THE DARK QUEEN
The Magician - Book Three
by Jennifer Lyon (Jenni10647@AOL.com) and
Suzanne Bickerstaffe (Ecksphile@AOL.com)
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Disclaimer: The X-Files and the characters of Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, and
Walter Skinner belong to Chris Carter, FOX Network, and Ten Thirteen
Productions. The Realm, all of the other characters, and the remainder of
this story are solely our own invention, copyright 1996 - Jennifer Lyon and
Suzanne Bickerstafe.
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Author's Note: This story is a sequel to our previous stories, "The
Magician" and "The Runaway", and constitutes Book Three of a trilogy. This
story begins where the second book leaves off - with Mulder and Scully in
the Realm. The first two stories of the trilogy are available from this web
page, and also from the X-Files archive sites on the web. We would strongly
recommend you read the first two books before this one. Finally, we owe a
huge debt of gratitude to our patient editor, Debbie Hewett, for all of her
hard work; and also to Nicole Perry for her conscientious beta reading and
helpful suggestions. Now...sit back, relax, and enjoy....
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Prologue
Long fingers closed around the murky edges of the floating
ball of black iron. The sphere gave off rays of liquid darkness which
ate up the few strands of light that dared to peek into the edges of
the room. The Black Mage, face shadowed by a heavy cowl of ebony
silk, gave a hauntingly beautiful smile. Red lips drew back over
clear white enamel, as the power of the sphere grew and
concentrated, soon enveloping the entire room in a sea of darkness.
Only the one figure stood, tall and strong, concealed by the
heavy robe. Embroidered swirls of red livid against the night echoed
the sheen of red within the once clear blue eyes. The garnet lips
closed tightly, a gentle hiss emanating from within, whistling
through to fill the air with an incessant hum. In response, the globe
spun harder...faster...strobing the room in multiple shades of black,
layer upon layer, until the voice rose to a peak, then swung low and
cut off - sharp, imperative, demanding.
And clear, within the center of the globe, a faint glow of
light grew and sharpened, clarifying the energy into a focused
mental image of a stocky, haggard man. The remnants of once fine
robes were now dusty and stained, ripped and poorly mended. The
once pudgy face was now almost thin, making the narrow eyes seem
even smaller, lost within a roll of skin, hanging loose without the
thick padding of fat that had once supported it.
Closing reddened eyes, the Mage concentrated once again,
chanting words in a language long unused, known only by a rare
few. The voice spoke in words of power, words that lived, words that
were mired in blood.
- - - - -
The man in the cell blinked as a sense of unease slowly
crept over him. Lifting his head from his chest, he peered around
him anxiously, then wriggled as though a thousand insects were
crawling over his skin. "Who's there?" he whined. There was no
answer, except for the rustle of rats, scraping across the dungeon
floor.
- - - - -
The Black Mage entered the final refrain of the spell with
terse control. Again the chant rose high, beckoning, seeking... and
at last, commanding. In the images forged from the spinning globe,
the shape of the man jumped up to its feet, then threw its head back
and screamed. The sound was whisked away into the wind, as his
body shimmered in a coat of darkness, then was gone... only to
reappear encased in a flood of oily darkness... falling to the floor of
the Mage's sanctum to lay gasping, convulsing, like a beached whale
upon the sand.
With a sharp gesture of the left hand, the Black Mage set
the spinning globe back down onto its stand and turned to look
disdainfully down at the man sprawled across the frigid stone. Once
the beady eyes turned upward, dilating in the shock of horrified
recognition, a rich velvety voice filled the room...
"Welcome, Prince Drellor. Welcome...."
End Prologue
THE DARK QUEEN
The Magician - Book Three
by Jennifer Lyon (Jenni10647@AOL.com) and
Suzanne Bickerstaffe (Ecksphile@AOL.com)
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See the Prologue for detailed Disclaimer and Author's note. The X- Files
belongs to Chris Carter, the Realm, all of the other characters, and the
remainder of this story are solely our own invention, copyright 1996.
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Chapter One
The edges of the dark blue Mage's cloak swirled around his
lean calves as he leapt up the castle stairway. Fox Mulder took two
steps at a time in quick hops, his face intent despite the gentle
upward curl of his lips. That delicate smile played at the edges of his
eyes, softening his sharp-boned features, bringing a sparkle to his
hazel eyes.
His mind, always focused, was now busily dissecting the
words of the spell chant he had been struggling with for the past few
days. He almost had it working, but there was one small element
missing, the one ingredient necessary to keep the spell from
spinning out of control. No one could call this particular piece of
magic important or even interesting, but his motivation was less the
desire for the result of the spell itself as it was to prove to himself
that he could make it work. Copying other Mages' spells was easy,
for he had power to spare and memory that functioned like an iron
trap. However, as he was presently discovering, the process of
creating a new spell was a far more difficult task. But it was one he
was bound and determined to conquer, and he was so close....
A blast of cold air struck him, and he staggered to a stop,
his right hand blindly grabbing for the wide wooden banister to keep
from falling. His head lifted up, then jerked around, his eyes
scanning the air around him. His eyes focused, then glazed over, and
he stood as still as a statue. His aura blazed into the dim light,
throwing a bright blue gleam over the stone walls, then faded.
His eyes closed, he leaned back against the wall, pressing
himself against the solid support. The backs of his hands pressed up
against his chest, fingers outstretched, almost as though warding off
an unseen enemy. And he shivered.
- - - - -
By the time Mulder found his way to the dungeon buried
deep in the earth beneath Fairwood Castle, pandemonium had
broken loose. There were few prisoners kept here for any length of
time, as Realm-style justice tended to be swift and practical. At
present there were less than half a dozen, and they were all engaged
in making a loud ruckus, clanking chains, screaming and howling,
banging against the stone walls. Green-clothed guards were rushing
to and fro, giving the appearance of determined action, yet seeming
to accomplish very little at all. In the midst of the furor, the big,
gray-haired Captain of the Royal Guard stood like a rock, forcing
the sea of activity to web and weave around him.
"Jourdain?" Mulder asked, easily pushing his way through
to stand at his friend's side. "What's going on? I felt..." He broke off,
unable to describe the feeling that had stopped him in his tracks. It
was as though some kind of slug or worm had crawled across the
surface of his brain, leaving behind a trail of evil-smelling sludge
that he had finally tracked to this spot.
Jourdain turned and acknowledged Mulder's presence, then
inclined his head towards the cell in front of him. "Drellor's
missing. Disappeared from behind a locked door. One minute he
was there, the next he was gone."
"Gone?!" Mulder echoed sharply, moving closer to the
heavy iron door separating them from the small enclosure. A shock
ran through his fingers as they brushed the thick, cold metal, and he
jerked backwards.
"Are you all right?" Jourdain asked anxiously, his craggy
face grim in the shadows.
Mulder nodded. "Magic was involved here, but it's a kind
I've never felt before. It feels ... wrong." His mouth tightened into a
thin line and he found himself shivering again, even with the wool
cloak wrapped tightly around his body.
"Better get Reinald down here quickly..."
"I'm here." A shock of white hair glowed above the Royal
Mage's gaunt blue-clad frame. Perhaps less vigorous than he had
been in his youth, he still radiated a fierce presence, part magical
strength and part simply force of personality. Nodding at his two
companions, he stepped forward and pushed the door open. Like
Mulder, his fingers recoiled briefly from the contact, and he wiped
them against his cloak as though he had touched some kind of filth.
Reinald walked briskly into the small cell, then waved at
Mulder to follow him. The younger man stepped across the
threshold, his shoulders held back, his face holding a pinched look.
The psychic sense of this place reminded him vividly of the New
Jersey sewer he'd once been unfortunate enough to explore, making
him feel as though he were steeped in filth.
Behind them, Jourdain's frown deepened. It did not take
much guesswork to realize why the two Mages were acting the way
they did. Even to those with little magical sense, there could be no
question as to the cause of the prisoner's escape - black magic.
- - - - -
Jourdain was the last to enter the Council chamber. Easing
his bulk into the awaiting chair, he nodded at the young King, then
glanced over at the two Mages sitting side-by-side along the wall.
Reinald held himself upright and at attention, Mulder was slumped
across his chair, long legs sprawled out at apparently awkward
angles. But Jourdain knew from long experience that the long-
limbed body could move with deceptive speed while the sleepy-
looking eyes could burn with frightening intensity once they were
aroused.
Mulder returned Jourdain's glance, a slight shift of his
position the only indication of recognition, then he let his eyes
wander around the room. Light filtered in from small windows set
high in the massive stone walls. Bright tapestries draped the cool
walls with warmth, bringing alive majestic scenes of the Realm's
history. The center of the room was dominated by a large, oval-
shaped table, one point held by the slender, alert form of the young,
fair-haired king, the other by the white-gowned form of the Realm's
high priestess.
Mulder still had not quite gotten the Realm's religions
straightened out - there were gods for practically everything, and
each species had its rites and practices. Yet, much like the Judeo-
Christian God of Mulder's upbringing - above all the minor deities
was the one God - Goddess actually. The New Realm's chief deity
had a distinctly female sense to it, and was seen as a creative source,
a Mother to all life. As best as Mulder could make out, it had some
similarities to much older human beliefs than the patriarchal Judeo-
Christian tradition, more reminiscent of modern-day Wicca - yet
with a unique flavor all its own.
Mulder's eyes paused on the serene, matronly figure of the
priestess, then reluctantly moved on to the representatives of the six
Noble Houses, each of whom was dressed in the bright colors of his
House. They were seated along one length of a long table, their
positions relative to each other a sign of who was presently allied
with, or feuding with whom. For now, the white-haired elder of
Norwood sat aloof on the end, while Dordinal and Maalfees bent
their heads together, whispering urgently.
His generous lips pursed thoughtfully, Mulder considered
Marvick of House Dordinal. The man was thick and stout, with a
wide belly and tree-stump legs, but the plainness of his exterior
disguised a clever mind and a fiery temperament. Like all of his
House, Marvick was known to fly into violent rages when his will
was thwarted, and that happened far too often. In fact, Mulder was
convinced that the householder's histrionics were staged and
delivered for maximal benefit to his House.
Past the pasty figure of Horvay of Maalfees, Mandor of
House Ranfaus was sitting quietly, his calm gray eyes making a
circuit of the room. They focused in on Mulder, held the Mage's
bright hazel gaze for a moment, then with a barely perceptible nod,
moved on. Much to his surprise, Mulder had found himself growing
to like the Ranfaus householder more and more over the past few
moon-cycles. He was invariable conservative, reluctant to risk action
unless no other alternative presented itself, but he was a staunch
solid rock supporting the throne. And right now, Andalor could use
all the support he could get.
Mulder sighed under his breath as his eyes moved on to the
final pair of householders, Ian of Forst and Linder of the Highlands.
Both were engaged in a hostile staring contest with the gargoyle and
troll representatives, respectively. The elven representative, Karvan,
whom Mulder remembered as a blazing fury in the battle against the
Dark Creatures, was now a calm mature presence, even though he
seemed not to have aged physically. Instead the maturation was
within, expressing itself in the elf's bearing and manner, in the
elegant measured speech and the brilliant green eyes.
Presently, though, even Karvan's composure was showing
cracks, the fiery elven temper leaking through in rare, but extreme
flashes of vituperative emotion. Mulder frowned, his worry
deepening. Until recently, he had been deeply impressed with the
peaceful coexistence between the four sentient species in this world,
his own world suffering in the comparison. But as he rather
cynically recognized, human beings were human beings, and they
tend to have an inbred distrust of differences. But then, the tide of
unrest and bad feelings that were erupting throughout the Realm
were not solely a human invention. More than one incident had
occurred between the other three species as well.
Something was wrong, and this morning's events only
confirmed Mulder's suspicions that a deliberate agency was behind
the growing tensions. But the incidents were widespread and
isolated from each other, the feelings of uneasiness too vague to
pinpoint a single cause. It was no more than a well-developed sense
of intuition that made Mulder suspicious, and so he held it to
himself. Almost to himself...
He instinctively felt for Scully's presence through the taut
line of their life-bond, reveling in the sensation of her mind close to
his, focused and intent. Closing his eyes, he could see through hers,
and rather than the ornately decorated Council chamber, he saw
brown earth and sunlight glinting off a silver blade. His hands
jerked in sympathy as she brought the heavy weapon up and around,
the shock of the contact with her student's weapon reverberating up
through her arms and shoulders, and his as well. Then he shared her
quick rush of pleasure and pride, then a returning cold focus, as she
bent her mind and body to the task at hand.
Had she noticed he was there in her mind? Maybe, it hardly
mattered. They were linked so deeply that sometimes it seemed as
though they shared every breath, every heartbeat. Two halves of a
whole, and neither one complete without the other. A sudden need
to be with her physically, to wrap his arms around her body and
taste her, flooded him. Only Reinald's restraining hand on his arm
stopped him from running from the room.
Taking a deep breath, he subsided, giving the older Mage a
nod that said "I'm okay," even as he fought for his equilibrium.
Luckily, everyone else was focused on Jourdain as he began his
report, causing Mulder to breathe a sigh of relief. He tended to be
irreverent of protocol, but the last thing Andalor needed right now
was Mulder rushing blindly out of the room in mid-session like
some love-sick calf.
Leaning back into the padded chair, Mulder drew one long
leg against the other, then pivoted his head to the left as he recorded
Jourdain's brusque, but informative speech. The facts were few, yet
more than enough to send a cold blast of air into the brightly lit
room. Drellor had been seen in his cell by a guard only moments
before he had disappeared. The guard had only gotten a few feet
down the corridor after delivering the morning meal, when there
was a sudden loud noise from the former prince's room followed by
a scream of utter terror from its inhabitant.
The guard had turned and ran back, only to find the small,
locked enclosure empty and the echo of a horrified cry lingering in
the air. The traitorous prince was gone, vanished seemingly into
thin air, leaving behind no more than a spilled tray of food and a
magical sense that "something wicked this way came." That was the
best Mulder could do to identify the ambiance within that room.
Even now, the memory of that pervasive psychic stench made him
wish for a way to scrub out the inside of his mind and soul.
There was a moment of silence when Jourdain was done,
then an abrupt explosion of conversation, several people yelling at
once.
"Silence!" Andalor insisted. The two nearest him shut their
mouths, but Dordinal, Maalfees, and Forst had only just gotten
started, and they raged on as though the young king had not spoken.
So Andalor spoke the single word once more, but this time it rang
through the room like the chime of a bell - echoing off the walls.
"Silence!"
Heads turned. Jourdain and Reinald's eyes widened with a
mixture of surprise, appreciation, and a touch of nostalgia. Mulder's
lips curved up in a wry smile, the non-human representatives
nodded among themselves. Among the human representatives,
everyone but Dordinal stuttered to a stop, leaving Marvick's thick
voice to ring out in mid-sentence. "Drellor..."
"Drellor was a traitor to the Realm." Andalor cut him off
neatly, finally forcing Marvick to swallow hard and shut his mouth
as he turned to face the king's deep violet gaze. "Whether he
engineered his escape or was taken against his will, this can only
mean danger to the Realm."
"All evidence suggests that he was abducted." Jourdain
offered, his craggy features solemn. "A man who is escaping prison
doesn't scream loudly for help."
Andalor nodded. "Then we must assume he was taken by
someone who wishes to use his knowledge of the Realm against us."
"Perhaps it was someone who felt that a Prince of the
Realm deserved better treatment than a common criminal." Marvick
was almost petulant in expressing a view he had been consistent on
for the past seven years. Drellor had been a childhood friend, and
Marvick refused to accept his old comrade's guilt, regardless of the
evidence.
Andalor's face was cold and certain as he stared at the older
man. "I do hope that the House of Dordinal was not involved in
this..." He deliberately let his voice trail off, and it had the desired
effect.
"NO!" Marvick was quick to deny this carefully phrased
accusation. His florid countenance flushed as he sought to negotiate
between his duty to Council and House, and his loyalty to a friend.
"The House of Dordinal had nothing to do with this." Defending
himself by going on the attack, he quickly threw the blame
elsewhere. "It is obvious that the person responsible was a Mage of
great power. How else could he be taken out of the dungeon without
being seen? Unless, of course, the guard is part of a conspiracy." His
deepset eyes moved coolly from Reinald and Mulder to Jourdain as
he spoke, waiting for someone to rise to the bait.
However, his targets refused to respond. Instead Andalor
simply nodded, then let his eyes travel from one House
representative to another. Maalfees looked uncomfortable, but
obviously innocent; all knew that the House of Maalfees preferred
negotiation and bargaining - they would talk long before they would
act. Ranfaus remained as serene as ever, and he returned Andalor's
gaze with easy assurance. Forst and the Highlands both looked
aggrieved, but innocently so.
The boy king caught Mulder's eyes, and got a silent
assurance that his assumption was correct. The only House that
might have acted in such a precipitous manner was Dordinal, but
they would have been crowing about it by now if they were
responsible. None of the others had reason or resources to do so.
Andalor's eyes scanned the non-human representatives, but only
cursorily - for they had even less rationale for freeing Prince Drellor
than their human counterparts. And yet...
There had been so much trouble lately between the species.
Andalor was fighting hard to keep things under control, but the
situation was slowly, but surely, deteriorating. Nonetheless,
throwing accusations against the Council representatives would only
make things worse, especially since Andalor trusted these three far
more than he trusted the householders. Karvan was a friend, and the
troll Forssk had long been a source of wise counsel to the young man
trying to assume a very heavy responsibility. And the gentle, aged
gargoyle, Kleevor? No, Andalor just couldn't believe it.
So what was left? An outside agency that sought to use
Drellor's knowledge of the Realm for its own purposes. A small
shiver went up the teenage ruler's spine as he contemplated that
possibility. He did not want to face another war. Not now, not when
the Realm was just beginning to flourish after the long season-cycles
of recovery from the Dark War.
Beside him, Jourdain caught the quick flash of fear and
uncertainty on Andalor's face, and he broke in to give the boy time
to recover his composure. "It is obvious that this was an outside
agency, and one utilizing a powerful magician." He looked over at
Reinald, who nodded gravely, then answered.
"Yes. And there is no question that black magic was used."
Reinald shivered at the memory, then continued, "We have done as
much as we can to rid the Realm of those practicing the dark rites -
but there are outlying areas that we have not been able to reach." He
frowned gravely, "However, what concerns me the most is the
amount of power used. This was no insane village witch or dabbler,
this was a fully trained Mage. I know of only three Blue Mages with
similar power: myself, Mulder and one other."
Reinald's voice rang out in the deep silence, reverberating
off the stone walls. His audience was tense and still, some faces
drawn tight, others fighting to maintain a stony calm. But the air
was full of electricity - black magicians were the stuff of childhood
horror stories and nightmares. Few existed, and those that did were
usually weak. To most Realm citizens, they were the occupants of
isolated hovels, twisted in body and mind. A threat only to the
unwary, most villagers considered them as much a subject of pity as
of fear.
Reinald carefully weighed each word before he delivered it.
"We have to assume that whoever took Drellor plans to use him
against us. I have never felt such depth of evil since the Dark
Creatures came, and in some ways this is worse. This is the choice
of an intelligent mind, someone who has walked down the path to
darkness with deliberate knowledge and malicious intent."
Jourdain's usually ruddy face was blanched beneath its
deep-scoured tan. "Do you have any idea who the Black Mage is?"
Reinald could only shake his head. Beside him Mulder
stirred in his chair. It was a slight motion, but enough to draw every
pair of eyes in the room to his face. Drawing in a deep breath,
Mulder sat up straight in his chair. "I don't know the Realm well
enough to make any guesses as to who this could be, but I think
there is one more possibility we ought to consider. The sense I got
from that cell..." His mouth pursed tight as though tasting
something sour. "It felt different. I know little of this world outside
Fairwood, but I can't help feeling that this magic may be from
beyond the Realm. We know that the Dark Creatures came through
from another place. What if this new threat also comes from beyond
the Realm?"
Silence fell in heavy shrouds across the council chamber.
No one spoke for several tense moments, each caught up in the
horrors of his own imagination, then Andalor cleared his throat to
speak. However, before he could form the first word the heavy
wooden doors burst open.
"Your Majesty, Your Majesty!" The guard who came
running into the room slid to a halt, his breath coming in short
gasps.
"What is it?" Andalor demanded imperiously, drawing
himself up to his full height in his seat.
The intruder flushed red, then paled as he delivered the
unpleasant news in a violent rush of words.
"There is trouble in the North. The neighboring elf and
human communities in Fawnleaf and Cresscreek have been arguing
a lot lately," Andalor nodded impatiently, and the man hurried to
continue. "Well, they've come to blows. People have already been
hurt and both sides are mobilizing for battle."
Karvan was on his feet in a split second, rage coalescing on
his fine, delicate features, followed almost instantly by Ian of Forst.
The two glared at each other with open hostility, Cresscreek was
close to Forst's ancestral seat, while Fawnleaf was home to the elven
ambassador's family.
Andalor leapt to his feet, putting his hands up between
them, palms outwards. "Sit down," he commanded quietly.
Karvan ignored him, hissing under his breath.
"Sit down," Andalor demanded again. Ranfaus put his hand
on Forst's arm, firmly guiding him down into his seat. It was Mulder
who reached out for Karvan, touching him very lightly, almost
tentatively, on the shoulder. The quick brush of the Mage's fingers
was nonetheless enough to catch the aura-sensitive elf's attention,
the bright unconscious flash of blue capturing his eyes. Once Karvan
had turned his head to meet Mulder's eyes, he was unable to break
away from the mix of sympathy and determination in that focused
hazel gaze.
Karvan remained stubborn for a tense moment, then gave
in gracefully, easing himself back into his chair.
Andalor nodded in gratitude at Mulder, then pushing his
chair back, came to stand up against the edge of the table, placing
both hands flat against the polished surface. The words were
difficult for him to summon, and he found himself wishing yet again
that he had been born anything but a king's son; that this burden
could fall on anyone else's shoulders but his own. However, Andalor
had already had his experience in rebellion and had learned some
difficult lessons. Now, he could only make the best decision he
could, and pray it would be the right one.
"Enough." His voice was surprisingly cool, expressing no
evidence of the turmoil within. "This fighting amongst ourselves has
got to stop. I will not tolerate this kind of behavior by anyone,
whether by humans against elves or elves against humans. The
culprits will be brought to justice for their actions, and I intend to
send a strong message that will be heard throughout the Realm.
Jourdain, take your best men and leave at once for Fawnleaf. You
have my full authority to handle the situation as you see fit. Mage
Mulder, I would request that you accompany Jourdain. I would send
Reinald, but I need him here to continue investigating my uncle's
abduction."
Mulder nodded his agreement, willing to help however he
could. The Realm had become like a second home to him, and he
felt as though he owed these people for their gracious hospitality in
taking two strangers into their home and hearts. Andalor gave him a
fleeting smile, then his face settled into stone. "Karvan, I would also
like to send an elven representative. Preferably someone whom the
villagers will listen to, and someone who will be willing to promote
peace."
Karvan's face was equally grave, but his temper had
quieted. He, too, feared the results of open warfare between the
species. Nodding, he proffered his suggestion quietly, naming a
widely known elven priestess, though he added the concern that she
was a several-day journey away in a village called Yellowfork.
"I know the village Mage in Yellowfork. He is young, but I
think he can be instructed to assist in constructing a Gate. We
should be able to get her here immediately," Reinald offered.
"Good." Andalor gave his approval for the choice. He
issued a few more short instructions to Jourdain, then sat down
almost wearily. Jourdain stood up, glancing at the two Mages, then
he bowed to the young king and hurried from the room. Mulder was
quick to follow, Reinald paused to drop a supporting hand on
Andalor's red-clad shoulder before exiting as well.
- - - - -
Even at a distance, Mulder's "magic-sense" tingled as he
felt Reinald manipulate the massive energies of the Gate. He
tightened down on his shield, forcing the loud whine of the Mage-
wind to settle down to a tolerable murmur at the edge of his mind.
Wrapping his cloak around him in a nearly unconscious gesture, he
turned to listen to his friend as the big captain issued a series of
short staccato orders to a young green-clad officer.
When Jourdain was done, his subordinate scurrying off to
finalize preparations for their journey, he met Mulder's gaze with
deep concern.
"I don't like leaving Fairwood now. Drellor's abduction is
only going to make things worse for Andalor."
Mulder nodded in sympathy. "I know. But he has Reinald
here, and something has to be done about the situation up north. If
this really does break out into open warfare, it could end up sending
the entire Realm into civil war."
Jourdain's eyes flashed blue fire, but his face was saddened,
the large bones shadowed and heavy even in the bright spring
sunlight. "Yes, I know. By the gods, why do these things always
seem to happen all at once?"
"Murphy's law." Mulder commented wryly.
"Murphy?" Jourdain questioned. Mulder chuckled.
"A...philosopher of sorts from my world. The idea basically
is that whatever can go wrong, will go wrong."
Jourdain nodded gravely, considering. "A wise man, this
Murphy." He sighed, rubbing at the back of his neck. "But let us
hope he is not always right. The sooner we can settle the dispute in
Fawnleaf and return to Fairwood, the better I will feel. I am afraid
that Drellor's abduction can only bode evil for the king."
Mulder had to agree. "This is a lot for Andalor to deal with.
He's doing extremely well, better than I would have expected, but
the pressure has to be getting to him. Many of the nobles treat him
like a child to be indulged, yet ignored."
Jourdain frowned, then abruptly smiled. "Perhaps it is not
so bad that they underestimate him. Andalor has his father's steel.
Everyday he becomes more and more like him." His face took on a
surprising gentleness. "In the meeting this morn, I could almost
have sworn it was indeed King Barnas standing there. Still...if this
situation does develop into civil war, he could have some very
difficult decisions to make. Ordering men into battle, knowing some
will die - it is the hardest task a ruler must perform."
"Well, we'll just have to do everything we can to see it
doesn't come to that." Mulder spoke with determination, but also
with a fatalistic tinge to his voice.
Even so, Jourdain took the implied commitment to heart,
and his entire posture straightened. Holding his head high, he
glanced towards the stables where men and horses were assembling.
"I'd better see to the final arrangements for the trip. How soon do
you think you'll be ready to leave? I'd like to get some distance
covered today."
"I just need to pack a bag, then say goodbye to Scully.
Shouldn't take me long."
"Good, I'll meet you on the practice field as soon as Urielle
has arrived and the troop is ready."
"Okay," Mulder nodded acceptance, then turned and
walked back into the castle. Jourdain watched him go for a moment,
the dusty ends of the Mage's blue cloak flapping around his lean
calves. When the tall, slender man had disappeared into the interior
of the castle, Jourdain spun on booted heels and strode briskly
towards the stables.
End of Chapter One
THE DARK QUEEN
The Magician - Book Three
by Jennifer Lyon (Jenni10647@AOL.com) and
Suzanne Bickerstaffe (Ecksphile@AOL.com)
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
See the Prologue for detailed Disclaimer and Author's note. The X- Files
belongs to Chris Carter, the Realm, all of the other characters, and the
remainder of this story are solely our own invention, copyright 1996.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
Chapter Two
Small clouds of dust rose from the packed earth of the
practice fields, covering the combatants with a fine sheen of brown
earth. Sweat mixed with the coat of dirt, sending thin rusty rivulets
trickling across forearms and necks, soaking into the muted green
clothes.
Scully walked between the pairs, gesturing instructions,
speaking in soft, yet commanding tones. "Hold your arm higher,
Louda...No, Greska, you're leaving your right side unguarded, hold
your sword this way....Good, Shannon, but watch your wrist - the
weight should be held from the shoulder and back rather than by the
wrist itself, or it will tire on you...."
Aldara glanced at her friend briefly as they passed in
opposing circuits of the field, then turned her attention to a
particularly troublesome student. Yurka, suffering from a troll
version of adolescent rebellion, was half-heartedly hacking at the
much taller elf in front of her. Aldara nudged at the elf to step aside,
and drew her own sword. Yurka's scowl deepened in response, but
she finally picked up her speed. Soon the two were fighting in
earnest, Aldara weaving her sword like the master she was, her
slight limp hardly showing.
Scully gave a final word of encouragement to the pair
nearest her, then turned her attention back to the sword-master and
her increasingly belligerent student. Yurka, finding herself
consistently missing her strikes against the agile half-elf, pulled
back and then charged blindly, throwing all of her considerable
strength into the strike...and less than a single breath later, found
herself lying flat on her belly in the dirt, the point of Aldara's sword
pressed against the back of her thick neck.
Aldara held her there for a moment, then stepped back. All
eyes were on her as she calmly resheathed her silver-bladed weapon.
"Never let emotion blind you in a fight. The first to lose their calm -
to stop thinking - will be the first to fall."
Yurka groaned, pulling herself back to her feet, glaring at a
couple of the other students when they giggled behind the hands
pressed to their mouths. That only stimulated louder chuckles,
which caught Scully's attention. "That's enough for now," she told
them. Gaining a quick glance of approval from Aldara, she called
out loudly. "Take a break - we'll reassemble in half a candlemark."
The students scattered almost instantly, wandering away in
small groups towards the castle and the market stalls. A few
remained on the field, gathering up small bags from the edges of the
work area and squatting down to munch on bread and cheese.
Aldara grimaced at Scully. "Sometimes I wonder if I could
ever have been that bad?"
Scully chuckled, absently pressing some loose auburn curls
back into her thick braid as she responded with open humor. "I don't
know about you, but I'm sure I was."
Aldara shook her head. "No, you were rough and
inexperienced, but you had talent. Some of them..."
"They'll get there," Scully reassured her friend. "Shannon is
doing well, as is Louda and Florgin."
Aldara considered, then a smile brightened the sharp lines
of her face. "True. And they are young." Rubbing at her back, she
gave Scully a rueful look. "Which I no longer am."
Scully studied the half-elf for a moment, taking in the
small, slender frame that still moved with grace and agility, despite
the war wound that threw her stride slightly akilter. Aldara's mane
of ebony curls was confined by leather thongs into a tight ponytail
that was coiled around the top of her head like a crown. The brilliant
green eyes were large and wide, and glittered in the sunshine like
jewels. "You're hardly ready for retirement, Dara," Scully told her,
flashing even white teeth in a smile.
Aldara grinned in return. "Retirement? Ha! That's for rich,
lazy nobles who never truly worked a day in their useless lives."
They both chuckled, then turned in response to a warm male voice.
"A private joke, or can anyone share?"
//Mulder.\\ Scully didn't bother saying his name aloud, she
responded to his presence with a gentle opening of her mind.
Warmth stirred along every nerve in her body as she welcomed him,
and felt his own acknowledgment of her flood back along that
indefinable link that was their life-bond. Their communion silent,
utterly private, it would hardly have appeared to an observer that
they noticed each other at all.
"Private," Aldara told him, mirth sparkling in her emerald
eyes as she looked up at the blue-robed man towering over her.
"Ahhh..." Mulder replied, mentally winking at Scully.
"Gossiping?" He shook his head in mock disgust. Aldara kicked out
at his ankle, but he deftly got out of the way. They shared a smile,
then Mulder's demeanor turned serious.
Scully caught the mood change even before it settled onto
his face, and her fingers brushed his sleeve even as her mind
caressed the edges of his. //What is it?\\
Mulder opened his memories to her, the sense of evil that
had sent him racing to the basement, Drellor's abduction, the
Council meeting, and finally, the mission to Fawnleaf.
"Ohh," Scully drew in a deep breath, gratefully entwining
her fingers with his as he closed his hand upon hers. Looking up
into his face, she asked, "You're leaving soon?"
He nodded. Reaching out to cup her cheek, he whispered. "I
don't like leaving you."
"I know, but Andalor is right. This is important."
"You could come with us." Mulder spoke almost
plaintively, but Scully simply shook her head.
"I can do far more good here. With both you and Jourdain
gone, Andalor is going to need all the help he can get."
Aldara was watching them both with open concern. She
could only discern that something serious was happening, but not
the specifics. Finally, her impatience won through, and she
demanded to know what was going on.
Mulder and Scully were both startled, having forgotten that
she was there in their total preoccupation with each other. His
fingers still clinging to Scully's small hand, Mulder gave Aldara a
quick synopsis of the morning's events. Her face darkened as he
spoke, a mixture of fear and anger swelling behind her eyes.
"I'm sorry, Aldara," he finished, waving his free hand
helplessly. "I know your family is in Fawnleaf. But I don't know
anything more about the situation."
"I understand," the half-elf replied. Her voice was quiet.
"I've never been close to my relatives, in fact I haven't been home for
many, many years. But they are still my family."
Scully's face was soft with understanding. "Jourdain and
Mulder will make sure no one else gets hurt. I'm glad Andalor is
responding so decisively."
Aldara agreed. "I just don't understand what is happening.
Tempers seem to be so short lately. Elves are always a bit
intemperate, but we haven't had interspecies tensions like this in
nearly a hundred season-cycles. And there's no reason for it now.
Things have been good since the Dark was defeated seven season-
cycles ago."
Mulder rubbed thoughtfully at his chin. "I'm afraid that
there IS a reason for it," he said cryptically.
"What do you mean?" Scully asked.
"I'm not sure, love, but I think there's something behind all
of this - that it's being created to serve someone's interest." Mulder
shrugged his shoulders, though his mouth tightened. Scully could
feel the tension in his mind and body, and she reached instinctively
out to him with reassurance. His eyes were warm as they settled on
her upturned face.
"But how?" Aldara questioned. "And who?"
"I don't know," Mulder replied. He shivered slightly. "But
whoever took Drellor this morning was very powerful. Reinald
didn't know the spell used - it was complicated and difficult,
requiring a great deal of power, training and control. What disturbs
me the most is that the power felt...evil." He frowned, reaching for
the words. "It was foul, made me feel dirty even at a distance."
Aldara reacted with horror, while Scully was simply
concerned. To the woman from a world without magic, it was still
the stuff of fantasy. But to the half-elf, magic was a natural, and
frightening, part of her world. Growing up talentless in a family full
of magicians had sensitized her to the use and misuse of the power.
It had been difficult enough for her to learn to live with, and come to
care for, Blue Mages like Reinald and Mulder who utilized their
abilities only for good, and refused to cause harm to others. The
concept of a powerful Black Mage was terrifying to her, and though
she tried to hide her fear, her skin bleached pale below its sun-
hardened tan.
Mulder immediately regretted his words, and did his best to
reassure her. "This is all supposition, Aldara. A guess. It may well
be that it's simply my imagination at work." He smiled ruefully, "It
usually functions in overdrive."
Scully smiled at that, though she had learned over the years
together that, as wildly imaginative as he could be, Mulder's
intuition was uncannily accurate. She had little doubt that he would
be proved right in the long run, and the possibility scared her. When
Mulder started getting *feelings* of this sort, bad things tended to
happen.
Further conversation was halted by a sudden shout of
Mulder's name. A tall, slender young woman whose thick black hair
was coiled into a pair of tight braids ran towards them, a delighted
smile on her angular face.
"Mulder! I mean, Taabsut Mulder," Shannon still stumbled
over the Realm's reliance on titles and protocol, but her respect and
affection for her guardian was heartfelt - and fully returned.
"Hi Shannon," Mulder responded, turning to welcome her,
grinning boyishly.
"Have you come to watch me practice? Are you going to
practice with us? I learned this neat new move - I can show it to you,
if you like."
Mulder chuckled. "Another time. I'm afraid I'll have to take
a raincheck."
"Oh," her face fell briefly, then recovered quickly. "Okay.
But you can stay for a while?"
He shook his head. "I'm sorry. Actually, I'm here to say
goodbye."
"Goodbye?"
"Jourdain and I have a job to do for the king. There's some
interspecies fighting going on in a village north of here. We're
riding up to adjudicate the case."
"Oh," Shannon looked upset, then she brightened. "Can I
come?" she asked with adolescent fervor.
Mulder couldn't help sharing a smile with Scully. The
sullen, angry teenager who had come with them to the Realm had
slowly been replaced by this happy, glowing young woman over the
past few moon-cycles. As she became accustomed to the life here,
she had begun to develop both confidence and enthusiasm, and had
even begun to accept her aura-designated place in this society. As
her skills as a fighter increased, so did her trust in herself and the
people around her.
"Another time," he told her fondly, but firmly. "This could
be a difficult situation. And we need to get it solved as quickly as
possible." The corners of his mouth turned slightly upwards,
warming the strong planes of his face. "So I can hurry back here and
learn those moves from you."
She looked disappointed, but accepted his decision
philosophically, not really having expected to be included. "I'll stay
out of the way," she offered as a last attempt to change his mind.
Scully intervened. "You have a great deal of work to do
here, Shannon. Particularly with your sword-handling. "
Shannon grimaced, then shrugged. "Yeah - okay." She
looked up at Mulder, mentally delighting in the fact that she was
near to his height. A few inches taller than Scully, she was still
growing in sudden spurts. "I'll miss you," she told him gravely.
"I'll miss you too," he replied. He reached out to her, and
she responded by hugging him tightly. Then she stepped back and
calmly pointed her forefinger at him. "Be careful," she admonished.
"Yes, ma'am," he bowed his head to her. She grinned and
spun around on her booted heels to race towards her friends who
were already assembling in the center of the field.
Mulder glanced over at Aldara. "Keep an eye on her."
Aldara smiled. "We'll keep her too busy to even *think*
about getting into trouble. But I agree with her. Be careful, Mulder."
"I will, and I'll have Jourdain to look after me. And
speaking of your husband..." Mulder looked over Aldara's head at
the big form approaching them with characteristic steadiness.
Aldara turned to follow his gaze, and her entire face lit up. Excusing
herself with a quick smile, she stepped away to meet him a few feet
away.
Scully watched the large man enfold his diminutive wife in
his arms, leaning backwards instinctively as Mulder wrapped his
arms around her. She wriggled around in his arms until she was
facing him, and immediately burrowed her face into his chest. The
wool of his cloak was rough but warm against her cheek and nose,
and she gratefully drew in the smell of him. Herbal soap was mixed
with leather, colored by a slight, unfamiliar musty odor, and the
clean masculine scent that was all his own.
His arms tightened around her, and she closed her eyes
with pleasure. Instinctively, she tilted her hips to press herself up
against him, molding the slender curves of her body to the lean
strength of his. As she moved, she felt his response, both physical
and emotional wash over her, his body hardening against her belly,
his mind overflowing with a mix of love and desire, wistful regret
threaded with excitement.
//Dana.\\ His mind caressed hers while his mouth nibbled at
the crown of her fiery head, then traced down the line of her temple
to her cheek. She lifted her face, not bothering to open her eyes,
letting him read her desires without speaking them aloud.
A gasp was caught in her throat as he gave her all that she
could have wished for, at long last claiming her lips with the
insistent pressure of his. She clutched at his shoulders and he
supported her, devouring her lips, her mouth, teasing at her tongue
with his. She drew him in and held him there, almost as though she
were trying to literally meld their flesh together. And he sought that
contact as eagerly as she did, the knowledge of their separation
adding a flavor of desperation to their lovemaking.
Scully had never been one to put their relationship in the
public eye, and neither was Mulder, both choosing to guard their
privacy. But now, knowing that they were facing time apart, the
need to be together - to join their bodies as they joined their minds -
was intoxicating, demanding, pushing aside all recognition of their
surroundings. He could have lowered her into the dirt of the practice
field and torn aside their clothing, and she would have welcomed
him. Wrapped her legs around his back and dug her fingers into
him, screaming out her pleasure into the open air.
And mind-to-mind, indeed, they made love - the joining
more spiritual than physical, a shared sensation, wrapped in layer
upon layer of imagination; memory and dreams spun into a web of
psychic reality. Scully moaned aloud as he tasted her throat, licked
at the hollow beneath her chin, drew long, elegant fingers down the
length of her spine. Her own hands tested the familiar planes of his
back and shoulders, then slipped upwards to tangle into the silken
darkness of his hair. As he matched her with a low groan of his
own, the sunlight caught on the sapphire stone set in the heavy gold
ring on his right hand, sending out an unnoticed blaze of blue fire.
Her own ring gleamed in brown and green before it was
obscured by his hair, the warmth of the metal less still than the
warmth of her sun-bronzed skin. And the color less than the bright
coppery glow of her auburn hair. His hands threaded through the
thick coils, threatening to dislodge the tight braid from the top of
her head. Even through the whirlwind of their passion, she felt the
heavy braid shift and loosen causing her to laugh as she reached up
to grab at his wrist.
"Stop that!" she told him sternly, though her blue eyes were
dancing as they met his. He grinned unabashedly, his mind finding
and focusing on a memory - an image of her sitting up in bed, hair
curling loose around her bare shoulders, picking up reflections of
the firelight.
//I like it down.\\
She almost blushed at the image, though the emotions that
accompanied it - pleasure, delight, appreciation, sexual desire, and
above all, love - made her heart beat even faster in her chest. The
blood rushing in her veins, she gave him a slow, loving smile,
generous red lips curving over white teeth, dimples forming in her
cheeks.
//It's not practical when I'm working.\\ The slight chiding
tone was underwritten with amusement and satisfaction. He
responded by framing her face with his hands. His thumbs rubbed
gently at her temples, then ran down across her cheekbones to her
mouth. Her hands clinging to his upper arms, she remained still as
he ran the edge of his right thumb over her bottom lip. Slowly, he
bent his head down towards hers and licked at that lip.
She sighed, her mouth opening in invitation, but he
restrained himself to the single caress. He repeated the pair of
gestures with her upper lip, her nose, her chin, then aimed for her
earlobe. "Eeeewwww," she giggled, pulling away as he thrust his
tongue deep into her ear.
Mulder chuckled as she mock-frowned at him, then joined
him in his laughter. He silenced her with a gentle kiss, then pulled
back again to stare down into her upturned eyes.
//I love you.\\
//I love you,\\ she responded, sending the thought on a wave
of emotion. Instantly, they were again kissing, touching, clinging to
each other, lost in an intense wave of passion. Unaware of the world
around them, and the man staring at them, one hand outstretched,
his mouth half-open in aborted speech.
The small woman by the big man's side was less restrained.
Moving swiftly, she reached out to grab their arms and tugged hard.
Even so, it took a moment for the entwined pair to respond.
Breaking apart abruptly, they both turned towards the unwelcome
interruption, and blushed, a wave of color creeping over both faces
in unison.
Aldara let go of their arms, and placed her hands on her
small hips in a gesture of mock-impatience. Behind her, Jourdain
was staring at them apologetically, though with a glint of
amusement in his eyes.
"Sorry to interrupt you," Aldara said, "but we do have a
class to teach."
"Class?" Scully turned to see the entire group of students
watching them, many of them barely managing to stifle giggles
behind their hands. "Uh oh," she whispered, cursing her tell-tale
coloring even as her skin managed to blush more furiously.
Mulder chuckled into her ear. "Looks like we've got an
audience." She frowned up at him, but couldn't keep up the
annoyance for more than a second. Especially not now. Scully
glanced over at Jourdain, then back at her lover.
"You have to go." It was more of a statement than a
question, and one that Mulder confirmed quickly.
"Yes." He leaned down to steal one last, quick kiss. "Take
care of yourself, love," he whispered, reluctantly stepping back. She
reached out to grab his arms and hold him just a moment longer.
"You too. Mulder, please...be careful and come home
soon." Worry flickered onto her face, and he instantly tried to
reassure her. With a gentle smile, he cupped her cheek. "I will. I'll
be home so soon you won't even realize I'm gone."
She essayed a tentative smile, closed her hand over his and
drew it to her mouth. Placing a kiss on his palm, she finally released
him and stepped back. Turning to Jourdain, she wished him well.
"Have a safe trip, and take of him for me."
The big captain nodded seriously. "I will." He looked over
at Mulder. "We'd better get going, I would like to get to Wishalla
before nightfall."
Mulder nodded. He reached out to touch Aldara's shoulder
in a silent goodbye, then he fell into step beside Jourdain. The two
men strode across the field towards the stable, pausing on the edge
of the enclosure to briefly glance back at the women they loved, then
hunching their shoulders, they disappeared from sight.
- - - - -
Scully herded the students back into their places, feeling as
though every eye was burning into her back. Once Mulder was gone,
the passion fled with him, leaving an empty sensation in the pit of
her belly. He had been absent for less than a handful of breaths, and
already she ached for him. That sense of need was only aggravated
by the embarrassment flooding her, as she realized that all of her
students had witnessed her impassioned, and unfortunately very
public, goodbye to her bondmate.
If only they could have had some time alone... but what was
done was done. Scully squared her shoulders, then reached for her
sword. After all, everyone already knew about her relationship with
Mulder. Auras were easily read by most Realm denizens, and though
Scully had only recently begun to see them herself, she realized that
the lifebond was clearly visible to anyone with an eye to see. Still,
the implicit nature of the relationship embodied in that psychic aural
bond was a bit different from acting it out in front of twelve
teenagers, all of whom were supposed to be looking to her for advice
and training. Like a wedding ring, anyone seeing the lifebond would
know they were sexually involved - but there was a level of privacy
between that implicit knowledge and seeing it acted out in public.
She sighed under her breath as she led them in some basic
exercises, hoping she hadn't done too much damage to her position
as instructor, totally unknowing that the primary emotion most of
the students had felt was simple envy.
Lifebonded to a Mage - and not just any Mage, but one who
was young, handsome, and extremely talented - Scully had no way
of knowing that this was the subject of many a young woman's
fantasy in the Realm. Since it was *never* done, it held the flavor of
the forbidden, which only made the dreams sweeter and more
tantalizing. To see it realized in front of them elicited a flood of
emotions, envy mixed with awe, jealousy with respect, and a strong
dash of curiosity to flavor the mix. Add in her own unique talents,
warrior and healer talents in one person, and she would never have
to worry about losing their attention or their admiration.
But Scully, lost in her own thoughts, was hardly aware of
the looks she was receiving, or how those emotions were fueling the
fires within them. Focusing on the demands of the sword training,
she pushed them, and herself, harder and harder - demanding all
they could give.
For a while, all went well. Even the difficult-to-please
Aldara was nearly smiling with satisfaction. They spent a
candlemark rehearsing the basic moves, moving in unison, thirteen
blades slicing the bright spring air in steady, convoluted patterns.
Then they paired up again, in two rotating semi-circles, each student
clashing briefly with the one facing her, then spinning sideways at a
shouted command.
Around like two interlocked wheels they went, until finally,
something broke. Florgin moved to take Shannon's place with
Yurka, only to find the two combatants still squared off, breaking
out of formation to circle each other warily.
Yurka was still suffering from the earlier humiliation at
Aldara's hands, and it hadn't been difficult to transfer the rage to the
tall, foreign girl. Shannon held an enviable position as Mulder's
niece, and her close friendship with King Andalor was fodder for
castle gossip. To the angry, humiliated troll princess, she became a
living symbol of all the forces arrayed against her in her own mind.
She hated looking up to the taller humans, and though she never
would admit it, she was deeply homesick for her forest kingdom.
The knot of pain and bitterness welled up inside, then
abruptly exploded, when she found herself unable to keep up with
Shannon's agile quickness. Her green skin deepening in color, she
let out a cry of rage and charged blindly, only to find herself
stumbling past her taller opponent, Shannon's sword tapping lightly
at her back.
"Wolf dung!" she cursed, recovering her balance and
hefting her sword. This time, her fury was cold and concentrated.
She deliberately led Shannon into believing the next strike would
come as the last had done, but this time the small, powerfully
muscled troll was prepared for the human girl's side-step and she
spun on her heels and thrust back-handed at her opponent. The tip
of her blade slid under Shannon's guard and struck against her
abdomen, slicing into her green tunic and drawing a few drops of
blood.
Shannon cried out, bringing her own sword around hard,
the impact of it against Yurka's iron blade reverberating up her arm
and through her slender frame. The troll felt the collision too, but it
only spurred her on. Slicing through the air with massive strokes of
her heavily-muscled forearm, she struck out at Shannon, forcing her
to yield ground.
Blood oozing from the sharp gash in her belly, Shannon's
temper frayed and then gave way. Her eyes blazed as she finally
stood her ground, but it was just a moment too late. Yurka's
momentum carried her onward, a violent thrust and shove sending
Shannon tumbling to the ground. Growling, Yurka knelt down onto
Shannon's chest, drawing the silver-edged blade down against the
girl's exposed neck. As though at a distance, she could hear Aldara
and Scully's voices screaming for her to stop, but that seemed only
another reason to take her revenge.
Shannon felt, more than saw, the sharp edge of the sword
fall towards her throat. Blood rushed though her veins, her head
pounding, her senses screaming. She felt like she was on fire, as
though an electric current was rising from the ground itself and
coursing though her entire body. Something seemed to give way
inside her mind, and then there was a bright flash of blue light,
blinding in its intensity. An instant before her sword would have
pierced Shannon's skin, Yurka was thrown upward by that burning
blue light, her body twisting in mid-air, her mouth caught in a silent
scream. Below her, Shannon gasped for breath as energy drained
from her body in one abrupt rush, then left her lying limp and nearly
senseless in the dirt. Simultaneously, the blue envelope holding the
troll suspended in mid-air shimmered and then disappeared, leaving
its hapless prisoner to tumble to the unforgiving ground.
When Scully and Aldara converged on them, both troll and
human were laying sprawled on the ground, limbs outstretched at
uncomfortable angles, only the rise and fall and their chests
indicating life still stirred within.
"GET UP!!" Scully yelled. Mulder had been gone for barely
a couple of candlemarks, but she could feel his absence scratching at
the edge of her awareness. Without him she felt incomplete, empty,
and that internal ache was only exacerbated by the mix of emotion
stirred by their very public leave-taking. She felt sexually frustrated
and deeply embarrassed at the same time, and abruptly, her
tumultuous emotions exploded in a flash of anger. Reaching down,
she grabbed both semi-conscious students by their tunics and shook
them hard.
Ignoring the wide-eyed stares of Aldara and the other
students, Scully lashed out with a vehement tirade towards both
Shannon and Yurka, even though both were in no condition to
listen, much less appreciate the lecture they were being subjected to.
Finally, Scully's flood of words faded off to silence, and she dropped
them both to the ground with a groan of frustration. Stalking away,
Scully let Aldara and the others tend to Shannon and Yurka's
physical wounds, while she stood by herself, shaking, trying to
regain her control.
What in the Realm was wrong with her?
End of Chapter Two
THE DARK QUEEN
The Magician - Book Three
by Jennifer Lyon (Jenni10647@AOL.com) and
Suzanne Bickerstaffe (Ecksphile@AOL.com)
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
See the Prologue for detailed Disclaimer and Author's note. The X- Files
belongs to Chris Carter, the Realm, all of the other characters, and the
remainder of this story are solely our own invention, copyright 1996.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
Chapter Three
The necessarily slow pace on the narrow path gave Mulder
ample time to dwell on the purpose of their mission, as well as on
his own ills. Shifting impatiently in his saddle, he gathered his
Mage-cloak more closely around him, for once grateful for its bulk.
He let his horse follow the others along the pitted and tortuous trail
through the cold, dank forest as, hunched miserably, he rode lost in
thought.
They were finally nearing Fawnleaf, the village where
Aldara had been born and raised. An ancient feud concerning
boundary lines and water rights between elven Fawnleaf and its
neighboring human village, Cresscreek, had been resurrected from
the depths of time. All the old stories of inequalities and past
transgressions had been dredged up. For almost a full moon-cycle,
fights had broken out between the inhabitants of the two villages in
market towns, taverns - indeed, anywhere that the feuding villagers
met. The situation simmered, each incident getting a little more
violent, each occurrence growing in the telling, until finally serious
bloodshed broke out. A human mob had marched on an elven farm
near a boundary line in question, burning it to the ground,
slaughtering livestock and seriously injuring the farmer as he tried
to escape with his family. On the heels of the mob's attack, ugly
rumors of a plan for revenge by the elves of Fawnleaf had made
their way to Fairwoods. Andalor had no choice but to react swiftly,
before more blood was spilled.
Mulder arched his back and rolled his head on his neck,
trying to ease the tension there. He had jumped at the chance to
accompany Jourdain, relishing the opportunity to contribute to the
peace-keeping efforts. He also wanted to get to know Urielle better.
While two squads of troops accompanied them on this mission, they
were not to be used unless all other means of controlling violent
outbreaks failed. Andalor in laying his plan was relying heavily on
the presence of Urielle, an elven priestess, to convince the beings of
Fawnleaf that revenge was against the most-cherished tenets of their
faith and would serve no purpose.
If that failed, Mulder knew that he would be the next one
up to bat, with a showy display of magic that was designed to make
the feuding villagers think twice about furthering their dispute.
Mulder pulled his cloak higher on his neck. Of course, it seemed
like a much better idea yesterday. A night alone on wet, cold
ground huddled under soggy blankets had literally dampened his
enthusiasm, and he was missing his bondmate terribly. Now he was
tense, jumpy and longed only to get back to Scully and their big high
warm bed. He shivered at a sensation like an electric current
running just beneath his skin, at once stimulating and irritating, like
pins and needles. He rubbed his hands together, trying to rid
himself of the strange sensation that had been building for hours,
then he looked around distastefully. The drizzle had let up at last,
but the canopy of overhanging branches still dripped with cold
moisture and shielded the sun, casting the forest in a pervasive
gloom. Even the ring Andalor had given him, gold with the clearest
Mage-blue stone, seemed to have lost its sparkle and hung on his
finger, heavy, cold and dull.
Urielle rode just ahead, protected between himself and
Jourdain. Even Mulder, not very accomplished at the art, could see
her aura; a soft golden glow with a wide border of blue. She was
endowed with more than the usual elven share of magical ability,
and might have developed that talent further. But from childhood,
she had known that her destiny was to live as an example to her
people and practice the ancient rites of her faith. She was even
tinier than normal for an elf, with long flaxen hair which covered
her pointed ears. Crowning her hair was a wreathlet of lashella
vines, a plant used in her worship ceremonies. She was clothed in
the simple, stark white finecloth shift and cloak which marked her
as a priestess. Riding on the back of one of the massive Realm
horses, she radiated an overwhelming sense of serenity which in
itself brought some comfort. It was reputed that when she spoke,
her deep sense of peace was communicated to her listeners. It was
just this sense of calm that the peace mission hoped would spread
among the warring villagers.
Usually Urielle dwelled with her sister priestesses of the
age-old Beyfahla faith in a remote part of the Fairwoods Forest, held
sacred by the devout. But she had been conducting the Spring
planting rites in Yellowfork, a village far to the south, when
Andalor realized that her presence might very well secure the
success of the mission. Reinald had reassured the terrified but
fascinated Yellowfork Mage in the steps to constructing a Gate.
Fortunately, the young man was an able student and together, they
safely transported Urielle to Fairwoods Castle in time to join the
peace mission. Everyone's highest hopes were that she would
prevent further bloodshed, not only in the feuding villages to the
north, but everywhere in the Realm that such hatred was festering.
The way I'm feeling, thought Mulder grimly, I hope that
Urielle CAN do it all. He was wound up like a watchspring, and the
rigors of diplomacy were the last thing on his mind at the moment.
He tried to communicate with Scully again, and again he failed.
Something was interfering with their communication - it shouldn't
be so difficult from such a short distance away. Maybe it had
something to do with the strange sensations he was feeling. He
consciously tensed all his muscles and, taking a few deep breaths,
tried to relax them. But it was an exercise in futility; he remained as
wound up as he was before. Sourly, he prodded his horse in the
flanks to hurry it along.
The path finally began to widen into a clearing. A few
hundred meters further on, the muddy track became a road paved
with cobblestones leading into a small village. As they passed, elves
looked up sullenly from their work and stared. Still grasping their
tools, they followed the horses to the meeting place of the elders in
the village square. A grim assemblage of older men came out of the
thatched cottage to meet them as Jourdain, Mulder and Urielle
dismounted.
"Away with you! We have no need of a lecture from a
human king telling us how to behave."
Mulder's expression darkened and clouds began once again
to obscure the setting sun. Head throbbing, he was more than happy
to take a step back and let his companions take charge of the
situation. Let them deal with the ungrateful, bloodthirsty little
buggers, he thought. But Jourdain was already glowering and
historically had little patience for diplomacy at the best of times.
Urielle returned Mulder's gaze and appeared to be looking to him to
speak and preserve the fragile calm. Bowing to the inevitability of
the situation, he cleared his throat. Summoning all his control to
override his mood, in a soft respectful tone the Mage said, "There
will be no lecture, honored elder. We bring our condolences for
your recent afflictions and Urielle, priestess of Beyfahla, who will
help you to heal. The king wishes you only peace. He offers his
assistance in bringing this sad conflict to a close."
The elders seemed taken aback by Mulder's almost humble
manner, but quickly returned to their aggressive stance. The chief
elder's lips thinned into a scornful smile. "Word of your journey has
already reached the ears of the human garbage of Cresscreek. We
have it on good authority that they are on their way here now, to
enlist you humans in their cause. We have dwelled on this earth for
many years and are not easily fooled. If the king is offering his
assistance, it will not be to the favor of elven Fawnleaf, of that there
can be no doubt."
Solemnly Mulder shook his head. "My message to you
stands, honored elder. The king has not taken sides. He only
wishes for the bloodshed to end."
"Well, we'll soon see. But they will not find us
unprepared," the elder replied coldly. "You've come on a fool's
errand, Mage. Why don't you go back to where you came from and
mind your own business?"
In a sudden rush of anger, Mulder took a step toward the
elder, towering over him. The elves closest to the Mage retreated
quickly, less because of the look in his eye than the appearance of
his aura, which was flaring in white-blue all around him. A startled
Jourdain looked over at the Mage. Although blind to his aura, he
could see that Mulder was furious, an emotion he had rarely
observed in the young man. He braced himself to be ready for
anything. The elves on the outskirts of the group now crowded in,
determined to be in a position to retaliate against the king's men
should any attack be launched against their elders. Forcing himself
to regain control of his frayed nerves, Mulder stepped back slowly,
de-escalating the threat against the elders. A few moments of deep
controlled breathing, and his aura glowed clear blue and the sky
once again began to clear. The elves all breathed an involuntary
sigh of relief, for however angry they were, no one had any desire to
be on the receiving end of the Mage's temper.
Breathing his own sigh of relief, Jourdain looked around at
the growing number of elves who encircled them, all holding
scythes, pitchforks, hammers or some other tool which could all too
easily become a lethal weapon. "Bashar, come here." The squad
leader urged his horse over to his captain. "Take your squad and
ride out on the road to Cresscreek. Escort their party here. And
mind - keep an eye out for trouble. This mission could turn into a
disaster if there is an ambush on the way here." Bashar nodded
curtly, gathered his troops and galloped off.
There was an uncomfortable silence as the group from
Fairwoods Castle met the glowering stares of their elven hosts.
Mulder felt uneasy, like something was missing, and then
remembered that they had been in the village some minutes now and
none of the customary - indeed required - etiquette had been
observed. His anger swirled again, causing fire to spark in his eyes
while his aura again flamed outward in brilliant azure waves of pure
energy. The elders instantly backed off a quick step, then exchanged
fearful glances. At a nod from the chief elder, they scurried to
distribute tea, first to Mulder and Urielle, and finally to Jourdain
and his remaining soldiers. Then they seated themselves on the
stone benches in the square, leaving their guests standing. This was
another deliberate slight, another serious breach of Realm etiquette,
and all eyes were turned to the Fairwoods party to catch their
reaction. The tension was mud-thick, and a low grumble was
starting amongst the remaining squad of soldiers and soon echoed in
the mob of elven villagers. With a glance, Jourdain quelled any
sound from his troops. Grim-faced, Mulder caught the captain's eye,
both men ready for action if the situation required it, indeed, almost
hoping for an excuse to knock some sense into the elders....
Looking down, the Mage observed Urielle, who was
concentrating fiercely. Eyes focused on the distance, it appeared
that she was both blind and deaf to anything around her. Within
seconds, the air felt less highly charged and those around her
seemed to relax a bit. Even Mulder felt a lightening of his mood,
and almost groaned in relief as the knotted muscles in the back of
his neck relaxed a little. One elder, and then others, invited the
Fairwoods party to sit. Somewhat chastened, they began to speak
with their guests in small groups. Urielle let out a long shaky breath
and staggered slightly. Mulder grabbed her arm to support her frail
frame and led her over to sit on a stone bench. "Nice work," he said
softly, seating himself next to her. "Have you always been an
empath?"
She turned to him, questioning. "An empath?"
"Yes. An empath is someone who can discern the feelings
of others and affect them in some manner," he explained. As his
own tensions lessened and the irritating sensation beneath his skin
became more bearable, his burning curiosity took hold.
Urielle gazed at him serenely. "Yes, since I was quite
young. All priestesses have the ability to some degree. I've had to
practice it, to learn to perfect it, of course, and as you can see it takes
a lot out of me. But when the conditions are right, I can adjust
attitudes to be a bit more...cooperative."
"And what are the right conditions?"
"I must intervene early." She sighed. "If there is too much
violence, too much hatred and evil and negativity, if there are too
many people experiencing those sensations, it's just too difficult to
fight against. I try to adjust the mood first, then speak. That's what
I hope to do here. Please the Goddess, it will work." She surveyed
the elders and the crowd. "There is a lot of hate here, I can feel it.
But there's something else as well, as if this is being superimposed
or forced...." She shook her head and looked at him with an
apologetic smile. "I can't explain it."
Mulder opened his mouth for another question but was
interrupted by hoofbeats. Moments later, several large wagons
rumbled to a stop, escorted by Bashar's squad. Scores of humans,
armed with tools and knives, poured out of the wagons and filled the
north side of the square. Three older humans strode threateningly
up to the Fawnleaf elders. Jourdain motioned to his troops who
drew their weapons as he and Mulder leapt between the adversaries.
The startled humans took a step back.
"All right. All of you! Anything that you're holding - put
it down now. Elves - place your weapons over by the well. Humans,
throw them in the back of your wagons. NOW!" Jourdain's growl
left no room for argument. With resentful glances, the crowd did as
he ordered. "See that you continue to behave yourselves. Is that
clear?"
There was a rumble of petulant assent. "Now, you will give
your full attention to Urielle, priestess of Beyfahla."
Mulder lifted the tiny elf onto the base of the battle
memorial raised to commemorate those who fell in the war with the
Dark Creatures. He watched the sullen crowd and his expression
darkened. Turning to Urielle, he noted her anxious, puzzled
expression. "What's wrong?" he asked in a low voice.
"I think.... There's...." She stopped and began again. "I'm
not sure I can do this," she whispered, her eyes focused on the
distance. "The hatred - it's so strong, so unnaturally strong, it's like
a wall of black stone. I'm not sure I can get through to them."
"You have to try, Urielle," he urged desperately.
"I know." She took a deep breath and concentrated all her
thoughts toward calming the hundred or more angry beings before
her. She was silent for several minutes, trembling with the effort
she was exerting. Finally she opened her eyes and in a low, rich
voice, began to speak.
"Good beings of Fawnleaf, good beings of Cresscreek.
Listen to me, then listen to your hearts. This hatred, these
transgressions against your neighbor - these are not the actions of
the hard-working, Goddess-loving people of these villages. Look
deep into your souls. Not so long ago, you were as brothers, fighting
against the Dark Creatures and the terror and hardships that they
brought with them to our land. Look upon this memorial and think
of the many who bravely sacrificed their lives so that you could live
in peace. What has happened, my children, that now you fight your
brothers as savagely as you once fought those beasts? Can any of
you say that your brother poses so great a threat that you must take
up arms against him?"
"No, my children, listen to the teachings of the Goddess
who walks amongst us still: take not arms up against your brother,
for surely you are taking them up against yourself. Make your heart
peaceful and show to everyone only your joy. Revenge is an unholy
act, condemned by the Goddess. In her wisdom, she knows that
revenge brings only more blood and hate. Follow the teachings of
the Goddess. Do not sever yourself from her wisdom and love."
The crowd had lost their angry, resentful expressions and
were now listening to Urielle's low melodious voice, rapt in her
message. Mulder noted with alarm her pallor, the beads of sweat
standing out on her brow. In spite of her seeming serenity, the
tranquillity of her message, she was pouring out enormous amounts
of energy. He hoped she would be able to keep it up - whatever she
was doing, it was working.
Suddenly, a bloodcurdling shriek cut across Urielle's words.
Harnessed to one of the Cresscreek wagons, a pair of giant Realm
steeds reared up, eyes wild with terror, hooves flailing the air and
nostrils flaring. A second later, they were tearing toward the crowd,
the wagon veering madly behind them, flinging discarded weapons
across the square. The screaming crowd scattered in all directions,
trying to get out of the way of the charging animals and their lethal
cargo, crashing into each other and trampling the fallen underfoot in
their panic. Jostled by terrified beings running for their lives,
Urielle lost her balance and fell from her perch on the monument,
rolling helplessly into the square. Her eyes widened in horror as she
saw the stampeding horses scant meters away and bearing down on
her. In a flash, Mulder scooped the nearly weightless body of the
priestess into his arms. Stumbling from the momentum of his
action, he made it to the other side of the square holding her to his
chest. Then, sweat blinding his vision, he tripped. Still protecting
the tiny priestess, he rolled as he fell heavily onto his right shoulder.
As the wagon tore by, he managed to get her under him and
protected by his body from the debris flying in its path.
Almost unnoticed in the panic, two of the Fawnleaf elders
went down under the wheels of the wagon, their shrieks of terror
and agony drowned out by the mob.
- - - - -
Scully bent stiffly to pick up a misplaced swordguard where
it lay in the dirt of the practice grounds. Automatically, she wiped
the grime from the guard with her tunic before handing it to Aldara
for safekeeping. The students had been dismissed early today from
the practice grounds. Although Aldara and Scully had seen to it
that Yurka and Shannon were widely separated throughout the
morning and afternoon exercises, it was clear that the concentration
of all of the students was more on yesterday's fracas than on today's
drills. And the auburn-haired warrior had to admit that her
concentration was not all that it should have been either. She
missed Mulder, missed him terribly. She had gotten little sleep the
previous night, almost physically aching for her bondmate. She
finally gave up trying, and had spent the rest of the night restlessly
pacing the battlements. Between Mulder's absence and the trouble
yesterday....
Shannon and Yurka had come close to killing each other.
What had possessed Shannon to retaliate like that? For that matter,
what had possessed her opponent to launch so savage an attack in
the midst of a practice session? There was a general undercurrent of
unrest that Scully had noticed for several weeks with some
discomfiture. Perhaps both Shannon and the troll had been
influenced by it. Of course, it still didn't explain the girl's
inadvertent use of magic.... While she thought, Scully absently
massaged her shoulder and stretched out her back muscles,
grimacing as she did so from the soreness in her body.
"Are you all right?" Aldara looked at her friend with a
worried expression. "You look - I don't know - strange."
"Of course I'm all right," she snapped. Scully shook her
head, then immediately regretted the action as the pain behind her
eyes increased exponentially. "Aldara, I'm sorry. I don't know. It
started yesterday, a little while after Mulder left. I'm just in a lousy
mood, I guess. Worrying about Mulder, worrying about the
situation between the species. And now trying to figure out what the
hell's going on with Shannon. I feel like I could jump out of my
skin. Maybe I'm coming down with something," she said
doubtfully. Or I have the Realm's worse case of PMS, she thought to
herself. She willed herself to relax. "Never mind. Forget it."
"Why don't you have dinner with us tonight?" suggested
Aldara, sympathetically. "We're both alone, with Mulder and
Jourdain being away. And Lita said she was going to make kalarna
tonight - a traditional elf dish from a recipe that's been in her family
for generations. You know, as much as Lita loves me, I still haven't
persuaded her to divulge that recipe. Come to think of it, I guess
that may be just as well, all things considered." In spite of her
previous bad temper, Scully suppressed a laugh as her friend's face
clouded with bemusement. Aldara's cooking was legendary for
some truly spectacular failures. After each failed attempt, after the
flames had been doused or the mess cleaned off the walls, Aldara
had always protested that she had done exactly as the recipe had
directed. Her forays into the art of cuisine had dwindled lately, to
the relief of her husband. "Either eat it with me or eat it alone - Lita
always makes double and sends the rest for you and Mulder anyway.
In any case, it will do you good to get a hot meal inside you."
Scully smiled gratefully. "I can't promise how much I'll
eat, but I certainly could use the company. If I stay by myself, I'll
just dwell on how lonely and miserable I am, which is what I did all
last night. I hate it when Mulder goes away...." Her voice trailed
off and she seemed far away for a few minutes.
"Scully?"
"Hm? Oh, sorry Aldara." She shivered. "Come to think of
it, a nice hot meal sounds pretty good right now."
"Great," Aldara smiled. "There is a small price to pay,
however. Do you mind if I ask your advice about Daanna?"
"I can't claim to be an authority on childrearing, but I'll do
my best," replied Scully. "More problems?"
The two women strolled companionably the short distance
from the practice grounds to the small cottage that Aldara shared
with Jourdain and their daughter, Daanna. Mulder and Scully had
recently helped them to build another extension to the cottage.
Daanna now had her own room, complete with fireplace, at the
opposite end of the cottage from the older extension which housed
her parents' bedroom. The large main room, which had once been
the entire dwelling, now functioned only as kitchen and living area.
Aldara had furnished it simply but comfortably. Her flair had been
in decorating with wonderful hand-loomed tapestries. During her
recuperation from her war injuries, she had found much to her
astonishment that she had a real gift for the art of weaving. Now
her creations graced her home and the homes of her closest friends,
who were delighted to have them. In Mulder and Scully's quarters
alone hung three of Aldara's original tapestries, the scenes depicting
some of their most cherished memories together.
Entering the warm cottage, Scully sniffed the air
appreciatively. Lita looked up from a pot she was stirring on the
hearth to smile her welcome. On the hearthrug, Daanna played with
some blocks, her small face frowning in concentration as she built
her tower. Weary, aching, Scully sat at the table and gratefully
accepted the mug of tea that Lita placed in front of her.
"Dinner is ready for you, my chicks. Daanna and I have
already eaten, so we'll go prepare Scully's quarters for the night
while you have a nice chat. Will you come and help me, Daanna?"
"Yes! Yes, please!" The little girl leapt off the rug and ran
to the door, eyes sparkling. "Bye Momma, bye Scully."
With a wink at the two friends, Lita and the child went out
the door. "You should say Warrior Healer Scully, Daanna." The
door closed on the remainder of her words.
"Was that prearranged, or is Lita a mindreader?" Scully
asked Aldara with a smile.
"In this particular case I spoke with her earlier, but I
wouldn't rule anything out where Lita is concerned," she replied.
She seemed undecided about how to proceed, so she rose and began
serving the kalarna, which turned out to be a whole roasted fish with
some kind of savory stuffing. She added some vegetables from the
pot and handed Scully a steaming plate.
She blew gently on the food to cool it before taking a bite.
"Mmm! Really unusual flavor, unlike anything I've ever had before.
It's good."
Scully had met Daanna when she and Mulder had returned
to the Realm. While it was obvious that Aldara loved her daughter,
it was equally obvious that it was not the usual mother-daughter
relationship. Aldara had been having a difficult time, not so much
with Daanna's behavior as with her reactions to Daanna's talents.
The child possessed many powerful gifts, apparent magical abilities
that made her mother very uncomfortable. Scully often served as a
sounding board for Aldara as the woman struggled to forge a bond
with her own little girl. If her friend was having a hard time
introducing the subject of the most recent problems, Scully thought
she would make it easier for her. "So - what's up with Daanna?"
Aldara made a gesture of complete bewilderment. "For the
most part, nothing. She hasn't had any of her foretelling dreams
now in a while, and she is a very sweet, very obedient child. Most
mothers would consider themselves lucky to have a child like
Daanna. And I do - I truly do consider myself lucky. But there are
times that she's just so strange - she looks at me like I'm not even
there, like she doesn't know me. Her mind can be totally elsewhere,
and I haven't got a clue what she's thinking about. Sometimes she
talks to herself, like she's - I don't know - but I can't follow what
she's saying, it's like her own language or something. She's been
having nightmares, too. Bad ones. Sometimes it takes a
candlemark or more for her to really wake up and be aware of her
surroundings again."
"Well, nightmares are something I do know about," offered
Scully, thinking of Mulder and their first night in the Realm when
they shared his nightmare. "Does she tell you what they're about?"
She shook her head. "No. I don't know if she can't say
what they're about, or if she just won't say."
"You think she's deliberately not telling you?" Scully asked
doubtfully.
"I don't know. I really don't know. But she spends too
much time alone, seeking out opportunities to withdraw, and puts
herself into a kind of trance or something, and I feel so cut off from
her. At night when she wakes up with the nightmares, she's
screaming 'No, No!' and struggles wildly until she finally comes
around. Then we ask her what the bad dream was, and she gets very
quiet. Scully, it's strange - sometimes she acts like she's as old as
the hills. She behaves more like - like Corvay - than a child of less
than five summers! She gets very self-possessed and says that
everything is all right now. That she will take care of everything
and that we can go back to sleep." Aldara threw her hands up in the
air. "I just don't know what to make of it."
"Have you tried a healer? If you're afraid of some sort
of...disquiet...of her mind, a healer might be able to help," suggested
Scully hesitantly. "I know as a healer in my world, there are
maladies which might explain Daanna's behavior." She shifted
uncomfortably in her chair and pushed her plate away, almost
untouched. Absently, she twisted the ring that Andalor had given
her around her finger. Its stone, normally a rich green and golden
brown cat's eye, looked almost black.
"Maybe. I think I've just been hoping that there really isn't
a problem. But Daanna seems more distracted every day." Aldara's
voice trailed off. "Also, I think I would want Corvay himself to see
her, and I haven't really wanted to ask him - he seems so frail
lately."
Head pounding, Scully thought about the diminutive old
elf. He was doing less and less healing lately. She knew what few
others in the Realm did, that Corvay was seeing Kyla daily, not to
teach but to receive healing treatments. She was worried about her
mentor. He looked like he was losing weight from his already spare
frame. "How old is Corvay, anyway?"
Aldara shrugged. "I don't know - I don't think anybody
does. He's just always been here. Even Reinald doesn't remember
him as being anything but old. I don't know - maybe a couple
hundred season-cycles?"
"Two hundred...." Scully was amazed. As a healer, she
could recognize the aging process, even retard it to a degree. But
when she thought about it, she realized that she didn't have the
faintest idea of the normal lifespans of any of the Realm beings.
"Actually, you look like you need Corvay or Kyla yourself,
Scully. Your hands are shaking and you keep rubbing your
shoulder."
"Yeah, it hurts like hell for some reason. I must have
strained it when we broke up Shannon's little fight with Yurka
yesterday. Why my hands are shaking I have no idea. I've tried to
look into myself as a healer since I started feeling lousy. I don't
know if it's because I'm not doing it right, or my concentration is
poor, or I'm missing something because I'm not sure what I'm
looking for, or what. I can't really detect anything wrong. I just
know that I feel strange. If I didn't know better...." She was silent
for some moments.
"If you didn't know better, what?" Aldara prompted,
looking anxiously at her friend.
"Well, I know in my world when Mulder and I were
separated by distance, after a while we would both start to feel ill.
But those were huge distances, and the symptoms were milder, and
appeared only after we were apart for several days." She rubbed the
skin on her arms, trying to dispel the odd sensations there. "I
started feeling tense and irritable when Mulder had been gone only a
couple of candlemarks. And he's not gone far - it's only a bit over a
day's ride. No distance at all, really, compared to our world. Our
communication's been affected, too. It's not really even
communication, it's more like vague sensations. I know I'm not
concentrating well right now, so that might explain part of it. But
from the images I was able to receive before it became nearly
impossible, my guess is that something is up with Mulder, too.
Aldara, I wonder - could these strange sensations actually have to do
with our lifebond? Reinald said once that it might."
"You know you should get it checked out. Let me go and
bring back Kyla."
"No! By the Goddess, Aldara, leave it alone!" Again,
Scully controlled her temper only with effort. More softly, her voice
shaking slightly, she said, "No, Aldara, I'll go there - tomorrow. I'd
feel silly sending for her, this isn't an emergency. If my shoulder
still feels bad in the morning, and if I'm still feeling out of sorts, I'll
go see Kyla. Thank you for dinner, Aldara. See you tomorrow."
She began walking to the door.
"Scully, are you sure...Scully!" Aldara cried out. She
sprang from her seat to catch her friend before she slumped to the
floor.
- - - - -
Moments later, the only sounds that could be heard were
the fading hoofbeats and clatter of the wagon. Dazed, the crowd
began to get shakily to their feet and assess their injuries. Sensing a
wriggling motion under him, Mulder began to roll, to free the
priestess from what she undoubtedly found an uncomfortable
position, both physically and personally. Agony seized his right
shoulder and he bit his lip to keep from groaning. He completed the
roll with difficulty and the priestess pulled herself to her feet.
Clasping his arm, he lay on the cobblestones, his face white with
pain under the streaks of dirt and sweat. Shit! A sprain for sure,
possibly a separation, he thought with startling clarity. Been there,
done that - and now I've gone and done it again. Scully's going to
kill me, he told himself ruefully. Damn it!
Suddenly, a scream was torn from the throat of an elderly
female elf.
"Evalto! Goddess save him! Evalto!"
She was joined by another. "Aieee! And Klasti! Help!
Someone find a healer! Quickly!" Two crumpled bodies lay
motionless on the cobblestones, and from all over the square the
cries of the outraged began to be heard. From out of the buzz of the
crowd, one voice was raised.
"Human filth!" The voice was thunderous, coming from so
small a figure as the old elf. His face was dark with hatred and
contempt as he jumped up on the monument to be seen. "Was it not
enough that you burned down Anosi's farm? That you attacked
him? Now you take advantage of our hospitality to shed more elf
blood? No more!" The clenched fists and furious call to arms began
to be taken up by others.
"Death to the humans! Cleanse our village of the human
scum!"
"Kill them - kill them all!"
"Remember what they did to Anosi - don't let them get
away with it!"
Then humans began to take up their own battlecries, as
ringleaders emerged to whip the Cresscreek villagers into a frenzy of
hate.
"Kill the treacherous elves!"
"Squash the pointy-eared little bastards!"
Were these creatures never to accept the idiocy of their so-
called cause? Clutching his shoulder, Mulder rolled to his feet as
Urielle leapt past him to a stone bench. With all the strength she
had left, she shouted, "NO! No, please, by the Goddess, don't do
this! It was an accident!" But her desperate words were lost in the
wave of violence, as humans and elves now scattered not for safety,
but to grab the weapons that had been strewn all over the square by
the rampaging horses. Mulder watched as she tried repeatedly to
summon her powers to dispel some of the hatred. But the bloodlust
was too strong. Her face draining of all color, she sank limply to the
cobblestones of the square.
Mulder ran over to her prostrate form and, grabbing her
awkwardly around the waist with his left arm, moved her into the
elders' cottage where she would be out of the fray. His ears
registered Jourdain's vain calls for order. When he emerged from
the structure, Jourdain was with his troops. They had maneuvered
themselves between the advancing mobs and were now struggling
fiercely to keep elf and human from each others' throats and not be
killed in the process.
He had had enough. The long, miserable ride. The
separation from Scully. The vain efforts of the little priestess. All
for nothing. All for these stupid, bloodthirsty creatures.
"STOP!" The ground shook with the power of Mulder's
voice and his aura flared with a blue-white heat. But despite the
inhuman volume of his command, the lines of villagers continued to
advance on each other, cutting into Jourdain's troops to reach their
bloodsworn enemies. Scythes and hammers danced in the air, about
to perform a grotesque ballet of death. Emotions of the populace at
a fever pitch and control close to shattered, Urielle would not be able
to help further.
Suddenly, Mulder felt something snap. The tension and
irritability yielded to a bone-deep anger at the hate, the waste, the
bigotry, the stupidity of the creatures before him, ready to spill each
others' blood. Centering himself, he gathered his powers together.
Lights sparkled before his eyes and his ears were filled with
a terrible roaring sound. Reaching deep within himself, he found a
tiny diamond-bright speck of light. He could feel his thoughts
coalesce into a single laser-potent beam and was lost in it, becoming
both creator and created.
In the cottage, Urielle stirred, hearing the shouts of the mob
outside. She got to her feet and took some deep breaths to stop the
room from spinning, then cautiously stepped outside the structure.
In the deepening gloom thirty meters away she was horrified to see
the mobs approaching each other, brandishing weapons and blind
with bloodlust. Then, closer and to her right, she caught sight of
Mulder, and was astounded.
Like most others in the Realm, she knew of Mage Mulder
by reputation as one of those chiefly responsible for saving their land
from the Dark Creatures. She had heard that he was a powerful
magician, and she had seen other Mages at work. But she never
expected what was taking place just a short distance away.
He stood stock still, a maelstrom of Mage-blue whirling
about him. His eyes were half open, with only the whites showing.
His face darkened by a scowl of concentration, his lips and cheeks
twitched as though he were carrying on a conversation with
someone only he could see. Slowly he raised his arms - his right
stiffly, awkwardly - and his graceful hands began to fashion small,
intricate movements. Between them suddenly appeared a tiny but
brilliant point of light. The illumination cast diabolical shadows,
transforming Mulder's usually mild features into something
terrifying and unrecognizable. Surely, thought the priestess, surely
anything that bright must burn like fire. The light became brighter
still as it grew in size, finally forcing Urielle to look away or be
blinded. Still Mulder's hands kept moving, as if shaping the terrible
light like molten metal in an unearthly crucible.
The sky darkened further and the blackness was split by
forks of lightning as thunder rumbled, shaking the very earth. And
when the thunder had ended, the earth continued to rumble, then to
pitch, throwing the feuding elves and humans from their feet. With
a horrendous cracking sound and then a roar, a split opened up
between the cobblestones of the square and widened into a crevasse
two meters wide, separating the two factions. Jourdain's men leapt
back, as each successive rumble of thunder was answered by another
deeper, more ominous rumble of the earth, and the fissure grew in
length and breadth, cutting the courtyard in two. Even the warring
villagers now stopped their frenzied efforts to join in battle to look
open-mouthed in awe at what was happening around them.
The storm intensified as a fierce wind whipped into little
maelstroms, tearing at their clothes, ripping their weapons from
their fists. Blue sparks popped like the sound of machine gun fire
around Mulder's body. Suddenly, the brilliance between his hands
grew a thousandfold against the black sky. With an abrupt motion,
he threw his arms high above his head, heaving the light from his
hands to hover twenty meters in the air over the combatants, where
it burst into an enormous fireball. Not one of Mulder "recreational"
balls of blue light, this was an inferno, huge, hot and lethal,
suspended by his powers over the battling village. The crowd
instinctively shrank back from the heat of it, gasping as they cringed
in like terror. Still the storm went on, now continuous lightning and
rolling thunder, the wind deafening the assemblage, the fireball
casting a hideous illumination over the cowering beings and the
crevasse down the center of the square.
Finally, when it seemed that the sound could get no more
terrible, Mulder made a quick motion, extending his arms in front of
him. There was a final deafening crash, followed by dead silence
except for the crackle of the flames suspended above the crowd.
Tentatively, Urielle approached Mulder. His eyes still
appeared to be rolled back in his head. His arms, though shaking
from the effort, were held out stiffly, his long fingers curved like
talons. He was deathly pale, so much so that the priestess anxiously
reached out a hand to touch his face. Reflexively, she yanked it
back, examining her fingers for burns, so hot was his flesh. He gave
no outward indication that he was aware of her presence. Gazing
wonderingly from him to the ball of flame over their heads, she
sensed a sort of mental nudge. Twice more she felt the sensation,
each nudge firmer, more urgent than the last, before finally she
understood. "You wish me to speak to them!" she whispered, awed.
Automatically she looked to him for some sort of confirmation, and
noted with alarm that he seemed to be straining harder to maintain
his spell.
Quickly she climbed once more up to the base of the
monument, this time unassisted except by her desire to do his
bidding before he was unable to hold the spell any longer.
"People of Fawnleaf and Cresscreek! See how you are held
in thrall, for you have broken your bond of faith with your Goddess
and with your brothers. No Mage of our world can work such
wonders, but with the help of the Goddess. She works through
Mage Mulder now to bring you this message. Your hate is an affront
to her, and your violence brings her great sorrow. Know you from
this time onward - your war is anathema to her and she is losing her
loving patience. If you turn from her love and protection, you risk
unimaginable terrors - horrors that make today appear as a gentle
summer rain. Accept her love, and love each other, lest you
abandon yourselves to those horrors from which you will not
escape!"
She cast a quick glance at Mulder. Tears mingled with
rivulets of sweat running down his cheeks, and he was trembling
violently now. "Good people - the Goddess will be watching you.
Go now in peace. Act as She would act and prosper in Her love!"
Silently, she added her own prayers. She was startled by a hand on
her arm and her eyes flew open.
Jourdain assisted Urielle down from the monument. "Get
back into the cottage, priestess. With the Goddess's help, they'll
heed your words, but just in case - "
With a silent orange flash, the fireball disappeared.
Seconds later, edges of the fissure in the center of the square began
to move closer together until with a final grating noise, the rift was
sealed. Slowly, the humans and elves in the square began to regain
the use of their limbs and voices. Jourdain watched carefully, finally
satisfied that the weapons were staying on the ground. Some of the
former adversaries were shamefacedly hugging or grasping each
other's forearms in a universal gesture of peace. Others were
silently gathering their families and going back to their homes.
Finally, a healer was attending the gravely injured of both species.
Grieving family members surrounded the bloody, twisted bodies of
Evalto and Klasti, but no cries for vengeance were uttered. With a
slight gesture he signaled to his men to help where they could and
stay alert for trouble. Then he turned his attention to Mulder.
The Mage stood, shoulders shaking, panting and gasping
for air. As if in slow motion, his knees began to crumple, and
Jourdain rushed to his friend's side in time to lower him gently to
the ground. The heat emitted from Mulder's body frightened him,
and he called to the healer, who quickly made his way over to where
the Mage lay.
"No, not yet," gasped Mulder hoarsely, holding the healer
at bay. "Is everything all right, has the fighting stopped?"
"Yes, Mage. It appears you are in the business of saving us
from ourselves as well as from our enemies." Jourdain took a corner
of his tunic and gently wiped the sweat and grime from Mulder's
face. "You are burning up, my friend. Are you ill?"
Weakly, Mulder shook his head. He was prevented from
having to speak by Urielle. "No, Captain, I think it results from his
magic - there was no sign of it before. But he hurt his shoulder
when he saved me from being run down in the square. And
Goddess knows what casting that spell has done to him." While the
healer finally began to probe, she held a beastskin of water to
Mulder's lips and he drank from it gratefully. Finally, choking a
little, he relaxed his head back into Jourdain's arms. He began to
feel comfortably drowsy, and after a time the pain in his shoulder
abated somewhat.
The middle-aged elf finished his ministrations and began to
speak. "Captain, I am Shasto, healer of Fawnleaf. The Mage has
sprained his shoulder. There is a lot of bruising and swelling, and I
have begun the healing process there. But his fever and other ills - I
am unfamiliar with their cause and am at a loss to explain them. I
have tried to make him more comfortable, but to effect any real cure
I would have to find the cause of his malady. And as to discovering
the cause...." He shook his head helplessly. "I've never seen
anything like it. If it has something to do with his powers, I fear
there is little else I can do for him."
Jourdain bowed gratefully. "Thank you, Healer. We
appreciate all that you have done." He felt Mulder tugging at his
arm. He looked down and saw his friend's hazel eyes looking at him
with something like pleading. Jourdain bent low to hear the words
Mulder could barely utter.
"Sc-Scully," he whispered. "Take me home to Scully."
He stayed conscious just long enough to see the old warrior
nod.
End of Chapter Three
THE DARK QUEEN
The Magician - Book Three
by Jennifer Lyon (Jenni10647@AOL.com) and
Suzanne Bickerstaffe (Ecksphile@AOL.com)
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See the Prologue for detailed Disclaimer and Author's note. The X- Files
belongs to Chris Carter, the Realm, all of the other characters, and the
remainder of this story are solely our own invention, copyright 1996.
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Chapter Four
The vulture circled lazily at treetop level above the swamp.
While it was not feeling the desperate gnawing of hunger in its
belly, neither would it pass up the opportunity to feed if one
presented itself. Dipping its wings slightly, it soared on a current of
air that took it to the darkest, dankest part of the swamp, attracted by
the scent of death that always seemed to emanate from there. It
spotted a small animal, several days lifeless, lying under some plants
and swooped down to investigate further. Landing on the boggy
ground, it eyed its reeking meal suspiciously. Instinctively it felt
uneasy and peered around, hearing the slither of serpents nearby.