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EARLY MAY, 97 B.C.E.
Iyeman (present day Ireland)The deep wound on Sarin’s chest healed and he shifted forms, from black leopard to human, as he crouched on the charred field. Twenty minutes earlier it had been a lush green pasture warmed by the mid-day sun. Within minutes the war left it scorched and completely devoid of life, except for the armies locked in battle. Writhing black clouds blocked out the sun. Only the occasional bolt of lightning, the glow of fire, and the flash of dying Fae lit the mayhem. In a fraction of a second, Riel closed the two hundred yards between them in the form of a massive, snarling jackal.
A wall of raging, swirling fire three hundred feet wide raced toward the Unseelie front line, followed by a curtain of violent, buffeting wind that caused Sarin to see double. A mortal would have been disoriented by the vicious changes in air pressure. Even the young Fae were temporarily stunned, but Sarin had experienced an attack of that magnitude before. He relied on his Fae senses to track Riel’s movements.
All around Sarin, Seelie were dying, and across the field even more Unseelie had met their end. Unlike mortal wars, which left the bodies and body parts of the dead strewn about in a grisly thatch, the Fae disappeared in a bright flash when they died. The wounded Fae lying scattered across the battleground were trying to heal themselves while avoiding a lethal blow. Tarsha, an Air-inclined Seelie, did not make it. Sarin was saddened when her shriek abruptly ended and Tarsha’s essence flashed out of existence. Young for a Fae at only 25,000 years, she was nonetheless a formidable warrior who had joined the Seelie from the Jinn of the Middle East. She had been his friend.
The stronger of the two battling clans, the Seelie, held strong the front line, even though oldest and most powerful among them were guarding the flanks, picking off younger Unseelie each time the dark Fae attacked from another angle.
Sarin, ever patient, waited for Riel to commit to an attack. Riel was quite skilled, a veteran of the last Fae war, but he was also aggressive. Too aggressive. He’d scored a hit, a flesh wound that slowed Sarin down, but it was a wound that Sarin had allowed, a calculated tactic.
Two young Unseelie forced lighting from the dark, roiling sky. Sarin trained his eyes on the trajectory of the bolts, giving Riel an opening. When Sarin blocked their attack, his old friend committed to finishing his assault and lunged. Sarin waited until he felt Riel’s massive canines pierce the skin around his right forearm. He strengthened his energy barrier, preventing Riel’s teeth from sinking too deeply into his flesh, and curled his left hand into a fist before transforming it into a bony dagger. Spinning underneath and between Riel’s legs, Sarin slipped the point deep into his chest, into the heart, and Riel collapsed on top of him.
“I’m sorry, brother,” Sarin whispered, as he shredded the Unseelie’s organs from inside his body.
Riel struggled to close his fangs on his adversary’s throat, but Sarin’s barrier was too strong. Realizing the trap had been sprung, Riel fought to dislodge Sarin’s hand and heal the damage. He struggled in vain; it was a mortal wound, even for a Fae.
Riel’s body relaxed and he shifted into human form. Strikingly handsome, like all Fae males, Riel’s blue eyes locked on to Sarin’s face.
“This is not your fault, my clever friend. You were always stronger than me.”
Guilt welled up in Sarin’s chest, but he kept his hand in place, gripping Riel’s tattered heart. “I will make it quick, brother.”
Wincing through the pain, Riel forced a smile. “Eighty thousand years—if I must die, I take comfort that it is by your hand, old friend.” He labored to fill his lungs. “You know, Sarin, the humans will bring nothing but disappointment and destruction—the Egyptians did that three thousand years ago, the Romans are worse today—it will not end until they’ve destroyed everything in this world we care about. You may have beaten me, but you chose the wrong side.”
“There is only one side I could have taken, Riel. The physical world belongs to them, not us.”
An explosive burst of green energy lit the sky, preceding the hideously familiar flash of another dead Fae. At once, the fighting stopped and the clouds lightened from black to gray. Sarin and Riel, like every other Fae on the battlefield, stared beyond the hill, wondering who had prevailed. Dagda, the second Aetherfae, was the Unseelie Clan’s greatest hope of defeating their rivals. When the melee began, he followed his Seelie counterpart, Ozara, away from the main conflict. She’d taken only the human, Aeden, with her.
Sunlight filtered through openings in the dissipating clouds as every immortal waited silently to learn the outcome. The answer came quickly. In bright flashes, three-dozen Unseelie shrieked and popped out of existence as a deceptively fragile-looking veil of green energy encircled those who remained. Ozara settled in the middle of the field, calm and confident. Her blazing red hair rode a breeze that drifted over the ruined space, and her amber eyes surveyed what was left of both clans.
Riel fought for breath, his punctured mortal lungs only partially filling. Sarin felt the struggle against his fingers and looked down once again. They had been friends once, both members of the Kobold, an ancient clan that claimed the black forest of central Europe, but each had taken different sides.
“My friend, it looks as though you’ve won the day, but the victory will prove hollow—mark my words, this is not over. Now, if you are my friend, you will kill me quickly. Don’t force me to exist another moment under her tyranny. I beg you.”
Sarin nodded, and said, “Good bye.” He channeled Fire and set it loose inside his rival’s chest. Riel’s grimace turned to a smile and he seemed at peace in the moment before his essence collapsed, forming a tiny sphere of bright white light in Sarin’s outstretched palm. Then, like the others, he ceased to exist in a flash.
Sarin stood, his hooded gray eyes fixed on Ozara. She nodded. Her face appeared sad, even in victory. In her arms she carried the body of the human, Aeden. She looked down at him. “This Maebown destroyed Dagda. The war must end.”
When the terms for peace had been reached, and Ozara’s newest edicts laid out, the Fae from both clans shifted into their natural forms, invisible to human eyes, and departed the scarred field.
A wall of raging, swirling fire three hundred feet wide raced toward the Unseelie front line, followed by a curtain of violent, buffeting wind that caused Sarin to see double. A mortal would have been disoriented by the vicious changes in air pressure. Even the young Fae were temporarily stunned, but Sarin had experienced an attack of that magnitude before. He relied on his Fae senses to track Riel’s movements.
All around Sarin, Seelie were dying, and across the field even more Unseelie had met their end. Unlike mortal wars, which left the bodies and body parts of the dead strewn about in a grisly thatch, the Fae disappeared in a bright flash when they died. The wounded Fae lying scattered across the battleground were trying to heal themselves while avoiding a lethal blow. Tarsha, an Air-inclined Seelie, did not make it. Sarin was saddened when her shriek abruptly ended and Tarsha’s essence flashed out of existence. Young for a Fae at only 25,000 years, she was nonetheless a formidable warrior who had joined the Seelie from the Jinn of the Middle East. She had been his friend.
The stronger of the two battling clans, the Seelie, held strong the front line, even though oldest and most powerful among them were guarding the flanks, picking off younger Unseelie each time the dark Fae attacked from another angle.
Sarin, ever patient, waited for Riel to commit to an attack. Riel was quite skilled, a veteran of the last Fae war, but he was also aggressive. Too aggressive. He’d scored a hit, a flesh wound that slowed Sarin down, but it was a wound that Sarin had allowed, a calculated tactic.
Two young Unseelie forced lighting from the dark, roiling sky. Sarin trained his eyes on the trajectory of the bolts, giving Riel an opening. When Sarin blocked their attack, his old friend committed to finishing his assault and lunged. Sarin waited until he felt Riel’s massive canines pierce the skin around his right forearm. He strengthened his energy barrier, preventing Riel’s teeth from sinking too deeply into his flesh, and curled his left hand into a fist before transforming it into a bony dagger. Spinning underneath and between Riel’s legs, Sarin slipped the point deep into his chest, into the heart, and Riel collapsed on top of him.
“I’m sorry, brother,” Sarin whispered, as he shredded the Unseelie’s organs from inside his body.
Riel struggled to close his fangs on his adversary’s throat, but Sarin’s barrier was too strong. Realizing the trap had been sprung, Riel fought to dislodge Sarin’s hand and heal the damage. He struggled in vain; it was a mortal wound, even for a Fae.
Riel’s body relaxed and he shifted into human form. Strikingly handsome, like all Fae males, Riel’s blue eyes locked on to Sarin’s face.
“This is not your fault, my clever friend. You were always stronger than me.”
Guilt welled up in Sarin’s chest, but he kept his hand in place, gripping Riel’s tattered heart. “I will make it quick, brother.”
Wincing through the pain, Riel forced a smile. “Eighty thousand years—if I must die, I take comfort that it is by your hand, old friend.” He labored to fill his lungs. “You know, Sarin, the humans will bring nothing but disappointment and destruction—the Egyptians did that three thousand years ago, the Romans are worse today—it will not end until they’ve destroyed everything in this world we care about. You may have beaten me, but you chose the wrong side.”
“There is only one side I could have taken, Riel. The physical world belongs to them, not us.”
An explosive burst of green energy lit the sky, preceding the hideously familiar flash of another dead Fae. At once, the fighting stopped and the clouds lightened from black to gray. Sarin and Riel, like every other Fae on the battlefield, stared beyond the hill, wondering who had prevailed. Dagda, the second Aetherfae, was the Unseelie Clan’s greatest hope of defeating their rivals. When the melee began, he followed his Seelie counterpart, Ozara, away from the main conflict. She’d taken only the human, Aeden, with her.
Sunlight filtered through openings in the dissipating clouds as every immortal waited silently to learn the outcome. The answer came quickly. In bright flashes, three-dozen Unseelie shrieked and popped out of existence as a deceptively fragile-looking veil of green energy encircled those who remained. Ozara settled in the middle of the field, calm and confident. Her blazing red hair rode a breeze that drifted over the ruined space, and her amber eyes surveyed what was left of both clans.
Riel fought for breath, his punctured mortal lungs only partially filling. Sarin felt the struggle against his fingers and looked down once again. They had been friends once, both members of the Kobold, an ancient clan that claimed the black forest of central Europe, but each had taken different sides.
“My friend, it looks as though you’ve won the day, but the victory will prove hollow—mark my words, this is not over. Now, if you are my friend, you will kill me quickly. Don’t force me to exist another moment under her tyranny. I beg you.”
Sarin nodded, and said, “Good bye.” He channeled Fire and set it loose inside his rival’s chest. Riel’s grimace turned to a smile and he seemed at peace in the moment before his essence collapsed, forming a tiny sphere of bright white light in Sarin’s outstretched palm. Then, like the others, he ceased to exist in a flash.
Sarin stood, his hooded gray eyes fixed on Ozara. She nodded. Her face appeared sad, even in victory. In her arms she carried the body of the human, Aeden. She looked down at him. “This Maebown destroyed Dagda. The war must end.”
When the terms for peace had been reached, and Ozara’s newest edicts laid out, the Fae from both clans shifted into their natural forms, invisible to human eyes, and departed the scarred field.
