “What is it, Domigan?”

“Nothing, Milady Yirandiel. A ghost of the past.” He still looked away.

“If you are haunted you must fix it. Whatever it is you have or have not done, it can be repaired, to be sure.”

“Can we speak of something else?” His bright eyes flashed.

“No.” Yirandiel grinned impishly. “I am curious to know what a Traveler could have done. You owe no loyalty, have no responsibility except to yourself, and your honor is in your own keeping. Why would the past haunt you?”

“A man must choose between two paths, leading to very uncertain ends. Once he has started down one, he cannot go back and the ghosts of the other past will haunt him until the end of his days.” Domigan’s eyes remained downcast.

“It’s not just men. I, too, am haunted by paths I have not chosen. Only I do not even have the freedom to run.”

“Yet you do not do as you should, down this path.” He looked piercingly at her, his gray-blue eyes merciless.

Yirandiel bowed her own head, abashed. “I am forging my own path as best I can. I will not surrender to the life I was born into. I want more.”

“We are not so different, Yirandiel. For that is my dilemma too.”

“What path were you born into, Domigan? I thought Travelers had no path but the ones they make.”

“That is why I chose to become a Traveler.”

“Does the walker choose the path or does the path choose the walker?” quoted Yirandiel. The moment was so grave and the tension between them so great that when their eyes met it seemed as though sparks flew between them. Then Domigan laughed, breaking the pressure. Yirandiel smiled, but her eyes did not leave his. “Domigan, what path were you born into?”

“Yirandiel, you ask so many questions.”

“If you did not conceal this then I would not need to ask.”

“If I did not fear you would ask I would not conceal it so well.”

“You did not speak of it while you told me of you wanderings.”

“I have tried hard to keep my birthright and heritage out of my life.”

“How can you? I cannot.”

Domigan snapped at her nerve, comparing her troubles to his. “You are an Elfish girl. A bright, rebellious, stunning Elf-girl but, still that is what you are. I am not what I was born to be. I am not like my father, or my grandfather.”

“You are not or you will not?”

“Cannot. I chose this life. I cannot go back and choose again.”

“Why not?”

“Why not?” Domigan echoed. “Yirandiel, you have no idea what I have been running from. You don’t understand.”

“I would, if you told me.”

“Yirandiel, whatever my past actions, whatever my present course, I cannot change who I am. No matter what I do, I cannot deny myself.”

“Does your birthright force you to?”

“It would.”

“Mine too. What do you think we should do?”

“Ignore them. Ignore it all. All I want to do right now is rest, and stay in the Elfish Valley forever. And it seems you must stay with me.” His eyes danced wickedly. Yirandiel laughed.

“And if we sat on this green to the end of time, what glorious songs would they sing of us? A Traveler and a She-Elf who sat and watched the world go by, denying duty, ignoring all.”

“They would say we were the wisest, bravest of all. For we would do what no one else would dare. We would be the strongest, for we would have fought our own blood and won. Truly, I think that would be the most glorious song of all.”

“Perhaps it would.” Yirandiel threw back her head and sang:

In the dell of the Valley, lying upon the green
A man and a maid denied what they had seen
Their own blood called, pulling them back
But they silenced it with a mighty whack
For in these two lay a power that they could deny
For what could they say, as their own blood tried to lie
Whatever they were destined for and born to
Lay buried in the sand, no longer for to rue
The World around them aged, more and more and more
They watched it with disinterest, lying upon the floor.
In these two was triumph, wisdom, and bravery
For they had the strength to deny a life of slav'ry
Those who sing of the Heroes of Old
Sing only of idiots, truth to be told
For wisdom surely lies in the evasion of work
bravery to refuse to walk where danger may lurk
All the glory and gory battles of Heros
fade when compared with the triumph of the zeros
So they sit in the dell, lying upon the green
Those who know where right is truly to be seen


Dom laughed. “Did you just make all that up on the spot?”

“Indeed I did. Is that the kind of valiant song you had imagined? Or was it perhaps a little less glory and a little more lazy?”

“You will not convince me that there is a better life than lying here on the grass, laughing and joking. However I am convinced that it would make an ill song of glory. We shall just have to distinguish ourselves the conventional way and then come back and do as we please.”

“Conventional isn’t my word of the week.” Laughed Yirandiel. “I have fully shamed my Father and King and all the She-Elves that live with me. I am punished, if not completely sorry.”

“Well punished.”

Yirandiel hesitated. “Will you stay here, with me, for a while since I cannot leave? It would make my punishment seem a little less severe.”

“I don’t know if I should help thwart an Elf-King’s punishment.” Dom said, mock-serious, rubbing his chin. “I mean, I am his guest, and at his bidding.”

Yirandiel grinned, “I thought you had no duty to anyone?”

“He is my host.”

“He is my King.”

“Well if you will I will.”

Yirandiel smiled impishly. “I think I could manage it.” She sighed and stood gracefully. “I had better go back to the Tanirenway, the place the She-Elves sleep.” She answered his unformed question. He scrambled to his feet and looked down on her. Standing she was about three inches shorter than him. She tilted her head slightly, starlight catching the circlet, moonlight playing over her features, her free flowing hair, and over her neck, and over her scoop-necked dress. She smiled at him, his features cloaked in darkness and her eyes shining like the stars.

“Good night, Milady Yirandiel.” He offered his hand.

“Good night, Traveler Domigan.” She placed her hand in his. As soon as they touched she drew back and looked at him fearfully.

“What is it?”

“What blood flows in your veins?" She stared at him bewildered, then looked at her hand, then back to him. "It burned me. It…” She turned and ran gracefully into the shadows. He stared after her in astonishment. In the dark he had no hope of following her, and knew not where she was going.


Chapter Four: Blood, Birthright, and Betrayal


He sighed and made his way back to the room that Yamrin had shown him earlier while Halad was conferring with the Elf-King. He could not guess what had become of Yirandiel.

Yirandiel had actually run to the King’s audience chamber. Elves do not need to sleep often as they reach adulthood, only a few hours every year and they are never weary. The King was seated on his magnificent throne and he looked up in surprise as the She-Elf rushed in.

“Yirandiel, what is the meaning of this?”

She curtseyed, obviously hoping for some favor. The younger of the Elf-King’s courtiers looked at her admiringly. Running her dress streamed out behind her and her hair now lay slightly rumpled down her shoulders and back. A blush stained her cheek, and her eyes were bright. “Garyupleh, I would speak with you.”

“Indeed, Yirandiel? You do not merely run in here to yell at me again?”

“No.” Yirandiel bit her lip in a most un-Elf-like gesture. She looked around at the court and switched to Ancient Elvish, only understood by the line of Kings, and impossible to learn. “It is very important. I think you will want to listen to me.” She held out her white hand palm down and slowly turned it over. There were pinkish marks where Domigan’s fingers had rested. She hummed softly and the pink scuttled together into the middle of her palm, a single drop of dark red… of blood.

The Elf-King touched his finger to the blood and jumped himself. He replied in the same language. “Blood of Urgineth. The blood of the Gods.”

“Indeed, that is what I felt. I feel he knows this, too.”

“It is the heir to Urgineth’s throne! Where did you get this?”

“It is the Traveler Domigan’s.”

“What does he think he is doing, wasting his life as a Traveler. I feel that he is the true heir, who has been lost for two thousand years.”

“Perhaps he does not wish to be the heir.”

“Do I wish to be the Elf-King?”

“Yes, Garyupleh.” Yirandiel answered rebelliously.

“That is because I was born to do it. It is the same for him.” Yirandiel shook her head and would have spoken but the Elf-King raised a hand. He switched back into a Imbenian Elvish but dropped his voice. “Find Halad. Tell him to bring this Domigan to me when he wakes tomorrow. I will summon you later.” The Elf King reached down to pat her head but she backed away.

“You will send him to the throne like a calf to the slaughterhouses of men." She hissed in Ancient Elvish. "Can you not see that he does not wish this? What right have we to push this on him?” She stood tall and strong, a pillar of lovely confidence.

“I am the Elf-King. He is the Man-King. We must do what we were born to.” The Elf-King snapped back in the same language. His face was angry. Yirandiel turned and walked out of the room without a seconhd glance. The admiring courtiers quickly began to bustle when the King’s angry eye fell upon them.


Yirandiel found Domigan sitting in one of the pavilions near the Palace. He was dressed in Elvish clothes, his own presumably being washed, his hair was cleaned and brushed, and he was clearly troubled. Yirandiel sat down next to him, her white dress billowing around her. She pulled the wrap closer. “Are you angry with me?” She asked quietly, her fingers working their way along the scallops that bordered the white muslin she had hastily thrown about her shoulders to conceal the bruises she had gotten from falling the day before.

“You have your duty to the King.” His voice was cold.

“I was not thinking, Domigan. I am so sorry. It is clear that you did not want anyone to know and I have broken faith with you. I don’t deserve for you to even speak to me but please, I would have you know it was not malicious.”

“Yirandiel, I am not angry with you. I just despair that I now have no favorable options. The path I thought was an escape from my bloodline, leads straight back to Urgineth’s throne. I should have known blood cannot be fought.”

“Why not? You have fought it for twelve years, why should now be any different?” Yirandiel felt his desperation.

“You have taught me that I can’t avoid my blood. It will surface. Look at what it did to you. The Elf-King told me about your burn.”

“It has gone.”

“But it hurt you.” Domigan persisted. His eyes met hers for only a fraction of a second before he dropped them. Yirandiel felt her temper begin to rise.

“I’m not some delicate little flower. It hardly hurt at all compared to what I’ve done to myself. It was surprise, Domigan. Your blood wanted me to know and since you would not tell me, it took the task upon itself.”

“Yes and what if it does it again, more forcefully?”

“Domigan, why are you so afraid?”

“I am no longer a Traveler. If my brethren knew of my blood they would not let me be a simple comrade. The Elves can no longer see me as a Traveler. Wherever I go I will be a truant King. I would rather be an unhappy King than a shirking one.”

“You don’t have to be anything you don’t want to be.”

“It’s the lesser of the two evils.”

“Domigan.” Her voice commanded his eyes to rise, which they did although fearfully. “Why do you fear me? You did not last night.”

“Yirandiel. You cannot understand what my position is. You make me feel guilty about being unable to challenge what I dearly wish to challenge. You cannot understand what lies on my shoulders.”

“Why not?”

“You are a simple She-Elf. A stunning, rebellious and strong She-Elf, but of no heritage save what everyone else around you has. You are only singled out in ways that you wish to me.”

“Don’t be too sure, Domigan, of what you cannot know.” Her temper rose to match his.

“Yirandiel, you are not the heir to anything but what you make for yourself!”

“Am I not?”

“What are you heir to?” Domigan snapped at her, furious that she should try to compare her simple life to what weighed on his shoulders. “A comb? A bathtub? A spark’ling jewel? You are not responsible for a nation. You cannot understand what it is to be tied to the entire race of men.”

“Is it not the same to be tied to the Elves?” Yirandiel was beginning to get angry. Her eyes sparkled in her face, laying clear emotions that would have both excited and terrified a calm Domigan. As it was he snapped back without seeing what he was focusing on.

“You were not born to be their King!”

“Not their King, you are right. I am born to be the Elfish Queen!”

The word stood between them, mighty and undeniable. Yirandiel immediately bit her lip, cursing herself for letting that slip. She had been refreshed by Domigan treating her like any other She-Elf, rather than the guarded friendship her childhood friends offered her. Or worse, the romance, the love of her inheritance.

“Isurtaneth. Isbeneth.” He ran the words over his tongue. “Isurtaneth is princess, isn’t it.

Yirandiel nodded. “‘Is’ means High. “Neth” means ruler. Bene is Elf. Tan is She-Elf. Ur means next. I am to be the Queen when my father abdicates.” She explained as though it were a grammar lesson.

“Your father?” Domigan blinked at all this new information. Yirandiel thrice cursed herself for letting that slip too. She let out her breath in a rush. “The Elf King is your father. You are a princess. You are his Wild-Child.”

“Yes. Don’t blame me for not telling you. I tire of people on their guard with me, because I am princess. You of all people should understand that, Domigan."

“You did not tell me that you were the Isurtaneth. The Mage Princess. You are the Seer aren’t you?” The accusations fell out of his mouth like snakes.

Yirandiel flinched. “I am not the witch they say I am. They claim I enchant men for my own amusement. I would not have you believe that of me. Do you believe that I am the Temptress Enchantress?”

“It would appear that you are, Yirandiel. You put me under your spell. You try to keep me here to keep you company, and you do not wish me to take up my heritage just so that I do not leave you here alone. That’s it, isn’t it?”

Two tears trickled down Yirandiel’s cheeks as she shook her head in denial.

“The day I first clapped eyes on you, you flirted with both Halad and me. You ensnared us as easily as two mice by a cat. That is why you were confined to the city limits… not because you could get hurt. You summoned the guards with a calling spell, the same one you used on us.”

“I did not summon you! I summoned the guard for your protection! I did not want you to be hurt.”

“Oh really.” Sarcasm fell from Domigan’s mouth. Yirandiel reached out to him, and he backed away from her. “Stay away from me, you temptress!” He ran off, leaving Yirandiel crying on the ground.



Chapter Five: Visitors


Domigan left Imbireth Imbeneth the next day. He went to the Great City to report to the King there. King Jorgen did have a claim to the throne. His ancestry was tied to the Royals, his ancient forefather having been a bastard son of the Queen. The Queen in question was only married into the blood and, while she did bear a son of Gondith’s blood, Urgineth had disappeared under mysterious circumstances. Urgineth had left his crown and a note saying he could not be the King everyone needed. So the unblooded bastard had inherited the throne.

Domigan was a great warrior and he had a quick head on his shoulders; he rose quickly in the capital. Soon he was one of the King’s chief advisors. The story he gave of his past was that of a Traveler who had traveled too far and seen too much, and was now anxious to help defend and legalize it.

Domigan watched the King intently. There was not that much to watch. Jorgen was in his mid forties and a weak king. He meant well and, aware of his fault, appointed the best advisors he could find and gave them nearly all of his authority. Domigan was one of these advisors. He became the General of the King’s army and a loyal servant of the Crown.

However, Domigan stayed away from the sacred chapels and tower rooms where the other leaders were wont to meet. There he felt that the air recognized him. When he passed the doors that led to these places or to the crypts he quickened his pace. He was still handsome as ever, better dressed and cleaner, but the haunted look in his eyes was clearer and more frequent.

Women inevitably pressed themselves on him, and most not for the love of his power but also for his personality and appearance. He was equally kind to them all, never rude, but distant and removed. At night he slept restlessly, haunted by the memory of Yirandiel. He could not remove her from his sleeping mind although he banished her during his waking hours- sometimes more successfully than others.

One night he walked restlessly around the battlements, unable to sleep. Suddenly he felt someone approach. He summoned the guard. “What is it, Lord Domigan?” asked the man.

“There is something out there.”

“I cannot see anything.”

“Neither can I but I sense something watching.” Domigan grimaced at the echo of a conversation with Halad. Then something sparked in his brain. “Ready the Gates that face north! Do not shoot!” Domigan ran off to the gate. Once there he waited with his sword sheathed. Sure enough a rider on a white horse galloped to the gate. A rider swung nimbly from the horse, a silvery cloak whirling about him, so similar to the white hair that Domigan knew was concealed under the hood.

“Welcome to the Great City… Halad son of Galhad, of the Elfish Valley.”

“Who are you? Show yourself.”

“I believe I have heard those words before, though in a different tongue. Do you not remember your former companion?”

“I have never been to the Great City before in all my six hundred years. I know no one here. I come to plead to your King for aid.”

“Then you have a friend who may be able to help.”

“Who are you?”

“Domigan, a former Traveler. Properly chastised by your own Elf-King, and currently in the service of King Jorgen, of the Menfolk.”

“Dom!” Halad, hugged his former companion. “I had not heard from you in so long that I assumed you had disappeared into the forest.”

“No. Your Garyupleh had fully shamed me into a life of service.” Domigan leaned toward Halad and added in Elfish, “though not the one he had intended for me.”

“You have done well though, I am sure.”

“Of course.” There was almost a bitter ring to his voice and he spoke formally and without pride. “I have become influential here, and am an advisor of the King.”

“An advisor of the King?”

“Indeed.” Domigan chose to misinterpret Halad’s words. “It is perhaps not as fun as a Traveler but as the General of the King’s Army I still get some action.”

“You are still haunted, my old friend. Though I sense now that it is not just your birth. Is my fair cousin still with you?”

“The Isurtaneth is no longer a part of my life.”

“She suffers still, and you would find her much changed.”

“Perhaps the Enchantress Temptress will be more careful who she bewitches next time. Come, I have much to acquaint you with in my new life. And you mentioned aid?”

“Indeed. The dwarfs have attacked the forests surrounding the Hiruncien forest, where our cousins live. I come to you from them to beg aid in their war.”

“Cannot the Imbireth Imbenen help them? Do not the Elves have enough power to help each other?” Dom had now had ample opportunity to study history and knew that Elves normally had enough warriors to defend themselves and had never before asked for aid.

“There is bad blood between the Hiruncien and the Imbenen. Isbeneth will not give them aid unless their Queen asks it and she will not. She hides away and will not see or speak with anyone but her husband and the Council in her city.”

“What about her women attendants?” Domigan was curious at this self-imposed isolation. The women he knew in the City were very social and he rather thought they would die if they were taken from each other. They seemed to take vitality and strength from each other.

“She has none." One look at Domigan's face told Halad that would not suffice. "Six hundred years ago, there was a curse. Brewed by a witch in revenge for the denial of a Elf’s love. No longer would She-Elves live forever. Since then they have remained fair, and have kept their elfish appearance, but no longer are they immortal, and they have no magic. They live only three hundred years, at most, although they do not age. All but one that is. A baby girl was born to a leader of a rebellious party. She was by far the fairest ever seen. At the age of two hundred the King wished for her as his bride. She refused, and her father would not override her. The King tried to persuade her for the next hundred years, each day conscious that it could be her last. She passed the age of three hundred, as healthy as any male, and on her three hundredth and first birthday, she Saw the future.

“They performed a series of tests on her and discovered she was immortal and a Seer. She broke the witches’ curse. The King then insisted that she marry him. She refused and her father, with many of his followers disappeared into the forest to form a new kingdom, far far away. They formed the Kingdom of Imbireth Imbenen. Imbireth Imbenen She-Elves are immortal- as far as we know, but Hiruncien are not. There were wars, and
many of the She-Elves of Imbireth Imbenen were stolen away to the Hiruncien City where they died, unfailingly, upon their next birthday.
There is now an alliance: Garyupleh has sent over a Queen to the Hiruncien, he sent her with the condition that no further aid could ever be requested and that the kingdoms were now completely severed. The only communication is by request of the Queen. I was just there, by her request.”

“Did she pass her birthday… alive?” Halad nodded. “And did she send for this aid?” Domigan asked. They were now in the stables, each with a brush, grooming Halad’s remarkable steed which he had declined to give to a hostler. Halad shook his head.

“The Queen will not ask for any help from Men. She says they mistrust the Elven magic. She thinks they are not reliable.”

“Why does she think so little of us? I know most Elves are wary of Mankind but none seem to disdain us like this.”

“She has had bad experience with Men. But her Council begged me to entreat your assistance. They are in a bad way and require help to kill the dwarfs. Their Queen would fight them herself, on her terms, but they will not let her. I think if they did, they could triumph, but please, Dom. They do need help, and yours is the only kind they will accept.”

“I cannot order out the army for a personal reason. I am sorry. How desperate is their situation?”

“They need a leader more than anything. They have not been challenged in years and their fighting edge is dulled. Even a man could turn the fighting’s course if he could rally their spirits, and direct their war. They might triumph yet, alone, but it will be at much loss to them. Elves do not take being maimed well. Many of those who cannot heal take their own immortality, and die. If you do not send help they will be angry… those who survive.”

“I will ask the King for a force of volunteers.”

“Thank you, Domigan. For myself, the Hiruncien, and the Queen, who would never ask you for any help.”

“I am only sorry that so remarkable an Elf, female or not, would think ill of me. It is not something I am accustomed to and certainly not something I enjoy.”

“I warn you. If you offer them help, she will not thank you. The Council will, certainly. But the Istan will not.”

“Istan? High She-Elf.” Domigan translated. “Is that right?”

“Heith, yes. You have studied our tongue well, but I advise you, as a friend of yours and of the Istan, send as many men as you can, but do not go yourself. I feel that your presence might hurt more than it would help.”

Domigan looked shocked then scandalized. “I cannot send my men alone. Either we go or no one does. I am responsible for them and will not send them into danger unless I myself go too.”

“Then I leave the choice in your able hands, Domigan. You have changed much from the Traveler I knew once. You have responsibilities and your duty to them does you credit. I only fear it will be the undoing of you and someone I hold in high esteem. As I said, you are changed, for the better I believe. You are no longer the same man who captivated my cousin. I think that, as that event changed her, it changed you. May it have had a better outcome than she met.”

“What do you mean? What has happened to Yirandiel.”

“That I cannot tell you. All I may say is that she is no longer the truant princess you know. She is more beautiful than ever, but she has sunk into solitude and thrown herself into her powers. Her gift of sight is honed now but what she wants to see most, she will not permit herself. She is still young of face but her spirit is now old and she is an ocean sadder. I must return to Imbireth Imbenen as fast as I can. My horse is now rested for he is also immortal. I will leave now.”

“Won’t you stay overnight and speak to the King in the morning.”

“It is morning now, Friend. And I trust you to represent the Hiruncien’s affairs justly. I am not one of them, though this last was my eighth visit and I lived there for four hundred of my years. I hope you will aid them, but again, I beg you not to go yourself.” Domigan shook his head and Halad sighed, gripped his friends arm in farewell and swung gracefully onto the horse’s back.

“I hope this is not farewell forever.”

“It may be or it may not. I am no Seer.”

“Maybe soon you will return to this City for a longer stay.”

“I would like that very much, Friend. I will leave you now though. Thank you, for listening to me.”

“Thank you for talking to me. Elfish history has become a passion for me and there is nothing of it in our literature for about a thousand years back.”

“I am glad that you care about our history. Perhaps you will record it someday. In any event, I must return to Garyupleh. He expects me sooner that I can get there even if I ride hard all the way. I spent long treating with Istan, and her Council. But it was good to see you.”

“And good to see you. Safe journey.”

“Heed my advice. A trip to the Hiruncien might not take your life, but it could very likely rob you of much happiness. I am only sorry I cannot say more.”

And Halad rode off into the night.


Chapter Six: Encoded.


Domigan watched Halad until the darkness cloaked him in black. He stretched and turned to walk back in.

"Cap'n!" called a soldier in rough Common. Domigan turned. "You dropped this, sir." Domigan turned and put out his hand for it. It was a small piece of paper, wet from a puddle. He had a look at it. It was in elfish script, but he couldn't read it.


gB b or kbk S
iy e .yi oeo p
ri n Qt mnm r
iy i ih iii o
nr yni .nyy y
oi iy k.oo i
fr k ru ohn r
ki .oJii rii i
.ok huto ir.n k
sa ir.hl h.iR a
p.n rib.o ilo n
rrs.ireskthn
oyiclhpo.hnn
ymmyiirrbui
iairtyoierl
r.nrihn.nynnii
imirhriiirnd
t.ykiuirtyika
.htat.nhi.h.ntar
ha.nhbitby.h.ni
ynbre.n.heirbn
ikeyhmnpye.g
sonmisiiomnm
hmiiyycyrii.y
uiy.nnih.ni.nyi
e.nn rub.rs.nr
idyspFB
hiiuroi
o.nynokr
iityos
.yryirt
nrii
rr

Domigan had no idea what to make of it. Three hundred odd letters with no meaning. And they had been carefully printed and spaced, so it was clear this was a message. Domigan smiled, and sighed. He really wasn't going to get any sleep tonight.


Chapter Seven: To War at the Seaside


The City bustled to prepare eight hundred men for war with dwarves. Nasty and warlike, these midgets had three arms that each wielded a weapon as if born too. The only advantage men had was their size, and their intelligence. Innate fighting skills were on the dwarves’ side.

Domigan did not fear dwarves in general because he was a great swordsman (and a good bowsman). He fought with both his hands and had trained himself to hone his ability as an acrobat. He taught his men the same way. All could jump, fall, roll, kick, punch, and dodge. He tested them until they sweated blood and that was why they survived. Although none had the natural grace of Elves, or the much sought after immortality, the great fighters of men outdistanced the Elves.

Domigan, his first in command, Oparin, his captains, Marcus, Christius, Andreas, and Joseph were all wizards with swords. His second in command was an Elf, one who had been banished and his immortality was held by the Hiruncien King. The Elf, Tyrun, was a master bowman and he trained his men, and fought beside them. Domigan intended to ask for Tyrun’s freedom in return for the services of his men.

The army marched out three days after Halad had left. Domigan had trained his soldiers to roll out of bed one morning and be ready to march by noon. Normally for a full legion it might take four or even five days, but for eight hundred they could be ready in three.

Domigan himself rode out in front. He was troubled by Halad’s plea for him to avoid the Hiruncien but he told himself that he could not allow his men to see him turn and run, and lose faith, sending them to death. The truth was he was curious as to what Halad thought he could not handle.

The forests around the Hiruncien were not as impenetrable as those around Imbireth Imbenen. Four days after they set out from the Great City, they heard the clashing of arms. Listening with his head to the ground, Domigan discerned that there was more archery than swordplay… which meant the Elves had the advantage. He called his troops to a halt. “We attack at first light. Dwarves don’t wake until eight at the earliest. Half the squad to the dwarves’ camp and the other half to the Elves’ city.” The men nodded.

Domigan nodded to the orderly who had set up his tent and accepted a lantern. He lay down on the mattress and sighed. Yirandiel appeared so vividly in his mind that he almost believed she was with him. He could hear her chanting in some language… though not one he could fully understand although he had been studying Elfish for almost ten years, since he had left Imbireth Imbenen. Then she began to plead with him, in the same language.


When Domigan finally gave the signal for the armies to move the sun was just filtering through the trees. They moved lightly, making hardly any noise. They came to the dwarf camp and Domigan drew his blade the blue winking in the ealy morning dim. The army quietly began to slay the dwarves, making sure that none screamed. They were successful for about fifteen minutes before a scream awoke the dwarves and the fighting began. The Elves were soon alerted to the fight and arrows began to fly into the camp. Domigan yelled to his men to have no fear, because the elves were great marksmen and it was unlikely that any would be hit. None were and the fighting was soon over. Domigan gathered his men and they all counted off. Six men were injured, although not too badly, three were dead and one was near death. Domigan bowed to him and gave a mercy stroke, the blue blade flashing and white light shining for a split second from the crack. He led the search team in a short prayer and then bowed his head for a moment of silence.

When he looked up an elf, clad in a cream robe down to the floor was standing before him. The elf bowed. “I am Niron, son of Joprin, the captain of Hiruncien archers. Are you the aid from the City that Archer Halad, son of Galhad, promised to request?”

“We are the aid. I am Lord General Domigan of the City.”

“We welcome you, Domigan son of…?”

“My father’s name is not a part of mine for the time being. Before entering the King’s service I was a Traveler. Call me Domigan, son of the Travelers, if you must but for now I will claim no other parentage.”

“Understood, Domigan Traveler. The Hiruncien also have many secrets although as such an honored guest you will doubtless learn all you wish to.”

“I do have a question.” Domigan lowered his voice and asked, in the Elfish dialect he had read Hiruncien manuscripts in: “Who is the Istan?”

Niron straightened his back. “The Istan is our Queen. She came almost ten years ago, and is young, beautiful, and a great Seer. She can fix her eye on anyone… even on us if she so wishes.”

“She could be watching us now?” Domigan was impressed by the reverence in the proud Elf’s voice. The Elf nodded. “Have you ever seen her?” Domigan returned to the Common Tongue, thinking to fool any spying Elf-witch.

“No. It is said that she speaks all six dialects of Elfish. And Common. There is nothing we can hide from the Istan. She hides much. Her secrets we cannot even fathom.”

“And she is from Imbireth Imbenen?”

“Yes. She misses the great beauty of that city, although our city has more majesty. It is said that she lives out in the forest, and only returns when the King or Council calls her… and sometimes not even then.”

“It’s dangerous in the forest.”

“Indeed. But I would beware of the Istan, and not be worried for her.”

“Will I meet her?”

“I doubt it, Lord Domigan Traveler. We do not see her. She is too beautiful for our eyes. When she arrived I saw her foot stepping out of the carriage. The rest of her was shrouded in filmy white and magic. I think she sensed that I wanted to see her and it was her idea of a joke to let me see her foot.”

“Was it dirty then?”

“No. Clean, though it trod on dirty sand once before the King’s road of flower petals. She is a sorceress, of great power.”

“Indeed. I understood there were few Elfish sorceresses left.”

“I think she may be the only one who yet lives. Even princesses of Elves die.”

These words hit Domigan hard. That was why Halad wouldn’t tell him of Yirandiel! She was dead! She had destroyed her immortality and died, because he had hurt her so. And Halad must have known that if Domigan came here he would learn of her fate and feel wretched. Which Dom did. He turned away from the Captain, sick at heart. “Please. Take me to your King and Council.” They would know where Yirandiel lay, where he would go to say he was sorry.


Chapter Eight: Istan


The Council was twelve Seers and a thirteenth, unmagical member: Joprin, the father of Niron. Joprin rose to show Domigan to a seat next to the thirteen glittering crystal thrones. The entire room was hidden in the tree tops where an enormous stone was somehow suspended by the branches, with thirteen crystal thrones, a table, and a huge throne of wicker and branches, dipped in gold, and elaborately crafted. Domigan stared at it in astonishment. In fancy High Elfish script the words “Istan lives forever in her native-land, in the arms of the King.”

Domigan felt pity for this poor Elf-Queen: wrenched from her people, with no female contact, little male contact, and an undying obligation to her husband, as part of a treaty. He wondered, had they met before they married?

“The Istan will not be coming today.” One of the speakers broke in suddenly. “She feels hurt… betrayal… suspicion. She has a bad intuition about our new General from the City.”

“The Istan does not care for Mankind. She is prejudiced. Lord Domigan Traveler you must not hold a grudge for this.” Joprin added sensibly. (Domigan suspected that was why he was there.)

Domigan bowed. “No offense. I have heard great things of your Istan. I only wish she would meet with me. I have long wished to learn of Elfish magic and hers is reckoned to be beyond comparison.”

“The Istan is one of the greatest sorceresses. Perhaps the greatest. She is stronger than any sorcerer here. But she lacks many of the other talents of Elves. She is a Queen but not a She-Elf.” The King explained from his ice-crystal throne. He was a blond man, with piercing gray eyes but no bearing. His face was lined with age: at least two thousand years.

“Why, then don’t you let her fight then? If you had, you would have triumphed without our aid.” Domigan bowed to the Elf-King.

“Istan is headstrong and she has not been with us long. When she lived here before she disobeyed me and refused to yield when I pointed out the correct path. We cannot allow her a free reign.”

“So she is a captive?” exclaimed Domigan. “She is your queen and you treat her as a prisoner! This isn’t fair! It’s unjust! She has been taken away from her people and her friends… even her family and you will not allow her even to use what abilities she has.” His passion was chiefly derived from his anguish over Yirandiel. Her needless pointless death was his fault and now he saw more acutely the plight of another She-Elf.

“She is part of a treaty. She was supposed to be my bride long ago and has returned here to be our Queen, as she was intended to be. Our most beautiful Elf ever, the true Queen of Grace and Beauty.”

Domigan shook his head in disgust and stormed out. He did not know where he was going but he ran as fast as he could into the forests. He ran and he ran, running away from a haunting vision of Yirandiel. He came to a pool and threw himself down on his knees. “Yirandiel!” he screamed in agony. He stared down at his own desperate reflection and jumped in fright.
“Go away, ghost! Haven’t you had enough fun with me! Begone!”

“Domigan?” The reflection behind him was as frightened as he. “No this is too real to be a Sight. Tell me. Are you Dom?”

“Yirandiel!”

“Ye- what are doing here? No one comes to this pool!”

“What are you doing outside of Imbireth Imbenen? Isbeneth freed you?”

Yirandiel shook her head. “Go away, Domigan. I don’t see people any more. I don’t even see Elves except when I must. Forget how you came here. My strongest magic was supposed to keep out all intruders!”

“Your magic?”

“Yes, the Temptress Enchantress does have slightly wider powers than you seemed to believe.” Yirandiel’s voice was bitter, and resentful.

Domigan, unthinking, put out a hand to stop her. His hand met her bare shoulder. They both jumped, and stared at his hand, still resting on her shoulder. Domigan looked down and saw that Yirandiel was only clutching a white wrap around her, one fist clenched between her breasts, the cloth falling away from her back to fall from her back, to land where her figure curved outwards.

Domigan stared at her, blatantly. Electricity rushed where their skin touched and without seeming to move they were soon so close that her knuckles were only a few millimeters from his rough cotton shirt. He looked down on her, his eyes traveling from her the cloth clenched in her fingers, to her collarbone, to her shoulders, to her neck, to her lips, and finally to her shining green-hazel eyes. They were soft and dreamy, muted, without the life that had shone in them only a decade before.

“Please Domigan. Leave.”

“What do you mean?”

“Leave. I cannot be responsible for what you feel if I stay! I no longer enchant people by accident as you said I did. Leave. I have forsaken all company so I cannot do anything accidentally.”

“Yirandiel, I never meant for you to become a self-isolated misery. Yirandiel, return to Imbireth Imbenen. You are not responsible for what you look like. I was wrong. My God, I thought you had died. Please. I'll take you back to Imbireth Imbenen tomorrow.” His smile seemed indestructible, his relief at finding her alive filled his every nerve with electricity.

“Domigan, that is not possible.”

“Of course it is. They won’t turn away their heir, their Isurtaneth.”

“I am no longer the Isurtaneth. I am the Istan of the Hiruncien. I am their Queen. I am the hermit of the woods.”

“No.” He breathed.

“Yes, Domigan.” She drew in a ragged breath. “I willingly chose to be the price of peace. I am no asset to Imbireth Imbenen any other way. All I do is hurt people, including Gar- my father. It is better that I am here.”

“You chose this! You chose to be sold into slavery to a foreign King?” He snapped at her, furious.

“He was my king once upon a time. None of us were ever supposed to leave. Our departure caused wars- many of them because of me. The least I can do is to stop the bloodshed no matter what it costs me.”

“Yirandiel, what about your duty to yourself. You cannot tell me this is what you want.” His hand slid from her shoulder, up her throat to her cheek. He rubbed his thumb against her high cheekbone, acutely consious of his dreams, of how he had done the very same thing a million times in his imagination but the feel of her soft silky skin sent electricity through his body and into his mind.

“Domigan.” Sparks flew between their eyes. Her fist lowered slightly and more of her skin showed. His other hand came down onto her bare shoulder and he leaned in until their lips almost touched.

“You’re married.” Domigan said, although he did not pull away.

“No. I am celibate. I will not marry the King. The only condition of peace is that I stay here, not that I wed with him.” Yirandiel looked up at him, her eyes a bright, resentful green.

“Why won’t you marry?” His tone was amiable as his eyes traced the outline of her perfect lips.

Yirandiel backed away, shaking slightly when his hand fell from her shoulder, his fingertips lightly brushing her skin as they fell down “I could never be sure if it was me he loved, not my powers or beauty.”

“I hurt you when I called you the Temptress Enchantress, didn’t I?”

“Yes.” Yirandiel admitted grudgingly. “But it was true and I solved that problem, or so I thought. I have kept myself away from all company other than the council and King for eight years now. I don’t know how you got through my barrier but I will fix that.”

“Maybe I got through because you wanted me here. Your barrier is to keep out unwanted guests. You want me here, don’t you Yirandiel? You want me.”

“Domigan, I think I must have bewitched you although I truly did not mean to. You must leave. Now.” Twin tears ran down her perfect face.

“I’m not leaving.” He could not help smiling. He had found her and she was alive.

“Yes you are.”

“No. I won’t leave you here to blame yourself for what I hissed when I was angry ten years ago!”

“Domigan this is my choice. This is how I want my life.”

“No, this is how you feel your life has to be. They’re different, Yirandiel. It doesn’t have to be this way.”

“Yes, it does. You have to leave, now.” She took his hand to pull him away from the pool.

“I’m not leaving.” His smile broadened.

“Domigan! Please.” Her eyes begged him. She dropped his hand and retreated.

“Stop.” She froze. “Yirandiel. I have loved you since the moment I clapped eyes on you. I cannot leave you here, like this. To do so would be to deny truth, beauty and love.” His switch into High Elfish surprised her. “Don’t you see? I have struggled, ten long years, to make myself worthy of you. I want us to be together. Tell me you don’t love me.”

“This isn’t about love.”

“Then what is it about? What is there to life if love isn’t a part of it. Yirandiel, tell me you don’t love me.”

“Leave!”

“No!”

“Please, Domigan. If you stay here I will never ever forgive myself.”

“I cannot go back to where I was before. I spent every night dreaming of you, screaming your name. I woke every day with your face fluttering behind my eyelids. I turned every corner and saw you waiting for me. I heard your voice whisper to me every minute. You cannot ask me to go back to that.” His voice broke into Common with blinding passion.

Yirandiel was drawn to him, to his pain. She raised her free hand to his face, and touched his cheek. His hand moved slowly, as if in a dream, to lay on top of hers, holding her palm to his face. “Is this hurting you?” He remembered the burn she had felt when last they touched.

Yirandiel shook her head. He leaned down and gently touched his lips to hers. The forest spun and the two were catapulted apart. Yirandiel was thrown between trees and onto a bed of moss, some twenty feet away. She groaned and slid to her feet, rearranging the cloth that covered her.

She then heard splashing. Domigan! The pool! She ran, heedless of the sheet that fell away from her body, to settle on the ground. She saw the pool and dived in without caution. Her body formed a graceful arc in the water. The thrill of the liquid toying with her hair was amazing.

By religion Elves do not ever have contact with water. Water is a deep magical force. So much as touching it is dangerous, and strictly forbidden. Yirandiel felt heady pleasure far beyond what her cleansing spells gave her. Yet love gripped her and pulled her into the whirlpool where Domigan was disappearing.

Yirandiel seized his foot and began to pull him to the surface. She held his chest against hers and fought with her legs to reach the surface. But they sank deeper into the whirlpool. She then opened her mouth and cried out in Ancient Elfish, the language only the Ancient Elves and their direct descendants knew: Not Domigan. He cannot die, not here, not now, not like this. Please!

As if lifted by magical hands, Yirandiel and Domigan reached the surface. Once there the She-Elf lifted Domigan’s limp body and floated it with face up. She then took a hand and pulled him to shore. Once there she pummeled water out of him. “Domigan. Wake up. It’s me, Yirandiel. Please Domigan.” Tears began to leak from her eyes, and they fell onto him.

His eyelids fluttered. He coughed and more lake water spewed from his mouth. Yirandiel screamed in pleasure and began to shake him vigorously, willing his eyes to open.

She was rewarded with a flash of beautiful blue grey: the color of the sea before a storm that filled her with the same heady pleasure as the verboten water.

Domigan slowly regained control of his breathing. Soon he was inhaling and exhaling normally, but Yirandiel still lay ontop of him, nude.

He looked up at her face, beautiful and only inches from his own. He wrapped his arms around her back and kissed her, holding their bodies close together so they couldn't be thrown apart again. She kissed him back.

It was amazing. They kissed and kissed and kissed. When they finally stopped Domigan was crouched over Yirandiel, who lay flat on the ground. He held her wrists together over her head and her back was curved up to meet his still clothed body. He had stopped to look at her, beautiful and free. He leaned down and pushed her hair away from her right ear and kissed it's point. He did the same for her left ear. She closed her eyes, rapturous. He kissed her neck and her breasts. He kissed a line down to her belly button... and stopped.

He had looked up and there stood the King.

The King was clearly furious. He drew his sword and pointed it at Dom's throat. Dom slid off of Yirandiel and stood. The sword remained inches above Yirandiel until Dom was fully upright. The blade decended until it touched her skin.

"Back off, Piedron." Yirandiel said in High Elfish. The King simply slipped the blade upwards till it's tip lay in the lull of her throat. "What are you going to do... kill me?"

"Don't play with me, Istan. Why have you enchanted him? What good is a loathed mortal to you."

A tear stung the corner of Yirandiel's eye. "I did not enchant him. This is love, Piedron, whether you believe it or not."

"He's a mortal" scoffed the King.

"I would be mortal if I could."

"No you wouldn't, Yirandiel. You loved outliving everyone. You love being the only woman here. You wouldn't give that up."

Yirandiel rolled away. "No. I hate outliving people. I hate watching them wither and die. I hate having to force solitude on myself to save others. Believe me, the greatest luxury is to be a simple, mortal woman with a home, a few children and a loving husband. To live and die with everyone else. To taste pain, illness and happiness. What do you know of happiness, Piedron?"

"You are a princess, Yirandiel. An immortal timeless Seer. It is your gift to See what you wish, and time is no barrier to you. That is the perfect life. The greatest luxury."

"To never know whether you are truly loved. If you have nothing then a man can only love you. You love beauty, you love magic, you love immortality. You even love youth. You don't love me." Yirandiel touched her throat where the blade had run. She whispered words under her breath and a drop of bright red stained her fingers. "I am mortal. Do you love me?"

The king stared at her speechless as blood began to run from her throat. Her eyes burned with a strange light and she sagged. Domigan caught her in time to see her eyelids flutter. He felt ghost lips at his ear. "I love you, Domigan son of Hordan, heir of Urgineth."

Domigan's eyes burned too, but with tears that would not form. He turned from the lifeless body to the shimmering, semitransparent shape beside him. Yirandiel's ghost kissed his forehead and then jumped into the sky. Domigan faced the King, but the King had run.

Domigan was tempted just to run away, leave the army, leave the city, leave everything. But the last thing Yirandiel had called him was heir of Urgineth. She had as good as told him he had to return.

He went back to the Hiruncien city on autopilot. She hardly even thought as he petitioned for Tyrun's freedom (which was granted) and packed up his armies to leave. It rained, the weather seeming to echo Dom's heartbreak. Even when he had thought Yirandiel was dead before, knowing it, having seen it, having her blood on his hands... it hurt more than he could ever have thought.

On the road he trusted his horse to lead, sitting limply on the white stallion, drooping over the horse's neck. He barely even saw the woman on the path ahead in time to stop. The woman stood unmoving in the center of the road. She wore a long white cape that was pristine clean even though she stood on a muddy field, dry even though the rain pelted down.

"Domigan." Her voice was light but slightly husky. It echoed in Domigan's brain, like a bird call or a whistle; singing but not human with the notes filled with raw power. Small flecks of golden light began to float into the trees around them. Domigan seemed almost to remember it.

"Domigan sit tall." The cloaked figure ordered. Her hood covered her face, but a small wisp of ruddy brown-blonde had slipped out. It was irrationally bright. It seemed that all the color in her was highly concentrated.

"Who are you? Why do you come to me?" He asked with an almost fearful note in his voice. He no longer had a reason to save face before his men. He was truly dead inside, killed when Yirandiel had died.

"You came to me. You broke through all my warding spells." She pushed her hood back. She shone. "I broke the warding spells between this world and the next." Her unearthly voice became more fathomable, and a wicked smile flitted across her face. "I couldn't let you outshine me."

"Yirandiel!" The word finally escaped his lips. He seemed to fly off his horse towards her. He stopped, inches away. "Are you real?"

"Do you mean real? Or do you mean human? Elf? Mortal?"

"Real enough to touch?" He couldn't help allowing some heat into his voice, even as he switched to the detatched formality of traditional Imbireth.

She nodded and put her hand out, palm up. He slowly moved his hand to lie inches above hers. She smiled and his fingertips hit hers. He froze for a second... and then leapt forward and kissed her. The men hooted. They had not understood the conversation or the significance, but kissing with that kind of passion... that they understood.

Yirandiel sat in front of Domigan on his horse. She weighed hardly an ounce and Domigan had a strong suspicion that she could fly.

"Who are you now? Are you an Elf?"

"No. I'm..." she hesitated and bit her lip, wondering if this was something she would regret telling him, like when she told him she was Isurtaneth. "I'm the Divine Nude."

"The what?"

"A goddess. Of unfulfilled love. Of doomed love."

Domigan was shocked. "How?" he managed to splutter.

"When I let Piedron kill me, I transcended the barrier to true immortality. What you might call Heaven? But I missed you. Their time is different from ours and so I begged for years of their time to return to you. I couldn't stay there. I threatened to use my magic (which I retained although really I shouldn't have) to bust open heaven and let everyone out.

"They couldn't believe it. Then they tested my powers and realized I was as powerful as a deity. So they made me a deity... so that I can move between realms."

"So will you leave me?" Domigan was scared to death. She turned to look at him.

"No. Never."

They rode on for a while in silence... a comfortable silence. Domigan broke it. "What about your duty. As the Istan?" He tried to be delicate... not wanting to frighten her away.

"I had to stay with the King. The King is now driven mad. He has gone insane. I am insane, or so they tell me, for coming to you. So you see, I am with him."

"Will the Hiruncien take that?"

"Yes. They understand. And I have sent them a new King from Imbireth Imbenen."

"I thought they wouldn't accept help from there." Domigan spoke quietly into her hair, inhaling the scent of Yirandiel.

"My last act as the Istan. And the Elf I sent was once a Hiruncien, and has lived there awhile. They will accept him."

"You aren't going back then?"

"No."

"Yirandiel, will you marry me? I- I need you. I've needed you for years and I've been dying inside wanting... needing you. I even needed you before I met you, even though then I didn't know I needed you because I didn't know who you were because I couldn't imagine anyone so stunning... beautiful... amazing... anyone I would need this much. Yirandiel, believe me, if I don't marry you I wont marry anyone." He suddenly stopped the outpouring of words to take a breath.

"Dom, I love you. But I won't say yes just yet. I've had a premonition. When the time comes, then yes." She leaned back and kissed him so wonderfully that he couldn't think straight enough to argue.

They lapsed back into silence until camp was set up. Yirandiel had no tent, but she followed Dom into his. He reached out and cupped her cheek in his hand, hardly believing she was there, not just another of his nightmares.

She read his mind. "I'm here."

"So." He was almost lost for words. They both knew the destination but not how to get there. "The Divine Nude helps ill fated lovers?"

"Mmm." She circled him, stroking his hair briefly, running her hands across his strong chest and shoulders, down his arms. He caught her left hand.

"Will she help us?" The look between them burned.

"Well" smiled Yirandiel, "the bad news is she won't start working until after you die. The good news is we wouldn't fit her standards. Because I think we must have used up our quota of bad luck and more. I think we really will live happily ever after."

"I hope so." He kissed her neck. "We deserve it."


They rode for two days, planting their tent a little away from the rest. The men were happy to see their General well again. And Yirandiel wasn't hard to look at either. On the third morning, Yirandiel woke early. Dom still slept under their thin blanket smiling slightly. She slipped outside, wearing only her trademark white hood. She walked into the forest happily.

She felt so alive. More alive than she had ever been. She knew she was still "highly concentrated" as Dom had put it, but her happiness was overflowing. She barely even registered the hoofbeats on the path. Barely, but she did.

She and Domigan awaited the rider. Her bow was loosely strung (one of the men had offered her a crossbow because longbows' strings would lessen but she informed him that the rider would arrive in four and a quarter minutes... her bow would last. She didn't notice the man cross himself).

When the white horse appeared Yirandiel's bow disappeared (back to her tent) and she ran forward. "Halad!" She opened her arms and cried out in Elfish. "Don't you recognize your Cousin, my King? How do you do?"

"Yirandiel?" His voice was harsh as he leapt off his horse in a single fluid movement. He seized her arm to pull her aside and froze. "You are not Yirandiel."

"Your cousin in another form. I broke the barrier."

"You are a ghost?"

"Deity." She smiled at the uncomprehending men and mentally called Dom. She ignored Halad's incredulous stare. As Domigan approached she turned partway and smiled at him. Halad did not miss the rapture, the ecstacy, the elation.

"Stay back, Dom." Halad warned. Yirandiel turned to him surprised. "I must speak with you. Alone." The last word was loud enough to carry to Dom.

"Why cousin? I warn you, I hide nothing from Dom."

He looked down at her and could see the lumps of her firm nipples through her light cape. "Nothing, I see." Yirandiel looked up unabashed: proud of her nudity. He dropped his voice and switched to Raulen Elfish. "If you turn your back on your people now they will never forgive you. Think about it, Yirandiel.

"Dom won't live forever. He's mortal. He'll die, Yirandiel. And even if he gives up his crazy crusade and becomes King and leads his people and everything that he should, that won't stop the gods from taking him.

"Don't turn your back on your own people just for something so fleeting. Love him as a memory, and live your life. Don't you see? A memory is all he'll be to you in what fifty years? He's thirty four, Yirandiel. Don't do this. Don't send yourself into exile again."

She smiled at him, with the indulgent smile of a mother to a righteous child. "Halad, have you ever been in love?" Halad looked down. "No. And Dom and I will always be together because, even when he dies, I'll be able to follow my heart," she smiled a little ruefully, in secret amusement and emphazised the point "my immortal godly heart, to him, wherever he is. And that's where I'll be. With him. I'm choosing forever, forever with the man I love. That is worth more than a people who have you and my father to lead them." She reached up and touched his face, her tone softening. "You will be their King. You will serve them as I, heartbroken, could not."

She turned to walk away. "Yirandiel, you're an Elf. He's a man!" Halad hissed maliciously at her back, furious at having to let Yirandiel go.

"Domigan and I love each other. That's all that matters."

"What about duty? What about honor? What about... everything you are supposed to be, your blood, your destiny?"

"When you went to Dom's city to ask for the help I wouldn't ask for, I gave you a coded paper, I told you it was the way through my protection bubble. You lost it." Halad wondered how she knew until he looked up at her face and saw her gaze had drifted into thin air, her eyes glazed in a Seer's trance. "Dom found it. Now I don't blame you, I think it was true love at work, but that code was more than just script." She raised her hands and began to write in the air.

gB b or kbk S
iy e .yi oeo p
ri n Qt mnm r
iy i ih iii o
nr yni .nyy y
oi iy k.oo i
fr k ru ohn r
ki .oJii rii i
.ok huto ir.n k
sa ir.hl h.iR a
p.n rib.o ilo n
rrs.ireskthn
oyiclhpo.hnn
ymmyiirrbui
iairtyoierl
r.nrihn.nynnii
imirhriiirnd
t.ykiuirtyika
.htat.nhi.h.ntar
ha.nhbitby.h.ni
ynbre.n.heirbn
ikeyhmnpye.g
sonmisiiomnm
hmiiyycyrii.y
uiy.nnih.ni.nyi
e.nn rub.rs.nr
idyspFB
hiiuroi
o.nynokr
iityos
.yryirt
nrii
rr

It's Elfish. You read it down the columns. She ponted it out and began to read it. "Gironfk sproyirit hyishue. Byiyririoa ryma m hankomi." She read out. "It's the beginning of a poem. The whole poem is one I sang Domigan, a long time ago.

"In the dell of the Valley, lying upon the green
A man and a maid denied what they had seen
Their own blood called, pulling them back
But they silenced it with a mighty whack
For in these two lay a power that they could deny
For what could they say, as their own blood tried to lie
Whatever they were destined for and born to
Lay buried in the sand, no longer for to rue
The World around them aged, more and more and more
They watched it with disinterest, lying upon the floor.
In these two was triumph, wisdom, and bravery
For they had the strength to deny a life of slav'ry
Those who sing of the Heroes of Old
Sing only of idiots, truth to be told
For wisdom surely lies in the evasion of work
bravery to refuse to walk where danger may lurk
All the glory and gory battles of Heros
fade when compared with the triumph of the zeros
So they sit in the dell, lying upon the green
Those who know where right is truly to be seen

"You see. Duty, honor, blood, destiny? Love first. I have done my duty almost at the cost of my life. I have kept my honor by refusing to let Elves fight like schoolchildren over me and by refusing to marry Piedron against my heart. I have spilt blood including my own when the occasion came. And my destiny is to be the Goddess of Cursed Love. If any love has been cursed it has been mine but as a Goddess and because Domigan loves me, I have overcome that curse and fulfilled my destiny.

"Halad, if this is all you care about for me: what I should do for you and your kind not for myself then just accept that I have done what I must and let me go or I will split this world like I threatened to split the next." She turned away, furious, and began to hasten towards the horse.

"Yirandiel. Go with my love... Cousin."

She turned, and smiled. She ran and hugged him, kissing him on the cheek. "Ride to the Hiruncien City. They wait for you there. It is all you have ever wanted and more." He nodded, slung himself on his horse and with a wave to his old companion, rode off to his Kingdom.

Yirandiel turned back to Domigan. He smiled at her. She smiled back and hugged him, the most vulnerable of all-powerful, chaos-threatening, magic-wielding Goddesses.


They topped the hill that looked over the City Valley. It was sunset and the most picturesque time to see the shimmering white and yellow and gray of the city at nightfall. The view was somewhat spoiled by the thick black smoke pouring from the suburbs.

Domigan drew in a harsh breath. "Raiders." He exhaled. Yirandiel rocked against him.

"No." Her breath was coming too fast and she had gone dead white. "A war. A war from the heavens." He looked at her, his fear suddenly gone as he saw her terror. "Domigan, the reason they have gotten so far in your Valley is that they cannot be slain."

"What do you mean?" Oparin rode up beside them with his herald flying his personal flag: a crown with the silver commander's ring. Yirandiel tore it down, much to the standard-bearer's surprise. Oparin opened his mouth to object.

"Commander. Down there, they aren't men like you. They can't be slain because they are already dead." Everyone who heard recoiled.

"Impossible" breathed Oparin. Yirandiel's face contorted and she hummed swiftly as she traced a rectangle with her ring fingers. She snapped her fingers and cried out a word of power, and the shape flared into life. Even Oparin cried out.

A vaguely humanoid shape was lumbering along. It's mouth had fallen open in a grotesque grin, dead nerves, ligaments, and tendons unable to hold it up. Its neck was almost completely gone, head sunk onto the shoulders and it's skin, the worst of all, made even Yirandiel shudder.

It was pockmarked and filthy, covered in pustules, and hanging off of the bones. It formed folds around the eyes but was tight almost to the point of tearing around the jaw. The standard bearer was vomiting. The rectangle zoomed out and they all saw the rags of moldy fabric holding the dead flesh together.

The dead thing was male, but hardly recognizable. One arm had slipped from the socket and dragged below the knees which were were broken and bent. The thing stooped as it hefted an axe to split open a chicken coop. The stupid birds ran out, flapping their wings and squalking silently. The dead thing grabbed one, its flesh rippling in globlets along its fingers, around the bones, through muscle and occasionally through the skin and into the mud. Its grip was deathly strong and soon the chicken had flapped its last feeble struggle and just before it died the dead thing snapped at its neck with it's jaws (surprisingly powerful) and sapped up blood like a vampire. Now more soldiers were vomiting.

"How can we fight them?" Domigan was pale but his jaw was clenched and his voice resolved as he watched the chicken die.

Yirandiel turned to him. "You can't." Her eyes moistened as he looked at her. "I'm sorry, Dom. They'll kill you."

They turned back to the box in time to see white fire burn in the dead thing's eyes as the chicken finally died. "What do we do?" Dom finally despaired. "Yirandiel. Whatever I can do, at whatever cost. They're my people." He said this proudly, for the first time, in Common so everyone could hear and understand.

"Are you sure, Dom?" She looked at him almost wistfully.

"Yes. I've shirked long enough. Blood will surface." He took her hand and kissed it. "I love you, Yirandiel. More than life itself. But its not my life anymore. Its a life of service."

She snapped her fingers and the box disappeared. "I understand, Dom. Its nice to be needed." She took in a breath. "I have to fight whoever has brought them back. In another plane."

"I said my life was of service. Your life is different. You aren't tied to these people." His face wrenched her heart. She smiled even as the tears fell down her cheeks, amused by the excuses he was making for her. She shook her head and laid finger over his lips.

"I'm tied to you. You're tied to them. I'll do it."

"This is my fight." His lips caressed her finger as he spoke. She loved the feeling but that kind of pleasure would have to wait. She forced steel into her voice, and logic into her mind.

"Do you want to win or not? Are you really interested in saving them or fighting for a semblence of honor? You know this is the only way to win. Let me go." He nodded and released her hand. "Have a few men protect my body. I will not be... in tune... with this world for a while. Do not, under any circumstances, engage the dead." He nodded and kissed her. She kissed him back before slipping away suddenly.

She smiled and dismounted gracefully, drawing a sword from beneath her cloak (Oparin traded glances with Tyrun; that had not been there before. The Elf smiled at the Istan and bowed from horseback.) Yirandiel inclined her head to him and Oparin, blew a kiss to Dom, and sat down on a rock yoga style, imediately slipping into a deep trance.

Her liberated ghost floated down the hill (invisible to Domigan and his army) to attack the dead. She cooed, sending bright flecks of gold to hang in the air. The dead looked up. The flashes of light caught their eye, creating an almost hypnosis. In the patterns they saw their long lost loves. For some it was the love they had been torn from in life, for some torn apart in death, for some it was the soulmate they had never met. The dead walked towards their loves, walked right through Yirandiel's Gate to the next world. They walked home.

She smiled relieved and opened her senses to search for more dead. She found pockets of them all over the country and swept around performing the same trick in each pocket of putrid corpses. She finally slipped back into her body only to find a knife at her throat.

"Yirandiel returns." The voice was icy cold.

"Piedron!" She was shocked. "You... you ran. You're insane! You're gone!"

"Never gone, Yirandiel." He cupped her chin in his hand stroking her cheek with his thumb. She yanked her face away. "Did you think that after waiting for over four hundred years I would give you up to a mortal." He spat on Domigan. That was when Yirandiel saw the knife at her lover's throat. She froze. "That's better. Now, come home, Istan."

"I am no longer your slave, Piedron. I am transitioned. Yirandiel is dead. Accept it. You killed her."

"Yirandiel is not dead. You are her! And you are mine! 'To live forever in the arms of her King.' That's what you promised."

"And I will." Yirandiel smiled. "I had not even realized it. Domigan is my King and I will truly live forever in his arms." She laughed and smiled and the tears of joy ran down her face. "I do have my honor. Thank you Gods!"

The King watched, uncomprehendingly. "What is this devilry? What are you talking about, She-Elf?"

"No longer a She-Elf. A Goddess." Her laugh faded and her voice lashed out lethally. "And you will get away from Domigan." She narrowed her eyes and the Elf flew back into a rock, stunned. "Piedron, leave. Now." Her voice was full of authority and she seemed to grow. A wind that was not there rustled her cape, blew back her hood, and toyed with her hair as she stretched to the sky.

Piedron ran.

Yirandiel smiled and reached for Dom's hand, returning to normal size. "Your city, my Lord." She curtsied, inclining her head towards the dell.

"Your husband, Goddess." He pulled her to him and bent her back in a romantic kiss. Even Oparin whistled and cheered.