Coalescence

Part I

Baby I'm preying on you tonight

Hunt you down eat you alive

Just like animals

Animals

Like animals-mals

Maybe you think that you can hide

I can smell your scent for miles

Just like animals

Animals

Like animals-mals

Maroon 5

Animals

for my Mother

Chapter 1

of Broomsticks and Teacups

I

Tristan was drowning in a sea of people constantly wanting his attention and it was starting to get on his nerves; making him irritable at the tiniest things and taking it out on those that didn’t deserve it. Willow had remarked on it a few times, and when he’d snapped at their child for crying too much, she’d suggested he take a walk. He didn’t like feeling like that, but it was as if he were an island trapped in a hurricane; the only difference being—he could get the hell out. Every bone in his body yearned to escape, and he hadn’t argued with her as he finally gave in; letting his feet take him wherever they will.

Running his hand through his freshly cut hair, he stepped into the midday sun, its warmth soothing his soul as well as much as his body. He’d been too cooped up recently and it felt good to get some air. His white shirt flapped in a cool breeze, the first signs of winter upon the wind. He should have grabbed his cloak, but it hadn’t crossed his mind that he would need it. It hadn’t been his intention when he got up that morning to leave the palace, but there was a calling in his heart that he felt needed to be answered, and he’d see it through cold weather be damned.

Fingers running along his goatee, his brown eyes glanced at the fortress around him as he marveled at the resilience of the elven people and their ability to act like war hadn’t recently come knocking upon their door. A battle had waged just weeks before and they were going about their business as if it were just another day; a bad storm to endure, nothing more.

He envied them. It wasn’t that simple, you couldn’t just sweep up the floor and pretend a hurricane hadn’t hit, or that it might not strike again. He knew in his heart that it was their ignorance that he truly envied. They could go about their day as if all was right in the world, the knowledge of the dark times ahead only available to those few that were in Merlin’s inner circle; a benefit that was both a blessing and a curse.

As a king, he had to look at the situation from afar, while they could focus on their own space and how they fit in it. It was a heavy burden, being responsible for so many, with keeping them from knowing the true nature of what was happening around them, and he wished that he could spare them the darkness approaching, but that was a power none of them possessed; not even that witch in Blackwater Keep was that strong. The Phoenix had been defeated, they had won the day, but that didn’t mean the war was over. She would rise again, and he couldn’t be sure if they’d fare better or worse in the next engagement; the latter the fear that kept him up at night, screaming as he awoke from his nightmares of flames and death.

Walking along the steps, he pushed aside his dark thoughts and turned them instead towards his newborn daughter. A smile rose upon his face as images of her flowed through his internal eye. She was barely a week old, her birth allowing the elven fortress to celebrate life rather than death; those they lost remembered and but not forgotten as their spirits lifted anew. There had been a very large celebration held in her honor. One, that luckily, she hadn’t been in attendance. She was sweet, good natured, but there were times in the middle of the night that she just had to have attention, regardless of how long she’d been asleep or how little he’d had by that point. And so far, he’d been the one to constantly get up and see to her. As much as that should have angered him, he never once felt anything but love for his wife; he didn’t resent her in the slightest.

She deserved the rest.

She had died, after all.

Memories of her resurrection were still too painful to confront, and even though she had been returned to him, he still harbored a bit of anger over the incident. Anger that was hard to let go when images of his dead wife lying in his arms intruded upon his mind at random intervals, brought on by an angle of a neck, a scent in the air, or a voice echoing down the hall. It didn’t have to be related, or relevant to call those memories up, and no amount of alcohol could dispel them; escape was impossible. They were always there; waiting.

What drove him nuts was, she had known for days that she was going to have to die and hadn’t confided in because she feared how’d he react. It was one thing to understand mentally what her reasons were, but in his heart, he couldn’t help but feel betrayed for her lack in faith in him. That was why he had refused to speak of it since their initial conversation; out of fear of what he might say in return.

It was a contradiction. He knew that in his mind; his heart just didn’t care.

Shirl had reiterated countless times that she had known the whole time that Willow would be saved, that his wife had to believe that she was going to die, otherwise the sacrifice would have been pointless. The Spirit Mother had offered her life in exchange for Willow’s, and though he should have felt either remorse or gratitude for her sacrifice; pissed off was what he really felt over the whole affair. That they had chosen her at all was enough to infuriate him. What if something had gone wrong? They’d have gambled his wife and child away over nothing.

He was grateful for one thing though, that Erik showed up when he did. If he hadn’t, they might have burned her before she had a chance to be revived, and his world would be a much darker place right now. He hadn’t spoken of it with the Elven King, but the look in their eyes when he embraced his wife upon her return said enough. Some things were better left unsaid.

They had suffered heavy casualties during the battle and even though time had passed, some of those losses still stung the heart and soured his mood. The people around him acted like they were okay, but he heard the occasional sob when they thought no one was listening and saw the hidden tears at the corners of their eyes. The war had taken its toll, and it had only just begun.

There had been one surprise amongst the chaos of that day that no one had counted on. The healing magic that had brought back his wife had also resurrected another fallen ally as well. It was not something that was foreseen, and the dwarf was still being cared for by the elven clerics as he clung on to life by the tiniest of threads. The magic had drawn him back from the brink of death and restored him enough that he still carried on; if only barely. He was having a hard go of it, but atleast he was alive and breathing. Which was better than being burned on funeral pyres like the rest of the fallen had been.

Kylee visited the medical wing often and brought him updates on what was going on, but little mattered to the sickly man as he struggled to fight off the plagues that had already killed him once before. The clerics worked tirelessly to preserve his life, as commanded by the Queen of the Elves, who made it quite known that he had offered his own life in exchange for hers, and the debt would be honored and repaid. Merlin’s magic aided their cause, yet the road to recovery was still proving to be a lengthy one.

Trek however, had been a lost, much to Willow’s sorrow and his own regret. The fairy creature had been too far gone, or out of reach, he wasn’t sure which he’d been told, and it didn’t matter; dead was dead no matter how far across the river Charon had taken you. Trek had saved Willow’s life, fulfilled his mission, and had died a hero; at least in his eyes. The fairies had taken the shapeshifter’s body with him when they left and he wished he could pay his respects wherever they buried him, or however they dealt with their departed kin.

His ancient and brotherly companion Erik had suffered losses as well, and the two had shared more than one drink in their honor since the last enemy soldier fell dead upon the battleground. Gualguanus, Pendoran, and Kaius, three of his military commanders and close friends lost in battle defending their homes from the hordes of their mortal enemy. The king was actively seeking replacements; though last time he checked, none had been chosen yet.

Pendoran’s death had hit the queen hard and there had been rumors of something nefarious, but he didn’t buy it; she loved her husband just as truly as he loved Willow. No, he understood the sorrow she felt and why; the two had forged a bond woven in blood, the like of which only those that went to war could ever know or appreciate. The two of them had battled Famine on their way journey back from the Deadlands, and both had barely escaped death’s embrace by just a few inches; a mighty feat considering how many were murdered by that harpy before she was put down.

The former horseman Pestilence, the Princess of Forlorn, had secluded herself in her chambers immediately after the battle ended, her parents the only two allowed to see her while she recovered from the ordeal she’d suffered. He had spoken with Erik about her, it was the polite thing to do after all, but the king had been aloof, not wanting to broach the subject and quickly turning their talks in a different direction. He didn’t blame him, there was a lot of misplaced anger stirring within over what had happened to his pregnant wife, and Erik probably sensed that. It didn’t matter who had shaped her into what, or whether or not she could control her actions; she was still responsible for all those that died by her hands.

While he’d only known the elven knights for a short period before their deaths, there had been more than a few closer to home that he was still struggling to deal with. The loss of Roland, Lancaster’s cavalry commander, being one of them. He had been strafing the enemy lines when a winged goblin snatched him from his horse and flung him amongst the jackyls; and no body could later be found to be burned with the rest. John had taken it hard and had made many toasts over the last couple of weeks to the man’s memory.

Personally, he hoped it had been a quick death, anything less would give him nightmares to even contemplate.

The hardest of all had been Bordin, his new father-in-law. Willow had not received the news well, especially after the ordeal she had suffered. She would burst into tears randomly, wave off his concerned affections, and more than once he’d had to force himself upon her; holding her tightly until she calmed back down. A messenger pigeon had been sent to inform Jenna, and Kylee had been aloof and distant on the subject. He felt that the ranger was trying to come to terms with something and it wasn’t him that she wanted to confide in.

It had another impact as well; a situation that he hadn’t put much thought into and believed would never come. He was now the King of Griedlok.

When he wasn’t with his wife and daughter, he was dealing with matters concerning the welfare of his people, maintenance of the army, and constant messages from his new home. Willow had wanted to share in the responsibility, but he had insisted that she rest and recover her strength. The entire affair had taken a lot out of her and she was in no shape to do anything stressful at the moment. Luckily, her mother was dealing with most of the day to day affairs at home and only the really pressing matters were sent his way.

As the smoke cleared and the dead were mourned, so too did the commanders of the army have to deal with what came next. Although Merlin had insisted from the beginning that the army march west to confront the Phoenix and put an end to her existence as soon as victory was procured, an event happened shortly after the battle that reversed his stance on the subject entirely.

Shortly after the fall of her hordes, there had been a low howling noise that vibrated the Earth, increasing slowly until the ground shook so hard that walls had cracked, older buildings had toppled, and parts of the nearby mountain broke off and fell to the forest below. The sky had darkened, even though it had been afternoon, and the world went still, as if holding its breath. Even after the tremors subsided, they still felt it in their legs, in their souls; something evil had been unleashed upon the world and it was only a matter of time until their doom descended upon them like the spires crumbling in the streets.

A council had been convened with all of the commanders of the armies and their kings in attendance. They had wanted answers and were not happy with the one given to them by the shocked magician; the look of surprise alien to the man’s normally calm visage.

The Phoenix had opened a rift into another realm and summoned reinforcements that now filled the Deadlands to the point of overflowing. The victory they’d won, the sacrifices they’d suffered, had been for nothing, as now they faced a force larger than any ever seen before. The plans to march west were immediately scrapped; there was no way that was a feasible option now. They needed more men and better information on what they were facing; he was not sure of where they were going to get either.

He was walking along the outside wall of the fortress, absent-mindedly going where his feet willed, with no real direction in mind. He glanced about and was surprised to see the Aethelflaed Forest coming into view. What was he doing out here? How’d he even left the fortress walls without being accosted or hailed by anyone? Had the guards even noticed his departure? He didn’t see a Guardian in sight, the royal bodyguards assigned to him having been overly pushy with their protective duties since the fall of their last monarch; they were not going to lose another.

With the dark mood he was in, it was probably better they weren’t there anyways; he’d likely tell them to piss off and give him some degree of privacy; he sorely needed it. So, he pushed it aside and decided to just go with it, his mind still reflecting on the past couple of days and the decisions he was now facing.

King Storvirk of Alamar had decided it was best to go home and attempt to retake Alamar; the freed orcs deciding to go with him as well. Kore had been asked to be their new leader, but he’d declined after a very heated discussion that none other than an orc could follow.

The death of Famine had inspired the opposing force of orcs and the arrival of the Dark Elves had cemented their chance to rebel. Now, they feared for the lives of their families and wanted the strongest amongst them to lead, and Kore had singlehandedly killed the horseman with nothing but his own two hands. Yet, his friend had still not felt worthy of the task, despite the slight hero-worship leveled at his feet, and harbored no ambition for a crown.

He could sympathize; he had never wanted it either.

Instead, Kore had spoken highly of Grackthor, insisting that the orc commander take his place. It must have been a moving speech, because days after, Grackthor had ridden at the head of the column behind Alamar’s horsemen as they marched west, giving a friendly wave to Kore as he watched his people depart from the battlements above.

The Dark Elf army had surprised everyone with their unexpected arrival and seeing Melissa in the vanguard of their forces had been the most shocking of all. She was their queen now and had used her influence to persuade the rest of her kind to join in the fight, to finally leave their mountain home and take part in the shaping of the world. He had seen her a couple of times in passing, their eyes meeting, but never lingering. They were both kept busy with matters of state, but he knew that the time was soon coming when they would be forced to talk, and that was not something he was not looking forward to. He was slowly adjusting to her natural appearance, and even though he had seen her shapeshift before, this new form was going to take getting used to.

John had secured the sworn fealties of the southern armies and they had marched south a few days earlier. The brothers parted on good terms, with smiles upon their faces. Noelani’s had joined them as well, the dwarven army nearly half of what had marched from Grendweir before the first battle at Lancaster. Several of the dwarves had paid their respects to Riska, but the dwarven general hadn’t been one of them. You would think dying to protect two Queens of the Elven Nation would count for something amongst their culture, but apparently it still wasn’t enough.

He had promised John that he would be in touch soon. There was a decision to be made on what his next move would be, and it was expected that he would be returning to Griedlok as well. The crown had been resized, polished and cleaned, and was waiting patiently back in the palace to be placed on his head. It was not something he truly ever wanted and wished that his father-in-law were still here to lead his people; it would make the oncoming choice easier to make. Would he march the army south to Griedlok or did he have another part to play in the months to come?

He felt that Merlin might have something to say about that.

His walk had taken him down a dirt path through the dense forest and he came to a sudden halt as he happened upon a clearing; realizing that he had come to his unintended destination with no clear idea of where he was or why. A quaint cottage was set back against the wall of trees opposite of him and though he’d never seen it before, it somehow felt like a home away from home. A horse was grazing nearby, and he recognized Archimedes immediately. The stallion paid him no mind as he continued to feed; oblivious to the eyes upon him.

He had found Merlin after all.

The mage had been reclusive of late, reappearing from wherever he was hiding at odd times, never really engaging in conversation, and constantly babbling to himself. The opening of the rift had disturbed the man greatly, and apparently had been one event he had not foreseen. He wanted to sympathize with the man’s frustrations but felt a little bit of joy that the mage was indeed human after all; if only a little bit.

Smoke rose out of the chimney in waves, the brown and white stone architecture barely lit by the afternoon sun. The shadows of the trees stretched across the cottage; as if caressing a lover, preparing for a dark embrace. A small stone walkway stretched around the back, probably to the outhouse; which was well hidden from sight. Flowers flourished along the pathways, no doubt planted by the overzealous elves, who just had to have nature integrated into every structure they created.

As he raised his hand to knock, he was astonished to find the door cracked open, a voice calling out immediately as if the tiniest creek had been heard from within. Yes, yes, come in.

Of course, Merlin knew he was coming.

Merlin had taken irritability and crankiness to a new level as of late. His notoriety for his actions during the Battle for Forlorn, as it was now called, had been just as well received as his own; which was to say, it was never ending. The magician was constantly badgered by the populace for advice, spellwork, and endless questions about events transpiring around them, which had quickly driven the mage mad and into seclusion.

It had taken him a week to get Erik to admit that he knew where Merlin had absconded to, and another to drag the location out of him. Though he hadn’t planned on making this journey, it had to be lurking in the back of his mind; his feet bringing him here despite his need for solitude. Maybe his subconscious knew that it was time the two of them talked, to find out what was expected of him next.

He stepped through the door and came to another abrupt halt, the interior of the cottage leaving him at a loss for words. Even though it had only been recently given to the mage for his use, it appeared as if the magician had lived there for years, not weeks.

Four bookshelves lined one wall and there was a round table in front of them filled with stacked and scattered books, tossed about in no particular order. Across the top of the bookshelves were animals of different varieties, having been stuffed and placed on pedestals with little plagues in front of them, obviously naming what or who they were. A cage rattled in the corner, a long furry creature climbing up the wired walls in order to get a better look at him; the species unknown to him and looking like a weird squirrel. There were two chairs situated around the table, and one was askew with even more upon its maroon padding. Who ever had the time to read all of that?

Well, Merlin did, of course. He had nothing but time on his hands.

A round object was on a stand at the edge of the table and was mostly blue in color, with brown irregular shapes upon its surface. He couldn’t see the writing from where he was, but he doubted he’d be able to understand it anyways. It was a map of some kind, he knew that much, but as to why it was on a sphere, he had no clue.

He looked at the small kitchen on the far wall to the right with dishes littering the sinks, and cabinet doors thrown wide open; the shelves empty. There didn’t look to be much in the way of stored food, yet there was the smell of meat heavy upon the air. His eyes registered movement and he was startled by the sight of a broom sweeping the floor, pushing dirt towards a floating dustpan, as if specters roamed freely, cleaning house just for the hell of it. He held his breath as the full dustpan rose into the air and flew to a nearby trashcan, depositing its contents cleanly into the nearly full container. It soared back to the broom, and together, they danced across the floor; oblivious to his attention.

Hanging from the ceiling around him were models of birdlike creatures the likes of which he had never seen. They were gray with long wings, pointed tails, and each had a see-through eyeball situated at the front of it.

To the left was a fireplace, flames flickering within, and he felt the warmth of the fire embracing his bare skin in a comfortable hug. He didn’t see any fuel to maintain the flames, but he had grown accustomed to the unexplainable while traveling with Merlin, and it barely raised an eyebrow. Two cushioned chairs faced the fire at angles and there was a small table placed between them. A tea pot and two cups with saucers under them sat upon it; Merlin had been expecting company. At the rear of the table was a sugar container and if he didn’t know better, he’d say it was hiding from something; or someone.

There was a hoot by his ear and he nearly jumped out of his skin it had startled him so bad. Hanging from the ceiling were two long cords which held a wooden pole at their ends. Perched on it was a snowy white owl, eyes open and watching him closely. He felt scrutinized within the creature’s glare and for a brief time, he considered taking a jab at the bird if for no other reason than to get it to look elsewhere.

Now, now, Homer, he’s our guest. Merlin’s voice responded, as if the hoot had been a language that Tristan should have understood.

The owl continued to stare at him, and he realized he was actually waiting to see if the creature would answer back. Laughing at himself, he looked to Merlin, who was sitting in one of the chairs by the fire, having not yet turn to greet his guest. A pointed purple hat sat askew on the back of the chair and he tried imagining the mage wearing it; he had to fight the giggles that rose unbidden before the man snapped at him for being rude.

The mage was adorned in his usual dark brown robes and had a book gripped tightly within his hands. A pair of spectacles lay across the tip of his nose; his eyes intent on the text in front of him. His brown hair was shaggy and unkempt, his goatee ragged; and it looked like it had been stroked at appalling angles as the mage read whatever manuscript was before him. Merlin’s staff was on the floor by the chair, nearest the fire; and clearly forgotten by its owner.

Such a rude youth, staring like that, a crisp voice stated, and he unwillingly flinched once more. He turned to look in the direction of the voice and saw the owl still eyeing him suspiciously, a human intelligence reflected within his frigid orbs.

Just ignore him Tristan. Come, sit, the mage offered, absently pointing at the chair across from him.

He paused before doing so, looking to see if he could catch the owl making a retort, but the bird simply sat there and eyed him as if he were the one that was crazy. Thinking he might be exactly that, or dreaming, he stepped forward and eased into the chair facing the mage; barely able to see his eyes above the book the man was reading.

The smell of cooked meat grew stronger and he felt his stomach stir; the realization dawning that he hadn’t taken the time to eat today. He had been in such a rush to flee the palace that it hadn’t occurred to him to grab something along the way. Now, as his stomach roared in displeasure, he was made well aware of what that lapse in memory summoned upon him.

Merlin reached up with a stick that he had stuffed between his right leg and the cushion and waved it in the general direction of the kitchen. With a loud bang, the oven door suddenly fell forward, the outburst making him flinch yet again. From within came that sizzling aroma that he had been assaulted with and it blanketed the room with its enticing fragrance. With another flick of his wrists, two plates slipped from the strainer next to the sink and hovered before the oven. Two steaks slithered out of the interior and onto the ceramic ovals anxiously awaiting their arrival; as if held by an invisible specter that only the mage could see or command. He watched, stunned; his mouth watering at the sight of the roasted meat.

From the counter above hopped two loafs of bread, as if come to life and willingly given themselves over to be eaten. They jumped in the air and came down on the plates perfectly at the steak’s side. Merlin waved his wand again and the plates veered in their direction, coming to an abrupt halt right in front of them.

Reaching up tentatively, he accepted the offered food gratefully, and uttered a soft thanks.

Merlin flicked his wand again and a table that was pushed up against the back of the door whisked forward and perched itself beside Merlin’s chair. The plate hovered for a second longer, then fell before the engrossed magician and landed on the table with a small clink.

He was forced to duck as a knife and fork buzzed by his head, nearly spearing him with their blades. They circled around and came to rest before him, hovering slightly as if urging him to pick them up. He carefully plucked them out of the air, expecting some resistance to his touch, but they went easily enough.

Speechless, he absentmindedly began to cut his steak, watching as a fork and knife did the work for the mage as he continued reading his book; oblivious to their efforts. When a piece had finished, Merlin reached down, and without taking his eyes off what he was reading, forwent the fork and pinched the meat between his fingers, withdrawing his hand quickly behind the brown tattered surface of the open book.

He choked on the steak, forgetting that it had just come out of the stove, and gasped for air as his mouth burned from the searing meat. He hadn’t really been paying attention to what he was doing and was paying for his mistake as he swiftly looked for something to quench the fires of perdition rendering agony upon his unsuspecting mouth.

Oh, yes, sorry about that, Merlin said, waving at the cups on the table, still refusing to look at him. Be specific on how many lumps you want, or you’ll regret it my boy.

Puzzled by what the mage had said, he looked to the table and stared with an amazed smile as the tea kettle rose of its own accord and poured them both a cup of tea. Then the other container reluctantly hopped forward, producing a spoon from behind its back, the little handle holding it shaking slightly with a nervous tick.

Uh, lumps? he asked, uncertain.

Of sugar, lad, Merlin said from behind his book.

Oh. He turned to the sugar container staring at him, realizing it was waiting on his orders before going about its business. Uh, two please, he said politely to the white container. It nodded, opened its lid, and used the spoon to scoop out two lumps of sugar into his cup with minimal splash; a well-practiced move that seemed almost human.

He paused, wondering if his cup would lift on its own, then shook his head chuckling; some things he was apparently allowed to do himself. He lifted it slowly and breathed in the steam with pleasure, then sipped it slowly, letting the liquid soothe his aching tongue. He went to put the cup down and realized the sugar container had started filling the mage’s cup without having been instructed to do so. Uh, Merlin?

Yes? the mage asked, lowering the book slightly and looking at him through the spectacles on the end of his nose. Then the mage followed his gaze, and the resulting curse made him jump involuntarily once more. Blast it all! the mage roared as he waved his hand, the wand weaving and then snapping it straight as he pointed it at his cup of tea. The cup had an overflowing mound of sugar within and it abruptly flew towards the fireplace and threw its contents into the fire, resulting in a hissing and crackling noise as the flames quickly consumed its offering with heated pleasure. The cup then flew back and landed on the saucer once more, the kettle more than happy to refill its contents as it hopped forward and poured its owner a fresh offering of tea.

How many years does it take, you infernal creature? the mage cursed again. "One lump. One!"

The sugar container stuttered its way forward, slowly lifted its spoon, dumped the contents, then hopped away, running behind the tea kettle and disappearing from view.

Blasted thing can never get it right, Merlin growled as he lifted another piece of steak to his mouth, his fork and knife having retreated in the direction of the sink as if in fear of being snapped at next. The book rose, and the man went back to his reading; engrossed in his book and forgetting anyone else was there.

They ate in silence, the mage’s fingers tearing bread or reaching for steak now and again to show that he was a living being in those robes of his and not stuffed like the creatures on pedestals above them.

How—? he stammered. Even through all that he had seen since the mage had entered his life, he still hadn’t been prepared for any of this. It was amazing to see how the mage actually lived and the environment the magician was obviously accustomed to, when he was not running around the world flinging fire and turning goblins into mice.

Hmm? the mage asked, as if unaware that he’d spoken; and he probably was. Putting the book down, he looked Tristan over, his eyes staring at him from behind glasses that he never knew the mage wore. Ah yes, I forgot, you haven’t been here yet to see me.

You say that, but it looked like you were prepared for company, he responded, off-handedly waving at his now empty plate. Which, on its own volition, lifted itself, silverware and all, and floated across the room towards the kitchen.

Merlin grinned. I wouldn’t be much of a magician if I wasn’t prepared for company, now would I? the mage looked at him with those penetrating brown eyes; daring him to say otherwise.

His breathing paused, he was caught within the mage’s eyes, and felt a loss of self for a few brief seconds of time. He experienced a familiar nudging in his brain and instantly began to focus on the texture of Willow’s feet in his hands, on what it felt like to rub them constantly for hours.

Merlin snapped out of it, as if waking from a dream. Oh, right you are. Sorry about that. Uh, as I was saying. I knew that you were coming, just not the exact time in which you’d show. For me, you’ve already come and gone. As to the—, the mage stopped, to vaguely gesture at the cottage around them, thousands of years’ worth of collecting, luckily kept safe for me by Queen Jillian, and returned to me upon their departure two weeks ago. That hand bag, he said, pointing next to the fireplace where an open blue satchel sat, worn with age, has held my belongings in it for a very long time, waiting for me to return from that infernal block of ice I was imprisoned in. When the mage said that, he shivered in remembrance. Knowing full well that I’d be going away for an extended incarceration, I asked Jillian’s mother to hold onto it for me, knowing it’d be returned at one point or another.

Oh, he managed, not sure he understood, but nodding anyways. All of this fits in that bag? He had seen Merlin pull all kinds of objects out of his other one during their travels, he just couldn’t wrap his mind around the entire contents of the cottage fitting in such a small container.

Why of course! Merlin said, as if it were a stupid question. I never used to go anywhere without it. But it’s not like I’ve had a place to live recently and I couldn’t very well use it to bash in goblin heads, now could I? Oh wait, I guess I could, but then, what good would that have done? You know, you remind me of someone, the mage said, fingering his beard with his right hand. I think his name was Wart, or he was called that until he grew up. You two had the same astonished looks upon your faces. Say, would you like to know what it’s like to be a squirrel, or a canary?

Uh—, he managed, unable to grasp what the mage was getting at, but not really wanting to answer lest the magician take it as a yes and hopped to it. It had to be some inside joke only the magician would understand; he was well known for exactly that.

Merlin suddenly broke into laughter and it was good to see the humor return to the mage’s eyes. So much had happened in the last month to sour his mood and for the past couple of weeks, the mage had looked miserable and in despair.

It was evident that the time alone in his cottage had done much to restore the man to his former self. What have you been doing while you’ve been hiding out in this cottage? he asked, curiously looking at the model hanging over his head, slowly rotating with a slight breeze.

It’s an F-14 Tomcat, an aeroplane, Merlin said, nodding to it. Not that I got to ever ride in one, being trapped like I was. But it is nice to look at.

An aeroplane? he asked confused. What the hell was that?

Yes, yes, the humans’ way of flying. Before the Phoenix got to them, anyways. Little good it did them in the end, though, the mage replied, scowling.

I think I prefer griffins, he muttered, not seeing how such a thing could ever fly and feeling more comfortable with a living intelligent beast in control of his flight.

Merlin laughed, his hand pounding on his knee. That’s my boy! However, griffins weren’t available back then. They didn’t appear until about the time the Phoenix summoned her first rift, the one that brought the orcs, dragons, and goblins into our world. I don’t even think she knows what she let loose on that dark afternoon.

The mage paused as if in thought, then his eyes returned to the book before him, as if it called to him.

What are you reading? he managed, his eyes going to the leather tome as well, the language on the binding in a language he could not understand.

Looking for a way to communicate with a gnome, the mage sighed, fingering the pages of the book. You’d think I’d know this, and it’s embarrassing to admit I don’t, but I seemed to have—misplaced the knowledge somewhere.

Gnomes? he asked anxiously, remembering his last encounter with them; it wasn’t that great an experience to recall. He involuntarily shivered and had a momentary flash of himself with an apple stuffed in his mouth.

Not all gnomes are cannibals, Merlin told him. "In fact, the Earth Gnomes are the only flesh eaters of their race. But then, there is so little options for them to choose from. Dirt is not very appetizing, you know?" the mage threw at him; as if it excused their behavior.

Other gnomes are quite civilized, in their own way. There are four types, one for each of the elements. The Fire Gnomes, the mage said, whisking his wand and causing a scroll to fly their way, landing on top of the book opened in the mage’s lap, live up here in the Blackedge Mountains. The mage was pointing at the map, which turned out to be a well-drawn scroll of the lands around them. They keep to themselves, are content to hide in their caves, and rarely come out, even for sport. The Air Gnomes are less tribal and are scattered across the lands. They tend to terrorize farms, scaring cattle and such, and are very hard to pin down and talk to. Water Gnomes, on the other hand, are very civilized and live in the Pools of Clentar, deep in the Aethelflaed Forest, east of Fairy Glen. They have a king, like your people do, and are content to live out their lives in seclusion under the waters of the lake. They are our best bet.

For what? he asked, not sure he wanted anything to do with gnomes, civilized or otherwise.

The mage’s eyes grew distant and had started to cloud over. The trance was a natural occurrence for the magician as he scanned the realm of future possibilities for the answers he sought. "As the Phoenix rises from its ashes, the progeny of Morgana shall be reborn, until blood meets blood and the bond is forever broken." Merlin’s voice had grown distant and it was if another was speaking through him; it was disturbing to the point of terror; it gave him the creeps.

What the hell does that mean? Blood meets blood? he asked in confusion, watching as the mage’s eyes cleared and focused on him once more.

It means that we need to find a blood relative of the Phoenix and make her face them in order to break the hold the Book of the Dead has over her. When separated from its master, it will be vulnerable. Then Erik can use Excalibur to finally destroy that infernal book and forever end its reign of terror, Merlin told him firmly, acting like he should already know this.

He shook his head, not seeing how this was related to the gnomes. And how are we supposed to do that?

By traveling to the Pools of Clentar, gaining the help of the Water Gnomes, and using an ancient spell to bring forward a blood relative of the Phoenix from ages past, the mage stated simply.

Oh, is that all? he blurted, unable to help himself. This was all too fantastical to wrap his brain around. Even with all that he had been through, it was just excessively far out of the realm of reality for him to seriously take into consideration.

Merlin’s brows drew together. Did you think it would be a walk in the park, our task to rid the world of the Phoenix? Did you think it would be easy? No. There are certain steps we must take, tasks we all must do, if we are to see to her destruction and the ending of this constant threat of annihilation. We are nowhere close to being done and the hard part has barely begun.

Another crusade? Really?

And I’m guessing you are expecting me to drop everything and come with you this time as well? he threw back, getting riled up himself. In case you missed it, I now have a kingdom to rule, a wife who needs me, and a baby to protect. I can hardly just walk away and go off on another crusade; forsaking all my responsibilities just because you say so.

Willow can return home and rule in your stead. It’s hardly a new concept, the mage snapped back. What do you think your new sister-in-law was doing while your brother marched his armies to Forlorn? And I’m sorry you feel so abused, but tell me boy, what have you really lost and what has the world gained from what you have already given? What more can you accomplish? And as the responsible monarch of the Elves of Griedlok, are you not compelled to do everything in your power to protect them? Or did that particular responsibility just slip your mind? Ruling is more than making decisions about who stole whose chicken, or when to hold a ball in honor of thyself.

He stirred at the rebuke and refused to back down. He’d never in a million lifetimes be caught dead at a ball. Send Willow home? I think you living here in this cottage has raddled your brain, because you’re clearly nuts. I nearly lost her a few weeks ago, for good. Her and our baby. Something I haven’t totally forgiven you for, by the way. And you think I’m going to let her ever leave my side again?

Would you rather take her and Hope with us? I’m sure that’s the safest option, by far, Merlin countered sarcastically.

No, I’d prefer we all went home to Griedlok and left you to find someone else to be your damned errand boy, he sneered.

Such insolence, Homer snorted from his perch and both men turned and told the bird to shut up.

Just tell me why. Why me? he finally asked after a few seconds of silence, the tension heavy upon the air. Why can’t someone else go in my stead? I can’t be the only retarded human stupid enough to ask how high every time you say jump.

Merlin sighed and looked towards the fire, as if searching for the right words and frustrated that he even needed them. Do you seriously think I don’t wish that I could give you what you want? That I wouldn’t let you go home with your wife and child and get the peace you so richly deserve? That I’m just stubborn and refuse to look elsewhere, constantly putting you in danger for some selfish need to have you by my side? Do you not think that I already appreciate what you’ve done, the sacrifices you’ve made, both body and soul, in order to see us through to this moment? Well, I do wish those things for you, I do. But no matter where I look, how hard I scan the future for other options, I cannot find a single successful outcome that doesn’t have you in it. You are destined for greater things, tasks you don’t even realize that only you can perform. And whether you like it or not, fate has you tied up in this thing and refuses to let you go.

Fate can kiss my ass, he cursed, glaring at the older man.

Don’t tempt it, my boy, or it might show its teeth and take a bite out of it instead, Merlin responded with a smirk and he couldn’t help but smile back.

He sighed and lost himself to his thoughts for a few minutes, the mage waiting patiently for him to come at him again. The anger was subsiding, the tendrils twisting lightly beneath the surface, struggling to get free; but he fought them back.

Merlin was right, he had a responsibility to protect his people, and if it required him to go on another quest in order to see this war come to an end, then he owed it to them to try. Still, parting from Willow and Hope would be devastating and he wasn’t sure he was capable of doing it. Tell me what you’ve got in mind, he ordered the waiting magician.

Merlin leaned forward and placed the book he’d been reading on the table, flipping a long piece of string into the binding and shutting it firmly. The rift that the Phoenix opened let through a much larger force than she’s ever commanded in this realm before. They come from the dimension I banished her to. If I had ever thought she’d make it back, I would have sent her to a land filled with ponies and little girls riding horses upon rainbow roads. Yet, I hadn’t had much time to plan before our confrontation and acted on instinct. Now, I’m paying for that, he remarked, sitting back and letting the abrupt silence extend further as the mage reflected on the past.

Then why focus on this quest of yours if that army can march on us at any second? Why let all the other armies return home if they are going to be instantly needed to fight off these new hordes? he pursued, badgering the man for answers.

The other man smirked. They are undisciplined and chaotic, not used to the world they’ve been thrust into. She has learned the hard way that she can’t just throw numbers at us and expect to win. She will take the time to have them trained, to arm them better, and to ensure she has more capable commanders leading them. In six months, they will be on the move, but until then we are afforded a little wiggle room to lick our wounds and train our own armies as well. It’s a window we must take advantage of so that we can press her before she’s ready and take this fight to her own doorstep.

So, we just need to go to this lake and cast a spell? he asked in disbelief. It can’t be that easy.

Merlin broke into laughter. "No, that’s just what we are going to be doing. Kore will be joining us, as he is already feeling uneasy being the lone orc residing in an elven castle; despite the goodwill engendered by his rebellious kin. He is still not entirely welcome and is eager to leave. And I expect that Serix will be just as willing to do so as well. Necromancers serve their purpose, but they are rarely treated well when battle is not joined. It’s the nature of their craft."

Kylee, I’ll have to send north to meet with the minotaurs in an attempt to bring them into the war. Their numbers are vast, having been left alone for two millennia by both sides, and it’s time that they chose which they are going to stand on, the mage continued and he felt a sting at the thought of the ranger, his sister, venturing into that part of the world alone. She will be fine, she won’t be alone. I am quite sure that newfound friend of hers will not leave her side, despite any protest she might make to the contrary.

That was true enough. Morgan had been nigh on inseparable from her since the battle had ended. And though he had been concerned at first, the elf was making the ranger extremely happy, and he wouldn’t begrudge her that; they all deserved happiness after all they’d suffered to get here.

As for the elves. It’s time that the old races came together and were united once more. If we are going to have any chance of success against the Phoenix’s armies, then they can no longer hide from the world; they need to emerge and take part in forging its future. High Elves, Highland Elves, Sea Elves; they will all need to follow the Dark Elves example and come to our aid. Anything less will only lead to disaster and our eventual ruin. Though he won’t like it, Erik is going to have to take this on personally, as will his wife. There’s no other way, and all must come to pass if we are to push through to the very end, Merlin finished, his face grim and a slight frown tugging at the corners of his mouth.

You’re right, he remarked after processing all that he’d been told, Erik’s not going to like that one bit. You’re asking him to leave his daughter behind, aren’t you? Right after getting her back? After all she’s been through?

Do you honestly care one bit about that poor girl, or are you just talking out of your ass? the mage countered, suddenly serious.

Apparently, his anger at the former horseman hadn’t been well-hidden after all. Of course I care! It’s not like I don’t know what happened, who was ultimately responsible. I don’t wish her harm for the actions she’s caused. It’s just hard to look at her without seeing my wife’s body lying at her feet; the pain of what happened relived every time she breaks into my thoughts. It’s not her fault, I know that, but I can’t help how I feel.

Merlin paused to watch him briefly, then slowly nodded his head. All right. Well, I understand, even if I don’t approve.

Oh, well that’ll make me lose sleep at night, he snarked under his breath.

That poor girl has suffered enough, and she needs support right now, not further reminders of the pain she caused while under the influence of that evil witch, Merlin continued, as if not hearing his snide remark. You wouldn’t fare much better if the Phoenix got her claws into you.

The dreaded moment was fast approaching, and he could feel a tingling snaking up his spine; the choice about to be given and a decision expected to be made.

Almost as if summoned, Merlin leaned forward and eyed him closely. So, what’s it going to be? Are you going to ride south or continue your journey by my side?

He sighed heavily and took another sip of his cooling tea. He should have gotten another lump. Sugar was a rare commodity and he wasn’t used to the sweet flavor snaking down his throat.

If he could truly help bring the Phoenix down, then regardless of what he felt or how much he’d miss his family, he needed to do his part to bring it about. He still didn’t know why it had to be him, but that hadn’t changed from the first time he’d met Merlin in that glen; a young boy about to be married and nothing more than an unwanted burden to those surrounding him.

He would have to see this through and pray that he would see Willow and Hope when it was all over. Fine. You win. I’m in.

Chapter 2

Traitor

I

Making people believe he was dead, that had been the easy part. Walking away from everything he knew? That took just a little bit more courage than he realized he had. He hadn’t planned any of it in advance, hadn’t even known he’d made a decision to act, but circumstances changed when you least expected it. You either rolled with it or got rolled over, and he’d been trampled on too much in his life to let it happen again.

When he had journeyed into the Deadlands the first time, he had felt a mind reach out for his, a telepathic touch that called out to his talents to respond. Though he initially rejected her attempts at communication, overtime, curiosity had gotten the best of him as he slowly begun to listen; eventually drawn so far in that he ached for her whenever they were apart. He didn’t realize who she was at first, she’d kept that much from him, but when she’d finally made herself known, it was too late to pull back, or to hide; he was hers.

Jared pulled back his cowl and stepped into the throne room, his eyes sweeping the chamber with intense interest. Part of the deal he’d made for his loyalty was the gift of sight, and she had made good on that promise the instant he arrived from Camelot. No matter what happened, who he betrayed, that one bit of magic was worth all the anguish that came with it. Only those with sight would argue that the price was too high; for what the hell did they know?

When War had thrown his axe, he found himself in the perfect position to fake his own death; to make all of Merlin’s party, including his sister, believe that he died in the attack. Using his telepathy, he held an image of his corpse firmly in their minds until all that remained was Reyna, his grieving heart-broken sister. It saddened him to do that to her, to watch her grieve so openly without being able to reach out and hold her. He had gone to hell and back to save her from the Phoenix’s control, but he lost himself in the process.

A green dragon had been waiting for him behind the palace of Camelot and once Merlin’s party departed, he had climbed onto its back and allowed it to carry him to Blackwater Keep, deep within the Deadlands and far away from anyone he’d ever known or cared about.

She had welcomed him with open arms and taken him for a husband, promising that their combined powers would make for a very special child, one that would one rule the entire world with no one powerful enough to oppose him. Even now, his seed was growing within her and soon he would be a father.

Tristan had Hope.

They would have Misery.

It greatly pleased his Queen that she would be a mother as well, and her temper had somewhat cooled with the constant growth within her abdomen. Maybe that was why her armies tooled about, training instead of marching, her mothering instinct interfering for her lust for power.

His eyes drifted her way, a smirk creeping onto his face. She was sitting on her throne, the commanders of the forces that she’d recently brought through the rift kneeling before her; treating her like the Goddess she had professed to be. She smiled on them with great pleasure and through their connection, he could feel how elated and hopeful she was.

She’d spent over a thousand years on a planet that was a different version of Earth; something she referred to as a mirror universe. One where primates had never descended from the trees, where no humanoids of any kind walked upon its surface. It had been rough at first, being thrown into the wild without the book to call upon, like being thrown into a pool of water and being forced to learn how to swim. You either learned or you drowned. She had enough magic to survive, spending decades licking her wounds, bringing herself back from the brink of death.

Over time, she’d eventually grown powerful enough to mold this other world into something more of her liking. Working the best she could with what she had, she had magicked together an entire civilization out of the wildlife that thrived on that planet. Where she had once used fear to control people in this world, she used religion to establish her rule in that one. She was literally a Goddess to them, their creator, and they were schooled religiously from birth to worship at her feet. They were fiercely loyal and unlike the orcs or goblins of this world, would never betray her.

He knew the names of the races she’d created from their mental bond, but now he could look upon them and see the beauty of her work himself. He had been told that the ancestors of these creatures had once walked this planet before the apocalypse, but that very few remained after the Nuclear Winter that swallowed the world for decades after the bombs fell.

The eles were the largest of the races. They were more than ten feet in height, had thick dark gray skin, as well as a long snout and longer tusks coming out of the corners of their mouths. They generally wore heavy platemail and when on the move, were nearly unstoppable. They favored thick blunt weapons and could crush an entire phalanx single-handedly. If you were unfortunate to be standing in front of them when they charged, you’d get crushed instantly; stopping wasn’t really feasible with the tons of weight they were carrying.

Kneeling by the gigantic creature’s side was an average sized humanoid with dark black