Some Wizard’s see the Mana in everything. Others just simply lack Perspective.

— A Wizard

* * *

“I challenge The Forerunner of all the Fae!”

* * *

“Dost thee now, child? An’ what pray dost thee bring to thine challenge?”

Leinan breathed shallowly, scarcely believing what had just come out of her mouth.

How?

How had it come out of her mouth? The Fae were still terrifying! Pants-wettingly terrifying. And when she tried again she still couldn’t say those other words — ‘I stand against thee, an’ all the Fae’.

Leinan shuddered despite herself. Despite the hate she glared into the fire. Despite it all she still couldn’t say the real words she had to say. The ones she had an inkling would suffice to get herself and Aemon and Keimen out of this mess.

But she could say these ones? How?

As quickly as she thought that, she answered it too.

Because she’d changed the words. Not all the Fae. The Fae were too much. Too Big, whatever the Fae were.

Just the one. Just —JUST — The Forerunner of all the Fae, if you could possibly apply ‘just’ to that.

Leinan licked her lips. That — that she could do. Just the one.

Leinan clenched her fists around the small cup.

The one who tormented her. Who hunted her and hunted her children. Who was terrifying herself beyond any right. But. Just. One. She, Leinan could stand against.

A couple words swapped, and a world of difference made. A matter of perspective.

“Maketh me wait mortal child?” Goaded The Forerunner and she giggled coldly into the wind. “Have thee not to offer?”

The wind whirled chillily and Leinan was very grateful for the small cup of tea still steaming in her hands. It heated her hands and provided a small warmth that ran down from her lips and heated her chest as she sipped it.

And that Aroma! It smelled tangy and sweet — like a fruit? And something else. Something floral? But more, it smelled of peace, though how that was a ‘smell’ Leinan had no idea.

It smelled tranquil, and thoughtful somehow and it let her resist The Forerunner’s cold just a little. Just enough.

“Shall I take the clothes off thine back? Thine hide for a cloak mayhap?”

It was subtle, that difference in words, Leinan thought. They played a game here. Subtle words and subtle games.

Chess was a subtle game, for all that the plays were grand. So was Stones. And so were the words.

'Stand against AND…’.

‘Challenge The Forerunner OF…’.

Perspective and subtlety. And the game?

Leinan couldn’t look at The Forerunner. Still! But she studied The Forerunner from the corner of her eye and dared not look higher then her chest. The Forerunner’s eyes were a trap, she knew. There was too much behind those eyes.

But the game, though. Now that she’d challenged, she needed an offer.

And as she studied The Forerunner, Leinan felt her hate and daring that allowed her to shout her challenge, peter away as she looked.

The Forerunner was slouched on her side, one hand playing an odd ‘knotting’ game with some blades of grass, looking for all the world as if she were bored and somehow radiating that cruel smirk from every line of her perfect body.

There was a MAGIC about her. That etherial something that made her so much. So real. So There, somehow, more than Leinan herself was. Than even the Wizard was.

It was in the moonlight that streamed over her perfect snow-white skin and cast that white glow into her frosty hair.

It was in the wind that whirled and whistled through the leaves and played and tugged at The Forerunner’s clothing.

It was in the fluidity of her movements and the tinkling bells of her voice when she laughed.

It was in the trinkets The Forerunner pulled from the air. And Leinan was sure they were trinkets. For all that the wedding band alone could likely buy all of Landsend with coin to spare.

The Forerunner played. And she played at playing and bartered with trinkets that Leinan could not match in her wildest imagination.

What could she offer this game?

Leinan’s heart heaved.

Leinan was no Wizard, who, Leinan noted in a sort of a dull, rye fashion, also had a habit of pulling trinkets from impossible locations. She was just Leinan. Leinaniana daughter of Elenandor. But this was no game to her.

Leinan breathed shallowly, and her already tear stained face dripped some more. Her bottom hurt. And she was cold. And she was barely old enough to speak up among the other women of Landsend. How could she possibly —

And The Forerunner moved. She dropped low, suddenly, bringing her face into Leinan’s sight and cried “Hyah!”

Leinan yelped, jerking, her eyes skittering away from that moonlit gaze like water on a hot pan, and dragging — she had to drag them — back, back to the fire-golden flame.

Her welts felt like they sizzled as she jerked on the log and hot tea did the same as some splashed across her hand from the cup she held.

The Forerunner cackled high and bell-like and rolled backwards onto her back.

She sighed, contented. “Thine mortal fear might yet do nicely mortal child. Shall I bottle it for thee as thine offer? Mine patience wanes thin an’ mine entertainment hast been short-lived besides. Thrice I ask an’ done. Shalt we play we two? Or ist the Wizard the appetizer an’ the course? Teehee!” And The Forerunner devolved into cackling.

Leinan cursed as she rubbed desperately at the burn on her hand and cursed more as she saw that most of the tea was gone and something in her chest hurt even more. The tea too had been Magic. From the Wizard. And just tea, but it had been magic none the less.

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Of all the things to have been magic, she thought. So small and mundane… so…. And it was almost gone! Leinan sniffed. Even the calm, peaceful tea was almost gone now.

She felt Keimen shift next to her and wrap small, cold arms about her and Aemen’s head was against her shoulder.

They were so small. So delicate. She had had to attack The Forerunner before to protect them. She had to challenge The Forerunner now. And she still had to rise to that challenge because — because she had two children to protect.

She had to protect them. They were hers. Leinan had to. Leinan had….

But what? What could she, Leinaniana daughter of Elenandor possibly offer for this game? Where the players bandied in magic and The Forerunner pulled treasures from thin air?

Not a thing. Not….

A tantalizing thought, like a single glowing thread wound its way slowly through her mind as she scrubbed at the burn the tea had made on her hand.

Leinan did not have anything to offer. Not like the Wizard did. Definitely not like The Forerunner… but she also, Leinan thought in a sort of desperate, twisted way, hadn’t been able say the Words. Couldn’t — except for a subtle difference. Subtle… perspective….

Almost not wanting to, Leinan’s eye’s stole to The Forerunner’s feet, to the feather, that was not just a feather.

And then quickly, to the Wizard’s odd looking shoes — odder still dressing The Forerunner’s feet — that were not just shoes, and —

Leinan barely believed what she was about to do. The audacity of it.

With trembling fingers Leinan drew her belt knife and set it trembling, next to the game board.

She remembered like it was yesterday when her father had carved this knife for her when he had first taken her out into the Werwood.

Literally carved and hacked it. Her knife was flint, not steel, and she had since learned to make them herself and had many times. But this one was dressed with good, worn cord for the hilt, and this one she kept with her.

This knife her father had given her. This knife was more than a knife to her.

It was a knife that held all of her father’s love and the one she carried with her to the Werwood whenever she went, and it was the knife she drew to protect her children, and….

Leinan held all of that in her head and asserted it as true with all the bull headed belligerence she could muster. All — ALL of that — made this knife important.

Made this knife. MORE.

Leinan bared her teeth, took a breath, picked her words very carefully and belatedly remembered to rhyme, even though she didn’t really know why….

“I bring to thee an un-forged blade, one honed by love that shall never fade. This blade was passed from father to daughter and he bade me then to never falter.”

Leinan drew a breath and definitely, definitely did not falter even a little. She pulled her eyes from the fire and stared as hard as she could at The Forerunner’s chest and took the last nearly-scalding sip of tea and said as coldly as the tea was hot.

“This blade, to cut did never fail, and at its edge did even The Forerunner quail.”

Perspective. Leinan’s heart thudded against her ribs. A knifes’ edge worth.

When The Forerunner spoke again she was no longer giggling, and you could hear the taught sneer in her voice.

“Claimest thee much for such a blade, but a fitting offer shall be repaid.” The Forerunner hissed. “A blade for a blade then.” And she unstrapped the small knife belted at her own waist.

“This blade was wrought of goodly steel and forged by men who did never kneel. This blade doth sing a song of woe, an’ with it thee can slay most any foe. Come girl, an’ we shalt play, for a worthy offer hast thee made me this day.”

* * *

“I think its time we chat you and I.”

Barnibus blinked, and looked around in surprise. He was in a room. A grand room even.

That wasn’t what was odd. Barnibus was actually quite familiar with grand rooms. What was odd was that he was pretty, woefully, really sure that he shouldn’t be in this grand room.

The room was — well — grand, though it was small. It had a solid oaken door which was closed behind him and shelves upon shelves of leather bound books and corded up scrolls rising all the way up to the ceiling, needing a ladder or a levitation spell to reach the books at the top shelves.

There were Ever-Burn candles floating near the walls casting their flickering luminescence, and a fire place bathed the entire room in a bright, orange glow and that sense of peace and home and rightness that only a roaring fireplace really could. And throughout the room the Aroma of Ancient Knowledge permeated the air.

This was The Grand Wizard Emanuel Mordechai Menovchinsky’s Memorial Library. He’d know that fragrance anywhere. This was home. Or, it was, before his grandfather’s library became home….

Barnibus gasped and wobbled where he stood. Almost home.

Barnibus blinked around. He hadn’t actually ever been in this room before.

He was in a study, he could see. One of The Studies. The ones the Grand Wizards kept secret and to themselves. How long had he waited to be admitted into one of these studies?

Barnibus stumbled toward the nearest shelf. He couldn’t help himself. His fingers itched to touch one of the scrolls. To caress it and hold it in his hands. To breath in the scent of ancient leather and knowledge and recline in the soft, cushioned reading chair by the fire.

This scroll — if his eyes weren’t deceiving him — was written in Gaelic. Ancient Gaelic. He’d never deciphered ancient Gaelic before, but Barnibus was sure that with the correct enchantments, some tea, and a mountain of his grandfathers notes and dictionaries he could have a good go at it. He just —

His hands twitched as he reached, trembling for —

“I… wouldn’t do that.” Came the voice again.

Barnibus had almost forgotten about it. He started. It was nearby! But no one was here with him!

“Show yourself!” He spun around. “Reveal thine presence specter of the ether!”

“Ah-ah.” Chastened the voice. “No specters here. You’ll get it. Eventually. Maybe.”

That voice. Barnibus was pretty certain he’d at least recognize that sneering tone anywhere. Barnibus reached up to give his hat’s brim a good flick and realized — His hat was NOT on his head!

That was alright, Barnibus realized almost as quickly. His hat was sitting on a desk a little to his right and in front… of him.

It was also frowning at him with its brim.

Barnibus narrowed his eyes right back at it. Then he narrowed his eyes at the scroll and his hand dropped slowly down to his side along with his heart.

Oh. So that was how it was. Not home then.

“Ah.” His Hat said sardonically. “The candle flickers. Why don’t you pull up that chair, Barnibus Jefferson Montgomery Barnwinkle. We are in dear need for a chat.”

* * *

Games were funny things.

Leinan had heard people, often drunk people and often ineloquently, philosophize about life and how life was the ultimate game. The one with the highest stakes.

If life was a game, she decided, it was the one that was also the least fun to play. Otherwise no one would make all the other games that were actually enjoyable!

Games with real rules, not the wishy-washy ones like laws that adhered to some more than others. Or definable goals and stakes that could be monetized and turned into food on the table, or some new clothes, or — or someday, even a book like the Mayor and Master Bordenshire had.

And that didn’t all end in the same result, because, if life was a game, dying had to be the penalty for losing. And everyone died. Someday.

Then the really drunk philosophers would start talking about the rewards after death and those were Fell Damned rewards, because no one even knew what they were! Or even what happened afterwards. What was it, another game?

No. Life, as a game, was a crap game and quite honestly, the least fun to play. Which is why men, and women, and children all went ahead and made their own games.

Real games had rules. Solid ones that you could practically touch. Real games had defined goals and stakes and real rewards.

The thing was, Leinan thought unhappily, no had deigned to explain any of these rules to her!

Well, she was pretty certain the Wizard — currently huddled up and shivering in his robe — had explained them, but she couldn’t understand the Wizard, and The Forerunner certainly hadn’t translated.

Leinan was also sure as Fell Shadows that she was not going to ask The Forerunner.

That was frankly, not in the cards. Not even if she knew that she should be able to. Which, Leinan thought wryly, she didn’t.

The Forerunner’s sneer stopped her. That and her own hatred which warred with the terror in her chest. Together, they barred her teeth around the question almost as hard as the Fae did. So Leinan clenched her teeth and didn’t ask.

Not about the game in front of her now, and not the game that was being played around the game either. Or the game being played around that, because Leinan was absolutely certain something was playing a game with her, and the only reason why Leinan didn’t go farther than three was because she had never heard the term ‘Recursive Logic’!

So, she didn’t know the rules of any of the games, she thought through her gritted teeth. So what? She was good at picking up games. And playing them. And she’d watched the Wizard and The Forerunner play.

And, she’d done something that none of the adults in Landsend had ever done. She’d watched her two special children. She’d listened to them. She’d never said a word about them, just as Mistress Margret had said. But she’d listened and watched as adults never did to children.

And she’d watched them and listened to them when The Forerunner and The Wizard played.

So, Leinan picked up one of her stones now — black, because The Forerunner never played as black — and slid it over the board to The Forerunner.

And The Forerunner picked it up and played it on the board, and then did the same.

Did she know how to play? No. But she had Keimen’s arms wrapped firmly around her waist, and Aemon’s mouth moved and breathed faintly into her arm.

It would be enough.