Stunned by the speech, Kamaric could barely dodge the claws’ keen edges. The impact upon his pauldron sang a high-pitched note. But even as the monstrous form darted passed, he swiveled about, the point of his blade pursued his foe, aiming for another strike. The einheri landed on the fallen tree, its legs perching with ease upon the moss-covered wood, save one. The hurt leg it dangled with contempt. “This accursed trick,” it said, “Annoying illusion of pain, unpleasant fake blood! Let off the trick, damn bitch, or I will wring your neck till your magic drops!”

The deeper the pain ate in the beast’s flesh, the more its bloodshot gaze became transfixed upon the knight in shining armor and glowing sword. So that it did not see another approach. Like a cold specter carried by the wind, Esme entered striking range without so much of a warcry, yet Cordelia knew anger galled her blade, for hateful was the stroke, carrying exceeding force for movements so calm. Even till the last moment, the einheri was not aware of her. What did mark her was the stinger, which snapped as though with a mind of its own as she drew close. The poison dripping tail lunged downwards to meet the girl. Sharp blade met keen stinger, and in a move impossible even for Cordelia’s eyes to fully discern, Esme twisted her sword edge, swerving the tail aside and sending the thing doubly its own speed by her body. In the same breath she turned, and, having entered sword range, thrust at the einheri’s flank. It pierced flesh, shattered rib bones with a terrible sound accompanied by a howl of hurt. But sufficiently alarmed by its tail the beast rolled away, stumbling down the fallen tree and splashed upon the pool of its own blood.

“Damn illusions!” it cried, having by now lost its grip on what was real and what was fake. But some of its battle-hardened wits remained, and another strategy it still had to reverse the situation. The extended stinger coiled like a serpent, then lurched, too fast for either of its foes to react, for the lone soul in the glade whose presence proved no threat to itself. The venomous tip pierced Galilea, who until then could but stand stunned and make for an easy target. The deadly weapon snapped her like a twig. And she broke into splinters.

Perhaps it had anticipated that either Esme or Kamaric would defend the woman and be poisoned in the process as it had done to Sir Derrick. But the knight dispassionately brought his blade down like a tree felling axe, and clove the beast asunder. Even as it fell, the beast stared aghast at the dead branch protruding from the fallen tree it had thought to be the marchioness.

“Your mistake,” Cordelia said as the einheri writhed on the forest floor, “was basing your judgment on the cursed magic till the bitter end. But something which lets you see may also let you be deceived.” She stood some safe distance away, behind Kamaric, visible now that her Camouflage was no more active. It had exhausted her greatly to maintain so many abilities at once. Two Veils of Semblance placed on herself and Kamaric, one to turn the knight into herself and Cordelia into his wife. And then one she had placed on the dead branch as she sneaked off from sight with Camouflage upon entering the clearing. No less taxing was the constant effect of Blending Presence to bolster these deceptions.

“Another mistake, I suppose,” Kamaric added, “was thinking I would allow my wife aught near a danger.”

Suddenly the two halves of the monster stirred. Desperately it gathered itself and shifted into the leathery billow from before. Ere the transformation could complete, Esme hacked at it, tearing the membrane appendages to pieces. What emerged was the pathetic sprawling body of the gigantic bat, unwinged and skewered, its furry muzzle gaped in immeasurable pains. Terror plagued the dark eyes, reality of defeat and death had only begun to dawn upon it.

Dispassionately Cordelia observed the slaying. She had no love for her fellow creature: a cruel, maddened thing to whom killing was but a game to gain power and garner favor with its patron. Expertly it had studied her abilities, no doubt learning most of which from that raven Huginn. And yet overconfidence and anger had been its downfall. It had treated its foes like mindless obstacles to overcome, but neglected to learn of their natures. If only it had gone to the trouble, it would have seemed all too plain that neither she nor Sir Kamaric would use Galilea as bait in such a dangerous situation. Even by common sense alone it should have perceived that such defenseless targets would be too good to be true. But anger and lust for vengeance had clouded its eyes. It had read the information of Kamaric under her Semblance and information faked by Blending Presence, and never doubted twice even when the knight had revealed himself.

This feylords had called Jormungandr’s bluff, and then the einheri had called hers, and now had paid dearly for it.

In contrast, her plan had paid off, almost too smoothly.

And yet something had been bothering her.

Could it really be that they were the only ones? She did not think Huginn lied when he said it was the only einheri in the castle-town of Argenton. Yet it seemed odd that of the host of einherjar she had met in the Hall of Avalon, only a scant few had acted to secure her and the Maiden for themselves. And that of which only this one had survived thus far.

Even then she was tasting the air with her tongue.

She had half-expected some other would come to the rescue of this einheri.

Even now as he neared death, naught had appeared.

Meanwhile, the bat was being slaughtered. But even as it died, the thing transformed again, this time into an enormous monitor lizard covered in black thorns. As before, ere the transformation could complete, Kamaric and Esme laid severe strokes upon it, so that it emerged a flayed thing. Again the shape shifted. A shadowy bear, an enormous wolf, a disgusting spider as large as a boulder, even a floundering fish in its despair. Each was slain in the like manner, and ere the last breath could be drawn, it would shift again. Until at last, instead of a billow, it shrunk from the shape of a big cat to something naked and feeble: a human.

It was a young man lying jack-knifed on the forest floor, shaggy brown hair matted with sweat and a face contorted from the hate and pain carried from his other forms.

“A shapeshifter!” cried the knight.

Only Cordelia knew ‘twas no human but yet another disguise, the one form which every fey possesses and whose one use was as of hers: to infiltrate and blend in with human societies.

Esme stood over the pathetic shape, blade poised for the killing stroke, but she asked, “Is he a druid?”

“You’re a believer, Esme. Speak not the pagan tongue,” the knight spoke harshly.

“I do not scruple from slaying druids, lord. But if there is indeed a man and a druid, then I wish to know the reason he murdered my brother.”

“He is an enemy of your kind,” Cordelia answered unasked. She circled the dark pool of blood for the fallen tree, and leaned on it as though exhausted. “To his people, killing a servant of the Light is a religious duty, but his primary target is my life, for which he traveled all the way from my home country to claim. Sir Derrick was slain trying to protect me.”

“Enough,” said Esme, and she looked sidelong at her friend, face darkened. “I trust your intentions to be good, Cordelia, yet I have great doubts of many things you say. I want this man questioned.”

Sir Kamaric stabbed his blade in the soil, keeping his eyes on the feeble creature. “I am inclined to believe Cordelia. Whatever this thing’s nature is, it is no more than a mindless monster at this point. You won’t find much closure trying to discern its purpose.”

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“Even so...” the girl bit her lips. She did not just look troubled, but some inner turmoil seemed to hold a firm grip upon her, so that even the word of her lord could not allay her personal desire.

Cordelia stared hard at the terrible expression on the girl’s face. And as she looked at the girl whose only family the einheri had unceremoniously murdered, she knew it would be far too cruel to deny the girl even this.

Even then, the creature on her wrist stirred.

“Are you really going to do it?” Mastema inquired with apparent interest, pursuing a different line of thought, an idea that was still forming in her head, one equally nefarious.

Before she could fully consider the idea, however, the einheri had sprung to his feet. With what speed a cripple could muster, he dashed for the fallen tree. But scarcely had he climbed over it when the Kingkeeper was laid across his back in one severe stroke.

For a lingering second, the einheri hung with his limbs still gripping the dead branches, face stricken with mortal astonishment. Then over to the other side he fell. Almost at once, all three of them climbed over the fallen tree, Cordelia naturally slower than the other two. And there, Esme finished the job, cutting off his head. The death rattle ended with the throat severed, and still the body spasmed for another minute.

“We shall have the corpse burned,” said the knight. Without a morsel of pity, he put the point of his blade on the twitching body and, by a measured thrust, pierced through the heart. “Is there aught more around?” he put the question to Cordelia.

“Nay, sir.”

“Good. I shall send men to set up a pyre. You two stay here and keep watch.”

That done, the knight wiped his blade on the moss and sheathed it. With haste he left the clearing, anxious to return to the side of his vulnerable wife.

Silence returned to the forest now that the metallic sounds of Kamaric’s armor had disappeared in the distance. It was a cautious sort of silence where the birds and critters were emerging from their hiding place while looking out for new trouble. The enormous trees loomed somewhat less ominously and some tension in the air seemed to have dispersed, abruptly like a long-held breath released. Only the stench of fey blood still molested this return to peacefulness.

Esme stood rigidly, neither looking at the corpse nor Cordelia. She was staring off to the distance at a fixed point between the trees, which had Cordelia worried at first. But the girl was merely thinking hard, or trying not to.

Cordelia leaned on the fallen tree as before. Once in a while she would peer at Esme’s darkened visage. It was not one of anger, she decided, nor one of relief.

At length, the fey woman said, almost conversationally, “So you never trusted me, eh?”

“You’re not always honest,” the blonde said curtly. She was not the kind to be tactful when the other party did not care for it. “You didn’t even care to inform me of this plan.”

“Sir Kamaric did not think it necessary.”

“What did you think then?”

“I thought,” Cordelia said with ire, “knowing beforehand that you would face Derrick’s murderer would affect you badly.”

Esme shot her an offended look, but said, “You could have told me we would fight a druid. Not a damn unicorn.”

“Because you are no actress. You can’t lie.”

“You would know,” the blonde snickered, “for they appear to be your trade.”

Cordelia threw up her hands. “Why do you dwell on this? It is but a little thing! Derrick fell in battle trying to protect you and me, and that is an honorable thing, a sorry thing. What does it matter what creature happened to deal the killing blow! What does the reason matter? Pray, Esme, do you really care that much about revenge? Do you?”

“I care about the truth. Have you it?”

“To damnation with your truth!” Cordelia cried. “It is not important! So is everything about this and so am I! Can’t you see what’s happening right now? Can’t you see what really matters? There is a war brewing on the horizon and there are omens of evil all over the land. And you have a mission! Ere long you will play a role much larger than what this nation and Kamaric himself can now envisage! Do save your concerns for bigger things!”

Esme looked at the other girl, then breathed in deeply, before saying with suppressed emotions. “So you show your hand at last, Cordelia. You do know what I am.”

“ ‘Tis easy enough,” Cordelia sneered, “to claim your brother told me it before he died. And in truth he did, in the same breath that he entrusted your life in my hand. But I tell you now that I had already known before then. There’s not much point in hiding it aught more.”

“Who are you?” She paused, frowning. “And the strange things the druid uttered when he first beheld you. Cordelia... what are you?”

The fey woman shook her head. “That is not important. You need know only that I am sent to attend you, and that to me your life is more important than my own. Dismiss me if you should like. But since you already put faith in my intentions, if not my words, I ask for naught but that you keep doing so.”

“Who sent you?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

The blonde turned away. Until then she had neither bothered to wipe nor sheathe her blade. So her sword she still held as though bracing herself in combat still. Then she sighed with her face thus turned. It was not one of frustration, but something far more dreadful. “I misliked being lied to,” she said.

“I have no lies. Only things I cannot tell. Didn't you tell me once that we all have our secrets?”

“Say what you will, Cordelia,” she said wearily. “The men come. It’s time to go back.” And indeed at the edge of the clearing, Kamaric’s warriors emerged bearing fuel for the fire. “And I want some time alone,” she said.

“Suit yourself, I will stay here.”

Esme did not answer. She put away her sword and marched back wordlessly.

Cordelia, as said, remained behind. She did not look at the rigid way Esme walked or scented what lay behind the girl’s cold expression. Yet as she answered the men’s questions and pointed at the corpse, she was aware of all of it. Little comfort did this small victory afford her, but she did not set out upon this quest for comfort or happiness.

“If it would trouble you so much, Mistress,” the serpent at her wrist remarked, “why bother telling the Maiden all that? You didn’t come any closer to completing your main quest giving her the troubling riddle, if not the opposite.”

“Because,” she said, “such is the least I could do after killing her brother and doing this foul deed. I would have told her what I am too, had known with surety she would not strike me down out of hand for it. ”

In the middle of the glade, the grass and dead leaves were cleared, and a pyre was raised, just big enough not to threaten a great forest fire. Warily, the men made signs to ward off evils and dragged the einheri on top of the pyre. The fire was started and the men watched as the corpse burned away to ash.

Biting her lips, Cordelia looked away as she went to check the other side of the clearing. No one paid much attention to her, except one soldier who she had seen making pagan gestures. Before the burning he had asked her if there was anything to do to ensure the evil was laid to rest. To humor his request, she had cupped a handful of soil soaked by fey blood, mingled it with crumbled dead leaves and scattered them all to the wind. The rest of the men who were believers did not remark on it, but appeared thankful nonetheless.

How ironic. Esme was right, lies and falsehood really were her trade. And what use was scrupling from mind manipulation powers anyway if she would just deceive others so? But Cordelia shook her head, the weight of guilt had already been too great a burden this morning. It was depressing enough to look upon the result of one’s foul deed without the added remorse of lesser sins.

And looked she did, her eyes tracing the forest floor beyond the side of the fallen tree where the corpse had laid. All eyes were on the pyre now, naught on the tracks that were now revealed--tracks of a creature crawling from the bloody mess, half-dead but not yet killed. A creature whose painful groans neither Kamaric nor Esme had harked when they had stood there.

In the moment when Esme and Kamaric was climbing over the fallen tree, Cordelia had marked the man sliding under it in a desperate move to evade their pursuit. Another Veil of Resemblance, again aided by Blending Presence, had suffice to cause a head to fall and blood to spill all too believable to their eyes.

“And what if you fail to control him, now that you have let him live?” Mastema asked.

“He proves no more threat,” she said without emotion or pity.

“Precisely why he is of little use.”

“And yet,” she turned away, leaving the clearing, now that the dead branch upon the pyre had burned to ash, “there’s no creature I would scruple less to manipulate and treat as a mere tool.”

The familiar merely scoffed at the notion.