rowyn

I decided I should finally finish the delight_in_wt arc/tarot story that I began in September. It ran fairly long, and I'll be posting it in parts over the rest of the week. I have, however, finished writing it now, so I can guarantee that the rest of it is going to be posted in a timely fashion instead of dribbled out over the course of multiple months. c_c

Previous parts:
A New Adventure!
Citrus

Today's part:
The Crefian Nest

"Come play a game with me, Limit." A video window opened, showing a brown-and-beige space otter at a computer.

"Hello, Arc. Sorry, I have work to do." Limit was a space otter as well: a genetically modified human adapted to life in space, whose exterior appearance mimicked a Terran otter's. Unlike Arc, Limit looked the 'space' part of his species name, with a coat of midnight blue dusted with white dots like stars.

"So do I, but I'm not doing it either. C'mon, you've been staring at the same file without doing anything with it for half an hour."

"I'm thinking."

"Then you can think while playing. Seriously, Limit, you need a break," Arc said. "And I need some help with Kingdom of Death."

Limit chuckled. "Are you still playing that?"

"Yes. And I really need a partner for this section. Plus it'd be more fun with company. The NPC AIs don't count."

The midnight-blue space otter gazed at a window full of diagrams, charts strategic options, available resources, supply lines, and probable outcomes. Maybe pondering a scenario where no one I knew was actually going to die would be a nice change of pace. He sighed. "All right."

*

An hour later, they were pinned down on the wall of a crumbling fort, besieged by slavering hellhounds and fire-breathing demons. They'd lost the NPC spellbinder and rogue, Arc's archer avatar was nearly out of arrows, and the only components Limit had left were for his avatar's weakest heals and some esoteric spells to which their enemies were generally immune. Limit tossed another heal on the NPC warrior that was holding the smashed gate, while Arc took aim at a demon tearing apart the wall, brick by brick. "You know," Limit said, reviewing his spell list to see if he'd overlooked anything that was still available for casting, "if you want a constant struggle to maintain a bare minimum of necessary supplies in a war against hopeless odds, near-friendless, and facing almost certain death, we could go back to reality."

"Shut up." Arc loosed the arrow at point-blank range, spearing the demon through its eye and taking it out. "I'm sure we can do this." Another monster moved up to take its place.

Limit tried casting Create Water on the demon that was barbecuing their warrior. With a sploosh, water filled the demon's mouth, extinguishing the blast of fire breath and sending the enemy into a choking fit. Their NPC warrior closed with the monster and beheaded it, then backed up to avoid a counterattack by a hellhound. "That worked?" Limit said, surprised.

"That's terrific! How many more times can you do that?" Arc asked, aiming another arrow.

"As often as I can make the gestures, really. It's a cantrip, no components and not much mana." Limit put out another fire-breather. "This will not be enough to turn the tide, however.."

"Yeeeaah ... not at this point. But I bet we can get through this if I reload from an earlier save and we use that trick from the start."

*

On the second attempt, they kept the computer party members alive and fended off enough of the horde of monsters to escape the fort. They were still perilously low on everything: neither the hellhounds nor the demons had carried any supplies of note. "Didn't the developers ever hear of loot?" Arc complained.

"We just have to get to the Light Isle," said Misty, the NPC spellbinder. She was a beautiful elf with black skin and long black hair. Nearly all the PC and ally avatars in Kingdom of Death were elves, half-elves, or humans, with the exception of a couple of demons that the player could recruit to his team under certain circumstances. Their warrior, Asmodel, was one of the ally demons; his backstory was that he wanted to learn to be good. The rogue was Kitty, a human street urchin. Arc's archer was a brown elf, and Limit's healer-mage was a blue-skinned human.

"You keep saying that." Kitty didn't get along well with Misty. "'Everything will be sunshine and rainbows and unicorns as soon as we get to the Light Isle'. I'm starting to wonder if it even exists. Or maybe you just don't know how to get there?"

"I do!" Misty insisted. "The ferry to the Light Isle is east along this road, down by the sea."

"And the ferry still runs?" Limit asked skeptically. "What's it ferrying between here and the Light Isle? Demons? Skeletons?"

"It's only a game, Limit. The economy doesn't have to make sense," Arc said.

"It'll be there," Misty said, earnestly.

*

The ferry was docked where Misty had said it would be. The docks were in disrepair, demon-clawed and scorched, and the surrounding grounds had the same blighted look as the rest of the Kingdom of Death. The water around the ferry was brackish and choked with weeds. No one was visible on the boat, but it appeared unharmed.

"Well, that doesn't look like a trap at all," Limit said, looking down on the dock from the top of the adjoining bluff. Hellhounds howled in the near distance behind them. The NPC party members whooped in triumph and ran towards the deserted dock. "Do they have to charge in like that?"

Another baying behind them, closer. "Might as well," Arc said, running after them, "or we're just going to get caught here."

"Or we could get caught in the trap and by the enemies behind us," Limit said, but Arc was already gone. Resigned, Limit cast a few Create Water spells on the dirt road behind them, turning it to mud to slow the pursuit down, then followed suit. By the time he caught up to them, the NPCs were already on the boat and surrounded by an army of skeletons. The skeletons were fragile, but there were a lot of them and Arc's arrows were ineffective against skeletons, forcing him to use his flail. When the pursuing monsters finally caught up with them, the NPC party members started dropping.

"All right, new plan," Arc said, bashing skeletons with his flail. "We'll reload from save, then take the pursuit on top of the bluff. Then we can take the ferry ambush separately."

"Why are we taking the ferry ambush at all?" Limit cast a weak heal on Asmodel.

"To get to the Light Isle?"

"How? The crew's dead. Does your avatar have sailing skill? What makes you think the boat's even seaworthy?"

"I can sail," Asmodel said, stabbing a hellhound through the heart, while skeletons clawed at his back.

"See? It's got to be this way," Arc said.

"Very well, but later. I've got to get back to work."

"C'mon, Limit! We're almost there. Just one more fight." Arc reloaded the game, putting them back on the road to the bluff.

Limit sighed. "This is the last fight, though."

*

Somewhat to Limit's surprise, once they had cleared the pursuers and the ambush, the ferry was salvagable. It needed minor repairs, but a few minigames were sufficient to cover that. ("It's not a fight, Limit, it's a puzzle game. That doesn't count.") Misty and Asmodel were able to crew the boat, and soon they were at the Light Isle.

It was as beautiful as Misty had promised.

Blue waves and white sea foam slapped against beaches of golden sand. Tall green trees covered in white and orange blossoms waved in the gentle breeze. Inviting green meadows full of flowers peeped out of the forest. The party docked their boat at a city of white marble, where an impromptu audience of elves and men gathered to welcome the war-weary strangers with cheers, eager for news of the mainland. The Queen of the Light Isle herself came to offer them sanctuary, and ask for their help in the continuing struggle to protect the Light Isle against invasion.

While Arc started on the tutorial for the resource-gathering-and-building game that followed from the Queen's request, Limit took his leave and logged out of the sim.

*

Three days later, Limit returned to his quarters after running some errands, and found a message from Arc on his computer: "Can you take a break for a while and join me in KoD? There's something I need help with."

With a shrug, Limit logged into the fully-immersive sim. He asked one of the city guards where Arc was, and was directed to a hostel. There, he found Arc's elven archer avatar in a small spartan room. Making out with Misty on the room's single bed.

Limit cleared his throat. "I'm pretty sure you can manage that minigame on your own."

Misty leapt apart from Arc, embarrassed. Arc gave Limit a sheepish grin. "Eheheheheh. Noooo, it's that the main game has gotten really annoying."

"How's that?"

"'Taxes'. The building game lists all kinds of cool stuff you can make -- siege weapons, armor, enchantments, even non-combat stuff like buildings and furniture. The building game is sort of annoying in itself -- if you do the puzzle just wrong, you can get a 'catastrophic failure', which for enchanted items means 'will explode on equipping', so you have to recycle those immediately. Because of course there's no warning tag on it or obvious defect, if you don't notice the problem while you're making it. But the worst part is that I can't get to any of the good stuff, because it all requires gathering sufficient resources and crafting tools and building intermediary stuff. And before I can get half the stuff I'd want for something awesome, the Queen sends her guards around and they take everything."

Limit raised one of his human avatar's eyebrows. "Everything?"

"Yes! And I have to start over from scratch with gathering. They say it's for 'the defense of the Isle'. I'm wondering if it's a bug, although the documentation does say she's supposed to collect what we make. But everything? I'm still stuck in the equipment I arrived in."

"I didn't expect her to be so ... greedy," Misty said, reluctantly. She was perched at the foot of the narrow bed. "I know the Light Isle needs materials for its defense, but we're part of that defense. Why does she want us under-equipped?"

"Maybe I need to build faster, somehow?" Arc said. "So I can finish the good stuff before the guards come to take it?"

"But we still wouldn't be able to keep it," Misty said.

"At least I'd feel like I was getting somewhere. Sort of. Contributing to the defense."

Limit was thoughtful. "What's Kitty doing?"

"She's on a resource-gathering mission."

"She's got spying skills. Send her out to find out if the guards 'tax' everyone like this. And maybe what the Queen's actually doing with your goods," Limit said. "Let me know what she comes up with. I'm going to log out."

Arc wrinkled his nose as Limit's avatar winked out, then glanced to Misty. "We've still got some time before Kitty returns. So ... where were we?"

Misty grinned, and crawled up the bed to kiss him.

*

A couple hours later, Arc called Limit, fuming. "She's completely corrupt! She's just plain stealing from us!"

Limit ran through his mental list of untrustworthy singletons. It wasn't a short list. "Who's this?"

"The queen!"

"... you're talking about that game again, aren't you?"

"Yes! I can't believe I've been wasting my time building things for her! She's not using it to 'defend' the Isle! She gives the best stuff to her favorites or keeps it for herself, and sells the rest! To -- and this is the best part -- the frigging Kingdom of Death. To demons! Argh!"

"Ahh."

"I sent Kitty on like eight different missions to figure it all out. The queen confiscates almost everything anyone makes. Practically everyone in the city is stuck in tiny rooms like the one I'm in. All the mansions and grand carriages and tall ships, they're just for her and her cronies. And if the Kingdom ever does turn on her, the defenses are in shambles. Everyone resents her, but they're scared because she sics demons on dissenters, to 'disappear' them. Gah! It's almost as bad as the KoD itself."

"If you're tired of playing in a crapsack universe, you could go back to the one we live in," Limit suggested.

Arc glowered. "It's a game. There must be some way to win."

This was more than Limit could say for the universe he lived in. "I'm not getting a lot done right now anyway. I'll log in and look at it in a few minutes."

*

Kitty's unmasking of the Queen's corrupt regime had triggered scripts in all the NPCs. "Is this what good is supposed to be like?" Asmodel asked. "It's an awful lot like the side I left."

"No," Limit answered.

"Just let me steal it back!" Kitty begged. "We made it and she's got no right to use it for her own selfish ends."

"Not when you can use it for your selfish ends?" Misty said. "Sorry. ... It's not that I wasn't expecting better. A lot better. But I don't want to be on the run from demons again. No offense, Asmodel."

"It's all right," Asmodel said. "I don't like running from demons either. Or getting caught by them."

Arc said, "There must be a way to cheat her. Keep her guards from getting what we make while we stockpile it."

"But she'll still be defrauding the rest of her city," Limit pointed out. "You said she kept the 'best' stuff for herself. How does she determine what's best, anyway?"

"She keeps anything that uses one of the three rarest resources ... " Arc trailed off, his eyes lighting up. "That's it! Limit, help me look through these recipes." He passed over a set of files: in the game's UI, it looked like a fat tome of blueprints.

"All right. What are we looking for?"

"The perfect failure. We're going to give that queen exactly what she wants." Arc cackled, rubbing his hands together.

*

They had to plan the creation carefully, distributing tools and resources evenly among the party to make sure no one of them had enough items to trigger the 'tax' routine that would take it all. When they had enough between them to make the Golden Crown of Storm Summoning -- an enchanted item requiring all three of the rarest resources -- they handed everything over to Arc at once, and he immediately started the construction puzzle for the item. The tax routine initiated at almost the same time, but it couldn't finish while Arc was in the construction puzzle. So the guards waited while Arc botched the minigame in exactly the way he wanted, creating a normal-looking Golden Crown of Storm Summoning while getting the 'catastrophic failure' message.

The tax-collecting guards took possession of the crown, oblivious. The party waved cheerily to them. "Enjoy!"

"Do you think the game actually has her use it?" Limit asked, after the tax collectors were gone. They were on one of the public balconies that overlooked the city.

Arc shrugged. "Hope so? Kitty did say she used the best stuff."

"Have you ever actually seen one of the catastrophic failures explode?"

"No. The tutorial said it depended on how powerful the enchanment was, but that it was always ... " In the distance, the queen's palace exploded. A giant plume of smoke and dust rose into the air. Rubble rained down for blocks. "... bad."

*

With the queen and the best of her guards dead, her AI-run people revolted against her remaining cronies. Limit and Arc were appointed by general acclaim as the Isle's new leaders. A great festival was held in their honor, for their cleverness in tricking the queen to her downfall. It was quite lovely. Arc spent part of it figuring out what resources he needed in order to build a new palace for himself.

"Enjoy," Limit told him.

"You're not leaving in the middle of the victory cutscene, are you? Really?"

"Really. Good night, Arc."

But Limit didn't go to bed after logging out from the sim. Instead, he found himself studying his strategic problems in the real universe. Pity there isn't any way to use the greed of my real enemies to lure them to their destruction, Limit thought. He reached for the 'sleep' button on the computer, then paused. He rested his chin against one paw. Though, given their typical motives, perhaps that idea could use further consideration.

[From a prompt by terrycloth, using his characters Arc and Limit from the Space Otters stories. I think this is the first time I've ever written fanfic that wasn't using an RPG setting. This story would take place around the second half of Familiar. ]

( Cards behind the cut-tag: )

The arrival of the first garden faerie was, to be honest, a relief.

It was the height of a summer drought. The grass in my neighbors' yards was brown, and the grass in my own yard wasn't. Not "wasn't brown" but "did not exist". Over the years, most of the grass had been choked out by weeds, and now even the weeds were gone, destroyed beneath the wheels of CAT construction vehicles when my old septic tank was excavated and the new one installed at a different location. Most of the remaining greenery in my yard was black locust trees and poison ivy.

So you can imagine my astonishment when I saw the garden faerie surveying my yard from the giant lopsided oak tree whose surviving branches create a canopy over half my house. She was about as long as my hand, with bark-brown skin and curly black hair held back from her face by a wide headband. She wore denim coveralls, gardening gloves and laced-up workboots. Dragonfly wings flickered at her back, and she carried a carved wand a little larger than a toothpick. A riding hawk in harness waited beside her on the branch. When she saw me staring at her, she flew near and landed on the clothesline by my head. "You're not very good with nature, are you?" she said.

"Well." I considered my blighted yard. "I didn't do this on purpose."

"I'm not sure how you could have." She gave the yard another look, then held out her hand. "Name's Gentle. I like a challenge, so I'm going to help you out here."

I gave her my index finger to shake. "I'm Ashley. That's awfully kind of you, ma'am."

Gentle eyed my yard again. "Yes. It certainly is."

*

After that, Gentle asked me to bring this and that for her work, which I thought fair. If a garden faerie is willing to use her magic wand to eradicate the poison ivy climbing up the walls of one's house, it seems the least one can do in return is bring her seeds and mulch when she wants them. Granted, some of the requests were a little odder than that; however little I may know about plants, I don't think hedges actually feed on fresh snickerdoodles, and even if they did it probably wouldn't be necessary to feed them at three in the morning. Nor am I convinced that there has ever been such a thing as a "compost emergency". But I wasn't the one prying the thorny limbs of black locust trees out of the wire mesh of the fence, or removing the six-foot tall pile of dead leaves and brush from between the shed and the garage, so I did not regard myself as ill-used.

One day, I returned home to find a faerie ripping vines from the top of my fence. "Aww, I kind of liked those vines, Gentle."

The faerie emerged from the cluster of vines to stare at me, and I realized she wasn't Gentle: her hair was straight and pulled back in a single braid, and her skin a lighter shade of brown. "You liked these vines?" she said incredulously. "Do you know what they are?"

"Not poison ivy? And less ugly than the fence."

She shook a fistful of green leaves and white flowers at me. "This is Japanese honeysuckle!"

"... okay?"

"No! Not okay! This stuff is a pernicious killer! It'll take over your whole neighborhood if you don't stop it, and choke out all the native vegetation. Next you'll be wanting to plant kudzu!"

Gentle flew over to join us, landing her riding hawk on a fence post. "Hey Ashley. I see you've met Temperance."

Temperance rounded on Gentle. "Who is this nutjob mortal? Did you know she likes Japanese honeysuckle?" she said, in the same tone one might say 'she approves of genocide' or 'she murders kittens for sport.'

"She doesn't even know what Japanese honeysuckle is. Go on inside, Ashley. We've got this."

I quit the field while the opportunity was available, without even asking where Temperance had come from, or why.

*

A week later, there were two male faeries, one bright green and the other nearly white, weeding what had once been the daffodil beds around the back patio. Temperance was with them. I waved to them and went looking for Gentle. She was by the oak tree, talking to a different green faerie, this one female with red hair. I called out, "Hey, Gentle?"

"Hey, Ashley. This is Tranquility, and that pale one is Hope, and the green boy is Surety."

"Great, nice to meet you all. Say, what happened to my fence?"

"It's in the garage."

"The garage."

"Yeah, you should call someone to get rid of it. We can't dispose of metal."

"So ... is there any particular reason it's not, y'know, surrounding my property instead?"

"It's hideous?"

I allowed this to be true. "It's not exactly a weed, though. Or an invasive non-native species."

Temperance grumbled something under her breath about all human handiwork being the product of an invasive non-native species. Gentle waved off my complaint. "You don't need a fence, Ashley. It'll be much easier to take care of the garden without it. No more weeds growing through it!"

"Well, yes, but you could've asked me first."

Gentle looked surprised. "But you told me I could take care of the yard."

"Yes, but I thought that meant weeding and planting and stuff."

"Exactly! Removing the hideous fence is part of 'stuff'. Go on inside, Ashley, it's all under control."

*

A week later, I awoke to fireworks over the daffodil bed. I peered out my window to see Temperance, Hope and Surety dueling with wands. Sparks flew. Perenials perished in a hail of magic, while Hope and Surety struggled to shield them. "Daffodils are not an invasive species!" Hope shouted.

Temperance shrieked, "They're not natives either!"

"These daffodils have been here for fifty years! How much more native do you want?" Surety yelled.

"I don't know, howabout, oh, prairie?" Temperance said, aiming a defoliating blast at another dormant daffodil plant.

"Faeries, faeries, please." Gentle flew into view from around the side of the house. "Calm down. I thought we agreed the daffodils were staying?"

"You agreed." Temperance folded her arms, hovering in the air with a grim expression.

"We're not recreating the prairie here," Surety said.

"Why not?" Tranquility piped up.

"On a quarter-acre of yard?" Hope was incredulous.

"Gotta start somewhere."

I cleared my throat. "Do you think you could start some other time? Like in the morning?"

"Sorry, Ashley!" Gentle looked embarrassed. The other faeries were annoyed by the interruption.

"And maybe let the daffodils live? I like the daffodils." That made Hope and Surety happy, if not Tranquility or Temperance. I went back to bed.

*

Within a month, my yard had been divided into five separate quadrants. Temperance had planted one slope with native prairie grasses and flowers. Tranquility had done the same, but apparently they hadn't been able to agree on which plants were most native, or most in need of cultivation, or something that kept them from agreeing on the same plot of land. Hope was cultivating a flower garden with tulips and peonies around the daffodils by the back patio. Gentle had replaced the fence with hedges and berry bushes. Surety had a vegetable garden. It looked -- well, less bizarre than my dusty plantless yard had. But still pretty weird. At least the hedges screened it from casual view.

I thought that would be the end of it, until war started at dawn one day.

Afterwards, I found out it started over a tulip. One had taken root in Temperance's prairie. Temperance had come to Hope's flowerbed to insist that tulips were invasive: "They're invading right now!"

"So weed it! One tulip! Are you afraid it'll ruin the immaculate ugliness of that scrub you're cultivating?" Hope sneered.

"I'll show you ugly!" Temperance started blasting tulips in the flower garden. Hope tried to shield them. Surety counterattacked against the prairie to draw Temperance back, but he misaimed and hit some of Tranquility's plants instead, drawing her into the fight. Gentle came out from the hedge to try to restore peace, deflecting wand-bolts of vegetative death into the sky. That prompted the enraged combatants to use stronger bolts to avoid deflection and pierce shields.

No one was exactly aiming at the giant oak tree, but some of the deflected bolts hit it, and then some mis-aimed bolts struck it, and, well, it had been laboring under a blanket of poison ivy for years, as well as losing half its branches to an ice storm two years ago. It was a great sturdy monster, but the faerie war was too much for it.

It fell.

On top of my house.

That's when I woke up.

The house was not, technically, destroyed. Granted, I climbed out of my bedroom by going through one of the smashed holes in the roof, which was near ground level and had a large section of flattened wall underneath it. But most of the basement was intact, and there were a couple of walls still standing.

The faerie war had stopped by then. Even Temperance was taken aback. Hope and Tranquility were crying, over the dead oak, I think. Surety was stunned.

Gentle had dived into the wreckage to help me get out. "I ... um ... I'm really sorry about your house, Ashley."

I stood in the patch of prairie, looking at what was left of my house. And the poor old oak tree.

"We'll go now," Gentle was saying. The chastened faeries gathered around my feet.

I shook my head, slowly. "You know what ... no. You stay. I'll go."

"What?"

"My insurance covers fallen trees and Acts of Fae. And ... I think some people just weren't meant to own houses. Keep the yard." With that, I waved and walked away.

It's for the best, really. I never could take care of it on my own.

[Prompt by ankewehner. Tarot cards drawn were: Three of Coins, Five of Wands, and Death. I don't have the cards with me, so I'll add a photo of them when I get home.]

Over the weekend, I finished the last of the prompts from my first call for tarot story prompts. That means I get to do a new call for prompts! Yay!

I bought a new tarot deck from djinni: Tod's Creatures Tarot. This deck is illustrated with adorable cartoon animals, and very different from the Silicon Dawn deck. For one thing, having most of the figures be cartoon animals makes many of the cards feel gender-neutral, which is neat. I'll be drawing from this deck for this round of prompts. I am curious to see what effect it'll have on the stories!

If you'd like to participate:

* Provide a question/question/situation. This can be the same kind of question you'd ask in tarot reading, or it can be any random concept that interests you.

Optionally, you may also provide:

* Character(s). You may supply your own original characters (or ask for particular ones of mine). No fanfic unless one of us holds the copyright, please..
* 1-3 cards. If you want to pick one or more specific cards, you may. I will be using the versions of the cards from Tod's Creatures Tarot regardless, though, because I like being able to hold the physical cards. I'll draw three cards at random if you don't have a preference.

Note: by prompting, you agree that any stories I write belong to me and I can publish them as I see fit. (You are still free to use anything you provided in your prompt for your own stories, of course.)

Thanks for participating!

Before his rounds the next day, Aunbrel stopped by the captain's office. Captain Tasker was a tall stocky woman of middle years, hunched at her desk as she went over the day's assignments. He tapped at her open door. "Ma'am? May I have a word?"

Captain Tasker waved him in. "Yes?"

"I've noticed there's something of a chronic backlog in the matter of filing reports and logging case notes in this peacehouse."

"Are you offering to fix this?" the captain asked, dryly.

"After a fashion, yes," Aunbrel said. Captain Tasker raised her eyebrows, surprised. "My nest-partner has an -- "

"Wait," Captain Tasker interrupted. "Did you just say 'nest-partner'?"

Kinsley had found out two days ago and been teasing Aunbrel about Ember ever since, along with half the peacehouse, it seemed. Aunbrel had assumed everyone knew by now. "Ember. The viper-dragon who lives with me. Yes."

"'Nest-partner'?" Tasker repeated.

"If I may continue?"

Tasker shook her head to clear it. "Go ahead."

"Ember has a knack for organization, excellent penmanship, and an eye for detail. If you are amenable, I'd like to invite her to help with the peacehouse's paperwork."

"Huh. You want me to offer her a job? I don't know that we've the budget for more clerical staff, though you're right that we could use some. Never had a viper-dragon working here before. They can write?" The captain looked skeptical.

"And sort, shelve, file, and pretty much anything you would assume one would need hands for. So far as I can discern," Aunbrel said. "If Ember's willing to do it at all, I suspect she'll be amenable to part-time volunteer work to start." It's not as though I'm paying her to index my books as it is. "If you're happy with her after a few weeks, you could see about finding room in the budget for another clerk. It might be cheaper in the long run than the mad scrambles to produce needed documents at the last moment."

Tasker snorted. "There's that. I'll talk to the Bright Lady about it. It's the sort of thing she likes to be kept abreast of."

Of course. "Thank you, captain."

When Aunbrel finished his rounds several hours later, a message from the captain was waiting for him on his desk: Bright Lady gave it her stamp of approval, send Miss Ember to see me if she's interested.

---

When Aunbrel returned home, Ember was working on the book project on the kitchen table again. Dinner was in the oven. "Why are you samassas?" Aunbrel asked.

Ember raised her head to give an open-mouthed smile in greeting. "Because I'm tiny," she answered, returning to her writing. "I can't take care of myself."

"You can't really believe that." Aunbrel scrounged about the kitchen drawers for another pen.

"I can't?"

"You can cook, clean, and scribe. There's plenty of humans, and elves for that matter, living independently with fewer marketable skills." Aunbrel returned to the table with pen in hand, and took a seat.

"But I can't do that outside the nest."

"Because you're samassas. You do realize that's circular reasoning?" The elf took one of the books from the waiting pile, and one of the blank cards.

"I ... yes. But it's not safe for me, going outside alone. Any larger viper-dragon could ... what are you doing?" Ember asked, a note of horror creeping into her voice.

Aunbrel paused in writing out the author of the volume on the card. "Helping with your project?"

The viper-dragon shrank back. "I'm sorry it's just there's so many and it's slow going I am trying I didn't realize -- " she gabbled, trembling.

The elf blinked at her. "Er? I'm not upset, Ember."

"butyou'rdoingmywork!"

"Yes? I can do it while we talk and I don't have anything else to do with my hands." A flash of inspiration struck him. "It's an elf thing. We don't divide up work, so there's no worries about who does what."

Nicitating membranes flicked over orange eyes. "Ohhh." She digested that, and relaxed. "All right."

They returned to their respective cards and wrote for a moment in silence, before Aunbrel returned to the previous topic. "I understand that you're small, Ember, but it's hardly as though I am invulnerable. Any large viper-dragon could eat me for breakfast and be hungry again by dinner. Any large group of any people could kill me, for that matter if they were so inclined. I am not protected by my physical strength: I am protected by the rule of law. By civilization. Those protections may have ... certain exceptions, as regards nest matters among viper-dragons." Aunbrel made an effort to keep his tone neutral. "But those exceptions only apply to internal nest matters. I checked. You are my nest-partner now. No viper-dragon may assault, detain, abduct, or even harass you without violating that law. And I daresay they know that." Ember nodded, but didn't speak. Aunbrel forged on. "I don't know if that makes a difference. My profession is to keep this city and all its inhabitants safe, and the Air knows we don't always succeed. At protecting people in their own homes, for that matter. But it is a good system, and it works well enough that I do not think you should feel a prisoner here, Ember. I don't want you to be afraid to live in the world outside these walls."

Ember shifted her coil, pensive. At length, she said, "It's ... sort of like the whole city is your nest, isn't it? This is just a little part of it. You're protecting the whole city."

Aunbrel nodded. "I am."

"And the other guardians are your nest-partners in it. They keep the city safe too."

Aunbrel involuntarily tried to envision Kinsley or Captain Tasker in the role of nest-partner. "... I ... that might be stretching the analogy somewhat. After a fashion, perhaps." He gave her a curious look. "Does it help to think of it that way?"

Ember bobbed her head, nodding. "It makes sense. And it explains why you're not here during the day."

"I was wondering about that, after you were talking about samassas not working outside the nest," Aunbrel admitted. "Because ifisith don't either, do they? They stay to protect the nest. It's only the -- the mid-sized ones that work outsized."

"The mashisith. Yes. And you're not mashisith. But you're not really leaving, you're just protecting another part of the nest. And this part is being kept safe by the other guardians. Nest-partners." Ember gave an all-over happy wriggle. "So there's no reason I can't do nest-work at the peacehouse. It's just another part of the nest!"

Aunbrel smiled. "Does that make sense? To your hindbrain, that is."

"I think so? It's ... awfully large, as a nest. And encompasses other nests in a way, which doesn't make sense. But still. I think I can do it."

"Good. Because the Air knows we could surely use your help."

---

It took a few days to arrive at a good routine. Ember had to be introduced to every member of the peacehouse ("It doesn't feel right if I don't even know them"), although Aunbrel cautioned her against calling them 'nest-partners'. "Especially Kinsley."

After trying a few variations, they settled on going to the peacehouse together in the morning. Ember would work half a shift on filing, deciphering and transcribing notes, and organizing documents. Then she'd return to the flat to tend to home-chores or read, and cook dinner. Aunbrel had once or twice attempted to persuade Ember that he was, in fact, capable of feeding himself. "When I got here, your larder consisted of two tins of chicken, a half-packet of stale flatbread, and the remains of a bottle of wine turned to vinegar," she'd answered.

"I like chicken."

"You didn't have salt."

His heart wasn't really in it.

With her spending part of the day out of the apartment, the place was no longer obsessively immaculate, which was something of a relief to Aunbrel. The elf was inclined by nature to be tidy, but there was something vaguely unnerving about having freshly-scrubbed ceilings. Tonight, she was making a casserole of mushrooms, spinach, crabmeat, and rice when Aunbrel returned home. He sat at the kitchen table while she assembled the ingredients, and took up one of the blank cards and a book. They were still working in desultory fashion on the index project, because it was a terribly beguiling idea once conceived.

While dinner was baking, they talked about the day's incidents; Ember took notes to write up when she was at the peacehouse the next day. When the casserole was ready, they cleared the table to eat; Ember had grown used to Aunbrel's help and no longer took it as implied criticism.

During a pause in the dinner conversation, Aunbrel sipped at a mug of warm spiced cider, watching Ember snap up bites of food from her plate with quick and oddly dainty motions. "When I first invited you to stay, I had no idea what I was getting into. I daresay if I'd had the least notion what it would be like," he paused for breath, and Ember looked up nervously before he finished, "I'd have invited you weeks earlier."

Ember's tailtip wriggled in shy pleasure. "Truly?"

"Absolutely."

Ember dipped her head back to her plate. "I feel like an awful bother sometimes, with all my irrational impulses that don't make sense to you."

The elf shook his head. "I don't know that all my habits are based in strict rationality either. Not that it's not an adjustment. And more than a bit peculiar at times. I rather feel like I'm taking advantage of you, to be honest." She looked puzzled, and he gestured vaguely around the room. "You don't need to do all of this. Cooking and cleaning and whatnot. You're not my servant."

"But I like doing it." She glanced away. "Maybe because you don't expect me to."

"If you ever change your mind, I promise not to complain if you stop. But I think I am done trying to talk you out of it." Aunbrel smiled. "In any case ... thank you for accepting the offer."

The little dragon ducked her head again. "I think I should be thanking you. This is a very strange sort of nest -- and I love it. All my life, I've been told so many rules, so many codes of behavior, all designed to keep me safe. And it seems like none of those rules matter now. And you know ... for the first time ... I actually feel safe."

Aunbrel raised his mug in salute. "To our very strange sort of nest, then."

Somber, Ember curled her tail around her glass and clinked. "May it never be normal."

After they finished their rounds the next day, Aunbrel was in even more of a rush to leave the peacehouse than Kinsley. The elf dumped the day's notes in his drawer and headed for the door. "What's gotten into you, elf boy?" the old officer asked, shrugging out of his uniform jacket.

Aunbrel had spent the day not explaining the situation to Kinsley, and wasn't about to ruin his record now. "I am taking the admonishment that I not work so hard seriously. You should be pleased."

"Hey, did I complain you worked too hard?"

"Yes."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Huh. Don't know what I was thinking." Kinsley walked with Aunbrel down the steps to the main floor. "Want to get a drink?"

"No, thank you." Aunbrel crossed the big main room, headed for the door. "I just want to get ho -- "

"Commander on floor!" a senior guardian's voice barked. By reflex, every person in the large room, including prisoners, complainants, Kinsley (somewhat creakily) and Aunbrel, turned to the door and dropped to one knee, ducking their heads as Commander Lisia entered the peacehouse.

"As you were," the Commander said, her leopard pacing beside her. Everyone rose and returned to their purposes, stealing covert glances to the Bright Lady's fur robes and gold headdress. She carried a leather folder tucked beneath one arm. Aunbrel and Kinsley kept their eyes respectfully averted as they moved to the door.

"Guardian Aunbrel?" Commander Lisia touched his arm.

Aunbrel reflected that twenty-foot viper-dragons had nothing on the Bright Lady when it came to intimidation. And she's not even trying. "Yes, Bright Lady?"

"I'm glad to find you here. Might I have a word with you?"

Aunbrel wondered what he'd done wrong now. "Yes, Bright Lady." He trailed obediantly behind her as she entered the guard captain's office. The captain rose and started to kneel at her entrance, but stopped when she waved off the formality.

"Thank you for bringing the Coalstone nest matter to my attention, Captain Tasker," the Commander said. "You were quite correct; it's exactly the sort of thing I need to be informed about." The captain acknowledged this with a nod.

Ah, that. Naturally.

Commander Lisia turned back to the tall elf. "You've been causing quite a stir with the viper-dragon populace, Guardian Aunbrel. They're not used to interference in nest affairs."

"Yes, Bright Lady." Aunbrel held himself formally, hands clasped at his back. You did say I should get a hobby.

The commander leafed through the folder in her hands, saying absently, "Some of them did not appreciate it much, although Mistress River ... I'm sorry, Guardian, were you in a hurry this evening?"

'No' was untrue and 'Yes' was impossible. "Bright Lady?"

"No matter." She closed the folder. "I appreciate your efforts. Well done, Guardian. You may go. Have a good evening." The commander turned back to Tasker, taking a seat opposite her at the desk and putting the folder on the desk. "There's a few things I'd like to discuss with you, captain."

Aunbrel stood near the door, blinking, as his superiors fell into discussion. Need warred with prudence. He opened the door, and started to step outside, before need overthrew caution and prudence both. He cleared his throat.

His superiors looked to him. "Yes, Guardian?" Commander Lisia said.

"Permission to ask a question, Bright Lady?"

A graceful nod. "Speak."

"... do you know what's going on? That is, does any of this viper-dragon business make any sense at all to you? Because if you could explain it to me, I would be forever in your debt, Bright Lady."

A small smile formed on the commander's face. "I do believe, at this point, that you understand as much of it as any other person in Hopestart, Guardian Aunbrel."

"... that is not the reassurance I had hoped for, Bright Lady."

"Now you know what my job's like. Go home, Guardian."

---

When he got home, Aunbrel opened the door to an apartment he barely recognized.

It gleamed.

The hardwood floor in the front room had been polished and the tile in the kitchen waxed. The rugs had been aired and beaten, making them two shades brighter, and the threadbare patches in them mended so faultlessly they looked new. The tattered sofa had been patched artfully over the top and arms. The books stacked two-deep in the row of cases against one wall had been pulled out, dusted, alphabetized, and returned with the back rows stacked atop small empty boxes so that the spines were visible above the front rows. An appetizing smell of spiced beef and vegetables wafted in from the equally-pristine kitchen.

Ember called out from the kitchen, "Good evening! I know you weren't sure when you'd be home but I thought I'd try cooking something -- I remembered you saying that the izkawa beef from A Hope in War sounded good, so I found a recipe in one of your cookbooks ...." She slithered into the front room and trailed off. Aunbrel was standing open-mouthed by the entranceway. "Is something wrong?" she asked in a small voice.

"What happened here?"

Ember coiled up on herself. "I'm sorry I just thought I should straighten up a bit and I didn't think you'd mind you said it was all right to go to the grocer's if I needed anything and well I didn't mean to mess up your books I can put them back the way they were if you don't like it -- "

The elf threw his arms out. "I don't -- " He took a deep breath. "I'm not angry, Miss Ember. Surprised. Yes. Surprised. I thought you'd spend the day reading or somesuch. Did you do all this yourself?"

"... mostly? Glasscale, you remember him, he stopped by with Mistress River to bring some of my things and they helped with getting the boxes to prop the books on. But mostly me."

"... what happened to 'I'm lazy and hate all my work'?"

"Well. It's much easier to get things done when there's no one around to interrupt me. And I couldn't spend the whole day reading. And I thought I should try to start things off right. I'm sorry."

"Miss Ember," Aunbrel said, with a straight face but a smile in his voice, "You are as bad an overachiever as I am. Is that food ready? Because I am ravenous."

Ember uncoiled, her tail giving a tentative pleased wiggle. "Yes."

The viper-dragon insisted on transfering the meal from pan to serving dish before serving. Aunbrel hadn't even known he had a serving dish. The table was already set with plates and napkins; Ember looked chagrined when Aunbrel retrieved flatware for himself. Aunbrel was somewhat relieved to see that though the scuffed kitchen table had been scrubbed and polished, it had not been stripped and revarnished. Yet. He sat in one chair while Ember coiled atop the other. They ate in companionable silence for a few minutes, until Ember spoke. "Guardian ... do you think you could call me Ember instead of 'Miss Ember'? Since we're nest-partners?"

"Only if you'll call me Aunbrel," the elf replied.

Ember's eyes widened. "Oh, no, I couldn't do that."

"Miss Ember it is, then."

Her tail tip gave a nervous wiggle. "But you're ifisith! I ought to call you Master Aunbrel."

Aunbrel set his fork down and favored her with a look. "Don't you dare." She tilted her head to one side, puzzled. The elf sighed. "I understand this is all different from what you're used to, but I did not invite you here to be my servant. Or samassas, for that matter. I invited you as my friend. I should like us to still be friends. Ember."

She ducked her head, then opened her mouth in an imitation smile. "Me too ... Aunbrel."

Three days later, Aunbrel returned with a pack half-full of books: Ember's to return to her, and a few new ones to lend. A turquoise viper-dragon answered the door, eyed him suspiciously, and left him waiting on the stoop for several minutes. At length, the same midnight-blue dragon Aunbrel had met at Mistfield Park opened the door, upper body raised to fill the entrance. Ember was just visible beyond the dark dragon's body. The scales of both dragons were raised and ruffled. "Have you found some new false charge to place upon my nest-partner's coil, Guardian?" the midnight-blue dragon hissed.

"Not at all. I am quite convinced of her innocence in all things." More than I can say for you. "I lent her a few books by way of apology for my error. I'd like to speak with her, if she's so inclined."

"She is not. Go away, Guardian."

Aunbrel looked past the large dragon to meet Ember's worried eyes. "Is she a minor?" The midnight-blue dragon stared at him, and Aunbrel continued, "I was given to understand that minor viper-dragons had very fine scales, and that the large thick ones denoted majority, but perhaps I am mistaken. Is Miss Ember a minor?"

"You know she is not."

"Then by the laws of Hopestart, she's a right to determine for herself with whom she chooses to associate. As she is not three yards away, I should like to hear her answer from her own mouth. Miss Ember?" Aunbrel met her eyes. The large wedge-shaped head of the midnight-blue dragon turned to Ember as well.

Ember lifted her head as high as she could. "I am busy this afternoon, Guardian," she said, quietly. "Would you be able to come back tomorrow?" The big dragon hissed in evident irritation at this answer.

"Certainly," Aunbrel replied. "What time would be most convenient?"

"5 o'clock?" Orange eyes darted to the midnight-blue dragon. "Please, Mistress River. I'll be done with everything by then. And I want to."

River's hissing reply did not sound convinced. Aunbrel ignored the large dragon and bowed to the small. "5 o'clock. I shall see you then."

---

When Aunbrel returned at the appointed hour, Ember had the door open even before he knocked. "You came back!"

"Of course." Aunbrel shrugged off his pack, pulling out Ember's books. "I still had to return these." A dragon slithered into the hall behind Ember, glanced their way, then slithered off. "Did you have a chance to finish the other Hope novels?"

She nodded eagerly, taking her books back on her tail and stowing them atop a cabinet in the wall, then offering his own back.

"How did you like them?"

"I loved them! I think the second one is still my favorite, though. I miss Rielle."

"Do you? I always thought them well rid of her and her foul temper."

"Oh, but she had such wit! No one else gets half her good lines."

"If you call sarcasm wit." Aunbrel was dubious.

"I do! I think I could forgive all her misplaced anger, to have a travelling companion who provided so much entertainment." As Ember spoke, River loomed up behind her in the entranceway. Aunbrel noticed other viper-dragons were watching them through the round windows of the nest.

Aunbrel disregarded the audience and focused on Ember. They conversed for a quarter of an hour on the stoop. At length, Aunbrel massaged at the back of his neck. "I passed a little park about two blocks from here, with a few benches. Might we go there to talk? It would be nice to speak more on a level."

River hissed. Ember glanced back to the other dragon and sunk down. Aunbrel cleared his throat. "Is something wrong?"

"She is samassas," River hissed, slithering past Ember to interpose between her and the elf. The midnight-blue dragon rose up on her coils to loom over Aunbrel. "She cannot leave the nest without a protector."

"She will not be without a protector. I will be with her."

"You? An elf?" River circled around Aunbrel, looping coil on top of coil in a wide circle around the guardian's feet, head several feet above his, looking down. "What would you do if someone menaced my nest-partner?"

"I am Guardian Aunbrel of Hopestart, an official protector of this city." Aunbrel caught River's eye. "And, Mistress River, if I felt Miss Ember were being threatened, I would ask the individual, politely, to cease in such behavior."

"You would ask. I could swallow you whole, Guardian Aunbrel, and leave neither bones nor body for your fellows to find." The midnight coils drew in closer, not quite touching his legs. At the nest's round windows, the faces of other viper-dragons watched them. "So what would you do if asking were not enough?"

"Do you truly want to know, Mistress River?" Aunbrel's voice was low and dangerous.

"Yesss," she hissed.

"Then move just one inch closer."

The susurration of shifting coils stopped as the dark viper-dragon froze. She stared at him for a long moment. Aunbrel met those near-black eyes unblinking, and waited. After a very long pause, River uncoiled, widening the circle she formed around him as she withdrew, her head lowering until it was of a level with his. "You have leave to go with this one, Ember. He will keep you safe."

Ember watched open-mouthed, small pointed teeth white against her gums, as River slithered back inside. Orange eyes turned back to the guardian. Aunbrel extended his arm, and Ember climbed up to encircle his shoulders. He'd walked halfway down the block before Ember spoke. "That was amazing! I've never seen Mistress River back down from anyone, not even another dragon! What would you do if asking didn't work?"

Aunbrel shrugged. "Get swallowed whole, I suppose." Ember gaped at him. "That's a lot of extra weight for a viper-dragon to carry, even a big one. It would have to slow one down. Might give you enough time to escape. I suggest you use the opportunity wisely in the event."

---

After that, Aunbrel returned every few days, to exchange new books and to talk about the ones they'd already read. On the third or fourth visit, Ember asked if she could invite other viper-dragons to join them. It struck Aunbrel as the sort of thing she shouldn't need his permission to do, and he said as much.

"But may I?" she asked anxiously.

"Of course? Yes."

Then on some days it would be four or five little viper-dragons with him, some of them chattering about books and some of them just wandering around the park and enjoying the day. Sometimes Ember asked to go elsewhere: a museum, a café, a local landmark, and Aunbrel would escort her and her nest-partners around Hopestart. She lent him one of her favorite books in her native language, and a translation dictionary to go with it: Aunbrel puzzled through it slowly with her and on his own, gradually making sense of it.

On making sense of the dragons themselves, his progress was more uncertain. The large ones no longer threatened or postured at him. The small ones deferred to him. Ember, whom he saw the most, seemed to think him a friend.

That was nice.

The rest of it was as confusing as a burning labyrinth, but not all bad. If he had been sure the nest wasn't still try to 'amend' Ember via physical trauma, he might have been content.

If he had been sure.

Then, during one of his still-frequent late nights at the peacehouse, River's head appeared at his office window. "Guardian," she hissed.

"Fire and Air!" Aunbrel jumped to his feet and went to the window. River had risen two stories on her coil to stare at him through it. "What are you doing there?"

"You must come."

"What? Where?"

"To the nest." River started to slide back down the wall.

"Er. Why?"

The giant serpentine body stopped. "You said you would protect Ember. Did you mean it?"

"Yes."

"Then come."

Smoke and blazes. "I'll come. Let me assemble a squad. What's going on?"

River hissed in fury. "No! It is not their business. It is ours. You must come. Only you."

And if that doesn't sound like a trap.... "On my way. Wait for me out front."

Aunbrel stopped at the front post to tell the guardian on duty, "I'm going to the viper-dragon nest at 101st and Coalstone to investigate a disturbance. No, I don't want backup now. But if I'm not back in three hours, send a squad to find me, or what's left of me. Blazes, send a platoon."

[Did I say this story would have three or four parts? I'm thinking ... maybe seven. ]

Kinsley was nowhere close to forgiving Aunbrel by the time they had finished booking their 'prisoner' and were en route to the Drunken Scarab. Aunbrel attempted to beg off from his earlier promise, but his partner would have none of it. "After that? After that? You owe me a drink, elf boy. You owe me a week's worth of drinks. By smoke and blaze, what do you think you're playing at, sticking our necks in the midst of dragon business?"

"Ember needed our help." They'd learned the viper-dragon's name when they incarcerated her.

"Hah! If she'd truly needed our help, she'd've asked for it. 'No trouble', she said."

Aunbrel shook her head. "She was lying then. You saw how she was once she was away from them."

"Yes, I saw how she didn't want to tell us a blazing thing about what was going on there. Dragon business, boy. Don't imagine you've made anything better for her with that little stunt of yours." Kinsley pushed open the door to the Scarab, spilling warmth and firelight from the pub into the evening chill of the narrow street. "Hullo everybody! Drinks are on him!" Kinsley jerked a thumb over his shoulder at Aunbrel. Resigned, the elf forced a smile and followed his partner inside.

*

Elves were just as capable of intoxication by alcohol as men, and enjoyed liquor just as much, though elves favored wine and cider where men preferred beer and ale.

Aunbrel cared for none of it. He disliked the bitterness and pungent aftertaste lurking beneath even sweet wines. The substance made him sleepy, morose, and faintly nauseated. Every now and then, he would try drinking again to see if it had improved any from his last experience, and it never had.

He was nursing his second mug of mulled spiced cider, which was the least objectionable drink he'd ever tried. If he ignored the aftertaste and the effects of inebriation, it was quite tolerable. He couldn't help feeling he was missing the whole point, though.

Kinsley was on at least his seventh or eighth drink by now, roaring drunk and regaling the pub with a preposterous account of how he'd single-handedly put down a riot in the Iron District twelve years ago. Aunbrel couldn't help feeling that sobriety, if not honesty, would have improved the tale. Kinsley kept losing his place in it, starting over or going back to add forgotten details. No one else seemed to mind, laughing and toasting and drinking themselves further into a stupor. Surrounded by giddy cheerful drunks that kept smiling at him and encouraging him to "Drink up, Guardian!", Aunbrel felt more alone than he did at night in his peacehouse office.

After buying another round for the house, Aunbrel offered the pretext of going to relieve his bladder and made his escape during the crush to place orders. He turned up the collar of his brown rabbit hide jacket against the chill of the night, hoping the wind would clear the morbid weary alcohol-induced fog from his mind. His feet turned toward the peacehouse of their own accord, his mind unwilling to face the loneliness of his sparsely-furnished flat. I might as well get some of the blazing paperwork done. Then he remembered the Commander, observing the light of his office every night, and couldn't bear to disappoint her by turning the flame up again. Well, what is it all for?

He stepped into the peacehouse, hands stuffed in his pockets, and strode to the west wing, where the jail cells were.

*

Ember had a cell to herself -- more a cage, in truth, five feet on a side, built to hold belligerent felis. It was set at the end of a hall, far enough from the rows of iron-barred, stone-walled cells that a felis paw would not be able to claw out at another prisoner -- nor another prisoner poke into the cage. The small red dragon was curled atop a blanket, a book propped on her tail, turning the pages with her tailtip as she read. Aunbrel paced down the hall to her, ignoring the taunts and pleas from the drunks and petty thieves in the cells he passed. She stirred at his approach, body tensing at first, then relaxing when she recognized him. "Good evening, Guardian." Ember shifted to a narrower coil to raise her head as high as she could, which was about the level of Aunbrel's waist. Her head tilted back to meet his eyes.

"Good evening, miss." Aunbrel crouched next to her cage. "Thought I'd stop by to see how you were doing."

The dragon's chin dipped in a nod. "I am well, thank you. Thank you for the books, too."

The elf rubbed the back of his neck. "You're welcome. I'm sorry about the lack of selection."

"No, don't be. A Hope in War is much better than the procedure manual I thought I'd get when I asked for something to read. It's very engrossing." Ember lowered her voice and added, "I had to skip ahead to the epilogue just to make sure Guisonel would be all right in the end."

Aunbrel chuckled. "I thought I was the only one who did that." He shifted his crouched legs, then sat on the floor, leaning against the wall beside the cage.

Ember adjusted her coil and slithered closer to his new position, lowering her head to his level. "I only do it with tense novels. I hate wondering if it'll turn out well or not. Even if it's going to all end badly, I'd rather know."

The guardian nodded. "It's a shame one can't peek at the end in life. Is Guisonel your favorite character, then?"

"He's the one I worry about. He keeps charging into the middle of these dangerous situations. I think he's looking to be a martyr. So you read it too?"

A wry smile. "The Hope books are some of my favorites. That's why I had them here. Guisonel gets a little less foolhardy with time. A little." Aunbrel gestured with thumb and forefinger pinched close together. "Where are you?"

"The battle for Royale Wyenard. Just after the archers arrived."

"The first time I read it, I'd forgotten the archers were even on the way. I yelled out in triumph when they showed. Got the strangest looks from my school fellows."

The little viper-dragon wiggled her tailtip, orange eyes amused. "Did you really?"

Aunbrel gave her a serious nod. He looked at Ember, her tail stroking over the book cover now. "Miss ... what were they going to do to you, that a night in jail would be a pleasant vacation in contrast?"

Ember would not meet his eyes, shaking her head and looking at the floor of the cage instead.

Aunbrel put his palm against the crossed metal bars of the cage. "Did I make it worse, intervening?"

Her head darted up to look at him. She shook her head again. "No. No worse." She rested her cheek against his hand through the bars. "Is your arm all right?"

"It's fine. Do you still want us to release you tomorrow? We could hold you a few days before we'd need to prosecute or dismiss the charge." It's not as if we've gotten any paperwork done tonight anyway.

"No. I should go back." Ember dropped her head to rest her chin on the book. "I'll run out of books to read before tomorrow night in any case."

"I could bring more from home."

The viper-dragon parted her jaws in imitation of a smile, and gave another headshake. "I have to go back eventually. One night should be enough."

"Enough for what?"

Aunbrel let the silence stretch after his question this time, not insisting, not importuning, just ... waiting. "To lose the moment," Ember said finally. Aunbrel waited. The dragon exhaled. "It's a matter of dragons. You wouldn't understand."

"I certainly do not understand now," the elf admitted. "But I am willing to learn, if you are willing to teach."

Aunbrel was working another late night in the peacehouse, completing the case notes for the day's investigations. His partner not only disliked paperwork but was abysmal at preparing it, and as junior partner tradition dictated Aunbrel do it in any event. Aunbrel didn't mind; late night was the only time the offices of peacehouse lived up to the name. His uniform jacket was off and hanging from the back of his chair, shirt sleeves rolled back to keep them from smudging the ink. On the first floor the hubbub of the night's arrests and complaints continued, but up here all was still. Quiet enough that the soft pad of feet in the hall outside drew the guardian's attention from his task. He rose and stepped toward the open door. "Hello? May I help you?"

A human woman in a golden headdress and elaborate fur robes, a jeweled staff in her hand, peeked through the doorway. A spotted leopard prowled about her feet.

Aunbrel fell to one knee, dropping his eyes. "Bright Lady!"

A fair hand touched his shoulder. Aunbrel's tan skin darkened with a flush that crept to the pointed tips of his tall ears, in mortification at being caught out of uniform by Commander Lisia herself, the leader of all Hopestart. But the gentle voice that said, "Rise, Guardian. There is no need for such formality," held no rebuke, only a hint of amusement.

Reluctant, Aunbrel stood, eyes averted. With an elf's height, he towered over her, which only added to the sense of his own impropriety. He straightened his shirt cuffs self-consciously. "My apologies, Bright Lady."

Commander Lisia waved off his words. "There is no wrong to forgive. Be at ease ... Aunbrel, is it?"

His gaze jerked up to her face in a moment of surprise. Faint lines around her large dark eyes and at her mouth and jawline hinted at her age. Aunbrel dropped his head again quickly, giving an awkward nod. "Yes, Bright Lady." Her leopard sat at her feet, leaning against her leg and staring at him with unblinking eyes.

The Commander took a step back, dipping her hand to scratch the leopard's ears. "It seems there's light in this office every night, Guardian. Is it always you here?"

"Not every night, Bright Lady."

A smile played on her lips. "Almost every night?"

Aunbrel didn't know what to say to that. "I am only completing my work, Bright Lady."

"And perhaps the work of one or three others as well?" The Commander shook her head, smiling still. "Your diligence is commendable, Aunbrel. Relax." He would have rushed into a burning building at her command, or faced down a rioting mob, but Aunbrel had no idea how even to begin to follow that instruction. "I appreciate your service to my city, Guardian. And perhaps it is unfair of me to ask one more thing of you, but I shall."

"Bright Lady?" He raised his eyes to her lips, but no higher.

"Don't let the work eat you alive, Aunbrel." She touched his arm. "If you do nothing but Guard, you will forget the why of it. Do not allow yourself to become isolated, with no one and nothing to return home to. Remember to enjoy your life and the world you live in. Else what is it all for?"

"Yes, Bright Lady." Aunbrel had no idea how to follow that instruction, either, but there was no other possible response.

The Commander patted his arm. "Good night, Guardian." With her leopard beside her, she withdrew from his office. In the corridor, she shook her head and sighed to herself as she left.

---

Kinsley had been Aunbrel's partner in the peacekeepers since Aunbrel joined three months ago. Kinsley had been a Guardian for nearly thirty years, and no one would accuse him of working too hard. Not that he was corrupt, or bad at his job, exactly. Though Kinsley was lazy: he had a habit of splitting the two of them so Kinsley could take the shorter half of a patrol route, or sending Aunbrel to run errands or interview witnesses in inconvenient parts of the city. But that sort of thing had to be expected from a partner with seniority, and the old human had the insight and knowledge of law and regulation that one would expect from someone with his experience. If he left early every night to go drinking -- "You don't mind finishing up the casework, right, Aunbrel?" -- well, surely he'd earned that right.

The two were walking their usual circuit through the Iron District, narrow cobbled streets winding past dilapidated warehouses and aging smelteries, walls and roofs blackened by soot. Kinsley's pale face was open and smiling. He tipped his hat to the occasional passing human woman, offered a casual salute to human men, and a nod to members of other races -- elves, dragons, an unescorted panther. Aunbrel's own expression was grim, mouth thinned beneath an aquiline nose. After a little while, Kinsley elbowed him in the ribs. "Elf boy, you need to lighten up."

Aunbrel made an 'oof' sound and failed to lighten up.

Kinsley raised a graying eyebrow at him. "What's eating you? Your dog take ill?"

"I don't keep pets."

"Maybe you should start. Seriously, you look depressed even for you, and that's saying something."

"I am not depressed."

"Look in the mirror and you will be. You can't let the job get to you, kid. You work too hard." Kinsley slapped Aunbrel's back.

The tall elf sighed. "That's what the Commander said."

Now Kinsley raised both eyebrows. "The Commander was talking to you?"

"Last night. I am using too much gaslight at the peacehouse or somesuch, I imagine."

Kinsley laughed. "That'd be you all right. Look, it's been a quiet day. We wrap up this loop, why don't you come with me to the Drunken Scarab?"

Aunbrel rubbed the back of his neck. "I could stop by after I finished the day's paperwork."

The older guardian shook his head. "No no no. Just skip it. Take off early." At Aunbrel's look, Kinsley chuckled. "I'll let you in on a secret, elf boy: the paperwork's not going anywhere. You don't do it today, it'll still be there tomorrow. And the day after, and the day after that."

"Yes, and there'll be more of it," Aunbrel said sourly.

"Ah, you wait long enough, and some of it won't matter any more and you'll never have to do it at all. Don't give me that look, kid. I've been at this game longer than you have. Trust me, one night's not gonna kill any one." Kinsley punched his arm, and Aunbrel yielded with a nod.

[This is from the prompt tuftears left me last month, using cards he drew from the Tarot of the Cat People, and which I proceeded to not write. I finally coupled the prompt with a drawing by djinni and came up with "A Guardian's Companion". The cards Tufty drew are:

The Empress (right side up)
The King of Pentacles, reversed (7th picture in the link)
The Three of Cups, reversed (2nd picture in the link)


As short stories go, this one is not very short. There'll be another two or three parts. ]

[This story uses the same characters as yesterday's, although it's not exactly a sequel.]

For most of his life, Kerrington had had the same nightmare every night.

It had started when he was a child, and even when he had it as a grown man, he'd still be a child in the nightmare. It always started with him hiding. In the shadows of an alley, under a thick cloak that made him look hunchbacked. But a hunchback was a harmless cripple, not a monster with wings and horns. So he crouched in the lee of a building, hood pulled up and the cloak lumpy around the horns that sprouted from his neck and shoulders. From there, he'd watch all the normal people. Little girls holding their mother's hands, begging for a sweet bun from the baker. For a smile and a "pretty please, ma'am", they'd always be rewarded with one. Boys watching their fathers ply their trade, learning to carve furniture or hawk cloth or set wagon wheels. Playing in groups in the streets, chase-the-ball or catch-the-runner or find-the-hidden.

That part wasn't so bad. If he watched really hard, he could pretend he was one of them. That he wasn't just watching someone else's life, but living it. He'd always thought that as a child, that the problem wasn't in his body but his mind, that he just needed to try harder. That if he smiled just right, and said "pretty please, ma'am", normal people would like him the same as the ordinary children. There was a code in the way they acted, he'd thought. A code he was missing, but he was sure he could learn it, if he just paid close enough attention.

So he'd watch in the nightmare, until it all clicked and he knew just what he needed to do to be accepted. Then he'd skip out into the light of the street, putting his hood back so it bunched over his horned shoulders as if he were hunched. He'd smile at the baker, and ask sweetly for the smallest taste of a bun. The baker would smile back and say "Oh, I oughtn't ... " and Kerrington would widen his eyes and tilt his head and give the most innocent pleading look. "... oh, you scamp, here you go." She'd give him a whole bun, and he'd thank her prettily, his heart bursting with gratitude.

That was the worst part, because then she'd say, "Such a good -- " as she reached out to pat his shoulder. Then her expression would turn puzzled at the hard point of a horn under her fingers. The cloak would tear over one point, then over all of them. The baker would put her hands over her mouth, screaming. "Monster!"

Everyone, up and down the street, would be staring at him, terrified, horrified, furious, as the cloak turned to tattered shreds about him. He'd lift his wings to fly away, but the remains of the cloak would tangle them. "No, no," he'd say, tears running down his cheeks, the untasted bun clutched to his chest. "I'm not a monster. I'm not!" Children would pelt him with stones, yelling, "Freak! Monster! Animal!" Townsmen and guards would cluster around him with drawn swords, hacking at his wings and his horns, screaming imprecations. The horns would break off beneath the swords, the wings came apart in clusters of feathers, each blow leaving him writhing in white-hot agony. But although they came off, they did not stay gone: as fast as the normal people could hack away at his deformities, they would grow back like hydras, two more springing up in their place. Until he was choking on feathers and covered in horn, smothering under the weight of his grotesque body.

Until he'd awaken, face buried against the ground or a blanket or dried leaves, body covered in sweat and sticky molted down.

That part of the nightmare was always worse than the reality.Kerrington had lost count of the stonings, beatings, mutilations and attempted executions he'd endured. In the real ones, he usually lost consciousness faster than in the nightmare, and when he came back to life, with regrown horns and wings and limbs, he was just the same as before, not worse.

Once, he'd thought the nightmares would stop after he gave up. Stopped trying to be like normal people. Stopped trying to fit in with them, to live with them, to watch them or understand them. He walked away from the people who would not, could not, ever accept him. He turned to the path of dark magic, consoled himself with monstrosities conjured from the fruits of stone circles. He was a monster, after all. He belonged with his own kind, and if those other monstrosities craved the blood and deaths of ordinary men -- well, why should he care more for their lives than they cared for his?

But even on the dark path, the nightmares did not stop. Every night, he still tried to belong, and every night he still failed. Nothing changed.

Until that drunken fool of a village boy stumbled into that stone circled and tried to save him. Him!

"You're a good man, Kerrington," Eric said, and when he patted one of those horned shoulders and cut his hand, he ... apologized. Not screamed, or fled, or fainted. Apologized. Like it was Eric's fault.

One moment should not be enough to change a lifetime of fear and revulsion.

But Kerrington never had that nightmare again.

For that alone, he owed the fool something.

I'm not a good man, Eric. It's three years too late for that, if indeed there was ever a time that it wasn't too late. But I think I finally know what a good man looks like, and by the eight Hells, I'll not let any harm come to you.

For three seasons, the Dark One had left Eric's province untouched, safe, for the memory of that one moment. But as his forces grew, in number and power and appetite, Kerrington wondered if he'd always be able to constrain them. And what if Eric left? What if he wasn't a local to that province at all?

So he'd given his minions the young man's scent from a stained handkerchief, and sent them to track him down and bring him back.

"Did the Dark One get you too, Kerrington?"

I suppose he did, after a fashion.

From the top of the Dark One's tower, Kerrington watched the storm clouds gather, seething with black tentacles that awaited but his command to fall upon his enemies.

In his study far below, Kerrington could still hear his prisoner crying. "Why are you doing this to us?"

Because I'm tired of being the one who is scared, impoverished, hunted. Because it's their turn now. Because I can. Because I'm a monster. Because there are no other choices any more.

Kerrington extended a hand to the sky. Lightning crackled. A tentacle thick as the neck of a dragon dipped to him, and Kerrington mounted it like a tame horse. He rode the storm sweeping away from his tower, to the scene of his next atrocity.

[Cards from the Tarot of the Silicon Dawn: The Tower (SFW), the Five of Swords (NSFW), The Chevalier of the Void (SFW). Prompt by ankewhener. And now I'm going to stop writing about Kerrington and Eric before this turns into a serial about Kerrington's redemption. :P ]