Faerie Story:  Chapter Nine

Standing on the dock outside the small trading post, inside which Skinner was negotiating the terms of their passage, both Frohike and Langly looked in turns at the hulking wooden ship that was being prepared for departure, and shivered.

It had taken them eighteen days to reach the coast through the treacherous mountain passes, and they were torn between relief that the two week passage over the ocean would afford them some much needed rest and dread of the passage itself.

“I’m really not sure I want to do this,” Langly whimpered, his eyes moving from the ship itself to the lapping waves of the ocean and narrowing with the disgusted horror of a cat.

“This from the man who’s been bending my ears mercilessly for twenty years because he wanted to see more of the world?” Frohike laughed.

“More earth, more cities, more *land*, not some vast, unnatural, oversized bathtub,” Langly retorted. “We can’t swim, Fro,” he added, in a small, frightened voice.

“We don’t have to swim,” Frohike pointed out, with an impatient roll of his eyes. “We’re crossing the ocean on the ship.”

“Ships can sink,” Langly groused.

“How would you know? Neither of us had even seen one until an hour ago.”

“Yes, well now I’ve seen one, and I’m telling you I really don’t want to do this.”

“Maybe you should have decided that before Skinner sent the soldiers back to Crystal City,” Frohike snapped.

“They haven’t left yet. They’re in the tavern, fortifying themselves for their journey back through the mountains. And every single one of them offered to continue with Skinner instead of returning home.”

“Fine,” Frohike snarled. “We’ll just go tell Skinner that we’ve changed our minds, huh? I’m sure he’ll have no problem with the idea of breaking his oath to Hawk Trapper to return the soldiers. It’s not like Crystal City *needs* all its soldiers at the moment in case the Faerie attack them in vengeance, is it? And I’m sure Skinner won’t mind paying strangers to act as his eyes, once he realizes that his *friends* care nothing for his distress at being so helpless. Let’s go tell him we’ve decided that it’s none of our concern whether Alexin is saved or not, because we can’t *swim*.”

“I didn’t say I’d changed my mind,” Langly retorted. “I said I didn’t want to do this. I didn’t say I *wouldn’t* do it. You don’t have to be so *mean*.”

Frohike opened his mouth, then closed it again and just grunted.

“What?” Langly demanded suspiciously.

“I’m the Faerie around here,” Frohike sniffed. “If anyone is supposed to channel Alexin, it should be *me*.”

Before Langly could retort, Skinner emerged from the small building, carefully feeling his way through the doorway with his hands.

“Normally, they wouldn’t sail for another three days,” he informed them flatly, “but I’ve managed to convince the Captain it’s worth his while to leave today.”

His tone was grimly resigned, rather than triumphant. Every time he sacrificed one of Alexin’s prized necklaces to the rescue, he suffered a disproportional amount of guilt.
Although he was sure Alexin would prefer rescue than that he should keep the jewels, it still hurt Skinner to imagine the look of dismay on Alexin’s face when they were finally reunited and Alexin learned that all his pretty baubles had gone.

Not that he’d be able to *see* that look, but he could imagine it all too well in his mind's eye.

“Langly was just saying that...” Frohike began, with an evil smirk.

Langly kicked him in the shins.

“What?” Skinner demanded, as Frohike yelped in pain.

“That I don’t see how the horses can travel on the ship,” Langly said quickly, with a warning glare in Frohike’s direction.

“There are stalls under the deck,” Skinner explained. “The traders who take their wares over to the Northern Territories often take horses with them, because there are very few horses in my homeland. The terrain isn’t conducive to breeding them. Besides,” he admitted ruefully, “every time there’s a bad winter, they have a nasty habit of disappearing into stew pots.”

“It’s a damned good job we left Dinah at Crystal City then,” Frohike joked.

Skinner gave a pained but genuine smile. Two hours before they’d left the city, a roaming patrol had ridden through the passageway with the little grey gelding. Dinah had, apparently, fled the Faerie encampment in terror during the battle and had made no immediate effort to return. Imagining, perhaps, that he might enjoy a life of freedom. By the time the soldiers had found him several days later, however, he was lame, underweight and absolutely desperate to return to the comforts of human ownership.

Like Alexin, perhaps, Dinah had found it unbearable not to have worshipful hands to untangle his overlong mane and feed him treats and call him beautiful.

It had taken the payment of several gemstones to gain an oath from Hawk Trapper that the gelding would be kept safely for Alexin rather than being used as a mount by any of the Crystal City soldiers. Since the gelding was too small and fine to carry a man in full armor anyway, Hawk Trapper had clearly had the best part of the deal.

Particularly since the likelihood was that Dinah would die of old age *years* before Alexin might possibly return to the human realm.

But, somehow, the fact that Dinah had survived the conflict had felt like the best of omens to the three men, and so they constantly referred to Dinah’s miraculous return as though it was a touchstone.

“You... um... do know we can’t swim, right?” Langly said awkwardly.

Skinner took a deep breath and turned so that his blind eyes were staring into Langly’s face.

“Without you and Frohike at my side, I know I doubt I could face this journey myself,” he admitted quietly. “I will never be able to repay you for your loyalty and bravery during these dark days that should be filled with despair but instead are filled with hope.”

Langly blushed furiously. “Well, I was just saying... I mean it’s not that it matters or anything. I just thought you should know. For information, I mean.”

Frohike snickered under his breath, then rapidly stepped backwards before Langly could kick him in the shins once more.

~~~

“What are they doing?” Alexin whimpered, leaning on his elbows and raising his head enough to watch the guards arm-wrestling with each other around the camp fire.

He wasn’t whimpering out of fear. The strange sounds warbling out of his throat were pure pleasure as Rhianna teased a comb through his long hair while he lay on his stomach on the ground to ease the throbbing ache in his buttocks. Despite the potion, salve and Rhianna’s care as they’d ridden that he should be seated on her lap with his weight on his thighs and his bottom dangling in mid-air, his buttocks had swollen most terribly from the earlier beating.

“I suspect they’re settling the order in which you should be mated to them,” Rhianna answered bluntly.

This time Alexin’s whimper *was* one of terror.

“Settle down, child,” Rhianna snapped. “None will touch you until you are both fully healed and settled comfortably within my castle. I am no Ariana. I would not allow a boy of breeding such as you are to be ridden on a forest floor like a common barracks man. Needs must that you will suffer the pain of many mountings, Alexin, but you’ll do so in the comfort of a real bed and under the careful supervision of my medicant. I know you think me cruel, and in truth perhaps I am, but I am not without conscience. In my queendom, none will ever *deliberately* cause you harm, and though I cannot spare you the humiliation of being used by so many females, I will endeavor to spare you any unnecessary embarrassment.”

Alexin began to weep quietly, but his tears were admittedly as much relief as despair.

“Oh, Alexin,” Rhianna sighed. “Would that I could think of a better way to protect my queendom, I would spare you this grief. But the legend says that The One will bring all of the queendoms to their knees, sparing not even the smallest girl-child unless she can prove she has goodness flowing through her veins. Can you not see that it must refer to the blood of one whom The One considers ‘good’? And who else can that be but you? I doubt Skinner has any charitable feelings towards any Faerie other than yourself. You are the only ‘good’ Faerie in his eyes, so it is *your* blood that must flow through my people if they are to be saved.”

“Perhaps...perhaps it just means he’ll spare the lives of *good* women who don’t treat males like chattel,” Alexin sniffed sulkily.

“Perhaps,” Rhianna chuckled, “but there are no such women in this land, Alexin. I defy *any* woman to look at an exquisite male like you and not covet ownership of you.”

Despite his feeling that the comment should annoy him, Alexin couldn’t help himself from preening slightly. In truth he felt like he was riding a see-saw of two totally different emotions. On one side he was terrified of *any* female showing interest in his beauty, since he knew that could only lead to pain, humiliation and the inadvertent betrayal of Skinner. And yet, at the same time, because he *was* so frightened, lonely and miserable, he was willing to grasp at any grain of comfort.

And *nothing* was ever more comforting to Alexin than verbal acknowledgements of his beauty.

“I’m still beautiful in your eyes?” he demanded, just to be sure. “Even though I’ve...I’ve lost my magic?”

“You’ve lost your magic, but not your beauty,” Rhianna replied. “Even disheveled like this, you’re still the most desirable male I’ve ever seen.”

Alexin frowned thoughtfully. Though, in honesty, he’d only been fishing for compliments to cheer himself up, Rhianna’s obvious sincerity gave him an idea.

Possibly not a very *good* idea, he admitted to himself, since, even though he’d begun to suspect that he was actually rather clever for a boy, he never forgot that he *was* just a boy and so possibly was simply too stupid to know that he wasn’t being clever.

But what he *did* know for certain was that he *was* beautiful.

In an ever changing world, where everything else he thought he knew was like quicksand under his feet, the one invariable constant was that his beauty *was* exceptional. It was, admittedly, possibly as much curse as blessing, considering the way things were turning out, but it was the only thing he could truly depend on as truth.

And if his beauty could manipulate Skinner, who was definitely the most womanly of men, then why couldn’t his beauty manipulate Rhianna too.

“You say I am beautiful. Desirable. Yet you would share me with others, Rhianna,” he whispered. “How is that?”

He rolled over carefully, until he was facing her, and then, ignoring the ache in his buttocks as they pressed against the ground, he deliberately glanced shyly up from beneath his lush lashes and offered her a small, sensuous smile.

“Don’t you wish to *own* my beauty? Don’t you desire to keep me for your eyes alone? I...I would not cry in *your* bed, my queen.”

Rhianna’s breath caught in her throat. The boy had no need of magic to bewitch a woman, she realized. His beauty *did* cast a sufficient enchantment by itself.

“Sly, devious, child,” she snapped. “Who taught you such wiles? You think I will fall for the lie in your pretty green eyes? The only reason you would happily accept the idea of being my concubine is that you think Skinner will more easily forgive you the bedding of *one* woman than many.”

Alexin flinched slightly, blushing at being so easily found out, but he still met her gaze steadily and said, “Does it really matter *why* I offer to be your willing concubine? Have you *ever* cared for the true thoughts of the males you’ve bedded? Does it truly make any difference whether I lie with you out of a male’s normal duty and fear or because of my own agenda? As you said yourself, perhaps Skinner will *never* come for me. Perhaps the legend is no more than a foolish story. How will you feel then? When the male in your bed has not a fraction of my beauty and in your barracks there lies a male whom all your subjects share freely while laughing at your foolishness at giving me into their hands?”

“You have grown the tongue of a viper, my prince,” Rhianna snarled. “You’re merely a male, how dare you speak to me as though you have the intelligence of a woman?”

Alexin trembled and paled, fearful of her fury, and yet he drew upon all his courage and whispered, “Perhaps I *am* just a male, but if my words make sense to you regardless then perhaps they have the ring of truth. Skinner said that if something doesn’t make sense to me then it probably doesn’t make sense. Conversely, surely the truth is the truth regardless of its source.”

“Sly, devious, vain, *clever* child,” Rhianna chuckled, her temper abruptly soothed by a sudden unexpected feeling of amusement. “But I told you yesterday that the pact between us was binding and that I would not compromise with you.”

“You’re a queen,” Alexin answered bravely. “You’re bound by no oaths, not even your own.”

Rhianna frowned. The boy’s words echoed her own belief that there was little point in being a queen if she wasn’t able to change the rules to suit her whims.

She was no fool, she knew perfectly well that Alexin was acting out of fear. Not only fear of the idea of being bedded as a barracks man but fear that in doing so he’d destroy the love of his precious monkey-man.

Which just went to prove that Alexin *wasn’t* as clever as he thought he was. He still hadn’t realized that it probably wasn’t *love* which would send Skinner after him, but outrage that another had stolen the beast-man’s ‘property’, and the natural desire to destroy that property rather than leave it in another’s hands.

Yet the idea of keeping a sensual and willing Alexin to herself was undeniably tempting. As the boy said, it mattered not *why* he’d act the slut for her. Her pleasure would remain the same, regardless of his secret thoughts as he submitted to her.

Perhaps the idea was at least worthy of some consideration during the journey to her lands. It would take two days of hard riding to reach her queendom. She had plenty of time to contemplate Alexin’s words.

“Turn over,” she said, picking up the comb once more that she might continue the painstaking but oddly enjoyable task of untangling Alexin’s hair.

The boy, damn him anyway, regarded her carefully through his exquisite green eyes and then his lips twitched a little, as though he was suppressing a triumphant smile, before he rolled over and then gave a deep sigh of contented relief as she resumed her gentle grooming.

~~~

“I’m dying,” Langly announced plaintively.

“No you’re not,” Skinner retorted, “You merely *wish* you were.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I feel the same way,” Skinner admitted, lurching to his feet, leaning over the railing and throwing up over the side of the ship.

“Oh gods,” Langly gasped, rushing to the railing himself and losing what little remained in his stomach in sympathy with Skinner’s bout of sickness.

Frohike just snickered because he felt perfectly fine. The only reason he was up on deck with his companions was his worry that Skinner might stumble and fall over the railing without someone to keep an eye on him, and Langly was far too ill to act as Skinner’s eyes.

Despite the rope around Skinner’s waist that tethered him firmly to the railing to prevent him being lost overboard, someone still had to be there in case Skinner fell over the railing and needed to be hauled back up onto the deck.

The first ten days of their passage had been smooth sailing, but a storm had begun to brew during the eleventh night and the twelfth day had dawned with the ship struggling through massive waves that lashed its stern and rocked it like flotsam.

Skinner and Langly, already queasy from the normal motion of the ship, had consequently spent most of the day vomiting.

They weren’t the only ones.

As the day had progressed, the ocean had begun to churn so violently beneath the ship that even hardened sailors had begun rushing to the railings to empty their stomachs.

But Frohike, oddly enough, felt perfectly chipper. He didn’t even find the wild tipping of the deck to be a problem. Where the others were struggling to stay on their feet, he was able to walk blithely around the ship without losing his footing once.

It was, he supposed, his Faerie blood that made him immune to the sea-sickness even though Skinner’s Faerie blood wasn’t helping *him* much. Of course it could, he admitted, simply be his short stature that made his center of gravity low enough for him to keep his balance while the other men stumbled and fell.

Whatever the reasons, he was grateful that he wasn’t sharing the discomfort of his companions.

Particularly as the storm progressed and strengthened through the twelfth night until all except himself were strapped tightly to the railings in terror of being cast overboard by the wild lurching of the ship as it struggled desperately towards the safety of land.

The storm was so great that dawn came and went without any significant lightening of the sky. Rain was crashing down onto the deck so hard that the ship's occupants would all have been drenched and frozen even without the waves that were now regularly crashing over their heads.

Langly and Skinner had ceased vomiting hours before, their stomachs no longer capable of even disgorging bile into their throats. Both looked so pale and ill that Frohike wasted several hours trying to devise a way to get them below decks into the relatively dry warmth of their cabin. But the ship was rocking so violently that he doubted he even had the strength to drag Langly safely across the deck, let alone the much larger Skinner.

And it was then, mid-day on the thirteenth day, that the cry which Frohike had been dreading was raised across the ship.

“We’re sinking,” someone screamed, after a particularly brutal wave had snapped the ship’s main sail and brought its mast crashing down so heavily that it had pierced the ship’s bow like a spear.

It was clear that they *were* sinking, even without the mass panic which ensued after the pronouncement, and even though Frohike had suspected for hours that such would be the outcome of the storm, he still quivered with dread. Neither he nor Langly could swim, and Skinner was blind. Even if Skinner still had the strength to attempt to swim to shore after two days of vomiting sea-sickness, he’d have no way of knowing what direction the land lay.

“I need to find us something to hold onto,” he screamed at his companions. “Something that can float. If we tie ourselves to something like the mast, then we may be washed up on shore. We can’t be many miles from land now, though the storm makes it impossible for me to see the coast.”

“The horses,” Skinner yelled back, over the howling of the storm. “We need to get below deck and release the horses.”

Frohike and Langly both gaped at him in bemusement. They were about to drown and Skinner was worried about the damned horses? They would have understood the comment from Alexin, had his beloved Dinah been trapped below deck, but from Skinner the comment seemed nonsensical.

“Horses can SWIM!” Skinner roared.

Frohike’s mouth dropped open, his expression changing between hope and doubt as he understood what Skinner was saying. If they could somehow get down to the stalls, saddle and mount the undoubtedly frantic animals, ride them up onto deck and into the water before the ship sank, the horses *might* carry them safely to shore. The problem was that he couldn’t see how they could do it.

“Tie a rope between the door hatch and this railing,” Skinner said. “Langly and I can use it to drag ourselves across the deck. While we do that, run down to the stalls and see if you can saddle the horses. If they’re too wild with fear for you to do that, just throw ropes around their necks and knot them tightly. We can ride them bareback and without bridles as long as we have some way to fasten ourselves to them. The plunge into the waves will unseat us if we’re merely clinging to their manes. While you do that, Langly can help me through to our cabin to collect our furs and whatever else we can strap to ourselves and then we’ll join you. We can do this, Frohike. *You* can do this. You can save us all. I have faith in you, my friend.”

It was Skinner’s firm, assured insistence that he *could* do what he personally thought was impossible that gave Frohike the courage to try.

He raced across the badly listing deck to cut a section of rigging off the fallen mast. Then he tied it between the railing and the hatch.

“Untie me from the railing and loop my tether around the rope, you do the same for yourself, Langly. That way, if we slip and lose hold of the rope we won’t be swept overboard,” Skinner suggested. “Now go ahead of us, Frohike. Get the horses prepared for us.”

Frohike’s face twisted with misery at the thought of leaving them even for the few minutes it would take them to drag themselves to the hatchway, but Skinner was right, they were firmly tethered to the rope so should be safe, and it *would* take time for him to either saddle or rope the horses.

“Don’t you DARE die on me,” he screamed at Langly.

Pale, shivering, and wide eyed with fear, the bedraggled blond still managed a brave smile for his lover. “I’m damned if I’m going to let an oversized bathtub kill me,” he yelled back.

It was Skinner’s strength rather than Langly’s eyes, that got the two men across the deck. Skinner pulled himself, hand over hand, along the rope, and when he reached Langly, who was struggling to haul himself forward with the deck lurching so violently under his feet, Skinner stretched his arms around the thin blond man and pulled *both* of them forward, his strong arms easily capable of pulling their combined weight, even if doing so tore the skin from his palms as he grasped the wet, abrasive rigging, and hauled them towards the hatchway.

There was a slight moment of panic as they reached the hatch when Langly’s hand was trembling so hard that he dropped the knife Skinner handed him to cut through their tethers and it shot across the listing deck and dropped into the ocean.

But when he admitted what had happened, Skinner just calmly handed him his second knife with a sardonic grin.

Once inside, Skinner told Langly to take them to their cabin.

“What’s the point?” Langly argued. “Everything will be soaked through.”

“Wet furs will eventually dry, boy,” Skinner snapped, even as he pushed Langly forward. “And we’ll need them long before we reach anywhere we’d be able to replace them. The shops in the most southern cities of the Northern Territories don’t cater for clothing the kind of idiots who think to travel so far north. The furs Hawk Trapper gave us are made from the skins of the white bears that live only in the glaciers. They are the cloaks my people wore during their exodus and are the only clothing that might save our lives in the icelands.”

Once inside their cabin, Skinner instructed Langly to swiftly fold the cloaks into a tight bundle and strap them, like a backpack, onto his own muscular frame. He explained that if they tried to wear the cloaks, they would drag them under the water but that folded so tightly they’d only be able to absorb a certain amount of water so would be lighter. Then Skinner tied the bag containing Alexin’s jewels firmly to his sword belt and reluctantly removed the blade from his scabbard. Its weight would drag him down, and it would be so blunted and rusted from the saltwater that it would be useless to him. In truth, it had been largely useless to him since he’d lost his sight, but it still pained him to remove it from his belt.

Langly strapped a bag of provisions to his own back, deciding that they’d be grateful for even sodden, salty food if they made it safely to shore, and then led Skinner hurriedly to the stalls.

Frohike had met with more success than he’d anticipated. Although Langly’s black was so crazed with terror that he’d only been able to throw a rope around its neck as Skinner had suggested, the other two horses, though equally frightened, were well trained battle horses that had been trained to obedience even in the face of great fear.

So he’d been able to get saddles and bridles on both Skinner’s bay stallion and his own bay gelding.

“I’m sorry,” he told Langly, his eyes guilt filled. “I’ll ride your black if you prefer.”

“A fat little gnome like you wouldn’t even be able to mount him,” Langly quipped. “The important thing is that *Skinner’s* horse has a saddle. With the cloaks on his back, he’ll need the extra support to keep himself balanced.”

In truth, it was Skinner’s blindness that concerned Langly the most, but it seemed kinder to say his worry was for the fact that Skinner was carrying the heavy backpack.

“We need to move ourselves,” Skinner said, cautiously entering the stall and, using his hands to guide him, swinging himself up onto his horse’s saddle. “Duck low over your horses’ necks as we exit. I doubt there’s much headroom in these passageways.”

Frohike scrambled onto his own horse and Langly then took a flying leap towards his own terrified mount and somehow managed to scramble onto its back without its plunging forefeet connecting with his body. He quickly tied the tether around his waist to the rope around the horse’s neck and then took firm hold of the animal’s thick mane.

Frohike led the way out of the stalls, pointing his horse not in the direction of the way it had been loaded into the ship but through the narrow passageway that led past the cabins. The ship was already sinking, the water level already to the horses’ knees, so although he was uncertain whether the horses would struggle to mount the steps that led onto the deck, he knew they had to take the shortest route out lest the ship suddenly broke apart under the weight of the water filling it.

The horses did balk slightly as they were faced with the stairs, but the smell of fresh air and the promise of freedom overcame their reluctance and they plunged up and out onto the deck.

“We have to ride over the railings,” Skinner cried. “We can’t wait for the ship to sink because it will drag us down with it.”

Although Skinner was unaware of the fact, most of the sailors had apparently already figured that out because they’d already all grabbed hold of floatable objects and had jumped overboard to take their chances in the waves.

“The horses won’t jump into...” Langly began, only to scream in sudden shock as his mount took matters into its own hooves, charged towards the railing and jumped clear over to land in the churning ocean.

Skinner and Frohike’s horses immediately followed its lead, and all three horses landed in the waves so heavily that all were submerged for a few seconds before their strong legs managed to kick them back to the surface.

“Horses have good survival instincts,” Skinner explained, when he’d finally coughed what felt like a gallon of saltwater out of his lungs. “They *know* they can swim.”

“Dinah didn’t,” Frohike chuckled fondly.

“Dinah simply didn’t want to get his pretty fur wet,” Skinner replied, his own mouth twitching at the bittersweet memory of that day at the river.

It was strange, perhaps, that they spent most of that fearful swim through the wild, storm-lashed waves recounting tales to each other of Alexin – and Dinah’s – peculiarly endearing complaints during their journey from Stonekeep, and yet somehow it felt easier to face their own terror by reminding themselves of why they were crossing the ocean at all and why it was so important that they survived.

“I’m so cold,” Langly groaned, when his fingers became so numb that he had to release his hold on his horse’s mane and depend purely on the rope tether to keep him seated.

“Not long now, my love,” Frohike crooned, though he too was frozen almost to the bone. “Look between the waves, Langly. We’re almost to shore.”

“I can’t see anything but water,” Langly wailed.

“I see land,” Frohike replied firmly. “The horses know what they’re doing. They’re carrying us safely ashore.”

“I *smell* land,” Skinner agreed.

“How can you *smell* land?” Langly argued.

Skinner chuckled and wove a highly improbable tale of how land could be smelt, which distracted Langly for long enough that the blond’s next exclamation was one of excited relief.

“You’re right, Fro. It *is* land. I see it myself now.”

And, indeed, the rugged cliffs of the Northern Territories soon loomed into view as the three exhausted horses fought their way through the savage waves to the shore.

~~~

After supper, Alexin fell into an exhausted sleep and dreamed of the river.

He dreamed that, as he and Dinah had crossed the dry riverbed, the wall of water had suddenly collapsed behind him and Skinner, Langly and Frohike had been caught in its sudden onslaught and swept away to watery deaths.

He woke sobbing so wildly that he woke Rhianna and, though it was still the middle of the night and she was too tired in truth to handle the hysterics of a boy, she rocked him gently in his arms and assured him that dreams weren’t real.

“That isn’t what happened, is it?” she reminded him.

“No,” Alexin sniffled, feeling slightly guilty but still eagerly burrowing into the unexpected comfort of her arms. He knew she was ‘the enemy’, but it was still undeniably *nice* to be petted and soothed by her big, but surprisingly gentle, hands.

“Then I imagine it’s just your mind’s way of trying to deal with your sorrow at being parted from your bel... from your ‘friends’.”

Though her voice was kind and Alexin accepted her explanation with a relieved sigh and then snuggled contentedly inside her arms, Rhianna’s expression was far from happy.

She had suddenly found herself unable to refer to Alexin’s monkey-man as his ‘beloved’. Not out of any sense of distaste at the notion. ‘Beloved’ was simply a term of fact to describe any boy’s natural feelings towards the one who had stolen his magic. No one would ever replace a boy’s ‘beloved’. Rhianna had known several males in her time who had been married to particularly cruel wives and had, therefore, every reason to celebrate becoming widowers. Yet each and every one of them, even if they’d been beautiful enough to be subsequently taken as husbands by less powerful but far kinder women, rather than relegated to the barracks, had always been left shattered by their widowing and incapable of ever truly loving another.

The magic that bound a boy to the one who stole his magic was such that its breaking left a boy forever with a wound that couldn’t heal. Sometimes Rhianna suspected it was *that* which left a boy stripped of his magic. Not the breaking of the spell so much as the breaking of his heart.

Yet it still sent a jolt of fury through her that the boy was pining for Skinner. Though she didn’t blame Alexin, knowing the boy’s feelings were beyond his control, Rhianna still felt a surge of rage that another would forever own a part of the boy.

Hence her unhappiness.

She wasn’t supposed to be feeling possessive of the boy in her arms. She wasn’t supposed to be feeling an almost blind rage at the thought of another person having Alexin’s affection. If she felt thus about merely sharing the boy’s heart, how would she possibly allow anyone else to share his body?

And it didn’t make sense.

The boy had no magic. He had no *power* to bewitch her so. He was no more than a pretty stud whose only possible purpose would be to father a number of hopefully equally pretty children.

Yet, even knowing that, Rhianna still found herself glancing around at her sleeping guards with narrowed, thoughtful eyes and imagining herself plunging a knife into the breast of any who would dare touch the boy cradled in her arms.

~~~

They reached Ragnarok fifteen days after ‘landing’ in the Northern Territories.

Their swift progress was due more to Skinner’s wealth than their own endurance. After spending a long night on a rocky beach, shivering around a hastily constructed fire while they dried their furs as best they could, they’d led their still exhausted horses to a nearby settlement and had traded them, at a considerable loss, for three far less fine but considerably fresher mounts. Then, over the subsequent fourteen days, they’d repeated the process every morning.

As Skinner had warned, there were few horses in the Northern Territories and none were beasts of any quality, but by riding their mounts to exhaustion each day and then simply purchasing replacements in whichever city they reached at night, they actually made faster progress than they would have on their original much better horses.

Ragnarok was the largest city, situated just slightly north of the center of the Territory. It was the place where all the clans gathered once a year for the naming ceremonies of all the youths and for the necessary trading which took place between the other cities.

It was in Ragnarok, therefore, that they finally managed to purchase new furs to replace the ones that Skinner had hauled through the ocean. Although the furs had dried and proven warm enough during their travel through the increasingly cold land, they were salt drenched and stiffly uncomfortable to wear.

So Skinner purchased them not only new cloaks but thick outer breeches and jerkins of the white fur, and stoles that they could wrap around their faces so that only their eyes would be exposed to the harsh cold of the most northern mountains.

He also bought spears, knives and a replacement sword for himself.

“I may be unable to wield it,” he explained, “but drawing it should be enough to ward off most would-be attackers. The wolves in the north know of the danger of a sword and will avoid it. They won’t know me to be blind.”

Skinner’s blindness was, though, a great issue to most of the people whom they met during their journey north. So was Frohike’s short stature. In most cities and settlements they passed through, it was *Langly* who was forced to do the horse trading and negotiating for lodgings.

The people of the north were, of necessity, a society that judged a man purely on his strength and ability as a hunter and provider. They had no tolerance for the idea of a blind man or a ‘dwarf’. Both Skinner and Frohike were unnatural and offensive to their eyes.

Langly’s slender build wasn’t greeted with that much approval either, but at least they consented to trade with him rather than simply spitting in his face and turning away in disgust.

“It’s a harsh land,” Skinner explained. “And it bred a harsh people. Survival of the fittest is the only law in the Northern Territories. We should, perhaps, be grateful that their only fault is prejudice. They are too honest, at least, to rob us for our wealth. I may offend them by my refusal to take the warrior’s way and end my life lest I become a burden on the tribe, but no matter how much I disgust them, they won’t actually raise their hands in violence. They believe my fate is in the hands of the Gods and they will leave the Gods to punish me for my ‘cowardice’.”

“I understand now your tale of the exodus of your people,” Frohike sighed. “In truth I found it hard to comprehend how none would rise to your aid. I thought your race barbaric and cruel. Yet, I see now that it is not actually *cruelty* on their part but simply the traditions that keep them alive in this harsh land. You are right, at least, that they have a basic honesty that’s often lacking in the south. Without the aid of the soldiers who escorted us to the coast, I believe we would have been set upon by human raiders in the mountains. Yet here I see no such threat.”

“My people are greatly prideful,” Skinner agreed. “We would rather starve than take by force that which the Gods have granted another. When my tribe were driven from our city by the glacier, there were enough of us that my father could have led us in force against another settlement to simply take that which we needed to survive. Yet that is not the way of my people. We do not argue so with the will of the Gods.”

“Yet surely the fact we’re standing here having this discussion proves that you *do* rail against the will of the Gods,” Langly pointed out.

Skinner chuckled and shook his head. “I can see why you believe so, but you’re wrong. This quest *is* my attempt to be true to the Gods. Because I truly believe that I’m following my destiny.”

“I too believe that,” Frohike agreed quietly. “Though I surely wish I had a better idea of what that destiny is supposed to be.”

~~~

Sylvana was in a rage.

Truth be told, Sylvana was *often* in a rage so it could be argued that her behavior was merely typical, but on this occasion her fury was specific and was directed purely at one individual.

Naturally, that didn’t prevent her from venting her anger in every available direction while she planned and schemed a way to gain vengeance on the true object of her wrath.

Thirteen guards, riding a mere eight horses, had returned from the disastrous confrontation with the monkey-people.

Thirteen bodies were now hanging from a specially erected gibbet near to the second eastern tower.

Not *dead* bodies. Sylvana wasn’t *that* merciful. She fully intended their suffering to last long enough to stand as a warning to all of her people that failure wouldn’t be tolerated. So the execution would take several days to complete.

Silent days, unfortunately, since she’d had no option except to have all thirteen guards’ tongues removed the moment she’d heard their tale. Sylvana had no intention of letting anyone know that her son had lain with an animal.

So her stated reason for the execution of the guards was that they had allowed the treacherous Rhianna to slaughter half of their number, to murder Ariana – she knew of that because one of the thirteen had followed Rhianna and discovered Ariana’s corpse before rejoining the others – and to kidnap the Prince after Ariana had rescued him from the monkey-man. Which, she added firmly, had been slaughtered most cruelly in punishment for its grievous crime.

Thus *no one* in Sylvana’s queendom was aware of either the monkey-men’s victory or Alexin’s shame.

If the price for that was the regrettable absence of screams to accompany the slow torturous death of the thirteen guards, then so be it.

Besides, it wasn’t *all* disastrous.

Since she was well aware that the new Queen Luta would be loath to leave her husband and embark on a war campaign, Sylvana sent a rider to Hallowfall offering that she’d take vengeance for Ariana’s murder on Luta’s behalf. On the proviso, naturally, that Luta sent sufficient troops for her to do so under the terms of their treaty. Ariana’s taking of Alexin as concubine before her death had sealed the alliance between their queendoms. Sylvana was sure Luta would accept her offer and provide the troops. Luta wasn’t the brightest of women, after all. It wouldn’t occur to the new queen that, with control of Luta’s troops, Sylvana wouldn’t need Luta at all.

Sylvana had the definite feeling that her queendom was about to expand considerably.

~~~

It took thirteen days for them to ride from Ragnarok to the foot of the Arken mountains, then a further five days to cross over the treacherous ice of a glacier – the same glacier, incidentally, which had crushed the original Crystal City – and reach the city of the Eirendi.

Skinner believed that if anyone knew the location of the ward-gate into the Northern Faerie realm, that it would be the Eirendish people.

He had no expectation of being made any more welcome by his mother’s people than he had been in any of the other cities of the North. The Eirendi were well known for being stand-offish with strangers, and their refusal to open their gates to even Agnatha had led Skinner to believe they were equally unfriendly even to people who could claim their blood.

He was wrong however.

The Eirendi were not only hospitable, but they were peculiarly accepting of both his blindness and Frohike’s short stature, even though there were few of them who were shorter than Skinner’s own unusual height. They also immediately recognized Skinner as having their blood, even though he’d always considered himself to be totally like his father in facial appearance.

One man stepped forward with the claim that he was Agnatha’s father, and thus Skinner’s grandfather, and against all of Skinner’s expectations he was welcomed with the enthusiasm of a beloved grandson and gifted and feasted accordingly.

Frohike regarded all of this with relief, but more than a little natural resentment. Although he was genuinely pleased for his friend’s sake, he couldn’t help but compare Skinner’s reception by the Eirendi with his own far less pleasant return to the land of the Faerie. But he still thoroughly enjoyed the feast and the comfortable quarters accorded to Langly and himself.

It was because of the unexpectedly warm reception that Skinner abandoned the various convoluted stories he’d been inventing to excuse his need to know where the ward-gate was situated and instead simply told the truth.

And, perhaps because of the Faerie blood that ran through the veins of so many of the Eirendish people, his tale was met with acceptance rather than credulity, and although none knew *exactly* where the ward-gate was, they called for ancient maps and books filled with old legends in an attempt to pinpoint its likely location.

“There’s a mention here of the women’s return from the castle of the Ice Queen. They were led over a narrow rainbow of ice, over a vast and terrifyingly deep canyon, a half-day before they were returned to our world,” someone mentioned excitedly. “That has to be Wolf Fang Ravine in the human realm, so the gate must be south of there. It’s the only such canyon within a day’s walk of here,” he explained, “and the women arrived home before nightfall that day.”

The argument made sense to Skinner. Where the Faerie and human worlds overlay each other, the landscape in both places was almost, if not entirely, identical.

“Let’s see if we can narrow it down some more,” another Eirendi said. “There’s mention of a sleeping giant, lying by the side of the entrance to the Faerie realm. What does that represent?”

“Hopefully not a *real* sleeping giant,” Langly muttered, loudly enough that several of the Eirendi laughed.

“It has to be the Rock of Ages,” someone suggested. “It’s a mountain that appears to have the face of an old man carved into it,” he added, when the three travelers appeared confused.

“Yes, that makes sense,” the first Eirendi replied. “None of these legends speak literally. I mean, they can’t *really* have met an Ice Queen or have walked across a rainbow, can they?”

Everyone chuckled in agreement and arrangements were made to escort Skinner and his companions to where they believed the ward-gate might be found, on the following morning.

“We won’t be able to take the horses through the gate,” Skinner warned. “Whether it’s a rainbow or not, the legend describes a dangerously narrow pathway over a deep canyon. It’s not something we’ll wish to cross on horseback. Besides,” he added, as it belatedly occurred to him, “when I passed through into the Faerie realm in the south, my horse couldn’t follow me. Presumably because it had no Faerie blood.”

“Neither have I,” Langly pointed out worriedly.

“You hold my magic,” Frohike reminded him. “The gate will allow you through, blood or no blood. Well, I *think* it will.”

“It had damned well better,” Langly snarled. “Because if it doesn’t, the whole quest is over. You can’t leave me here alone and Skinner can’t proceed without a guide.”

“If it comes to that, *I* will accompany Skinner through the gate,” Skinner’s grandfather announced firmly. “I may be old, but my eyes see well enough.”

“Don’t worry, old man,” one of the younger Eirendi laughed gently. “I intend to go with Skinner to see this Faerie realm for myself.”

“And I,” several other youths announced, their voices bright with excitement.

“Even knowing that those you love will grow old and perhaps even die in your absence?” Skinner reminded them sternly. “Your parents, your lovers, your wives, your children, all could age beyond recognition even if you spend only a few days in the land of the Faerie.”

His sober warning soon convinced the youths that they didn’t want to join his quest after all, and Skinner was pleased. Not that they wouldn’t accompany him, for he would have valued their assistance, but that he wouldn’t be responsible for tearing them away from their families to return as strangers in their own home. He knew only too well how that felt and didn’t want to wish that awful feeling on another.

~~~

“Break camp,” Rhianna ordered, shortly after dawn. “We need to ride far today if we are to reach the castle by tomorrow night.”

As her soldiers began saddling the horses, Rhianna set off in search of Alexin. The boy had hobbled off into the bushes several minutes earlier, muttering about needing to relieve himself, and still hadn’t returned.

Considering the state of his buttocks, Rhianna fully expected to find the poor child in the horribly embarrassing position of being too sore to open his bowels.

Instead, she found him kneeling happily at the side of a small stream while threading daisy chains.

The sight was so sweet that she was tempted to kiss his forehead. Instead she forced a grim, commanding look on her face.

“Come,” she said. “We ride shortly and you haven’t yet broken fast.”

Alexin looked up at her, blinked his huge green eyes and said, “But I haven’t finished.”

“Finished what?”

“Threading enough flowers for my hair,” he exclaimed solemnly. “I have *lots* of hair.”

Torn between irritation and humor, Rhianna settled for dryly saying, “Indeed you do, Alexin. I discovered that as I combed it last night.”

Alexin smiled sweetly. “That’s why I need flowers,” he explained. “You made it look so nice, after it’s been so messy for SO long, that I just *have* to dress it with flowers so I truly look like a *real* boy again.”

“There’s no time,” Rhianna snapped.

Alexin burst into tears.

Rhianna’s reaction was peculiarly reminiscent of Skinner’s, as she shuffled awkwardly from foot to foot, unable to bear the boy’s loud vocal misery but uncertain whether she found Alexin’s tantrum to be endearing or irritating.

She eventually decided that a *short* delay wouldn’t hurt. It *had* to be better than riding all day with the boy constantly sniveling about the lack of flowers in his hair.

“Just a *few* flowers, and hurry up about it,” she grunted, turning on her heel and stomping back to camp to tell the guards not to rush their packing after all.

Alexin stopped crying, smiled smugly and reached, *very* slowly, for another daisy.

~~~

The Rock of Ages *did* look like a sleeping giant, Frohike decided. Its ‘face’ was a natural phenomenon, born of erosion, but looked remarkably like an ancient male. A human male, since it wore a ‘beard’, but a male nonetheless. It was just a mountain, but it looked like the sleeping form of a huge man who’d chosen to lie down for eternity and guard the entrance to the Faerie realm.

For the ward-gate *was* situated at a point roughly parallel to its ‘nose’.

Frohike had sensed its presence long before even the Rock of Ages had come into sight. Perhaps males couldn’t ‘use’ their own magic, but they still unerringly sensed the location of ward-spells as though something in their blood called to the presence of all magic.

Skinner found the ward-gate simply by falling off his horse.

One moment he was riding the beast, the next he was tumbling through thin air onto the ground while, in the human world, his riderless horse continued to walk on regardless.

It was, perhaps, unfortunate that Skinner had been mounted on the only horse in their party that was too dim-witted to sense the gate’s presence. All the other horses halted, rolled their eyes and refused to move forward at all.

On the other side of the gate, somewhat stunned by his fall, Skinner made the decision to simply stay put. He wasn’t sure what direction he’d landed in, and so was uncertain of the way back through the gate. So he decided to simply wait for Frohike and Langly to join him.

Which they did seemingly within seconds, though in truth they had taken the time to dismount properly, retrieve their packs – and Skinner’s from his horse – and bid their farewells to the Eirendi before following Skinner into the Faerie realm.

“It let me through,” Langly announced excitedly, looking around himself in wonder. “It looks almost exactly the same here. It’s more like the Eirendi and the horses have just vanished than I’ve walked into another world.”

“It’s definitely colder,” Frohike pronounced, with a shiver.

“I think perhaps it is,” Skinner agreed, wrapping his furs tightly around himself as he rose to his feet, with a slight wince as his buttocks complained about his fall. “But the sooner we get moving, the faster we’ll warm up.”

“How do we know where we’re supposed to head?” Langly demanded.

“We walk north until we find the Faerie equivalent of the Wolf Fang Ravine, and then we just walk along the edge of the canyon until we find the rainbow,” Skinner answered, with a shrug.

“Or whatever it is that the ‘rainbow’ in the stories truly represents,” Frohike clarified, when Langly responded to Skinner’s comment with a decidedly worried look, as though he was suddenly doubting Skinner’s sanity.

“Ah,” Langly agreed with a sigh. “Okay then. I can see the sense of that. That should be easy enough.”

“Don’t tempt the Gods,” Skinner warned grimly.

Deciding Skinner was proving to be surprisingly, and boringly, superstitious for a man who’d formerly seemed perfectly sane, Langly just rolled his eyes and picked up his backpack.

But three hours later, when they reached the ravine, he wondered whether he hadn’t been a little too hasty in that assumption because, all of a sudden, nothing was easy at all.

“There’s nothing, Skinner. Nothing that crosses the ravine as far as the eye can see. It’s not that I can’t see a rainbow bridge. I can’t see *any* bridge,” Frohike said, his heart sinking rapidly. “Maybe the bridge fell centuries ago. Maybe it never existed at all and was just formed of magic for the Eirendish women to cross. Perhaps there’s no bridge because the Faerie here don’t *want* to be found.”

“That makes sense,” Langly agreed. “If they fear the Faerie women ever following them here. I sure as damn wouldn’t leave a bridge like a welcome sign if I thought there was any chance whatsoever of one of those bitches coming calling on me.”

Skinner shook his head, not in denial of the sense of Langly’s words, but in the certainty that there was another explanation.

“The legend said the bridge was within a half-day’s walk of the gate. We’ve only walked for three hours. A half-day could be as much as twelve hours, rather than just a morning or afternoon. So the bridge may still be here, but it's many miles further up the canyon. So far that the eye can’t see it. If it truly is as narrow as described, then we’d have to be pretty close to it before it is visible against the sky.”

“There’s a problem,” Frohike muttered. “Do we go east or west? The canyon stretches out of sight in both directions.”

“Do you sense anything?” Skinner asked, because Frohike had mentioned his ability to ‘sense’ spells and Skinner remembered Alexin’s similar ability in the tunnels beneath his mother’s castle.

“No,” Frohike admitted. “But if it’s not a ‘magical’ bridge, then I wouldn’t.”

“Then we head in one direction for ten hours, and if we find no bridge, we turn back and walk in the other direction for twenty,” Skinner replied firmly.

Frohike and Langly exchanged a worried glance.

“I know,” Skinner said grimly, as though his blind eyes had noticed their look. “We’re in the Faerie realm now. Time is now moving at the same pace for us as it is for Alexin. So we can’t afford to *waste* time. Yet I don’t see that we have a choice.”

“Left or right?” Frohike asked.

“Flip a coin,” Skinner replied seriously. “Let’s pray the Gods truly *are* with us.”

Frohike fumbled in his bag for a coin.

“Left,” he said. “We head east, Skinner.”

~~~

It was well past noon when Rhianna and her soldiers finally broke camp.

It had, unbelievably, taken Alexin over three hours to pretty his hair to his satisfaction. Even more unbelievably, Rhianna had found herself waiting for him to complete the task.

It wasn’t just that he burst into tears every time she tried to hurry him up. It was that he carefully threaded the daisy chains through the left side of his hair first, taking over an hour and a half to complete just one side of his head. Then, Rhianna had to either insist he gave up with only half his hair dressed or allow him to finish.

And the flowers *did* look exquisite. Rather than simply scattering the flowers around his hair, Alexin had woven a complicated, beautiful, spiderweb like harness of the tiny flowers that reached from the crown of his head down to past his buttocks. It was like a cloak, or perhaps a veil, of flowers and it made him look so pretty that it took all of Rhianna’s self-control not to break her oath that he wouldn’t be mounted unless he was in a real bed.

It took most of her *royal* control too, because her guards were so enchanted by Alexin’s appearance that it took Rhianna almost an hour to convince them to stop petting and praising the boy and instead mount their horses.

And *that* was the point at which Alexin had innocently asked whether it wasn’t lunchtime yet, because he was ravenously hungry.

Rhianna’s temper *had* flared a little then, since it was just too ‘convenient’ that Alexin had wasted the entire morning and then was suddenly insisting he was hungry at the moment they were finally prepared to move on.

Yet she’d seen no guile in the big emerald eyes, and it *was* lunchtime, so she’d found herself giving in.

And *that* was why, instead of covering half the distance to her castle that day, they’d be lucky to make even a quarter.

~~~

“We’re going to have to stop and camp for the night,” Frohike told Skinner apologetically, after they’d walked for just over five hours. “It’s getting so dark we can barely see. At this rate we could walk right past the bridge without realizing we’ve done so.”

Skinner agreed to stop, though he was naturally unhappy with the idea. Since he couldn’t see at all, it made no difference to *him* whether they walked all night. But he accepted that it would be a pointless exercise if it was too dark for Frohike and Langly to see the bridge if they passed it.

Besides, it was becoming bitterly cold as the night drew in and the temperature dropped dramatically with the setting of the sun. Making camp and setting a fire with some of the wood in his pack would be a sensible idea. It would also lighten his load considerably the next morning.

Yet it was hard to rest, knowing that the minutes were now ticking by for Alexin at the same speed as they were for him. It took little imagination to conclude how his lover would be spending the night. The Faerie who had broken their bond and stolen Alexin from the gate was probably making full use of her new ‘toy’.

Imagining that, picturing Alexin lying helplessly as some woman ravished him, was unbearable.

In his gut he *knew* Alexin was crying.

And, knowing that, he unashamedly let tears spill down his own face in sympathy.

~~~

Alexin *was* crying.

Not that *that* was something new, Rhianna muttered to herself irritably. She’d come to the conclusion that, for one reason or another, Alexin was *always* crying.

It was driving her crazy.

The more so because she was finding herself so discomforted every time she saw that perfect face screwed up in misery that she’d do almost *anything* to put a smile back on the boy’s face.

It was the oddest thing in the world.

Had the boy still had his magic, then his tears would have *delighted* her. Not his misery, naturally, but the tears themselves would have been sufficient recompense to make her happily live with the guilt of driving him to tears in the first place.

Since Alexin was *without* magic, his tears should have left her unmoved. She’d dealt with enough tearful brats in her life to know that *all* males were miserable, woe-begotten creatures at heart who would snivel if they so much as broke a fingernail.

Which was why she was totally mystified by her own reaction to Alexin’s regular bouts of hysterics.

They’d barely covered twenty miles before she’d been forced to call her guards to a temporary halt because Alexin’s constant whimpering that his “bottom hurt” was driving her to distraction. Despite a generous dose of the potion, Alexin was still, oddly, proclaiming himself to be in immense pain when they remounted again.

Not being a fool, it *did* briefly occur to her that Alexin was possibly play acting.

Yet she decided a boy wasn’t capable of such concerted deception as to bawl constantly for four solid hours just to ‘pretend’ he was in pain.

And, in truth, since she knew of no male who had ever been so brutally whipped as to tear the flesh from his buttocks, she decided it was entirely possible that Alexin’s injuries *were* too great for the potion to dull. Although a woman could have a limb severed and feel no effects of that injury if she swallowed a single mouthful of the potion, it was possible that a male’s body reacted totally differently. The potion was definitely capable of dulling the ache of an over-enthusiastic spanking of a boy, but *perhaps* it was useless against such a severe beating as Alexin had suffered.

Which was why, just ten miles further on, having covered only thirty miles in total, Rhianna gave in to the boy’s sobbing and called for her guards to set camp for the night.

“At this rate, we’ll be lucky to reach the castle in less than a week,” she griped, as she carefully lowered the boy to the ground and watched him hobble painfully off into the bushes to relieve herself.

It was fortunate that Alexin’s back was turned away from her view because, hearing her grumble, he couldn’t prevent his lips twitching into a triumphant smile.

~~~

“You aren’t going to believe this,” Frohike gasped, a second after he woke and sat up.

“What?” Skinner demanded urgently.

“Huh?” Langly asked drowsily, unfurling himself from his sleeping furs.

“The bridge,” Frohike said. “I can see the bridge.”

Langly rubbed his eyes and peered in the direction Frohike was pointing. “I can’t see a bridge.”

“Well, I can,” Frohike argued. “That faint shadow there, arcing over the ravine. See it?”

“Like you said, it’s a shadow. Probably cast by a cloud. It’ll shift in a moment,” Langly said confidently.

But it didn’t, and the more Langly looked at it the more he began to believe that, just possibly, Frohike could be right. He was still unconvinced though.

“It’s a good five miles away. That’s a long way to walk in the wrong direction.”

“Then the sooner we start, the sooner we’ll know for certain,” Skinner stated, rolling up his sleeping fur and stuffing it into his pack.

“But we haven’t eaten yet,” Langly complained.

“We’ll eat as we walk,” Skinner replied firmly.

“Do you know how bad that is for the digestion?” Langly huffed, hurriedly packing his things while Frohike steered Skinner towards the east and the two men started walking, leaving Langly to catch up with them.

It took them a little over an hour to reach the ‘shadow’ and ascertain that it was, indeed, the bridge over the ravine.

Which *should* have been good news.

“Rainbow? I’ll give them a damned *rainbow*,” Frohike snarled in disgust.

“Well, I suppose it does look kind of like a rainbow when the sunlight glints on its surface,” Langly pointed out.

“What is it?” Skinner demanded. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s ice, Skinner. It isn’t a real bridge. It’s a narrow arc of solid ice that simply happens to bridge the ravine. And when I say narrow, I’d say it’s barely two feet wide and more slippery that an Emerald City tradesman,” Frohike growled.

“Is it solid enough to bear our weight?” Skinner asked calmly.

“Perhaps,” Frohike allowed, “but it wouldn’t have to, because we’d set one foot on it and slide right off it into the ravine.”

“The boots the Eirendi gave us are designed to grip the surface of ice,” Skinner argued.

“Not *that* kind of ice,” Langly said. “It’s smooth as glass. The spikes on our boots won’t bite into it enough unless each step we take is heavy and deliberate and, forgive me for saying this, your steps haven’t been firm since you lost your vision.”

“He’s right,” Frohike agreed. “Possibly, just *possibly*, Langly and I might be able to cross if we’re careful. But there’s no way you can do it, Skinner.”

“I’m not afraid,” Skinner growled.

“If you could see the bridge, you damned well would be,” Langly said.

“If I could *see* the bridge, we wouldn’t be having this damned conversation,” Skinner snarled. “Take me to it and let *me* worry about crossing it.”

“No,” Frohike and Langly said, in unison.

And despite Skinner’s demands and threats and even pleas, they refused to change their minds.

“Hate us forever, if you will,” Frohike said sadly. “But we will not lead you to your death. We have to turn back.”

Skinner refused to move. “I’ll die here then,” he snarled. “I’ll sit here and freeze to death rather than give up. I’ll die *anyway*, so you might as well give in and show me where the bridge begins.”

The argument continued for hours, waxing and waning, until Skinner finally accepted that neither Frohike nor Langly would change their minds.

But, instead of agreeing to leave with them and return to the human realm, he sat down on the ground, curled himself in his cloak and refused to speak to them at all.

Frohike and Langly lit a fire to keep Skinner warm, then moved away so they could speak to each other in private.

“It cannot end like this,” Frohike growled, his face twisted with frustration. “Skinner’s right. We haven’t come this far to give up now.”

“There’s no other way to cross the ravine,” Langly argued. “It’s dangerous enough for *us* to attempt, but it’s going to be impossible to get Skinner over that narrow bridge. Even if it weren’t carved from ice, he wouldn’t be able to keep his footing sure enough on *any* bridge so narrow. The truth is the truth, Fro. A blind man can’t cross this ravine.”

Frohike glowered darkly. “Then it’s time that Skinner was no longer blind.”

“Huh?”

“I’ve been thinking on this for the last few days,” Frohike admitted reluctantly. “But, selfishly I suppose, I’d hoped we’d find friendly Faerie at the Ice Queen’s castle who would take the responsibility out of our hands.”

“What responsibility?”

“For attempting to heal Skinner with Faerie magic.”

“I didn’t know Faerie magic could heal,” Langly said hesitantly.

“The *old* Faerie magic could apparently do *anything*. A human body is essentially only a living representation of the elements,” Frohike retorted. “Formed of water and earth.”

“Earth?” Langly blurted. “Flesh isn’t made of *earth*.”

“In a way it is. Flesh is filled with the minerals and chemicals that form the earth power. It is built on the fuel of earth magic. Every morsel eaten comes from the earth in one form or another, and that food becomes the flesh and so the flesh *is* of the earth.”

“So you think Faerie magic could repair Skinner’s eyes?” Langly asked excitedly.

“The *old* Faerie magic could and, according to Skinner, that magic resides deep inside every Faerie male just waiting to be unleashed. Even inside a twisted, deformed Faerie like me.”

“I hate it when you refer to yourself thus,” Langly snapped. But then his expression changed from one of irritation to bewilderment as Frohike’s words truly sank into his brain. “You’re talking about the tear-magic, aren’t you?”

Frohike just grunted his assent.

“But...but that would mean *I’d* have to wield the magic. I don’t know how to use it. I’m more likely to incinerate Skinner than cure him.”

Frohike chuckled darkly. “The possibility *had* crossed my mind. It’s another reason I was hoping we’d find Faerie who actually understood how to use their magic. But we’re out of options now. Anyway, how many times did you tell Skinner that his abilities were only limited by his own belief? If you truly *believe* you can heal him, I feel certain that you’ll be able to do so.” He began unfastening his breeches.

“What are you doing?” Langly yelped. “You’ll freeze.”

“You’re far too puny to beat my buttocks through two layers of bearskin. Besides, I’m sure you’ll quickly warm me up.”

“You...you said you’d never let me... um... let me...”

“Make the most of it,” Frohike grumbled. “Because I highly doubt I’ll ever let you do it *again*. Now stop stammering, close your mouth and do it before Skinner notices what we’re doing.”

“I think he’ll notice anyway when you start yelling the place down,” Langly muttered.

“If I start ‘yelling’, we’ll probably be buried under an avalanche,” Frohike pointed out snidely, gesturing pointedly at the snow covered hills that surrounded them. “You’re going to have to gag me. And,” he added, as Langly’s mouth dropped open again in surprise, “if you don’t get a move on, my buttocks are going to be so damned frozen that they’ll shatter when you *do* smack me.”

That final comment finally galvanized Langly into action. It wasn’t that he needed much convincing anyway. He’d been yearning to taste Frohike’s tears again for over twenty years. His hesitation had been mainly from disbelief at Frohike’s offer, and worry that if he afterwards failed to cure Skinner, Frohike would be so furious at having suffered the pain of a spanking for nothing that Langly’s *own* buttocks would soon be a rich burning red.

“Okay,” he said, his voice wavering slightly. “Come over here then.”

~~~

“I know I’m only a boy, so I’m probably being stupid,” Alexin said, with a flutter of his eyelashes and a coy, nervous smile. “But I think... well, I think that I would heal much faster if I took a little gentle exercise rather than just sitting on your lap.”

Rhianna sighed and rubbed between her brows. She was already getting a headache and it was barely mid-day.

“I think you’ve already had sufficient exercise this morning,” she pointed out, a little snidely. “Let’s see,” she said, ticking the points off on her fingers. “Firstly you had to find flowers to replace the ones that were crushed during your sleep. Then you decided you *had* to bathe. Then we finally got moving and you saw a bush of Epinberries and declared you couldn’t *bear* to go even another day without tasting them again after all the vile things you’d been forced to eat in the human world.”

Alexin’s lower lip quivered dangerously. “You...you said *all* boys had a sweet tooth, but now you’re being mean to me.”

“I am *not* being mean. I’m just pointing out that I’ve been more than considerate of your needs already this morning, Alexin, and I’m tiring of pandering to you.”

“Y...y...you d...d...d...don’t c...c...care that my...my bottom hurts,” Alexin wailed.

“Of course, I care,” Rhianna snapped. “But we still have to keep moving.”

“I...I... didn’t...didn’t say...say I wanted to stop. I just...just...just want to *walk* a little,” Alexin sobbed.

“Walk?” Rhianna demanded incredulously.

“It probably would help,” one of the guards interrupted. “Now his welts are scabbing over it’s inevitable that he’ll stiffen up. Best cure for that is walking.”

“Have you *seen* how slowly he walks?” Rhianna snarled.

The guard just shrugged.

Alexin burst into tears.

Ten minutes later, Rhianna gave up and let Alexin walk.

Naturally, his best pace was a slow hobble.

They covered only fifteen miles that day.

~~~

“I think I might have preferred crossing this blind,” Skinner quipped, though he immediately pressed his fingers protectively to his eyes in an almost superstitious need to check that the Gods hadn’t taken him seriously.

He was still scarcely able to credit it. One minute he’d been sitting there, willing himself to die, because his companions had deserted him and he’d lost his chance to ever retrieve Alexin with their departure. The next, he’d been able to see again. No dramatics, no theatrics, no great ceremony. Just blindness one minute and then the sudden, unexpected sight of Langly fainting at his feet as the blond had realized his magic had worked.

Frohike and Langly both joined him in nervous laughter. The bridge of ice was so treacherous underfoot that despite the spikes in their boots, they were constantly slipping and sliding. On either side of the narrow walkway, there was a sheer drop of over three hundred feet. Even the thick rope binding them together was little comfort. If either Langly or Frohike fell, the rope might be sufficient to save them but if *Skinner* fell, his bodyweight was such that he’d probably pull both other men off the bridge in his wake.

“I’ve got an idea,” Frohike said. “Why don't we crawl on all fours? We could easily 'hug' the edges with our arms and pull ourselves forward while at the same time using our feet to push...couldn't we?”

“We’ll end up frozen and wet,” Skinner pointed out. “Though I agree that’s a damned sight more acceptable than us falling off if we continue trying to walk.”

“If only I truly understood the magic,” Langly sighed, “I’m sure it would be possible to make this bridge safe to traverse.”

“A rainstorm perhaps,” Skinner mused. “You could transform the rain into ice and thicken the bridge.”

“If it were me wielding the power, *my* power I might add, I’d simply raise a wind to either side of us to hold us steady,” Frohike grumbled.

“If *I* raise a wind, I’m more likely to blow us all off the bridge completely,” Langly admitted quietly.

Skinner carefully turned to him, his eyes solemn. “You restored my sight, Langly. You gave me back my hope. You changed me from a blind man foolishly dreaming of a miracle back into a warrior capable of fighting for Alexin’s freedom. Even if you should never wield the power again in your life, I’ll still always consider you a master of magicking.”

Langly flushed and dipped his head in pleased embarrassment.

“Since he never *will* wield the magic again, that’s just as well,” Frohike snorted, “because I’m damned if I’m ever going to let someone do *this* to my buttocks again.”

Skinner flinched guiltily. “Are you in great pain?”

Frohike opened his mouth to agree, then saw the sadness in Skinner’s eyes, Skinner’s no longer *blind* eyes, and shook his head firmly. “I merely enjoy Langly’s guilt,” he chuckled. “Come, let’s move on before our feet freeze to this damned bridge and we spend eternity as ice statues.”

Following Frohike’s earlier suggestion, they crossed the remainder of the bridge on their hands and knees. It still was a slippery and dangerous process that literally took hours to achieve. By the time they reached the other side, their hands and knees were numb with cold and all three were totally exhausted.

A little way along the cliff edge on the other side of the ravine, they found a narrow passageway through the otherwise impenetrable wall of ice. It was blocked with snow, but Langly still retained enough magic to send a spurt of fire into the frozen water and melt it into a fast flowing stream.

Unfortunately, not understanding how to wield the magic he held, he was a little over enthusiastic and the resultant gush of melted water almost washed the three of them over the edge of the canyon.

They swiftly discovered that being wet in such a bitterly cold climate was a seriously bad thing.

Langly tried to magic the water back off them, as Skinner had once demonstrated, but he either had too little magic left or simply lacked the experience and control to manage the task.

“It’s no use. We have to find shelter and set a fire,” Skinner said, his teeth chattering wildly and his skin turning blue.

They were lucky enough to find a natural cave, eroded out of the ice, and Langly did at least manage to set light to the sodden wood that Skinner pulled out of his backpack.

Surprisingly, despite the cave being formed of ice, it heated up swiftly and, except for dripping the odd drop of water on their heads as the fire melted its surface, the cave proved sufficient shelter from the cold as they dried their furs that they not only managed to warm themselves but even managed to sleep reasonably comfortably.

The next morning, they journeyed through the passageway for several meandering miles until it brought them out into a deep valley.

And before them, rising from the glacial floor of the valley, was a vast, intricate and heart stoppingly beautiful structure that appeared to have been carved from the ice itself.

“It’s a city formed of ice,” Frohike gasped.

“How can ice form a city?” Langly demanded.

“Faerie magic, I expect. Which proves that there *are* as many male Faerie here as I suspected,” Skinner replied. “It would have taken a huge amount of power to create something as immense and intricate as this city.”

“It only proves many males were here sometime in the past,” Frohike muttered darkly. “I doubt any remain alive. The only reason the northern Faerie don’t raid human settlements is clearly that they froze and perished centuries ago. A city of *ice*. Bah! What idiot came up with that idea?”

Skinner raised a hand and indicated the landscape. “What other possible building material could they have found?” he challenged.

“But it must be freezing inside those walls,” Langly argued.

“I don’t know,” Skinner mused. “The worst of the cold is in the wind. We’ve already learned that a cave of ice can offer shelter and even unexpected warmth. I imagine the castle is built under the same principle. As long as the occupants have sufficient clothing and bedding, I imagine they *could* be reasonably comfortable. And there’s always Faerie magic to explain it. Perhaps they have a way of warming the city without melting the ice that forms it.”

“It *looks* deserted,” Langly pointed out.

“It would, if all the occupants are inside its walls,” Skinner countered. “And why would they not be snug inside when the wind outside is so harsh? We are probably the first people to walk through their ward-gate in five centuries. I doubt they bother to post a guard.”

“Want to lay odds on that?” Frohike asked wryly, pointing at the castle with a slightly tremulous hand.

“Gods,” Langly breathed. “I hope they *are* friendly.”

Skinner and Frohike shared his concern. A door had appeared in the castle walls, sliding open to scar the perfect white walls with a dark shadow. And, out of that door, almost two dozen Faerie emerged.

Well, they *supposed* they were Faerie. All were thickly swathed in white animal pelts, so that they blurred against the background of ice and snow.

It was only as they approached the three men that their true forms became visible. Their height suggested their race. Although none had the great height of a Faerie woman, they were still all at least as tall as Skinner. More than that though, their eyes – which were the only part of their faces not concealed by the fur – were a mixture of electric blues and emerald greens.

The Faerie appeared to be unarmed, but that was little consolation to the travelers. All three were well aware they were greatly outnumbered, and that the Faerie were physically and magically strong enough to easily subdue them, weapons or not.

Skinner set the tone by raising his arms and spreading them wide to prove he had no wish for a confrontation. Although his heart was thudding dangerously, aware he only *believed* the northern Faerie were peaceable, he knew they had long passed the point of no turning back. If they’d made a terrible mistake in journeying to the Ice City, they’d know it soon enough and it was too late to do anything about it.

“My name’s Skinner, my companions are Frohike and Langly, and we have journeyed here in the hope of enlisting your aid to our cause,” he announced calmly.

The approaching Faerie hesitated slightly. He thought at first they were stunned to hear his use of their tongue. But he soon realized their concern had been of a different ilk.

“I told you it couldn’t possibly be a female,” one of the Faerie announced to his companions, in a light, musical voice that was clearly filled with relief.

“You’re no Faerie though, either, are you?” another demanded, stepping close enough to see Skinner’s dark, human eyes. “Have all humans grown so tall since we sealed ourselves within our castle?”

His nearest companion poked him in the ribs, pointed at Frohike, and archly demanded whether he was blind or merely a fool.

Several of the other Faerie laughed. Not cruelly, but in gentle humor.

“You’re all male?” Skinner demanded, though he was already sure of the answer from both the lilting high tones of the laughter and the aura of gentle harmony that seemed to pervade all of the Faerie facing him.

One of the Faerie stepped forward slightly, his eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“We may be male, but don’t believe us incapable of protecting ourselves,” he warned grimly. “If your wish is to cause us injury, turn back now before we prove that our magic can swiftly render you harmless.”

Skinner immediately noted that the Faerie hadn’t *threatened* them. He hadn’t suggested violence. He’d simply firmly stated that the Faerie were capable of self-defense.

“You truly *are* Alexin’s people,” he sighed, almost sagging with relief. “I hoped, I *prayed* that all Faerie males shared his gentleness, but to find it true is almost too much to comprehend.”

“My name is Roga,” the lead Faerie announced, and though his eyes remained wary, it was clear that the gift of his name was meant as a tentative offer of trust.

“Well met, Roga,” Skinner said, though something niggled in the back of his brain at the naming. It wasn’t a jolt of recognition, since he’d never heard the name Roga before, but *something* about it rang wrong to his ears. After a few moments of trying to catch the elusive thought he gave up, deciding he was too damned tired to think about it at that moment.

“I’m named Benwyn,” another Faerie chirped. “And I must ask, are humans grown unnaturally hardy, or are you three as cold as we are?”

“We’re *freezing*,” Frohike groaned, and his teeth chattered in dramatic agreement.

“Then I suggest we move our conversation inside,” Benwyn suggested, his vibrant blue eyes casting a pleading look in Roga’s direction.

After a slight hesitation, Roga shook himself and then nodded his head in compliance. “I imagine our Queen will be most interested in your arrival. Mark my words though, if you mean us harm, you *will* find naught inside but disappointment.”

“I’m sorry if your previous experiences have clearly led you to expect the worst of humans,” Skinner replied, with quiet pride, “but I assure you that I and my companions are men of honor.”

“Oh, come on, Roga. I’m *cold* and you know full well they’re harmless,” Benwyn wailed, sounding so like Alexin that Skinner flinched slightly. “If they were dangerous, our magic would tell us so.”

Roga sighed deeply, then dipped his head in agreement. “Forgive me,” he said to Skinner. “It’s not just that I have personal reasons to be wary of strangers. I am also charged with the safety of our Queen.”

“I understand,” Skinner nodded. “If it would make you more comfortable to bind us, we would not object...”

He gasped in sudden shock as he found his arms instantaneously locked to his torso by thick bands of ice.

Which, just as suddenly, disappeared once more.

“As you can see, we have no need to bind you,” Roga said, his tone more than a little smug.

Benwyn shook his head in obvious temper at Roga’s ‘demonstration’, stepped forward and linked his arm through one of Skinner’s. “Ignore him,” he said loudly. “Roga nearly had an *orgasm* when you were spotted. He’s spent centuries waiting for an opportunity to prove his bravery to the Queen. I think he’s quite disappointed you’ve turned out to be friendly.”

Then, ignoring Roga’s splutter of indignation, Benwyn towed Skinner in the direction of the castle.

“It *is* warm inside,” Frohike gasped in disbelief, as they entered through the wide ice arches into the interior of the castle. “It’s truly a great magic at work here.”

“Actually, it’s mainly the principle of insulation,” one of the Faerie answered, as he began to strip his heavy furs. “Though I admit we *help* it a little, since we prefer not having to wear our furs indoors.”

“Generally, we prefer wearing *nothing* indoors,” Benwyn chuckled, stripping his own furs until he was completely and unashamedly naked.

Even Skinner gave a low gasp of appreciation. Benwyn was six foot eight of slender Faerie perfection. His body was flawless and his skin luminescent. Unlike Alexin, who had only the slightest blue cast to his paleness, Benwyn’s skin was a true light blue. His hair, which swept down to mid-calves, was largely as dark in color as Alexin’s, but was streaked with several wide swathes of pure white. The dramatic coloring only helped to emphasize the stunning turquoise of his eyes.

“You are truly exquisite,” Skinner said, his tone polite but void of lust. His comment was simply an acknowledgment of truth and the verbalization of his assumption that all male Faerie were vain of their beauty.

Benwyn’s blinding smile of appreciation for the comment convinced Skinner he’d been correct to follow his gut instinct.

“They’re *all* exquisite,” Langly gulped, as all the Faerie stripped either to bare flesh or silken, nearly transparent shifts.

Frohike growled a low warning at his lover. Langly’s voice hadn’t been even a fraction as devoid of sexual interest as Skinner’s had been.

Skinner casually shucked off most of his outer garments, until he was wearing only the breeches and jerkin that Alexin had so approved of. “Believe me,” he said dryly, “you won’t wish to see more of me than this.”

Roga, who had stripped with his back to them, turned to face Skinner with a smirk. “Are you afraid of seeming ugly to our eyes?” he demanded.

Skinner’s eyes widened with shock. Unlike the other Faerie, who were almost as perfect in their beauty as Alexin, the entire left side of Roga’s face was a contorted mass of scar tissue.

“I don’t understand. You have only one eye. Yet I saw two eyes when we spoke outside.”

Roga’s face flickered and the horrific scar was replaced momentarily with unblemished flesh.

“Illusion,” Roga spat bitterly, letting the vision fade until his terrible scarring was revealed once more. “Are you *still* worried you’ll appear ugly to our eyes, merely because you’re muscled like a woman?”

“In truth, yes,” Skinner replied quietly. “Because, even despite your injury, you’re the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen. Except for Alexin, of course.”

His words weren’t mere flattery. The only untruth he uttered was in insisting that Alexin was even more beautiful than Roga. Somehow the ruination of the left side of Roga’s face emphasized the beauty of the right side, rather than detracting from it.

“Who is this Alexin you keep mentioning?” Roga asked.

“A prince of the Southern Territories. A Faerie prince. He is... was... my mate.”

There was a murmur of surprise from all the Faerie, which Skinner assumed was because they couldn’t imagine a Faerie mating with a human.

“He died?” Benwyn asked softly.

Skinner shook his head. “He was lost to me. Our...our bond was severed when he was captured by females of your race.”

“I find it hard to conceive that you were mated at all,” Roga admitted.

“Because of my ugliness?” Skinner challenged mockingly. “This from the man who just moments ago was trying to assure me that I should strip myself completely?”

“Because of the nature of our females,” Roga replied, in gentle reproof. “We believed that all southern males were too jealously guarded to ever meet, let alone mate with, another male. Human or no.”

Skinner flushed with shame at his misunderstanding, yet at the same time he felt his heart lift at the realization that the Faerie males *truly* saw him as a ‘person’ rather than an animal.

“How do you know of what happens in the south?”

“The magic of the Ice Queen is potent in many ways. The Queen sometimes has the ability to see visions of what exists beyond sight. And so we have a vague idea of what happens in the Southern Territory.”

“Your hair is golden,” one of the Faerie exclaimed excitedly, as Langly finally relaxed enough to start stripping his furs.

“Golden hair. How pretty,” another sighed, crossing to where Langly stood and caressing the blond locks almost enviously.

Since all the Faerie he’d previously encountered had had dark hair, and all the Faerie in the room were equally dark save for flashes of white, Skinner concluded that *all* Faerie were brunette, and so Langly was truly unique in their eyes. He thought it rather amusing that Langly, who was clearly awe-struck by being surrounded by such gorgeous beings, was now the center of attention and being declared ‘pretty’.

Frohike, still swathed in his furs, gave a low growl of fury, pushed through the crowd until he was between Langly and his admirers and loudly stated that if anyone else wanted to touch *his* mate, they’d have to go through him to do it.

The Faerie fell back, confusion and shame chasing over their gorgeous faces.

“We meant no harm,” Benwyn said, his lower lip starting to quiver.

The other Faerie murmured their agreement, though their eyes were puzzled. They stared down at Frohike’s short, fur-covered body in clear disbelief that *he* was Langly’s mate.

“Forgive us, little human,” Roga said courteously. “No human has set foot in the City of Ice for over five hundred years. We are merely curious that the three of you are of such varied size, shape and coloring. We mean no offence.”

“My blood is part-Faerie,” Skinner admitted. “My height is not the norm for a human.”

“So *that* is how you passed into our land,” one of the Faerie said with a relieved sigh, as though the mystery had been plaguing him greatly. “I had feared you were but the start of many human trespassers into our realm.”

“It doesn’t explain how the other two broached the gate,” Roga pointed out, his single eye narrowing with concern. He turned to Skinner. “With your bond broken, you have no access to your mate’s magic, so while your blood would have brought you safely through the gate, I cannot see how you brought your companions also. I mean no accusal by this. I simply need to know how you achieved it. The safety of the Queen, and of our entire population, may depend on the knowledge.”

Skinner wanted to respond to the genuine worry on Roga’s face. But it wasn’t *his* place to speak of Langly and Frohike’s magic. He turned to his companions and raised his eyebrows in query.

Frohike shuddered visibly and seemed to cringe inside his furs for a moment. It was obvious he was dreading the idea of revealing himself to be Faerie in front of the gorgeous creatures that surrounded them. Langly responded to Frohike’s distress by straightening, throwing his arms protectively around his mate and glaring furiously at the Faerie who just moments before had been the object of his fascinated admiration.

Benwyn, who had already been upset by Frohike’s reaction to the touching of Langly’s hair, promptly burst into tears and wailed, “We’re sorry. We don’t know what we’ve done, but we’re sorry.”

He was joined in his sniffles by most of the other males.

Skinner had the sudden horrifying realization that he was essentially in a room full of highly strung Alexins. Apart from Roga, who had a curious aura of self-confidence, all the Faerie males were clearly as emotionally vulnerable as Alexin was.

Which answered the nature versus nurture question he’d always harbored about the boy. Perhaps Alexin’s naiveté had been deliberately fostered by his upbringing, but his gentle heart and desperate need to be pleasing in another’s eyes were *natural* traits.

Skinner’s heart ached for Benwyn’s misery because he was sure that at that exact moment, back in the Southern Territories, his beloved Alexin’s face was twisted in similar or even worse despair.

Perhaps Frohike was struck by the same realization, or perhaps he simply accepted the impossibility of wearing his heavy furs indefinitely inside the warmth of the castle. Either way, with a choking gasp of humiliated anger, Frohike tugged the furs from his face and body to reveal himself to the gathered Faerie.

There were some small muted exclamations of surprise at Frohike’s appearance, but Roga calmly said, “Do you truly think we would judge you by your features, little human? We are not females. Our delight in beauty is mainly that which we take in regarding our own reflections in the vain prayer that none are *more* beautiful than we are.”

Instead of being pacified, Frohike was incensed by Roga’s attempt to be kind.

“You want to know how we got through the gate?” he snarled. “Langly walked through because he has my magic. That’s right. *My* magic. I am not a ‘little human’,” he spat in Roga’s direction. “I am full-blood Faerie just like all of you! Now tell me you care not that I’m *ugly*.”

This time the exclamations of the Faerie were loud, rather than muted, but none were cries of horror or disbelief. Rather they were of sorrow.

“Is this how our brothers have become in the south?” Benwyn sobbed. “Forgive us, our brother, that Behaana’s curse has afflicted you so.”

Equally tearful, many of the other Faerie pressed forwards to touch Frohike and offer their sorrowful apologies, saying that it was *their* fault that his beauty had been lost but that their hearts soared to welcome him into their midst as their ‘brother’.

For a moment, Frohike appeared torn between embarrassment and confusion, as the Faerie threw themselves upon him like he was a long lost child finally returned to a loving family that had grieved his loss, and then, abruptly, he burst into tears.

Not tears of grief and shame, but of happiness that, after almost three hundred and fifty years, he’d finally found acceptance by the race that had abandoned him at birth.

Skinner swallowed heavily against the ball of emotion that rose in his throat.

“You’re kind,” he said quietly to Roga. “I had *hoped* for gentleness, such as I saw always in Alexin, but I never expected to find such kindness.”

“The Queen has spoken of the afflictions suffered by southern males. We know of the weakness of their blood and the interbreeding which causes those such as Frohike. We know the blame for all this lies at our door, Skinner. How could we be anything but kind, when we know him to be a victim of our own selfishness?”

“How are *you* to blame?”

“Had we not risen up to defy our females, none of this would have come to pass,” Roga admitted heavily, his single eye dark with sorrow.

“How did it happen, and what is Behaana’s curse?” Skinner asked. “I must know, Roga, because I came here in search of Behaana or at least a clue to where I might find her.”

Roga’s face twisted slightly, though it was hard to say whether it was in confusion or amusement. “What know you of Behaana?”

“When Alexin and I fled his people, we passed through a wards-warp. Within it we met a forest of sentient trees. Trees that sacrificed themselves to aid our escape. When I asked them why they died for us, they said that I had Behaana’s blood, that Behaana was my destiny and that I was ‘The One’. I need to know whether any of that is true.”

The color abruptly drained from Roga’s face and he twisted away from Skinner’s gaze as he struggled to compose himself.

“You know what I’m talking about, don’t you?” Skinner demanded.

Roga shook his head. “It’s but a legend. A story. That’s all.”

“I can’t believe that,” Skinner protested. “Because I *have* to believe there’s a way for me to rescue Alexin and I know in my gut that the answer must lie with Behaana.”

“You think yourself a great enough man to fulfill an ancient legend, Skinner?” Roga demanded, his mouth twisting with deliberate derision. “You would call yourself *hero*? Are you so very arrogant then?”

“If I were to name myself anything, I would call myself ‘desperate’,” Skinner snarled. “Do you think I dragged myself here, halfway across the world, out of ‘arrogance’? I may have lost Alexin’s magic, but I somehow know that it’s here I’ll find the means to reclaim my mate. So tell me of Behaana.”

“I can tell you nothing,” Roga replied, raising his hand to still Skinner’s immediate protest. “I don’t deny you out of spite. It is simply not my place to decide whether or not your ears should hear the answers you seek. Only the Ice Queen can speak with any authority on the matters you wish to know.”

“Then I can see her? Speak to her myself?” Skinner demanded excitedly.

Again Roga’s mouth quirked with something like humor. “I will tell the Queen of your request for an audience,” he offered. “I can do no more. For now I will arrange for your companions and yourself to be fed and given quarters so that you might rest and bathe after your long journey.”

Skinner nodded his acceptance. He’d deal with the Queen’s refusal if and when it happened. In the meantime he’d assume that she *would* see him.

She had to see him.

Because, he realized, if the Ice Queen was the only female in the City of Ice – as appeared to be the case – then surely *she* was Behaana.

~~~

“I’m bored.”

Rhianna groaned, shook her head and stared at her infuriating male in total despair. She should have *known* it had been too easy to get Alexin moving that morning.

The boy had woken up in a completely surprising mood of total cooperation. He’d just smiled sweetly at her when she’d ‘suggested’ he should dress himself more swiftly than normal. He’d just nodded his agreement when she’d said his hair was still so beautiful that it required no more flowers and that he smelled so sweetly that there was no need for him to bathe. He hadn’t even asked to walk when she’d picked him up and seated him across her lap for the ride.

And for a whole hour, as they finally made good time, Alexin had chattered to her happily about whatever nonsense occurred to him. He didn’t mention Skinner once. He made no fearful queries over her decision on his future. He simply sat there, his head pressed against her chest and his arms wrapped trustingly around her waist, and he chirped happy boyish nonsense in her ear as though she were his beloved wife rather than his captor.

It had been... nice.

Very nice.

So nice that she had made the abrupt decision not only to keep him for herself, after all, but possibly even to actually *marry* him.

She had no need of magic. Her castle was almost impervious to attack. She had a sufficiency of high-caste advisors who had magic they could bring to her assistance if she *did* need it and, in truth, the boy was too sweet, beautiful and well-bred to be any woman’s mere concubine. Why deprive Alexin of the happiness he’d feel at being given the status of husband? It wasn’t the boy’s fault that his magic had been so brutally stolen.

And, logically, if the monkey-man, Skinner, *did* turn out to be The One, then he’d surely show appreciation of her decision to grant Alexin such kindness.

Perhaps Alexin had the right of it, after all. Perhaps it would be an act of ‘goodness’ on her part that would stay the hand of the Sword of Vengeance. And what could be more ‘good’ than for a queen to offer a tainted, magickless boy her hand in marriage?

So far she’d only seen, of necessity, the boy’s much abused buttocks. But she knew he would be entirely perfect to her eyes when she finally stripped him of his gown and lay him on the silken pale sheets of her bed.

Her mouth watered at the mere thought of it.

But her pleasant daydreaming was rudely interrupted perhaps an hour into the ride with Alexin’s plaintive, “I’m BORED!”

Despite her irritation, she admitted to herself that there was very little reason for Alexin *not* to be bored. A boy’s attention span was short and there was little of interest in a tedious ride through miles of unchanging forest land.

“What would you have me do, sweetness?” she asked.

Alexin tossed his head, so that his luxurious locks flowed like a cloak down his back, and his eyes dipped. “I...I like it when...when you pet my hair,” he whispered nervously.

Rhianna chuckled. Like any boy, all he needed to forestall his ‘boredom’ was to feel that he was the center of attention. Males were so predictable in their vanity.

Holding him carefully with her left arm, she retrieved her comb from her pack and began to groom his hair while they rode.

He purred with such happiness that her heart leapt, and she began to smile even more contentedly than he as he writhed with obvious pleasure on her lap.

“You are SO beautiful,” she confessed, beginning to feel that the boy’s kidnap and debauchment by the monkey-man had actually been the best thing that could have happened, since nothing else would have given her possession of the exquisite creature in her arms.

“Would...would you braid my hair?” he pleaded, all big green eyes and trusting smile.

She shook her head regretfully. “I cannot, Alexin, for I’d need both hands to do so and I need at least one hand to ride.”

His lips quivered with disappointment and his eyes filled with sparkling, diamond bright tears.

“Oh,” he said, his voice filled with sad disappointment. “I...I had hoped...hoped...”

“Hoped what, sweetness?”

“That...that you had begun to love me at least a *little*,” Alexin sobbed

“I do, child. I truly do,” Rhianna assured him, though she was surprised how much she wanted him to believe her.

Alexin buried his face in his hands and began to cry. “You...you don’t,” he choked, between his tears. “B...b...because *Skinner* said...said...”

Rhianna stiffened furiously, jealousy thundering through her veins. “What did *Skinner* say?” she demanded.

“Th...that he c...cared not we were...were being pursued. He...he still said my...my happiness was more imp...important than speed. *He* always plaited my hair for me. So I...I know he loved me. And...and so I know that you...you do not.”

“He braided your hair for you?”

Alexin nodded firmly. “Every single day,” he lied smoothly. “He said... he said that’s how I could *know* he loved me. Sometimes he spanked me and made me cry, but he *always* plaited my hair so I remained beautiful.”

Rhianna’s face darkened with fury and her palms itched with the desire to wrap her hands around Skinner’s throat.

“But...but maybe,” Alexin said thoughtfully, “maybe you just don’t know *how* to braid hair.”

He offered her a sweet, forgiving smile for her perceived inadequacy.

“HALT,” she cried to her warriors. “We make camp.”

“But...but we have journeyed scarce fifteen miles today, my queen,” one of the guards replied in confusion.

Rhianna glared at her imperiously. “So?”

The guard gulped and nodded her compliance.

“Don’t know how, huh?” Rhianna snarled at Alexin. “You dare suggest a *monkey-man* can do something better than a *queen*?”

Alexin just blinked at her innocently.


~~~


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