In the long dark hours, Aurianne sat with her mother's head cradled in her lap, the woman had given her the gift of life, and now it was Aurianne's turn to ease her mother's departure from this one. It was a bitter pill for the young woman to swallow, her mother was still young and vibrant, why did she have to die? Could some act of providence still save her?

She knew that answer as her emotions ran raw. Sometimes the woman slept, other times she was lucid. It was strange Aurianne thought, she had known everything about this woman, her physical appearance so like her own, her likes and dislikes, her past, her secrets. Now as the hours they would share drew to a close, there were so many questions that she framed in her mind, and the time was running out to ask them.

In quiet tones they spoke of the past, her mother reminisced in a joyous rapture of the days before the war, and of the mythic knight who was Aurianne's father. The stories always delighted Aurianne, they had ever since she was a little girl. Even the dreadful stints spent in the air raid shelters were filled with these sparkling tales of the man she had never even seen a photo of. However this night sensing the end was near she would finally ask the question she had always desired, the one she had never dared.

"Mother?" Aurianne questioned tentatively. She was unsure if the woman was asleep, or merely resting, as she had been talking just moments before. She gently brushed the woman's ample red hair from her face noticing she was running a fever now, her blue eyes opened suddenly staring upward.

"Yes, dear?"

Aurianne was relieved she had heard her, and she attempted to frame the question in clumsy words. "Tell me Mother, what happened to Father?" Aurianne felt the woman stiffen and she felt afraid, but her mother was not done with this world quite yet.

"He had to go away." The answer was so simple, yet raised even more questions, she had always figured he had died and her mother could not bring herself to talk about it. Boldly Aurianne dug further.

"But if he was so wonderful, and you were both so in love why did he leave?" There she had said it, and at once she was most sorry she had. Her mother looked up at her daughter, a pained expression on her face, but the pain was not that of a physical wound. Her features softened and she gasped as she tried to move.

"Sometimes even though you love with all your heart...... You cannot stay together. You have yet to love my dearest, one day you will understand." The woman shuddered and closed her eyes. She lay still for some time, breathing shallow, skin pale, she had lost a great deal of blood.

Aurianne was bone weary, the couple of hours of snatched sleep had not nearly been enough. Now that the adrenaline of the battle and narrow escape had subsided, her eyelids were heavy, and just wanted to close. Giving in to this feeling she slumped forward on the verges of sleep over her mother's supine form.

"You have the sword!" The ailing woman suddenly exclaimed, her sightless eyes opening for the last time.

Aurianne jumped her heart somersaulting in her chest.

"Yes, I do Mother." She lied, but technically it was no untruth she told for her mother had died before Aurianne could answer. The young woman wept unbridled tears, for her Mother, Darius, Worgen, her fellow villagers, and friends. Even for her unknown Father. For the first time, she was alone; utterly alone.

*****

There was ugly dissension amongst the men that following cold day. Things were different than they had been in the past, and raw nerves were struck. Always a danger and a possibility within this wild group.

"We will not be taking the women," Bennett announced flatly to his men as they prepared to move out. "We do not need any more useless mouths to feed."

Many of his men glared at him, burning disobedience thinly veiled. Some even fingered their weapons, a very automatic gesture in this age of violence. For actions rather than words decided most disputes. The warriors had fully expected this day to take the two young women as prizes, and the climate was one of dangerous, potentially explosive, disappointment. Bennett knew this, and yet he was prepared to be unflinching in his edict.

He had to be, he was the leader here after all. Rations were tight, and they did not need any more mouths to feed.

The two girls in question huddled together sharing a blanket. They had been used roughly last evening, passed about to almost all. Only Sven, Aran, and Bennett, had abstained. They were no raving beauties, all they possessed was the first flush of youth, and the comeliness it afforded them at least for a short time. For most of the men, those charms were more than enough.

A carrion bird, black as jet, passed overhead, a rarity to be sighted in the colorless skies. A mournful cry it uttered, as it awaited the departure of the bothersome creatures below. That it may feast in peace on the slaughtered unfortunates of the village.

None there noticed, however, Aran fastening the cinch of his saddle tighter about his mount, as he glanced uneasily over his broad shoulder toward his disappointed henchmen. He didn't care as the others did, he had a pretty and devoted woman of his own in Maya. He could if he wished even share his brother's woman Raissa. Bennett's edict didn't affect him in the least.

Angry voices raised, carried to him in spurts on the wind. Will standing boldly at the forefront of the knot of angry men. Finger pointed, boldly accusing. "That boy Nathan, he's useless......." Accusations carried to him on the buffeting wind. Aran turned and leaned against his horse, arms loose, sights narrowed, ready.

Sven was the only man other than Aran, who had not become embroiled in the argument. He stood off to the side. Would the slaughter never stop? He turned away, again sickened, but also alarmed at himself. A cold feeling washed over him, prickling his skin. It didn't come from the bite of the wind, it was something nameless from within. Perhaps his feelings and his desires were clearly beyond his control, loss of his manhood had indeed changed everything. A creeping feeling of lack of care about most things was slowly but surely incapacitating him.

"I am your leader!" Bennett roared at his angry men. Snub-nosed .45 wavering in the air brandished high above his head. A pause in the yelling and dissident talk. All eyes were on him, even the reluctant Sven's. "My word is law!"

A shot fired. The strong black gelding Aran was resting on jumped sideways, he swiftly moved away from the nervous animal.

"The women will not be coming with us! That is final!"

Will was about to again resume the perilous argument, Aran watched him raise his hand, cringing inwardly at the man's foolhardiness. Ill would come of this. He heard his brother's name called, surprised, as he like himself had stood apart from the argument.

"Finish them," Bennett ordered. The two girls began to cry hysterically, clutching at one another and the blanket. Their pitiful wails could be heard above all the other ambient sounds.

Aran was disgusted, and thought, if you are the leader why don't you finish them yourself?

Sven felt overwhelming nausea at the order, an order he must obey. He tried to reason that his actions would alleviate suffering. The girls stood little chance of survival if abandoned here to their fate, their lives and families gone. Yes, he knew that. He was being both punished and singled out for his weakness of last evening. Where had those feelings of hardness, and his ability to methodically follow orders gone? He withdrew his knife, running his blunt fingers over the edge of the blade. Testing its sharpness, readying himself for the senseless butchery he must deliver. Let it be quick.

Aran watched his brother, keenly surveying the reluctance in his walk, sensing his pain. Angry with his leader, for inflicting this on a man who plainly did not deserve more distress. He watched Sven pause at the first of the girls, the thin one with the mousey brown hair. Every man was silent, but it was not pity they felt, it was the feeling they were being unjustly robbed.

Only two present felt the acidic gnaw of pity. The first, Darius, chained and helpless to intervene. He cried out desperately to no response. "Spare them over me! I beg you!"

The other Svend, as he felt the warmness and softness of the girl's skin beneath his calloused fingers. The pulsing of her rapid heartbeat, the quickness of her breath, the vitality of her life. He closed his eyes and put the blade to her white throat. He had slaughtered many, he would make her exit as swift and painless as he could. It was all he could offer. Bile rose in his throat, as he pushed the blade cleanly home. It was sharp and her soft throat offered little resistance. He felt the girl buck briefly against his solid thigh and the warm wetness of spurting blood.

A strident scream wracked the stillness of the moment. The solitary black crow flew from the dead tree to again soar high above. The remaining heavyset girl scrambled to her feet, seeing her friend butchered so callously before her. The swiftness and desire for killing had long left him.

Sven watched her run, unmoving, the knife hanging loosely in his hand, the warmth of the dead girl slumped at his feet, gray eyes sad.

"Finish her." He heard Bennett admonish ruthlessly.

Reluctantly he moved to do so.

A white quilled arrow sailed through the air, its arc high. The running girl slumped to the earth, and stillness again pervaded. The black crow again returned to its former roost, cawing forlornly. All turned to see Aran returning his bow to his shoulder. He would not suffer his brothers' pain, and he had seen enough.

The raiding party left the forlorn village mid-morning, and they would form two separate groups. Aran and Sven had agreed to drive the majority of the horses and cattle to the oasis, the other men would accompany the cumbersome carts on a more direct route to the valley.

Aran sat his new horse, a heavy-set black gelding with white feathered socks and blaze, his little finely built gray mare lame and too poor to ride any further. She was released into the herd to be driven to the oasis, the only place the horses had any chance of survival. He cut a fine figure with the broadsword in his belt, his fur cape fanning out over the rump of his steed.

Sven was amazed at how swiftly a so-called civilized man could return to his savage ancestry, it seemed to suit his brother well. He wished he could say the same for himself. Sven took one last look at the field of destruction behind him, mounting his bay, and headed off after his wild brother and the retreating herd.

They had galloped virtually the entire distance pushing the herd of animals hard, the stragglers fell by the wayside and were left behind. Somehow the gray Arabian mare though lame had managed to keep pace, she had a strong spirit. It was very late in the afternoon when they drove the exhausted animals through the narrow ravine and onto the spring-fed water hole.

Aurianne heard the thundering hooves, she sat bolt upright, wracked with grief, her face streaked with tears. She fumbled near the crumpled bedding for her bow and rose for the first time since her loved one's passing. Letting her mother's head finally fall from her lap, heading to the mouth of the cave.

Her knees were stiff from being in the same position for such a prolonged time. From this vantage point, Aurianne had an unobstructed view of the oasis below, numerous horses and cattle were milling about the pond. She heard her own horse whinny and bolt towards the others crashing through the undergrowth, grimacing she had been too slow to react and restrain the mare.

Her gray-blue eyes focused on the two men on horseback letting their mounts drink, her own horse already mingling with the herd, dwarfing the others. Aurianne had a panicked thought, what if they took her precious mare along with their animals?

The men seemed restless and eager to leave, they did not dismount nor did they appear to notice the addition of her mare to the herd. She pulled a shaft from her quiver and sighted her bow. She had good eyes essential to her uncanny archery ability. However she never let the arrow fly, they were the men who had raided her village, sure enough, slain her family and friends.

Yes, she might kill those two below her now with ease, but the seeds of revenge ran deeper than that, in the dark hours over her Mother's body she had pledged to kill them all.

Aurianne would not rest until she had accomplished her vow, or died trying. The young woman put the bow down and waited, and she did not have long to. The men wheeled their horses about and left as suddenly as they had arrived, the herd of animals remained behind to graze hungrily below.

Aurianne descended from her shelter and made her way to the opening to the blighted wastes above. As she emerged from the high sheltering walls the cold wind caught at her whipping her unrestrained hair, and stinging her eyes, the frozen, arid, plains stretched in every direction before her, stark and merciless. The men had ridden to the southeast, Aurianne saw no reason to believe that in this inclement weather, they would have done anything other than turn directly for their home.

She would find them in time. There was no more to accomplish here, she would rest briefly and tomorrow she would return her Mother to her home and bury her there.

*****

Kario woke on his back firmly strapped to a hospital bed, and although he did not consider himself a strong man by any stretch of the imagination, he sensed even a far stronger man would not have escaped these bonds. He studied the dark ceiling high above him, his eyes running down the assortment of iron pipes that meandered across the field of his vision.

The haze that had inhabited his mind was clearing rapidly. His mind was his most formidable weapon, and he was grateful to have it returned. All his life it had been so, he could not describe the feeling or the sensations it produced. In many ways, it had branded him an outcast, though in others it had served him well. However, in this dark room today if indeed it was even day time; it seemed his gift had deserted him. He closed his eyes trying to feel the latent power he had mostly taken for granted, willing to be free. Nothing, not even a glimmer of what he sought would surface.

Kario had learned from a tiny child that he needed the dagger on his person to perform his gifts, but even in its absence he still had a few powerful tricks at his disposal, and it was time to use them now the drugs had worn off.

He could not stay here under these circumstances and was not prepared to. He closed his dark-lashed eyes, he did not belong in this world, why had his Mother pushed him away? Dark and beautiful she was, though he had not seen her in many years her image indelible in his mind. One day he would join her and his own kind, the humanity here in this place he found weak and barbarous, wallowing in their own self-made misery. Contemptible things they were, and he wanted no part of them or their primitive world.

*****

With the end of the military campaigns and the unsavory task of culling the unproductive population completed within the walls, Victor Krosse found he had an abundance of spare time. For some weeks he had rested, freed of the majority of all his obligations, seeking the pampering of his slave girl in the privacy of his quarters.

Rationing had begun in earnest, vast sections of the usually lighted subterranean fortress had been shut down, plunged into perpetual darkness. They would have enough fuel to see them through this winter their engineers assured, but when the weather did break their first purpose would be to storm Stephan's settlement with all their military strength and demand the crops be planted. Hopefully, the seed would still be viable, and it had been stored appropriately.

However today, those concerns were far from Victor's mind. The hallways were not lighted here, even in the busiest times of the day few frequented this sector which mostly housed disused rooms and surplus stores. The beam of torchlight wavered and stopped before a sturdy metal door, the threshold to Victor's dark world. Keys in a black-gloved hand grated in the lock.

The door swung inward soundlessly. Few ventured here, almost no one but the Doctor entered and left this small dark room. Only those earmarked to further his grisly experiments saw the inside of this place, a more intimate replica of the torture area in the prison.

He walked to his desk, the neat stacks of papers a silent testament to his shameful past detailing the procedures and conclusions of hundreds of coldly calculating experiments. He had always been this way, even as a young medic he had often overstepped his bounds, brilliant, yet flawed, he had been struck off the medical register forever. Now it ceased to matter, Doctor Victor Krosse could do as he pleased, and never missed an opportunity to do so.

He set his black briefcase down and turned on the lone light bulb that hung over his desk. He heard the restrained man move on the bed but he did not look up beyond the circle of light, removing his leather trench coat and draping it over the chair back. Victor had after many weeks of drugging his subject senseless decided to let the man regain his senses, the cocktail of heavy narcotics hindering his exploration of this unique captive.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

Perhaps to do so was folly, but he saw no other way of plumbing the depths of the man's mind. For safety's sake, he had not brought the knife stowing it away in his apartments. Victor had the distinct feeling he did not want this man to have his full faculties anywhere near the item.

Victor turned to his prisoner pulling the chair after him so that he might sit in the dark next to the bed. He settled into the chair surprised that the man was not begging for his freedom like most of the others usually did.

Kario used to the lack of light could see the man well but he did not say a word or even turn to acknowledge his presence. He had become most uncomfortable in the past few hours his body demanding its basic needs.

However his mind was stronger, it always won. Shelves of neatly labeled, grotesque body parts in jars lined the walls preserved in formaldehyde. Kario tried his utmost not to dwell on their contents. If only the man would choose to illuminate the room better.

Victor sat, his hands folded neatly in his lap emitting a low almost unbalanced chuckle as he observed his captive. "You are different. I'll give you that. Care to tell me about it?

So this is how the interrogation would begin thought Kario, he had expected as much. His expansive mind was miles ahead of the man who sat straight backed in the chair. The classic military-minded torturer, very predictable, Kario was already bored. If only the man would turn on the light above him.

He did not answer any of the seemingly benign questions fired at him but lay quiet. The man would get tired soon and try something else. It took thirty minutes or so before his wish was granted.

The bright theater light overhead all but blinded him after so long in the darkness as it exploded into life. As his eyes adjusted to the glare he could see the older spare-looking man examining him closely. The situation had become exactly as he had wished for.

Victor handled the bulk of his taser in his pants pocket his finger lightly caressing the button he longed to press, already agitated the man was refusing to respond to anything he said. Perhaps a taste of his trusty friend might loosen his tongue a little? It couldn't hurt, could it?

Victor looked closely at the face of this man he was preparing to torture, never growing tired of seeing the raw fear he was so easily able to generate in his victims. He wanted to see that now, it gratified his twisted mind in ways he could not describe.

Kario locked eyes with Victor, he had him where he wanted him now and the man had no idea of it. He did not need the knife or the power it lent him for this. The dark stranger's mind burrowed into Victor's possessing and taking control. The torturer's mind was strong and Kario found he had to fight very hard to pierce the man's will. However, he was after all only a mortal man, and even the cleverest of them were no match for Kario.

It should have been the perfect escape if Victor had not inadvertently triggered the taser in his pocket against the side of his leg. The pain snapped the hold Kario had on his victim and Victor yelped loudly and fell to the floor. Furious, he rolled on the cold tiles. Victor was not so stupid as to look at the man again. He did not understand exactly what his prisoner had done to him but was aware this man was even more dangerous than he had previously thought.

The incident had unnerved and ruffled him, he rose, turning off the overhead light, going to the metal medicine cabinet, and loading a syringe with heavy tranquilizers. Victor was a careful man, and this would not happen again.

Kario knew he had failed but was unsure why, all his life he had toyed with the minds of others with impunity. How had this man thwarted his mental domination? Now his jailer had his measure, getting at him next time would be doubly hard, he had blown his advantage, and the consequences looked grave. He felt the needle slide into his arm the drugs within seconds taking effect, and he was plunged back into the twilight world.

*****

Aran and Sven returned early hours of the morning to a muted reception. Most of the men were asleep, but both Raissa and Maya had waited up for their men to return. Maya did not hide her unabashed joy on seeing Aran, she was still a little girl with her displays and emotions, wildly running into his arms. The large warrior swept her off her feet in a bear hug and carried her to his usual place by the fire.

The two brothers ate quietly they were both ravenous, Raissa served the men in silence, she kept glancing at the broadsword that Aran had placed by his bed. After the large meal, the tiredness kicked in, both retreated to their furs for a well-earned rest.

Maya wriggled next to Aran her naked skin on his, but he was too tired to respond. Finally, the girl gave up on her attempts at arousal and sulked in his arms.

Weary as he was sleep did not come, the dog bite ached and throbbed, and he had to move Maya's slight weight from it, which usually never bothered him. He looked at the girl in the firelight, she was still just a little girl, angular, undeveloped, not much at all really. He thought briefly of the farmer's wife all breasts, hips, and hair. Lastly, he thought of the archer, the long shapely legs, the high cheek-boned, perfect face, the proud pert breasts, slim waist, and the long lashed eyes of a temptress. With the fiery attitude that went with it. Aran smiled, now that would be a real conquest. He could not shake her from his mind.

*****

Aurianne was up early, she dressed practically and warmly. Her Mother's body lay shrouded in the bedding. She called for her mare Isabou, who obediently came trotting to the cave's entrance and stood to be saddled. The young woman looked up at the leaden sky, how she wished for the sight of the sun, but it was not to be. The clouds, ominously dark with no trace of thinning anywhere in sight as they had been for weeks. She draped her Mother's stiff body over the horse with some difficulty, mounted, and rode away.

She made good time, the wind was at her back and her mare part heavy horse was sturdy and strong. The icy mane of her mount stung her face as she rode low over her Mother's body holding it steady.

Mid-afternoon she arrived at her village, it was a soul-destroying sight. The animals were all gone, most of the houses torched, frozen bodies littered the landscape, grotesque in death. Blood and fire tainted the snow. She reigned in her horse, leaving the mare to drink at the blackened, and arrow-studded water trough, and stood for some moments in the resounding silence where just days before had been life and joy.

Aurianne hardly knew where to begin, there were too many dead to bury, so she took her mare up the familiar path to her home set into the woods. The house was just as she had left it, the door flung wide, the loom with its brightly colored, incomplete weaving spread across the floor, the oil lamp burned out long ago of its precious fuel.

"You are home now Mother." She commented softly to the burden on her horse, commencing to dig a grave in the frost-hardened soil.

It was dark as she lowered her Mother into her final resting place, and said her last goodbye, gathering up the body of Worgen and placing him there as well, knowing her Mother would not have minded. She had loved the dog as much as Aurianne did. In the dark and the cold, there was little other option than to sleep. She climbed into her familiar bed and did not rouse until morning.

It was odd to wake in her home to the silence that greeted her, no animal noises, no people, just the bleak wind and the rustling of the denuded trees above. Today Aurianne would build a funeral pyre for the dead, there were too many to bury, but she could not leave them lying where they had fallen to be eaten by passing beasts. Then she had intended to gather up anything of use and head back to the oasis where she would plan her retribution. She had little else to drive her on.

The young woman walked through the door of her home for the last time, wishing her leaving had of been under happier circumstances. She kicked something that made a metallic clink and spied a fleeting glimpse of gold as the object rolled into the bushes just off the path. Parting the skeletal remains of the plant life Aurianne drew forth a ring, it had a sense of familiarity about it yet she could not say why.

The trinket was heavy and obviously of great value. It was of a curious design, two pure gold finely scaled dragons intertwined with ruby eyes that appeared to glint malevolently. It must have been the cut of the gems she mused for them to appear that way.

This was not something of her Mother's, she knew that well, remembering the warrior she had downed had been dripping with gold. He must have lost this when he was attacked by her beloved pet. Aurianne cupped it in her hand bouncing it a couple of times in her palm, deciding what she would do with it.

She did not really want the memento of the terrible evening and made to fling it into the forest, but something stayed her, and she reasoned while it had no outward value to her, perhaps in the wider world she could use it to gain an advantage? Gold was always a useful currency, and it was not like she had any of her own. She slipped the ring onto her middle finger and went about her gruesome task.

*****

Bennett's clan now numbered only twenty-one, almost half that of one year ago. The balance had also shifted, there were now fewer warriors than there were slaves. Only nine fighting men remained, opportunities even if the weather improved would still be at best limited. Their seemingly impassive leader appeared confident and carefree, but he could foresee the end of the old ways, he just did not speak of it.

For now, they would, and could afford to wait. They had water and food at their disposal and invasion was unlikely. Fuel for the fire though was becoming a concern. The trees here were barely trees at all and on the calmer days, the men took the slowly weakening cart horses to some of the nearest destroyed villages so that the heavy timbers might be salvaged and brought back to the camp. It was cold thankless work, the men who were warriors now felt like slaves themselves.

Sven had rescinded his second-in-command status to Gareth, the heavily inked, bloodthirsty oaf seemed most happy with this promotion, and Sven felt his friendship with Bennett turn cold. They had never been real close, but it was a bond based on mutual respect for the other's abilities, even if the two had never shared many of the same ideas or preferences. Sven was on the outer now, even sensing his younger brother's difficulty in his presence. So the sidelined warrior spent the majority of his time focusing on his little family, especially his son, or engaging in many of the heavy chores that needed doing in the camp, further distancing himself from the circle of fighting men.

On the worst of the dark, cold days when collecting wood was not an option there was little to do. Aran would take up his sword and swing it in practice outside. Initially, he was discouraged, his old injury under the strain of the sixteen-pound weapon burned like wildfire. He took to wrapping his lower arms in leather to support them, it helped a lot, and with time he grew stronger.

Like all the weapons he had mastered, the young man was self-taught, and this new weapon would be no exception. Although he had attended martial arts classes as a boy, it was hardly practice for this discipline. His first clumsy attempts made his muscles ache, and many a time he dropped the blade or struck objects nearby.

In one such incident he hit the heavy steel bumper of the old truck, sure he had ruined the weapon completely. Upon retrieving it from the ground he was awed to see the length of the blue-black steel unscathed.

Running his fingers over its length its edges sharp and true as before, he could not say the same for the metal it had collided with.

Aran figured he was strong, but the mighty blade taught him otherwise. However as the days progressed he discovered he could hold and even wield it in one hand passing it deftly behind his back to catch it in his other one. As he practiced the young warrior's body changed as well, he became even more defined and muscular than before. The great weapon had in essence transformed him.

Aran dreamed of the red-headed archer while he sparred with his imagined adversaries. He would have so loved to have caught her at the tip of this blackened steel blade, her perfect face white with fear, watching her delicious breasts rising and falling, as he put the merciless weapon to her throat, making her agree to yield to him completely.

The men had taken to collectively tormenting the captured blacksmith much to the discomfiture of many of the slaves. The solid man had proven most stubborn and provided many hours of amusement for the cruelest amongst them. All but Sven and Will enjoyed this sport and participated in it often. The man was strong with a will to go with it, he seemed to prefer to be gradually destroyed than to cooperate with his new masters in any fashion.

Bennett had seen his like before on rare occasions, the sturdy individual took heavy torture well, and the cruel leader admired his spirit even if it would lead to his captive's sure destruction. Bennett had hoped he may have harnessed the smith's skills to be utilized in the camp, but as the days wore on he could see this would not be so. They were having enough trouble merely getting him to cart firewood.

Renard still in chains was at his wits end, anger and disbelief at the apathy of the downtrodden members of this place assaulted him. Given the perfect chance at escape and a better life they had spurned it completely to continue this existence of uncertainty and fear, even Lissa who knew better. He was so frustrated and the feeling wore his nerves to ragged edges. He fingered the straight blade secreted in his pocket, somehow he must leave this place. His Father needed him, and he needed to at long last return to his beloved home, not as a bartering chip in one of Bennett's evil schemes.

*****

Leaving the great burning pyre to consume her fallen people, Aurianne returned to the oasis and the cave. Once a place of happy memories, of autumn hunts, and quality time spent in the company of her animal companions. Now a base to plan her revenge. The redhead was a grim, changed woman. Aurianne had scoured her ravaged village for anything that might be of use in her enacting her retribution. It was a painful task but she did it nonetheless. Loading her bulging saddlebags until the clasps would barely buckle.

The following day the weather turned foul, thwarting her hopes of scouting to the southeast. She spent the day huddled by a small fire restless and agitated, manufacturing many arrows. At least she did not have far to go for food, her enemies seeing fit to leave her with a herd of cattle, completely eliminating any need to spend time hunting. She was unsure what she a lone woman would do once she found them, but find them she would, and avenge her Mother's senseless death.

Since the attack on her village and the death of her mother, her nights had been restless ones fraught with worrying disjointed dreams, many of them making no sense to her. Aurianne again tossed fitfully in her sleep. Somewhere a dog, or was it a wolf howled...

*****

The walls of the small cave gave way opening out to become more cavernous, the great vaulted ceiling high above her, a welcome change after the low, dark, claustrophobic labyrinth, which she felt she may never emerge from.

She glimpsed Worgen dart across the spacious underground cavern, towards a faintly glowing light beyond, his black-furred form hard to distinguish as he hugged the shadows. Aurianne hurried close on his heels, she had no desire to be left behind in the vast almost lightless place.

The big dog led her into an even larger cavern, pausing on the far side of an eerie greenish pond that seemed to be illuminated from beneath in some way she could not understand. The floor was well-trodden, and she almost lost her footing on the smooth, worn stone in her haste to keep up.

The young woman looked down and realized the floor was covered with some kind of prehistoric carvings, they were all about the pond in numerous profusion. None of them had any meaning to her, but she felt compelled to get down on her knees and trace their lines with her long, elegant fingers. Strands of her fiery red hair tumbled loose from her long braid and she pushed them out of her eyes venturing closer to the deep, still, body of glowing water.

Worgen emitted a mournful howl, and Aurianne glanced up realizing she was no longer alone. Her dog usually aggressive with strangers sat and wagged his tail like a puppy, a tall man standing next to him clad in black, caressing his shaggy fur. She stood transfixed, grayish-blue eyes on the man who was otherwise motionless on the far side of the fathomless body of water, the green light shining upward on his pale flesh.

"My Daughter." He stated in a resonant voice, deep and commanding. "At last I lay eyes on you, you are indeed the very image of your mother."

Aurianne did not answer, her mind in turmoil, she had never imagined her mother's knight would appear as this surreal man did. She did not know what to expect, but this apparition before her was certainly not how she had deemed her father would be. Unnaturally tall and slender, raven hair long and straight reaching to his lower back, his ebon nails like claws on his graceful white fleshed hands. He was nothing like her, it was just a dream, a specter sent to frighten her. The man appeared to read her thoughts as though the contents of her mind were transparent.

"I see you do not believe?" The unreadable black eyes bored into her, she stood straighter, hand ready, resting on her blade. He laughed softly, the melodious laugh reverberated in the cavernous space. Worgen whined and lay down at his feet. "Save your violence for the mortals amongst you and those that have done you wrong." He admonished in his powerful voice. "Your weapon would be of little consequence against one such as I."

Aurianne took in the imperious man, thankful the pond was between her and him, not sure at all she liked him. It had been a long time since anyone had treated her as though she was a five-year-old. Many questions were framed in her mind, but she could not speak them out loud, everyday things did not seem to be appropriate to ask. Rather than say something she might regret she remained silent, letting the princely man hold court. She wished Worgen would come to her, but he remained steadfast, tail wagging at the strange man's feet.

"So it is vengeance that rules your heart, my beautiful and accomplished Daughter?" He smiled, a cold hard smile, continuing his litany obviously not expecting an answer. "Yes, many will feel your displeasure and be silenced by your simple arrows and blade, you will have your vengeance of a sort."

Aurianne blanched at his words, wise enough to sense they held a double-edged meaning. She felt great discomfiture, but in the dark cavern with its twisted passages there was nowhere to run, and running had never been her forte.

This man who claimed to be her father skirted the pond, her faithful dog following his silent steps like a shadow. He drew very close, Aurianne felt acutely uncomfortable in his proximity, darkly compelling as he was.

"I see you have mastered the longbow? You intend to lay your enemies low with this?"

Aurianne could not move, he plucked the well-made weapon from its place slung on her back, raising a finely sculptured eyebrow in a questioning glance. Still, she did not answer him, most unhappy he was holding her prized weapon.

"Yes, a fine weapon by earthly standards, practical, but plain." Nothing seemed to impress him, he ran his beautiful long fingers over the length of curved wood. "But it will not end the life of ALL your sworn enemies." He smiled a hint of a smile that never reached his eyes.

Aurianne sensed danger, this strange entity was toying with her, and to her dismay in his hands, the sturdy wood of her bow crumbled to dust, breaking in two, and falling to the stone with a loud rattle.

"Your dagger will be just as ineffective, Daughter...."

Aurianne was shaken, not even making a move to stop the man from plucking her sharp weapon from her person, it was most unlike her.

Likewise in his grasp the once solid blade deteriorated in mere seconds to brittle rusted metal, and was no more, its useless haft clattering to the rune-covered floor.

"For your purpose, you will need something much more, appropriate."

Aurianne had not noticed until now what looked like a long steel staff partially buried in the man's robes. He brought it forth; however it was no stave, but a six-foot glaive of striking workmanship. At its tip, a twelve-inch gleaming blade sharpened down one side for slashing with great force, and the point, razor sharp for thrusting attacks. Aurianne was familiar with this weapon as she had often used a crude one of her own. It had been but a humble replica of this one, wood with an iron tip made for her by Darius. An excellent choice for fending off the ragged bands of attackers from the palisade walls that on occasion had attempted to ransack their settlement.

This weapon however bore little resemblance to the crudity of such utilitarian tools. The long pole arm was decorated with entwined dragons to enhance its grip, and the steel did not shine with the hue of argent as a normal blade, but like that of a black pearl. Aurianne gasped, her hand traveling to her mouth in silent exclamation, this fantastic weapon was of the same material and design as the sword her mother insisted had belonged to her father.

For the first time, Aurianne found the will to speak. Her voice sounded unnecessarily loud in the echoey cavern.

"If you are indeed my father good Sir, then you would know you left my mother your sword, and it was made just as this was." She pointed to the wicked glaive he was holding in elegant white fingers.

The strangely beautiful man smiled one of his conceited smiles. "Ah, the sword." He said knowingly. "Even we sometimes do not pay attention to the mischief we do." He laughed softly. "That sword my Daughter was never intended for you..."

Aurianne felt waves of strong fear assail her, she had to leave this place, and this frighteningly beautiful man...

*****

Aurianne had willed herself to wake, she sat upright, panting, heart racing. The dream had seemed so alive, so real, but it couldn't have been. Worgen was dead, she had buried him herself. The last few days she had lived through and witnessed much, events were playing on her mind, that was all.

In the pitch dark, she reached across to reassure herself, her hand sought the length of her trusty bow. The smooth wood held familiar comfort, it was complete and whole, her dagger firm and sharp in her belt. A nightmare, that was all it was, one that bore no substance in this world at all.