ALIX OF DREAMS - CHAPTER 10

"Like strength is felt from hope, and from despair."
-- Homer, The Iliad

lackbirds swept low on the warm breeze that bent the grass about me. High wisps of white cloud diffused the sunlight slightly, giving the day a pallor I did not like, as if some vague evil had come to roost within everything in some insidious act of possession. The grass was wet, causing my feet to slip from side to side over the soles of my sandals as I climbed the low hill above the town.

Just ahead of me rose the silhouetted arches of several dozen wooden grave markers, looking like shadowy doorways to some darker, more peaceful realm. This was the place where the damned of men were buried, having had judgement passed upon them by men. As I drew even with the first of the markers, I could see that the words had been weathered almost completely away. All that I could read was the word vult... I searched my memory for the phrase. Yes. "Deus vult. God wills it."

There was a conspicuous lack of crosses among the inscriptions on the markers. The previous theological comment aside, at least the inquisition had allowed these dead to be free of the thing they had died to spurn.

This place was called the "Hill of Thieves" by the townspeople of Toulouse, though even thieves were allowed the courtesy of a burial in the town proper, provided they were Christians. The name was rather an ironic one, undoubtedly not lost on the men of the inquisition. Had Christ not been martyred with a thief on either side of him?

I wove my way among the silent messages until I found the one that I was looking for. No sod had been placed over the mound of dirt, but a solitary weed had already cropped up near the middle. The uncovered earth and the fresh, unweathered wood of the marker contrasted starkly with its surroundings. I read the concise message carved there: "Guillaume. 1290-1347." Nothing else. No testament to the man's knowledge, his strength, his wit. I hadn't expected more, but still it disturbed me.

I started to say a prayer over him, but it ended in uncertain mumbles, and at last I let it trail off into the wind. A painful lump began to form in my throat; I let it out, a single syllable of grief accompanied by one salty tear that found its way into my mouth. I waited for the rest, waited for the dammed up anguish to come flooding out.

It didn't. Instead, something more powerful and more welcome came to rest in my stomach: anger.

Nicolas had died as a victim; not as the man he had always been, taking the world only on his own terms, but in terror. Sometimes, when I closed my eyes, I still saw his screaming face.

Someone had planned his death. Though it seemed entirely plausible that they were just simple brigands, I had no doubt that Nicolas's killers were more than that. I had scrutinized the battle on the hill countless times in my mind, and I was certain that there had been a sense of purpose to their actions obviously beyond mere lust for gold. No, they had been sent, and by someone who feared us, for nine heavily armed men against two unarmed seemed like weighty odds. Had the enemy been aware of the greater forces at work within me, or had he simply been very thorough? I pondered this for a moment, then pushed the thought away. It would be useless to attempt to solve this puzzle now. I had too little information.

But at last my mind was working, was occupied by something more than the malaise that had come to characterize my thoughts and actions in the week or so since my meeting with the Inquisitor. An odd coldness now filled my head, clean and sharp, broken only by a single flame of pure purpose. Even if Nicolas' murderer were a god, I would see him dead.

* * *

The plain was entirely without features, a single giant tabletop of seamless slate. Dawn hung motionless just below the grey horizon. The freezing wind that pulled at my cloak shifted direction constantly. I waited patiently for a very long time before I finally called out, "I have come to speak with you. I have something that I must ask you." I waited again, and I thought I heard a question in the wind, but could not discern what it was.

"I said, I have something to ask you."

Nothing.

"I demand that you hear me!" The wind in my face choked back my words, so that I knew that they did not carry. I pulled my cloak closed against the chill. Was I heard? The wind seemed to be the only thing alive here. Yet I could feel that He was in this place, somewhere.

"Huh?" The voice came quite clearly on the wind, but seemingly from nowhere. "Who are you? What? Is it time for the end?"

"It is I, Alix. I have sought you out."

"What? Where are you? Where... am... I? I do not know you..." The voice felt right. I knew it was the god to whom I spoke, but He seemed confused.

"What has happened? Why do you not recognize me?"

"Go away from me, mortal man. I must sleep."

"Who killed Nicolas?"

The wind continued to blow, but although I waited, it carried no name to my ears.

* * *

Riothamus and I moved briskly through the cemetery, not speaking. I looked about me. The burial places here seemed very different. Low hills of almost identical nature dotted an otherwise flat plain. Each of the perfect half-spheres had become overgrown with grass, although many of them had been dug into or had collapsed with time, exposing hollow centers shored up with rough-hewn stones. I was not unfamiliar with such things, for I had seen them upon occasion in the travels that had brought me to Toulouse. Many of the ruined barrows emitted a ghastly blue-green light, revealing arcane symbols incised into the rock, much like the ones that adorned the less frequent vertical columns of granite which jutted alongside our path. These carvings tickled some half-remembered thing in my mind that eluded me as I grasped for it.

We were making for the ring of trees several hundred yards distant. Behind me, under two bright moons, was the main part of the cemetery that I was familiar with. I did not remember ever seeing this part, but I had always suspected that this place of my dreams was much bigger than it seemed. Things shifted position here, making it difficult to comprehend scale.

We both carried our weapons in our hands as we hurried over the uneven ground. Riothamus' head turned constantly from side to side, as if looking for trouble. Somewhere far away, there arose a canine howling.

When at last we arrived at the forest's ragged edge, Riothamus stopped. He peered intently into the gloom of the trees, then shot me a look filled with pure excitement and stepped into the darkness before I had time to question him. As my eyes adjusted to the shift in light, I could see a path twisting among the gnarled boles of black oaks. There was an occasional tension and snapping of heavy strands of web against my bare arms. I rubbed at them repeatedly as we moved as silently as possible along the path.

We had gone perhaps fifty yards into the forest when Riothamus abruptly threw himself to the ground. The next instant, I felt a jabbing pain in the back of my neck as sharply nailed hands dug into my shoulders. I clutched at the hands, trying in vain to loosen their grip. A tremor ran down my spine; I could feel fluid being sucked from my body in massive draughts. Spinning, I threw my back hard against a tree, once, then again. The grip on my shoulders loosened and I was able to elbow the thing away from me. I spun and thrust without looking as soon as I was freed, but the creature moved too quickly, evading my point by inches.

It was female and naked, small-breasted and thin, mostly human in form, but with red irises and long fangs. I spun again at Riothamus' shout, in time to prevent another bite on the neck from a male. Riothamus' sword was a blur of activity around him as he fought off three more of the things. I followed suit, diving and rolling to the left under a clawed swipe that was intended to remove my sight. I came to my feet swinging, gashing a forearm on the first stroke. My opponent fell back a little, holding his wounded arm, but the other moved in immediately. I was able to distance my enemies with well-placed strokes of my weapon. It looked as if Riothamus was doing the same. I wondered how long I would be able to keep this up. The things were very fast, and showed no signs of tiring. Many guttural shouts from several directions at once told me that it wouldn't matter soon. They hunted in packs.

I surprised my two attackers by reversing my defensive tactic and charging toward them. I kept my blade moving in a primarily defensive arc, but the two moved into range as one leaping into the air as the other stooped and attempted to trip me. Luckily, my headlong rush gave me the momentum I needed to carry me past them, to what I hoped would be a more defensible position. The shouts of the reinforcements were very close now. My hip came down hard against a tree trunk, but I tried my best to ignore the pain. I took advantage of the few moments I had gained by placing my back to the tree. I was now outside the circle that the creatures had formed, with my back protected. I could see that Riothamus was having no such luck, but he seemed to be holding his own, dodging and spinning constantly. The creatures that surrounded him stayed warily out of sword range. The few who darted in quickly for an attempted attack almost always regretted it. Several bloodied corpses already littered the ground at his feet.

I had now attracted two more of the things, in addition to the two I had been fighting before. One of the newcomers appeared to be larger then the others, a male who wore an oddly glowing ring upon one of his fingers. I guessed that this must be the leader, and I focused my next attack on him. He was even faster than the others. His claws caught me twice across the chest before I could react. I fought as fiercely as I knew how, feeling very glad that the others of the pack were hanging back, apparently content to let their leader take all the risk.

Throughout the battle I had been trying to bring some of what Riothamus taught me into play. While they were very fast, these creatures had no obvious tactical skill. Their mode of attack was unerringly uniform, relying on their own natural weapons. This one was no different from his comrades. His method of attack was a lunge with arms outstretched, in an attempt to pull me into biting range. As a result, he was not very good at fighting on the retreat.

I drove him backward, abandoning the relative safety of a defended back, swinging my sword in wide, whistling arcs intended more to unnerve than dismember. This worked better than I had hoped, for the creature was unaware of Riothamus' still whirling blade behind it. His blade came up in a backstroke at the same instant that I lunged forward, and the cries of the leader's fellows came too late to save it from a paralyzing blow to its spine. My weapon came up in a smooth arc and severed the thing's hand at the wrist. It clutched at the air with its other hand, emitting a gurgling scream of pain and rage, then fell and was silent.

The severed hand at my feet held the ring I had noticed before, shimmering almost mirthfully in the moonlight. The other creatures started to move in now, but more warily, watching me. To my left, Riothamus's attackers ringed him in, shifting from side to side, crouched with arms outstretched as if waiting for an opening to renew their attack. Riothamus stood stone-still, both hands on his sword's hilt, the blade's point resting lightly on the ground. His head shifted slightly from side to side. I knew that stance, and despite the numbers he faced -- at least eight of the things still ringed him -- he was most certainly in control of this situation.

My eyes shifted back to the shining thing at my feet. Some of the creatures' eyes were on it as well as they closed the circle about me. I chanced a quick stoop to pick it up, keeping my eyes on my attackers. The beasts froze.

I held my sword point before me, in line with the eyes of the nearest opponent. Riothamus turned and quickly took in the scene. "Well done!" He beamed happily and shifted into a relaxed position, resting his bloodied sword on his shoulder. "Take the ring from the finger. You can put up your sword, they will not be any more trouble to us."

I looked about me uncertainly. The creatures glared from deep set eyes, obviously still antagonized, but none of them appeared to be readying for another attack. I stepped back two paces and wiped my sword on the ground before sliding it home to its scabbard. I plucked the ring from the severed hand and looked questioningly at Riothamus. He nodded and I put the ring on my own index finger, the only one it fit. Riothamus motioned gruffly at the creatures that still ringed him, and they parted to let him pass. He motioned to me and I joined his side. We set off down the trail. my eyes shifting from side to side as we walked among the beasts. As we passed the last of them, I heard the sound of shuffling feet behind and realized that they were following. The skin on my back tightened, and I whispered through gritted teeth, "What are they, and why are they following us?"

"I will tell you later. Don't worry. They cannot harm us now."

We walked for several minutes, until the path widened and the trees thinned, then trailed off into a rocky crag, atop which stood the ruins of a castle. It shone white under the two moons, high crenelated walls topped by six round towers, two of which had fallen into partial ruin. It was high enough above the tree tops that I felt sure that I should have seen it before we entered the forest -- yet I had not. As we trudged up the rocky trail, I could see that it made several switchbacks between stone retaining walls, topped intermittently with massive stone urns, before arriving at a downed drawbridge. This spanned a deep moat, now dry. I thought I glimpsed the silver shadow-form of a fish, but when I looked again there was only dust.

We crossed the drawbridge, carefully navigating along its edges to avoid the large, rotted cavity in its center. The first gate had been broken and never repaired. Beyond it, an iron portcullis hung at a precarious angle. I stepped under it quickly, half-expecting it to come crashing down upon me. I looked back over my shoulder to see many pairs of feral eyes shining from just beyond the drawbridge. The creatures had not followed us into the castle's outer ward. Something white flapped from above me and out the gate -- an owl. I looked up to see a small square opening through which the edge of a moon peeked. A murder hole. Had I been an invading army and this some great lord's castle, I would no doubt be writhing in agony from the boiling water dumped on me from above. We crossed between thick walls, through the second gate, and into the main courtyard.

Little remained of the wattle-and-daub buildings that had once been built up against the stone inner walls. Various bits of refuse and pieces of broken cobble lay strewn about. Riothamus strode on across the yard to a large opening opposite. He seemed to know where he was going. Moments later, I joined him.

He lifted a cobwebbed torch from a sconce in the wall near the entrance and stared at it until it blazed into flame. Illuminated now was a large room with several doorways leading off into other passages. A wide staircase of wood ascended each of the two side walls, sweeping up to a mezzanine. I started toward one of these, but Riothamus steered me toward a wide doorway to one side. This opened onto a corridor, across which was the beginning of a spiral staircase winding its way up into the bowels of a tower. We climbed it, passed three landings, each with a closed door, and finally stopped at a fourth, the last. The staircase continued a dozen or so more steps past this and terminated in a trap door overhead. Riothamus ignored the trap door and pushed the side one open. I followed.

The room inside was round and cluttered, and for a moment I thought that I was back in the secret room of Lucien, for here was a room of wonders at least equal to those I had discovered in that place. Masses of books encircled me, ordered neatly on shelves that ringed the chamber. As Riothamus walked further into the room, his torch illuminated the upper area, where a mezzanine circled three-quarters round. Here, too, were more shelves of books, extending upward into shadow, silent, waiting to reveal their secrets. In the center of the room were several large, rectangular tables, all also covered with books, some of which were open and shrouded in a thick layer of dust.

One of the walls held two deeply set windows, unglazed and narrow, but with enough room to sit in the opening and look out over the world below. Many candle sconces dotted the walls, and more candles had been melted to the tables about the room. Behind one of the tables was a high-backed chair, almost throne-like in ornament and deeply padded. I went to this and sat before the tilted tabletop. Here the wax of many candles had been allowed to build up. I surveyed the room with my eyes, and a slow smile stole across my lips. Riothamus grinned in obvious satisfaction.

"Mine?"

"Yes, Alix. It once belonged to another, but he is long gone from this world, and forgotten by all but a few." There was something of regret in his voice.

"This will be your sanctuary. Here is all the knowledge you will need for some time to come. Those who wait outside will be a natural barrier against any who might wish to intrude. They cannot harm you as long as you hold that ring of power."

"Yes, this ring..." I held my finger up to the light and gazed at the circle of metal. The faint glow had disappeared. The ring now appeared to be made of plain, dull metal. There were no markings of any kind on its surface. "What is it? Why does it make them so afraid?"

"They do not know even a small fraction of what this thing can do, yet they fear it more than anything else in this world. It is a Valkan-Meer, and it is not really a ring at all. That is merely what it appears to be in this world. In yours it will have a different sort of existence."

My world. This world, with its shifting landscape and strange inhabitants, was fast becoming more mine than that to which I had been born. Here I was in control, at least as long as I let sleeping gods lie. In that other world there was only uncertainty and pretense, and the distinct possibility that I would be burned as a heretic or one possessed, or cast out as a madman -- that is if I were not murdered first.

Yet I knew that all of my true battles, the ones that mattered, would be fought in that place and not this one. This was, after all, still a dream, no matter how much I gained or lost from it. Now, I had gained a powerful tool, and I wanted to know how to use it.

"Will this...Valkan..."

"Valkan-Meer"

"Yes, Valkan-Meer, will it serve me in any other way?"

Riothamus hesitated and stared at me thoughtfully for a long second. "You have asked a question for which there is no answer. The ring is a living thing, not the inanimate object that it appears to be. Its use changes from one owner to the next. There is no set formula for its use, no way to summon its power that can be passed along. Some, like the one you took it from, never know its use, never find a way to unlock its secrets. It works for you when it so chooses, but it cannot act in a way that can harm you, though it may choose not to work at all, at a time when you need its help. Do not rely on it too heavily, for it is at least as undependable as the other from whom blessings have flowed to you."

I was disappointed and awed at the same time. Surely this was a thing that could give me the edge I needed to survive in the morass that my life had become, an augment to the power that I had begun to accumulate. But I could not rely on it?

I shrugged. Why should this bauble be different from anything else in my universe? Once again, all I really had to help me were my wits and my skills. I considered discarding the ring, but that would have meant giving up this place, and that I was not willing to do.

I went to the window and leaned out over the edge, looking down. Dozens of white ovals met my gaze, but it took me a few seconds to understand that I was seeing the upturned faces of the vampire creatures, staring silently up at me. I shivered.

"What are they? They seem to want something from me... I can feel it."

"They are simple things. They live on blood, taken mostly from small animals. They hunt as a tribe, down to the youngest of their numbers. But they were not from here, originally. They were brought here, and food is sometimes scarce since their master went away. That is why they attacked us. Under normal circumstances they would only have tried to warn us away from their hunting grounds."

"But who brought them here? And why?"

"I will not speak of him here, not in this place. It is best not to wake the dead.

"Come, there is more to see."

I followed him from the room and down the winding staircase. We followed the corridor for some time. Some of the doors stood open, revealing rooms full of broken furniture and decaying tapestries. Some of the furnishings had been shrouded in white linen, as if they could be saved from the slow and persistent violation of passing centuries. The floor of the corridor was mosaicked with a geometric pattern, sporting flecks of gold and silver. It had been mostly obliterated by time and the passage of heavy booted feet, but I thought I could make out the vague remnants of some sort of hunting scene.

The corridor ended in heavy oak doors, which stood open to a courtyard beyond. To the left and right were colonnaded walkways, their pillars made of some finely dressed stone. Directly opposite the doors were several low buildings, constructed against the facing wall and flanking a ruined gate. Strangely, from one of these buildings came the stamping and snorting of horses. I followed Riothamus directly to the stable and then inside.

This was small, with only three stalls, two of which were occupied. In the first was a large brown mare. In the second stall was a slightly larger dapple grey, a stallion, fire-eyed and snorting at us. Both appeared to be well-fed, though I could not imagine how this had come to be. For about the hundredth time, I had to remind myself that this was the realm of dream, as real as all of this might appear.

"We will now learn about riding." Riothamus had taken hold of the stallion's bridle. The stallion eyed him mistrustfully. "You are a decent enough horseman, although most of your experience has been on the backs of mules. Now we shall see just of what you are made, my friend!" I did not like the gleam in Riothamus' eye, but I led the brown from the stall into the courtyard without a word. Waiting there were two saddles of worn but adequate leather, along with bits, blankets and other necessary paraphernalia. I saddled the brown and Riothamus the grey, then I stood by while my work was inspected. Riothamus kneed the mare once, hard, while pulling the saddle strap harshly.

"Thank you for saddling my mount, Alix. Now, if you will sit your horse, we will begin." I had feared that this was coming. I eyed the stallion uncertainly for a moment, then with a shrug pulled myself up to the saddle, fighting a brief bit of vertigo as I realized how high off the ground I was. Wordlessly, we trotted through the gate and into the forest beyond.

* * *

Life in Gascon's house was tolerable. I studied hard, as was my way, but only in the more mundane areas of learning that I was familiar with. Gascon did not offer to reveal the secrets of the enigmatic lair above, and I dared not ask. He seemed to become careful, reserved when he was around me, as though to avoid scenes such as the one in the library that first night. But the hunger I had sensed in him did not subside. If anything, it became more intense, until he seemed to be made of nothing else. I knew that he wanted something more from me, but I feared to speculate as to what it was.

I was a fair match for his intellect, for I threw myself deeply into my studies in an effort to leave behind the tireless anger that resided just below my every thought and action. A hunger of my own burned inside of me, one that seemed like it would never be satiated --at least not until Nicolas's death could be avenged. Ever since my visit to the pitiful little monument that passed for Nicolas' memorial, I had felt something changing within me. I could not have identified it if I had wanted to, but the truth was, I took an odd satisfaction in sinking into bitter musings. This steeled me against all feeling, so that I felt impervious to the world and its cares. No mourning cloak did I require, nor sympathy. There was but one thing I needed now, and it would come in time.

Sometimes it seemed that Gascon recognized these things within me, that he saw and even approved of my anger, identified with it. I sensed a rage in the man that could possibly run even deeper than my own, and this alone frightened me.

Aside from all this, he proved to be a sharper teacher than Nicolas had been, and more demanding as well. Often, I would look up to see amazement in my mentor's eyes, surprise at the degree of my understanding. But this had little effect on me, for pride, like all other emotion, had slipped beyond the pale of my bitterness.

Nor could the soft hurt looks that I received from Isa penetrate the wall I had built around myself. I told myself that it was necessary, and the best thing, for to involve her in my secrets would end in her injury. I hardly ever spoke to her, and when I did it concerned some chore or another. I often ordered her about, demanding food or some other errand where I had no right to expect compliance, yet she would simply nod and obey, meekly, wordlessly. Each time this happened, I would tear at myself inside, swearing never to repeat the act. Then, before long, the black mood would come over me again, and again I would find myself wounding her.

Isa was not the only one affected by the changes in my mien. While Gascon had not known me well enough before to think my sternness strange, Riothamus seemed disturbed by the fury with which I assailed my learning. I visited the castle nightly, always finding him in the library, poring over some volume or another. Here I learned what Gascon would not, or could not, teach me. I learned of the relationships of the elements, of the nature of matter, of the effects of temperature on various substances. I delved into the workings of the body, how to make a recently dead heart beat again, and how to stop a healthy one with just the right touch, or with a liquid slipped into the drink. I learned of the philosophical teachings of the Greeks and the Romans, of Diogenes and the cynics, of history and the fall of ancient civilizations. I am certain that much of what I learned could not have been gotten anywhere else. Most of what I had learned of the dead civilizations of Rome and Greece had been glossed over, abbreviated. I found it hard to believe that this was accidental. I had been lied to, and often, and it was with a perverse joy that I learned that history repeats itself, and that the men who abuse power most often end up strangling themselves with their own greed.

Sometimes the night seemed nearly interminable. I would tire of learning from books and would drag Riothamus to the courtyard for lessons in swordplay, or for a ride in the forest. At these times I always pushed myself and my horse or Riothamus to every limit I could think of to try. It was with a satisfaction most grim that I began to see myself becoming the equal of my benefactor in the arts of combat and horsemanship. I buried the boy Alix, and with him the jumble of hurt pride and confusion and fear. I was now Alix of Dreams, something more than a man. Something much, much more.

Rio (as I came to call him, though I knew it did not please him) tried again and again to pierce my shell, but I refused to allow him access to the hatred that I myself was not prepared to release. Every time he broached the subject of my new found coldness, I managed to turn him aside somehow. The thought never crossed my mind, but I am sure that somewhere inside I knew that my single-minded need for vengeance was the only source of strength that I could still rely on.

Added to that strength was frustration, however, for though I had done everything that I could think of to find the answer to the puzzle, I had been able to turn up nothing. Both Riothamus and Gascon were unable to furnish me with any ideas, though the latter did offer support for my story that Nicolas had been killed by the Cathars. I thought this unlikely, however, because from what I knew of the Cathar faith, they were gentle people, more sheep than wolves. Still, these were unsure times, and even the meekest of creatures will fight when its life is threatened.

But there was no way I could prove or disprove that particular hypothesis; the Cathars were extremely elusive people, as the enforcement arm of the Church had found out. If the Inquisition could not find them, it was certain that I could not, at least not on my own.

And no help seemed forthcoming. The god was either asleep or dead, and, try as I might, I could not discover the secrets of using the Valkan-Meer. The only unusual property exhibited was one of presence upon my finger even when awake, though it was neither visible, nor tangible. It was simply that its weight was there, and I could feel the warmth or coolness of the metal against my skin. A novelty, yes, but hardly helpful.

So it was that every avenue of action was closed to me.

As time passed, the frustration that this caused grew stronger. I did the best I could to channel my anger into my studies, often times letting blind rage carry me in mock battle, when intellect failed and I grew tired of struggling against myself. Sometimes this worked against me and I lost control. But not always. It seemed that there was a place for rage, for more than once I saw with grim humor the consternation in Riothamus' face when I bested him this way.

It was one of these times that I finally began to see myself as I had become. Rio and I were riding in the forest, practicing swordplay from horseback. I became aware that one of the vampire creatures, a Sortii, had come to stand by the edge of the small clearing in which our horses circled and stamped. He waited patiently with his hands folded before him. As I wheeled my mount for an attack on Rio's flank, I noticed the supplication in the eyes of the Sortii. I tried to ignore him, as I had come to do with all of their kind, once I had gotten used to them, but something inside of me hated that need. I ended my elaborate maneuver and wheeled my mount hard, feeling the bit tear the horse's mouth. In one fluid motion, I rode down the creature and lopped off its head. I uttered a short laugh of triumph as I watched its head roll away. I imagined for a brief instant that it belonged to Nicolas's murderer.

A sound from behind me and to my left made me think that Riothamus had chosen this opportunity to strike at my unprotected back, but when I turned my mount to face him, he sat still in the saddle, staring at the ground where the Sortii had fallen. I saw the anger in his face and realized what I had done.

I turned back to look at the thing I had killed as a movement in the corner of my eye drew my attention. Looking up, I saw a female vampire, a Sortovii, standing a few yards back into the trees. On her face was a look of absolute horror as she stared at the corpse of her mate. Then, with a snap of her head and a long hiss, she charged toward me through the trees, eyes burning red. I watched in fascination as her tightly knotted muscles compacted and extended, pumping her body into a flight of incredible speed. I dropped my sword and shield on purpose as she struck, as her teeth embedded in my throat, her weight driving me from my horse. I wanted to die, wanted to find out if I could die in my dreams. I suddenly and completely hated my existence, hated the fact that I could not care anymore, hated everything that I had become. I hit the ground hard and liked it, loved the pain which filled me as my blood flowed like a river from my veins. The world began to go blacker than black, blacker than death. The pain ceased.

Awareness came back to me slowly. I could still feel the cold air flowing about me, the greater coldness of the ground beneath me. A weight was pulled from on top of me and I realized that I had been barely able to breathe.

"Must you draw me into your hatred?" The voice belonged to Riothamus. "Is it not enough that you punish these poor creatures in this way, that you must make me a part of your ugliness?"

I opened my eyes to see Riothamus standing over me, silhouetted perfectly in the middle of a gibbous red moon. It had not been that color a few minutes ago. I rolled my head to the side and saw the bloodied corpse of the Sortovii that had attacked me. I started to rise, but Rio's heavy foot pushed me back to the ground roughly.

"You are a blind fool, Alix. Your ring, the precious Valkan Meer has given you lordship over these beings, and they have come to accept you as their master. Yet you have never understood this. It has been a matter of months since you came to this place, and still you are too blind to see it. They came to you in need. They sought the wisdom of the Ring, and of the new lord of the castle." His foot lifted from me, but I did not get up. "Ah, Alix, what have you become? I would have let her kill you if it had been allowed." His foot lifted from my chest. I heard the crunching of leaves as he stalked away.

I lay on the ground for a long time, feeling wretched and alone. What, indeed, had I become? Was I mad from power, or was I just a victim of circumstance, as I had seen myself up until now? Certainly, I was a little of both. Whatever forces had kept me going until now fell away into oblivion and left me feeling empty. Overhead, the enormous moon hung in the sky, stained with blood, accusing me. It filled my vision, filled my head with grief, filled my heart with guilt.

I eventually arose shakily to my feet, dizzy from loss of blood, and led my horse back to its stable. For the first time in months, I felt weary. I had allowed my love of power to satisfy my frustration, had come to covet the thing I had been starved of for so long. Having been victimized by a god, I had not learned from it, but instead had imitated what I hated most.

I found Riothamus back at the stable, unsaddling his horse.

"Rio... Riothamus." He turned and looked at me. I could not bear the look in his eyes, so I bowed my head and dropped to my knees. "I am a fool. I have learned nothing. I am sorry."

Riothamus did not speak for some time. I looked up to see if he was still there just as he opened his mouth to speak. No words came out. He tilted his head to the side and watched me, then extended his hand and helped me to stand.

"I do not know what to say, Alix, and you know that for me this is rare. Ah, well, perhaps it is my fault. You came to me in a state of confusion, and I have done little to clarify anything." He raised one gloved hand and waved me still when I started to protest. I did not want him taking any blame for what I had become. He was the only thing that seemed to be perfectly in place, still pure and clean and virtuous. I desperately needed him to remain that. I could stand no more uncertainty now.

"For some time now, you have had some small idea of what is expected of you, of why you are here. And, perhaps because of the tenuous nature of your existence, you have striven to make sense out of it by giving yourself a new purpose: the avenging of your friend's death. How could I have not seen this coming? In their search for justice by the sword, men often revel in the power of their anger. I think it is the only way they can maintain the sheer endurance of will that such an undertaking requires...

"But you have to see, Alix-- such anger shrinks your universe, makes you petty. I am not asking you to forgive what has been done, or not to avenge it if it can be done. I don't have that right. But to let it tear at you, make you into this..." He put his hand on my shoulder.

"Riothamus, you have said... that you have not told me what I need to know. Will you tell me now? About myself?"

He sighed. "I would like to, Alix. But it is not something that you can know, not now, not if you are to succeed in what has been set for you to do..." I watched him, waiting for him to finish. He sighed again, turned his eyes to the ceiling briefly. "I will tell you what I can.

"There have been others like you. You are not the first who has been driven by the forces that propel you now. I and others like myself interpose ourselves where we can, and sometimes great good comes from what we do. This is what I am trying to do with you.

"Most of those who have been chosen have been men-at-arms. You are the first monk I have ever had to train. You are also my best pupil." He smiled, and though it felt odd and out of place, I could not help but smile back. "There is a reason for all that has happened to you, and you can rest in the knowledge that you will succeed."

"Succeed in what? Riothamus, why don't you just tell me? What harm can it do?"

"More harm than you can ever imagine." His voice was once again stern. "Do not ask me again. I have told you all I can.

"Now bring me that brush, the horses need attending."

As I reached for the stiff brush that hung on the wall, I noticed that the Valkan-Meer shimmered brightly upon my finger. I pointed to it and said, "Riothamus. The ring. What does this mean?"

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