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Calain was lost. She had been riding her father’s horse down the road in a state of misery, and trying not to think of Siobhan, when she was blinded by a white light and suddenly found herself sitting astride the horse in a pearly fog.
The fog was so thick, Calain could see nothing, and her frightened horse kept bucking and rearing, so that she had to dismount and lead it by the reins.
The horse’s name was Lucky, which Calain found ironic given the circumstances. Lucky was a sturdy brown stallion, very nervous and flighty, for he had never been into battle or braved strange lands. He was soft and sheltered, used to the quiet of the farm. It took a great deal of singing and soothing before Calain could get him to move forward through the mist.
The further in they went, the thinner the fog seemed to become. Calain could see dark shapes in the distance, buildings that were low, trees. She moved toward them, and noticed that – for some odd reason – the beat of Zelda’s heart beside her own was growing stronger. It could only mean that Zelda was near, but why would she be here in this fog of all places?
Calain tried to ignore Zelda’s heartbeat, instead moving toward the shapes in the distance. They were growing more distinct, and she could hear voices, the clash of blades, the soft bray of horses. The sounds were all too familiar. She was nearing a training yard.
Maybe she had come to a fortress belonging to other human knights. The Knights of the Stag, for instance. She prayed it was not the Knights of the Dragon.
The strange mist finally cleared, and as Calain stepped out of it, she halted to find herself face to face with a forest of arrows. Several elves stood in a row before her, clad in the black, silky garments of assassins, their eyes slits in the depths of their hoods.
One elf had their hood down, a male with a mass of long yellow hair pulled back in a thick tail and slanted eyes that were a bright, startling blue. His mouth was twisted in a sneer as he aimed an arrow straight at Calain’s face. The elf seemed vaguely familiar.
Beyond the row of hostile elves, it was as Calain had assumed: a fortress of wood and stone rising sturdy to the blue sky, with red rooftops and delicate elven architecture. Cold statues of wolves guarded the gate either side, which was open on the training yard, and the elves training there had stopped to stare at the confrontation.
“You dare,” hissed the male elf, “set foot on this island, human? I don’t know how you passed the wards, but you’re going to be very sorry you—”
“Eiran!” shouted a familiar voice. “Don’t hurt her!”
Calain looked up and couldn’t believe it: Imodel was running toward them, though she was hardly recognizable now that she was wearing clothes. She was dressed in the same silky black garments as the other elves, but her hood was down and her bow on her back. She came running across the gravel yard, yellow hair streaming loose behind her, big breasts heaving, and halted in front of Calain, grinning up at her.
Calain had to admit she was glad to see Imodel as well. Her heart fluttered as she looked down into the familiar blue eyes.
“What is the meaning of this?” snarled the male elf with the bright blue eyes. “You know the penalty for humans who trespass on the island is death!”
Imodel rolled her eyes. “Be still, Eiran! This is my knight! The one who rescued me from the Gold Keep.”
Upon hearing this, the elves lowered their bows, looking at Calain in a new light. They put their weapons away, and one, a woman with green eyes, said, “Then she is owed a blood debt. The human may rest here then be on her way.”
With that, the elves turned away. All but the male with the blue eyes, who was staring at Calain with a startling amount of hatred. “This is the one,” he said to Imodel, “who you bragged so shamelessly that she took you in the mountains?”
Calain held back a laugh, knowing that to do so would have only provoked the elf. But as it turned out, she might as well have had her laugh, for the male sheathed his bow on his back and suddenly lunged on her, screaming, “You fucked my sister! I'll kill you! I’ll kill you!”
Calain went down hard, the wind knocked out of her. She barely had time to block with her arm when the male elf, in a snarling rage, began to punch at her face again and again. Calain shielded herself with her forearms and only made defensive maneuvers, not wishing to accidentally injure Imodel’s brother, who – true to his bellows—seemed hell-bent on killing her.
Calain was vaguely aware of Imodel somewhere screaming, “Stop it! Stop it! Leave her alone!” and of elves gathering to watch the fight with interest.
Eiran, with his relentless punches, managed to get a few blows in, leaving a cut on Calain’s temple and busting her lip. She retaliated with a knee-jerk reaction, giving the elf an uppercut to his face that snapped his head back.
The watching elves cheered, but Imodel screamed in horror.
“Stop it! Stop hurting each other!” Imodel shrieked, and grabbing a fistful of Eiran’s yellow hair, she pried him off.
Eiran fell hard on his seat, watching darkly as Imodel leaned over Calain.
“Are you all right? Did he hurt you?” asked Imodel breathlessly and cupped Calain’s face with one small hand.
Calain kissed Imodel on the lips, which made Eiran tense and lurch to his feet.
“Stay off my sister, human!” Eiran warned.
Imodel helped Calain to stand, but her reproving eyes were on her brother. “Leave her alone, Eiran! Or tis I you shall spar! And I shall not lie down and allow you to pummel me!”
With the fight over, the other elves lost interest and moved on.
Eiran’s face twisted. “I can’t believe you’re defending her! She hath sullied you! She hath taken your innocence! You are spoiled now by her touch—!”
Imodel laughed. “As if I were a jug of milk!”
“No, you are my sweet, innocent sister, too naïve to understand she hath been defiled!”
Calain glanced in bafflement at Imodel and didn’t see the sweet innocence Eiran did. It was clear to her that Imodel was a woman grown, a confident lover, and a murdering, bloodthirsty assassin to boot.
“You are being foolhardy, Eiran,” dismissed Imodel. She was still protectively clutching Calain’s arm, which seemed to infuriate her brother.
Eiran’s chest heaved. “Are you yet too enamored of her to see it? She took you without even pledging herself to you as champion!”
“She did not take me, I took her!” Imodel announced.
Eiran stubbornly went on, pointing a finger all the while, “You are lucky she hath not made you ill with vile human diseases! She may stay here because she hath saved your life, but if she touches you again, I shall slay her in cold blood!” With that, he turned and marched away toward the fortress.
When Eiran had gone, Calain took Lucky’s reins and looked down at Imodel, whose blue eyes were sparkling almost girlishly in excitement.
“Want to have sex in the wine larder?” Imodel asked brightly.