My Writing Space

The Introduction:

The Black Widow Remembers

By Sarrin Blackthorne ~ the Black Widow

 

My days are now spent walking this small town. I sit in the square telling stories, old legends and myths from a time gone by, to the children of this village. They remind me so much of my own children, now long gone from me. The children here call me Old One. A title I am sure I have earned in this town.

           

            I wandered into this town looking for answers. I was trying to find a way out of the chaos that settles into the mind of the old. I found that here. In this small town and the beautifully old inn, I found more of myself than in any adventure I have ever had or forgotten. This town holds the magic of memory; the ghosts of days gone by seem to surround me here. People now long gone and events that happened so far from here, seem to happen daily here in my minds eye. The memories are clear and crisp with old age and hindsight.

           

            At night I sit by the fire of the Flaming Wench Inn, just an old woman now. Yet in the flames I see the faces long gone from me and I know my time is coming. I long to join them, to finally know that peace at last, to pass on and rejoin the cycle I have so long avoided. I watch my memories dance past me in the flames. Once in a while, I find myself echoing their words. But no one really pays attention to the mutterings of a lonely old woman beside the fires of her favorite inn. The locals all say I have had one to many pints in my day. But Rose, the young owner of the inn, knows I only drink from our well.

           

            Rose Forsyth is a pretty young woman with green eyes and curling red hair. She has an innkeepers build and she reminds me much of a good old friend of mine.  One I would lay down my life for anytime. Her great-great grandparents, Jason and Glenna Forsyth, would be proud of their family and the inn they started those many years ago. It runs still by their standards and is as welcoming now as it was then. It stands as a second home to many travelers.

 

Rose gives me room and board here out of the kindness of her heart. She even gives me my old rooms. She calls me "Grandmother" and indeed I knew her grandfather, and his grandmother, Glenna. But I was well past child bearing when Roses grandfather was born. However, their family has always been a strong and solid ally and friends with my clan, and with Rose’s temper, I can see a bit of my clan spilling over into her line. 

           

            She is as close to family as I will ever find again.  This is well enough, I am too old to be of any use to any family I may or may not have left. Those I knew and loved passed from this world a long time ago.  With as much as Rose looks like Glenna and her "cousin" Gwynyth Blackthorne, my family may have passed and returned to this world a few times by now.

           

            I know that my time grows short. I can hear the past calling to me to return to its cycle. I often tell Rose that I will move on soon, now that my tasks are done. I assure her that the Gods will smile on her for caring for an old strange woman in her final hours. I am leaving everything I have acquired through the years to Rose. She doesn't think much of it. But she has not seen the deeds and maps under my bedroll. She asks only for one thing.

           

            She wants an account of the memories that dance through her fires. A telling of ages past that no one else wants to hear. I will leave that for her. In the morning she will find this writing as the beginning of the Tales I have written out for her.

 

 

To Rose,

I thank you dearly for your comfort and generosity. For the love you have shown an old strange woman. Make the most of the things I leave you. All that I have is yours now. I ask only that my final rest be in a place filled with laughter and love.

 

To those who come after:

Hold strong to those who touch your heart. They become your clan, your family, and in the end… Family is all you have left. And nothing lasts as long as you feel it should.

 

 

*Please note that the following tales are from the mind of an old woman. Expect them to be out of order, and possibly a bit off, or incorrect. But they are my tales and all I have left to tell. *

 

A beginning … of sorts

Sarrin K. Blackthorne

 

I don’t know when it started. I only know that one day I woke up and realized that I was old and had forgotten all that I had known. It was frightening and I struggled to understand what had happened to me. I spent so much time trying to remember what the last clear memories I had were. But that only seemed to make it that much worse. The world became fuzzy and confusing. I wandered away from my home, unable to remember that it was mine. I followed false trails, convinced that they were memories.

 

I couldn’t remember enemy from friend from family. I searched for something I knew was missing at the core of me, something that came close to defining me. I knew if I could find it, whatever it was that I would remember. The days seemed to drift together. The more I tried to remember the more the years became a bitter blur. Names and faces seemed to run together. Some faces had several names; some names were faceless… always. I vaguely remembered speaking these names. I heard them in my voice. They felt familiar on my tongue. The reason eluded me.

 

            With some of these names came unspeakable anguish, like a knife cutting the soul. Some brought joy and unexplained laughter, but the joke was no longer there to be told. There were only half forgotten punch lines floating in what used to be my memory. Some of these names and faces brought with them flashes of buildings or rooms. I stumbled into this town, after so many years, following a road that looked like a thousand like it before. Praying to gods I no longer remembered for some inkling of hope, some familiar wall, a child, eyes that glittered like starlight, anything. Then it happened.

 

            I remember being here in this small town. I remember some places where I was young and there were children. They look the same now, these places, but the children have grown and gone. I can remember playing with a group of children, but now they are just faceless, voiceless shadows that fall from time to time. I remember loving the children of this village. I remember calling it home for a time. I remember defending it.

 

            Once in a while I see people who look familiar; their names tickle the tip of my tongue. They smile politely as they pass me, seeing only a strange old woman. They look so much like the faces in my dreams, but they are so different. Their voices stir the barest hope of a memory, like a half remembered dream. They tease me with their body language, so like those lost in the recesses of my mind. It is like grasping at something, only to feel it slip away from you forever.

 

            Somewhere between my dreams and my hazy memories, angry voices shout at me. Some accuse me of leaving them behind in a void of nothingness that is now my memory. Others shout of horrors and unspeakable acts I have left behind the faded mists. Some scream at me to join them and take my place in the beyond. My body begins to shake with the onset of emotions. This village is important. All the nameless faces scream at me from here. It is the center of the wheel. It is where I must begin my final journey home.

 

            As I paused for a drink from the towns small well, I see a face so familiar it is almost painful. The beauties of her face knocking the breath from me. Her red hair blinded me in the setting sun of the same color. The blood is pure and thick in her veins. I can hear the names of her family calling from ages past to meet in her. As she walks out of the inn pulling a small boy by the ear, I see the generations through her. With amused and attempted anger she scolds the young one for stealing her ale, telling him he is too young and lucky she doesn’t make him work off his theft. She sparks a memory and her name comes to my lips before I can stop myself.

 

            “Rose?” I call out questioningly, hobbling over to her and laying a hand on her arm. “Please, forgive an old woman, but I must know, Are you Rose? Have I found the Inn?”

 

            “Yes, Grandmother, That is correct, how can I help you?” She answers politely, cupping my hand in hers and leading me inside her inn… Inside the memories threaten to overwhelm me. I stumble under the weight of so many memories at once. I gasp and grab my chest, not because it hurts, but there is still pain there. I lean my head back and close my eyes. I let the memories wash over me. I whisper thanks to her as she seats me at a nearby table and brings me water. Meanwhile, my head spins with visions of days gone by. This place, is so familiar, the smell of the food, and the people. I have been here … a lot! I remember the table in the corner where I and my cousins would sit and laugh. Where we would plan and drink, where we fought and loved and lived … most of all we lived here. There was the wall we replaced because of the fire … that we caused.

 

            I am not sure who was involved but I knew it was here. When Rose comes back I am crying, I try to explain why but Rose stops me. She asks me what I need, how she can help me. I tell her I need to know her family name. I know Rose, child of Eleri, Child of Ciarra, Child of Glenna, Child of Kilaine, and Child of Gwynyth. I tell her that it is most important that she tell me the family name, as I have lost our clan and I can’t seem to remember them.

 

A single word, one name, and the barriers that held it all back shattered. Blackthorne. I ask her to tell me about her family, and as she did I stare into the fire. I begin to fill in some stories of her grandparents; they were family I most recently remember. In the fire I see them as children, their faces smiling at me, their names running through my mind for the first time in ages. We talk for hours, her telling me of the latest news about the world around us and I begin telling her of the horror of my last few years, the madness that overtook me. Finally, out of sheer exhaustion I begin to babble and slip into a welcomed slumber.

 

            Rose brings me food and slips me a key to an empty servant’s quarters, whispering that I should stay as long as I need to. Anyone who knows that much about her grandparents has to be family. She hugs my shoulders and goes back to her customers, leaving me to mumble into the fire. In the days that follow I agree to clear her tables and sweep the floors in exchange for her hospitality. Here I feel at home, or as close to it as I know I will ever get again in this world. But I am contented to wait here for the next world to show me the way into it. Perhaps I will finally be allowed to follow my clan into the beyond and rejoin the cycle. Perhaps this small town is my redemption after all. 

 

Childhood in the Manor

Sarrin K. Blackthorne

 

The Blackthorne clan had lived primarily in and around the grand city of Dishan for as long as history could remember. Also, for as long as history could remember it held the borders of Telenor Ri and Vonteck. It seemed to be the only stable part of the border, the rest of it ebbed and flowed like a tide. My mother’s manor was a day’s travel to the south of our beloved city. To the west, inside the borders of Telenor Ri was the small village that supported my mothers estates and our favorite past times.

 

Telenor Ri was a mixed kingdom, we honored all the elder races and welcomed the younger ones with a hope for what they offered the future of our world. Vonteck was a state of purists and the elder races were offended that anyone would accept the younger races so easily. They held the belief that humans, and their other short lived cousins, were little more than animals and should be treated as such. Vonteck, who was primarily draconic offspring and elven, bought and sold the younger races as livestock.

 

Our Country, and a few others, held the belief that all races with conscious thought were capable of progress and growth and it was the duty of the elder races to teach and guide the younger ones and learn as much from them as possible. Our clan was of mixed blood already and we accepted the younger races and their cultures as we did our own.

 

We were a large clan and made up the most of our little section of the kingdom. Our clan Chieftain, Lord Blackthorne, was the equivalent of what the humans would later come to call the baron of our lands. He ruled by a counsel of mixed blood and belief, His position was hereditary, and his mate was usually Lady Blackthorne. There were cases in our history where the Lord and Lady were not married, but they have always been of the blood and at least close relatives.

           

            There were a lot of children in the manor when I was young. I was the middle of seven children. We had one older brother, Galen, whose father had been Lord Blackthorne and whose mother, Lady Blackthorne, had died shortly after his birth, many believe it was the mixture of the blood in Galen that caused his mothers difficulties in childrebirth. Galen the elder was a Selkie, and his wife, Avandra, was elven. After the death of his first wife, Lord Blackthorne announced that he would not name another Lady Blackthorne. Which left our ruling counsel without a matriarch until his son chose one.

 

Shortly after this announcement he married our mother. Galen the elder died a few years later and our mother then married our father. Galen looked much like his father, He was tall and broad-chested with chestnut hair and emerald eyes that shone with mischief at all times. With the death of his father, Galen began to be trained to take his fathers position as Lord Blackthorne, the clan patriarch and chieftain. My mother treated Galen as if he was one of her own, and he was the apple of her eye. He was our guardian, our protector, and our antagonist.

 

Our father, Micah, was a council member and had a prominent standing in our community. He was young for an elf, being only 80 years of age when they married. He had just inherited his position on the council and his position and inheritance left him to be the second in command to our young Lord Blackthorne, who was only 40 years old himself.

 

            Our mother, Sarai, was an Elf of mixed elder blood and she knew promise and power when she saw it. Having lost the ability to become the next Lady Blackthorne, she sought out the next closest thing. Micah had little experience with anything in life and he loved our mother til the day he died. He was a loyal husband and devoted father all his life.

 

I was the youngest of triplets, a thing very uncommon in elves. Many took it as a sign of wealth and prosperity yet to come. Others thought it an evil omen. With the way we all turned out, I have never been sure which theory was correct.

 

Selina was the oldest, with her brown hair and sapphire blue eyes, even as a child she wore her hair in braids, weaving things into the braid for decoration. Selina dressed in flowing clothing that moved with her as if by magic. She usually wore clothes of her own design. She was the apple of our fathers’ eye and his obvious heir. He groomed her for that purpose and she took to it. She learned strategy and tactics, and she loved it.

 

Selaith came next, within seconds really, as if she raced Selina out of the womb. Selaith was blessed with hair the color of corn silk and eyes that shone like emeralds. Even as a child she understood the advantages of beauty. She always had the finest clothes and attempted to wear our mothers’ jewelry. Our father referred to her as his precious gemstone, for she was cold as stone and as beautiful to look at.

 

A few hours later, I was born; my mother always said it was because I didn’t want to be part of a multiple birth. I never had much in common with my sisters. My hair was black and long even at birth. My eyes were amethyst colored. I dressed how they told me to dress and I studied what they told me to study. But when left to my own devices I followed the older kids mercilessly. I delved into the magical arts as much as I was allowed.

 

All twins have a special bond, one that no one can explain. Selina and I had it. Selina and Selaith had it. Selaith and I were rivals from birth. It is one of the great regrets in my long life. We were always so distant from each other.

 

Between us triplets and the youngest daughter, Torcha, there were two more boys, Michael and Trivon. They both had black hair like mine and blue eyes. They both were gangly young boys who never looked quite comfortable in their bodies. They were typical second sons and little was expected of them. They were twins and used it to their advantage every chance they got. They were in trouble a lot, most of it included me. They dabbled with me into the magical arts.

 

Torcha, the youngest of us, was spoiled, and pampered by her siblings. She had deep red hair, unlike any of the rest of us, and her eyes were a dull green, they didn’t shine with the gemstone quality like ours did. She was born late in our mother’s life and there was a lot of rumor and conjecture about the nature of her birth, but those were quickly squashed and their originators usually disappeared rather suddenly. Our father never tolerated any implication of disloyalty amongst the family.

 

 She was little and lithe all her life. She learned everything quickly, absorbing knowledge like a sponge. We taught her the best of everything we knew and covered for her every chance we got, all us, except Selaith. Selaith was highly jealous of Torcha’s popularity and was resentful of her unusual appearance. None us had her hair color, and Torcha found it more of a nuisance then anything else. She wore it in a clumsy braid and forgot it most of the time. She was the baby and we all loved her. And (unfortunately) treated her like a baby most of her life.

 

My mother spent a lot of time and energy making sure that my sisters and I had a proper upbringing. We were educated in scholarly pursuits by a wonderful tutor named Me’lzar, though he asked us to call him Mel. His blonde hair was shorter than anyone else’s that we had ever met. His eyes were a different shade of blue, as if the heavens had loaned him piece of themselves at his birth. He had a military build with a scholars grace. His race was never quite known and he often assumed the look of the elves or humans depending on his (Or our) moods. But we were sure he was one of the Elder races.

 

He was a kind man who gave us all his attention and answered all our questions as if he spoke to an adult. Probably more truthfully than mother would have liked had she known. He treated us as if we were his equals and always made time for us, regardless of what he was engaged in at the time. From Me’lzar we learned mathematics, geography, and political policies of all the different crowns and nations. He frequently would sneak us into council meetings if we were interested and explain all that was happening.

 

            The 7 of us were raised and schooled together as equals. Mother took great care to never show favoritism or bias by age. Father however took great pride in Selina as his first born. He loved us all and he made sure we knew it. But she was his personal heir. He personally taught her to command, to negotiate, to run a family and estates. She learned along side of Galen, how to maneuver people and trades. Selina took great joy in this. Father hoped she would earn the title of “Lady Blackthorne”. But Selina never really had an interest in leading troops or clans, just the tactics and knowledge for her own little “raids”. Our fathers extra attention made her feel unique in a family that didn’t have time for itself let alone all 7 of us.

 

            We were taught the art of sword play by a retired mercenary named Mathan Silverthorne. He was a veteran of wars past and his loyalty to our family was well known. He was more of an uncle to us than a tutor. His appearance and build hid his age very well. His hair was a light enough brown that the grey was hidden most of the time. His eyes went from a laughing hazel to the deadly draconic amber in an instant, whenever the opportunity for battle presented itself. He usually showed up at the manor looking as elven, or human as anyone else in the place. But he was quick to anger and would unconsciously breath smoke through his nose when frustrated.

 

He taught us how to defend ourselves, both with and without swords. He taught us a lot of other things I am sure mother would not have approved of had she known. We were not the type of family whose young women frequented bars and brothels, yet Mathan was convinced that in order to truly defend ourselves, we must be aware of the kinds of people who were in the world. Which we would never see all of in the Manor

 

             Galen and I became Mathan’s favorite pupils when we were dragged home from his favorite inn by their bouncers for using a drunken halfling as a mace in a bar fight and setting the bar ablaze when we “accidentally” spilled a great amount of alcohol on him and twirled him over the torches. Galen and I preferred Florentine, one long sword, one short, but given the opportunity we were always willing to improvise with whatever was handy.

 

            Selina excelled in single sword play, becoming Mathan’s favorite sparring partner. They fought with the same pattern and style, the same grace and reflexes. As if the sword was an extension of their arm. Selaith’s chosen field was hand to hand, or close combat with daggers, she preferred her opponent to be surprised and off guard. Michael and Trivon preferred the quarter staff

 

            Torcha hid in the shadows until she was sure she was forgotten, and then she would pounce out and strike, disappearing again before anyone knew what really happened. Our father found her skill exceptional and found her private tutors and shipped her off to be trained. The day she left she was so excited she barely looked back at us before climbing aboard the ship. She was 11 years old. Mathan was dismissed shortly after that as we all began to show our prowess in different areas. Our parents decided that individual tutors were best

 

            We were each made to study with mystics for at least 4 years. Our tutor for this was an elf from the capital city, Teleraih named Vel Ka’lor. From him we learned herb lore, reading, writing, and various religious dogmas. At the time nearly every court had mystics in it, and our parents felt we would benefit from understanding the different cultures. Vel was also a retired soldier, but you would never know it from the look of him. He wore robes most of the time, which carefully hid the muscular physique underneath. He carefully shaved his head every morning and had a bard’s voice. His sparkling blue eyes showed great emotions, usually mirth, even when his stern face showed nothing He had been in the same wars as Mathan and had studied with Me’lzar.

 

 

Vel taught us everything we were willing to learn. Some things my mother would not have approved of if she had known. He was always telling us that in order to understand other cultures we had to start with their beliefs and magicks. It was these things that determined how a people would react and embrace the world around them. It was Vel that allowed our dabbling into magic and mysticism and he encouraged us often.

 

When Michael and Trivon were 13 years old Vel took them to study with the mystics’ full time. They went to study the ancient lores, the mysteries and the bardic arts. It was years before I saw my brothers again. And when I did they were not the same people. Vel would show up now and again as his kind was famous for doing. However, he would never tell me, no matter how I begged or bribed, what became of my brothers. He would only smile and told me to figure it out for myself. Then he would wink at me and go about the affairs of state.

 

I was heart broken without my brothers, and my connection with Selina was unbreakable, but after a particularly loud argument with Father about the differences in their plans for her life, she decided to go her own way and people naturally followed. She had run off with a group of Fathers soldiers and started her own mercenary band. Galen had grown into his title by then and Torcha had found her calling in life. Selaith had never enjoyed life at the manor and had moved back to our house in the city proper where Father stayed most of the time.

 

That left me alone with the tutors and livestock. Given these choices, I found myself with my two remaining tutors often. I learned everything I could convince them to teach me. In the little town just west of the estates, Me’l, Vel and I often met with Mathan and spent our hours hunting the woods around town, stalking through the forests in pursuit of bandits and miscreants who dares to wander into our lands. Until, matters in either D’shan or Teleriah drew the men back into affairs of the state.

 

Left entirely to my own devices, I spent as much of that time as possible with my cousin Gwynyth. Her skill as an assassin had developed early and her family had paid a large amount of money to see her skills honed and perfected. Well, her father had, her mother was never very sure what Gwynyth learned from the mysterious tutors who would show up randomly and leave just as unnoticed.

 

 Gwynyth had long blood auburn hair which she wore up usually and continually wore mens clothing. A style I quickly copied much to my mothers’ dismay. I became very close to Gwynyth, and in her found the sister I lacked with my own siblings. I learned everything from Gwynyth I could. We were inseparable for many years

 

In the summer of my 20th year, a raid on the estates brought my happy home to an end. Galen led his people to safety as a strong leader should have, the estates were a summer home and not meant for permanent residence. My mother, however, loved them and stayed in them year round. When the raid happened and Galen led the clan back home where they belonged, my mother refused to go. This was her home and she would defend it. With her, Galen left a small contingent.

 

I packed my things, wrapped up in the cloak Mathan had given me; I headed south to find our wayward tutor or my cousin Gwynyth. I was sure that either Mathan or Gwynyth would defend my mother and my home. But finding them proved to be a life lesson in and of itself. Nothing in my life would ever be the same again.

 

The Boy from Kireag Nar

By Sarrin Blackthorne

 

            I was very young when I first left home. I was not as prepared for the outside world as I thought I was. I thought of myself as an educated Lady, a trained warrior … It didn’t take long to realize that having an education didn’t mean much while traveling alone through unknown lands. I had never ventured from my families manor before without some sort of escort or guard. It wasn’t long before I was lost and frightened.

 

I had heard rumor of Gwynyth in the area of Kireag Nar, so I headed there in hopes of catching up to her there. I reached the small town just before night fall and decided it best to camp in the woods outside of town and resume my search in the morning. At first glance, the town was not large enough to actually support a tavern the size of Gwynyth likes; I hoped that daylight would reveal a more suitable establishment.

           

The first time I met the young boy, He was playing beside a river. He was a human child. Almost a baby, he must have aged about five summers. He had dark brown hair that was nearly the color of the earth of the river bank. His skin was tanned and hardened with the sun, not pale and subtle like I was used to seeing in the older races. His eyes were dark brown pools, shining and reflective, almost mirror like. As I watched him from a little ways away, he seemed to be searching the river bank for something. He kept picking up rocks and skittering them across the river.

 

I, myself, was still considered an adolescent at the time and I had aged 16 summers. The elves, being one of the older races, aged differently and counted time differently than the humans. If I worked at it, I looked like a human who had aged about 14 summers. I was particularly good at looking human amongst my friends and family; unfortunately I was not among my friends and family. Here I was afraid and worried, my emotions were running high and my magics were affected by them. I was concerned that I would not blend as well as I had planned.

           

Suddenly his feet lost their purchase on the shore and he slid into the river. He screamed for his mother, but I could not see her. Feeling his fear, I acted before thinking. Diving into the river I pulled the young boy out. He coughed and sputtered against my chest while crying and clinging to me tightly. I softly cooed to him, reassuring him that he was safe. His mother came running frantically from over a small hill. Her face was pale with panic and eyes wide in fear. Her body was slow moving, as she was ripe with pregnancy. Her black hair was plastered to her head with the sweat of her brow. Her brown eyes were panic strickened and frantically searching the area.

 

Her gaze fell upon me accusingly. She took the boy from me suspiciously. After thoroughly checking over her son and ensuring that he was alright, she turned to thank me. I had turned to head back into the nearby woods, when the little boy suddenly grabbed my legs from behind. His mother was not far behind him. I was unused to interaction with humans, those I had interaction with were dignitaries or bar patrons. I was not entirely convinced my disguise would hold and mentally chided myself for acting so quickly without forethought. I smiled at her nervously and nodded politely. I hugged the child and began to pull away when she finally spoke to me.

           

"Stivan tells me you pulled him from the river. I thank you for saving my firstborn. I owe you a great boon. What can I do to repay you?" She spoke as if it was a duty and she feared the answer.

           

"Simply love him, kind woman. He is a special child and he will have great blessings in his life." I said off-handedly, trying to detach the boy from my leg and leave quietly. I nodded again and gently nudged the boy toward his mother. The woman narrowed her eyes and set her hands on her hips. It was a gesture that I recalled from my own mother. It was a posture that meant she didn't believe me. I also knew I wasn’t escaping this conversation that easily.

           

"What is your name milady, and where do you hail from, so, that I may spread word of you honor and generosity.” She questioned sarcastically, suspicion deep in her voice. My heart jumped into my throat at the thought of attempting to lie to this woman. She was a mother after all, and they all have some sort of natural lie detection built into them. I began to look around at the family that had gathered and for the first time I can remember felt truly afraid and out of place. The small family of four or five seemed to swell to several hundred in my estimation.

           

"My name is Sarrin, and I am merely passing these parts with my family. Really, your son’s health is repayment enough for a quick swim. Anyone would have helped, or should have. . ." The lie came quickly to my lips, having been practiced for the last two weeks of my travel. As I looked at her demeanor, I became unsure of my statement. I became painfully aware of my inexperience and lack of knowledge. I had no idea if humans would risk their lives for each other. My doubt must have showed on my face because the woman laughed at me.

           

"My name is Cassidy, and you are truly not from around here. Tell me Sarrin, why were you near the river. I was unaware of any strangers in the area and that is remarkable to me. We are a small community. I thought I would know if we had visitors passing through these parts."

           

At this point she stepped closer, and began to examine my features, as if trying to place my heritage. I was suddenly afraid that the Blackthorne features would show through my barely maintained disguise, and she would know who I was and where I came from. At that point, as the thought occurred to me, I felt the disguise drop as my fear overrode my magic. I stood before the small family as myself, afraid and alone. I was not expecting the reaction I received.

           

"Ancient one!” She exclaimed suddenly, her posture becoming humble and embarrassed, mine becoming more confused than before.  "Forgive my impudence. I did not know. Truly Stivan must be blessed to have an elf watching over him. Surely there must be a way to repay such a boon . . . a way to honor you . . ." I stopped her before she could go on, I was confused and tired. I was also afraid that she might have heard of the attack on the Manor, and that there were those still looking for me.

           

"If you wish to repay me, you will not tell anyone you spoke to me. I am still a young one and not supposed to be out here on my own." I looked from her to her son meaningfully. Smiling at her I said "Your son has an aura about him. I see great things for his future." Leaning down to Stivan, I stroked his hair and kissed his cheek. I focused on his eyes and smiled at him. As he smiled back, I winked.

           

"Stivan, you must always follow where you heart leads, for within the heart does magic lie. You will have a blessing from me Stivan." I heard his mother gasp as I spoke, I placed my hand on his head, and bowed my own in a prayer I had heard often from the mystics. "May this boys life lead him to many wonders and may he know life. . . true life . . . and may it be long and healthy" With that done and the blessing given, I kissed his forehead and looked up at his mother once again.

           

"Remember Cassidy; please leave my name out of this. I am out walking where I shouldn’t be and looking for a friend.  You will see me again. I promise. Thank you for your kindness and allowing me to watch your son play. He is beautiful. Good bye." And with that I walked into the woods nearby and tried to disappear.

 

Once into the darkness of the forest, and away from the eyes of the humans, I let down my guard and lay on the forest floor. Allowing the fear and panic to overwhelm me I began to cry myself to sleep. The next morning I went back to the family and asked for their help in my quest to find my mentor, they gave me what help they could and opened their home to me. I stayed with that family for the next few months, learning of human society and about life in general. It was a way of living I had never been exposed to.

 

They struggled for everything they had and grateful to have it. In my childhood, we were given everything we wanted and still wanted more. It never occurred to me before living with this family that you could have so little and be so happy.

           

Cassidy kept her promise; she never spoke of meeting me to the other farms in the area.  Cassidy died birthing the child she carried that day, but her second son was a beautiful boy. I mourned her passing with the family and stayed on for a few months, until the family gave up on the farm, and were forced to live with Stivan’s Grandfather to learn the shipping trades. I left with them to see what I could learn of the whereabouts Mathan. I left them at a trading Port and headed for where I knew Mathan or Gwynyth was bound to turn up eventually.

 

The Black Widow’s Embrace

By Sarrin Blackthorne

 

             My clan has always loved the city of Dishan; it has been our home for as long as anyone can remember. The Blackthorne clan and Dishan we are synonymous as the moon and the stars. So, when the human family who taught me so much moved away after their tragedies, I returned home. I needed family and home. My few short years out in the world had left me cold and longing for family.

 

Dishan was beautiful in the spring, the merchants had just gotten new shipments from the coast and the city was in bloom. Most of the elder races were blessed with the magics of the earth and the Blackthornes were no different. Flowers of every color and scent blessed the streets of the city; the parks were filled with blooming trees and the laughter of children and families. Love was always in the air and the city was a season long festival.

 

It was there in the spring of my twenty fourth year that I first settled down and began my family. I met Jorrell while I wandered the market place looking at the newest merchants. He had come to town with a makeshift forge hoping to make himself a business and settle in Dishan, like so many human merchants. Normally those hoping to settle were gone by the harvest. As I wandered past his forge in the square, he stopped me with a silver metallic rose. In the center of the rose was a beautiful red hourglass.

 

“Perhaps your beauty will prolong the life of the rose.” He offered with a brilliant roguish smile. He refused payment for it, asking only that I sit and talk to him; surely my beauty would bring others to his forge. His dark eyes shone with a light I had never seen before. His black hair glistened with strands of silver, falling into his eyes as he worked. He had a blacksmiths build and he moved with the natural grace of a hunter. I found him captivating and spent as much time as was respectable with him. I soon found myself finding reasons to visit his little forge. I ordered new eating utensils for the family’s tables, small daggers for my cousins, horseshoes for my mount and those of my mother and sisters.

 

I eventually bought him a small forge house with a shop. I referred all my families’ allies and friends to him. I introduced him to as many of people as I could, using the introductions as a chance to spend time with him. I soon found myself running his shop for a few hours every day while he forged more and more wonders. He made small trinkets, moving toys, metallic boxes that looked as if they were made from lace, ornate daggers and swords. Within a year he had outgrown the little shop, and I had begun to work there nearly all the time. Our courtship was not what one would expect for the daughter of a noble family.

 

We sat having lunch one day, enjoying each others company, when he turned to me and stated that our “partnership” was a good fit for both of us, and that we should make it more permanent. I agreed, thinking we were talking business. He surprised me with the most beautiful smile I had ever seen, and a kiss. Then he ran off, shouting about how he had to talk to Galen.

 

My wedding was in late spring and nearly the entire city celebrated with us. My brother Galen gave us a house with an attached shop for my husband’s wares for our wedding. The rest of my family was equally generous and it was not long before we were a successful merchant family. My son, Logan, was born early the next spring. He had his fathers’ eyes and my family’s looks. He was a gorgeous child, always too smart for his own good. My daughter, Ichea, was born the following fall. She looked like my mother, black hair and shining blue eyes. We were successful and happy together. Our lives were peaceful and fulfilling, much like the time I spent with young Stivan and his family.

 

Just after my sons turned seven and my daughter was almost six, the soldiers came from Vonteck again. This time they meant to take Dishan and came directly against our clan. The clan rallied to the defense of Dishan. While the nobility of our clan were ambassadors and diplomats, the bulk of our clan were soldiers and mercenaries, and when they rallied to a common cause they were quiet a force to be reckoned with. Galen evacuated the merchants to a village in the north, it was also a Blackthorne city and our merchants and villagers would be safe there. My cousin Gwynyth stayed to escort the political staff who had to leave later than the family.

           

My husband and I were two days behind the merchant caravan, preferring to travel with my mother and her household. The Vonteck soldiers caught up with us on the road. My mother and youngest sister were taken as political prisoners, while the rest of us were assumed to be servant and commoners, and therefore beneath the considerations of “Political niceties”. Those of mixed families were treated the worst due to the prejudices of the aggressive kingdom in general.

 

War is cruel and all prisoners are expendable. But the cruelties of the Vonteck were legendary throughout the world. They had developed a very war like culture of the centuries. They taught their slaves obedience through examples of punishment. They were very good at public displays. I was raised with civility and wealth and was used to be being treated with such. When they hit me and shouted at me I did as I was instructed, but when they dared to put their hands on my children, I fought back with everything in me, my husband fought with me. Together we stood to defend our family and our goods.

 

They killed Jorrell in front me as a punishment for daring to breed with a lesser race. My children they killed for daring to defend me from soldiers’ lusts. Logan they killed publicly for trying to avenge his father and defend his mother’s virtue. They had me publicly raped while he watched, then forced me to watch as they executed him in turn. My anger and tears of outrage seemed to please them. They found it great sport to force themselves on me, telling me that if I cooperated my daughter would stay with me and out of the slave pits. No one would touch her. So, I was taught my lesson and I protected my daughter. She was all I had left; I would have sold my very soul to protect her for the animals of Vonteck.

 

All prisoners were taken back to Vonteck where most them were sold as slaves. My daughter and I were set up as servants in the household of the General who had taken Dishan. He was considered a great hero and was gifted a large portion of us from his King. It took him a year to finish his campaign and return home. In that year, I became the head of his household and began to train my daughter as I had been trained. She would grow to be a great beauty and needed to know how to protect herself. She and several other slave children were taught sword play and politics. They were taught how to manage estates and the history of the land.

 

The general announced upon his arrival home, that he would be moving his household to Dishan and would only be taking the necessary staff with him.  He told me that if I really wanted to prove my daughters necessity than I would be especially nice to him. I spent three months in his bed willingly to save my daughter from the slave pits and the slobbering monsters he called soldiers. One night at the end of those months, he stopped me as I gathered my clothing to leave. There was a disturbing twinkle in his eyes, and a sadistic smile on his face. He informed me that his household had no place for females that couldn’t be of use to his men in the cold nights. And that I had committed a serious crime. It was illegal in Vonteck to educate servants, they were afraid it would lead to uprisings.

 

“I had all the young ones put down while we occupied ourselves here tonight. I figured you were young enough to still bear more children, and one should never leave the young behind to start a rebellion while he is not watching.” His smug smile and confident victory burned themselves into my mind. The next thing I remember was wandering in some small village crying and covered in blood. I vowed to hunt down every soldier of Vonteck I could find until my rage was spent.

 

Soon, it no longer mattered who the men were, race no longer mattered. … Only that they were men. The next few years passed in a haze of anger and blood, my cruelty became a thing of legend, something mothers tell their boys to make them behave. I prowled the inns and crossroads, seducing men and killing them in the “throes of passion”, taking everything of value to pay my way to the next inn or crossroads. It was years before anything or anyone broke through the bloody haze that had covered my mind. All I knew was there was never enough blood to fill the hole that was left behind.

 

The Seduction of the Widow

By Sarrin Blackthorne

 

Through the bloody haze, faces cry out to me. Some were men, who were innocent, they just happened to be alone when I came through. I remember children left with midwifes, children sold to farms along the way, women who begged for me to spare their men, women who threatened me for taking the lives of their sons, husbands, brothers. They died to, sacrificed to my blade, which never stopped thirsting for enough blood to drown my rage. I wandered the world no longer aware of borders or armies, no longer caring for politics or nobility. All there was to my world was the pain, the blood, and the relentless anger. These were only drowned in the alcohol and sex.

 

One morning I woke with the worst hang over of my life and a nagging pain around each wrist and on my abdomen. In the room, I could hear strangely familiar voices discussing my prowess and deft ability at dealing death. I hear three men discussing what to do with me now that I was finally sober. I looked at my wrists and found fresh tattoos of red vine roses with black thorns circling each one, lifting my shirt I found a bright red hourglass on my stomach.

 

A shadow fell across my bed as I was examining the artwork that mysteriously adorned my body. I looked up into sparkling blue eyes that looked back at me with concern. Me’lzar offered me a steaming cup, with a cocked head and a soft smile. Behind him I heard a heavy sigh and watched Mathan walk up beside my old tutor, on the other side stood Vel Ka’lor. I cried at the sight of these teachers from my childhood. Through broken sobs I told them the entire story. Mathan held me like a child and allowed me to cry myself out. I slept for days, finally safe and warm in the presence of those I considered family.

 

Vel, Mathan and Me’l arranged for passage back to Dishan for me among a caravan of traders crossing the border. Gwynyth was already guarding the caravan. How we got to the border I have no idea, I still have no idea where I was when they found me. None of them ever spoke of it again, yet when it was mentioned in the future Mathan would take on a wistful smile of what might have been before dismissing it completely. While I was with the caravan, one of the merchants saw my tattoos and asked me if the rumors where true. He hired me to “eliminate” one of his competitors, offering me the coin the man carried with him as payment. I knew I would need money to rebuild my life, so I accepted the job. I was easier than I thought and came almost as a second nature. I left him at his rooms in one of the inns we stopped at and went with the caravan when it left the next morning.

 

The employer of that deal then became paranoid that he might have made himself a target. He paid me to stay with him as a body guard. I was to watch his shop and home at night after his shop closed and he would set me up with room and board at the local inn on the merchants’ street in Dishan. I spent the spring getting to know the side of Dishan that I had never seen as a child. I spent my time in the inns and taverns when I was not working; I got to know much of my more “humble” clan members. From them I learned the rumors of the three kingdoms that Dishan bordered. I heard of my siblings and my family. I even re-united with Selina when she came into town on occasion.

 

In order to save her lands and titles, my mother had betrothed herself to a Vonteck nobleman. She shipped my sister Torcha north, deep into Telenor RI; there Torcha was to marry a nobleman who wouldn’t get involved in the war. She had survived the raids on Dishan and was in her rightful place, among the nobility of Telenor RI. Torcha visited our mother often, but of my siblings she was the only one. Selina had raised a sizeable band of mercenaries and hired herself to the army of Telenor RI, trying to restore the border and win back Dishan. Galen was heavily involved establishing peace talks, when he was not sabotaging major military movements inside Vonteck. My other brothers had been killed in battle defending Dishan.

 

My sister Selaith had married a high ranking nobleman of Vonteck who mysteriously died shortly after the wedding. Selaith had been working her way to their throne since the invasion and was now betrothed to their king. She was quoted at saying that a Strong king needed a strong queen if he meant to take all of Telenor RI. Rumor held that she was trying to stop the war from behind enemy lines. But I understood Selaith better than that, Money and power were everything to her, wherever she could get it.

 

I came to the shop one night just as the merchants were closing, to find my employer dead. Standing over his body was a strangely dark and handsome human male. He was nearly a full head shorter than me. His eyes were nearly black, his skin darker than any I had ever seen. He was dressed in black silk that moved with his body like a second skin. He smiled up at me as I drew my sword and prepared to defend myself.

 

“You were never my target, my lady Widow.” He said quietly as he raised his gloved hands in submission. He nodded at me with a sort of respect that confused me.

 

“I’m sorry, what did you just call me? Cause I think you have me mistaken for someone else.” I asked amused, trying to feel as courageous as I sounded.

 

“You are the Black Widow; I have seen your marks, they definitely precede you, I must confess, I did this job during the day out of fear of facing you. I have heard of you, most assassins have, you are the woman who kills for no money. You seduce your victims and kill them at climax. The guilds call you the black widow. You are reckless and sloppy but show a promise few have ever seen. I thank my gods that it was I that found you.” He explained as his dark eyes showed mirth his face didn’t betray.

 

“I am reckless and sloppy, huh? And just what are you planning to do with me now that you found me?” I asked rather offended. He talked about the darkest time in my life as if it were a thing of beauty and wonder to him. I felt the need to see how reckless and sloppy I could be with him.

 

“You misunderstand.” He said defensively, suddenly serious and eyeing me as one would a wild animal. “I mean to train you and make you the best assassin the world has ever known. I can show you what you are missing, if you will allow me to teach and guide you.” He extended his hand in friendship and winked at me.

 

I stood there in shock, staring at the black gloved hand. In those few moments I analyzed my life, my family and where I stood now. It only took a moment for me to decide. That was when I made the conscious decision to embrace the Black Widow. I took his hand, winked back, and threw him on his ass.

 

“I will learn anything you’re willing to teach me, but there is something to be said for reckless and sloppy. You will never talk down to me again.” I smiled at him as he looked back at me shocked. “Now, Shall we begin over the dead body or do you have a more romantic place in mind?” I asked coyly as I helped him to his feet. He stood with the quickness of a viper, his hands moved like entities of their own, and before I could regain my own balance I was over his shoulder and staring at the floor. He carried me out of the building, to the stables. There he planted me soundly on my backside and he grabbed his horse’s reigns.

 

“I hope you can keep up. I would hate to have to circle back for you. My Lady.” He said smugly and trotted off. I leapt from my sitting place, grabbed my horse by the manes and galloped after him bareback. I would be damned if I were left in the dust by a man! As I caught him he was chuckling and turning in to an inn a few streets down. My horse ran past him and I had to double back, swearing the entire time.

 

Once I dismounted, he informed me that he had taken rooms in the inn and I had plenty of time to retrieve my belongings if I chose to keep them. Then he chuckled again and headed into the tavern. I stood there for a moment fuming, who the hell did this man think he was, killing my employer in broad daylight then making a fool of me twice in less than an hour? I should kill him, rip out his heart and have it cooked for my lunch! Instead I became determined to learn all I could from him, and then I would kill him.

 

The next two years were a flurry of activity. I fought, I rebelled, I cursed and swore, I learned and I healed. He taught me so much, his steady hands catching me when I fell, holding me when I sobbed in frustration and rage, comforting me when the memories threatened to overwhelm me, guiding my hands in techniques of hand to hand and assassination. His lithe, slim body moved like a great cat, always on the prowl. He taught me to hide without magic, to become shadow, anonymous in a crowd.

 

He taught me about love and the nature of cultures and their peoples. From him I learned the secrets the elder races refused to see. I learned the beauties of the world, of the art of killing, the art of living, and the wonder of anonymity, and all of it without the magic the elder races relied on so heavily.

 

 He was the greatest lover I have ever known. He taught me more about the world and its wonder and beauty than I could ever see by myself.“Those who deal in death must learn to see the beauty of life, or be consumed by their trade and become an empty husk.” He would say while tending a garden, or performing slight of hand tricks to small children. “One must have standards and rules to their trade, or they are just killers waiting to die.” He passed along lessons in everything he said and did. He dances often through the flames of my memory.

 

The Sanctuary

By Sarrin Blackthorne

 

            The forest stretched before me like endless night. Even though it was mid day and the middle of summer I still needed my lantern to see through my way under the thick canopy. My small lantern showed only the game trail directly ahead, in its struggle against the encroaching darkness of the forest, still I struggled onward. Determined to know what lay beyond these woods. Looking for adventure and a new start, far from the bitter past I had left behind.

           

Traveling through the constant darkness gave me time to reflect on the last few years and what had gotten me to this point. My mind slowly traced the past year’s events leaving me emotionally raw and bitter. I was glad to be traveling by myself. Glad to have left behind the anger and betrayal. I had a family once, but I lost them to a cruel nation. I fought that nation in revenge, but that left me cold and empty. I had trained as a soldier, a mercenary, an assassin, a diplomat, even a member of the royal guards. I had done many things as Telenor Ri slowly rebuilt it’s borders and we took back Blackthorne lands.

 

            But in the past year, my life spun out of control as my homeland was attacked again, this time from the inside. Selaith had finally found her power, and she betrayed us all to keep it. Torcha and her husband were forced to flee the mano without her entourage or even her child, taking only our sick mother with them and the price on their heads. The rest of the household sought sanctuary in neighboring lands as Telenor Ri mounted their withering army.

 

My cousin Gwynyth and I played a large part in my families escape, she protected my mother and sister and made sure that the household made it to the safety of neighboring lands. I began to sabotage Selaiths attempts to find them. Galen had made it safe back to Teleraih for reinforcements. Gwynyth had been missing since the safe arrival of my family into Dishan. Our part in protecting our lands and families had gain a price on our heads, and we had enough enemies to start looking over our shoulders. I had searched for her, but when Gwynyth didn’t want to be found, you just didn’t find her.

           

As I broke through into a sudden clearing, the sunlight blinded me. Only the sound of the gentle lapping of the lake on the shores stopped me from stumbling into it. As my eyes adjusted to the sudden light around me, I took in the beauty of the lake. The water was cool and clear, quiet and inviting; the clearing was perfect on all sides. As I stood there admiring the beauty and serenity, I decided to make camp. I had found the perfect vacation spot. And when you were in the position I was, you didn't take such things for granted. I was tired and hungry and alone, truly alone … again.

           

I spent some time fishing, my mouth already watering at the thought of something other than road rations. Planning ahead I thought of drying and smoking the fish to take with me when I left. Not knowing how far I was from any form of civilization. Once that was set-up and done, and my stomach was full from the fresh fish and various foliage found in the forest, I made a fire and set out to watch the stars till I fell asleep.

 

********************

           

Hiding in a shadowed doorway, I can hear the voices of men as they laugh amongst the women's screams. Closer to my position I can hear the laughter of two men as they talk about the joys of unwilling flesh. Between them they drag a young woman, battered and bleeding, she is sobbing quietly. Her eyes show a defeat that terrifies me. If she sees me she gives no sign, she gives no sign of being aware of any of her surroundings. Cradling my package closer to my chest, I turn away rocking slightly. A single tear of frustration rolls down my face as I let them pass, unable to do anything. My package shifts slightly as I open the door on a now empty corridor.

           

I creep away, praying to the gods my bundle makes no sound until we are outdoors. I wander through the halls, keeping to the shadows, silently making my way to the kitchen. Traveling down corridors I once played in. I took passages that were once used in several games of hide and seek. Once there, I fill my oilskin with milk for my package, and grab some rations for the road for me. I mutter to myself, (Must keep thinking of it as a package, it is just another job.) as I slip out of the kitchen doors to where my horse waits. As I mount with difficulty, trying to soothe my parcel as we go. I hear a woman begging from inside. She is beaten into a whimpering silence, and I ride away consoling myself with the knowledge that I was only paid to free my parcel.

           

As I ride out of the manor gates, I see the bodies of slaughtered men lying wherever they fell, the enemy not having the honor to remove them before ravaging their women. I lead my horse through them trying to ignore the familiar faces. I close my eyes and lead my horse out a path I have taken a hundred times. In my mind, I see my siblings and I riding toward town on some excursion or other. Happy and free of any burden other than our own whims. With a heavy sigh and a heavy heart, I leave the fallen manor behind and ride on to deliver my parcel to its rightful place.

 

The jarring hoof beats wake the sleeping babe in my arms. I ride into the village with the babe still crying. Humming softly I ignore the disgust on the faces of the villagers as I pass. I ride straight to the inn where my employer waits. Singing softly to the babe I swing gracefully out of the saddle, throwing the reigns to a waiting stable boy. I cradle the baby for a moment and look deeply into his bright eyes. I see the human in him, mixed with our blood. He is beautiful and perfect. I cuddle him to my chest and inhale his scent, using it to center myself and my emotions. I clear my head and harden my expression.

           

The baby cooed as I enter the inn. The locals looked up, some of the older ones spat on the ground at their feet, cursing me under their breath. From the back of the crowd a red headed woman runs to meet me. Barely looking at me, she takes the baby from my arms and begins to cuddle him and coo at him softly, relieved tears fall from her eyes. From behind her a man throws a pouch of coins at my feet, disgust evident on his face. As I reach down to retrieve my payment, the man spoke, his voice like venom.

           

"It's all there, Widow." He spit the title as if the sound of it left a bad taste in his mouth, “your payment for rescuing your own nephew."

           

"I'm sure it is Raymond. Torcha would only marry a man of his word." Sarcasm dripped from my words as I nod back at him ignoring his anger. I turn to leave, anxious to put this all behind me and move on to other parts of the vast world, before the tears show. I am stopped as my sister, Torcha, lays a hand on my shoulder.

           

"Sarrin, our mother would like to see you. She begged me to pay you if necessary . . . she just wants to know you live." Her voice, though quiet and defeated, echoed through the core of me.

           

"That shell is not my mother." I whisper at her over my shoulder. "My mother died in the same raid that claimed our father and brothers. It was the same raid that took my husband and children." I begin to step forward as she grabs my upper arm and spin me toward her.

           

"How dare you betray our family in this way? If you must live by the sword at least do it defending your homeland." Torcha says to me, the anger raising her voice.

           

"Betray the family?" I scoff back at her. "You dare accuse me of betrayal? While your whore mother willingly takes the enemy into her bed to save her title and lands? While you pay taxes and take the land the conquering lords give to you to save your husband from the rebel’s death? While you pay me with disgust to save your son from their treacherous grasps rather than fight them yourselves? I would rather have neither home, nor a past than be cowed like you. I may not have our family, or lands or titles. But I have my life, on my terms. Take care of your son, dear sister. I have seen great things in Mathias' future."

           

I stroke the infants head lovingly before walking out the door, slamming that chapter of my life closed forever.

 

********************

 

I awoke crying, my fire dead and the world asleep around me. I wiped my tears and sigh heavily. After taking a few deep breaths I rebuilt my fire. Laying down again I let sleep claim me once again. This time it was deep and peaceful like the night and forest around me. My pain seemed to drift away on the waters of the lake.

           

The next day I awoke, refreshed and renewed. For the first time in a year, I was calm and serene. I set about building myself a home on the shores of the lake, a place that was always to be mine, a place in this world where I would always belong. Regardless of who hated me, who died, who conquered. This was to be my refuge, my sacred place. This was a place they could never take from me, a place I held on my terms.

           

I returned to that cottage often. To heal, to love, to raise children, (my own or others) Soon, there was a small community near-by, that reminded me very much of the community that Stivan lived in. But the lake and my cottage were never encroached upon. The lake always welcomed me home, taking my tears of sorrow as well as joy and always leaving me refreshed. Wherever I wandered after that I knew I always had a home to return to, whatever else happened. I could always go home.

             

 

Family outings

Sarrin Blackthorne

 

After working for my sister Lauren’s mercenary troupe, Galen, Mathan and I decided that we would travel together to our next destination. We had nearly two full weeks before Lauren had need of us again, and that was some simple negotiation work. Gwynyth was to meet us in Cayladiun and travel to the negotiations with us.  The three of us decided that it was a good a place as any to spend the next week winding down.

 

The three of us ride into town like we are returning heroes from some war. We are tired but in good spirits, we greet everyone passing us as if we knew them and they knew us. It is the kind of behavior that will gain you strange looks in a familiar town, let alone one that you are riding into for the first time. However, we barely took notice as we spotted an inn and headed that way. We waved and smiled at all everyone we passed as if we were a grand parade, even gifting small children with random coins from time to time. Smiling and joking the entire way, we rode proudly through town to our chosen destination.

 

“Ok Galen, Mathan, remember that we may have to be in town for at least a week, so let’s not do anything rash here to get us kicked out of the inn this time … Ok?” I asked sweetly as I dismounted and handed my reins to a waiting stable boy. I smiled at him coyly and tipped him heavily. My horse has an attitude and I knew what he was in for.

 

“You wound me dear sister… It is not my fault we were kicked out of the last place. We had barely got settled when your flavor of the month started a fight. So maybe you should be mindful of who warms your bed this week.” Galen threw back at me wittedly, tossing his reins to another boy with a nonchalance that came as easily to him as his very breath.

 

Laughing heartily Mathan shook his head and lead his horse into the stalls past the waiting stable boy. Clapping the boy on the back and tipping him, he began unsaddling his horse while Galen and I went inside to get rooms and meals.

 

Once inside, we took stock of the inn, it was a quiet place with a small crowd who were eating what smelled like the same stew that is available in every inn in every town the world over. In one corner there was a small stage, and sitting upon it was an old man in a mystics robe playing a small harp. Galen and I bowed to the man, who inclined his head and returned to his tune. A woman of average height and innkeepers build sauntered up to us with hands on hips and a motherly look on her face.

 

With a raised eyebrow she looked us up and down and stared at us suspiciously for a moment. Galen barely concealed his amusement from her as he waited for her to speak, but before she began Mathan came bursting in the door behind us…

 

“Where’s my ale Sarr….” Was as far as he got before a sharp look from the formidable woman before us cut him off.  “Oh, excuse me madam. I see I spoke out of line, please continue.” Mathan finished smoothly with a slight bow and a dashing smile. The woman harrumphed slightly as she turned back to Galen and me.

 

“And how many rooms will the likes of you be needin’? You should know that this is a respectable establishment and we will not tolerate any mischief or bawdy behavior in my dining room, so you will be keeping your hands to yourselves while your in public here.” She lectured while glaring at Galen and me as if we should step apart suddenly at her tone. I smiled brightly and innocently as Galen hid a laugh behind a coughing fit.

 

“Respectable ma’am is what we are looking for, my brother; uncle and I are traveling through your fair town waiting for our cousins. We were hoping to find a nice peaceful inn that wasn’t too rowdy to stay in while we waited for our family. Would this be such an establishment?” I asked while batting my eyes and trying my damnedest to look innocent. Something I haven’t been able to pull of very well as of late. I think it is the hourglass tattoo and the swords, but whose to say for sure.

 

She sniffed loudly, dismissed Galen and myself and began to haggle prices with Mathan as if it were something she could only do with our elders and there fore our betters. We took the opportunity to excuse ourselves to a table near the stage, and continue our good natured ribbing of each other. A few minutes later a very pretty young woman brought over Ale and stew, using the opportunity to smile coyly at Galen and bat her eyelashes a few times. I just rolled my eyes and drank deeply of the ale, which seemed very good for so small an inn.

 

Eventually, Mathan joined us griping under his breath about maternal woman and price gouging. He drank his first tankard of Ale in one long draught and motioned for another in mid swallow. He thanked the young lass with a large coin and a gentle slap on the rump while the matron wasn’t looking. He smiled broadly and began to survey the room with a look I knew all too well. I decided that I would head this off at the pass and I began to speak as I looked to Galen for support. I should have known better, but I had to try at least.

 

“If she catches you with the girls Mathan, she may charge us extra and force you to take the girl with us besides, don’t you agree Galen?” I looked to my brother only to see him eyeing a group of women who had just entered the inn.

 

“Yes, I completely agree, luckily they don’t all work here.” Galen smiled broadly as he finished his drink, stood and clapped Mathan on the shoulder in one fluid movement. He strode across the room with such grace and charisma I could nearly hear the women swoon from my seat. I sighed heavily and shook my hanging head. I knew I had already lost this battle and there was nothing to do but go to bed early and find another inn in the morning.

 

“Don’t worry darling’ I am sure the innkeeper fancied me, I will smooth it all over for us. Everything will be fine, you wait and see. Enjoy yourself; you’re always so anxious in a new town.” Mathan finished off his second ale, motioned for a third one and started in on the stew hungrily, head moving with the tune that floated merrily through the room. I tried to take his advice, but I had been traveling with these two for almost a year now, it was becoming routine.

 

One of them would do something “manly” and we would get kicked out of one inn, while the other would do something rash and get us kicked out of the next one. Which is not always a problem in the larger towns, where there are several inns to choose from, we start in the rowdy inns and trade up to the nicer places as they work it all out of their systems. However, we needed to be in town a full week and there were only two inns here. Plus, it seemed they had started a bit early tonight and that was never a good sign. I Sighed heavily and ordered another ale, I finished my stew and ale, and headed up to my room to sleep away the last weeks travel.

 

Near dawn the next morning I was awakened by a highly amused Galen whispering hurriedly and packing my things for me.

 

“Sarrin, get up, we have to leave. You really don’t want to be here when the innkeeper wakes up. Mathan is already gathering our horses.” Galen flashed a charming smile and ran from my room carrying my bags, forcing me to escape whatever they had done in the undergarments I happened to be wearing.  I wrapped the blankets around myself and headed sleepily downstairs, grumbling under my breath the whole way.

 

            Near the table where I had left Mathan, I could see the girl who served us last night. She was sleeping on the floor under her cloak. Her hair was disheveled, her clothes in disarray, and she was smiling ambiguously in her sleep. Her cloak held the emblem of the inn on it’s trim.

 

            Stepping out the front of the inn I was hurried onto my horse and had the reins shoved into my hands by a very anxious Mathan, as Galen smirked from his saddle.

 

            “Why are we leaving a perfectly good inn before the sun has even risen? Which one of you is paying for the next inn? And was there a good reason I couldn’t dress before we left?” I asked angrily as we rode away.

 

            “Those are excellent questions, perhaps you should ask Mathan what happened. He woke me up in a panic, as for the clothes, it was just funnier that way.” Galen quipped as he spurred his horse ahead of us.

 

            I glared at Mathan accusingly as he glared at Galen for spilling his secret. He turned back to me with a sheepish grin, shrugged his shoulders and spread his hands.

 

“How was I to know that she was the innkeeper’s daughter? We would have been fine if she had told me before, but a sound woke me up and as I startled out of my sleep, she informed it that it was just her mother making breakfast.” Mathan explained quickly as he followed Galen, leaving me to trail after them in my anger.

 

We followed Galen to the other side of the town, to the location of a small seemingly empty inn. Once there, we acquired new lodgings and settled our stuff spending the day wandering the towns’ small market place and arranging to have some of our equipment repaired by the local blacksmith. Mathan preferred small town blacksmiths, saying that they took more pride in their work. So we saved our repairs for these small towns on our course.

 

We had lunch at the inn, which seemed to have a few regulars. Mathan and Galen seemed on their best behavior. I took it as an apology for my early morning and by the afternoon we were all in good spirits again. We took a ride around town and surveyed the road out of town in the direction we were going. Galen liked to know his surroundings and make sure we were prepared for whatever eventuality that might arise. Mathan and I rode with him, it was a beautiful day and the country side had a lovely view. As the sun set, we headed back to our rooms laughing and joking and trading stories about our various separate adventures.

 

The inn was packed and we were forced to wait for an available table.  Music filled the hall from the stage in the corner that we had not seen at lunch. The staff was friendly and busy, and the clientele seemed to be the hard working merchants and farmers from the surrounding area. We stood in the back of the hall talking just loud enough to hear each other over the noisy dining room, drinking ale and continuing our previous thread of conversation.

 

When we finally got our table I noticed Galen’s eyes wander to one of the women serving us and I spoke up.

 

“Forget her Galen; I am not having another early morning because one of you two decided that you needed to wet your wick. We are going to sit here and enjoy each others company and the wonderful music. Then we are getting a good nights rest. Then tomorrow I will find something entertaining for us to do… I promise. Just give me one night of relatively good behavior. Please?” I finished sweetly, motioning to a passing server for another round. The men looked at each other, shrugged, drained their mugs and sat back, falling back into conversation as if nothing had been said.

 

I relaxed visibly and joined the conversation with gusto. We laughed and joked the night away, sometimes being the loudest group in the room. Long after the music stopped and the room was empty, a very tired young woman asked us to bed down for the night. Yawning a lot and rubbing very tired eyes she saw us off to bed and began her clean up for the night. We slept in late and peaceful the next morning and were served a wonderful breakfast in bed. Once we were all up and about we thought we would repay the inn keeper for the late night.

 

We got to work around the inn helping out here and there were we were needed.  After things were settled at the inn, we decided that today we would see what the small market place had to offer. As we wandered through the market, I found myself being followed by a young man. He would look at me intently then smile a dashing smile that I am sure made the young women of this town faint away. I tried to be polite and I smiled back when I believed my companions weren’t looking.

 

            It is one thing to be the only woman in a group of travelling mercenaries, but add in the little sister and niece bit and it becomes nearly unbearable. So, I smiled politely at the boy and wandered the other way several times. I was just browsing the market place and had yet to find anything that I just could not live without.

 

            What I failed to notice was the young woman being escorted by the town magistrate, who watched the young man intently, all the while glaring at me. So, when it became evening time and I was sitting by myself again at the inn. Dinner for three laid in front of me with cups and ales, I agreed when the young man asked me if he could join me. I am always up for company, he would know the local news and gossip, and I had been ditched for some buxom lasses by my travelling companions anyway.

 

            So the two of us had a nice meal while I talked him out of all the local gossip and news he had to tell me. We enjoyed some mild flirting and at the end of the night I sent him home with a light kiss on the cheek and the promise to talk to him again the next night. It was all very innocent as far as I saw it. The morning however, proved me wrong.

 

            I awoke to a commotion outside my room and Mathan yelling for me to get up. I sprang from bed in my nightshirt, drew my sword and opened my door. There I found Mathan wrestling with one of the town constables, Galen fending off another while a young woman pointed and screamed out.

 

            “There she is, that is the witch who be spelled my Nathaniel. She is the one, arrest her. I want her formally accused.” She screamed at me, rage and jealousy apparent on her face as the young man I spent the evening meal with tried to calm her and apologize to me at the same time.

 

            The woman grew angrier with each attempt at apology and became hysterical. She spat accusations at me and my companions. I quickly saw there was only one way out of this. I gathered my belongings and yelled for the boys to follow me as I dashed out the hallway window and onto the roof. There we went around back and snatched our horses and gear. We rode out of town with the constable sending very few actual men after us and the young woman screaming her need for vengeance into the night.

 

            Once outside the community, we found a quite spot to rest and take stock of what we had been able to grab. Mathan and Galen were so amused they could barely contain themselves. Every so often one of them would giggle to himself and that would set the other off. Finally I could take no more!

 

            “What?!? What has you two laughing so much? Now we have to find somewhere else to meet our party and no decent inn to spend our time. How is that so amusing to you both?” I yelled as I threw the saddle bags I had mistaken as mine to (at) Mathan.

 

            “Only you little sister,” Galen chuckled merrily. “Only you could spend so much energy trying to keep us from getting you kicked out of an inn that you end up getting us kicked out of the entire town.” He lost himself to his mirth than and had to turn away with his laughter.

 

            “And over a dinner as well, “Mathan started. “You must be a rare catch indeed if you can bewitch a man with someone else’s cooking and just your dinner conversation.” He barely got the words out before he bust out with a full belly laugh. He spread out his bedroll and lay down as if I weren’t glaring a hole in the back of his head. Disheartened I lay down next to the fire and listen to them chuckle themselves to sleep repeating her words every now and again starting up new rounds of laughter. It was an incident I found hard to live down. But it is still one of my fondest memories of the two of them together.

 

The Flaming Wench Inn

By Sarrin Blackthorne

 

            A group of four of us wandered into a good sized village, thinking we had left our last job behind us and completed. We were road weary and thirsty. We had just left Gwynyth and her merry band of mercenaries. We were collaborating on a mutual project. After wandering the marketplace, we found a suitably sized inn. The inn was named “The Flame Haired Wench”. The innkeeper being a woman with hair the color of sun set fire. It was obvious where the inn got its name.

           

            Immediately Laurein and I lost Mathan and Mathias. This was what normally happened. I was surprised they didn't wander off beforehand. In true Blackthorne tradition, the boys headed to the gaming tables and the women. It wasn't long until their laughter rang through the room.

           

            Laurein and I sat in amusement watching the activity of the inn and dividing the profits of our last job. We had just paid for our food and rooms for the might when I heard Mathias suggest a more interesting game.

           

            I sighed heavily, rolling my eyes. Laurein, while giggling began counting out more money for the inn. We always end up paying for the rebuild when stuff like that is said. And sure enough a few minutes later a diminutive man flew into the wall beside, hurled there by Mathias.

           

            "See Mathan, plenty of room. . . Hey Sarrin, draw us a target will ya? Mathias called across the room as I was apologizing to the small man.

           

            "Oh don't ya worry lass, I bet him he couldn't throw me this far. Could ya lie some straw down here? It might soften the landing. Oh yeah, and you lasses may want to move. "The little man laughed as he headed back towards the crowd.

           

            "You guys are paying for it this time." I yelled back at the small crowd gathering around Mathias and Mathan. I snatched my pile of money from the shares that Laurein was dividing up. Pocketing the cash, I began to pull out a bloodied fabric from my saddle bags. As I used my daggers to pin it to a wall beside our table, it revealed a previously inked target in its center.

           

            "Well, that saved time didn't it? Are you not joining us then? Laurein looked at me amused.

           

            "Nah, shoulders still sore. Besides it is a childish game. But I guess I can hold wagers though." I said shrugging at the table. "What do you think about the straw? It could cause problems later.”

           

            "Eh, we’ll get it." As she sent a bar maid running to the stables for it. "It adds to the odds in the later rounds." Laurein giggled again as she headed towards the gathering of primarily men, giving her better odds, of course. Sighing loudly I wandered over and began taking bets and laying odds. Mathan and Mathias taught the crowd the finer points of what they called "Halfling tossing"

           

            Amazingly, halflings came out of the woodwork. All were volunteering to be thrown across the room.  'Idiots' I thought as I watched them repeatedly fly and thump into the wall across the room, while a well-paid bar maid marked their hit on the target. Closest to the center gets a higher pay out.

           

            Behind the bar, our gracious hostess grumbled a lot about the stupidity of mercenaries and the bad influences on the locals. Stuff like that.

           

            "I bet they fly better wet." Mathan laughed as he dumped the half filled tankard over the head of the halfling in his hands. As the halfling began to sputter, he turned to me… "What are our odds on this Sarrin?" I just hung and shook my head in disgust.

           

            It was at that moment that we felt strangers enter the inn. It was as if their anger preceded them like a wave. Everyone in the bar fell silent as I Stood, fingering the sword hilt at my hip. I walked Mathans winnings over to him. As if on that cue, the four of us turned to face the six or eight men who had disrupted our little party.

           

            Mathan, who still held the soaked halfling, screamed "Round three" as in one fluid motion he grabbed a torch, lit and threw the halfling at the men. The astonishment on the men's faces matched our amusement. Giggling Laurein and I drew our swords.

           

            As we did Laurein remarked and pointed with her sword. "Uh, Mathan, the target is that way. . .  That throw didn't count." She chuckled as she readied her stance.

           

            "Damn it! But that was a really good throw." Mathan cursed as he charged the man in front.

           

            "Didn't we just kick theses guy's Asses last week?" Mathias asked as he engaged one of the men who tried to flank our group.

"Yeah, these guys are left-over's I guess." I answered as I grabbed one by his breastplate and head butted him. I let him drop and pulled his sword from his belt.

 

            Spinning, I saw Laurein pull a man towards her, impaling him on her sword, while deftly guiding his sword into the man behind her. Mathan was standing on one mans chest while fighting another. Mathias had just killed a second man, letting him drop at his feet, with the first. He spun and caught a third man's sword. I turned to face . . . an Empty door.

           

            Frustrated, I Shoved the borrowed sword through the throat of its owner. "Damn it! You guys did it again! I swear I am going solo. You never save any for me. Always gotta protect Sarrin, Sarrin's the youngest, what a bunch of crap" I was yelling as I repeatedly stabbed the man in the throat and chest.

           

            "Wow, Bitter much?" Laurein sighed as she wiped and sheathed her sword.

 

            "Yeah," Mathias called over the sound of a popping neck. "You got to kill one this time, Hell, you got five last week." He said calmly letting the dead man drop to the pile at his feet, while stepping over the bodies to reach his ale.

           

            "Ha! Breathe now ya Pig-fucker." Mathan screamed from a corner holding a mans lung while watching him die.

           

            Laurein drained a mug of ale, grabbing a spare tankard, she looked cautiously at Mathan. "I'll get him. You guys assess damages." She started over to Mathan slowly. Making sure he saw her coming. Before she got into arms reach, she threw the mug, awe and all into Mathan's face. While he sputtered, she punched him squarely in the jaw, laying him out for the night.

 

            "Ya just gotta love the berserkers . . ." She smiled innocently at the bar keep who stared on in utter disdain. "Now, whose turn is it?" She asked looking back at us.

 

            "Mine!" Mathias yelled before anyone could protest. And in one fluid and much practiced move, he picked up a small man, dipped him in brandy and lit him. The halfling hit the wall and rolled onto the hay, putting him out but lighting the straw in return. Before anyone could move to put it out a second blazing halfling hit the wall and rolled into the straw, followed quickly by a third. By dawn one entire wall was nearly cinder. And the lovely sign out front now read: THE FLAM. But our mess had been cleaned up and the serving people well paid. As the Inn keep came out for her morning survey of her inn, we ensured her that we were on our way to find the proper repair people.

 

            As she stood there with rage in her amber eyes and rolling in waves off her, Laurein began counting out more money to soothe her nerves as we began to get ready for the market place.

 

            Grabbing our packs we set off in search of laborers to repair the damages. Mathan giggled at the sign, as Laurein called her usual morning declaration. "Everyone remember where we are staying/" Without looking up.

 

            I chuckled to myself as I headed in search of a carpenter. Just before I turned the first corner I heard Mathias call back.

 

            "The Flaming Wench Inn, Right? Who could forget a name like that?"

 

            "No, Mathias it is the flame haired wench inn."

 

            "Why would anyone call it that, what a stupid name?" They continued to argue as they pasted out of ear and eyeshot. By that time I knew what I had to buy.

 

            As the sun began to set, we heard Mathias laugh heartily before they opened the door to the inn.

 

"I told ya Mathan. It is the Flaming Wench Inn. Pay up" Mathias shoved his hand out to Mathan who glared at Laurein and me as he began to dig in his pouch.

 

The Inn-keeper, Glenna, had gone pale and was storming over to our Table. In a very low and dangerous voice she asked us.

 

"What did you do? You told me you took care of the sign. This inn is named the flame haired wench… because my hair is that color. Damn it! What were you thinking?" She screeched at me, clenching her braid. My family laughed heartily and paid double for yet another round and another night.

 

The next morning we left town. But we often returned to this village, staying in the same place. Each time, we brought with us some special treasure and a lot of gold. And with each visit we made Glenna a very wealthy woman. Eventually, she came to look forward to our visits, often already having the straw laid out with the target on the wall when we came in. Eventually, we quit buying new signs for her inn. Glenna finally changed its name.

 

Lots of my finest memories take place around the hearth of "The Flaming Wench Inn"

 

The Man from Kireag Nar

By Sarrin Blackthorne

 

            I was sitting in one of my favorite taverns, in a small city in Matisno, enjoying the local patrons and socializing in a rare, but well deserved vacation. When ale was set in front of me by a hairy male arm followed by a loud and deep laughter I did not recognize.

 

            “Well, by the gods, if it isn’t my personal heroine. You’d think you could have aged a little in the last 20 or so years, don’t ya lass?” Said a loud voice that was vaguely familiar as huge barrel arms surrounded me and picked me deftly off my stool in a large bear hug. The budding of a new beard tickled the sides of my neck as the man kissed my cheek, then set me on my feet and turned me to face him. “Sarrin, you look fabulous. I have often wondered how you faired.” He smiled down at me, his eyes dark pools of humor. In those eyes and the earthen brown beard I saw the boy I once knew and adored in the man before me. 

 

            “Dear Gods, Stivan?” I asked as I flung my arms around him tears coming unbidden to my eyes. “How could you have possibly grown so much in so short a time? Surely it could not have been so long as all that. Sit; tell me about your family.” I invited him to join me at a private tale and we talked and caught up until dawn. We talked of everything, from my children, to the wars, to his family and his recent travels.

 

            When I woke in the morning, Stivan was still at our table; our morning meal laid in front of him a thoughtful look on his face. He was deeply lost in thought and I startled him as I sat down.

           

            “What has you so focused this morning? So, unlike the wild eyed child I knew so many years ago?” I queried while stealing some of his meat and throwing my feet onto the table. With a chuckle he sighed and leaned back

 

            “I am not the only one who has changed over the years. You look the same, but you have grown. You seem to have become somehow ageless, young as always but wise beyond your looks. Hardened, I would say were you a man.” He said with a quirk of his eyebrow, judging if I would rise to the jest as I once had.

 

            “Where I come from, Stivan, Females are supposed to have hard bodies.” I quipped as I leaned forward to steal more food from his plate. Looking intently into eyes that betrayed their youth, I whispered meaningfully, “It makes us more flexible and the men appreciate it.” I winked as he blushed and couldn’t stop the laughter as he began to sputter apologies.

 

            “Relax boy, I was just playing, it takes more than a comment about my manliness to insult me nowadays. But tell me, honestly, what is troubling you and how can I help? You are as much family to me as my own blood and I would take the seriousness off that face. It was made for happier things I think.” I asked him, speaking over any excuse or denial he may have attempted. At the same time I waved a hand and motioned for our server.

 

            Once I had ordered mead to go with our meal I stared at Stivan and waited patiently. He began his story with his head hung and a heavy sigh. It seems he had lost his woman. He had fallen for a native girl in a raid his uncle had run and ended up killing the first mate when he saved her life. She willingly gave herself to him and they were in love. But their time together was cut short by Stivan’s sense of duty. He had to go home and face the consequence of his actions.

 

            Once exonerated of the so called murder of man who tried to rape the girl, Stivan was free to travel back to his lady love. Only to discover, that she and her family had moved. He had been questing for three years now. He kept being passed from family to family. He supposed he had met all her relatives by now, but still had not found she who had stolen his heart. He had only heard that they had just moved on. He had found out that she bore him a daughter. But he was still searching to this day.

 

            Well, of course I volunteered to help him, for what better cause could there be than true love. And it was something to do. I had missed Stivan and his easy going ways. We left that morning and soon fell into a good travelling routine. Stivan took to the road like he was born on it. There was a wanderlust in him that made me question his driving need to settle with the woman and her child. But, he was determined to make a family and I had promised to help him.

 

            While Stivan asked the farms and outlying communities of every village, town and city we came to, I asked those who worked the caravans and trade routes. At night we would come together and share our information. We took small jobs that would lead us in the right direction, and he was a good man to have at your side in a fight.

 

            In Early winter we came upon a farm a few miles outside of a small community of farms. The people seemed to be poor and outcast. They were treated as outsiders and we were warned against them. It was said they had been cursed with a demon spawn that the mother refused to give up. She was an unruly child who was head strong and prone to the strangeness of prophecy and witchery. So, of course, we sought shelter there.

 

            In the driving snow and rain, we just barely found the farm. We were met at the door by a burly man, what he lacked in height he made up for in girth. He seemed suspicious of us, but he was superstitious enough not to turn away guests into the storms. He let us in and cared for our horses. Once we were settled he called for his family.

 

            A beautiful woman with raven hair stepped through the doorway first, hand in hand with a miniature of herself. The child was willful and clever; you could see it in her eyes. Yet, there was something about her manner that told me we had found the right place. The way she stood brought Stivan as a child to my mind and for a moment I saw the boy he was imposed over his daughter. The woman gasped and began crying as she stormed into Stivan’s arms.

 

            Their reunion was a happy occasion and the family gave us what feast they could. I stayed for a week with them until the storm passed, much of that time spent with the young girl. Breyllynn was a brilliant child, inquisitive and curious, bold and eager to see the world. I saw so much of her father in her that I was again unsure of how much this family would ever be able to settle into one place.

 

            By the end of the week, I was ready to move on. I gave my blessing to Stivan, his new bride and daughter and saddled my horse. I rode away with barely a look back. I felt good about having reunited with an old friend and having seen him into his new family.

 

            I was two days out, at my own leisurely pace, when I was passed on the road by a slaver caravan. The wars were everywhere and a constant fact now, so these caravans were hardly surprising. The borders would change, troops would come, and those who couldn’t or wouldn’t pay the new taxes, or swear the new oaths or what have you, were made slave. It was a fact of the times and I thought nothing of it. Nothing, until the raven haired child stared up at me with such determination in her eyes. She was standing in the cart, staring at me, protectively standing over her mother as if her sheer force of will would keep them both safe.

 

            I took a moment for my grief, thinking Stivan must have fallen for his family to be taken in this way. Then my heart hardened once more and I stopped the caravan. Without a second thought I bought Breyllynn and her mother. I took them to the safest place I could think of for them, The Inn of the flame haired Wench or the Flaming Wench inn as I preferred to call it. There they were given a good home and jobs to pay for their homes. On the way there it came out that the mother was once again with child. It was then I decided that who ever had taken the life of my friend and family member would die by my blade, regardless of how long it took. I would avenge the life of the poor little boy I knew so long ago.

 

            I saw Breyllynn and her sister Alexa often. Their mother worked at first for the flaming wench, but died shortly after Alexa turned 6. Glenna allowed the girls to work for her and gave them rooms in the back. She gave them a home; much like the one she gave my family. Those girls dance often through the hearth fires of the Flaming Wench.

 

A conversation in the Woods

Sarrin Blackthorne

 

            From the shadowed forest, I watch a lone figure next to a small campfire. He looks like he is waiting for something. I smile softly while watching him, wondering if he knows I am here. I may be good at what I do, but very few can sneak up on Val Kal’or.

 

I know it is Val who waits for his two companions. He sits staring into the fire, alone with his thoughts. His belongings neatly arranged around him and within arms reach. His bald head glows red in the fires reflection. His clothes are simple and plain; he dresses for comfort and never for show, leading one to believe him to be a simple man. One not interested in more than his own livelihood. His back to me, his shoulders slouched as if in meditation.

 

If Me’lzar had arrived first the camp would already be set for three. Me’l believes in efficiency. Val, however, feels that each should carry his own weight. If Galen had arrived first he wouldn’t be alone. Galen seldomly spends time alone.

 

As Val stares quietly pondering into the fire, another figure approaches quietly from across the fire. Making only enough noise to announce his presence, Me’l steps into the firelight. He raises a hand in hello before joining Val at the fire. His short golden brown hair gleams in the fire light, while his green eyes sparkle with eternal amusement. His black robes hiding whatever he is carrying.  For a brief moment, there is a comfortable silence while Me’lzar settles into his place. He adjusts his robes and cloaks for his comfort without revealing anything in his possession.

 

            “He’s late again.” Me’l muses, stirring the fire with a random stick from his trek through the woods, the fire glowing odd colors where he stirs it.

 

            “Uh huh” Val shrugs, drinking off a flask from his belt.  “When isn’t he?”

           

            “5 coins say he either is not alone or smells of perfume when he gets here.” Me’lzar says as he waves the smoke away from his face. Vel chuckles and nods while lighting his pipe with a stick from the fire.

           

            From behind me, I hear a mockingly disgusted snort. I turn startled, to meet a pair of laughing eyes that always seem to be making fun of something.

           

            “So, should I tell them I was with you?” Galen asked, winking as he grasps me in a quick hug. “Hi Sarrin, How are you doing, Hon? “  Galen whispered laughingly.

           

            “You’re a bastard Galen.” I whisper back. “I’m fine; the others don’t know I am here yet. So, doesn’t be an ass, O-kay?” I answered as I quickly step back from him trying to regain my composure; my half brother always makes me feel small and child like. He has always treated me as his equal, even sometimes deferred to my judgment, but he is a big man that I have always looked up to, physically and emotionally. I, as always, mentally berate myself for the automatic response.

 

            Galen glances at the fire, he observes the two men for a moment, then back at me questioningly. “They don’t huh? Hmm, have you seen Gwynyth? I have a message for her.” He rattled a coin purse at his hip lightly. “I am tempted to spend it all.” He smiled, hugged me again with a mischievous grin.  “Alright Sarrin, your secret is safe with me. Will you be joining us tonight or are you just spying again, little sister?” He asks as he mysteriously disappears into the night.

 

Val and Me’lzar smile secretly at each other as the third figure appears noiselessly in the firelight. His black hair frames his perpetually youthful face, his blue eyes twinkle with a boyish charm. His walk speaks of a roguish style and time well spent in many a pub. He dresses to catch the eye and distract from whatever he may be doing with his hands.

           

            “Sorry I’m late guys, I was … um… busy.” Galen said nonchalantly as he settles in beside the fire, a smug smile playing across his face.  Val scans the woods around him half expectantly as Me’l coughs over a laugh he almost let out.

 

            “Did she get home safe?” Val asks quietly, still scanning the forest, his face blank as Me’l laughs whole-heartedly. Galen smirks sarcastically, taking the good-natured jokes with a grain of salt.

 

            “You know me better than that by now, Val. I left her out there in the dark by herself. I figured that way, When Me’lzar got bored and fed-up with us he would have someone to rescue.” Galen’s says eyes smiling and wide with amusement. Val laughs before he can stop himself, flushed slightly before looking guiltily at me‘l.

 

            Me’l tries to pretend to be angry, but the humor of the other two is infectious. And soon Me’lzar smiles and laughs with his companions.

           

            “At least I rescue them, instead of collect them.” Me’lzar laughs as he glances sideways at Val. Galen’s eyes grow wide with surprise at the nature of the jest. It is not something Me’l would normally say.

           

            “Yeah,” replies Val good-naturedly, “But most mine can fight their own battles and wont let me rescue them. So, what else am I supposed to do?”

 

            The three of them laugh at that and the talk turns to battles won and lost and the women conquered or involved with each battle. I notice my name every now and then, usually followed by the same good-natured laughter. I begin to notice that I am missing a few whispered comments here and there. I slip closer to the fire feeling the heat it gives off, but still outside its light.

 

            “There, she moved again, I think she’s getting rusty.” Galen whispers, and then picks up the thread of the conversation as if he hadn’t dropped it.

           

            “Nah, it’s late and she is tired and probably cold.” Val replies under Galen’s louder words, attempting to keep the whispered conversation hidden.

           

            “Oh, for the sake of the gods, what is wrong with you guys?” Me’l sighs dramatically, “Have you no chivalry? It’s been a couple of hours.” Me’lzar states dramatically as Val chuckles and Galen rolls his eyes. “Sarrin, come to the fire already.” Me’lzar calls out to the darkness in my general direction.

           

            “Hey, I figured she’d come to us if she wanted our company.” Galen replied shrugging back to the fire. “I would have brought her with me if she seemed to want company.” Me’lzar stares incredulously at Galen.

           

“You knew she was there when you came in?” Me’lzar is shocked; usually Galen is not one for secrets.

           

            “Sarrin is rather picky when it comes to these things me‘l.” Val replies, scanning the woods again, winking as his sharp eyes pass me. With a sigh, I stand and join the three men at the fire.

           

            “Show-off’s … all three of you.” I pout as I greet Me’lzar with the usual hug.

           

            “You’ve been out there a long while girl. Perhaps it was you who was showing off.” Val Ka’lor comments cheerfully as he gestures for me to join them at the fire. As I step towards him, I feel the sting of Galen’s hand as the slapping sound accompanies my surprised squeak. I turn and glare, rubbing the spot with mock pouting as I sit at the fire.

           

            The talk picks up almost uninterrupted as we are all seated. For hours, we talk of the past and our present. Of loves lost and enjoyed, of some we hope to enjoy before we pass on.  The last thing I remember is the warmth of the fire comfortably embracing me, as I drift away with the voices of my dearest friends ringing in my head. My heart and soul warmed by their company and friendship. I rest happy and unafraid near their fire.

 

The Fever Dream

By Sarrin Blackthorne

 

I run through the empty streets of morning, heading towards the docks. Around me a few vendors are beginning to set-up their wares. Behind, a man staggers after me, his voice a hoarse whisper as he tried to yell after me. One hand grabbed uselessly at the dagger embedded into his voice box, while the other weakly pointed at me before he fell. Damn shame too… I liked that dagger.

 

On the coat the man wore was an emblem of the city guard, his hand tattooed with marks naming him the enemy of Kireag Nar. He was one of the army who had killed Stivan, and the final man to slake my vengeance. Now I was done, unfortunately I needed a way out of town. He wouldn’t raise an alarm, but he would be missed.

 

I enter the area surrounding the docks just as the sun breaks the horizon, its early rays sparkling across the harbor.  Dockhands, as in most harbors had been working all night to ready the ships for the morning tide. A quick glance around, watching the activity of the morning, tells me which ships are preparing to leave. Now I just had to pick the right one. I hate trying to answer questions. I stop and begin to lean on a nearby post, just observing the men, occasionally flirting with the dock workers here and there. I knew most of them; we tend to frequent the same taverns.

 

I watch and question a few of the more trusted dock hands, with the right looks a woman can get a man to tell her anything.  But the important information I need now is tricky to get without questions. But luck is with me… of course that is not always a good sign. One of the ships is preparing to leave with the tide and all her hands have stayed on deck except her Captain and shipwright. They came off the ship two days ago to see that provisions were delivered and repairs made. Rumor says that the Captain met someone in an inn, but no one can say the truth on that case.

 

I suppose that if I were thinking I would have been wary of such circumstances. But as it is, I needed a way out of town as soon as I could get it and they were leaving in the hour, sounded like a great deal at the time.  So, without thinking really hard about it, I strolled up to the dock. The dockhands were just delivering the last of the provisions, I took a bag of something that smelled like grain and headed up the gangplank. I took the bundle into the hold and headed back up the steps to the deck. Once there I stood around and took in the ship.

 

It was the most beautiful ship I had ever seen. Of course I knew nothing about ships but she seemed impressive all the same.  She had 5 masts, three with crows’ nests, the center one taller than the others. Insides its crows nest there was a man looking down on me curiously. She had eight cannons on the deck, four loaded with grappling hooks, and two to a side. On her prow there was an image carved that I couldn’t make out from my vantage point. Behind me, there was a tall oak door, the castle rose high above my head.

 

From where I was standing I could see a strangely tattooed and pierced man at the wheel. He waved to someone coming up the dock. I leaned over the railing and watched a handsome man of strong bearing caress the cheek of the beautiful young woman he escorted. She slapped his hand away and wrapped her hands in his dark hair, pulling him close she kissed him passionately. When they were finished, she released him, stepped backwards and bowed slightly, her long blood auburn hair glinting in the sunlight.  I would recognize that hair anywhere, my elusive cousin Gwynyth. I smiled and waved from the railing.

 

Gwynyth laughed heartily and waved back before turning and strolling back into the city. I had time to watch her pause and look down the alley I ran out of earlier. She looked back over her shoulder and waved once more, head shaking with amusement before disappearing into the morning crowds.

 

I called out to the man as he began to climb the stairs to the Castle. He looked out to me disapprovingly as several men called my name from the gangplank. I waved them away and ascended to the captains’ location. Several of the crew had weapons drawn and were headed towards me as I reached the captain. Nice to know they were loyal anyway. The captain turned to me, waving away his men.

 

“Well, you’re a brave one little girl, what do you want?” The captain laughed toward me.

 

I stopped for a minute fighting back the sharp words that instinctually came at such a remark. Drawing a deep breath I ignored the snickers of the men and the amusement in the captains’ face.

 

“How much will it cost me for a passage and no questions?” I stated seriously as I reached for my belt pouch.

 

The crew laughed uproariously. The man at the wheel chuckled and turned away from me, dismissing me as if the captain had already dispatched me. The captains’ expression darkened and he raised an eyebrow.

 

“Lass, do we look like a cruise ship to you? Look around you girl, Do these men look used to traveling with ladies?” The captain yelled as if I had insulted his crew and ship

 

“Well, if any ladies try to board I will happily throw them over the side for you… and cruise ships ask questions. I know what manner of men you hold on this ship… that is why I am here…So, How much?” I asked still pulling out belt pouched from my clothing. The men thought this funnier than the last statement, their laughter rang through the morning air.

 

The captain chuckled involuntarily, amused by my brashness.  His head cocked to one side as he considered me.

 

“We will not make a side trip for a woman… But your brave and you have amused my crew… That hasn’t happen in a while. So, you tell me where you’re headed and I will drop you in a port and set you up with someone I think can help you. That I will do for free…”

 

“I am going wherever you are Captain and I need to leave with the morning tide. So, either lets get sailing and you’ll take my money for a full passage, or I’ll have to stow away on another ship. That will be a lot messier for me and I don’t know enough to sail the ship alone should I get caught and have to slaughter the crew… Now, How much!” I yelled, angry now, and tired of being patronized. Besides I was sure I could hear the city watch coming down the dock.

 

The crew laughed even harder and this time the wheel man joined them. The captain smiled wryly and held up his hands…

 

”Truly you are a fierce warrior and a great negotiator. But I do not tolerate women on my ship for long periods of time… I am sorry lass. I will take you out of town and to the next port… But unless you can give me a better reason then money to risk having a woman on board, you’re out of luck there.”

 

I sighed… I hated this part. It always got so weird. I looked at the captain, anger flashing in my eyes.  Taking a deep breath, I raised my shirt showing just the captain and the wheel man the tattoo of an hour glass on my stomach and the other of a vine with black thorns wrapping around my wrist. The wheel man inhaled sharply as the Captain whistled.

 

“Why didn’t you just say so milady?” Turning to the crew he yelled so loudly and suddenly, that it startled the men and me, his command being thrown in his voice. “Well, what are you waiting for? Set sail you curs or I’ll let the lady flay you where you stand…. Connor…” He waved to a young man who jumped and ran to his side with the devotion of a favorite pet.

 

“Yes, c-c-cap’n?” the young man stuttered in anticipation. The captain smiled as he laid a hand on the young mans shoulder. Turning him toward me he paused.

 

“This is Lady Widow; you will be her personal Valet while she is with us and see that she gets what she needs… Understood… and Connor… be careful, she is not as nice as she looks.” He chuckled as he introduced us. Connor darkened and went rigid at the mention of my name but he answered…

 

“Aye, cap’n.” The child looked suddenly dark and serious.

 

“Good, go clean her a room below deck and pass the word that it is not to be entered AT ALL!” He patted the child on the back and sent him on his way. I began to count out money and looked at him expectantly.

 

“Put away your money lass. Your reputation precedes you and when people see you on board it will improve the reputation of this ship. That means more work and better loot. We’re even.”

 

“I don’t think so captain. I will not be making any appearances; I am trying to be hidden and such. So, How much do you want?”

 

“Alright, the stories are wrong about you lass… But if you insist on payen me, I will not be the foolish man to cross you today, five hundred gold coins will get you wherever I am going and buy your privacy besides.”

 

“Fair price then… and my blades have already fed today, you needn’t be worried about them.  And my name is Sarrin. There is no Lady in front of it and I am not some whiny noblewoman who can’t tie her own bootstraps. I’ll do my fair share of work on this ship, and my blades will not be fed amongst your crew unless they truly deserve it. Agreed?”

 

“Of course Lass… But I have to say, I thought you’d be older… I have been hear’n the stories of the widow my whole life but you can’t be more than 18. Want to have break yer fast with me and talk about it?” His accent thickening as the wind suddenly picked up and I could feel us get underway.  The breeze filled our sails and moved us quickly out of the harbor; I smiled at the captain as I followed him into his cabin. Just before the door shut I had time to think that there had been no wind a moment ago.

 

As lunch was being served and he worked hard to prove himself the proper pirate, flirting and gesturing and getting no where. We were finally alone and the captain grew serious once more. He looked at me curiously and sat back in his chair.

 

“So lass, tell my yer story. I likes a good story.”

 

“I have no story to tell Cap’n… My story is better shown if you think you can handle it.” I said smiling; I stood and stepped back from the table. The captain sat a little straighter a knowing smile played across his face. I gave him a quizzical glance and he nodded in return.

 

Drawing a deep breath, I stood me calmly and released my tension. A wind blew quietly through the cabin; on it was the scent of strange flowers. I cast my form like an old coat, from a young woman with brown hair, green eyes and a very human look, came a very tall slim creature with long black hair, silver streaks at the temples. My eyes, slanted slightly, were the purple of a deep sunset. My features were long and thin. Only my clothing remained the same . . .  well, and the tattoo's.

 

“I am currently 305 years old. I have been the Black Widow for about 200 years. She is a useful disguise and when I am older I may lose her and settle down but for now she suits my needs. Do you have any other Questions cap’n?”

 

The captain had jumped back and drawn his sword just after my transformation. Now he stood there, trembling slightly, sword useless in his hand. But to his credit the wooden stake in the other hand was drawn and ready.  His eyes watched me suspiciously, watching for signs of a more dangerous nature to show through. For a few moments we sat there… watching each other closely. His stake poised and ready to strike the instant I showed my self to be anything other than what I had showed him. I waited for him to take it all in. It was something I was used to.

 

I used time to think about what I had done. I was shocked with myself. I never revealed these things to men with out years of trust built up.  Why had I done so now without knowing the man? I was not sure; there was something about the man that inspired loyalty and trust. I knew he was safe.

 

Suddenly I roused out of my own thoughts by his movement. At last he sighed and put down his weapons. He stood gracefully and bowed as deeply as any man at court might have. As he stood he showed me his own tattoo. An oak leaf embedded in the multitude of other tattoos, hidden unless you know what to look for.  He was of magical descent himself, possibly Druid, or some other such family line.

 

"So I can assume my secret is safe here correct?" I asked as I began to drink.

 

"Of course Wise one… I "I quickly gestured to stop him. “That will be quite enough of that. . .  I didn't deserve it before the mists fell. I certainly don't deserve it now. I chose to stay here, whatever my reasons, I expect to be treated as you would any other human woman." I finished mine with one long drink. Slammed the mug onto the table and leaned back.

 

“Your name is Tarnyn, correct, and you own this vessel, you answer to no one?” I asked, changing the subject.

 

“Yes milady, at your service. You do your homework well for a stow-away. But I should warn you that I have been told I do not treat women very well." He laughed, visibly relaxing.  "Milady, may I ask you a question? Just one last inquiry before you resume your human existence?

 

"If you must, what is it Captain?" I asked irritated.

 

“What is your full name Milady?” He asked.

 

“My name is Sarrin Blackthorne, The Black Widow, at your service and pleased to meet you. I am sure we will do a lot of business together before either of us return to the cycle.”

 

“Well, I’ll be damned,” The captain said with a shake of his head. The little bugger wasn’t crazy after all. “They said you were older than you look, but I never thought to meet you to ask. I always figured, if you and I met it would be at the end of your sword. Of course you would probably be hired by some jealous husband or what not.”

 

 looked confused. “Who said I was older than I look? I don’t know a lot of people anymore.” I eyed the room cautiously. It had been a long time since I felt so at home anywhere outside my woods, or the flaming wench inn.

 

“I met a woman who was travelling with a man. They claimed to be looking for you, said you were family and that they needed to find you. I thought it odd because they because they boarded at different ports and were headed in different places. But they seem to have two things in common, you and each other.  The man was a brunette about yea tall. “He demonstrated with his hand just above his head. “Huge for his age, though still with the look of a child, called himself Stivan. And the woman was an obvious warrior and carried the Blackthorne tattoos around her wrist, named Gwynyth I think.”

 

“When were they on board?” I asked suddenly very interested. Stivan couldn’t still be alive could he?

 

“The woman just left us today. The man left us at the last port. He told me he had to get back to his family and that he would find you if the gods wished it to be so.” I looked at him speculatively for a moment, then chuckled to myself. One of these days I was going to catch up to that wayward cousin of mine. I knew now that Stivan lived with his family and mine. They would be fine without my guidance. My vengeance, however misguided and undeserved, was at an end. For the first time in a very, very long time; I was finally my own person again. I smiled brightly, and let myself relax, going back to my drink and my talk of adventures on the sea.

 

That 500 gold was the best I ever spent. It bought me five years with that crew. I sailed every harbor they entered and just couldn’t find one where I was more comfortable then on the ship. I don’t remember exactly when I quit looking, but I knew that the Fever dream was my home. Besides the lake it is the one place I felt at home in this world.  My days on the Fever Dream often play through the fires of my memory.

 

Everything Changes

By Sarrin Blackthorne

 

"I remember things" said a voice in the darkness, like a child innocent and full of wonder. The voice was familiar, but it sounded outside itself. There was a void, darkness. The voices drifted in this darkness. As they spoke the darkness shifted and tried to take form. Some words causing a sudden glow.

            “Light, love, laughter, and sorrow" Said a second, older, older and wiser then the first. It sounded more logical.

            These are emotions, they hurt us and that is not good. We do not have emotions or memories, these things cause pain.” Said a third voice. It was cold, calculating and much older.

            "Shut it off." Said a fourth voice... Familiar but somehow different than the others. It sounded less connected, as if it were coming from outside the darkness.

            Outside behind it all was a sound, a murmur. It is the sound that only humans make. The sound of a room full of people trying to be silent, all watching the same thing... fascinated into silence.

            "Light made us happy. It showed us beauty and made us smile. It was warm." Said the first voice, it sounded happy in memory.

            "Light revealed things to us, taught us lessons, it grew brighter and warmer as we learned." said the second. It spoke in a tone of facts being laid out as evidence.

            "The heat of the light burned us and caused us to know pain. It showed us what happens when things hurt; it showed us death and loss. “Said the third voice, analyzing and cold, almost angry but without the emotion.

            "Shut it off." said the fourth voice again, the tone familiar like the last line of the chorus of that song stuck in your head, the one you can’t quite remember.

            Behind it all the murmur hummed without a change. It was a slight sound, more a feeling than a sound... like a feeling of being watched.

            "I remember a man who sang of love, in a voice beautiful and strong. It drew us to him." said the first voice. It sounded full of wonder, as if smiling.

            "I remember him. He loved another. He taught us about friendship and what it means to love." said the second. It agreed but sounded hesitant, like remembering something against its will.

            "He left us alone and we cried. He taught us pain and loneliness and what happens when we feel." The third voice nearly shouted. It was filled of raw pain and anger.

            "SHUT IT OFF!" cried the fourth voice in pain, dripping with emotion.

            Outside the murmur got louder, the shuffle of feet and people turning heads. Like getting caught watching something your ashamed of but can't look away from.

            "I remember laughter, children laugh. We had children." The first voice laughed with delight in the memory, as children’s faces began to flash through the darkness.

            "I remember children, Children bring joy and laughter. They play and love." The second voice sounded excited, almost breathless.

            "They forgot how to need you and leave you alone... in the dark; they teach us pain and loneliness. These are memories made of emotion, they cause pain... We do not have memories." told the third voice sounding as if it tried to convince itself as well as the others.

            "Please... Please shut it off." Cried the fourth voice. It sounded like it was in pain. This confused the others.

            Outside the murmur was no longer silent, but full of whispers. It contained names that sparked more faces through the darkness.

            "I remember Sorrow as well. It was brought by death, it is the end." Said the first voice quietly, sounding hurt and confused as well now. The faces and pictures flashed through the darkness quicker now than before. Some of the images were truly horrifying. They were pictures of death and funerals.

            "Sorrow also comes from loneliness. It causes Pain." cried the second voice, patiently but also hurting, almost in sympathy.

            "It is an emotion, it hurts us. It is caused by the memories. Perhaps it is best if we do not remember." Said the third voice triumphantly as the pictures began to slow and fade in the darkness.

            "Shut it off... For god’s sake... Please shut it off." Whimpered the fourth voice, the others were confused and felt sorry for the fourth voice. They knew it was important.

            Another image floated through the darkness staying just a bit longer. The image of a young woman with hair the color of a flaming autumn sunset, amber eyes flashing as she laughed. The image of her as a child, holding the apron strings of a familiar female build. The torso remaining cloaked in the darkness.

            The murmur grew louder outside. Footsteps echoes through the dark. The image faded and changed, the young woman was now crying softly. She held something in her arms. A female body that the voices refused to recognize, but it filled them with fear.

            "She hurts, that is pain. That is why we do not remember." stated the third voice. It sounded smug as if its point was finally clear.

            "I know her... remember her name. She is our friend." said the second voice, curious, wondering.

            "I miss her; I want to talk with her again. Be with her again." cried the first voice sadly.

            "You’re hurting her now. Stop this!" Said a new voice... It was a male voice, as familiar and important as the fourth voice, also outside the darkness, but inside the odd murmur. He sounded angry. He scared the others.

            Outside the murmur sounded disappointed. The anticipation draining from it as the darkness began to fade. The three voices were pulled back to create a single voice.

            Sarrin blinked up at the light shining down on her, confused. She lay on a table, not remembering how she got there. Her hand being held by a woman she was starting to remember. The woman from her memory was crying and petting her hair, whispering something while Sarrin blinked. Slowly, her name came to Sarrin. She was Ilondria, Sarrin’s friend and companion.

            Above them with his hand on Ilondria's shoulder stood a man, barely recognizable beyond the pain, around him a light flared, surrounding the two women in its glow. As she looked at him, his name rang through her mind. This was Marcus, General to her king’s armies. King Jontarr was her king and her friend, in return Sarrin was his seer and advisor. Marcus led the kingdoms armies, he had worked with Sarrin to bring peace to Jontarr’s kingdom. He had once been her lover, now he was her friend.

            He looked from Ilondria to Sarrin, concern flooding his eyes. A strange hand came into Sarrin's view, causing the reflex to flinch away as fear coursed through her. Strange memories of darkness flooded her mind. He removed something from the middle of her forehead.

            Sarrin flinched with the action, a soft moan of pain escaping her lips, confusion readable on her face. A familiar voice spoke, its words hardening the man’s expression.

            "She is still hiding something... something big... Remember, you cannot make an omelet without breaking a few eggs. Her memories are like eggs waiting to be scrambled. You will never know what you want to know if you coddle her this way, Marcus." With that a man walked past Sarrin, pausing to caress her cheek softly. Marcus’s angry snarl brought the man back to himself. He walked out of the room followed by the echo of several footsteps from somewhere behind Sarrin.

            Sarrin turned to watch them go, with a puzzled look on her face. Behind her she could hear Ilondria asking her if she were okay, still stroking her hair.

            "Did we find you in time? Did he hurt you? What was he doing to you? Who is he and why did he take you from us?" Ilondria asked in a rush. Sarrin could still hear the tears in her voice. Slowly Sarrin sighed as Marcus’s face came into her view again.

            "Ilondria let her collect her thoughts. She may not remember much yet." Marcus helped Sarrin to sit up and held her steady for a moment, the concern still in his eyes, if not showing on his face. Sarrin stroked Ilondria's knee with one hand, slowly she nodded.

            "Well, Sarrin? As Ilondria asked, did we arrive in time and did he hurt you?" The last question burned in his eyes... promising revenge if he had.

            "Yes" Sarrin answered. "You arrived in time and he hurt me." She answered with a smile that didn't quite make it to her eyes. It gave her a haunted look. Suddenly she threw herself into her friend’s arms crying.

            "I remember that he used to love me" Sarrin sobbed into her friends’ chest. The pain and anger flooded her as he held her and rocked her. Trying to comfort his friend, anger and guilt fought each other on his face. He silently promised her, he would make it right. 

 

He reached out and stroked her head. He mouthed a silent apology before stepping away and became cold and solid; ever the soldier, in complete control once again. He seemed to shed his anger and emotions as one would shed a coat.

 

“Ilondria, take Sarrin back to her chambers and see that she is cared for. I have some unfinished business to attend to.” Marcus stormed out of the room, wondering what next step to take.  Ilondria helped Sarrin to her feet and led her to a guest room in the familiar palace; all the while talking in calm tones, relating the previous week’s events. From Sarrin being taken by mysterious men to being found in dungeons of the King she currently served. Ilondria left Sarrin in her room, recuperating from the strange experience.

 

They lay in each other’s arms, dark hair mingling with dark hair. Laughter mingling with laughter, caresses lingering on sensitive skin. Joy and pleasure emanating from each of them, as they seemed paused in that moment. The sun played across their naked bodies through the leaves of the canopy above them. Their bodies were familiar with each other. Intimacy was second nature, each knowing the others ways.

 

A cold wind blows through the forest as the sun sets. The man changes, his hair growing silver in places. His face becoming cold and hard, a wicked gleam sets into his eyes. From beneath her vines hold the young woman, who seems unchanged in the growing darkness. Her lover begins to speak to her in a language she feels she should know, but doesn’t understand. He grows ugly in anger and disgust. She cries, not understanding why this is happening. A crystal appears in his hand, and he reaches for his lover, a cruel smile playing across his lips.

 

Sarrin awoke with a sudden cry of alarm as Marcus broke into her room, sword drawn. Anger played across his tight muscles, as he surveyed the room. Sarrin smiled against her will, a natural reaction to the would be hero charging to her rescue. Seeing that his friend was not in any danger, he lowered his weapon and began to check on her. Sarrin chuckled slightly.

 

“What?” Marcus asked, trying to be annoyed, but relieved that his friend was alright.

 

“Nothing, I’m sorry. You were just so sexy rushing in to a damsel’s room to aide her in a time of distress with nothing but your sword.” Sarrin smiled and looked down the line of his body rather pointedly.

 

Marcus reached quickly for one of the blankets gathered at the foot of Sarrin’s bed. A deep blush spreading slowly across his face as other parts of him reacted to her assessment.

 

“I’m so sorry Sarrin, I heard you shouting and I thought… I mean, I wasn’t sure that after your ordeal this afternoon.” He stammered while trying to make the blanket stay in place by itself. “That is, I know you can take care of yourself; but sometimes after certain things happen… Oh curse it woman! You know very well why I came in here.” He finally bellowed, dropping the sword and holding the blanket in place. His blush deepened and covering more of his torso.

 

Sarrin laughed as she stretched lazily, her laugh ending in a purring sound. Absently, she reached over as she did so, stretching herself across the bed but still managing to stay appropriately covered. As if, and most likely, by the use of magic, the blanket knew where to lie and what to reveal.

 

“Oh, come on Marcus, where is your sense of adventure? There used to be a time where you wouldn’t have even bothered to cover yourself. I remember when that look would have had you in the bed with me before your sword hit the floor. What changed?” Sarrin asked, hooking the blanket with her fore finger and pulling slightly.

 

Marcus seemed to consider for a moment, memories rushing through his mind. Then Sarrin watched him grow cold and distance. An angry, guilty looked settled onto his face.

 

            “You need your rest my friend, I will check on you in the morning. Sleep well Sarrin.” The sentence ended flat, almost regretful.

 

            The next few weeks went by as if nothing had happened. No strange occurrence, no midnight encounter, just the usual hum drum of castle life. Although Sarrin’s nightmares progressed there were no more men rushing in to her aid when she woke screaming in terror. Finally, the dreams began to calm and her memory returned. She finally remembered the man who had hurt her. He was a magic user like herself; a follower of the old ways. They were both considered relics now. It had been a long time since the elder races had roamed amongst the humans.

 

            It was decided by the magical ones, that the humans were too war like and short lived to share in their wisdom. They gathered together their magic’s and pulled a veil or mist around themselves; portioning themselves off from the “mundane” world of the humans. Their spell worked too well, the veil was thin in some places, moveable between the here and there. In others, a new world was created. Some believed the races to be biased and wrong, some were left behind by mistake. Whatever the reason, many of the elder races were trapped within the human realms with their magic’s. They adapted to the ways of the humans or they died out. Sarrin was one such being; most of her clan was as well. The Blackthornes became watchers, guardians and guides.

 

Others, who stayed behind, changed in different ways. They became bitter, and rageful, or prideful and arrogant. But all of them, every single one, were changed by the veil. Memories were missing or changed, attitudes were realigned, and personalities were shifted. Some became hermits, others mystics, still others became warriors of legend. A select few attempted to become Gods among men, using the gifts and powers to manipulate the world around them to further themselves.

           

            Donovon was one of the latter. He believed himself better than human because he could reach the magic that still clung to the world. With it Donovon prolonged his own life. He performed what the elder races would consider parlor tricks; when that wasn’t enough, he turned down dark paths. Now he performed magic’s even the darkest of the elders wouldn’t dare to perform; he performed them to further his own political and financial power.

 

            Once, just before and for a short time after the veil was erected, Sarrin and Donovon were lovers. They were more to each other. For half a century they were the completion of each other, sentences, combat moves, sexual maneuvers and conquests, ever part of their lives were shared and equal. Then the veil fell, and they both changed. It wasn’t over night, but soon; where they had been companions they were now enemies.

 

            Now he seemed insistent that Sarrin remembered more about the world before the fall, or the other side of the veil, and then she admitted to. For years he was obsessed with the idea. He imagined, in the darker recesses of his mind, that he could tap into power behind the veil. He believed that Sarrin held the key to giving him even more power and influence than he had now; and he believed he had to destroy her to get at it.

 

Finally, he had managed to convince the king she served, that these memories could be accessed with Donovons dark magic’s and would make the kingdom more powerful than any of its enemies. Donovon managed to convince King Jontarr that this magic would make him High King over all his enemies. Jontarr was convinced that he could take over the warring countries on his continent without bloodshed. He could become high king in peace and promote peace for the good of his people.

 

For this he had allowed Donovon to use his magic’s on Sarrin. He had ordered Marcus to arrange for Sarrin and her apprentice Ilondria to be in the correct place for Donovon to strike. Now, weeks later, Donovon watched Sarrin as she wandered through the halls of the palace. Envy rolled off him in waves, obsession shone bright in his eyes. He lurked around each corner, hid in every shadow.

 

Marcus, feeling guilt for his part in the whole affair, became distant and often drunk. He also watched Sarrin, but it was with regret and bitter self loathing. Ilondria tried often to speak to him, to counsel him against his guilt. But oft times he would drunkenly push her away, sending cutting remarks after her, chasing her away with his spite. Sarrin ignored it all with a trained demeanor. She went about her duties and life as if nothing had happened or was happening. When not in conference with the king she was in the hall, feasting with the men and drinking, singing, retiring alone.

 

Months went by like this, old friends refusing to speak to each other out of guilt. Silence between apprentice and instructor, lovers ignored, lives becoming monotonous. The incident was all but forgotten. The lives of the onlookers of that day had moved on. Only Donovon, Marcus and Ilondria appeared changed by it, and none of them were willing to acknowledge it.

 

It was the beginning of summer when the wards began again, small skirmishes broke out along borders and Jontarr called for his seer and advisors. Marcus and Ilondria arrived in short order. Sarrin and Donovon were nowhere to be found. No one had seen either in at least three days. Jontarr, fearing the worst, gathered his guard and ordered the palace be searched corner to corner. Marcus drug Ilondria by the room, issuing orders all the way to the seer’s chambers. He knew that if she had been taken violently, the apprentice would be able to track her master.

 

Hours later, Marcus and a small unit of his most trusted soldiers circled the base of a small mound. A cave partially hidden by brush opened halfway up. They could hear the ritual from where the path ended. Rage filled Marcus; his senses rang with suppressed anger and guilt. Finally he could no longer help himself. Drawing his sword he stormed up the scarce trail leading to the mouth of the cave.

 

As Marcus entered the cave, he heard a chorus of voices carried on the winds. Voices so familiar he could almost name them, but not quite. The whipped around him, showing him faces of the elder races. Behind these voices, almost as a base line, a low tortured howl rose and fell. Pain lived in that howl, filled the ears of any who heard it. It begged to be ended, begged to go home. The voices and the howl came to a climax together; carried out to Marcus from the depths of the cave by a strange wind. On its back rode the after math of magic, a great and powerful force unfelt in the human lands since the veil fell.

 

Marcus rode the wave of the power, struggled through the wind. He followed the path down into the recesses of the cave, until he came at last to the remains of a stone slab. Around it was a chamber set up to control and uses the dark forces of the earth. Standing in the center of the room, black hair flowing on the magical wind spreading from her, was Sarrin. Her eyes were an unearthly amethyst, her hair lunar silver at the temples. At her feet lay the remains of Donovon, mummified and drained of life and power. That power now coursed through the room around them; filling both of them as it mingled with the winds. It coursed through them, around them, into them and out of them and into each other.

 

Sarrin collapsed as Marcus finally reached her. His nose bled, his breath coming in heavy pants along with hers. She sobbed into him, her voice hoarse from the singing of the spell. Marcus held her until the racking sobs had stopped and she seemed to be sleeping. Her breath deep and heavy, catching like a Childs after a heavy cry. Wrapping an arm around her, securing her to his body, Marcus began to stand.

 

“You should have stayed outside Marcus; you’ll never be the same now.” Sarrin whispered into the silence around them, while she allowed Marcus to lift her. “You might even be one of us now, probably forever. I’m sorry Marcus; I never meant to hurt you.” Sarrin finished as she nuzzled into his neck and deeply inhaled the scent of him, which was now mingled with her own. She knew that now he would always smell like home.

 

Sarrin’s years with Marcus in the court of King Jontarr were the beginning of the end of the Black Widow. The spell took an unforeseen toll on the seer. While Marcus became more like the old races, magic touching his life and gracing him with longevity. Sarrin had become more human. While her magic never left her, she began to show the signs of the old age that plagues humans. One day, she wandered away from the palace, only to be found by Marcus, years later, clearing tables in an old inn. There he found her mumbling into the flames of the hearth fire.

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