Chapter 50: His Beloved's Face

     "It is done, Agneta, my love. This long war is finally over, and soon every trace of their heathen religion will be wiped from the land."

     Reinier's hand gently caresses her gravestone, silent, as though he waits for a response. He tries to imagine her voice, the happy lilt she used to have, before. Before the curse on him destroyed her joy, killed the light that emanated from her. After the first miscarriage, she would not give up. She was, in her own way, a fighter, like him, and she would not bow to the curse the demons had laid on his line.

     So they kept trying, pregnancy after pregnancy, each one ending in miscarriage or stillbirth.  With every loss, her determination to try again grew, just as her joy in life diminished, until she had no joy left, only her anger, her pain. Through it all, she had prayed everyday, constantly, that the Watcher show her some mercy, and give her one child.

     Reinier's hand drops from the stone that marks her grave, balling into a fist. The Watcher answered her prayers, and gave her one child. But the curse would not let him go so easily. In exchange for the heir she wanted so badly to bear, it took her life. Reinier's heart turned from the Watcher on that day, for what use is a god that cannot save his most faithful subject? But even as he lost his own faith, his drive to supplant the demonic religion the people here adhered to doubled. For Agneta. For vengeance on the demons who'd cursed him, not caring that the curse meant for him had destroyed an innocent, pure woman. He would put the god his wife had died serving in the place of the Lady, consort of a demon prince, and turn the people away from their heathen superstition to Agneta's faith.

     "I've had word that Church means to canonize me," Reinier tells her, letting his fist unfold and reaching out again for the cold stone that had replaced his Agneta, "St. Reinier the Dragonslayer. I wish you could see the paintings they've made of me, my love," he whispers, his lips turned into a smile of bitterness. She would be proud of his deeds, the way he'd conquered the whole country, built churches and spread the faith. Every church he built was graced with one of his relics, a tooth of the fearsome dragons he'd slain, and each displayed great paintings and tapestries of him, standing astride a fallen dragon, his sword in hand, ready to strike.

     The dragons had made it all so much easier for him, though he is sure that could not have been their intent. If they could even be aid to have intent, Reinier muses, still unsure about his own theories of dragon intelligence. They seemed, at times, to move with purpose beyond that exhibited by lesser animals. But their strategy in this war they waged against him showed a lack of understanding of human politics and allegiances. They could not attack him where he was strong, in the towns he'd fortified with the blue iron that weakens magic. So they attacked the unfortified towns that he had not yet conquered, towns who had been neutral or allied to his enemies. And those towns would invariably turn to him, offering him their fealty if he would just come and save them from the fearsome, firebreathing beasts. So many battles were avoided thanks to the actions of these dragons. And with every dragon he'd killed, his own legend grew, and did his influenhce over the local lords who relied on him.

     Reinier turns as he hears his named called from the path behind him. Reingard, his youngest sister, waves at him once they have his attention, and she and her husband, Gunteras, Agneta's brother, approach. Behind her skirts, Reinier spots the boy, and frowns.

     "Why did you bring him here?" Reinier asks the couple harshly. Gunteras stands quiet, his mouth open, obviously taken aback by the question. Reingard's brow furrows as she frowns at her brother.

     "He's come to pay respect to his mother," she snaps at him, "And to see his father," she adds in a more gentle tone, taking her brother's arm, "He grows more like you everyday," she says with a coaxing smile.

     When he'd given his son to his sister and her husband to foster, he'd told her he couldn't bear watching the boy grow older, seeing Agneta's face in his and being reminded of his loss. Looking at the boy now, seven years old this very week, Reinier sees nothing of his beloved's face. The boy is a complete copy of himself, and that pains him more than any remembrance of Agneta ever could. She gave her life to give Tiedric his, and yet he bears no resemblance to her. She died to give him birth, and she was erased as though she had never been.

     Reingard puts a gentle had on Tiedric's shoulder, urges him forward to greet his father, looking sternly at her brother. "Sire," Tiedric greets his father with a stiff bow, clearly as uncomfortable as Reinier is with this graveside meeting. In this, he had failed Agneta, Reinier knew. He could not bring himself to love the boy who took her from him, even knowing that she would be hurt to know of this distance between her husband and son.

     "Tiedric has begun his sword training," Gunteras attempts to break the awkward silence between father and son, "His sword master says he's exceptionally gifted with the weapon."

     "Your mother would be very proud of you," Reinier says, forcing a tight smile.


     "Thank you, Sire," Tiedric answers, mouthing the rote phrase with no feeling, and fidgeting awkwardly as his glance turns towards his mother's grave behind his father. The mother he never met, Reinier thinks, understanding for the first time the burden his son carries, the guilt his mother's death has laid on him. In that moment, his heart aches for the boy, for the son he cast away, and his hand makes a motion, as though to reach out for Tiedric and embrace him. But then he remembers the curse, and knows that as much as his heart aches, the boy is better off without his father, and Reinier's hand instead reaches for his brother-in-law, gesturing for him to follow as he steps away from his sister and his son. "Gunteras, I would speak with you of the next, and final, battle in this war."

    Reingard's disapproval is evident on her face, as in Gunteras' confusion, but both know better than to speak a word of objection. Gunteras follows Reinier as is his duty, and Reingard gently leads Tiedric to Agneta's grave, where he may confer with his other parent of cold stone.

     "Is there to be another battle, then?" Gunteras asks. He had believed that with the surrender of the Penguillies came the end of the war.

   "It is my hope that there will not," Reinier answers, "But it is a slim hope. Avendale has agreed to come to me and swear fealty, but the conditions I lay upon that fealty might be more than he can swallow."

     "Avendale?" Gunteras gasps in a near laugh, "Surely a village so small cannot put up any resistance? What could you possibly ask of him that he will not capitulate to? What could you even want of such an insignificant village?"

    "They are small, yes, but not insignificant. Avendale is the place their heathen religion holds most sacred. Where the other petty lords have pleaded with me to not burn their groves, they have stopped short of fighting to keep them, because as long as Avendale's still stands, their Lady has a home, and they keep a place for her in their hearts even as they mouth prayers to the Watcher. The priests and priestesses who flee from the Watcher's justice take refuge there. If I am to root out this heathen belief, Avendale must destroy their grove, and their high priestess must publicly recant, and set her sacred trees to the flame herself."

     "And you anticipate resistance in this?"

     Reinier closes his eyes and lets out an unconscious sigh, "Sterren Avendale will not do this willingly. I'm hoping the threat to her entire village will force her hand, but I know well, hers is a hand that is not easily forced. Her cousin will bend his knee to save his people, but Sterren..." He has not spoken her name in years, for who would he speak to of her? But he has thought of her often, wondered about the child she bore him, and whether they were spared from his curse. Late at night, when dark dreams keep him from restful sleep, his mind turns to happier memories of the love they shared, once, long ago, and his sorrow drives him to tears. Tears that no man must see him shed for a love none may know of.

     "Well, if she does not, they have hardly got the forces to stop us," Gunteras shrugs, "This war is won no matter what this priestess does."

     "It is," Reinier agrees, "But it would mean much to have the Avendale witch recant publicly and set the last of their groves ablaze. But even if she will not, I will see it done."

Chapter 49: Concealed Weapon

     "Push, Elara, push now," Aouregan says, trying to sound confident in her directions and not look over her shoulder for her mother's approval. She attended so many birthings with Sterren, observing, learning from her mother, that Aouregan was confident she was ready to be midwife for her half-sister Elara's first child. But that confidence wavered some as she knelt in front of Elara, and she discovered that doing a thing yourself is much different from observing it.
     "Very good, you're doing just fine," Sterren says, laying a gentle hand on her daughter's shoulder, "Both of you," she adds with a smile, proud of both of the young women she'd had the honor to raise. Elara's husband, Jean, leans over his wife, whispering words of encouragement as she grips his hands for support.

   Taran, who had been waiting outside while his wife and Aouregan tend to the birth of his grandchild, leans through the doorway, catching Sterren's attention.

     "Everything is going well, my love," Sterren assures him with a smile.

     Taran nods gratefully, but his expression remains worried, "Your cousin, the lord Konan is here for you. He says it's urgent," he tells his wife.
     Sterren's own smile fades at this; in these times of war, urgent summons are never glad tidings. She sighs, weary of the 15 years of sorrow the long wars against the Landgraabs have brought to her lands. Even a day like today, a day that should be celebrated, must be marked by this seemingly never ending war.

     "You're doing fine," she assures her daughter, "I must see what Konan wants, I'll return shortly."

    Her cousin, the young Lord of Avendale fidgets impatiently while he waits, his armored fist clenching and unclenching as he paces the yard. outside the smithy. His father, her uncle Marrec, would have summoned her to his manse rather than come himself, but Konan came of age during a time of war, had been on the field of battle when his father passed, and had not even been able to come home in time to see his sire buried. Battle had hardened him, and fighting side by side with men of every class had made him less conscious of his own place in the world. He was Lord of Avendale, but he did not stand on ceremony, and if he wished to speak to his subjects, he'd ride out to their homes rather than send for them and wait to be attended.

    "Cousin," he greets her as she and Tran join him in the yard, "They told me I could find you here."

     "What news? Sterren asks reluctantly.

     "Penguilly has yielded. The war is done," Konan answers, his lips set in a tight, angry line.

     War is over. The words should sound sweet. But the end of this war, the triumph of the Landgraabs, will not being the kind of peace that guarantees happiness for Avendale.

     "Landgraab has sent me a summons," Konan continues, "I am to go to him to bend my knee and swear fealty." Anger and resentment poison his words as he speaks, "I have no choice in this. Avendale is not strong enough to fight him on our own, and we are now without allies. I can at least say I was the last of all of to bend my knee to this foreign usurper."

     Sterren nods sadly, trying to think of some comforting words. But her cousin is not yet finished, and continues before she can breathe a word.

     "There's more. Cousin, he says I am to bring you to Odet, to stand trial...." He does not have to say what crime she is accused of. With every town captured by the Landgraab forces, the trials have followed, and all who practice 'withcraft', as the priests of the Watcher have named service to the Lady, are burned at the stake. Sterren cannot help but shudder to think of the fate that awaits her in Odet. "I would bend my knee, and swear my fealty, but I will not allow this," Konan says firmly, "I will fight Landgraab to the death before I allow this."

     "I do not think he'd agree to duel you for me," Sterren observes.

     "More's the pity," Konan agrees, "But I will not back down. If he wants you, he can come here himself and try to take you!"

     "No!" Sterren gasps in horror, "No, cousin, that I will not allow. I will not sacrifice this village to spare myself. You must not even consider it."

     "Nor should you be so eager to sacrifice your life," Taran says. Always conscious pf his peasant origins, her husband usually keeps his silnce when Sterren converses with her noble relations, but he will not stay quiet while she throws herself into danger.

     "Indeed, cousin," Konan agrees, "If you go to Odet, you are surely going to your death."

     Sterren's lips form a tight line as she considers her options. "If I go, I may not have to die," she muses,

     "What? Do you mean to assassinate the dragon slayer?" Konan gasps, his war experience suggesting only one solution to the problem they face.

     Sterren's eyes widen at the thought. Could she kill Reinier, if presented with the opportunity? As a healer and a servant of the lady, she is sworn to do no harm. Yet, surely, no man has proved his capacity for harm more than Reinier Landgraab, and even though he has made himself lord over all of them, surely his reign of blood and terror is not yet over. The persecution of her kind will never be over, she fears, until every one of them has been burned in their unholy fires. But, still, to kill a man? Even if justified, could she do it?

     "Even if I were given the opportunity to come close to him, I'm sure they would search me first, and take any weapon I attempted to conceal," Sterren muses.

     "Not if the weapon was cleverly disguised," Jean says, coming out to join the trio in his yard, intending to bring news of the successful birth of his daughter. "I have a few small, sharp blades, of my own design, crafted to appear as harmless everyday objects." The young blacksmith had as a boy longed to follow in his grandfather's footsteps and become a healer and servant of the Lady, but as he grew to a man he took up his father's trade, even while studying under Sterren's tutelage. And from his forge came such wondrous items that many wondered if it were not magic that created them rather than simple skill.

     He held out his hand, offering an amulet, wrought of silver. Sterren took it, looking at him quizzically. Jean smiled as he showed her how the pull the small latch concealed within the decoration, and Sterren gasped as the amulet broke into pieces, unfolding to become a sharp blade.

     "Oh!" Sterren breathes, "But, I don't think...I doubt I would be given the chance to use it," she says, still not certain she would avail herself of the opportunity to kill Reinier if it presented itself, "The witch trials are held in the public square, are they not?"

     Jean gives her a sharp nod, "Yes. In the market. I remember my grandfather's trial...my parents told me to stay at home, but I followed them anyway, and watched from behind a cart. Watched as they lit a fire beneath him, tied to a stake. And then the rains came," Jean looks Sterren in the eye, "And I saw, standing on the roof of a nearby building, I saw a fae. He had skin as blue as the sky and hair the color of midnight. You have allies among their kind, don't you Sterren? I remember seeing you speak with one, in the pond outside grandfather's house."

     Sterren smiles, remembering the boy Jean was, "I didn't know you saw that," she says, "But yes, I do have friends amongst the fae, and I mean to seek their aid before I go to Odet to be put on trial."

     Taran frowns, knowing he cannot dissuade his wife once her mind is set on a thing. "You should take Jean's concealed blade all the same," he advises, "You may find yourself in need of it."






 

   

This Long Hiatus

After I posted my last chapter in December, I meant to take a short break, in part to figure some things out, and in part because I was just getting kind of tired of all the set building, costuming and posing required to get pictures for this story.

And the break just kind of grew into a months long hiatus, as certain technical issues cropped up (the loss of many of my folders of pictures of  poses with their codes being the primary issue) and I just didn't feel like dealing with it. But I've recently gotten a few messages asking me if I'm going to continue this story, and I have decided that I do want to go on. I am currently writing up the next chapter and I've begun putting together the sets I need, as well as the Sims and costumes. I'm hoping it will be ready this weekend. Later next week at the latest.

There will be a few changes to how things have been done before, however. First, the chapters will be more text and less pictures. The loss of my pose codes is making the picture taking process more labor intensive. And there are other issues involved with writing a fantasy story and not having the kind of props available. In the past, I've cut scenes and scrapped ideas simply because here was no way to adequately illustrate them. Now, I will write those scenes and illustrate with words alone if I have to.

I do love Sim pictures, though, so there will still be plenty of pictures in each chapter. Just not necessarily ever scene will have a corresponding picture.

The chapters will also be a bit shorter, in terms of how many scenes there are. Many of my chapters used to go to several locations and contain several scenes. I think I will now be limiting my chapters to one location and scene.

Finally, for readers of my Brannon legacy: The crossover between the legacy and Summerdream assumed that what happens here is the past history of the world that my Brannons inhabit. Characters in the legacy have sometimes referred to events 'in the past' that have not yet happened in the Summerdream universe. One of the problems I've been having in going forward with Summerdream is that I want to take the story to places which would negate the events I may have referred to in Brannons. I tried to find a way to work the Brannon past reality into what I want to do here, and it just doesn't work to my satisfaction. So, what I've decided to do is cut this story off from the Brannons. 'Summerdream' is now something like an alternate universe from the Brannon universe, where events happened differently from the Brannon timeline.


Thank you all for your patience!

Chapter 48: Destroy Them All

Paerys' fury emanates from her like heat from the sun. She's so like her father, Aymeri thinks, his heart torn, so like his lost son. Whatever magic had made her mature so rapidly had denied him the chance to do it differently this time, to raise her better than he had Talfryn. Now, only a few days old and she's already as rash and stubborn as her father was at century old, and just as unwilling to listen to Aymeri's counsel.

"And that's it?" she demands of her grandfather, righteous in her fury, "You're just going to give up, while my father's murder goes unpunished?"

"No one wishes the dragonslayer dead more than I..." Aymeri begins, only to be cut off by her angry snarl.

"Wishing won't kill the dragonslayer!" Paerys shouts, "We must fight!"

"We did fight, Paerys, and seven more of us lie dead. I promised Ico I would not throw myself at the dragonslayer's sword, for her and our daughter's sake. I have not given up, but I will not fight in a war against a human army again. We need a better plan if we are to rid the world of this dragonslayer."

"What is your plan, then?" Paerys demands.

"I don't know!" Aymeri shouts, his anger and frustration getting the better of him. "I don't have one," he admits through lips tightly pressed together, "You must be patient, granddaughter, and give us time to think this through."

Her dragon grandfather had no help to offer, so Paerys went next to her mother's father, the ancient and powerful Auberon. He doesn't have the personal stake in revenge that Aymeri does, but he has what the old dragon lacks, near infinite power, and it is that which Paerys hopes to coax from him.

"You could make the skies fall over them, wipe all the mortals out with just a word, a wave of your hand," Paerys hurls an angry accusation at him, "But you do nothing! You sit by, hiding away here in your dreamworld while the human filth take over more and more land."

"The dragon blood runs strong in this one," Tania whispers to her sister.

"Yes, and with all the power of the fae," Jennicor muses, "A dangerous combination."

Auderon stands, impassive, looking over his hot-tempered granddaughter with a cool eye. "I could do many things, child," he says finally, his voice even and calm, "But this destruction you desire...I will not do that."

A growl rises in Paerys' throat as her first forms into a tight ball, though even in her worst anger, she knows she would never attempt to strike the ancient fae. "I know you have no great love for the dragons, but what of your daughter? These mortals stole her mate from her...will you do nothing?"

"I grieve for Evenfall and her loss," Auberon says, speaking as much about the magical transformation that turned his granddaughter into an adult so rapidly, and thus denying his daughter the solace of nurturing and raising the child her slain dragon had left her with, "But, remember, child, Evenfall had a mother, whose loss I still feel everyday. You, child, are born of dragon and fae blood. But you are also human yourself."

Calling Paerys a human was an exaggeration, his words had been meant to make her reflect on her own ancestry and her connection to the people she just referred to as 'filth', but they only enraged her further.

Paerys growl turns into an animal snarl as she raises her hands above her head. "If you mean to do nothing, then I must act alone."

"Paerys! No!" Jennicor and Tania protest in unison, seeing what it is that Paerys means to do.

"I lay my curse on the dragonslayer, so that he will know my wrath" Paerys intones,  heedless of their warnings, "He will grieve as my mother grieves, he will know despair and loss. Everything he loves will fall to ruin, his children will bring him naught but sorrow--"

"Enough!" Auberon shouts, raising his hand, closing Paerys throat with his will, so that she cannot continue with her curse.

"You are a foolish child, playing with magic as though it is a toy," he says cooly as his granddaughter seethes in her forced silence, struggling fruitlessly against his magic.

"A curse, once spoken, cannot be undone," Tania says.

"And yours, spoken heedlessly and in anger, with no forethought, will have far greater consequences than you intend, and even you will not be able to take your words back," Jennicor concludes.

Auberon releases his hold on her voice when she stops struggling. "I take nothing back!" she spits her fury at these elders who think they can tell her what to do, "The dragonslayer will suffer!"

"I have no doubt that he will," Auberon answers, "And that suffering will spread far and wide, taking the innocent as well as the guilty. I cannot remove the curse you've already laid, child, but I will not permit you to add more onto it. Speak so much as a word of a curse and I will silence you."

Paerys growls, her hand clenching into a fist as she mutters her assent to her grandfather's command. He is far more powerful than she is, and there's nothing she can do to defy his will.

Paerys had had no more luck enlisting the aid of the other dragon nests in the area; Aeaea had lost two mates in the last battle and had retreated into mourning. Like Aymeri, she still nursed a desire for vengeance, but would not act on it with a plan that assured success. Inira and Fearghus, who had lost mates and a son when they still lived in the north, had fled their home to escape this conflict, and had only joined this fight because it had been the will of the majority. Neither of them would join cause with Paerys acting on her own. Ailidh had perished, along with four of her mates, leaving eight of her mates behind, without a nest. Most of them had dispersed, needing to find places in other nests, but Brant and Derrell had remined in Aymeri's camp for the time being, and Paerys pins her last hope of finding vengeance on them.

"We are with you," Brant declares when Paerys asks if they will continue their war against the dragonslayer.

"The dragonslayer took Ailidh and four of brothers. He must pay," Derrell agrees.

"Just tell us what you mean to do."

"The dragonslayer has his army, protected by his metal that weakens us all, dragon and fae. We cannot hope to win by striking him directly. But we can destroy the home he left behind when he set off to war against the other towns."

"There must be soldiers left there to defend it," Brant points out.

"Yes, and they will have their metal. Enough that we dare not attack them from up close. But, two dragons can do great damage from on high," she tells them, "If we cannot kill him, we can destroy what he loves, and make him suffer the losses we have endured at his hands." 

Taran had taken Elara with him as he performed his rounds in his duties as reeve, and Sterren was spending the quiet afternoon in her study, reading, when the fairy appeared to her.

"I am called Winterdream," she said, "And I have come to offer my aid, in exchange for your own."

"What do you wish of me?" Sterren asks.

"You have Auberon's protection, which extends to your whole village. I, too, have a human under my care, but I am not as powerful as Auberon, and cannot protect him from the dark times I see coming. I need you to take this boy, Jean, the grandson of the healer Fransez in Odet, into your home, and keep him safe with you until the danger has passed."

"I will do anything to help Fransez and his kin," Sterren says readily, "But what is this danger you see?"

"I am no prophet, but I see plainly enough which direction this road is taking. The dragonslayer has stirred the dragons to wrath, and fostered the enmity of a powerful and vengeful fae. He has fallen under a terrible curse, one that threatens all he loves, both now and in the future, and I fear for all who live in his lands," the fairy tells her.

Sterren's eyes widen as she takes in this information, "I will gladly take the boy, and Fransez as well, into my house. But, I cannot ride to Odet in my condition," she explains, indicating her pregnant belly.

"Shayeleigh waits for you outside. She can take you there and back in an instant, with no harm to the child you carry," Winterdream promises, "I know you will not ask for a reward, but I will give you one, nonetheless. Your mind is troubled with a secret you keep for a friend, who fears the true identity of the father of her child will be revealed once the girl is born. I can give you an amulet,which, so long as the child wears it, will cast a glamour over her that will make her appearance match the expectations of those that look at her."

Winterdream is right, Sterren would never ask payment for giving what aid she could to anyone in need, but she will not refuse the gift the fairy offers. "That would ease the worries of both myself and Gaelle," she says, "Thank you."

It was a dream, Sterren realizes as she lifts her head, she'd fallen asleep while reading. A dream, but not 'just' a dream, Sterren is sure. The fae use dreams to contact people, and she has no doubt that Winterdream and the favor she asked of her are quite real.

Stepping out into the yard proves it, as Sterren finds Shayeleigh waiting for her their, in the form of the same horse she'd ridden to Odet to rescue the wilder from Reinier's prison.

"Winterdream said you could carry me there and back in an instant," Sterren says, "That the journey would not endanger my baby."

Shayeleigh nickers, and touches her nose gently to Sterren's belly "I'll take that as a promise," Sterren smiles. Before she goes with the fairy, she leaves a quick not for Taran, telling him only that she had to tend to someone in need and expected to be home soon. It's only a partial truth, she knows, but she wouldn't wish him to worry, and will tell him the whole of it when he returns. More than likely, she'll be back before he's finished his rounds, anyway.

As promised, the journey to Odet happened in an instant, and Sterren finds herself in her friend Fransez's home as quick as a thought. Convincing him to leave with her was a whole other matter, and the sun had begun to set before she had finished explaining what Winterdream had told her.

"It's not that I don't believe what the fairy told you," Fransez protests after Sterren's second entreaty that he leave with her immediately, "I know your family has always had a close tie to the fair folk. But if there is danger to Odet, then I must stay and help my people. Surely you understand that, Sterren?"

"I do," Sterren nods, "But the boy?"

Fransez looks fondly down on Jean, "His mother will--" Before he can finish his thought, a loud crash like thunder booms outside, followed by screaming.

They rush outside in time to witness a sight none had ever imagined possible. Two great wheeled in the sky above the town, shrieking as they spat giant balls of fire on the buildings below.

"Lady have mercy," Fransez breathed.

People fled to the square from the burning buildings, screaming and crying, searching for their loved ones.

One young woman, spotting Fransez in the crowd, rushes over to him and Sterren. "Healer!" she cries, "Please, you must come, my Lady is not well!"

"Who is your lady?" Sterren asks the girl, who stares back at her, wide eyed and frightened.

"This is Harildis, one of the Lady Agneta's handmaids," Fransez explains to Sterren, "Harildis, what happened to Lady Agneta? Is she injured?"

"No," Harildis answers, "That is, I don't know. I set out looking for you before...before this," she sweeps her hand to indicate the chaos and fore engulfing the town. "It's the baby, my Lady had these pains in her belly, and she started bleeding..." Harildis starts to sob and cannot continue.

"I'll go with Harildis," Steren decides, "Get Jean to my horse, she'll take him to safety. Then you can tend to the wounded." Fransez nods, agreeing to her plan, and Sterren follows Harildis to the Landgraab's Keep.

The Keep had been hit by the dragon fire as well, the prison tower had fallen and fire raged in the outbuildings. The servants had put Lady Agneta in one of the bedrooms on the lower floor, the one Sterren had stayed in herself when she had been a guest here. As dangerous as it might be to stay here, with the fire so close, it would be just as dangerous to move her in her condition, Sterren decides, taking comfort from the fact that the dragons seemed to have ended their attack as quickly as it came, and that the soldiers were already working on putting out the fires they'd left in their wake.

"You are only recently with child," Sterren observes, "Two o three months at most?" she gueses. The Lady Agneta nods through her sobs. "And these pains?" she asks.

"Like knives in my womb," Agneta says, "Please, I don't want to lose my baby."

Midwifery can be the most rewarding and the most painful of her duties as healer. Sterren has dealt with the heartbreak of miscarriage before, and though Agneta's is the most physically painful she'd ever tended to, it's not the physical pain she worries about the most. "I'll do what I can," she promises, "But it may be too late."

It was an ordeal of some hours as the poor girl labored and finally gave birth to a twisted, gnarled and inhuman mass, nothing like Sterren had ever seen or even heard of. The words Winterdream spoke to her in her dream echo in her thoughts, that Reinier had fallen under a curse that threatens all he loves. It cannot be a coincidence that the dragons attacked moments after Agneta's pains began, and the unusual nature of Agneta's miscarriage suggests a supernatural cause.

"You're going to be all right," Sterren whispers, soothing as she wipes the sweat from Agneta's brow and settles her back into bed, "You should rest now."

"My baby..." Agneta sobs.

"I'm sorry," Sterren whispers sadly, knowing that her consolation will be of no help.

Reinier had been on the road home when the attack came; even at their distance, they could see the dragon fire raining down from the sky onto Odet. He'd left the bulk of his army to ride ahead with a select number men, pushing their horses to gallop their fastest, arriving too late to stop the dragons. They had laid waste to his town, his people, terrorized and frightened, scrambled about to tend to the wounded, rescue those trapped in the destroyed and burning buildings, and to put out the fires. His men immediately rushed to aid them, but Reinier's only thought was for Agneta as he ran into the smoldering remains of his keep. The small huddle of servants tending to their wounds in the great hall told him that Agneta had escaped imjury in the onslaught, but that she'd some trouble with the baby, and they directed him to the room where they'd put her.

The servants had told him a midwife was with her, but of course, they couldn't have known who Sterren was to tell him her name. Of all the things he might have thought when he saw her, tending to his wife in her greatest need, it was just relief he felt, knowing Agneta was in the hands of the best healer he knew, even if he cannot begin to explain to himself how she came to be here.

"Agneta...is she...?"

"She is well," Sterren answers his unfinished question, rising to let him take her place at his wife's side, "But exhausted. The child, I'm afraid, is gone." Though she would have preferred getting out of Odet without encountering him, she's is happy for Agneta's sake, at least, that he's arrived. 

Reinier takes her hand in his, heart breaking as he sees her eyes rimmed red with crying and the stains of tears across her cheeks. "Oh, my love," she sobs, "Our baby..." she chokes, unable to say the words.

He rest his cheek against her hand, letting his tears moisten her fingers. Since he got her letter in ort de Lanne, he had thought of little else than his joyful homecoming, Agneta's smile and sparkling eyes ever in his thoughts, and he longed for nothing more than to be with her. Seeing her thus, mourning the child that she had wanted so much, is as devastating as the sight of his town on fire. "I rode as soon as I got your letter," he whispers, his lips caressing her fingers as he speaks, tasting his own tears,, :It was not soon enough."

"You are with me now," she answers, closing her eyes, only able to relax now that Reinier is by her side again. Reinier gently lays her hand down by her side, leaving her to sleep.

Sterren had heard the couple's brief exchange while she had been cleaning up, and is moved to pity by Reinier's grief. "She will recover," she promises him in a strained whisper, "She can still bear children, I'm certain."

"Thank you for helping her, Sterren," Reinier answers, his voice breaking on her name, torn by his own emotions, his love Agneta, his sorrow for their shared loss, his unresolved feelings for his first love, standing before him now, carrying his child, and very possibly wishing she weren't. "She wanted this child so badly. I told she was so young...why did this happen, Sterren?"

He reaches tentatively for her, an unconscious gesture, just to touch her belly, to make contact with the child he cannot acknowledge.

"Don't you dare touch me," she hisses at him in sudden anger, the words Winterdream spoke about the curse that threatens everything he loves ringing clear in her mind, fearing for the fate of the child she carries, "Do not ever come near my child!"

"I didn't mean..." Reinier fumbles for an apology, shocked by the strength of her rage. 

"This was a peaceful place before you came," Sterren growls through clenched teeth, "We never had trouble with the dragons. You came here bringing war and destruction, and now you've stirred up the dragons and even the fae against you, and their wrath touches us all. You brought all this death and misery down on all of us. The fae have cursed you, and that curse stole the child from your wife's womb. This is your doing, Reinier, and I fear you will destroy us al before this is done."

"Curse?" Reinier sputters, "What curse?"

"Tend to your wife. End your wars. It may not yet be too late," Sterren, avoiding answering him directly, wishing she had never spoken about the curse, not sure if it would bring her bad luck to tell him of it. She whirls away, rushing out of the room before he can think to detain her, hoping that Shayeleigh will somehow know to appear when she needs her. Taran will be worried, she thinks with regret, and no doubt very surprised by the young Jean delivered to his doorstep in place of his wife.

Alone with Agneta now, Reinier kneels by her bedside, making a silent prayer to the Watcher for health.

"That was her," Agnet whispers, quiet and hoarse, "I heard you say her name."

"It was," Reinier answers truthfully, "She's an excellent healer. I am glad that is was she who tended to you."

"She was kinder to me than I would have been to her if our situation were reversed," Agneta says.

"That's not true," Reinier admonishes her gently, "You are kindness itself."

"To you, I am. But I don't know that I could do for her what she did for me, knowing that she carries your child." Her lips quiver as she speaks of the child Sterren carries, the one that still lives and will be born. "Is it true, what she said, that the fae demons have put a curse on you?" she whispers hoarsely as the tears begin to flow anew.

"If it's true, they meant to punish me, my love, and you are suffering for my sins," Reinier answers, unable to hold his own tears in any longer, "This is my doing. I am so sorry, so sorry."

Agneta pulls him down closer, looking into his eyes with a sad and gentle firmness, "Do not say these things, my husband. You are a good man, and righteous. These dragons who attack us in the night, destroying our city, are monsters who deserve to die. These fae demons who would steal the life of an unborn child as punishment to the father are evil incarnate. They have hit us hard, my love, but I know you are strong, and you will strike back, harder. In the name of the Watcher, you will drive these dragons and demons for these lands, cleansing it for decent people to live in safety."

"Yes," Reinier whispers with eyes closed, her words reminding him of his purpose, and casting out the doubts Sterren had sown in his mind.

"Swear it, Reinier," Agneta insists, "Swear to me that you will punish these vile demons who took our baby. Swear to me that you will destroy them all."

"I swear it, Agneta," Reinier promises, "I will not rest until every dragon and every fae demon has been driven from this land. They will pay, all of them will pay, for what they've done."