Aoife

The Realms

Secondday, 5th week of the 9th month, Age of the Chosen 1

Noon

Dueling Arena, Termondoon, Mistvale Highlands

Aoife sat beside Chief Searlas, dressed in a silk dress that clung to her curves. The dress wasn't her choice; she was Searlas's ornament and tool. Her job was to be seen and desired, and for that, the dress excelled. Her wishes mattered little to him, despite his protestations to the contrary. She knew that from the moment he put the gold bracelet around his wrist, but using her to manipulate Lord Aidan proved it all over again. She wanted nothing to do with his plots and schemes and resented being used as a honeypot.

When she saw the result of the trap, it was enough to break her conditioning. In that moment, she intended to attack Searlas, to rip his throat out with her claws. The collar, of course, stopped her, seizing control of her muscles from her and cutting off her breathing. At least it leaves me my thoughts, she growled internally. Searlas, of course, master manipulator that he was, managed to turn her error into another victory for himself. And now she was here to witness the downfall of the man she had been forced to entice, cajole, and seduce.

Despite Lord Aidan's confidence, Aoife did not expect the day to go well for him. She never met Ailill—a fact she was grateful for, given his proclivities—but according to the rumors around the court, he was a skilled duelist even before he fled Searlas's ascension. His return could only signal that he felt sure enough in his personal power to overcome any obstacle Searlas placed before him. He couldn't have anticipated Lord Aidan, but he surely had a plan for fighting a battle-mage.

As for Lord Aidan... Aoife's eyes drifted to where the demon-blooded human waited. Her feelings toward him were complicated. He treated her better than anyone she'd met in the last few months, but he was far too soft and trusting. She'd told him to his face that she couldn't resist Searlas's commands, but he'd not only taken her to bed but sworn an oath to free her.

Part of her, a tiny, desperate voice echoing from a dark corner of her mind, believed he'd find a way. The rest of her knew that this cold, cruel world only allowed her the light of hope so that it could be consumed by darkness later. The best she could expect would be for him to win today and take her as his prize. Unless he was playing an exceptionally subtle game with her, Aidan would at least be a kind master, although she expected he would insist on her presence in his bed. No man she'd met so far had been able to resist her body.

Aoife shifted in her seat and suppressed a blush as she remembered the last two nights. At least he knows what he's doing in bed, she told herself. If he keeps it up, maybe I won't even resent him for it. Aidan seemed to have a sixth sense for matters intimate. He seemed to know what to say, where to touch, how, and when, to bring her blood to boiling. And, as a lover, he was exquisite, easily the best she'd ever had. The first night had been due to Searlas's command; last night was all her. Even now, watching him prepare to fight to the death, she craved his touch.

"I have confidence in Lord Aidan," Searlas said, shaking Aoife out of her reverie. "To give us what he did, make the claims he has... it must have been his magic that destroyed the undead at Ceallach Macht. Battlefield-scale spells are rare before Journeyman rank and not common until Master. I think it is Ailill who will be surprised today."

"He is still a mage alone against a practiced duelist," Aoife retorted. "You maneuvered him into a disadvantageous fight, stripped him of his protector, and prevented him from preparing magic in advance. Those grand conjurations take time to cast, time he will not have when Ailill guts him ten seconds into the match." She couldn't keep the bitterness out of her voice.

"Your claws are showing, Aoife. You should know that I do not throw away useful tools. Why would I discard Aidan when he can be so much more alive and well-inclined toward me?"

Much as she hated to admit it, Searlas had a point. Still, though... "And what makes you think he will still be well-inclined after I tell him all of your secrets?"

Searlas snorted. "Please. I know what you think of me, Aoife, but put aside your bias for a moment. What have I ever done that you believe would sour a deal between us? By Fionnavar, woman, I have never even touched you sexually, and I have done my best to make your life as pleasant as possible given the circumstances."

"Oh, no," she sneered, "you never made me perform in your bed."

"Aoife." Searlas turned his gaze to her, and the disappointment in his eyes made Aoife even angrier. "We both know that I offered the task to you, and you accepted. It was intended as a reward, given how you both seemed attracted to each other. If you can tell me honestly that you would not have sought him out on your own, I will apologize to you before the whole court."

Before Aoife could tell him what she thought of that, a voice from below pulled her attention away. "I heard Searlas found himself a new lapdog, but the rumors pale before the facts." Ailill mac Mara strode up to the dueling ring's edge, tail lashing behind him. "Have you no self-respect, human? He throws some well-used pussy at you, and now you do his dirty work? Tell you what: step aside now and you can have his whole harem when I am Chieftan."

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Ailill was large for a Mist Stalker, standing almost six feet tall, but that still left him several inches shorter than Aidan. He wore chain mail, exposing only his face and black-furred tail and hands, and carried a barbed spear.

Aidan shook his head. "Your taunts are crude and facile, Ailill, but I expected nothing else of you. Nothing you can say or do will dissuade me. Step into the ring or abandon your claim."

Ailill spat into the sand. "Just for that, I will keep you alive and take your women in front of you." He stepped into the arena and leveled his spear at Aidan.

"Worse things than you have tried," Aidan said so softly that Aoife wasn't sure she heard him correctly, then stepped forward. As soon as Aidan's foot settled onto the sand, Ailill sprang into action, charging straight at his opponent. He crossed the distance in a matter of seconds, but Aidan seemed unimpressed. When Ailill crossed the halfway point, Aidan held out a hand, and when the daoine cait came within a few paces, the human spoke a Word. Fire blossomed from his hand, exploding out into a spherical barrier surrounding him. Ailill braced himself and slid to a stop just shy of the wall of fire.

"My name," Aidan said from within the roiling flames, "is Aidan, and my people call me the Phoenix King. Though these are not my lands, Lord Searlas granted me the right to punish you for your sins, Ailill mac Mara." The fiery dome faded, leaving a ring of glowing red glass at its edges and revealing Aidan standing in its center. A crown of light adorned his head, twelve smaller orbs of fire bobbing and weaving through its spires.

"Ealga," Aidan said, and one of the fireballs streaked from him towards Ailill. The catfolk dodged, narrowly avoiding the explosion that erupted from where he'd been standing. "Ciahmnait, Mairin," Aidan continued, and each name sent another mote flashing out toward his opponent. Ailill leaped and twisted, but Aidan's pace picked up with every word. "Samhaoir, Eilish, Ailleann. Fionnuala, Aislin, Siobhan, Eorann, Brigit, Saraid!"

Aidan's words were barely audible over the rapid-fire explosions, and by the time he finished, Ailill had been forced to retreat nearly to the opposite edge of the arena, and his fur was singed and smoking. "Is that all you have, human? A few dead girls and some fireworks? What a joke." He charged toward Aidan again.

Aidan drew his sword and held it in a low guard stance. Aoife's heart clenched; a spearman could defeat a swordsman of equal skill four bouts out of five, and she doubted that Aidan was anywhere near Ailill's level. Aoife watched, despair filling her, as Ailill crossed the glass circle left by Aidan's first spell and kept coming. "No!" she whispered.

Ailill's cruel spear darted out, stretching through the air between the pair, but Aidan spun to let the lunge pass him by and brought up his free hand. However, Ailill was prepared and twisted the haft of his spear to slam the butt into the side of Aidan's head. "No!" Aoife screamed. Aidan staggered with the hit, lashing out with his blade, only for it to glance off Ailill's mail.

The sword turned out to be a distraction. Aidan's free hand glowed red, then sprouted a stream of fire as it rushed towards Ailill's unprotected face. The distance was too close for the catfolk to dodge or even realize that he needed to. Before anyone knew what happened, Ailill was on the ground, Aidan kneeling over him with his hand pressed to the Mist Stalker's face. Oily black smoke rose from between Aidan's fingers.

"How does it feel," Aidan panted, "to have your eyes boiled away?" He withdrew his hand, revealing the charred mess that was Ailill's face—complete with two empty sockets where his eyes had been seconds before. "Count yourself lucky that I don't share your depravity. I don't need to mutilate my women and fuck their wounds to get off; you won't suffer Saraid's fate."

Ailill continued to scream and scrabble at his face, tearing off lumps of scorched skin with every motion. Aidan stood up, wobbling unsteadily, then extended his hands toward Ailill and called out to the stunned crowd, "Chieftan Searlas granted me leave to carry out this execution. Know this: Ailill mac Mara kidnapped, maimed, raped, and murdered sixteen young women—that we know of. He defiled their bodies both before and after their deaths. He represents the worst sort of person, seeking beauty only to deny it to others and destroy it. I am a servant of the Brighaid, and They have only one sentence for crimes such as this."

Aidan extended both hands toward Ailill and chanted, "Brigantia, I call to thee! Thine is the flame of judgment and purification, burning corruption from this world and leaving the ashes of regrowth in Thy wake! I pass this sentence upon the criminal Ailill mac Mara: to suffer Thy divine flames until all the rot in his body and soul burns away. If he be innocent, I will suffer in his stead. Goddess, grant me this boon!"

A pillar of silver fire roared out of the heavens, consuming Ailill and Aidan both. Aoife sprang to her feet, hands clenched at her chest, a strangled cry escaping her lips. Searlas rose beside her, leaning forward with a look of anticipation. When the fire didn't die down after a few seconds, Aoife ran towards the ring, shoving her way through the crowd. Sunnild caught her before Aoife could cross onto the sands, pulling her back and whispering, "Have faith in him." Aoife struggled momentarily before collapsing to her knees, staring into the brilliant flames, searching for any hint about what was happening within.

Seconds stretched into a minute, then two, then a third. Finally, five minutes after appearing, the pillar of flame vanished. Aoife blinked away the spots in her vision. Slowly, a lone figure resolved in her sight, standing over a pile of white ashes. Two wings of fire stretched up from his back before drifting down and wrapping around him like a cloak.

"We have Judged," Aidan said in a voice overlayed by a chorus of others, "and passed sentence." Though he didn't raise his voice, no one in the arena had any difficulty hearing Aidan. "Ailill mac Mara is no more. Let it be known to all who hear: art, beauty, and love are to be protected and nurtured, not defiled and destroyed. So say We, and so mote it be."

Aidan wavered on his feet for a moment, then collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut. Before Aoife could rise to her feet to run to him, the otherworldly chorus spoke in her ear, and this time she knew Their words were only for her. "We know that thy fate is not thine to control, little one. Know that you have Our love despite this, and We promise that dawn will come in the end, no matter how dark the night." She felt lips pressed to her forehead, then the divine presence vanished from around her.

Aoife shook her head, pushed the riddle into the To Examine Later box, and then rushed to Aidan's side. Sunnild was already beside him, her fingers pressed to his neck. "He's alive," she said, and Aoife sobbed with relief. "Channeling the Gods like that musta exhausted him, and he's got a nasty bruise from that hit, but he should be alright with some rest."

"Oh, thank God," Aoife breathed, kneeling down and cradling Aidan's head in her lap.