A NOVEL

Skies of Fire

By Cyndy Johnson

 

†

 

ow long he had been laying there he did not know. His eyes were closed yet he dare not open them for they hurt enough closed. The pain that ran along his body was even more painful thus he refused to move or even find out where he was. Time passed yet he did not know if it was days or minutes each time his feeble mind came back to reality. There were no fleeting visions or any clue as to why he was laying in the blistering sun with a cold autumn’s breeze caressing his aching body.

Nothing.

In between wakefulness, the young man tried to remember anything but would soon pass out. He remembered rain falling in the sky, colder then the air which did a bit to wake him up but he soon failed to even come to grasp with that and for the last time his mind went blak.

 

“How close is the next town?” Jeffery Ramsey asked he watched lightning crashing outside his rain-swept window of the limousine. “I have a bad feeling about this storm.”

The driver refused to take his eyes off the road when he spoke. “We should reach Jarrepool in a few minutes, sir,” he said. “We’re passing Adamant Ridge right now.”

Jeffery shuddered as the lightning ripped through the sky again and the rain seemed to come down harder then before. He peered out the window watching the landscape, drenched in rain, nearly obscured his vision of the outside world. He was an elderly man with small skepticals on the bridge of his nose, well kept silver hair and a pleasant, if not wrinkled face. His eyes, which usually danced with life during the day, were solemn and quite as if fearful that the storm would claim his life. In the seat across from him, a little girl was curled up sleeping the storm away. Her name was Sarah Tanner, one of the few children that he was able to take into his orphanage in the city of Branduin. He had a handful of children, mostly from his home city itself, but on a trip to Silverne on business he had found her wandering the streets lost. She was seven, or so she said. She looked younger then that.

The lightning flashed again and for a brief moment, Jeffery was able to see the entire rocky base of Adamant Ridge in an eerie light. With a gasp he suddenly cried out that the drive should stop. Sarah looked up, disturbed when the limo came to a jarred stop on the edge of the road. “Sir?” the driver asked.

“Wait here. I saw something…”

The rain seemed lighter when he stepped out into the cold October storm. As he fumbled with his jacket and cane, the driver came out to assist as he made his way back down the road and toward his object of attention. “I swear it was not a rock,” he told the driver, Seth Anderson. “It looked like a human being.”

“Sir, no one would come this close to Adamant Ridge after what happened last week!”

Jeffery seemed to ignore him yet his mind did turn to the newspapers that had been circulating constantly in Adraln the past few days. It was being said that a Necromancer, Mage of Death, had attacked a traveling prison wagon who was taking survivors of the Black Water Prison fire to another location. That attack had been nearly ten miles from Adamant yet some people claimed to have seen magic and other such horrors a few days later on the Ridge. It was one reason he had wished to leave the area so soon.

The storm did not seem to be cooperating any longer and finding the body took more time then either Jeffery or Seth had wanted. It was Sarah, how had left the car when she became scared of the storm again, that found the body of the young man, his golden hair plastered in a muddy mess to his bloody face. She screamed and Seth slapped a hand over her mouth, afraid of the reports as much as anyone else. Jeffery knelt next to the body, frowning in fear that the young man was dead only to see a faint puff of white air coming from his mouth and that his clammy skin was still warm to the touch.

“Get a blanket, Seth. He’s still alive.”

As the driver ran off to do as he was told, Jeffery began to run his hands along the young mans body. There were broken bones and many cuts that had been caused by things other then falling from a cliff. Sarah came up next to him, staring at the young man’s face in silence before she said, and “He’s an Elf, sir.”

“Yes,” Jeffery said, glancing at the pointed ears that were clearly visible in the matted hair. “And he was a prisoner, too,” he added, gesturing to the shackles that were still around the young man’s wrists, chains broken. Very carefully, Jeffery rolled the Elf over and pulled away the torn shirt on his right shoulder. A deep puncture, most likely from a dagger or sword, obscured most of the mark that would distinguish the prison the Elf had last been at. “We’re going to get him to a hospital,” he said as Seth handed him a few blankets and he began to wrap the Elf in them. “Seth, how long till Jarrepool?”

“At least fifteen minutes, if the storm keeps up like this. Sir, are you sure you want to do this? We should just take him to the police. Elves…”

“I spent enough time watching how Elves are treated nowadays to know that they are human like the rest of us. Besides, if no one claims him with in the given about of time, whatever that is, I’m taking him to the Estate. I could use a gardener or something. Sarah, help me get this under him. Careful…there. If he does have any broken bones we don’t want to make them worse. Seth, take the other end and help me get him into the limo.”

Sarah ran a head to open the door of the limo, carrying Jeffery’s cane, while the two men struggled with the limp, dead-weight of the Elf. He was placed on the floor between the two seats and made as comfortable as possible. While Sarah watched, Jeffery attempted to do what he could for the wounds and Seth started off into the storm again.

“Why are Elves hated?” Sarah asked as Jeffery began to rub the dirt and blood from the young man’s face.

Jeffery smiled slightly, glancing up at her in the light coming from the overhead bulb on the ceiling of the limo, but he didn’t know what to tell a seven year old girl about War, or that it was because of the Elves that the wall had been built, dividing Adraln and Shaor to keep as much magic and Dead out as possible. “Perhaps another day, child,” Jeffery replied. “Why don’t you help me make him comfortable until we reach the hospital? And I want you to check to make sure he is breathing and check his pulse every five minutes.”

“How?”

“Like this,” and he preceded to show her where to check for a pulse and how to lean over the young man’s mouth to hear, feel and see if he was breathing. Jeffery watched her, a soft smile on his lips. He had been abandoned when he was twelve, taken in by a young couple and raised into their family. Because of them, he had wanted to give back what they gave to him. This girl was yet another addition to that dream. Then his gaze shifted to the unconscious young man. The blood around his skull worried Jeffery, as did his countless other wounds. If he woke, they would perhaps know what he was doing nearly dead at the bottom of a cliff.

The streets of Jarrepool were crowded despite the storms that kept rolling in. The rain had ceased to down pour yet it still came down heavily. Sarah had fallen asleep next to Jeffery as he stared out the window, occasionally glancing at the Elf on his limo floor. It was hard to believe the stories of Elves that he had heard in his childhood. How they were associated with Dark Magic and witch craft. The young man lying on his floor, once he had cleaned up his face as best he could, was not evil in his eyes. Helpless, perhaps, but not evil.

“We’re at the hospital, sir,” Seth said, sounding tired and worn out.

“Thank you, Seth. I’ll be back out in a minute. Wait here.”

The hospital of Jarrepool was large and modern. As Jeffery Ramsey entered, his butler Samuel Darrey at his heels as always (he had been sleeping during the entire trip and was filled in by Seth when they entered the cities busy highway). Calm lights lit the white ceiling of the Emergency Entrance. Jeffery walked straight to the receptionist’s desk.

“May I help you?”

“I found a young man at the bottom of Adamant Ridge. He’s unconscious and beaten up badly. I don’t care that he is an Elf, either. He needs medical attention and I will pay whatever money is needed to get him in here.” Jeffery finished sternly, staring the woman who was startled. Looking a bit uncertain, she turned to make a phone call.

Jeffery waited.

Samuel only sighed as the receptionist made her calls. Finally she turned to him. “We do have a doctor on staff tonight that deals with Elven cases,” she said with more attitude that Jeffery would have liked. He stared at her. “Where is he? Did you leave him at the Ridge?”

“God, no! He’s in my limo which is parked outside. I have a heart enough to rescue orphans, what makes you think I won’t rescue Elves?”

“I’ll send a stretcher,” the woman remarked hotly, turning to talk on the phone again. When she hung up, she looked at him. “Dr. Martin will be down shortly to ask you questions. I need you to fill this out. Are you going to be waiting?” she asked, making is sound as if she already knew he would leave.

“I’ll be waiting in the lobby,” Jeffery replied, taking the clipboard she handed him and moving to the decorated waiting area. He told Samuel to bring Sarah inside and that once the Elf was brought in that Seth was to park the limo and come inside as well. As the butler shuffled off to do as he was told, grudgingly, Jeffery filled out the form which stated that he was the one who brought the Elf in. He left patient information blank – he didn’t know anything about him yet. After he filled it out he returned it to the receptionist who took it with out a second glance at him.

All he could do now was wait.

He never noticed the two workers that went out to get the Elf nor when Sarah came in with Seth – Samuel had gone for a walk to find a local bar as he saw no point in ‘waiting in a hospital all night for an Elf who would most likely be dead by morning’. The girl went to play with the toy set while Seth leaned back in one of the chairs to take a nap, most likely thinking of his girlfriend back in Branduin. Tina was often at the Estate after school as she went to Branduin Collage in the city. Jeffery would never tell Seth this but he did not care much for Tina Price – she was the kind of girl he would have stayed away from in his youth. However, young minds these days were different.

“Mr. Jeffery Ramsey?”

Jeffery looked up to see a middle aged doctor looking at him with a clipboard in hand. “I was told you brought in an Elf tonight?”

“Yes. Is he going to make it?”

“We’ve done all we could. He has a fracture on his skull so we did a CAT scan and a few other tests. It is possible he may never wake up and if he does, I doubt that his memory will be fully intact. We also did some scans of his right shoulder to determine which Prison he was from but the wound, a possible dagger stab, has made it unreadable. Our only hope is that he wakes up and remembers any clues about who he is. He is in intensive care at the moment. Are you leaving Jarrepool tonight or will you be staying?”

“Staying for the night,” Jeffery said, momentarily silences at what Dr. Martin had said. “I will check back in the morning. Do what you can for him. I’ll pay for it.”

The doctor nodded, smiling slightly. “Elves are nothing new to me. Most are released too soon or die.” He shrugs. “There are a few kind souls in this world that will help them but most must return whence they came. It is why they are still branded. The one you brought it has only been enlisted at one prison which would be easy if it wasn’t maimed by the wound. Did you want to see him before you go or do you need to get going?”

Jeffery glanced at Sarah, curled up on the floor next to a dozing Seth, who was most likely listening. “In the morning, perhaps, Dr. Marin. We’ve had a long enough day. Good night. I’ll stop by first thing in the morning to see if he makes it.”

They shook hands. Seth was suddenly up, carrying Sarah who continued to doze and Jeffery grinned, knowing full well that his driver was just waiting for the end. “Let’s get to the hotel,” Jeffery said, as Seth shifted the weight of the sleeping little girl in his arms. “Tomorrow is another day, as I always say.” Hooking his cane over his arm, Jeffery left the hospital, though that night he wondered about the Elf that he had brought in tonight.

 

Royal Hotel was classy, aristocratic and caused Sarah Turner’s hazel green eyes to open wider then walnuts when she learned she was staying in such a place for the night.

Jeffery lay in the bed as the little girl walked around the room, her brown hair now clean and wearing a night gown that they had bought in Silverne, Rushock earlier that day. She was still getting use to the little pleasures that came with having money and not having to worry where her next meal was going to come from or where she would be sleeping that night. Jeffery smiled, enjoying the expressions on her face as she went to inspect the floor lamp on the other side of the room. The television was airing the news, something that Seth kept a close watch on since the attack on the prison wagon and burning of Black Water Prison.

“What if this Elf,” Seth suddenly said and Jeffery looked up from the paper work he was glancing over in the lamp light, “is involved in this,” he said, pointing with the remote at the screen which was displaying more footage of the Black Water fire.

Inside, Jeffery’s heart twisted but he shrugged nonchalantly. “Well, at least the news media will have more to report about. Dr. Martin said his memory may never come back.”

~…reports from Black Water officials have laid claim to the bodies found at the attack site. Queen Ananhail Silvenbirch and Princess Tiaryah Evenbrook were among the bodies found along with a number of men, who are presumed to be Necromancers from the South, Elven prisoners, and guards. If sources are correct that magic was seen within the area, and near Adamant Ridge, then it is believed that whatever it was set out to murder the former Royal family of Elves.

However, the bodies of King Turold Grayfox and his sons, Amarion Ashfalcon and Randaril Silvermark were not found. It is believed that, while searches still continue for them, that they have been killed. ~

“Do you think he is one of the royal family?” Seth asked, raising an eyebrow. “Quite a bit of money they’re offering for him, I bet.”

“Shut up,” Jeffery snapped. “The life of the Elves isn’t anything worth jesting about. If we were in their position we would not think it funny. It’s the same as the African American’s back on Earth,” he added, referring to the world that had colonized the planet of Sentra years ago only to find that Elves already dwelled here and that magic was very much real. The War in the south was only a five-hundred years old yet it seemed like it had lasted forever.

Pulling out his laptop he began to search the internet for Black Water Prison and the listing of prisoners they had had. The name Amarion was not a rare name among elves thus it was hard to determine if the Elf he had rescued was indeed the crowned Prince. After a half-an-hour searching only to find that finding any clues as to which Elf he had found among some thousand inmates, he closed his laptop. Seth was now watching one of the old-Earth movies – the name escaped him. Sarah was looking at all her cloths (again), spinning around and grinning childishly.

“Time for bed. We have a long drive tomorrow,” he said. Seth sighed and turned off the television. As Sarah jumped into the bed he once occupied, the young driver went to find Samuel after making sure that Jeffery didn’t need anything else. Jeffery waved him off and he left, knowing his night wouldn’t be over until he had found their rather unreliable butler. Until Jeffery found another to fill Samuel’s spot, they were stuck with him.

“Mr. Ramey?” Sarah asked moments after the lights were out. “Are Elves bad?”

The older man chuckled. “No, little princess, they are not. Some people think they are but it is only because people don’t understand them. That is why others say they are bad.”

“Oh.”

She was silent for a time then spoke again. “What’s going to happen to the one we brought to the hospital? Is he going to die?”

“Perhaps,” Jeffery sighed. “The doctors are going to try and save his life.”

“If he lives, what will happen?”

“I don’t know, princess. That will be up to others. He may not even remember who he was.”

“Why?”

“He hit his head really hard.”

“Will he remember his name?”

“Perhaps. He may not.”

“Will he remember his mommy and daddy?”

Jeffery closed his eyes. Sarah had no clue who her parents were. She had been abandoned when she was so young that the only live she had known was that of a street rat and pick-pocket. “We will see, princess. Maybe we’ll have answers in the morning. Go to sleep.”

Soon her soft breathing filled the room and he smiled, thankful that he had been able to save at once precious life tonight, even if the young man found at Adamant ridge died with in the night.

 

 can’t see why you bother with them,” Sandra sighed as she tossed her bloodied gloves into the waste pail as they departed from the operating room. “He’s just going to die like the rest of the ones you try to save. Or be claimed by his owner or a prison official.”

“Yes, perhaps, but even an Elf deserves to be treated until further notice.”

“It’s a waste of time and of money,” Sandra replied as Dr. Andrew Martin pulled a sheet off a board and looked at it. “We may not even find out who he is.”

Andrew shrugged. “A life is a life and until we have further notice he stays here. Now, why don’t you,” he said, putting aside the paper work he had to do to wrap a friendly arm around his disturbed (yet faithful) nurse, “Go home and rest.”

Sandra glanced up at him. “My shift is over anyway.”

The young doctor grinned, tapping his pen on the clip board smartly. “Yep, even better reason then to go home now that another long hard day is finished!” As she left, rolling her eyes at him and grinning, Andrew looked down at the medical report he still had to fill out. Despite everything he had told Sandra he knew that she was right. This young (though many Elves proved to be over a thousand years or two), man had an owner looking for him; it was quite possible he would be sent back to a horrible life all together. This was most likely another case of an owner beating one of his slaves and leaving him for dead. He would prance through the hospital doors in a few days to claim him and beat him for ‘running away’. It was a common case.

“You would think the human race would learn,” Andrew sighed, scribbling the medical report in his nearly unreadable hand writing. Even if they were a million light years from their founding planet Earth, it could be assumed that what some called a misunderstanding of racial views and traditions, was just a repeat of Earth’s history, namely the United States of America. Not all agreed with the way Elves were treated and there were some that helped where they could, such as Mr. Ramsey and himself. Elves were people like the rest of them.

Finishing his report, Andrew went to place it into his files, pausing near the CC, Critical Care, to watch the nurses and assistance as they settled the Elf in for the night. His wounds were not magical, which would have pin-pointed him to the Adamant Ridge attack that was till a hot headline on the news. If he pulled through the night, however, he would be the object of the news. Andrew sighed as he watched through the nearly closed blinds as the monitor’s were attached. He smiled slightly. Who knew what his story was before Jeffery Ramsey found him. Perhaps he had been abandoned like so many other Elves that had been brought to Jarrepool for treatment.

Stifling a yawn, Andrew continued on his way to his office. It was way past midnight and his wife would be waiting for him still despite the hour.

“Doctor Martin?” a voice asked as he was placing the file in the correct folder. He would add it to the computerized database tomorrow. Looking up he saw Josh Samuelson peering into his office. “The Elf…”

When the younger man, a student working as an intern, faltered in his sentence, Andrew paused. “He’s awake already?”

“No, sir, he’s been settled in. Margaret isn’t sure she set up the heart meter right, though. Could you check it over? She doesn’t believe me.”

Margaret Beetly. Andrew chuckled softly and Josh shrugged helplessly before turning to leave.  Gathering his bag and dropping his keys into his pocket, Andrew returned to the Elf’s room to make a final inspection of the intern’s work. The hospital, though it had a program for Elves, didn’t want intern’s working with ‘more important’ patients. Of course, Andrew made sure that the Elves received the same procedures and care on the claim that he was training them right. Some of the interns, however, didn’t seem to care about Elves at all thus slacked. Margaret was one of those that were rare for his team as she refused to do as little as possible for their immortal patients. She always fretted over every little thing. She was still fussing with the heart monitor when Andrew walked in. Startled, she gasped, a plump hand nearly knocking off the cords that ran to a patch on the Elf’s chest.

“Sorry, sir, I didn’t see you come in,” she babbled, hastily moving so that he could come check her work. “Josh said it was right but…well, I don’t think it is. It is a different machine then I used on that little girl we had in a few days ago who…” her voice faltered and Andrew looked over at her in the darkened room.

“We did all we could,” he replied then turned back to checking all the switches. “Its right,” he said, then switched on the monitor and the rhythmic beeping of a beating heart filled the room. “You did well. Why don’t you go home and get some rest.”

Margaret sighed, looking again at the Elf. “Why do people do this? It’s like they’re animals and they were here before we were.”

“Yes,” Andrew agreed, moving over to the bed to make sure that nothing had developed within the last hour of surgery to repair the major wounds. “But they’re tougher then we are when it comes to wounds and illness. He’s luck to be alive, Marge. Very lucky. He’ll be even luckier if he remembers anything when, or if, he wakes up.”

She nodded and left with one final glance at the young man that lay sleeping on the verge of death. Then she left and Andrew followed, also looking once more at the Elf. Margaret had a way of becoming too attached to patients which worried him as her chosen career as a nurse. She was still taking the death of the seven year old girl harshly.

“See you tomorrow, Elf,” Andrew sighed, closing the door behind him and leaving the hospital wing with faint hopes that his labor tonight would pay off. Knowing his luck, the Elf would die and he would move on to another patient that would enter Death and never return.

 

Dawn was rising brightly over the city when Jeffery Ramsey stepped out of his limo, Sarah Tanner soon after him dressed in a white dress with pink ribbons and a ribbon in her hair. She looked sleepy, being it was seven-thirty in the morning, but she was a bit eager to hear about the Elf from the other day. Jeffery left Seth with the limo – and Samuel sound asleep in the passenger’s seat as he was still hung-over from last night. With a little girl on his arm, Jeffery entered the hospital once more before he would continue home to Branduin.

“Hello,” he said cheerfully to the receptionist who was not the same one as last night, thankfully. “I’m here to see a patient that was brought in last night.”

“Alright,” she said in an almost fake tone of voice. “Name?”

“It’s not known at this point. Doctor Martin took him in and told me to check on him. He’s an Elf.”

She searched her computer with the information he could supply then nodded. “Ah, yes. He’s in room CC-B-109. Would you like to speak with Doctor Martin? He will be in this afternoon for a surgery…”

“That is alright. We must be on our way. May we see him?”

The woman shrugged. “Yes but make is short. He’s in critical condition. It’s a miracle he pulled through from what the report says.”

Jeffery thanked her and with Sarah clinging to his hand (and his cane), the made it thought the maze of hallways until, with some directions later on, they found the right room in the Critical Care wing. Doctor Martin was walking out of the room, speaking to a younger man about some medical things that Jeffery didn’t catch. “Dr. Martin! I was told you weren’t going to be in till later!”

Andrew turned, smiling as Jeffery came up to them. “Yes, well, there were some complications early this morning and one of my assistance’s called me in.”

“Did he die?” Sarah asked, her eyes already brimming with tears. Andrew grinned at her, noting that she was much prettier call cleaned up.

“No. He’s stable again. If you want to go in you may but I ask that you only stay a bit longer.”

“Thank you doctor,” Jeffery said with a slight sigh. “I have to get back to Branduin as I have a meeting tomorrow I need to be at. Keep me posted, will you,” he said, handing the doctor a business card. Andrew took it and nodded.

Sarah lingered outside, waiting until Jeffery had entered before following him into the dark room. The Elf’s quite breathing was hard to hear amid the soft hum of the equipment but it was their, shallow and strong. As Jeffery came up to the bed, Sarah touched the elderly man’s cane, staring at the Elf as if she had never seen him before. With a sigh, Jeffery touched the long fingers resting in the sheets at his side.

“What’s going to happen to him?” Sarah asked. “If he lives.”

“We will see if he wakes up and if he remembers anything. Come on, let’s get home." He smiled at her as she grinned at a word that she thought she would never have heard if Jeffery hadn’t found her. Taking her hand they left the room, thanking Dr. Martin again before leaving the hospital.

 

The darkness was still there. Blinking slowly, the young man took a deep, slow breath as his mind traveled to every part of his body, sensing the life that flowed through every fiber. He could feel the bandages on his legs and the casts, the unnerving feeling of tubes in his arms but he did not have the strength or will to remove them at this point. There was a steady beeping somewhere near by.

He closed his eyes again.

He breathed slowly, feeling the air move through his lungs which no longer hurt as they had the last time he had remembered anything.

A door opened but he didn’t move or open his eyes. Someone was coming closer and touched his forehead, causing him to jump slightly. This caused a feminine gasp from his visitor but she did not touch him again. He felt indifferent toward her touch thus continued to lie where he was, trying to recount anything that would tell him where he was.

Slowly, his eyes opened again and he gazed at the ceiling above him. He could not place them nor speak of where such a ceiling would be. Nothing he tried to call up could be found in his memory. In truth, he could remember nothing of who he was and why he was here – or how he got here. He heard the girl gasp again; sounding excited as she suddenly left his room. Carefully he raised his head to look at his surroundings. It was a simple room with two chairs and a curtain to his left. The bed was strange as was the strange machines (Yes, they were called machines, he thought), beside his bed. He looked at each one, at the dancing lights on some and trying to pin point the sound that others made. He followed the tubes in his arms to sacks hanging beside his bed but could not figure out why.

Finally, he decided he was in some type of medical facility, a hospital or something. The terms were easy but anything about him and where he came from was completely blank. With these thoughts running through his mind, the Elf slowly began to panic while Margaret went to phone Dr. Martin that he had finally woken up.

 

“Dr. Martin?” the voice on the other side of the line said, sounding very excited. It was Margaret. “Philippe, sir, he’s awake!”

“What! I’ll be right their.”

His wife, rolled over muttering as he got out of the bed, now awake despite it was three in the morning. “What are you doing at this hour?” Cassie asked as he pulled on his shirt. “Another emergency?”

“Not quite, love,” he told her. “Just something that I thought wouldn’t happen. “Philippe, the Elf Jeffery Ramsey brought in two months ago, has finally woke up.”

Cassie smiled slightly. “Really.”

“That’s what Marge said. You can come if you want.”

As the Martin’s left the house, entering a cold December night with gently falling snow, Andrew fumbled with his cell phone to dial Jeffery Ramsey’s Estate despite the time of day. Cassie went to the driver’s side and started their SUV while Andrew left a message on the answering machine.

It was a twenty minute drive from their rural home outside of Jarrepool to the Hospital where Marge was beside herself with relief and joy. She had been making her rounds as usual when she paused to check in on the still unconscious Elf. Dr. Martin had visited Jeffery Ramsey a month ago to talk about the Elf’s recovery thus far saying that he now rested in a deep coma while the surgeries he had gone through were not causing any more complications. There had been numerous tests and searching for the Elf’s previous owners or prison but none had been found and no one had claimed him. Thus, Jeffery had suddenly suggested (after staring at a portrait of an eleven year old boy when Martin had finished), that the Elf be called Philippe, after his son who had died of cancer years ago. This name had stuck and Martin and those working mostly with the Elf were very thankful to be able to call him something other then ‘Elf’.

Margaret was outside the door when Andrew and Cassie arrived, the doctor pulling off his jacket as he came up to her. “Well?” he asked. “Is he indeed awake?”

“Yes…” Margaret replied, looking at the closed door where Philippe was. “But he’s just staring at the wall blankly. I don’t know what to do, sir. That’s why I called you.”

Andrew patted her shoulder. “I’ll be right back. Cassie, can you come with me?”

Marge was left where she was while Andrew went to grab the rest of his equipment and some papers to fill out about the Elf’s recovery. Once again standing in the quietness of the hospital’s hallways, Marge began to feel uneasy and reached for the door handle – again. This time she did open the door and slowly, her breathing heavy and heart racing, entered Philippe’s room. He had been moved once he was stable enough to require less supervision but the room he was now in had little of the luxuries that a human would get.

The only light in the room came from the lamps outside and the hallway. Once her eyes adjusted she could see the young man still staring up at the ceiling. He did not turn to her but she could hear that his heart was beating faster then it should been. She glanced at the door, wishing that either Josh or Dr. Martin would show up quickly in case he had a heart attack or something. Biting her lower lip, Margaret came closer. In the faint light, for she dared not turn on one of the others, she could see that his face was pale and wet.

She wanted to touch him and tell him that everything was alright but she had seen some of the reactions of other Elves that woke up only to panic or go crazy at the sight of humans. Slowly, she turned to leave again.

“Who are you?”

The voice was slightly rough, not at all smooth and beautiful like an Elf’s. Her heart racing faster then his, Margaret turned to see his eyes now on her. “M…Margaret Beetly,” she stumbled out, lowering her eyes to the floor. He didn’t say anything, not even acknowledge her reply. After a few uncomfortable moments, she looked up again to see his eyes closed and quite sobs filling the air. “Are you alright?”

He didn’t answer.

It was at this moment that Andrew Martin came in with his wife. He turned on the light over Philippe’s bed which flickered a bit before filling the area with light. The Elf winced at such a change but said nothing. Andrew’s eyes went to his face and his heart wrenched to see the tears. He reached out to grasp Margaret’s shoulder. “Why don’t you leave for a bit,” he said before going over to the bedside table and putting down his clip board. The Elf turned to him, blue eyes filled with pain and tears as Dr. Martin reached over to check some of the machines near him.

“And you are?” His voice was gaining strength and it now sounded richer and fuller, beautiful in the mind of Cassie who was putting down a blood pressure arm band next to the table. Philippe turned to her, too, asking the same question silently with the expression on his face.

“I am Doctor Andrew Martin,” the young man replied. “This is my wife, Cassie.”

Again, the Elf did not acknowledge their names but closed his eyes and took a deep, raged breath.

Husband and wife looked at each other but said nothing while he went to pick up the blood pressure band. He gently wrapped it around Philippe’s arm, watching him carefully as he did so in case the Elf panicked, but their was no fear or panic in his face as Andrew took the reading and handed it back to his wife who wrapped it up and took the other seat next to her husband.

“You were brought here by Mr. Jeffery Ramsey two months ago,” Andrew began. Philippe turned to him. “We have been unable to locate any information about you and thus no one has come to claim you. You are an Elf. That is all we know.”

“Elf…” He knew what they were. They were slaves. “I’m a slave?”

Andrew raised his head a bit higher at that remark. “Yes, most are unless they go unsold and remain in the prisons. There are very few prisons in Roriric.”

“Roriric…” A map came into his head but it was faint and unclear. He shook his head. “I can’t remember where that is but it is one of the states…of Adraln?”

“Yes. How much do you remember, Ph…” he stopped when he began to say the name the Elf had acquired in his past days here.

There was no reply for quite sometimes. At last, the Elf shook his head. “Nothing. I know things but nothing about me or anything about the past. I know a little about Elves, that they have been enslaved and such for years but I can’t remember how long. Why?”

Andrew smiled, almost apologetically. “We almost hoped you would remember but the chances of that were slim. I cannot guarantee that you will ever remember. Do you have a name that you recall?”

Again, the Elf shook his head. “No. I can’t remember that, either.”

“Well, if you don’t mind, you’ve acquired a new one during the last month,” Andrew grinned. “We’ve called you Philippe at the request of Jeffery Ramsey, the man who brought you to us. It was the name of his deceased son.”

The Elf shrugged and said nothing more, closing his eyes and turning his head away from the Martin’s. Standing, Andrew touched the Elf’s long fingers with a soft smile. “Don’t worry, Philippe. If anything, Jeffery will take you home when you’ve recovered enough.” When he squeezed the slender hand with his he was surprised to feel a slight response and smiled again. He left, turning off the light so that he could sleep again in peace. At first light tomorrow, he would try calling Jeffery Ramsey again. Something inside him did not want to continue pressing Philippe for further information. Yet, at the same time, he knew that it was protocol in this situation not only because he had lost information that Andrew took for granted but because he was an Elf and many feared them. As he placed the clipboard on his desk and Cassie went to get there jackets, Andrew looked down at the inked name on top of the file he had pulled out earlier. ‘Philippe A. Ramsey’. Why he was partial to this Elf he did not know. He had expected fear and anger toward them when he woke up yet he was timid, scared, and frightened. It may take a while, Andrew decided, but he would give this Elf a new chance at life and, perhaps with some help from Jeffery Ramsey, a better life then one he probably had before.

 

 television. That was what the girl Margaret had called it. He faintly remembered something about them but could not recall what. It was the news (for he did not know how to switch the channels with the remote that lay on his stomach among the sheets). The reporter, a lithe, attractive, young woman with red hair and freckled skin, was at the scene of an automobile accident on some major highway. Philippe was hardly paying attention to what she was saying.

It had been a week since he had woken up. Each morning he hoped that the dawn light would also bring back his memory so that he could tell Dr. Martin who he was and why he was at the bottom of Adamant Ridge so beaten up. Since that night he had woken in the dark room, his recovery had been swift. He laughed and even hummed songs he figured he had remembered more to in his past life. He had even accepted the name Philippe Alan Ramsey. Jeffery had not yet come to see him which made him wonder what kind of man had saved his life. However, Josh, one of the young men that sometimes checked in on him, had told him this morning that Jeffery would be coming not only to see him, but to pick him up so that he could go to the Ramsey Estate – or home, perhaps.

Today was also the day he had asked what the box on the other side of the room was thus his first experience with the TV.

It was nearly noon now. Jeffery was suppose to come around one thus he had an hour. The tubes in his arms had been removed and Andrew had given him a final check up before he marked him as ready to leave. Of course, this was mostly because some of the other doctors had thought Philippe had had enough special treatment, being of Elven blood. He would have to finish his recovery else where. In truth, Philippe preferred to leave the hospital and go to a new place. The room was small, often dark and smelled. Not to mention one of the people on the other side of the curtain snored loudly at night and most of the day. Margaret had giggled when he told her about that, saying that Mrs. Nibbs was recovering from an accident – her fifth that month. Unlike Josh, who was more serous about this Mrs. Nibbs, Margaret apparently did not like the woman very much.

Nibbs was snoring again. Philippe sighed, pursed his lips in annoyance then began to search on the remote for the ‘Volume’ button.

The knock on the door ended that search. It was Doctor Martin who was smiling broadly. “Getting a hang of that thing?”

“No. Can I turn it up? Nibbsy is bothering me again.”

Andrew chuckled, glancing at the TV back to the Elf who was once again frowning over the remote in his hand. “Just be glad you’re leaving today,” Andrew said, leaning against the wall. A little girl walked in, eyes wide as she looked at the Elf for the first time since seeing him so near death two months ago. Her hair was neatly braided with purple ribbons in her hair and a large purple dress coat lined with white lynx fur. Philippe looked at her, abandoning his search for the volume control, just as Jeffery walked in, a black jacket over his red and gold sweater. His face broke into a grin even if Philippe stared at them. Then he looked at Andrew who smiled. “They’re a bit early. Hope you don’t mind.”

Philippe’s jaw dropped. “But…I’m not even ready yet!”

Mrs. Nibbs snored again, loudly so that he winched and glared at the dividing curtain. “Never mind, I’m ready! Here, you find the stupid buttons!” he told Andrew, tossing the remote to the startled doctor who laughed, turning off the TV as Philippe began to get out of the bed.

Jeffery handed something to Sarah and she blushed as she took the rather large package from him then went to the Elf who stood rather tall and wore only a long hospital gown. Andrew was now standing next to him as he was still a little tipsy despite the short walks he took with Josh or Margaret. When Sarah came up to him, she held the package out to him with a bit of fear in her eyes. Philippe looked at Andrew uncertainly.

“Just something so you don’t have to walk out in the rags we found you in,” Jeffery laughed. Philippe looked at him. In that moment, the Elf smiled, realizing that Jeffery would be even more of a friend then he had hoped for.

Taking the package from the girl, Philippe slowly knelt before her, his face smiling. “What is your name?”

“Sarah Turner,” she answered with a wide grin that made the Elf’s mouth spread into a wider smile. “Jeffery saved me, too!”

Philippe turned to the elderly man in the doorway who was watching them with something between fatherly pride and a friend’s respect. The Elf nodded to him and said, “Then we have something in common.”

It was a moment Jeffery would never forget for it seemed that his son had indeed been reborn, in the body of an Elf he had found nearly dead at the bottom of a forsaken cliff. Perhaps there was a God on Sentra as some believed him to be on Earth. If there was, he had returned something to both Philippe and Jeffery and it was something neither would be able to explain as long as they lived.

Andrew helped Philippe to the bathroom where he could change then went to talk to Jeffery and have him sign some papers releasing the Elf to him; even if it had to be recorded as Jeffery the legal owner of the Elf, it was something that neither man would agree to. Sarah sat on the bed, now watching TV, remote in hand and flipping through the channels with ease.

What Philippe found in the package made him blink twice. The cloths were more then just some simple outfit that he could wear out of the hospital. A white polo shirt with long sleeves and silver colored trim was the first thing he pulled out. Pulling off the gown, Philippe looked at himself in the mirror for a moment, shirt in hand. He was thin still, nearly all bone. Scars the he never remembered getting were on his body, some older then when he arrived in Jarrepool. His hair had been cut to his nape as it had been very thin and matted when he had come in. He was also still pale though he had decided that would be the first thing he would change once he got out. Looking at the shirt again, Philippe took a deep breath before pulling it over his head. As he smoothed it out, studying himself in the mirror, he smiled. Now he didn’t look so bad!

There was a brand new pair of jeans also and he pulled them on. They rested a bit low on his hips but if he kept up with the eating routine that Andrew had put him on he figured he would grow into them soon enough. He tucked in the shirt, which added some baulk around his waist to keep the pants in place, and then pulled out a hunter green sweater that was mixed with leaf patterns and flecks of gold. He pulled this over head, too, and then studied himself in the mirror. “Well, he certainly knows style,” Philippe said, tilting his head and grinning to himself, feeling giddy with joy. Sitting on the toilet, Philippe pulled on the socks and leather shoes that were included in the package. Then, with one final look at himself, Philippe went back into the room.

Jeffery looked up from watching the news with Sarah when Philippe walked out of the bathroom and couldn’t help but catch his breath. Sarah covered her mouth with a cry of delight (she had in fact picked that outfit out before they had left, and had chosen that particular sweater for him because of the leaves). Andrew turned from the TV also and his eyes widened. “It’s hard to believe you’re the same elf we rushed to the emergency room two months ago!”

Philippe smiled, casting a disdainful glance at Mrs. Nibbs as he walked by. As Jeffery stood to take his place next to Andrew, Sarah jumped off the bed to hug him. “You like the sweater?” she asked, looking up into his startled face, not seeing that he was quite uncertain what he should do with a little girl on his legs. “I picked it out!”

“It’s beautiful,” Philippe said, looking to Andrew and Jeffery for help.

“We went shopping two days ago for your room,” Jeffery smiled as Sarah stepped back, taking his hand. It sent a warm, pleasant feeling through Philippe and he smiled at her, feeling his face flush at her touch. Seeing this, Sarah leaned into him, closing her eyes as if she had known him all her life. “Sarah came with. She’s asked about you since we left you in Dr. Martin’s hands in October. I was brining her home the night we found you.”

Philippe smiled, putting a hand on the little girl’s head. “Andrew said you run an orphanage. Is she an orphan, too?”

“Yes. I have twelve children living at the Estate’s Manor,” Jeffery said. “Some are older while others are younger then Sarah here.”

Philippe nodded, looking down at the little girl that was already so attached to him and he didn’t know why. He had seen the news this morning stories of Elves, heard stories from other patients or faculty during his week of recovery. Elves were feared and hated in Adraln. This made the kindness of Jeffery Ramsey, who had given him the name of his son of all people, strange to Philippe. Andrew had told him that Jeffery was offering him a life as an equal at the Estate. Perhaps this was because he was also an orphan, like the little girl that was now holding his hand in her small fingers. He did not know his Elvish name thus perhaps it was right that he live by the name he had been given. The name of a human.

“Well, should we be on our way? It’s a five hour drive to Branduin.”

Philippe hugged thanked Josh and Andrew for everything, giving Margaret (who had a crush on Philippe even if the Elf didn’t know), a short hug and a peck on the cheek goodbye before leaving the hospital following an elderly man and with a little girl clinging tightly to his fingers. The tears that Philippe would occasionally brush away were tears of joy as he started out for a new life.

 

The Ramsey Estate was large, spanning some five-hundred acres with forests, a few streams a lake and plenty of room for the horses that Jeffery had in his stables. Philippe watched out the window as the trees and fields flew past the window. He had not expected a limo as his transportation much less the things that Sarah had began describing to him as they drove. When he asked Jeffery if the man was rich, Jeffery only smiled and shrugged, answering with a, “If you wish to call it that.”

The Manor was more like a modern castle without the turrets and towers. Philippe stared out the window, eyes wide as he watched it come closer. Sarah was now asleep in his lap thus he could not move much. Jeffery smiled at her. “She’s asked about you nearly everyday since we left you at the hospital,” he said. Philippe turned to look at him before glancing at the little girl, running his hand through her hair in a fatherly or brotherly fashion. “When I told her that you were awake and that you were coming to live here she immediately went to pick out your room,” he chuckled. “It’s only a few doors away from hers, which didn’t surprise me one bit.”

“Why me? Because she was with you when you found me?”

Jeffery shrugged. “Perhaps. I think it’s because none of the other children seem to want to incorporate her in their games or activities. Once she learned your name, at least the one given to you for the time, she started talking about you whenever she had the chance. I asked her why, one evening after her riding lesson. She told me she never had a big brother.” Jeffery grinned broadly, chuckling softly at his own words and looking at the sleeping Sarah. “Of course, I didn’t try to get her hopes to high as we still didn’t know you would wake up or even remember anything about your past. I feared that you would hate her or ignore her.”

“I think being a big brother is something I’m just going to have to get use to,” Philippe chuckled, running his hand along the little girl’s hair again.

“I think there will be a lot you’re going to have to get use to, Philippe,” Jeffery smiled.

The limo stopped in front of the manor. As Samuel opened the door to let the passengers out, Philippe woke Sarah up. She smiled at him before she stood and stepped out of the car with Jeffery right behind her. Philippe was the last and he hesitated in the seat before taking a deep breath and following the others out of the car.

On the steps stood a group of children and a few adults and it was quite obvious that when he stepped out of the car, all eyes were on him. Philippe glanced at Jeffery who beckoned to him. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is Philippe Ramsey.”

Not everyone was happy to see him there, obviously and as Philippe began to wish he could return to the hospital, a small warm hand closed around his and squeezed it. Philippe smiled, squeezing Sarah’s hand in return. “He is not here as a slave or a worker. Thus will not be treated as such. Any one mistreating or making remarks about Elves around him will be punished. He dose not remember anything about who he is and like the rest of you, was abandoned. Now, you’ve all see him. Back to your day’s work.”

As the audience dissipated Philippe sighed in relief. “I didn’t expect that after the kindness everyone has shown me since waking up.”

“And it is because not everyone sees you as a friend and trustworthy that I cannot allow you to leave the Estate’s lands,” Jeffery said, turning to him and draping his cane over his arm. “Even in the North there are those that wish Elves were dead rather then alive.”

“I see…Now what?”

“Come with me! I’ll show you to your room!” Sarah grinned, tugging on her arm.

Jeffery laughed, his breath freezing in the December air. “Alright. Just remember to be down for dinner by five-thirty, both of you!” he called after them as Sarah nearly dragged Philippe into the house.

 

The Ramsey Manor was larger then anything Philippe had ever seen – even if the most he had seen was the hospital in Jarrepool. It seemed to be a combination between Victorian, Renaissance, Middle Ages and even classical décor. As Sarah happily lead him through the manor, pointing things out and showing him where things were, Philippe began to wonder if he really should be here and if he should ask to live else where rather then inside the manor. Sarah lead him up the stairs and into one of the great hallways that were decorated with paintings of deceased or famous people.

“…bought new curtains!” he suddenly heard Sarah say. They stood before a doorway that she was pushing open, letting go of his hand. “It’s not as fancy as mine because a lot of people didn’t think an Elf should get one of the main rooms to begin with. Jeffery must really like you if he’s letting you stay up here!”

The room was larger then the hospital room and colored in greens, gold and silvers for the most part. A wooden floor lay under his feet, decorated with ornate rugs on the floor. A partially empty bookshelf lay to one side, larger then what Philippe would have imagined a book shelf could be. The bed was not as ornate as some of the others he had seen while passing by but after the simplicity of the hospital all he could do was stare.

“We’ve put your cloths in the closet, over their,” Sarah said, taking his hand again to lead him to the large walk in closet. She pulled it open along its rollers and Philippe saw that they had indeed picked out more then the cloths he was wearing. He touched one of the pieces of fabric on a rather simplistic shirt and looked down at the little girl who was grinning ear-to-ear in her joy.

“Did you know my favorite colors were green and brown?” he chuckled. She only grinned, leaning against him in a hug. “Well, I feel like you out did yourselves.”

“That’s what I told Mr. Ramsey, too,” a rather high pitched and aged voice said. Both Elf and girl turned to the women entering with a pile of towels. She wore small glasses on her nose, tidy gray-brown hair and a maid’s outfit. She didn’t look at Philippe but walked to the bathroom on the other side of the room. “This happens to be one of the better rooms in the house and I will tell you, Elf, that there are not many of his employees that are happy about you coming at all. Your kind is meant to be put else where, in the stables or something.” She shook her head and came back out of the bathroom, running her hands along her apron. Then she looked at him. “Well, well, aren’t you scrawny,” she clucked, shaking her head. “Didn’t they feed you at that hospital? Probably not, considering you’re an Elf. Well, no matter. As long as you mind you manners and do what you’re told, I’ll have less trouble with you then some. You do know that you’re required to work, right? What they’ll tell you to do is beyond me! What are Elves good at?” She was wandering the room now, checking things and rearranging things. Philippe was watching her with his eyebrows raised and Sarah had a hand over her mouth, leaning into his thigh (hand still in his), laughing. “Heavens knows. Most likely give you a job gardening or something in the stables. Both could use skilled hands. Are you good at any of them?”

Philippe opened his mouth to speak but she continued.

“Well, no matter. Mr. Ramsey will find you something, no doubt. Well, is the room to your liking? What is it girl?” she suddenly demanded, looking at Sarah who broke into another fit of laughter. Her eyes went to a rather confused and bewildered Elf who shrugged helplessly. “Oh! Dear me! Rosemary Fuller, Head Maid of the Manor. I’m also in charge of the children Mr. Ramsey brings in.”

“Philippe Ramsey,” Philippe answered, giving a slight bow, a hand slipping behind his back as if it was something he had always done. He never noticed but Rosemary did. She blinked twice.

“Well, that’s something you don’t see everyday! Are you sure what they said was right about you? That you don’t remember your memory?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the Elf answered, keeping his voice sincere and polite. He now had his hand around Sarah’s shoulders and she was leaning on him, eyes closed with a pleasant, happy smile on her face.

Rosemary nodded. “Well, I don’t often see a courtier’s bow. Makes me wonder just what you were before Mr. Ramsey picked you up off the side of the road. Well, why don’t you get settled in? Sarah, I believe you have homework to get done, eh?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Sarah said obediently, leaving Philippe who smiled as she left. She went with Rosemary who gave him one last look up and down before leaving him alone in the bedroom.

There was also a small study off to the side where Philippe found a desk and a few boxes in the corner. He glanced at them, thinking that perhaps they would make a quite room later. The bathroom wasn’t too extravagant. Rosemary had obviously dropped off fresh towels for him, placing them neatly on the racks near the shower stall. At last, he lay down on the king sized bed and closed his eyes. How long he lay there he didn’t know. With his hands behind his head he tried to comprehend everything that had happened to him with in the last week. He had woken up in the hospital, clueless as to why he was there and who he was. Then a week later he’s leaving Jarrepool to live in a manor not as a slave but as a resident with a huge room all to himself. Perhaps it was too good to be true.

A knock on the door startled him awake. “Yes?” he called.

Rosemary opened the door. “Coming to dinner? I’m not going to serve it to you in bed even if Mr. Ramsey told me you’re to recover before you get any chores.” She didn’t sound too pleased with that but kept her tone even enough.

“No, that’s not necessary. I’m coming.”

She snorted but moved out of the way while the Elf slipped past her and into the hallway. She walked next to him though his eyes were once again drawn to the portraits on the wall. He nearly paused at one of them but felt as if there were two eyes boring holes in to his back.

The dinning room was rather large and already seated a large group. Most were kids, Philippe realized, with Jeffery at the head of the table and a few other adults seated their as well. He didn’t see the little girl waving to him at first but winked at Sarah once he did. She blushed and looked down, nearly bouncing in her seat. Jeffery looked up and beckoned Philippe to him. “Glad you could make it. Is your room satisfying?”

Philippe smiled. “Yes, but it’s a bit much for an Elf, isn’t it? I mean, my race are sl…”

Jeffery waved a hand to silence him. “Enough. I brought you here as an orphan, not an abandoned slaved. I only paid the money because that’s what the government wanted. Now, have a seat wherever you like. Dinner will begin in a few minutes.”

Taking a chair near a young boy, around seven years old or so, Philippe began to study the china and extricate designs on the forks. It took him a while to notice that the young boy, dressed in a similar outfit as some of the other kids, was watching him peculiarly. “Have you ever eaten at a fancy dinner?” the boy asked as Philippe was touching each of the different forks. The Elf looked up, a bit unsure of himself then shrugged.

“As far as I know…no.”

“Ah,” the boy grinned, his black hair falling into his eyes so he had to flick his head to move it back. “Nathanial Sumter but you can just call me Nate,” he said. “You must be the Elf Mr. Ramsey brought in from Roriric.”

Philippe nodded. “Yes. Philippe Ramsey. That’s the name they gave me as I don’t remember anything about my past.”

“Not even your name?” a girl asked from across the table. Her bright green eyes amongst her dark skin were quite a contrast. “I was never given a name so Mr. Ramsey named me. I’m Juliet Maria Ramsey. He adopted me. Did he adopt you, too?” One of the boys next to her jabbed her in the side and she glared at him.

After watching them whisper back and forth for a moment, Philippe smiled and nodded, his fingers touching the forks absentmindedly. “Not even my name. He gave you his last name, too?”

“Philippe Alan was the name of his son,” Nate said. “I wonder why he gave you that name.”

Philippe only shrugged. He was saved from answering any more questions when a chime sounded an all talk ceased. Looking up, Philippe saw young men and women entering with plates of food. Suddenly Nate left and went to Jeffery who whispered something in the boy’s ear. When he came back, Nate smiled to Philippe. “I’m suppose to help you tonight,” he whispered to the Elf. “Mr. Ramsey doesn’t think you would have had a meal like this before. The soup and salad is first. I was also told that you shouldn’t eat a lot until you’re a bit healthier.”

“That won’t be that necessary,” Rosemary chuckled as she set a bowl in front of Philippe. “I’m very aware of our Elf’s health needs. Just eat what I give you Philippe and you’ll do fine,” and she squeezed his shoulder before moving off. Another attendant filled his glass with what appeared to be wine but after a sip he realized it was just white grape juice. With all the kids, he should have known better.

After the first course was served, talking resumed and Philippe found himself more or less the center of attention. He noticed that Sarah wasn’t looking to happy then realized that it was because he hadn’t sat next to her. When he finally caught her eyes, he mouthed to her, “Next time,” and winked. This seemed to cheer her up and she smiled a bit more.

Dinner ended with desert but Rosemary didn’t want him to have anything to rich yet. (He was also a bit full anyway so he was allowed to have real wine instead). The dinner finished and the children went off to bed. Nate, who had a younger sister around Sarah’s age, went off to finish his homework. Apparently not only did they get a home, but they were home schooled as well. Some of the adults at the head of the table were part of the teaching staff. Philippe remained with the adults and sat with them after Rosemary and her maids had shuffled off with the children to get the nightly schedule done. They sat in the living room on the sofas and chairs, a warm fire crackling amid the dimly lit lamps. There were also numerous decorations devised of pine and red flowers that the children had informed him about as Christmas decorations. There was also a large evergreen tree at the other end of the room in front of the great pane windows, decorated with lights and other things made by the children or bought. Most of the dinner had been spent speaking of what Christmas.

“Jeffery informs me that you have lost all if not most of your memory, correct?” a younger man asked, not at all looking pleased about having an Elf in the same house as himself.

“Yes, sir,” Philippe answered, remember what Rosemary had told him early and thinking that it was best to apply such concepts to others in the house as well. He had also learned quite a bit from the children that night. (Though he had to admit it was somewhat of a relief to hear ‘Jeffery’ rather then ‘Mr. Ramsey’ in a conversation.)

Jeffery leaned forward in the chair. “What can you remember?” he asked. “Can you read and write?”

Philippe thought for a moment and nodded slowly. “Yes, I can read and write. Even a bit of what I’m guessing to be Elvish is coming back to me. You wish to put me in school with the children.”

The elderly man chuckled, leaning back again though some of the professors seemed to dislike the fact that Philippe did not address Jeffery in the same manner as the children. “Only until you have recovered and can begin duties around the Manor, Philippe. Dr. Martin says he has a friend in Branduin that will come check up on you each week to make sure nothing is wrong. Until then, you’re not allowed to do anything that may over strain you. You were immobile for two months. You’re limbs need to begin to work again. Professor Fidel is our physical education teacher and you’ll be seeing him every other day.”

Professor Jason Fidel was a middle-aged man who nodded, raising his glass in acknowledgement to his name being announced. He smiled charmingly at Philippe. It was also decided that Philippe would work with Austin Meyer for languages, mostly to perfect his nearly lost Elvish and perhaps some other literature languages such as Latin that were required for the children as well. Brian Bennet was the history and geography teacher thus would be acquiring Philippe for those (though Jeffery did not request that the history be any different when Elvish history came up). Lastly, Scott Walter would be teaching the Elf the science and mathematics. Most of Philippe’s classes would be held away from the children until the Professors could see where the Elf was in each class.

Saying goodnight, the professors, Jeffery and Philippe went to their rooms. Rosemary smiled at him as she passed him in the hall but said nothing until they were some feet away. “Oh, Philippe, Sarah would like to see you before she has to turn her lights out. She going over her numbers right now so be quick. Lights go out at eight, no exceptions. Same for you.”

“Yes ma’am,” Philippe chuckled.

“Last room on this hall,” Rosemary added.

Sarah was at a desk when Philippe knocked to enter. He heard her board, lazy, “Come in,” and walked into her room. It was a bit larger, he thought. Her favorite color was obviously purple as most of the room had been done in it. She turned to see who had come in and let out a squeal of delight before rushing up to him and giving him a huge hug. Like a father, (or big brother, he thought with a pleased smile), he picked her up and wrapped his arms around her. “What took you so long?”

“Ah, the grown-ups had to talk to me about what they’re going to teach an Elf. I heard you have some math to do.”

With her arms wrapped around his neck and legs securely around his bony chest, Sarah made a face of disgust. “I hate math. I hardly know how to read and write. But Professor Walter is really nice. He sees most of use one at a time.”

“Same for me. Just to see what I remember and what I don’t.” He carried her over to the bed and sat her down on the purple comforter, sinking in the water-mattress with a surprised ‘oh!.' She grinned at him. “He sure does spoil you kids,” Philippe chuckled.

“Yours is feather,” Sarah said. “We didn’t have enough time to pick you up a water-mattress. He has to wait for some more funding.”

“I see.” He looked down at her. “So, tell me why you’re so attached to me. I’ve only been awake for a week.”

Sarah blushed and looked down at the quilt folded at the end of her bed. “I don’t know. None of the kids here seem to like me and are always putting me down because I came from Rushock and I don’t even know how old I am.” Her eyes were filling with tears and Philippe was beginning he hadn’t asked. He leaned closer to her and hugged her shoulders.

“Well, I don’t even know my own name,” he said softly. As he said that, he began to feel the same pain that she must have felt well up inside him. He may never know where he was born, when he was born or how old he was. What were his parents like? Were they still alive? Those questions and more ran through his mind as he hugged the one little girl in the entire manor that already cared about him so much. “How about we make a promise,” he whispered, quickly wiping away his own tears before she could see them. She nodded as he reached up a long, pale finger to dry her eyes. “That no matter what, we’ll always be friends and that no matter what anyone says about us, we’re here now because of the same man.” She grinned and hugged him, burring her face in his chest. “Now, I think you have homework to get done before lights go out.”

“Do I have to?”

“If I’m going to have to, then you’re going to have to!” Philippe laughed.

 

hristmas came two weeks later. Philippe was not expecting anything even if Nate and Sarah kept telling him that he would get something, too, knowing Jeffery. When Philippe woke the next morning it was to the sound of rapid banging on his door. After a moment he chuckled and pulled one something decent to appear to the kids in. Sarah, Nate and Kiley (Nate’s sister), stood in front of his door in their pajama’s and robes with bright, cheerful faces on.

“Let me guess, the presents are here?”

“Yes! Come see!” Sarah cried, pulling on Philippe’s hand and began to nearly drag the full-grown Elf down the hallway.

In the living room Philippe found Jeffery Ramsey seated on his chair with a pipe in his mouth and a glass of champagne in the other, watching as the children sorted out the gifts with the help of Rosemary, a robe on like everyone else. Despite the fact that the sun was just peeking around the corner, Philippe noticed that much of the wrapping paper was on the floor. He chuckled, letting Sarah and the other two rush off to find their presents. With a shake of his head, Philippe went to Jeffery, who also hadn’t changed into day cloths yet.

“You sure made them happy,” Philippe smiled, watching as Sarah began to carry a rather large box over toward him, a huge grin on her face as she beamed at the Elf. “You do this every year?”

Jeffery chuckled. “And every year the list gets bigger. You have a few, Philippe. Rosemary will find them for you.”

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” the Elf said seriously. “What you have done for me is enough.”

The elderly man looked up at him, a kind smile on his lips and his eyes shinning. “True enough, lad, but I am not going to treat you any different then the children you see all over my living room floor. Elven or not, you are part of this family. Besides, you may want to see what I have for you,” and he winked.

“Philippe!” Sarah cried. “Do you want to help me unwrap…oh!”

With Elvish agility, Philippe caught the huge package before it fell to the ground. Jeffery chuckled, muttering something about Elves and their quickness before taking another sip of his wine. “You’re fast,” Sarah said in awe as they set it down on the floor. “Are all Elves that fast?”

Philippe chuckled and shrugged. “Reflexes. That’s all.”

They opened it together for it was indeed a very large box. Inside was a huge play set which consisted of horses, as stable and the playing board that went with it. Sarah went ecstatic and hugged Jeffery so tight Philippe was thinking about prying her off the poor man who was laughing. Rosemary came over and handed Philippe something, smiling.

As Jeffery and Sarah spoke, Philippe carefully tore the ribbon of the black box that was a bit longer then his arm. There was no paper over it. Inside he found an ornate sword both in a display case. Jeffery was now watching him and Sarah’s mouth was in a small ‘o’. He looked up. “You trust an Elf with a weapon?”

Professor Fidel laughed in the doorway. “Sword play is something I shall teach you – or perhaps you teach me if your muscles remember anything about it, given you played with swords before Jeffery found you on the cliff. But I think those are just some decoration for you wall. That is from me. Elvish design, actually.”

“Wasn’t that a replica of Prince Amarion’s sword? What was it called? Annuren?” Jeffery asked, careening his head back to glimpse the man in the doorway. “The one he had before he decided Necromancy was a bit more profitable?”

Fidel nodded, shrugging. “At least that is what they believe. Besides, I was able to find you quite a few things to decorate that room of yours with. This was this month’s delivery.”

Philippe chuckled, setting the sword down and thanking both Jeffery and Professor Fidel who had been working with him the past few weeks to regain his strength. It had been simple thus far but Philippe felt better being able to move again. He particularly liked swimming in the Manor pool and was allowed to join the children (namely Sarah, Nate and Kiley), on their free time when the pool was the meeting place for that time. Fidel had complimented him on his natural skill with children as most of the kids loved it when he was their.

“I’ll get another one!” Sarah cried, leaving Jeffery’s lap to run and get more packages from Rosemary.

Philippe received something from a few of the professors besides Fidel as well as numerous handmade items from the kids. Jeffery bought him a few books that Philippe had shown interest in as well as missing parts to the computer which sat in the study room still in boxes. Nate volunteered to help Philippe set it up later that day. He also received more cloths (as if Rosemary thought his closet wasn’t full enough), and some small items to spruce up his room a bit.

Morning ended with the children carrying things to their room to play with, Rosemary running around trying to get them to at least get dressed and Jeffery leaving to distribute some things in town. Philippe remained in his room, pouring over the books that he had received from both Jeffery and Professor Bennet while Nate played with his computer. His other gifts, mostly the pictures and sword, lay on his dresser waiting for on of the servants to put up.

Christmas, Philippe found, was indeed a holiday around the Estate. The rest of the day was spent playing with the new toys (Philippe played with Sarah for a bit on the stable play set), eating a large dinner and simply doing nothing. The day ended with a snowfall and Philippe reading to most of the children a classic Christmas story called ‘The Polar Express’. Sarah fell asleep on his chest and when Rosemary came to get her, Philippe almost wanted to tell her just to leave the girl. But the Head Woman would not allow him to spend the night with her and he was sent off to bed.

He lay in bed looking at the sword that seemed to be glowing in the moonlight. It had been hung over his bookshelf where his new books had been placed by a few of the servants that had been busy helping Rosemary that day. Fidel had said it was suppose to be a replica of Prince Amarion’s sword. Philippe had read about Amarion, surprised that he remembered so little about the prince. It was decided that Philippe was less then a thousand years old given that information. Amarion had been evil and corrupted by Dark Magic – Necromancy as it was often called. He had betrayed his people and not only joined the side of Darkness, but because of his alliance with the Lord of Asphonath he had began the War. A War that still raged in the south, kept out of Adraln by the Castle Wall, which was indeed built much like the old walls from Middle Ages times on Earth.

Philippe feared Amarion and the fact that he could still be alive, kept in the darkest cell of one of Adraln’s prisons or even plotting the next move himself in Asphonath having sent Lord Krelnar into an eternal sleep.

As the snow fell silently outside, Philippe drifted off into sleep, entering the state of mind that Elves travel when the body grows weary and mind wanders into moonlit glades and sun dappled forests. Elves do not truly sleep though Philippe dreamed with his eyes closed to the world, as if afraid that one could look in and see his thoughts. As he dreamed, a slight smile came to his lips. Only when a small body crawled into bed next to him did he open his eyes to see Sarah snuggling up to him. Seeing someone at the door he raised his eyes to meet Rosemary’s in the dark. The woman shrugged and smiled before closing the door again. Shaking his head, Philippe forgot about Amarion and decided that the past was irrelevant to his life now. With his best friend, a sister of his own, curled up in his arms, Philippe slept and cared not if God took his life there and then for he would die as the happiest man on earth.

 

It was a life that Philippe could get use to and very quickly, the household was rarely calling him ‘Elf’ or anything else that would be insulting. Most of the children found him to be very entertaining or helpful for he actually remembered much about every subject that the professors taught and even outmatched Professor Fidel in a sword match. However, no matter what he did or how well he preformed at tasks he could never remember learning them before hand. He quickly found a passion for things that grew and began to tend the plants in the manor. Jeffery soon found him some pots and plants and with in months Philippe’s room had too many plants to count.

Doctor Hayden Field was the friend of Dr. Martin (and his brother-in-law). Field visited every week to check on Philippe’s progress and by the time spring had set in it had been decided that no more complications would occur. Field also dealt with quite a bit of memory loss and would often bring in a specialist (who did not like Elves at all), try to help Philippe remember. Nothing helped and soon Philippe was told that his memory was most likely lost forever. Realizing this, Philippe would remain in his room with his plants and books and even Sarah was not allowed in. When questioned by Jeffery after dinner one night, Philippe smiled and shrugged. “I’ll be fine,” he promised.

After that, Jeffery began to try and put clues back together, spending hours searching for anything that would help the Elf. Part of him did not want to find out for Philippe could very well be taken away from him. But seeing the Elf in this state was depressing for some of the household. In May, Jeffery finally decided that Philippe could have been one of the Amarion’s in the Black Water Gate Prison. There had been three, one being the Prince of Amaras though reports were confirming Amarion Ashfalcon’s death. It was said that he was killed by the rouges that had attacked the transport truck in November.

By spring, Samuel Darrey had quite his job (though Sarah told Philippe he had been fired), and that very night Jeffery called the Elf into his office for a talk.

“I’m offering you a job,” Jeffery proclaimed even before Philippe had sat down. He folded his fingers over the papers on his desk and grinned at a very perplexed Elf. “As Rosemary told you, and as I’ve told you, I am going to ask you some services so that the other workers can stop calling you a pest and many other foul names which I am sick of hearing.”

“What kind of job…sir?” Philippe asked, eyeing Jeffery warily.

“Samuel Darrey’s job,” Jeffery said, leaning back and placing his hands on the arm rests. “As my butler. I am hiring another for the travel needs until I feel safe bringing you outside the Estate. Until then, you will need to learn everything you will need to know. Oh, and you’re not allowed to say no. Professor Meyer is willing to work with you on proper etiquette and such.”

“Okay…” Philippe drawled, smiling at Jeffery. He was going to have a real job. Not something the figured he would be having (as Miss Dasha often would tell him when he was unfortunate enough to be caught by her). The idea made his heart race. He had figured perhaps working in the stables or in the gardens but not something this important! “And I’m starting when?”

“In a few weeks,” Jeffery chuckled. “Austin would like you in his office tomorrow after his Latin class at eight thirty.”

Philippe nodded and stood. “Thank you, sir.” In return, Jeffery returned the gesture and Philippe left to continue his day.

 

As a butler to Jeffery Ramsey, Philippe had no idea what he would expect. The first few months were spent working with Mark Carnigan, the butler that Jeffery hired for trips while Philippe stayed at home. Mark did not like Elves yet meeting Philippe proved to change his heart a bit. Along with Austin Meyer, Philippe caught on quickly and soon was answering the door and escorting guests. His blond hair was cropped long enough to cover his ears yet short enough to be acceptable for his job. He became quite versed in his job, and took in seriously. Though Jeffery did not always seem to pay him as much heed anymore, often saying a simple thank you and brushing him to the side, Philippe learned that it was his cue to excuse himself silently (he often added a curt bow which often pleased some of the guests), and would return to what ever duty he had been assigned also that day.

The children grew up to fast, as far as the Elf cared and it wasn’t long before they were asking him things he could not answer. Dating was something he could never recall doing though they became very keen to the songs he remembered (often snatches), that his people still kept in their hearts. Sarah was becoming a young lady and was quite good at horsemanship (almost beating Philippe at times). Nevertheless, the two never failed to be seen together after a long day or simply talking and laughing. By the time she was twelve, or so they believed, she was starting to show interest in boys and the boys interest in her. Philippe found himself protective of the growing young lady and despite any warning Rosemary gave him, he often found himself trying to prevent problems. Of course, Rosemary knew quite well how to raise young girls. Kiley was constantly watched under Nate’s protective eyes and Philippe began to fancy himself as Sarah’s big brother – something that pleased her above anything that year.

Philippe began escorting Jeffery to town in September of the second year of his coming to the Ramsey Estate. Mark was ill and the event was important thus, with much hesitation he convinced Philippe to accompany him. The trip would be simple and require a few moments where his race could be spotted. As Seth drove, chatting about the wedding that was set for next year in the spring to his long-time girlfriend, Philippe stared out the window, watching the street lights of Branduin float by. It was a cool, clear night, perfect for the convention of which Jeffery often attended. Jeffery Kane Ramsey was a well known name in politics as well as an outspoken leader for orphanages and the Rights of Abused and Abandoned Children. The Ramsey Estate (or Orphanage), was just one of the centers Jeffery had helped create. The Estate had been the first. Funding was what Jeffery fought for. If he could afford to give over a dozen children a decent, nearly pampered life, then he believed all children should have that chance.

The Marian-Christopher Business Building was over forty stories and as Seth drove in, now silent as he realized that Philippe was rather nervous, he took a deep breath. Seth clucked to him. “You’ll be fine, mate. It’s not going to be long and there is no law that says Elves can’t serve as butlers.”

“It’s a paid occupation,” Philippe reminded him.

“No, it’s an earned pay-check. Now stop fussing. Ah, that’s what they’re doing this year.”

The limo pulled up to the curb and with a deep breath, Philippe opened the door and left the passenger’s seat to go open the door for Jeffery. At first, no one paid any attention until a few of the older gentlemen came forward, recognizing the Ramsey vehicle. Jeffery stepped out, nodded at Philippe who bowed back and closed the door, his eye contact suddenly kept in check.

“I see you have another fine young fellow on your wages,” one of the men said and Philippe smiled, glancing at the man. As he began to walk away, thinking he had taken his leave, Jeffery grabbed his arm. “What happened to your last door warden? Disposed of him already?”

Jeffery laughed good-naturedly. “No, he’s abed ill, I’m afraid. This is Philippe’s first time at my assistance.”

“And Elf?”

Philippe froze, his heart racing. Glancing at Jeffery, he saw the determined lines in the elderly man’s face. “Aye, an Elf. This is the very one I saved while returning to Jarrepool two years ago.”

Suddenly, Philippe recognized the man who had asked those two words as Elton Grayson, one of Jeffery’s closest friends and associates. The other was Andrew Markus, on of the chief leaders in the organization. He managed a weak smile but had a sudden feeling that neither Elton nor Andrew recognized him.

“Ah, yes, the one who’s been at the manor? Sorry, Philippe didn’t recognize you,” Elton grinned, extending a hand for a friendly handshake. “Though, I wouldn’t stick around too long, if I were you. Not all of us agree with Mr. Ramsey.”

“Stay with Seth,” Jeffery said. “You’ll be fine. And if anything happens to you I’ll fire that young pup! He has his orders to follow. Be back by ten.”

“Yes, sir,” Philippe said, with a curt bow before re-entering the limo, trying not to appear as if he was making haste but afraid that the conversation had been overheard.

Thankfully, Seth obeyed his orders and they spent the next six hours at the motel, talking and watching the news or any movie that was interesting. Seth said that he would rather go to a bar but as Jeffery was afraid that a fight would beak out, they were restricted to the motel until ten. Nine-thirty found them fighting traffic back to the Marian-Christopher Business building. As before, the exchange was quick, thanks to Jeffery who had cut all conversations short. As Philippe was about to shut the door, Jeffery told him to ride in the passenger cab.

“Just to talk,” Jeffery said, arching his cane over his arm and leaning back as he told Seth to depart. “Andrew and Elton were quite impressed by you, as they have been. Part of our fight is to gain Elves a bit more freedom then they have now. But it’s quite risky as there are those that despise everything that the Prince did.”

“Because he was involved with the attacks on Adraln and thus began the War between Elves and Men?” Philippe said, showing off a bit of his history knowledge with a sly grin.

Jeffery nodded, looking tired. “Yes. It’s been over one-thousand years and many of use believe that it is time that those restrictions are lifted. With Amarion Ashfalcon’s confirmed death, there should be no threat as to what Elves should and should not be able to do. For example, be a butler to a rather wealthy man and get paid the same amount as any of his fellow workers in the same career. It’s a touchy subject even in our political party but it’s a matter we’re trying to bring attention to.”

“There is an election this year,” Philippe remembered, tilting his head and placing a finger along his face. “For the President of Adraln, I believe. Right?”

The elderly man nodded as Seth pulled into traffic. “Yes, and from the polls conducted thus far, the Free Speech Party, (also known as FSP), are in the lead again.”

Philippe leaned back, biting his lower lip. “President Oswald is from that party,” Philippe recalled, remembering listening to Sarah complain about the current President and his politics.

“They’ve been in the lead for the past thousand years. Perhaps a bit less. Every year they win – even if the polls show a greater support for another candidate. If he says in power then we will never get the chance to help your people. If there are more good-hearted souls out their like you, then there should be no reason to keep them like animals waiting for the auction!”

The Elf nodded, and smiled. “I doubt all of us are. That is, if the text I read is true. At least they have rights of a sort.”

Jeffery Ramsey looked at him hard. “Philippe, if the FSP’s candidate wins the election, things will go from bad to worse. I will have to fight a long hard battle in court just to keep you in my house as a member of the family. But I promise you, no one is taking you as long as I have a breath in my body to defend you!”

At those words, Philippe sent Jeffery a heartfelt smile as they left the highway and began the drive back to the Estate.

 

ou are not wearing that!” Philippe said, crossing his arms as Sarah came running out of the front door with jean mini-shorts and an orange shirt that right now concealed her belly but he knew very well she was hiding the revealing nature of the shirt. “I have told you…”

“For God’s sake, Philippe,” Sarah pouted. “It’s just a shirt. I know what you’ve told me and to tell you the truth – it hasn’t happened in all the time I’ve worn them so…”

Philippe crossed his arms. “So what? You think I’m going to…”

“We’re late,” Kiley added leaning across the seat as Sarah got in.

Ten years later, Philippe was now one of the principle figures in the house as well as scoffer and butler. Sarah and the others had grown and now attended Branduin Private High School. Philippe was now a full time butler, gardener, stable hand, and just about anything he could do to stay busy. He was also continuous figure to the many children that Jeffery had continued to bring in during the years. Their was some thirty students and orphans living at the Ramsey Estate which had also been turned into a part time school six years ago. However, with everything that had happed within the last ten years, Philippe found himself constantly fearing his life even if one of the newer Professors, Emma Carson, was teaching him Mage Magic. She was a mage and though she often taught younger kids spells that would save their lives (against the Dead and the Living), she had felt the same way as Jeffery about Philippe and decided that she would teach him some simple (yet complicated spells at the same time), just in case trouble arouse when there was no one their to protect him. Philippe knew that Jeffery had gone to court a few times over him though it was about it. What the Elf didn’t know was that the battle Jeffery had fought had been won by a very small margin.

Closing the limo door, Philippe scowled and went to the driver’s side and got in himself. Dressed in his unusual attire and flipping down the sunglasses, the young Elf started the Estate ‘bus’ and set out for town.

Branduin Private High School was modern, flashy, and very high tech for its age. As the students got out, Philippe watched them disperse into their groups, ignoring the glares, dreamy looks, and those that simply didn’t care pass him by. It was well known now that Philippe was not just a half-elf but full blood, working under very decent conditions and receiving a salary that was no different then any of the other workers at the Estate. That and it was well known that Philippe lived in the mansion rather then in a small room like most workers would. Dropping the children off at school was quick and rarely did Philippe stay to see where they all went for sure. After Kiley climbed out, ignoring Philippe completely as she ran after Sarah who was also leaving the Elf without anything but a second glance again today, he turned and quickly began to exit away from the school.

Today was not going to be a normal day and out of sheer luck, Philippe turned in time to see the gunman with a pistol pointed directly for the driver’s side of the limo. Slamming on the breaks in time to duck and conjure a force field that would repel a bullet, Philippe screamed as the bullets shattered the windows. He held the shield but found that he could not hold it forever and soon realized that glass was being blown from all directions of the limo.

Out of desperation, Philippe tried one last trick Emma had taught him and slipped on an Invisibility spell. He lay silent and still, his heart racing and tears in his eyes. After twelve years of service and work, they decide to try and kill him now.

Still clocked in both a shield and invisibly, Philippe crawled to the passenger area and cowered in the corner.

He had been hit.

It wasn’t serious and he would live. What he noticed soon afterward was the blood trail that led to where he was. Trying his best to hide the wound, Philippe moved and glanced out of the window. The shooting had stopped and a crowd was gathering. Slumping against the doors amidst shattered glass, Philippe found himself shivering but not with cold. He was scared. He wanted to call Jeffery on his cell but the phone only fumbled from his grasp due to blood and shaking hands.

“Philippe!” he heard someone cry and with much effort struggled to look out the window. Sarah, Kiley and Nate were among some of those struggling to get to the cars as the teachers held them back. “No! You have to let us through! Philippe!” Nate cried, echoed by his sister.

“Not until the police have arrived!” one of the teachers bellowed. “Someone get Principle Leonard out here immediately! Is that your vehicle?” he asked Nate who nodded fiercely, clearing pissed off that they were unable to see if he was alright. “I want you to get inside. Everyone inside! Those gunmen could be out here and you’ll be next!”

Just as the teacher said that, another round of guns shot up and Philippe ducked, his shoulder hit. Biting back another yelp, the Elf sank along the floor, fearing that he would die this day in a limo on an everyday errand. He could use magic against the attackers, true, but it would hardly be seen as defense before a jury if the men (or women, he thought glumly), were killed or even wounded. An Elf didn’t stand such chances in court. He would remain where he was and should the God’s choose to take him from this Earth, then he would leave it and all he held so dear.

Philippe never saw the students, well trained in magic and those that either were rebelling orders or hadn’t heard them, knock out the gunman who had become invisible as well. Nate and Sarah, who were high class Mages, had found one of the attackers about to open the door of the passenger’s quarters and knocked him out with a well aimed rock that Kiley threw after they uncloaked him. Minutes later, police sirens were heard yet no one entered the limo and the children were fobbing near it. Nate and Sarah told the teachers that their driver was an Elf who had been working for Jeffery Ramsey for twelve years. As they were pressed for anything that would have promoted an attack, police began to take the men and two women under custody while a few inspected the limo as the paramedics pulled up, sirens blaring, next to the limo.

“There is a blood trail,” someone said as lights searched the limo.

“But no body,” another said, a female. “Check the back.”

When the door was opened, Philippe had finally lost hold of his spell, materializing before the startled officers who jumped back. The woman frowned. “Well, he can use magic that much is certain.”

“Call…Jeffery…”Philippe begged as he was dragged (with very little care), out of the limo and into the light. Sarah screamed and ran forward, despite the barricades and teachers.

“Philippe!” she cried, pushing the woman out of the way and holding him in her lap as he lay shaking. “I called Mr. Ramsey. He’s on his way. You’re hurt?”

He managed a smile. “Just a scratch, kid. Anyone else hurt?”

“As far as we know, no,” Nate said, glaring at one of the officers that stepped forward to push him back. “Their target was pretty much staked out. And they were Mages, though weak. What happened?”

As Sarah searched his injuries with gentle fingers, Philippe explained. “I had enough time to throw up a weak shield and latter used the Invisibly spell Emma taught me. I don’t know if they knew I had crawled to the back or not but…”

“Shut up, dam it,” Sarah growled, whacking him playfully on the mouth and letting one of the paramedics take him from her.

Philippe was scared. He had been lucky twelve years ago when restrictions hadn’t been so tight and Elves less feared or hated. Even the police and paramedics who were handling his wounds and case would have rather been else where then saving the life of an Elf. However, the chief was speaking to Jeffery on Sarah’s cell phone that the threats that Jeffery was making were enough to make the man comply.

The students resumed their day and Philippe was taken to the hospital. Jeffery arrived in Philippe’s room while the Elf slept lightly. After explaining to the elderly man what had happened, Jeffery nodded but said that he wasn’t going to stay at the hospital. Despite his injuries, Philippe left the hospital that day and returned home where Rosemary would be the one to fuss over him. He also came to the school and had the elder children (as they were home schooled till sixteen), what had happened, what would be done, and that they were to say very little about the matter until the hearing and court trial were completed. Jeffery was already preparing a case and had called his lawyer right after Sarah had called him.

They were picked up by Mark Carnigan and Jeffery after school was out. Jeffery would not speak and soon the questions ceased and the waited impatiently to get back to the manor. Unfortunately, Philippe was sleeping and Rosemary forbid them to visit till the morning thus it was to there rooms to do homework.

With the case broadcasted on the news, reported in the papers and even radio, it was hard to keep things quite at school until the court date a month later. Philippe appeared in court along side Jeffery and Mr. Robert Herring, Jeffery’s lawyer. It was swift and as the jury went to decide, Philippe remained seated, arms folded and head buried within them, waiting for his fate. It was more then if the men and women were guilty about trying to kill him, it would be if Philippe was allowed to remain as Jeffery Ramsey’s worker at the Estate. It was the picture that was found on the Branduin Chronicles the following day with the headline, ‘Felons’ Jailed; Elf Freed’. On a close margin, the Jury had allowed Philippe to remain with Jeffery as long as he remained on the property and never set foot outside the Estate. Grimly, Jeffery allowed this and returned home, ignoring the press as they met Mark and the limo at the street.

 

In the weeks following the trial, Philippe continued his former duties as gardener and stable hand but he was no longer allowed to even be a household butler for Jeffery feared now for his life. In turn, this caused the Elf to lose interest in many things that once interested him yet remained normal enough that it did not concern Jeffery or the rest of the staff. Only Sarah seemed to be able to perceive his mind and came to him occasionally to ask what was wrong. He told her little but hid the real truth from her.

One evening, Jeffery pulled him into his office. Philippe stood, fearing that Jeffery was going to tell him that he had lost a court battle and he was being sent away as a true slave like the rest of his people. For a time, Jeffery said nothing as he stared out his office window, not even acknowledging the Elf’s presence. At last he turned. “Take a seat, Philippe. There is something I need to tell you.”

Both sat down, Philippe slowly, fear causing his heart to race and early tears to well up in his eyes. Jeffery placed his hands on the file on his desk, palms down, staring at it. Finally, he spoke. “I did much research after you came here,” he began. “I tried to figure out anything as to who you could have been despite the negative testing that the hospital in Jarrepool did when we found you.”

Philippe said nothing for a while. Then, after a deep breath, he asked, “Do you know?”

“No,” Jeffery said, leaning back and folding his hands over his lap. “I only have guesses and possibilities. I searched the records for many prisons, reading description of thousands of Elves. It would help if they put up pictures but most see that as a waste of time. I finally went to Black Water Prison as you were found beneath Adamant Ridge, near the attack sight that is said to be connected to the attack on the Black Water trucks that were relocating the prisoners.” Philippe was expressionless and silent so Jeffery continued. “There were many descriptions that you fit on the day I found you but you always seemed to match Amarion. Which Amarion is not certain? There were a few located their, one being the Prince who was reported dead not long after you were found. This rules you out as him, at least, which is a relief to my heart for they would have you killed in an instant even if you didn’t remember.”

“You think that might be my real name?” Philippe asked.

Jeffery leaned forward, pushing the file toward the Elf. “I am not certain but it was the best I could do. The lists of other matching records are in there. Take it. You should have it, not me.”

Not sure if he should thank the old man or not, Philippe took the folder and looked at it. Silently, with a polite bow to take his leave, the Elf returned to his room, spending the rest if the night going over the pile of Elves from Black Water Gate and other prisons. He would search the internet for confirmations as well. Some were recorded as dead. Those as recorded as missing he would move to a pile. Later he narrowed that pile down. In the end, after staying up most of the night and into the dawn, Philippe came up with the same result as Jeffery and with a sigh, partially accepted that his name had once been Amarion – though the Amarion on his list had vague stats and little was known about him. He had gone missing around the same date Philippe had been found.

Perhaps someday, he would remember.

Someday, he would know who he had been.

 

Despite his predicament and handicap, as he would say, he had noticed something strange about Sarah for the past several months and it wasn’t until a night he was trying to rent some frustration by swimming in the pool. During these night swims, he would keep the lights off and take his laps in the darkness where only the moon was his only light. He had lost count when the lights came on; dim yet light enough to alert Philippe who suddenly froze and dove underwater, swimming back to the rim of the pool. It wasn’t until he surfaced silently, fearing that it was Eric Brawlny who was coming to inspect the pool on his routine, that he saw a figure much like Sarah Turner’s half naked in the arm of a nearly stripped young man. His hands where on her hips, far to low for Philippe’s taste and his mouth was pressed along her neck.

Rage swept through Philippe but he did not move. He watched a moment longer as he pulled off her shorts and lead her to the hot pool where they were so involved with each other that the never noticed the Elf slip from the pool, grab his towel, and slip over to the control panels. As the moans and sounds of love-making rose in volume, (not to mention the urge to beat the young man to death no matter how willing Sarah obviously was), Philippe suddenly hit the switch that would activate the whirlpool in the hot tub and moments later as they froze, he turned off the lights.

Sarah’s scream was cut off by the young man’s hand. Feeling rather smug with himself, Philippe went to pick up Sarah’s cloths where she had left them. Obviously the young man was here for one thing only and the noises returned. Philippe’s eyes were as keen as an owl in the darkness thus he only stood there for a moment while they fucked. Seconds later, Sarah’s cloths landed on her head and she screamed, breaking apart with the man who also let out a yell.

“Get your disgraceful ass out of that tub and back to your room,” Philippe hissed. “And you better hope to god that I don’t kill him where he stands.” Sarah did not have to see his burning eyes to know how upset he was. Angry with him for disrupting her (and seeing her naked for she knew very well how much he could see in the dark), Sarah began to move away from the young man who grabbed her arm.

“You said that no one would be up,” he accused. “And who do you think you are, Elf?”

“Unless you want me to become one of the Elves you should fear, get your ass out of that pool and get out of here!” Philippe challenged. “No one is allowed on these properties after ten and it’s well past midnight. You know the rules, Sarah.”

She didn’t say anything as she struggled to pull her shirt and pants on her wet body. Tears came but she refused to let Philippe see anymore then that as he literary dragged her away as soon as she had enough cloths on. He met Erik on the way out of the pool.

“What do you think you two are going all wet?” Erik asked, glaring at Philippe. “A little fuck in the pool.”

Philippe glared at him, thankful to see the officer there yet at the same time enraged. “I was swimming as I do often at night yet she had an unwanted guest in the hot tub doing exactly that. He should still be in there,” Philippe said, leaving Erik with a gleeful look as he dragged Sarah back to her room. Erik found the boy still searching for his cloths in the dark and brought him to his office.

“Dam it Philippe! I’m not a little girl anymore!” Sarah screamed as soon as they were in her room. “I can do whatever I want with who ever I want!”

“Really,” Philippe growled, advancing on her with eyes of a wolf ready to kill. “Perhaps that is part of the reason I stopped your frolicking in the water, but you know the rules, Sarah Turner! Since when do you think it is alright for you to sneak a young man into the mansion to have sex with him in the hot tub? Is this the first time you’ve managed it?”

She glared at him, green eyes almost as sharp as daggers. “What do you care?” It was a question she didn’t mean and snapped her mouth shut immediately after saying it.

Philippe slapped her across the face. “How dare you ask that?”

She fell to the floor weeping are more then the blow he had delivered to her. “Philippe…I’m sorry…”

“Shower and go to bed. Jeffery will deal with you and your lover in the morning.” As he moved to leave the room, he noticed that the bed had been left in a mess and some of the items on the floor told him that they had been in the room before going to the pool. Not wishing to cause her anymore harm then had had already dealt, Philippe left, slamming the door behind him as he left.

Sarah remained where she was, crying as one who had had her heart torn from her chest. If one had not understood her true heart, they would have thought she cried because of the boy she had been sleeping with for the past few months. He was not her first. Upon reaching the High School, Sarah had begun to explore her sexuality more often, her virginity taken from her at seventeen. It was not the boy, Josh Hart that had her crying but Philippe Ramsey. It was only a confession her diary knew about – she loved him and had dreams of marrying him, starting a family and living a perfect little dream where he was pardoned for everything and was allowed to live a normal life. Of all the boys she slept with, she only wanted one to lie with her, to love her rather then take her body for pleasure.

Slowly, Sarah pulled herself up off the floor and moved to her closet. From that closet she pulled out a small box that contained what appeared to be a chemistry set. Bringing it to her bed, Sarah sat down, ignoring the used condoms scattered in her sheets. Josh didn’t matter now. She only wanted one and tonight her heart told her to get the one man she had wanted to marry for years. From the chemistry set she pulled out a small, corked vile of clear liquid. It was labeled clearly though ever in a coded version. She had called it ‘Love Potion #9’ as a joke upon the day of its creation. Tonight, she thoughts as she pulled the stopper off with a soft 'pop', would use it. But first, she had to be able to slip it into water and hope that Philippe drank it.

With skill that had been practiced over the years, Sarah slipped from the room and down the hall to Philippe’s. She tested the door and found it locked. After listening (both inside as well as around her), Sarah used a simple charm to open the door and slip in. Philippe was in the shower. She knew his routine as she had often watched him as a child – when she was innocently in love with a man far older then her.

She saw the glass of water on the nightstand and carefully went over to it. With the cork was already off so she poured it into the water then bolted for his study, hiding in behind the doorway.

He came out a few hours later, swathed in a towel and damp. She didn’t dare take a peak and his Elvish muttering wasn’t clear to her. Tuning her ears to the other room, Sarah listened as he dressed and sat down on the bed. When she heard the sound of glass touching the wood, she smiled and waited, looking down at her already eager body. Her heart was racing. A moment or two went by. Then she slipped from the study, her shirt left partially open to reveal bear skin and her body hot with anticipation.

He was about to turn off the lights when she appeared. Jumping, Philippe cursed. “Dam it, what are you doing? Haven’t you had enough of sneaking around?” Standing to confront her, to return her once again to her room, Philippe found himself with a young girl pressed to his body, her breasts crushed to his chest, a leg lifting against his bear thighs and her tongue seeking entrance to his mouth.

Philippe fought the spell that he suddenly knew was on him but could not control his body and soon lost his mind to the potion that had been slipped into his water. He was aware at times, his conscious knowing full well what was going on but unable to stop it. How long she rode him he did not know. Their lovemaking, if he would even call it that later, was rough, demanding and a painful bliss for Sarah who enjoyed every minute of it until at last she feared the potion would die out and Philippe would do more then just slap her.

Unfortunately for her, the potion ended as soon as Philippe gained control of himself, lying naked on his bed among the ruffled sheets as she tried to dress herself and escape.

But all he did was cry, his heart in more pain then any other part of him. He was ashamed and felt wholly abused by the one person he had trusted as much as Jeffery since coming to the Estate. He let her leave; slipping out of his room ere the dawn came up. Turning over Philippe wept as one who had lost everything and still did not know why. The sun spilled into his room, drying his tears and warming his face. As he stared into the sunlight arching over his rug and wooden floors, Philippe began to recall things of the past twelve years, of the more recent events that had lost him so much and of this night where he had been raped by one trusted with his entire heart and soul.

It was in the dawn light that Philippe’s mind was suddenly made up.

e left many things behind, taking only those of semimetal value or need. It would be a while before the household began to wake, being the summer where the only thing worth getting up early for was a special occasion. This left the hallways silent and bare as Philippe walked down to the kitchens dressed for what appeared to be an early morning ride and a rather full backpack and a blanket. If anyone asked, he was going for a solitary camping trip and hope no one would remind him that he was restricted to walk in areas where he could be seen by the cameras.

In the stable he chose one of his favorite mares, taking only her bridle as he often rode bareback. She was a bay mare, small and fast, which was just what he wanted. With his backpack on his shoulders, he mounted her in the courtyard, looking as casual as possible due to the surveillance cameras hidden on the property. Thinking about them only reminded Philippe that they were put in eight years ago when the Elven Enslavement Acts were passed by the President of Adraln that year. They were meant for his safety – because he was an Elf.

He wanted to leave. Not to leave the Estate, or the family he had here, but to leave this world. To ride faraway and to make it into Shaor where he hoped to find something that would either help him remember his past or find a better life then one as the hunted.

Tuscan Rose tossed her head when Philippe checked her. He did not look at the cameras as he moved the little mare out toward the fields beyond. He would get out of here. No one would be up right now (not even Rosemary) and he knew that Eric Brawlny didn’t care what the Elf did unless he was vandalizing, killing, or harming someone. As Philippe often rode these days since his ‘retirement’, he felt no need to call a morning ride as stealing. Philippe only feared the backpack would be suspicious.

Whatever had caused Sarah to come to Philippe’s room was uncertain. She found the door slightly open. She was already crying when she opened the door and saw cloths, artifacts, and even a few books missing. “Philippe?” she called.

Upon further inspection she noticed that personal items were gone, including all his book of spells. With a gasp of realization and fear, Sarah ran from the room and raced down to the Security Office. She knew that Josh would still be their, contained until Jeffery Ramsey was awake, but she also knew that Eric would know if anything happened to Philippe. When the Security Officer opened the door, he glowered at her. “Come here to save him, eh? Well it’s too late,” Eric growled, nearly closing the door until she placed both hands on it to stop it from moving. “What?”

“I think Philippe’s room was robbed,” she said quickly, ignoring Josh. She was breaking up with him anyway. “His books are missing and it looks like someone was…”

“Well, Philippe just went to the stables. Probably going for a ride,” Eric shrugged.

Sarah didn’t ask any more questions and in her morning robes of rose patterned satin, she raced to the stables, entering the courtyard just as Philippe and Tuscan Rose disappeared down the north trail that would lead to the lake. “Philippe! Wait!” she cried. He didn’t stop and when she skidded to a halt at the head of the trail he was now galloping rather then trotting. “Dam it,” she cried, tears nearly blinding her as she went to find her horse, a black gelding she called Little Boy. He was surprised to see her as she tacked him up with fumbling fingers. Without waiting to lead him outside, Sarah mounted and spurred him after Philippe who would most likely be to far away for her to catch.

Knowing that Sarah had saw him leaving made Philippe afraid he would have to use his flimsy excuse with her. As Tuscan Rose raced along the well worn paths, Philippe would glance back often to see if she was pursuing. When it appeared she wasn’t, he slowed the little mare to a walk, now well away from the sight of the cameras along the Estate.

He knew these trails well and where he wanted to get to. The lake on the other side of the woods would suffice for his needs. From his shirt pocket, Philippe pulled out a list he had made before leaving his room. It was the items needed for a spell. It was a spell far beyond the level Emma Carson had taught him but his heart ached to get out of here and to find answers only it could hold. He figured the spell would lead him to Shaor, the home of his people.

As he was studying the list of items, thinking of where he could find them if they wouldn’t be near the lake, he suddenly heard hoof beats behind him and Tuscan Rose became jittery, playing with her head. Turning, Philippe caught the sight of a black horse racing after them; a figure crouched low over his neck. Sarah. “Dam it,” the Elf growled, “I just want to be left alone!” With Elvish words of encouragement and a soft nudge in the ribs, Philippe sent Tuscan Rose full out again, his legs pressed to her sides to prevent him from falling off. He knew Little Boy to be faster then his mount but he had never been good at cross country. Quite suddenly, he changed their course and took Tuscan Rose onto a smaller deer run. With the list in his pocket, Philippe focused on the trail ahead, watching for lower branches that would catch on his rather thick backpack. Once, he turned around to see that Little Boy was trying to follow the lithe little mare through the brush but was falling behind. With a smile of victory, Philippe changed direction again, heading back toward the trail that would bring him to the Lake.

Sarah was crying. “No, please…Philippe…” she wept as she struggled to keep up with him through the deer run. Then she saw him turn back toward the trail and remembered where this trail rain. He was going to the Lake! Of course. She had been so blind. The Lake was one of his favorite places to be when he was upset and hurt. Which he definitely was now after what she had done. Reining Little Boy in, she spun him around and raced back to the trail. He would get their first but if he was unhorsed at the time she rode up, he would have a hard time escaping. With pure determination, Sarah spun Little Boy around on the trail and trusting in the speed of her former race horse; she leaned over his withers and hissed in his ear. “Run, Little Boy! Run!” And she gave him his head.

The lake was quite, resting in a dissipating morning mist. Philippe dismounted Tuscan Rose, nearly sliding off her sweating body. He hadn’t stopped when he reached the trail. He Setting his pack against the elm tree that lay on the edge of the sandy beach and woodland, Philippe once again took out his list as his horse grazed on the sweet grasses near by. He could get most of the stuff here, which is why he picked it.

A handful of crushed acorns, five fist sized stones, three wild roses and an ash and rowan leaf could all be found in the area. He also had a few needed items in his backpack which he would get out later.

Philippe was wading near the shore where it was rockier when Sarah arrived astride a very sweaty gelding. Wishing he could have dove into the water before she saw him, Philippe watched as she rode up to the beach and jumped off, her robes flying around her as she ran across the sands toward him. “You know I come here to be alone!” Philippe yelled, refusing to come to her.

“I know,” she gasped, still not stopping. “Philippe…I…”

“You’re what?” he asked scornfully. “Sorry for raping me last night? Sorry for using a potion against me so that you could use my body for your sexual pleasure? Bull shit!”

Sarah stopped, her heart falling to pieces as he began to advance on her, his left arm carrying three fist-sized rocks on the crook next to his bear chest. She began to back up as he came to the shore but instead of using the rocks to attack her, he dropped them in the sands, rubbing the mud off his skin. When she took a step toward him, he slapped her so hard she fell to the sand. “Get out of here and leave me alone, bitch!”

“Philippe, I love you! I always have!” she cried, crawling away in the sand as he followed his advance on her.

The Elf snorted. “And you prove this by sleeping with barely grown boys who only want you so they can fuck you? By poisoning me and raping my body and my heart! You honestly thought that is the only thing involved with sex is the body! I knew what you were doing and struggled to control my body but failed until you had had your fun! No, Sarah Turner, that is not love. That is betrayal of trust between two friends! I loved you as a brother would a sister, not a lover!”

She stared at him, eyes wide in horror as she realized that he was not out here for the day but most likely forever. “You’re not coming back?”

“Back to what?” Philippe snorted as he turned back to shift through the shoreline rocks again. “I use to have a life there. Now I have no purpose. You know why Eric Brawlny and the other Security Staff was hired, Sarah? Because of the damn laws passed by our President that forbid Elves to hold any job unless they were bound by an owner that claimed them as the African American’s were on Earth thousands of years ago! We’re lucky that they didn’t try to kill me earlier instead of waiting nine years to do it! The entire grounds are watched by cameras and monitors because of me! This is not the life I want.”

She watched him as he dove under the water after a rock that seemed to be able to work for the spell. When he came back up, she was sitting in the sand, legs pulled up to her chin and arms wrapped around them. She was crying. He only glared at her but he would not be able to deny that he still loved her as he had during the last twelve years. He tossed that rock back after seeing that it wasn’t the right size and dove for some more. How long he purposefully ignored her, Philippe didn’t know but he didn’t come back to shore till he had found his last two rocks. Dumping them off next to the others, Philippe looked down at her, still sulking in the sands. “You’re not immortal, kid,” he said, his tone quite softer then it had been earlier. “You’ll get over it.”

“You’re just going to live our here,” she asked, tilting her head back to look at him as he used his blanket to dry himself off a bit. His pants were wet but they would dry in the sun. “Or are you going to come back eventually?”

Looking into the sky where the sun had chased away the morning mist leaving them with a partly cloudy day, Philippe sighed. “I’m not coming back.”

“What are the rocks for? A campfire?”

Philippe paused, looking at the rocks he had gathered. “Uh…yeah.” With a sigh, he sat down next to her and she leaned against his shoulder which was still a bit damp. With his arms resting casually on his knees, Philippe turned to look at her.

“I don’t want you to go,” she said, her voice breaking.

“Sarah, it’s only a matter of time before they come and take me away from Jeffery and ship me off to who-knows-where. They can’t catch me out here because it’s private property and if they do enter it they’re trespassing. And, I feel like if I stay, I’ll endanger those at the manor. If they’re brave enough to attack the limo in the open, who knows what they’ll do if they mob up and come against the manor. I’ve heard of the stories about them doing things to people who are nice to Elves. We’re lucky it hasn’t happened. My time is over and I have to go.”

She looked at him, tears coursing down her face like rivers. “But you’ll come back and visit, right? I really love you so much and…”

He shushed her, placing a finger on her lips. “I know,” he whispered. “But what you did to me last night will always hurt, no matter how much you care. It was wrong. Such things are meant to be shared with the one you love and have devoted your life to in marriage. That I believe. Or, only when both people make love with their hearts as well as their bodies. Do you understand?” She nodded, biting her lower lip. Then, because he couldn’t help it, he leaned over and kissed her forehead firmly, cupping his hand behind her head. She leaned into it a moment before throwing her arms around him, crying on his shoulder.

The sun had reached its zenith. Philippe lay on the beach with Sarah curled up next to him. His eyes were slightly closed and his heart was at ease as he rehearsed the spell that would not only get him out of here but possibly change his life for the better. When he heard one of the horses snort, Philippe lifted his body, disturbing Sarah, and looking as Little Boy snorted. “What is it?” Sarah asked.

“I’m not sure,” the Elf said, glancing up at the sky. “But perhaps you should be getting back. It’s nearly noon and Rosemary will be frantic. Not to mention Jeffery will want to speak with you about your boyfriend.”

“I’m dumping him,” Sarah said, scowling as Philippe rose, gathering the stones and washing them in the lake.

He shrugged. “Do what you want. Just remember what I told you next time a cute guy wants to have sex with you.” She pouted and picked up one of the stones he hadn’t washed yet.

“What are they for?” she asked again after studying them. “Are you going to use magic or something because I don’t know of any spell that needs stones?”

Philippe sighed. “Emma doesn’t teach this type of magic, Sarah. But I have to try it. If you want to help, there is a list near my pack with the things I need.”

“What dose the spell do?”

He took the stone from her hands gently. “You’ll find out. But you’re either going to help or go home.”

Sarah complied to help and went in search of three wild roses while Philippe took out the spell book and arranged the rocks, crushed the acorn’s into a powdery dust using a nearly-flat stone and a smaller rock as a mortar and pestle. Leaving the dust to dry in the sun, Philippe went to find an ash and rowan tree, meeting Sarah coming back along the way. It didn’t take him long to find the trees and returned fifteen minutes later. She was looking at the spell and his stomach fell a thousand feet. Shit.

As he approached, holding the two leaves carefully by the steams in one hand, she looked up wide eyed. “This is too dangerous!”

He shrugged. “I’m willing to give it a shot. Do you have the flowers?”

“Philippe!” She cried ignoring his last question and snapping the book shut. “Not even Professor Carson is a High Mage! You’re not even a fully trained Simple Mage! You can’t do it!”

Philippe scowled at her. “Elves taught humans magic, it’s in my blood. And I have a funny feeling. The birds are disturbed in the forest and the feeling in my gut tells me to get moving quickly. Now, I want you to mount Little Boy and pony Tuscan Rose back to the barn. Tell them that you found her near the lake with no trace of me to be found. Maybe make something up that I was killed or something and taken away. I don’t care. As long as they never try to search for me again. And if you can’t lie to Jeffery, tell him in private only that I’ve run away because I don’t want to endanger him or the children still living at the Estate, do you understand?” She stared at him, mouth open. “Sarah!”

“I…” She was crying again. “I though you would come back. You won’t if you use the spell.”

“I’ll try if I can, alright. Now please, go before they do send a search party out for you,” he pleased, exasperation in his voice. Slowly, she handed the book back along with three wild roses cut a few inches from the stems. He took them both with a nod of thanks, his eyes full of sorrow and even bringing to tear himself. Then she left, taking Tuscan Rose’s bridle and going to catch the mare while Philippe finished the circle that would, he hoped, make his life better and worth living.

He had moved his pack and other things he wished to take with inside the circle and held the acorn dust in his hand as Sarah began to ride away. “Don’t look back!” Philippe called his tone nearly an order. Then he closed his eyes, not seeing her stop and turn to watch.

The spell was to be sung, the tune to be made up by the singer. He began softly at first, visualizing the spell in his mind. Its root was simple yet he had spent most of the time putting together the rest that would personalize it for himself. As he continued, breaking into the verses for a second time, he felt the sun warming his body and opened his hand so that the light touched the dust in his hand. His song grew in power and as Sarah watched the simple tan and gray dust in his hand suddenly took a life of its own. Philippe let one flower drop as the second verse died for the second time and she felt the magic in the air, the lee lines rushing in toward him as he called for it. The third chorus started and the dust was swirling around Philippe’s feet, touching the stones and causing them to glow.

The second flower fell.

The power that rushed through his body was making him shake. He concentrated on the song that would hold the magic in check. As he prepared to let the last flower fall, he felt his hold sway and tightened his grip, adding determination to the music. The last flower fell and as it touched the ground Philippe felt his body go numb, his mind began to feel light and heavy at the same time. A sharp pain hit his body, his shoulder and leg but he could not cry out or move as he felt as if he was being lifted into a void of utter blackness and swept away on golden wings, breaking into the sunlight above the clouds.

What Philippe never saw were the police and others of a mob racing into the beach. They had ignored Sarah, save Nathanial who stopped his 4-wheeler next to the skittish horses and grabbing onto Little Boy’s reins as the horse reacted to the high concentration of magic in the air. As Sarah watched, eyes wide at the light that was swirling around the Elf, the police opened fire and she screamed with Nate who shouted at them. A brilliant white light exploded in the clearing, the magic caving inward then outward so that all those on their feet were knocked over and the horses reared. Sarah fell off and was nearly trampled by Little Boy who jumped over top of her, only to fall to the ground with a scream as the magic hit him. The 4-wheelers where pushed around as if a twister was coming through.

Then all was silent.

Sarah looked up. Where Philippe had once stood, his voice singing so strongly, there was nothing. The five stones remained. The dust had settled perfectly within that circle and the three roses had turned completely white like the stones. Nate could only stare as the young girl wept, hiding her face as she realized that Philippe was gone. The police went closer after recovering.

All they found of Philippe Alan Ramsey was three drops of blood next to the last rose that had fallen from his hand.

e was still on a beach.

Lifting his head, Philippe peered into the sunlight that seemed to illuminate the white sands around him. Finally, he realized that this beach was not a lake side beach. He lay in the grass dotted dunes next to the roaring waves of an ocean. Sitting up, Philippe rubbed his temple, trying to chase away the headache that was constantly pounding his brain.

At least he knew the spell worked.

The next thing he noticed was the dried blood on his chest and the pain that exploded from his leg when he tried to move it. He was shot? Frowning, he suddenly hoped Sarah had left before they apparent attack on him again. Then he was thankful he had left or Jeffery could have lost more then just one of his rescued orphans, even if that particular orphan was an Elf.

Philippe passed out again, brief memories of a similar experience flashing through his head before he fell back into blissful sleep.

 

What awoke him first was the small creature he figured was a cat or a bird that was hopping along his aching, sun burnt body. As he lay there, the sun now down far enough that it was less annoying, Philippe realized that whatever was walking over him, there was more then one. As something with small talons began to climb onto his face, Philippe opened one eye to find a small, blue lizard’s head peering at his nose.

Philippe let out a dry scream due to the lack of moisture in his throat at the time and a fair of the creatures flies away in a rainbow of greens, blues and other colors. His heart racing, Philippe decides that it is time to drag his wounded body to a place where he can hide from what he figured were creatures that were going to turn him into dinner. Rolling over, he found his backpack on a nearby dune and tried to reach for it. A small lizard poked her head out from behind it and chirped. His hand jumped back but she only flew away. The pain was intense but he managed to drag the pack closer to him and later drag it the long way up the beach to the wooded area that lay near some low lying cliffs. There, he dug out his knife and began the painful process of trying to pull out the bullets. The one in his shoulder had gone straight through thus he only placed a healing slave he had taken from his medicine cabinet and wrapped it up. He managed to get the bullet in his leg out though there were plenty of blood on the beach for carnivorous to smell for miles away. As if on cue, the flying lizards returned and flocked around him, flying in tight circles and chattering wildly before flying off again.

Wrapping his leg with the gauze, Philippe leaned back against the tree, eyes looking out toward the sea that was lit with the light of the setting sun. He also noticed the rising cliffs in the distance. Tomorrow he would make for them, hoping to at least find shelter for a time until his wounds were healed enough. As he was pulling out his blanket, the lizards returned again, flying around his pathetic shelter of trees longer this time before flying away. They reminded Philippe of dragons. Tiny dragons, perhaps, but of dragons nonetheless. Using his backpack as an uncomfortable pillow, Philippe pulled his blanket over his head, a few tears coming to his cheek as he realized that he would never say goodbye to Jeffery or Nate or Kiley. Never be able to wake up and see them again. He doubted that he could find those same things again to make the return trip. He doubted he was anywhere on Sentra. There was a difference in the air and in the earth as well. Most of the trees that he was near by were unknown to him.

Philippe woke as the last light of the sun was reflecting off the ocean. The little dragons had returned but were quieter. That was when Philippe noticed that there was another shape, much larger and peering down at him, a faceted eye (at least he guessed it was an eye), glowing in the twilight. “AH!” he screamed, nearly hitting the young man behind him. “What do you want?” Philippe cried. “I don’t have any money and…”

“Relax!” the man cried, his voice laced with a strange accent but understandable to the Elf. “You’re hurt. We need to get you to a Healer.”

The man had brown hair, cut a bit unevenly to his nape. He was not quite handsome but wasn’t bad looking either. Even in the growing darkness, Philippe could see that his eyes were brown and troubled. For a moment the unfocused but he turned back to check on Philippe’s shoulder. “The fire lizards kept coming to Jesioth but we didn’t believe them that there was a shipwrecked man on the beaches this far from the Weyr…” the man was saying.

“Huh? Weyr? Fire lizards…the little dragons?”

The rider looked at him, smiling a bit. “Yes. You’re not from around here at all, are you? What is your name?”

“Philippe…Ramsey. I used a spell to bring me here. I’m from the world called Sentra.”

“Sentra?” the man said, puzzled. “Never heard of it, nor have I seen real magic before. We don’t go off-world much but we have been to a few other worlds closer to Pern. This your bag?” he asked, pointing to the backpack next to Philippe’s head. The Elf nodded. “Why did you leave?”

Philippe frowned. “I was going to be killed for being a certain race. It doesn’t matter. Do you have a name? And who is Jesioth?”

“Oh, sorry. M’len. Jesioth is the blue dragon that was hovering over you when you woke up.”

Sorry, a voice said in his mind. Philippe looked around, finally looking at the whirling eyes of the dragon that lowered his head as if apologizing.

“Telepathic?”

“Yes, most Pern creatures are. But we best get you to the Weyr and have the healers look at you.” Helping Philippe to his feet, M’len brought him over to his dragon that lowered his forearm for the Elf to be pushed onto the dragon’s back. It was much different then riding a horse and while M’len went to carry his pack around, Philippe clutch to the harness that was around Jesioth’s neck. He felt a bit sick but he doubted it was from heights. The fire lizards fluttered around Philippe, small eyes glowing around him as M’len tied his rather heavy backpack onto his dragon’s harness then climbed up in front of Philippe. The fire lizards scattered when M’len shooed them off.

“Put your arms around me so you don’t fall off,” he told the Elf. “It’s a short ride. The Weyr is up the coast a bit. Hang on.”

He would never forget his first ride on a dragon. Jesioth launched himself into the sky, the fire lizards flying in every direction with chirps, squeals and whistles as his great wings took them higher into the sky. M’len clasp his larger, work callused hands over the Elf’s slender smooth ones to make sure he did not fall as fatigue and pain over took him. He managed to stay awake and watched as the mountains he had planned to make for came closer into view. What he thought were mountains ended up being a large basin next to the ocean with two rather large lakes near the ocean, one being directly connected to the ocean itself while the other looked to be separate.

Jesioth arched around the cliffs and landed next to three dying fires. There were people around that moved as the blue dragon landed as close to the fires as he could. Philippe would never have been able to fathom the complexity of the Weyr’s society if he had been awake and M’len explained to him. As the Elf slipped into unconsciousness, not caring what these dragon people did to him, M’len assisted two other riders and pulling the Elf off his dragon. Healers came from the Lower Caverns of Falas Weyr to tend to the Elf while M’len spoke to the Weyrleaders of what had happened. M’hant only nodded, telling M’len to keep an eye on him while he recovered and to report anything strange that happened.

 

Philippe recovered quickly, being that his wounds were relatively clean by the time Aymay tended them. M’len visited often, explaining Pern, dragons, and Weyr-life to him while he waited to be able to use his leg again. In turn, Philippe explained to M’len his life on Sentra and why he had left. M’len nodded slowly after he finished his tale one evening after M’len had returned from Threadfall.

“You have absolutely no idea where you came from?” M’len asked. “Not even clues?”

“A name,” Philippe answered. “But even on that name I’m not to certain.” He looked at the blue rider and sighed. “I think my name was Amarion but,” and he shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know why the spell brought me here. I was looking for those answers.”

M’len shrugged and stood. “Perhaps it will take time. I’m going to let you rest. Jesioth wants a swim.”

As the days passed, Philippe finally began to wander the Lower Caverns. He was allowed to attend a hatching with M’len. The mother of the clutch was a small pale gold named Flynnth. Her rider was a rather quite young woman named Synde from a Hold on a northern island. J’par, the blue sire’s rider, was her weyrmate, (or ‘husband’ as M’len told him).The hatching was magical and Philippe swore he blinked twice and it was over, even if there were more dragonets then eggs.

It was during the Gather following the Hatching that Philippe met J’tha, rider of the sunset dragon Zenith. J’tha was a kind man that Philippe liked almost as soon as he met him. M’len had explained that it was J’tha that had started the Weyr almost four Turns (or years) ago. As the men talked, Philippe found himself at ease with these people and later, after he had been convinced to dance with a few of the woman and taste the wine (thanks to M’len), Philippe asked the blue rider how one became a dragonrider, or at least get to stand on the sands when the eggs hatched.

“You have to be Searched,” M’len said simply, shrugging. “When a dragon has searched you, then you are accepted to become a candidate at the next clutch.”

“When is that?” Philippe asked.

The blue rider chuckled as he studied his hand of poker cards. He was playing against a few other riders while Philippe watched the rest of the gather. “We don’t have as many clutches here as the other Weyrs. Sometimes they come here and choose candidates from Falas but that, too, is rare.”

Philippe sighed. “Oh. Just wondering.”

“Jesioth doesn’t see why you can’t stand,” M’len said, placing two cards down, almost hesitantly. Behind them, the Harpers began to play a slow paced song, drawing some young lovers onto the dance floor. “But we’ll have to see what he says when the next clutch is laid.”

“Ryslen has a clutch,” a man said from across the table. “Actually three. We’re not sure whose eggs are who as its three green clutches.”

Philippe looked at him; his nearly black hair was cut short to keep it from getting caught in Thread, the deadly organism that rained down on Pern and the reason why there were dragons and their riders. He was concentrating on his cards intently as it would soon be his turn. “I thought only the gold ones like that Flynnth laid the eggs?” Philippe whispered to M’len.

“Oh, greens can as long as they don’t chew firestone though it is the greens that make up the most of our wings and are the most important because they’re smaller. Blues are also important but a lot relies on the greens. L’ril is a green rider from Ryslen Weyr. Fexlioth’s is his dragon. He does a bit of Searching when a clutch is laid.”

“Or three,” J’par chuckled. One of his fire lizards, a bronze, was perched on his shoulder. M’len had said that the creatures were Impress-able, like the dragons, but after his first encounter with the creatures, Philippe had decided against getting one of his own. “Beat this, you wherries!” the blue rider laughed, laying down his hand as his bronze crooned on his shoulder. “You should know better then to try and beat me.”

J’par won that round.

M’len said he was done for the night and stood to leave. Philippe stood to follow, draining his wine class before leaving the table. As the blue rider called out goodnight, L’ril looked at Philippe again. “What was your name again, Elf?”

It was his tone that made Philippe’s stomach lurch. “Philippe Ramsey,” he said, turning on the green rider with an uneasy stance. Since coming to Pern, he had found acceptance of his kind much more welcoming then Sentra had ever been. Perhaps this was because Elves were not native to Pern nor were they’re very many. Philippe was currently the only Elf dwelling at Falas thus treated as something rare and special. Here, he was not seen as a thief, killer, or anything that he had been on Sentra. Falas was becoming like the Ramsey Estate – only with a much larger family and one that didn’t care about the shape of his ears or his lifespan, much less his true history. Remembering this, Philippe relaxed a bit. M’len came to stand at his shoulder seeing that the Elf, of whom he considered as a friend, was not going to be able to follow yet.

“Ah, well, if the Weyrleaders here will allow it, I would like to know if you want to Stand at Ryslen for the greens’ clutches. I brought in another Elf about a sevenday ago though I doubt she was from your world, this Sentra. We get Elves at Ryslen more then Falas does so you’re race isn’t new to me.”

Philippe looked at M’len who was grinning. J’par looked up, his face spreading into a pleased smile hearing this. Unsure as to what he was suppose to say, M’len jabbed him in the ribs with his elbow. “Yes!” Philippe laughing as he rubbed his lightly bruised ribs.

“Ah, good!” L’ril nodded. “I’ll talk to M’hant and Yakima later when there has been less drinking.”

M’len smirked, putting an arm around Philippe who was a bit startled by the man’s touch and display of friendship. “Aw, don’t worry, L’ril! From what Jesioth just told me, we’ll make a dragonrider out of this Elf yet! He’s going to be able to come back to Falas right?”

The green rider waved his hand dismissingly. “Of course,” he said, studying his new hand for the Dragon poker game in which he was determining to beat J’par in.

Philippe was already flying as he returned to the Lower Cavern’s that night, M’len getting a ride to his weyr by one of the green riders (who didn’t exactly leave his weyr till the next day). Months ago, he didn’t even believe that dragons were real. Now he lived among them, saw them everyday and even touched them (Jesioth said the Elf was very good at oiling his hide when M’len let him help). But to have a dragon of his own…to be able to fly away when ever he wanted to where ever, that would be something wonderful. To fly…just to fly itself on his dragon…

As Philippe dreamed of dragons and one day joining M’len as a dragonrider, the Gather began to clear out and the Weyrfolk went to bed. Another Hatching was passed and the Weyr flourished despite the death of the first Weyrwoman a Turn ago. There was no fear in anyone’s hearts that night. A Hatching was a day of life and of hope.

While dragons slept (save the watch dragon who would have been flamed by bronze Jerith if caught doing such), and riders wore off the effects of too much wine, weyrlings settled into their new lives as dragonriders in the Barracks, and the two moons rose over the Weyr, bathing the Bowl in white light, there was an elderly man who stared out the window of his manor, now quite as the residents slept on. Sarah had told Jeffery Ramsey that Philippe had done, that he had attempted a spell far beyond his abilities.

The mob had come not long after Sarah had left the stables in search of the Elf. After threats, beatings and even a few deaths, the police came. Philippe, should he have stayed any longer on Sentra, would have been killed, backed by a federal order that the Elf was to either be killed or taken away. When Eric Brawlny had informed police about Philippe’s early morning horse ride, they had taken to the woods with 4-wheelers, Nate riding with them to find Sarah before things got bad. When the group returned, many believing that Philippe Ramsey had killed himself, Jeffery had locked himself in his office and fell to his knees. In his heart he had lost his son for a second time which was almost too much to bear. Sarah had eased his heart slightly by telling him that Philippe had attempted to get away from the Estate, perhaps even Sentra, to find answers about himself and to protect those living in the Manor. In the years to come, Jeffery would quickly lose interest in life for he had found that life meant much more to those that were denied even the simplest pleasures. After the death of Philippe A. Ramsey, the Manor became a quieter place. Philippe’s room was left alone. Sarah cleaned it up with Kiley one rainy afternoon when their hearts were heavy with missing the cheerful Elf who had been able to make them laugh as children. Then the door was locked, magical spells placed on the room to protect everything within so that if Philippe did return someday, as Sarah prayed each night, his room would still be waiting for him.

oming to Ryslen was not much different then coming to Falas. Philippe found himself among other candidates waiting for the three clutches to hatch. It was said they would hatch at once and on one knew which egg belonged to which green mother. Thus, Philippe realized with a bit of disappointment, he would never be able to trace his dragon’s lineage. Not that it mattered. Then again, he would probably never be able to find out about his past, either.

As the days continued with M’len’s frequent visits, Philippe began to realize that perhaps the spell that had brought him to the shores of Falas Weyr that evening has known that he would never remember his past and that instead of figuring it out, Philippe was meant to follow a new road, one that would do exactly what he wanted it to do – build a new and better life. On Pern, he was an equal, not a slave or something that was meant to be looked down upon. Philippe found that his heart hurt less now, he smiled more and even found himself flirting with the quite Elf from a magical land called Rile. Juniamaa was a lady in her father’s court. Her elder sister was the crowned princess and being that Juniamaa had twelve siblings and one of the youngest; she was not inline for any title or crown. It was because of this that when L’ril came to her forests that she accepted the Search.

Having lived in Falas long enough to get accustomed to this world of Pern, Philippe had no trouble blending in or slipping into their vocabulary. M’len was at Ryslen often and while Philippe only knew the tales and stories he had read in books about his people, M’len was able to tell him stories that the blue rider said came from his head. His most common was that of a blue dragon named Jesioth – a name that his own dragon took at birth as if honoring the blue in the story. More often then naught, Philippe could be singing songs in his own language that were as magical as the simple spells that the Elf could wield. Only in Falas there seemed to be more magic thus his tricks were often jests played on others.

Only three weeks (called a sevenday on Pern) has passed since he had come to Ryslen when the call went out for the eggs to hatch. It was the Senior Queen that was watching the eggs for the hatching, being that greens were less motherly then the larger, egg-laying golds. The mothers and sires were. However, present to watch their children emerge from the eggs.

We’re here! a feminine voice cried gleefully in Philippe’s mind. The Elf paused in pulling off his shirt to listen as to which dragon it may be. Oh, shut up you overgrown wherry! I don’t have to announce my presents because if Soliath calls both of us then…I don’t listen to greens! At least not today so just leave me alone. Just because I’m smaller then doesn’t mean I’m any less gold-ish. You defiantly were born under that Red Star above us, weren’t you!

Good day, Flynnth, Philippe chuckled as his pants fell to the stone floor and he looked down at his naked body, frowning in perplexity. Synde and Flynnth came seldom to see him, most likely sent by Yakima who wanted to make sure that he was adjusting well. Being a gold rider, Synde was a junior Weyrwoman even if her weyrmate was a blue rider. Indeed he was doing well on Pern. Staying in shape and the eating was much better then anything on Sentra, as far as he was concerned. The scars would remain, he was sure, even if he never remembered where they came from. The tan was helping, no doubt, and his hair had been cut to his nape, framing his face nicely. Taking a deep breath, Philippe pulled on the white garment that would be worn for Impression.

M’len wishes to speak with you, Jesioth said. He’s in the Lower Caverns. Hurry up!

The eggs are not going to wait, dead glow… Whatever Flynnth was planning to say afterward was cut off but the Elf only shook his head, tossing his head after pulling the white cloth down over his already uncombed hair.

“Nervous?” M’len asked when the Elf entered a rather busy Lower Caverns. The young blue rider was dressed for a Hatching, Philippe noticed, but wore something different then that last hatching at Falas Weyr (which had been Flynnth’s though the Senior Queen Rhiath had another clutch on the sands). A simple white shirt with a silver blue vest embroidered with a silver and white dragon motif along the collar. The ex-sailor smiled and embraced Philippe casually, his eyes twinkling.

Philippe pretended at first to not be frightened at the thought of facing the hungry dragonets that would hatch on the sands. As residents passed by to get to the Hatching Sands, the Elf leaned over to the Falasian blue rider and whispered, hands clenched in front of him. “And if I don’t Impress?”

M’len shrugged nonchalantly. “You’ll be a drudge,” he answered so smoothly that Philippe stared at him in horror.

“You mean a servant?” he asked. M’len knew the reason he had cast that spell. He knew very well that type of life he feared above anything else – including not Impressing today. As he slumped with words, M’len laughed, grinning at Philippe. Pursing his lips, the Elf glared at him. “Ha-ha, very funny. I’m going to kill you if I live through this.”

“Well, then I guess you bet get to the Sands! Oh, J’tha and K’man are also here. They’re both Wingleaders. Since you’re going to be returning to Falas once your dragon – if you Impress one that is – is old enough, they want to be here to see what you Impress. They’re good though you better hope that J’tha picks you because K’man isn’t as lenient as the sunset rider.”

“Why?” Philippe asked as the jogged to the Sands. “What color does he ride again?”

“He Impressed at Talor Cliff, the same Weyr that I Impressed Jess at.”

“The Weyr that’s in the Third Pass?” Philippe asked. M’len nodded.

“Yes. His dragon is the white Mixuith who is the size of a green but he has the skills needed to lead.” M’len shrugged.

The Elf sighed sarcastically. “Well, thanks for making one of the most nerve wracking experiences in my life two times more nerve wracking,” he said, gripping M’len by the shoulder before heading off with the rest of the Candidates while Jesioth came to pick up his rider for a dragon’s-eye view of the hatching.

The hot sands bothered Philippe little as he walked toward the rocking eggs. They were smaller then those lain by golds thus the inhabitants could only be green dragons or blue, with a brown thrown in. At least that was what M’len had guessed the other day. Standing in a circle with the other young men and women, some barely older then ten Turns, Philippe was able to catch Juniamaa’s eye once before she turned back to the sands, shifting slightly as they burnt her feet. Apparently, Raless Elves were not as hardy as those from Sentra, Philippe thought. Then, seconds afterward, added to himself, At least they aren’t slaves to Men.

The dragons had been humming during the last hour or so and Philippe noticed that it had risen in pitch. They had been much louder for Flynnth’s hatching.

That’s because I’m a gold, dead glow, Flynnth snapped. How and why the tiny gold dragoness was breaking into his thoughts was beyond his comprehension. These are green eggs. There will be no gold coming form them.

Greens are important, Jesioth growled back.

While the two were arguing, Philippe noticed that hairline cracks were coursing along the edges of the eggs. His heart was in his mouth, his fear double. He had seen but one hatching before but never as a candidate. Everything he was suppose to do was being repeated in his mind. He tried to look up to find the sunset and white hides of Zenith and Mixuith but dared not – yet. He watched one of the eggs in particular as it rolled and twisted until at last a green muzzle poked through the ivory egg shell. Behind the green, other eggs were falling apart as desperate croons, grunts and hisses were heard above the humming of the dragons.

The first to come toward the candidates was a green and, acting on first instinct, Philippe stepped toward her, his heart racing in his chest while he felt perspiration of the heat from the sands but from fear as well. The green hissed at him. Reaching out, whispering soothing words in Elvish as he found most animals liked that language, Philippe’s return gesture was a bleeding hand. A girl stepped before the green but she wasn’t bitten. Instead, as the Elf clutched his wounded hand with the other, the green warbled and nuzzled her chosen rider. The girl looked at him, seeming to blame him with her eyes.

What Philippe found out soon enough was that the five original colors of Pern, (gold, bronze, brown, blue and green), had two other types here at Ryslen. Light and night were also among those that were hatching. The lights ended in white tails that would fade into their dominate color. Nights were mixed with black. A light green moved gracefully over the sands, seeming to be more mature in body then her clutch mates. Philippe nearly rolled his eyes when the graceful creature went to Juniamaa, who knelt in tears. The Elf tried to smile at her but found that he was also nearing the end of the hatching.

A blue was being crowded by some of the boys and Philippe went to try his luck at Impressing the terrified blue. However, when he moved he found that something was pulling him back, turning he saw a rather small night blue holding his Impression garment with his teeth. The blue blinked but did not let go. About to scold the creature, Philippe felt something not only enter his mind, but his heart also. Something about those eyes, whirling not with hunger but…laughter? As the night blue tugged again, Philippe stumbled forward, landing on his knees and catching himself on the wet egg-goo that was all over the little dragon.

Much better, the dragon chuckled, letting go and sitting back on his haunches. I am Faroth, Philippe. But you already know that, right? Numbly, Philippe nodded even though he honestly didn’t until that moment where everything clicked. Reached up to the small dragon’s eye ridge, Philippe touched his eye ridge gently. When Faroth crooned, Philippe smiled, a tear escaping his eyes as he accepted the Impression with all his heart. No woman could fill that emptiness, he knew. At least not now. Faroth would need all his attention and he was determined to give him that.

I itch, Faroth said, blinking and breaking any ‘spell’ that the little dragon had one him. Smiling softly, Philippe broke contact with his dragon reluctantly before he stood to lead the night blue outside. That was when Faroth noticed he was bleeding. You’re hurt! You’re bleeding!

Before Philippe could calm him, someone else had managed to enter their conversation. You little wherry, Flynnth scolded. He’s going to live. Some green bit him.

Is it just me or do you have something against greens? Philippe ventured to ask.

Duh, was Flynnth’s single answer remark.

Faroth looked up at him and sighed. Golds, he snorted. Philippe only grinned.

 

“Chew,” Philippe ordered when the first few pieces of meat were inhaled by the nearly dry dragonet. Faroth looked at him innocently. “Swallowing it whole isn’t going to help you digest it faster. It’s going to make it harder. Chew it.”

Fine, Faroth huffed. But it gets to my stomach faster and it’s sooooo empty.

Shaking his head, Philippe handed the night blue another piece of meat. With a bit more chewing then needed, Faroth did what he was told and waited for another. By the time the bowl was nearly empty, his appetite had slowed and he was demanding less of his rider to hand over the meat. Philippe was, in the mean time, fiercely scrubbing away the remains of the egg liner that was still attached to his weyrmate. Finally, drying the last spot, Philippe stood to inspect his work. Faroth careened his head around to peer at himself, seated in soapy water. “Faroth, why don’t you move so you don’t get too dirty again?”

My skin is itching. Right on my shoulder. Faroth’s shoulder twitched and he half growled at the discomfort. Kneeling, Philippe knelt once his dragon had moved away from the mud and began to itch the flaking hide.

“That’s weird,” Philippe muttered. “I just washed you. Why is it flaking?”

“He’s already growing,” chuckled M’len who was making his way over to Philippe while avoiding the other new dragonriders and the happy friends and relatives of those that had Impressed. The blue rider was carrying a bowl that had some kind of paddle inside of it. “Here, rub him down with this. It’s special oil.”

Setting the bowl down next to the Elf, M’len remained crouched and showed Philippe just how to oil his new friend. “Congratulations, by the way,” M’len grinned, winking at him. “I knew you would Impress at least a green!”

The Elf rolled his eyes. “Yeah, sure,” and made to jab the rider in the ribs. “What about K’man and J’tha?”

“Pleased,” M’len shrugged as if their opinion didn’t matter. “K’man was thinking green but that’s probably because Falas is trying to fill up its Wings and fast. J’tha approved but he’s probably just glad you Impressed at all. We need every rider we can get.”

“He’s not much bigger then a green,” a new voice said, causing the two to turn around and watch as J’tha came up, a wine glass in one hand and a bronze fire lizard on the opposite shoulder. “He’s a fine beast, Ph’sey.”

“Huh?”

M’len chuckled. “J’tha, that’s a joke,” the young blue rider grinned, blushing a bit under his Wingleader’s smile. The bronze fire lizard warbled and Faroth crooned back.

Philippe just looked confused. “I really don’t want to shorten my name and how did you get Ph’sey out of Philippe, anyway?” Do they know who I am? he thought, panicking slightly. Faroth crooned and nudged his still hand but he didn’t continue to oil the near-midnight hide.

“No, everything we came up with for you sounded weird. Ph’lip, P’hil, or even P’lie but Jesioth said to use your last name, Ramsey, so we decided on Ph’sey. Sounds much better anyway so it’s stuck.” Philippe sighed with relief, not noticing that Faroth’s head was tilted toward him.

J’tha smiled, stroking the bronze fire lizard on his shoulder. “If anything, Philippe, you’re going to need an elided name for riding in the Wings.”

The Elf shrugged but didn’t say anything as Faroth nipped his unharmed hand and he was required to return to oiling the other side of the dragon. J’tha and M’len left him alone with their final congratulations. It wasn’t until Faroth yawned and he followed suite that Philippe was thankful that they hadn’t asked him to join in the festivities.

Why were you afraid about your short name? Faroth asked as they walked to the Barracks, the night blue nearly stumbling with every step. I don’t understand?

“I don’t either,” Philippe sighed and would say no more because his dragon stumbled with tiredness. He picked Faroth up and carried him the rest of the way.

The Barracks allowed for little privacy but Philippe didn’t mind. The only thing he could wonder was if his people on Sentra slept in conditions similar yet far worse then this. As he placed Faroth on the couch, Philippe lay down next to him. The night blue crawled toward his chest and lay his head over Philippe’s heart. Tell me now, before I go to sleep, Faroth whispered into his mind.

“I think it should wait till the morning,” Philippe chuckled, wondering if the feeling of permanent happiness and joy would ever leave him. “You’re almost asleep.”

You don’t remember who you are, Faroth said.

The Elf blinked. “If you knew why did you ask me to tell you?”

Because, the little dragon smiled with a yawn, I wanted to hear you talk. You have a beautiful voice. Can you sing, too?

“Do you know the answer to that question, too?” Philippe asked, eyeing his dragon’s head while he stroked the eye ridge gently. “Or must I answer out loud?”

He felt Faroth shrug against his body. Yes and no, he said in answer to both questions at once. But I would still like to hear you sing.

Philippe sighed in defeat. “Fine.” Then he thought about a song to sing to his dragon. He began softly, trying not to disturb the sleeping weyrlings and their new riders. Presently, he began to sing louder. It was a song he had remembered out of the dark, veiled past of his life where only little things such as song and the language he was born with had returned. Where this song came from he did not know but it was soft and sweet. He closed his eyes, never noticing the other eyes watching him nor that Faroth began to hum softly when he began the second verse.

 

“Sing, little nightingale, for my heart has grown weary with despair.

To the music in my heart that the darkness dose not spare,

I pray to thee that thy sing me a song to chase away my nightmare.

For into darkness I see not but in my peaceful dream I have seen

Skies of sapphire above mountains white and meadows green,

Harmony in the laughter and song in the voice of people unforeseen.

 

Sing, little nightingale, for my eyes are closed for they are fearful

For in the morning all I see may be gone by one more powerful.

Chase them away, nightingale, with a song that is to beautiful.

I hold thy music in my heart and sing in the dark that has taken me,

Away from my land and home and family that had from to flea,

Sing to me now of the river and the mountains, of the forest and the sea.

 

See, little nightingale, how happy you make me in the dark night?

Morning has come in the golden hour where Life is bright,

I fear not my dreams that have taken me far in useless plight.

I am safe, sleeping now with thy song in my heart’s dream.

Dancing among the forest glade beside the sparkling stream

I do not fear the night and the minds playful scheme.”

 

That is beautiful, Faroth said sleepily when Philippe’s voice died away. It was scary but I liked it. Where did you learn it?

“I don’t know, Faroth,” Philippe said softly, placing a hand to his heart. “I fear I will never know. But I know I’ve heard it before. I can sometimes hear a woman singing it but she is shroud in my past and I know nothing about her.”

aroth grew faster then Philippe thought. Everyday was the same and though their was a day when he would have considered such to be drudgery or chores, he was often awake long before Faroth, eager to swim in the lake or even to just oil or feed the growing night blue. The WeyrlingMaster’s would only smile at their enthusiasm during drills and practice. Philippe was strict when it came to Faroth’s flying even if the dragon thought there was nothing wrong with the Elf sitting on his back or just walking. At times, Philippe wished to rebel but feared he would not be able to go to Falas or that the Weyrleader would not allow him to come if he had a bad reputation. Reminding Faroth of this, the night blue would soon forget his complaints and shut up.

It was a life that blocked all fear and sadness from Philippe’s heart and mind. He was free, at least freer then he had been before at the Estate. He was also looked upon without fear and hatred. When asked about his home world he would answer them but found that some did not care about why Elves were feared or treated as slaves while some were very keen as to learning the history of the Elves. Some seemed to have pity for him when they found out that he may never know anything about his past, including his age, family, or what he had done that had caused him to be thrown from a cliff. Philippe would only shrug at this. None of it mattered now. He was free of that life and off to a better one – the life of a dragonrider of Pern!

Falas proved to be more of a welcome then Ryslen. Here, the Falas Genetic Program Center, or FGPC, was just getting started in their programs of altering fire lizard and dragon eggs. It was a few Turns before M’len and Philippe found themselves traveling to other worlds when their dragons took them to a magical realm called Rerir. When they returned, they had with them a young girl that they though could Impress. She did, Impressing the gold from one of Rhiath’s clutches and becoming a Weyrwoman. Having accomplished this, Philippe and his friend went before Weyrleader M’hant and asked if they could seek out other worlds, possibly bringing back candidates at the same time. M’hant was skeptical about the idea as was the Weyrwoman. J’tha, however, loved it.

“Wonderful!” he had cried, rising from his chair at the table after slapping his knees to bring the attention onto him. “Of course, I stand behind the tradition that our good Weyrleader wishes to maintain thus I think you two should only bring the candidates to the FGPC. The Weyr has plenty of riders that search all over Pern, past, present and even future. Of course, with Sishara’s Impression to young Tiryeth I don’t see why those that fit our requirements should not come. Right, M’hant?”

In the argument that followed between the Weyrleader and respected sunset rider, Philippe heard little as did M’len. One way or the other, they were to be official Search riders. Perhaps this was because only Faroth and Jesioth had shown that they were capable of off-world jumps easier then any other dragon in Falas. Though they may be restricted most of the time to the FGPC, Philippe couldn’t help but think back as to how far he had come since the day he had woken up in Jarrepool Hospital, saved by an elderly man. At the same time, he wondered how that family was doing. Sarah, Nate, even Rosemary who never seemed to care about him unless he was ill, hurt or wrongly accused of something. He had promised Sarah he would return – just not yet.

It was during the Turn 2008 that the FGPC suddenly declared that the entire Hall was to be moving to Tripaldi, that M’hant was killed by ex-Lord Lauer in a duel during a Hatching, that Yakima's suicide before Rhiath’s last clutch, and that J’tha would be leading riders forward to another time. The idea had been J’tha’s. This did not explain the sudden urge to play Lessa and travel to another pass to fight Thread. Most thought the notion was foolish and would remain in this Pass where they said they belonged. Still, J’tha urged riders to come with him, sometimes he even said that K’man would be leading him or said things that made it sound like the beloved Wingleader would not be coming with them.

This sparked a sudden urge to hold one final clutch at Falas which resulted in some one-hundred-and-forty-eggs that were soon relocated to the Weyr sands. In those final months, Fall ended and the riders relaxed even if some thought it was over too soon. Though the loss of Falas’ greatest (if not longest for J’tha was once again leading the Weyr), Weyrleaders, M’hant and Yakima, the Last Clutch continued as it was planned. Philippe and M’len found themselves allowed to bring in any candidate from any world that they thought would be able to Impress a dragon. How many they Searched they lost count at about fifty and still more were brought it, from Pern, Rerir and another world that Faroth and Jesioth could find. How the two blues did it no one knew nor asked. They just did it.

It was perhaps the FGPC’s finest hatching ever. The colors ranged from the common-rare white to the never-before-seen red sun and lightning that seemed to have some magical powers of her own. It was also the first time Jaslyn Rose Bensen, also known as Khayawen; High Princess of Rerir was present at the Hatching. But even the WolfMage and her Seer, Emger, would not be able to save Falas from the threat that was creeping toward the Weyr in the growing darkness.

Philippe was with M’len, laughing at the jokes that were being passed, and dealing deadly hands in Dragon Poker when the first shots rang out over the Gather music. Dragons were bugling or screaming as if they had been shot. Faroth bugled in rage, adding to the deafening cries as riders, guests and weyrfolk either ran or lunged under the table.

J’tha is dead! So is Dlyza! Faroth bespoke his rider who was struggling with a sound that was strangely familiar. At the announcement that the Weyrleaders were dead, Philippe’s heart felt like it had been torn from his chest. It is Lauer! He fights K’man!

“K’man!” Philippe cried and began to run into the fray. “M’len!” he called to his friend who was screaming at him to run the other way. “No! I feel as if I’ve just gotten here! I will not let that man destroy it!”

As he said that, Philippe drew his dagger and turned on one of the men, agilely avoiding being sliced by the broadsword the man wielded. He killed him and only for a short time did he feel regret, almost as if he was feeling the man die. Then he heard Faroth scream again, announcing that the beloved white winged wolf from the Lower Cavern’s had been shot and that Emger was in rage. Mixuith says to evacuate! Faroth said later as Philippe was still fighting to reach the white rider who was locked in combat with Lauer. Come! We’re going to help get the others out and to the Hold. Stop killing and start saving! The night blue hissed when Philippe’s red dagger ended the life of yet another rebel.

Faroth swooped down to pick his rider up. As M’len watched from Jesioth’s back, Philippe grabbed onto his dragon’s front talon and in a movement that he was sure no human or Elf could do, Philippe flipped and climbed to the last neck ridges and hung on as Faroth turned and began to fly back toward the Lower Caverns where others were pulling civilians and other dragonless guests out of the Weyr. M’len grabbed his daughter (something Philippe was silently jealous about despite Faroth’s tries at catching a green), while Philippe picked managed to pull some frighten weyrbrats onto Faroth’s back.

The night was filled with screams of dragons who would vanish between, never to return, the heartbreaking cries of those that had lost loved ones, (or worse, dragons), confusion and fear. The Evacuation included not only Falas Weyr, but the Hold as well. It wasn’t until Faroth and Philippe had finished their last runs to the Weyr that the Elf understood why. Emger stood on a rock, watching the ships leave the harbor and the dragons take off. Some dragons had been sent to Memorial Hold where the Evacuation was to carry on there. Emger did not wait till all those that were among the exiled had left the island on ships or dragonback. He raised his head in a mournful howl before his spell carried over the waves and wind, reaching the ears of those on the ships. An eerie mist began to swirl into the harbor, bay, Bowl; spreading out over the entire island until it was lost to sight. Faroth joined the dragons that watched the Curse in a heartbreaking careen that sent Philippe’s heart to his throat and tears to course down his dirt and blood covered face.

“Let’s go,” the Elf whispered, holding the little boy that had been thrown on Faroth’s back by a desperate mother.

Not all those that should have been saved that day were for the mist was not ordinary and those that remained in it for too long became lost in it, never to find a way out. Not all wished to leave the island, there home and died along with the Weyrleaders and dragonriders that had been killed in the battle. Those that lived fled to the deserted Dark Moon Weyr, leaving behind there life to rebuild what they could before they, too, left again to fulfill J’tha’s wish. It would be K’man that would bring the riders forward, leading them into the Eleventh Pass two-hundred-and-fifty years from now. Dark Moon Weyr, one of Falas’s closest allied Weyrs, had been abandoned quite suddenly and the riders were lost. The cause for their sudden departure was not known. It was to the Southern Continent that K’man led the riders and holders of Falas Island.

In the Turn that fallowed the Evacuation, the riders of Falas rebuilt most of the Weyr and the holders founded ancient holds or took up new ones. For a time, K’man was the Weyrleader until gold Mardanith rose in a mating flight and was caught by L’gal’s bronze Ichiorth, who had been shelled on Dark Moon’s sands. Philippe was thankful to return to his work – as a Search rider. Once again, M’len and the Elf took to the skies on their dragons and flew off to other worlds to bring in worthy candidates. Of course, there were some that came from Pern as well as the rest of the Falas Chain. However, the new Weyrleader of Dark Moon found a way to alter the eggs of not only Mardanith’s clutch, but the two smaller clutches lain by a green and white Esarith. The offspring ranged in the same colors as the Last FGPC Hatching that had been hosted on the Weyr’s Sands. Though Philippe was rather pleased to see that L’gal was proud to keep such a thing alive, K’man had berated the bronze rider about tradition.

It was the night before the departure that Philippe lay on the ledge of the weyr Faroth and he had chosen when coming to Dark Moon, now known as Falas’ Rising Moon. In the west the sun was setting, allowing the two moons of Pern to grace the sky for one more night. He was playing softly a song that he had heard in his sleep though where it had come from Philippe could only dream and pray that he would someday remember.

Look! Faroth suddenly cried, rising to his haunches. As his ‘chair’ had moved, Philippe was forced to stand up with the night blue.

“Now what?” The moment his question was asked was the moment he turned to look in the direction Faroth was watching. Over the sea rose what Philippe thought was a very unusual cloud until in unfolded into a huge dragon wings. It had to be a play on the light but when he blinked he saw clearly that the colors were not a play on the sunset and were moving too fast. Then, as if to make it clear as to what he was seeing, Faroth lifted his head to the darkening sky and let out a bugle that was both sad and full of pride. Philippe stood taller next to his dragon; the summer breezes catching his now shoulder length hair as it rushed passed them on the weyr ledge. Around the Bowl, either on Rim or ledge, dragons rose to their haunches and called out their tribute to the sunset dragon that Segarra Sintann, Jaslyn friend and companion, let the magical mirage fall back into the setting sun. Then, with a feeling of accomplishment, the white winged wolf took to the sky, vanishing back to her world in a tinted swirl of magic.

 

Perhaps it was something everyone expected but it was something that, though Philippe had wished for it for Turns, he now found himself wanting to be free of. Juniamaa’s green had risen for another mating flight and it was Faroth that had caught his clutch mate. Juniamaa liked Philippe, to be sure, but neither were feeling that the attraction had been as strong as they had thought. He lay in bed days later while she went about her morning routine which hardly included him. Rolling over, Philippe pulled the pillow toward him and sighed.

I don’t like it when you’re sad. You should be happy, Faroth said as he landed on the ledge.

Have a nice swim?  the Elf asked, closing his eyes as his dragon was greeted by Ilverinth, Juniamaa’s light green.

The night blue snorted. You’re changing the subject, Elf.

And you know full well what’s going on in my head right now, Philippe snapped. Besides, June’s green will rise again. Maybe you just won’t chase.

Faroth sighed, his head thumping on the stone as he curled up in the sun for a morning nap. You know, the blue sighed. I’m beginning get really board now that Thread is gone. What are we going to do now?

“I really don’t know…” Philippe sighed. He missed M’len, who had gone forward with K’man. S’mar was planning yet another jump later when they had a larger group of willing riders to take with them. L’gal said he would not go but Philippe thought he was just a tad stubborn about following K’man after some of the trouble the white rider had given him about not being able to lead a Weyr. His heart hurt again but he knew why, hiding the real reason from even his dragon.

His past and what it had held for him still haunted him, causing some bit of distance between Juniamaa and himself. She was a lady, of royal blood. For all Philippe knew, he had been born a slave, making him older by at least nine-hundred years by Earth terms of twelve months per year. She like him, sure, as did he, but when one had to think about spending your life with such a person – she was downright boring. Elves from her world were the classical kind. Full of song, laughter and joy and always merry unless something terrible happened, such as the Evacuation and Curse. Philippe knew nothing of that from his own people, even from the history books. His race were fighters, at war for years against dark forces that were growing on the islandic nation of Asphonath. He could picture that particular area of the maps clearly. Sentra was almost a clone of Earth save that the Elves, his people, claimed that it was created by magic, not floating particles that decided to meet one day and make a big ball of matter in the middle of space. Philippe chuckled at himself for his own thoughts.

I think you should go swimming, Faroth said sleepily. It will make you feel better. Swimming always makes me feel better.

Philippe didn’t have the heart to tell his dragon that swimming was the only way Faroth stayed in shape nowadays as Mardanith was the only breeding queen and had not clutched a gold egg since her first clutch at Falas’ Rising Moon. Despite this, Philippe rose and went to see what there was to do today. Once S’mar left, Philippe planned on doing some time-hopping of his own. S’mar knew that both Juniamaa and Philippe were immortal, despite their differences (though few could see those differences besides the two Elves themselves), and wished for them to remain at Falas’ Rising Moon until what ever was to happen happened. They hoped that if someone was able to remain the full two-hundred and fifty Turns that some key as to breaking the Curse on the island could be found.

The Lower Caverns were as boring as usual. The newest winged wolf addition, Senek, was begging for food as usual. Philippe had brought him in a Turn ago once Dark Moon had been settled into. He did not trust the Wind Mage for the young wolf had a knack for doing the unkind things to the Elf. The fact that Senek was rather powerful in his magic didn’t make things any better.

Philippe paused in the entrance of the Lower Caverns to watch the proceedings take place. He was started from his day dreams and ponderings when a lithe hand curled around his waist. “What are you thinking about?” Juniamaa chuckled, ducking in front of him in a childlike manner, grinning playfully. Philippe shrugged, looking down at her small hands resting on his folded arms. “Not another green rider so soon, I hope?” she teased. Philippe scowled slightly. He knew that there were other blue riders Juniamaa fancied, as he fancied other riders as well.

“I was thinking,” he said sternly, removing her fingers from the white fabric that cascaded around his slightly muscular frame, “about my friends who are in the Eleventh Pass while I’ll wait for S’mar to take his riders forward. I’m not staying trapped back here even if I won’t be missing anything.”

The green rider pouted. “Ph’sey,” she scolded, her small mouth pulling back into a full pout. She would not call him Philippe or even his thought-to-be Elven name, Amarion which had actually stuck even if it was not true. Philippe pouted at that, quirking his eyebrows in slight annoyance. “You know what we have to do. I advise that you stay and do it or you’ll be in trouble.”

“That is why you stay, and I go.”

If she were the type, she would have slapped him at that moment. As it were, Juniamaa only glared at him while he made a hasty, yet mocking bow to her and departed to find a few of the remaining blue and bronze riders who would make decent Poker partners for the day. Later, he would take the swim Faroth had told him to take for it was one of the few things that did relax him.

 

We’re sneaking out? Faroth asked as Philippe came out of the weyr, dressed to ride and carrying some belongings with him in sacks that would rest on his dragon’s shoulders. Why?

You know why. June can stay here and do her duty but I’m not going to wait two and half centuries till I see M’len again.

The blue dragon stepped back, snorting. We can’t do that! S’mar told you…

I know what S’mar told me! Philippe hissed mentally so that Ilverinth would not wake up. She would if he used his vocal cords. Then he would have hell to pay should Juniamaa catch him sneaking out. We’re going and you’re not going to stop me.

Wanna bet? Faroth challenged. I’m the one with the wings, the one who can teleport, and the one that…

Philippe waited for his dragon to come up with some sort of dramatic ending. Faroth only blinked, looking a bit dumbfounded. Ah, just as I thought. Now shut up and get me out of this place before I go insane.

The departure was silent and quite. Taking a reference point from the star charts long used on Pern for timing, Philippe choose one-hundred Turns into the future. With that point fixed in his and Faroth’s minds, the night blue took them between to another point in time.

Not a soul lived in Dark Moon anymore, Philippe noticed as Faroth circled above the dusty bowl that had long been left by the inhabitances of the Weyr. Philippe sighed, his shoulders slumping under the wherry-hide jacket. “Land by the Records Room,” Philippe told his dragon. “Perhaps we’ll find something there.”

The scream took both Faroth and Philippe by surprise. The night blue nearly had a heart attack while his rider struggled to grab onto the riding straps before he fell off. As a green and white dragon flew over them, nearly causing a collision, Philippe looked up. Ilverinth turned and came back to them.

She says we’re to go to Monaco Bay, Faroth told his rider, sounding very hurt. Obviously Ilverinth had had some words to say to him and it would me likely that Philippe would receive the same from Juniamaa when they landed.

Taking the location from Ilverinth, Faroth took them to Monaco Bay Weyr and to their own quarters. Reluctantly, Philippe allowed his feet to touch the ground as the Elven girl strode toward him, flinging her helmet to the ground as if she didn’t care if it rolled away and was carried off by fire lizards.

She slapped him.

“Shards it, woman! I’m not bound to you that I should have to take an oath as with marriage!” Philippe snapped after standing up from the blow. “I’ll do what I please!”

“Oh,” she said, placing her hands on her hips and pursing her lips in rage. “Well, the next time I wish to have my weyrmate just walk out on me as if I mean nothing then I’ll…”

Philippe grabbed her arm and pinned her against the wall, his eyes a dark blue with rage. “I don’t love you Juniamaa, nor do you love me. We can stop pretending. I know that during my jump Ilverinth as risen and been caught by others so stop the foolishness already.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Can you love anything but your dragon and that foolish boy, M’len?” she asked, hissing.

“Just because we are both Elves dose not make us a perfect couple, no matter what J’par and M’len and the other riders said. We’re different, too different perhaps thus I lay no claim to you nor will I for a long time to come.” He released her, throwing her arm away with disgust. “Now, if you don’t mind, I wish to speak with the Weyrleader. Then I will talk to you when my temper has cooled about what you found out – if anything.”

She snorted at that, turned on her heels and departed into her weyr. Ilverinth remained with Faroth as if the argument between there riders did not count. Philippe seated himself behind Faroth’s last neck ridges and took a deep breath. Ilverinth says that your friendship means a lot to Juniamaa. They didn’t learn much of anything. They timed it, too.

Oh, that’s a relief. Let’s go get ourselves a new, temporary home, the Elf said, dropping the subject all together. 

ike the green rider, Philippe found nothing that would help the arrival of the Falasian riders. They were thought to be a myth and ledged, the greatest of all was the sunset dragon Zenith and his rider J’tha. To these Philippe and Juniamaa (who’s agreement as partners and friends were tentive and often touchy), would only pretend as if they knew nothing of it. They jumped over these turns until they came to the beginning of a new millennium – 3000. They arrived closer to the 3004^th Turn, taking up residence at Monaco Bay yet again. Here they remained until by chance Philippe is sent to pick up the brothers of one of the gold candidates. Jealsren was a Harper though had a bit of stand off with his spouse, Kahii during this time.

It’s Avsiruth! Faroth suddenly cried as they entered the disrupted skies above Monaco Bay. Tay has come with the egg!

It was an egg that Philippe had nearly forgotten about during the last few jumps and as he watched a small green vanish between, his heart began to race. Perhaps it was part of the legend that he had heard the last few Turns that there would be another Zenith, that J’tha had send one dud egg forward in hopes to bring his dragon back to life – but that would insure that the Weyrleader had known he was to die at some point if not the Gather. As Faroth banked to drop off Jealsren, Philippe answered the young man’s questions as best he could before sending him off to watch his sister.

As these tales are told elsewhere, many know now that Jeaslren Impressed the young night dragonet that emerged from that shell that very day. That Philippe became J’ren’s closest mentor in dealing with Falas and that Kahii Impressed Nysheth the following Turn.

The board was set, Philippe thought as he and Junamiaa played a game of chess one evening. He was watching the pieces with more interest then just the game. Soon, K’man would come and the Curse would be lifted. Falas’ Wings would rise again as Thread came to cut off life from any organic creature or organism on Pern’s surface. J’ren was the one chosen by Zenith’s last son. Night follows the setting sun. Symbolic to the Elf’s heart. Kahii would be a strong, independent Weyrwoman if her Nysheth rose as the first when the Weyr was returned.

“If you don’t move,” the Elven green rider sighed, chin on her folded arms as she watched Philippe staring at the board, wrapped in his own thoughts, “Then I will and you’re not going to like where I move that pawn of yours.”

Lifting his eyebrows at her, Philippe made his move and grinned cockily. “Check,” he smirked as her jaws dropped. “Honestly, my dear, you should never make such a threat when your own existence is in danger.”

“You’re going to die,” she said, pursing her lips in concentration as the blue rider leaned back with a skeptical look on his face.

“Unfortunately, I’m the Chess God!”

“Ha!”

 

If Philippe had known that K’man was already in the Eleventh Pass and that Falas was very much alive and active again, perhaps he would not have filled J’ren’s head with the things he was. When K’man’s gold fire lizard came to the Elf with a letter that the Wings were under populated and the first Fall would be dangerous for man and dragon to fly, Philippe changed his plan (with a bit of guilt and sucking up to go along with), so that J’ren would take as many riders as he could to Falas Weyr. J’ren was skeptical about Philippe’s sudden change of plans but went along with them. First fall over Rous Hold proved to be a success with the aid of the Eleventh Pass riders led in by J’ren. Another gain for the Weyr was J’tha’s best friend, M’zal, who had been lost in the beginning of the Weyr’s existence.

Riders were urged to come to Falas and there were quite a few queen dragons that came as well, which pleased K’man who would only stick by tradition and allow the golds to clutch (rare colored or sized dragons had to be approved before they flew). Philippe and M’len were reunited and immediately went off to recount their tales though Philippe would have the more interesting between the two of them.

His family, at least what was left of it, was back. J’ren became the Weyrleader when Nysheth rose and his night Ainnth caught her. The FGPC was rebuilt and a new location was established two miles north of the Hold and the original building. Here rested the Weyrhall – combination of a Weyr as well as the on going projects of the Hall. Philippe and M’len were common residences at the Weyr.

When Philippe joking suggested the special clutch to M’len one evening under a clear, Thread-free sky, he did not know that it would change his life. He had searched many young women for clutches before, but this clutch would perhaps end a searching of his very own. It was to involve the two of them searching Earth (and only Earth), for candidates. They searched a fine group, and Philippe was proud when they were able to slow down and focus on the other clutches. However, the one that perhaps bothered him the most was Cyndy Johnson. She was from Minnesota (which sounded funny to the Elf who still wondered if California was named after the vegetable cauliflower), a collage student and the creator of not only the world he lived in (at least Falas’ part), but his story. Everything that had happened to him was, bluntly put, her fault. This did not stop him from liking her and trying to get her to come out of her shell before Impression day.

He figured himself more of a pest then anything else though even after her Impression he thought nothing more of her relationship with him. M’len knew he liked her, Faroth teased that there was something deeper, and K’man warned him that he was to keep away from her in fear that something terrible would happen to Falas if Philippe do anything to her. He did not believe that threat but there were other threats that the Wingleader tossed his way that kept the Elf at bay. Not that Cyndy’s (who called herself Cynte {Kin-tee} to avoid confusion with her Falasian-self, Synde), friend Elizabeth helped at times but he was managing to deny himself that anything past friend could be between them. Besides, Cynte had made it quite clear that she did not want any sexual relationships with any of the riders that she lay claim to.

It was quite ironic that of all the colors, names and sizes, that Cynte’s dragon be nearly identical to Synde’s pale gold Flynnth. Phalinth, who made certain that others knew she did not have the same name as her annoying name-sake (so to speak), was a bit smaller then the loud-mouthed queen and much more quieter as well. Once they had graduated from the Weyrlings Wing (alive, thankfully), Cynte requested to join the Queen’s Wing rather then one of the Fighting Wings. Strangely, Philippe felt great relief at this and flew easier during Fall knowing that she was with the larger queens (save Flynnth who was still one of the smallest queens in the Weyr).

Six months after the hatching of the All-Earth Clutch, Philippe woke in a cold sweat, images of blood, flashing metal and a screaming still in his mind. His heart was racing as if he had been running – or fighting. Faroth touched his mind, a gentle presence that soothed his nightmare faster then anything he had ever felt thus far since waking up as Philippe Alan Ramsey in Jarrepool. His dragon said that he was screaming and had called M’len. I was calling and calling, Faroth said softly in a mere whisper. You did not here me. I don’t know where you were. You sleep in funny places.

I wasn’t sleeping, Philippe told his dragon as he lay in the tangled furs, hands pressed tightly against his forehead. That was a dream. I feel like I’ve been stabbed.

M’len could offer his friend little advice save that if it happened again he should go to the Mage Healer Ryiyai for some help. Philippe promised, clearly worn out by whatever dream he had had, and M’len left.

He did not dream again for sometime and for a time. Two months later, he woke to Faroth literarily dragging him from the bed and shaking him as he screamed. Finally, Faroth dropped him and he woke up. All M’len could get out of him that night was the word “Fire” or his mumbling of “They’re here.” Ryiyai found nothing wrong with him but said she would put together a potion that would ease the dreams if they happened again. Confused and a bit uncertain about his dreams, Philippe began to resent any form of sleep and would stay awake as much as possible, doing things that put his mind, heart, and body at ease. He dare not go to Cynte in this matter. She was busy with her dragon and the winged wolf pup he had given to her as an Impression gift, not to mention her newest fire lizard Enya who was an evil little prank-gift from Synde.

Ryiyai’s potions helped for a time but soon they did nothing for him. He refused to bother the Weyr Healer again and Faroth was forbidden to call M’len or anyone else. His dreams were becoming clearer in some things but never clear enough to tell him what they were about. He would see people running, a shadow coming toward him. He would hear the chiming of bells, as if in the distance yet so near. There were also faces that he could not place, one always hidden in the darkness yet the eyes that seemed to find him were disturbing enough to wake him. He didn’t know if those eyes were human or animal though he never wanted to find out and would run, only to wake moments later. Faroth stopped waking him.

Another Elf came from Sentra and impressed on of the smallest dragons on Pern – perhaps in the history of Pern. Tayenden Hawkvale was of little help to Philippe’s sudden wish to discover what the dreams meant though the young Elf, who was only twenty-years-old, was quickly becoming attached to Philippe and M’len. Why, Philippe didn’t question but decided that if nothing else, the younger Elf would be able to join the FGPC Search Team (meaning M’len and himself). Faroth rather liked the green Aaleth – mostly for his size. Thus, Tay’s future as a Search Riders was set – at least as far as M’len and Philippe saw it.

Another addition to the Weyr within the next Turn was a young man named Aenon and the Elven Jarel Redwood. Both were Necromancers from Sentra. It was a term that Philippe knew dealt with the Dead and the Living. Though not all Necromancers were bad, none could honestly be trusted. Aenon was not the stronger of the two but had more knowledge then Jarel in the craft, if one would call it such. Aenon rode a wraith dragon whose magic was closely aligned with Aenon’s. It was this man that Philippe had a small twinge of fear about thus spoke little around him.

As Phalinth’s mating flight grew near, Philippe found himself watching Cynte longer and more often. Other blue riders (or riders of male greens and smaller dragons), were also noticing her as if she was a prize of some sort. It was just the thing that K’man had feared when Philippe and M’len had brought her to the Weyr over a Turn ago.

However, it was apparent that Cynte’s fear of men would play out to K’man’s favor and the riders’ misfortune – even Philippe’s. As Phalinth grew more proody and terse with the other dragons, often the males but the females received quite a nip in the pride at times, Cynte vanished one night which sent an alarm up in the Weyr. Flynnth was the one that seemed the most worked up and it took something near a miracle before anyone (or anything) could shut her up. Philippe had sank to the floor when Faroth told them that, for some obscure reason, Cynte had jumped back in time. To what time or place was uncertain even to the dragons. They are alright, Faroth said as Philippe’s silent tears covered his freshly oiled hide, beaded and splashed to the ground. We can here them. She won’t say what she’s doing. Mixuith and Ainnth are furious.

“It’s her world,” Philippe said, his voice choked still with sobs. “Why are they so angry?”

Faroth turned to nuzzle his fallen rider. The Elf took several deep breaths, leaning into his dragon’s muzzle. Just because she made us doesn’t mean she knows what’s going to happen to us now. She’s living her story. She’s not writing it. She could die as easily as we could.

All through the night, Philippe waited on the ledge with his dragon, watching the Star Stones as many other did. It was dawn when the small, pale gold hide of Phalinth appeared over the Stones. While some dragons bugled their wrath at her, Faroth lifted his head in a joyous welcome.

“Where did they go?” Philippe demanded, rising so fast his head spun so he had to lean against the blue forearm for support.

She won’t say, Faroth replied. She’s not saying anything. She won’t listen to K’man and J’ren’s orders to see her right away.

Philippe pouted. She’s not like that. Bring me to her weyr, the Elf said as he turned to climb onto his dragon’s shoulder. Clinging to the neck ridges and gripping the soft hide between his legs, Philippe rode to the other side of the Weyr Bowl where Cynte’s ledge was. She had chosen a weyr that was rather close to the ground and near the Lake. It had a beautiful view despite everything Flynnth said about hers, which was on the highest in the entire Weyr. The small gold warbled softly as Faroth landed. As the dragoness poured out her feelings to the night blue, Philippe slipped into the weyr and found the girl on her bed looking at something in her hand. She looked up when Philippe entered.

Tears ran along her cheeks.

“You know as well as I do that if you don’t get down to that council room, K’man will…” He stopped short, noticing that she was crying for the first time. “What happened?” he asked more softly, coming up to sit next to her, placing a light arm around her shoulders, still clad in her riding jacket which was still cold from between. “Are you hurt?”

Cynte gave a short laugh. “No,” she said,” using her gloved hand to dry her face. “No, I went back in time to see J’tha…”

Philippe was silent. Of all her characters he knew that it was the sunset rider, his Weyrleader, that she missed most of all. Then he looked at her hard. “You…you told him…”

“Yes!” she cried, standing up and clenching her fist around whatever it was that she was holding. “Yes, Philippe! I went back in time and told J’tha that the Weyr would fall. That he had to send riders forward so that it would be secure for the Eleventh Pass. I did not tell him when and where he would die, only that should he die and not be able to lead the rider’s himself that he had to tell another of the plans. I didn’t tell him everything nor did he ask. That is why he sent riders to begin with. That was why he was preparing the Weyr for closing even if you know the ‘real’ reason Falas was ‘closed’ and everything happened. And K’man can just kiss my ass for all I care because I don’t give a damn about any of that. Now if you don’t mind, I must finish packing.”

She stood, placing her hidden item in her pocket and moving to implement her last words. Philippe sat where he was, a bit stunned about the entire thing. Slowly, her intentions sank in. “You’re leaving Falas! Why? Where?”

“You know why, Philippe Ramsey,” she hissed. “Better then any of those dimwitted blue and green and whatever color riders that are planning to chase my dragon! You know as well as M’len that I don’t want to become a weyrmate to anyone and that in order to prevent that, I’m going to run off before she does rise. I’m going back to Earth and when all the turbulent of the hell I’m going to put my dragon and myself through are over, I will come back. So just back off and stop it with your whatever-it-is. I’m leaving and you’re not stopping me.”

His heart was broken. Feebly he had hoped that Faroth would catch her pale gold queen, making it the second pale gold-blue pair at the Weyr. His dragon had vowed that he would or regret it as long as they lived. Considering that Faroth would live far longer then many expected since his rider was an immortal Elf, it would be a long hard rest of their life. As she packed, he watched her. He tried to say here name, seeing this as the last opportunity to tell her that, despite everything that K’man had told him and threatened to do to him, he felt that she must know. Faroth was right. No longer was she in control of what he said or did. She was here, in the flesh; a woman growing up to be yet another ledged-like figure in the history of Falas Weyr. By the Egg of Faroth! She was practically called the Goddess of Falas (a joke started by the ever annoying N’vin, rider of blue Quoth). No, he had to tell her that there was a feeling more then friendship in his heart now. More then just the love between two…

Mixuith is coming. He brings K’man and J’ren. Mixuith says we better leave or face a three week punishment. You know his rules about men in her weyr with Phalinth this close to rising.

How close? Philippe asked, still not moving as he watched her react to Phalinth’s own warning about the Wingleader and Weyrleader.

Really close, Faroth said. She has to leave really soon. Phalinth is sleepy. She’s wants to go to sleep. Cynte is mad at the Weyrleader and Wingleader.

“Get out of here, Philippe!” Cynte cried her face red with rage as she nearly pushed him out the door. He didn’t know if it was because she was trying to spare his feelings from seeing the coming argument or if she was trying to save him from K’man’s wrath. Both way, his chance had been lost and as he ran to Faroth’s back, he stumbled.

Perhaps we will go to Earth and save them the problem of rising to mate with no chasers? his dragon suggested as he took to flight with Philippe clinging to his forearm as Mixuith bugled at them to leave. Instead of dropping to the Bowl or returning to there weyr, Faroth winked between.

The sun warmed sands of the beach caught Philippe as he let go of his dragon and curled up in tears. Faroth settled next to his rider, curling one translucent wing around the Elf. No longer was Philippe the same strong man that most people remembered. He hide this well but Faroth knew better. The Nightmares were causing his appetite to fade and his physical strength to wan. Philippe crawled next to his dragon after a while, seeking the only comfort he could rely on to be there. Faroth crooned, wrapping his large body around the lithe Elf and placing his muzzle on his chest. The scent of dragon comforted him – a little.

Cynte…Cyndy… his mind chanted, seeing her crying one moment then so upset at him as if everything had been his fault. He could not see anything past that pain and the pain that was derived of K’man’s fear that because she was the one that brought them all into story, who initially created them, that something terrible would happen to the Weyr. He wanted her, not just as a weyrmate but as that one person he could look at and know there was understanding. She didn’t know his past. She had never gotten past his impression in truth. Everything that happened afterward was vague. Then again, he thought, she didn’t need to. His life had been wonderful. More beautiful then he would have ever thought a nearly dead Elf deserved when he was still on Sentra.

Sentra…his home. He could feel nothing in his past, only darkness. And yet he yearned to find out what he had been, who he was. Was he Amarion? Did he already have a wife, children? If he had a spouse, should he be in love with another girl. Perhaps he should wait until the dreams cleared.

She’s rising!

Philippe’s head nearly hit the sands as the night blue rose to his haunches. In the setting sun, Philippe’s Elven eyes saw a pale gold shape dart from the Weyr and shoot straight toward them. “No…” he breathed.

Jesioth is with them. And Quoth. Mixuith is upset that K’man argued with her so long. They can’t stop the flight.

It seemed like eternity. Philippe watched as the dragons flew toward them. Phalinth would most likely be infertile like most greens (which only meant Flynnth still had her precious bragging rights), thus there would be no blooding of kills for either the female or males. It was purely the strongest and fastest that would catch her. They were heading right toward them.

Faroth did not move but every nerve in his body was becoming attuned to a female in heat. Thus, so too was Philippe. As the dragons flew over them Philippe cried out, “Go!” and his dragon sprang from the ground, leaving the sands that had once welcomed him over a hundred years ago when he arrived on Pern. As his dragon put forth all his strength, stamina and speed to catch the fleetly little gold, Philippe as running, his mind rising with Faroth’s and his heart burning. Whatever K’man did to him now was out of the question. Phalinth was rising and the rider of the dragon that won her would be Cynte’s weyrmate.

 

Faroth’s determination was the only thing that kept his attention on Phalinth. It took him a moment to realize that she was scared. Her rider was afraid, he thought, being a combination of both Faroth and Philippe.

Phalinth turned, trying to shake off her pursuers and turned toward the sea, now darkened by the sun that had set over the mountains. He heard the other dragons’ words to her, some similar to those that he would like to say to her but kept silent. She was skillful at evading the blues and even smaller dragons that were chasing her. Faroth was slowly moving up in the pack, fighting his way forward, even nipping at Jesioth, his friend, with such venom that the silvered blue backed off – only to join the fray again with the same attitude, startling a young black half out of his wits. Quoth was in the lead, followed by Faroth and Jesioth until the little gold back winged and dove straight toward the water.

Faroth did not follow.

He watched from above as the males followed her. The only two that did not pursue the tiny gold was green Raevyth and a fleetly cloudy red from one of Flynnth’s clutches. They were copying Faroth. But even his bright idea backfired when Phalinth darted in a completely different direction. With a soft growl, Faroth dove, gained speed. Raevyth tried to pull him out of the flight but it was the larger night blue that sent the green back to the Weyr. Cloudy red Jurnurth backed off before any harm could come to his wing sails.

Phalinth turned again, her strength waning now that the deeper parts of night had settled in around the sea. She was flying close to land. Why was uncertain but then she moved back out into the moonlit ocean, the remaining males following her. Faroth shot forward, finding some reserve of strength in his tiring body. As Jesioth swooped down, the night blue appeared, seemingly out of no where and slammed into the blue who screamed, falling toward the sea with a useless wing. Before Phalinth could see what had happened, Faroth caught the small gold, locking talons with hers and wrapping her firmly within his grasp. Spreading his wings, he claimed the smallest gold of Falas as his, defying any of the foolishly young males that would try and take her from him now. None dared and as they returned to their weyrs, both man and dragon were finished with whatever waiting they had done.

mar! Where are you? Amar!”

He was running. The fire’s heat seared his body. A scream came from the distance. “Tia! Tia where are you?” She screamed again but there was a scream from something else as well – something that was no longer living. “Tia!”

Someone hit him, coming up from behind and crashing into his back. It was a blond haired young man, dirty, bruised and as scarred as he. “I told you to watch her!” he shouted at the man. There was pain in those green eyes. He knew why but he would never give him the satisfactions of letting anyone else know what this man did. “Come on,” he hissed.

“The Dead, Amar! They’re everywhere!”

“Really? I thought they were in the Dead Sea. Tia is out there and I’m not leaving till I get her!”

The girl screamed again. Above them something was creaking. Both men looked up to see the timbers and stone framework that held the hall together begin to crumble. But there was something else up there and he shouted, screaming something in a language that was unclear. A creature of fire and shadow leapt toward them. Heat enclosed them and the girl screamed again…

 

Wake up! Faroth’s scream only made Philippe come back to reality with a piercing scream as if the falling timbers had been real and he was being attacked by the creature. “Faroth!”

I’m here. We’re both here.

Someone pushed him down firmly against the pillows. Looking up, Philippe looked into the soft blue eyes of his weyrmate. “Which dream?” she asked simply and softly. Her hand was cold on his forehead as she caressed him, moving the strands of hair from his face.

“The…the…” After moistening his lips, he replied, “The fire.”

It was still night. His waking from the flight had been normal enough, if you ignore the part where he tried to get out of her weyr in shame only to be dragged back and spill out his problems on her shoulder. Perhaps it was something that he should have done a long time ago. She may not have known everything about his past but from what he had told her, all that he remembered in the dreams, she had said that perhaps his memories were trying to return. The only thing she could not place were the eyes that always woke him, feeling cold, naked (though he often was), and as if his life would be ended in one cruel, painful way. It had been three nights since that flight. K’man was put in his place by not only Cynte, but Synde and Kahii (and one very loud, pale gold that was defending her greatest ‘enemy’ for once – that would be Flynnth, of course). What won the argument about Philippe as her weyrmate was settled with two facts. One, the flight was flown and there was no going back. And two, it was apparent that things may have gotten worse with Philippe and that his medical state was now tied up with his physical one. Whether the Elf liked it or not, K’man has dismissed him from the Wing until his situation improved – if it did. As for M’len and Jesioth? The blue would mend well enough and fly again and his rider was too worried about Philippe to be to upset at Faroth’s attack on his dragon. That, and M’len knew how much Philippe cared for the young gold rider.

Pulling the furs around them both to keep out the slight chill that came with the autumn season, Cynte wrapped her arms around him, resting her head on his shoulders while he calmed down, his fingers opening and closing as he fought to wipe out the last thing that he remembered clearly – the demonic fire thing.

“I saw things clearer,” he whispered after some time. She raised her head to listen. “I heard a girl’s voice. I was calling her Tia. A man came up behind me. I hated him. I knew why but I can’t remember why. He hated me, too. He said that the Dead were everywhere then something attacked us as the rafters began to fall over us. I can’t remember after that.”

Cynte was silent for a moment, her hand resting lightly on his opposite shoulder. “Writers often go back and revise their stories,” she started by saying. “This is the first time you’ve mentioned names but this Tia could be anyone. That, and the story we discover may not be the same as the one I initially wrote, as proven by your search and pre-search stuff.” Now that she had explained all this to him in the beginning of his ‘therapy’, he understood what she meant. She had also told him that she felt as if it was better for him to remember things slowly rather then have her tell him all that he should know. It was cruel, true, but it made sense to Philippe and the others.

They didn’t say anything else. Philippe sought her hand under the furs and held it tightly, pressing it against his aching heart. How many times she had said that she was sorry for his predicament now was lost in his kisses to shut her up. Soon, her soft breathing filled the air and he tried once again, as he had for so many nights, to find the peaceful road that he had once walked on while sleeping.

 

Weeks wore on and though some said they saw improvement in Philippe (some saying all he needed was the right woman), others said he was growing worse. Those were Cynte and M’len, his closest friends. It was almost to the point where he stayed awake all night to keep the dreams away. More then once, Cynte found him screaming as if something was attacking him. He was wide awake always and would whimper in her arms like a child about the eyes in the dark. He was always deathly cold when she came running into the weyr when Faroth would call. K’man had given her free rein that if the Elf needed her she was to go, no matter what she was doing, even in the middle of Fall. M’len soon gained the same permission and their places would be filled by dragons that were used as extras in case of such need. If anyone else knew more about Philippe it was K’man who was demanding at times as to his predicament. The white rider did not know what to do in the matter anymore and left all hope in the one person that had brought the Elf to Falas in the first place.

“Cynte,” Philippe whispered as she opened the glows. He was pale as a ghost, his hands shaking as if cold and his eyes blurry though she knew that he was not speaking with his dragon. Faroth’s color was gray, now and her heart was bleeding inside. If she lost him she would surely leave Falas and never return. He was dying; she felt it in her heart and body. But he was a fighter and was strong. That she knew. That she had to believe in.

“I’m right here,” she whispered softly, coming to the bed and holding his hand as her other was placed on his fevered forehead. “I’m not leaving you. Neither is Faroth. You know that.”

“Yes,” he breathed, and squeezed her hand as the sleep that took him claimed him for yet another trauma to his current life. As she watched his body slip almost instantly into a nightmare, she cried, pouring out to one character that did not deserve an end such as this. At the same time, she knew that this could not be the end. She knew what kind of writer she was and the things her Muse liked to cook up; (Of course, her Muse was Segarra which was disaster waiting to happen!). It would only be a matter of before the pieces fell together and the dawn would come to his misery.

When, how and where she did not know.

I want to swim, Phalinth whispered to her, as if afraid to say anything at all. Cynte nodded, leaning over her weyrmate to kiss him gently on the forehead. He was already burning. I won’t be long, her dragon said. Faroth and I are not the only ones watching him, now.

This was indeed true as the minds of Flynnth, Jesioth and dozen others touched Cynte’s mind. At the reassurance of the dragons, Cynte smiled and went to find any comfort from her own dragon while he slept out one more nightmare…

 

The woman screamed, her brown hair falling over her face as she grew limp in his arms. Raising the blood stained dagger, he turned the point to the figure in the shadows. The shadowy form began to shake his head, clucking softly as he walked forward, a staff of ebony and red (most likely blood of his own people), in one hand and a blood soaked sword in the other. “A pity, Amarion, as to what you could have become if you had stayed with me. A selfish act, that, to kill with little need other then the fact that your own plot would have been revealed.”

Laying the woman down he looked up at the figure who only advanced in a tantalizing way. Power came from that voice but he would not have it.

He said nothing.

With the dagger in one hand, he took a step forward, shielding a boy that could not have been but seven years old. Locked tightly by magical chains, the boy wept, screaming out for his mother that now lay dead on the marble tile of the Hall.

“You made a bargain with me and it will be kept. However, if you hand over what you have stolen, I may just consider the bargain off.”

“Rat tails and dragon scales,” he growled, grabbing the boy by the wrist and breaking the bondage spell. “The bargain was off when you broke your promise to me, not the other way around.”

“Ah,” the Shadow chuckled as the boy was placed between them and a dagger pressed to the boy’s throat. “Oh, come now, Amarion, would you kill your own son over some stupid Stone? Where is it?”

There was rage in him now as he placed the blade that was already stained with that of the boy’s mother’s blood against the trembling body held tightly against him. “You will get neither the boy or the stone!” he cried, his voice ringing with power that there was a flash of light as the dagger sliced the boy’s throat and his body became a blinding flash of light that caused the Shadow to scream and writhe in it’s brightness. Falling back against a pillar, his hands burned by his own magic, he watched as his son’s life fled into Death and the body barred from any use a Necromancer my try and use it for. Seconds after the body hit the floor he lunged and snatched a necklace off the boy’s neck. He could feel the Shadow’s presence and it would only be a matter of time before it returned for the last thing it could still take, the Stone.

Falling over debris and dead bodies, he reached the mother. Her own dagger was still in her hand and, ripping it from her grasp, sank it into her heart. The blood ran cold along his fingers but he felt nothing for the loss of life. Inside her chest he placed the small amber pendent and with magic sealed her wounds.

The anguished cry caused him to turn.

“No! Kistde!” The blood on the dagger was enough to state the accused without trial. “You killed her!”

Standing, dagger in hand and feeling the Shadow returning again, he went to push this man out of the room before all hell broke lose in the Hall. “You killed her! Murder!” A small dagger flashed in the light of the fire that burned all around them. “I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you!”

“Not if I kill you first!” and the same dagger that had taken the lives of others punctured another’s flesh, only something caused it to go astray…

 

Two men were holding him back as M’len stumbled back, his face white and in shock as others came to help him. A dagger was till in his hand and as he struggled against the bonds that held him, it sought the one that it came into contact with first. Phalinth screamed and Cynte gasped, the pain causing her to wheel back.

Philippe! Come back! Please! It was not just Faroth but Phalinth, Jesioth, Mixuith, and many others that screamed as their riders or healers struggled to hold the mad Elf down. A healer went to Cynte, who wept not only for her wound but for Philippe who was lost in a dream that had seemed to take full control over him. Synde came to hold her, while her own weyrmate now risked his life to stop Philippe from killing anyone or injuring another. M’len was carried out. Jesioth was still calling for Philippe.

Then K’man took a board and hit the Elf over the head. Philippe passed out only to struggle to see straight moments later. His breathing was irregular and his eyes dilated with panic and fear. In iron grips, the Elf lay trembling, his heart racing while Faroth touched his mind and the other dragons made sure that he was indeed pulled out of the nightmare.

K’man’s heart was torn in, two as he watched Philippe recovering from his latest ordeal. Turning to one of the young riders that stood next to him, K’man ordered him to go to Rerir and bring Jaslyn and Segarra immediately. Without further question, his son J’kem went to the white rider’s bidding. “Cynte, you’re to go with the healers. I want him under strict security.” Juria warbled and flew off, going to get another form of security that K’man trusted – a fair of fire lizards. “Take him to the Lower Caverns and lock him away. Under no circumstances is anyone to go in there until it is decided what to do with him.” With this last order, he looked at Cynte as her look of fear, pain, disbelief as to what she had just heard registered in her already numbed brain. The healer was wrapping her wound after applying the numb weed yet it did nothing to ease her heart. K’man’s gaze may have looked solid and undaunted to some but Cynte knew that underneath this man’s hard exterior he had a heart that could only be reached by his dragon, weyrmate and children. There was an apology so deep in his eyes that Cynte only stared as he turned smartly on his heels and strode out of the weyr.

Philippe was limp in the arms of the riders that carried him out, tying his hands like a prisoner before a bronze dragon lifted him into the air and carried him down to the Lower Caverns. Faroth hovered nearby but did nothing to try and stop what was happening. There was a silence running throughout the Weyr, now, and as Philippe was carried to one of the prison quarters, which were hardly ever used though did exist just in case, weyrfolk came out to watch, whispering among themselves as to what had happened. The task was completed quickly in fear that he would wake up and kill another that is if M’len survived. The door was locked and the fire lizards swarmed outside the door, commanded by the queens while guards were placed outside the door and at the ends of the passageways.

It was perhaps the longest night Cynte had ever known. She would live but as she sat next to M’len’s side, waiting for Jaslyn and Segarra to come and hopefully save his life, she cried, holding his hand. Philippe was awake again, his body controlled by some act he was committing in his nightmare that nearly controlled his entire mind and body. There was a soft keening in the air, raised by the dragons. It was not the heart wrenching song that was sung at the passing of a dragon or even a human of great importance (such as the Masterharper of Pern in the Ninth Pass). As she listened to the song, it became a distinctive tune. Suddenly, she realized it was a song that Philippe often hummed or sang when he was having a bad day or hurt. It was the song that he had sang to Faroth their first night as dragon and rider. A dragon’s memory may not be equal to that of a human’s but it had been a song that Philippe had hummed often in the night, putting her to sleep and keeping him awake.

 

Sing, little nightingale, for my heart has grown weary with despair.

To the music in my heart that the darkness dose not spare,

I pray to thee that thy sing me a song to chase away my nightmare.

For into darkness I see not but in my peaceful dream I have seen

Skies of sapphire above mountains white and meadows green,

Harmony in the laughter and song in the voice of people unforeseen.

 

Sing, little nightingale, for my eyes are closed for they are fearful

For in the morning all I see may be gone by one more powerful.

Chase them away, nightingale, with a song that is to beautiful.

I hold thy music in my heart and sing in the dark that has taken me,

Away from my land and home and family that had from to flea,

Sing to me now of the river and the mountains, of the forest and the sea.

 

See, little nightingale, how happy you make me in the dark night?

Morning has come in the golden hour where Life is bright,

I fear not my dreams that have taken me far in useless plight.

I am safe, sleeping now with thy song in my heart’s dream.

Dancing among the forest glade beside the sparkling stream

I do not fear the night and the minds playful scheme.

 

All through that lonely, painful, and long night, the dragons sang. The fire lizard’s small voices added to it, picking up in harmony with their larger cousins. Occasionally, a wolf would cry out as the pack responded to the mourning that was so strong it permeated the air and ground, touching all the hearts into wondering what was going on if they didn’t know already.

 

It was weeks before anything was decided about Philippe. M’len’s life was saved by Segarra and the High Princess but he was heartbroken as to the events that had caused it. Philippe’s mind was nearly lost and though K’man forbade anyone to enter without permission or protection, Cynte followed him to the cell to break the news to the Elf.

It was dark, dank and stank. A tear came to her eyes as she sought the form of Philippe, huddled in a corner and shaking. When the light fell on him, he lifted his head.

He is clear, Faroth informed them all, sounding as his rider felt.

Slowly, the Elf uncurled his body from the corner and struggled to stand. His eyes fell on Cynte and with a gasp of need; he reached for her, only to fall with a soft cry. Before K’man could stop her, she ran forward and pulled him into her arms. He was stronger then he looked, nearly crushing her to his chest as his hot tears fell over her tunic. His kisses were demanding and possessive, tender and loving all at the same time.

Of all the words she thought he would say to her now, the one that she heard in her ear broke her heart. “Help…”

Pushing him back, not trying to hide her tears, she tried to smile. “I can’t Philippe. Not now. I don’t know what else to tell you save follow your heart and don’t ever forget that you’re a dragonrider of Pern – of Falas. I love you Philippe, I really do and if I can give you anything right now it will be my love, and that of your dragons and the lives off all the people that care about you so much. I love you…” He looked at her and the pain that she saw in the light of the glow baskets and illuminators she would never be able to put into words. 

K’man watched, closing his eyes momentarily before coming forward and putting a strong hand on the Elf’s thin shoulders. The white rider winched, remember the times he had clasp Philippe’ tightly in congratulations, feeling the strength in his body. Now, there was nothing save the stubborn refusal to die. “Philippe.”

Slowly, the Elf looked up at him. Before K’man could speak, his blue eyes sought the face of one that was not present. “M’len?” he choked.

“Resting. He will live,” K’man said, kneeling before Philippe who leaned into Cynte’s arms as if the Wingleader was going to kill him right there. “We’ve met and discuses your predicament and though there are some…”

B’torl, Faroth interjected.

“…that feel you should be killed and others who wish to see you put out of your misery as a friend…”

L’gal.

“…it has been decided that…” K’man paused, looking at Philippe and trying to find the strength to do what he knew he must. “…that you are to be exiled from Falas.”

Philippe didn’t know what was worse, to be killed for a near murder or to be banded from his friends and family forever. The pain in his chest was enough to make him think his chest had exploded. Cynte’s arms held him tighter as she, too, cried, knowing that whatever happened to him now was out of her hands and he must walk that road alone.

I will stay with him…till the end, Faroth added hesitantly and softly.

“I’m sorry, Philippe, but whatever has happened to you now endangers the Weyr. You cannot stay.” Quite suddenly, K’man stood and left, never looking back as he walked hastily from the room. If he had stayed to watch as the guards grabbed the Elf by the shoulders and torn him from his weyrmate, not even K’man would have been able to hold a straight face. Into the arms of Shasia K’man hide and it would be days before the man’s heart was able to face the fact that Philippe was as good as dead even if the dragons never sang at the passing of Faroth.

Cynte’s winged wolf Seune came to her side was Philippe was dragged screaming away from her. She did not move but prayed softly that everything would be alright, that he would return and that life would continue as it had always has. By the time she left the cell, Seune behind her with her wings dropping and tail dragging along the ground, and two fire lizards wrapped around her neck, their faceted eyes echoing her emotions, Philippe had already been allowed to pack his things and departed, leaving the choice to his dragon. He never saw M’len standing on his ledge; Jesioth perched next to him while his rider used him to lean on as Faroth took the Elf back to Sentra. There, Faroth hoped, his rider would be able to find answers that only lay in the history of a world now two-hundred and fifty years older then when he had last walked the that earth.

here was a setting sun behind snow covered mountains. Faroth landed, creating a whirlwind of snow across the snow-covered landscape. His rider hung limply around his neck as if all life had been taking from him. Philippe did not care if his tears froze to his skin nor that he could become ill if he remained in the snow too long. Faroth rumbled softly, turning his head to nuzzle his rider who still lay along the blue neck, his heart broken and mind blank with pain, confusion and loss.

Nothing made sense anymore. He had lost everything so fast he couldn’t comprehend what he was suppose to do now. By the time he climbed off his dragon’s back, Faroth had closed his eyes to sleep. Philippe fell into the snow, and lay there, fighting off the sleep that seemed to call to him when he feared it as the fire lizards fear the Red Star. The cold air was like ice in his lungs when he took a few short breaths but they seemed to clear his head. Looking up, he saw that it had begun to snow. Faroth raised his head, warbling softly. Warmth filled his heart as the Elf looked at the worried eyes that came closer to nuzzle him. Wrapping his arm around his dragon, Philippe took in the only comfort he did have left – his dragon.

You’re going to get sick, Faroth said after a time. I did not know it would be winter here.

Philippe looked around, his eyes dried now but he knew they were still red. Sentra? Why did you bring me here?

You won’t find answers to your dreams on Pern or even Rerir, Faroth said, blinking. Only Sentra has those answers so I brought you here to find them. I don’t know where we are but I found it in your mind. From one of your dreams.

Philippe pouted, wrapping his arms around his trembling body as he reached up to pull of his packs and pull the harness off Faroth. The night blue moved closer, letting Philippe use the head from his body until they had a decent fire going. Kneeling in the snow, Philippe pulled out the things he had been able to pack with in the time frame he had been given. Remember their cold, mercifulness glares as he had tried to think about what he would need on a journey he never thought he would come back from, Philippe’s heart burned and he raised a hand to clutch at it in his chest. Faroth warbled, asking him not to think about that and only to think about how he was going to stop the dreams so he would come back.

There first night was spent on the mountain side under some cliffs. Philippe started a fire after finding enough wood from the nearby trees that were scattered in a dead thicket not far off. The snow was coming down harder, making the progress slow. Once there was a steady blaze, Philippe slipped on the collar he used on Earth to make his large dragon the size of a fire lizard so that Faroth could hide in case there were those that came in answer to the fire.

He hadn’t brought any food thus he only stared at the fire as his stomach rumbled with emptiness from his inability to eat the last few days. Faroth? Philippe whispered. You know what to do if I dream, right?

Yes, the dragon said sadly, hidden in the snow not far off. Despite his riders lack of interest in life these days, Faroth was finding that he could finely test the theory of igloos keeping people (or in this case, a dragon) warm even if it was cold. Being that a dragon wasn’t bothered by the effects of between, Philippe was finding his friends experiment rather amusing and stupid. But it was keeping him busy.

He fell asleep the instant he lay his head down. Here, there was no one that he could try and kill.

 

The long passageway was deserted by light that was much brighter in the above corridor. He could hear his heart racing in the darkness, the only thing leading him onward was the faint, dying light orb in his right hand. In his left he held a sword with a motif of leaves trailing down the pommel and onto the blade itself. Annuren it was called, Fire of the Skies. It was a battle sword yet light weight and sharper then any blade a man would carry into battle. Often had he carried the blade into battle and even now he saw no reason that he should sheath it should danger threaten his life.

The urging became clearer; his heart was hurting with the fear that now resided in his chest. The white light suddenly died all together and he stood in the middle of the narrow passage until his eyes adjusted to the light around him. A dank breeze, tainted with the smell of Death and decay rushed toward him. This sent a whole new alarm to him. With the light orb gone and his right hand free, he reached for a small bell from the bandolier hidden by his tunic. It was golden, small in his long fingers that gripped the rowan handle as if it would burn him. Indeed it could. In the darkness he could feel the power of Senael in his hand. It was one of the Greater Bells or Songs wielded by a Necromancer like himself. Though he yet could not come forth with his gift and talents, he was aware that he was a threat to the most powerful Necromancer of them all. Once they had been ‘friends’, allies if you will, till he was betrayed. No longer did he hold an oath to that man. Perhaps a way of revenge lay down this passageway…

A light came from the center of a large room. As he entered he felt the Dead and their presence all around him. His muscles tensed and his fingers tightened along the bell in his hand. Senael seemed to shudder. In his left hand Annuren suddenly grew too hot to hold and with a cry of surprise he dropped it in surprise.

Senael rang out.

The bell had not done as he wished but had sung on its own free will. As he stood where he was, the fear that his journey into the depths of the city had been traced was a heightened awareness. In his hand, Senael rang again but this time it was a single note that held in the air. Whatever spell had been placed on him was gone.

Stepping forward he noticed that everything was growing lighter. What appeared to be a spot of small flame in the center of the circular room soon became a small stone, the size of his thumb in the shape of a tear or water drop. It rested in black velvet or silk on an ornate pedestal of crystal. There was power inside it, he knew and as he reached out to take it, he suddenly knew what it was. Fingers closed on the welcoming warmth. “Renel Annuyr,” he whispered.

Snow began to fall and a chill took him…

 

You dreamed peacefully, Faroth commented as Philippe woke from sleep, the snow flakes in the end of the dream caressing his fevered skin. There are men here. I do not like them. Do you want me to eat them?

You don’t eat human flesh, Philippe said, opening his eyes to find his blanket being pulled away from his face, covered in more then a half a foot of snow. Besides, you wouldn’t like it.

Faroth snorted. He was curled up next to Philippe’s chest under the blanket. If they try to hurt you I will. I’m going to hide until then. Being small is fun! Wearily, Philippe smiled.

“ ’at you smilin’ at, boy?” a voice like ice grated in Philippe’s ear. Startled, the Elf turned to face a grizzled man wearing a uniform of some sort. “ ’n what you doin’ this far from the border, eh? Tryin’ to run away?”

Philippe looked at him blankly. They were soldiers of some sort, judging from their uniforms. He had been to the Wall before but this group looked different then those; unless this was winter apparel. Philippe didn’t say anything but watched as they went through his things. Two yanked the blanket away, Faroth winking between to avoid being seen yet, and hauled Philippe to his feet.

“He’s scrawny,” one of the men noted for Philippe may be tall but he was hardly as heavy as a young boy.

“There’s no food in the packs. I’ve never seen packs like that,” a young man said coming up as they searched Philippe. Frisking, if he remembered the word right though he suddenly didn’t care what they did with him. Faroth hissed softly nearby, berating his rider that he cared and as long as Faroth lived he was going to make sure that Philippe was alright. “Starving to death, most likely,” the same solider sighed, eyeing the downhearted Elf with disgust.

They tore the riding jacket off his body in a rough manner, causing Philippe to cry out as the cold hit him. He was sick, which as something rare for him as he could usually let his body handle anything. However, with way he had been lately, he was surprised he wasn’t sicker. The shirt ripped along his right shoulder and gloved hands prodded where his scar had been. Quite suddenly, Philippe cried out as if he had been injured. “Don’t kill him yet, you fools!” the leader said as the soldiers nearly dropped him. Faroth’s cry was mingled with his riders thus not heard. As Philippe grew limp again in their arms, he closed his eyes as the pain remained as if they had done something to him. Burned and stabbed at once, the blade running along his back for a time before leaving.

“We didn’t do anything, sir!” one of the younger men said in defense. “Dellard was just looking at his brand. It’s strange. I can’t tell where he came from.”

“ ’es’a fakin’,” the one man whom Philippe figured was Dellard, growled and nearly threw him back to the snow covered earth. “Tryin’ to make us think he’s some miserable excuse so we’ll take pity n’ give him the chance to run away,” he growled, kicking the Elf in the ribs so that the pain in his shoulder subsided and was filled with a new pain that was very much real.

“Soldier, I have orders to bring all runaways back alive. We’re not killing him. As he appears to be in no condition to speak, I want you to take his things and put him on one of the sleds. And move out. The storm isn’t going to get any better till it gets worse.”

Philippe was carried to a dogsled that was staked not far from where he had made his meager camp with Faroth. As he was chained, the metal freezing on his thin wrists, he closed his eyes. I’m hiding in the pack…Ow! Now I’m squished, Faroth added, putting a meaning on his metal exclamation.

Just stay. Don’t get seen yet.

I’m sorry, Faroth said when Dellard purposefully threw the tie down over the Elf and the group set out. You never said Sentra was this cruel to your kind.

Philippe sighed, opening his eyes once to watch the winter landscape roll by. It wasn’t always. I’ve been gone sometime, Faroth. Forty years or even two-hundred and fifty! We’ll find out soon enough.

 

Red Point Station was a military settlement stationed for the defense of the river Tirye, a major river in Amaras. Here, there was also a separate section set aside for the groups that were sent to investigate possible runaway slaves from the North. The group that had found Philippe had been searching for a young boy for three days only to find his frozen body in the snow. It had been the dogs that had caught scent of the dragon and rider, leading them to find Philippe also buried in the snow but very much alive.

“Reporting,” captain Tanner said as his team stopped before the General’s station. Philippe was sound asleep but a small blue head poked out of the flaps of his rider’s pack to watch the proceedings. He was also fully aware that the Elf was having another nightmare about the fire.

“Report,” the General said.

“Mission failed,” Tanner replied. “The dogs however picked up the trail of another runaway under Capper’s Peak. He was alive. His brand is unknown to us.”

“Let me see,” the General sighed. He hated dealing with such aspects of leading the station but he made due. “His brand may be older, dating back thousands of years ago when the War started.”

As the captain and General went to Philippe, Faroth suddenly screamed, his voice filling the air as if he was the size of a blue dragon rather then a small fire lizard. All that heard it froze. Tanner’s eyes were the first to catch sight of the screaming creature and pointed it out. “Sir!”

Before anyone could shoot Faroth who was thrashing about as if he was being attacked by unseen hands, Philippe woke screaming in the same tone and manner as his dragon. His eyes had gone pure white, his hands curling as if they were talons and his body trashing wildly, causing the sled to finally tip over.

“Shoot it!” the General cried, going pale as soon as the initial shock wore off. “Don’t touch him!”

Guns cocked at his command, all pointed at the Elf who was still writhing in the snow, the contents of the sled around him and Faroth nearly crushed under a larger container. But before any shot was fired Philippe jolted upright, his eyes blue yet darkened by something that had frightened him. Faroth lay still in the snow. “Farry…” he breathed and flopped toward the fire lizard sized dragon that now lay still and as cold as ice. “Faroth?”

I’m…here…the dragon replied weakly. I…tried…

His hands were still bound in the shackles but he managed to reach over and pull the small body close to him, cradling his dragon in his hands though he was unable to stand up. With Faroth sandwiched between his hands, Philippe looked around him to see that he was no longer in the sled but on the ground with most of the contents of the sled around him. The cold that swept over him now was not from the air, but from fear as to what had happened.

“Get him up!”

Two sets of strong hands hauled him to his unstable feet. Faroth dangled limply from his hands. He was unable to cradle the blue to his chest for the soldier’s clasp him by the shoulders so tightly moving his arms was near to impossible. The General and captain came forward, pistols drawn and swords ready to be used if needed. Philippe recoiled in the grip of his captors.

“Your name?”

He could only answer with the name he had known for the past thirty years. “Philippe Alan Ramsey.”

“And where did you come from?”

“Uh…Pern.”

There was silence for a time before the General came forward and placed his sword tip in the Elf’s throat. “And what is that?” The pistol pointed at Faroth’s limp body and Philippe went cold, his mouth suddenly unable to work. “Speak, Elven whelp!”

“My dragon…just smaller,” he added quickly when the amused expression on the Generals’ face showed that he wouldn’t be buying that. “Honestly, sir. I’ve just returned to Sentra. I’ve been gone for over thirty years.”

For the longest time Philippe endured the hard gaze of the taller man. “I am given no reason to doubt you though what I’ve just seen has put my father’s stories in a new light and the warnings of this time. We’ll deal with you later, and your ‘dragon’, too.”

Philippe was hauled away to a dark, lonely cell that, thankfully, was not shared with roommates though he did not sleep for some days. Nor could he find an appetite to eat the food that was pushed into his room at irregular times during the day (if they came at all). Faroth recovered from the ordeal faster then Philippe and would often fly around the encampment for the cage they put him in would obviously not hold a teleporting creature. He returned to tell Philippe when the troops were moving out but the Elf made no move to attempt escape. Instead, he kept his mind on a place where the clear blue waters and bright sky had always been his home and would always be his home. If he ever made it back to that place, he didn’t know. Until then, he would close his eyes and see those that he loved and missed laughing and smiling under the Rukbat star though those memories were often disrupted by the painful parting he had had with all of them.

Most of all he missed the first weyrmate that he had actually loved.

Weeks passed and the terrifying ordeal that had almost ended his life did not reoccur. Philippe was brought into the Station’s hospital for a diagnostic on his obscured brand. Despite the equipment, a match was not made and he was returned to his cell to wait to see what would happen to him. Unlike most Elves brought to the station, it amazed the soldiers that here was one Elf that had lost all will to fight and obliged to any request made.

He soon lost count of the days he spent fighting sleep and waking from the nightmares that were slowly becoming clearer. He remembered more things in detail though there was no one but Faroth to tell them to. The dragon was unable to help him in the way Philippe knew he needed and would either curl up to await his next dream or, if he was lucky, a meager meal he was forcing himself to eat even if he lost it later. Faroth hunted his own food.

It was near spring when the Station fled the region. Philippe listened as the soldiers rushed to grab as many runaways as they could. At first he thought he would be left behind till he heard a startled soldier cry out at the miniature dragon that appeared in front of him, tugging his cloths and screaming.

“Robert!” someone cried. “We don’t have time!”

Faroth screamed indigently.

“Hold up!”

Robert Herring fumbled with the keys as he ran up to the cell Philippe was kept in. “Ah” he cried before slamming the key into the hole and unlocking it. “You! Hurry up before this thing eats me!”

Faroth! Philippe snapped, lifting his arm for his dragon to land on.

What? They were going to leave you!

So?

Faroth only stuck out his tongue as Philippe was pulled out of the cell and pushed down the hallway.

“His little lizard was going to kill me,” was Robert’s excuse as he hauled the door open and Philippe was shoved in with the other inmates.

“That one should be taken by them,” the other solider hissed.

Philippe found himself in a crowded truck filled with not only Elves but some that appeared to be mortal. They had to stand shoulder to shoulder with hardly any room to breath. There was crying and chanting in Elvish as the truck pulled away from the Station. Philippe peered out of the flaps to watch creatures that could have once been human swarming over anything that was alive.

“What are they?” he whispered, though his gut was in knots at the sight of them.

“The Dead,” an Elven man said, looking at him. “There Lord has returned to his throne. It will not be long before they over run even the North. If the Shadow has come back then we are all going to die.”

“Shadow?” Could this be the same Shadow-creature in so many of his dreams, such as the dream where he murders three people relentlessly?

“The Dark Lord, if you will,” the man said. “However, he is still missing the one thing that will make his domination complete.”

Philippe looked at him as the trucks moved down the road. The Dead followed but their limbs did not seem to work as well as they had in Life. “What is that?”

“You must be younger then I first perceived if you do not know if it,” the man said softly. “We do not speak any of its names for the power in its name is enough to drive a man insane with greed for its promise. But know this, if you must, the power it has can destroy the entire world – and rebuild it. The Dark Lord will seek only to destroy, not rebuild.”

Souron! Faroth squeaked, diving under Philippe’s tattered shirt, his talons digging into the Elf’s skin so that he winched. He’s talking about the One Ring!

This is Sentra, not Middle-earth! Philippe hissed, smacking the terrified dragon on the head. Faroth ceased his squirming and fell limply through his shirt and to the wooden floor of the truck. “Good one,” the Elf sighed, ignoring the startled gasps as Faroth climbed back up Philippe’s pant leg. “Sharding dragons,” he sighed.

Sharding Elves is more like it. Who’s outnumbered here, me or you? That would be me and they’re all staring at me!

Perhaps that is because the only dragon they’ve seen are the ones in the fantasy books. Now, if you please, I have a feeling we have a long ride before us.

Good, then I’m sleeping! Curling his tail around Philippe’s neck and perching himself on his left shoulder, Faroth promptly fell asleep. Just wish there was some good sun to lay in…he added wistfully.

“Me, too,” Philippe said, closing his eyes and picturing the white sand beaches of Falas Weyr clearly in his mind.

 

In the life that preceded the near escape back across the wall, Philippe soon found himself living the life he had spend years fearing. He was bought at an auction by Robert Herring’s father who ran a string of factories and sweat shops. Philippe was taken to the manor, however on account of his manners and appearance. Jake Herring not a kind man and despite the things that Philippe did he found himself being beaten if he placed a toe out of line. Where once a word had been polite before Jeffery or any of the other manor residents, it was now looked down upon as a disrespectful act deserving of harsh, often inhumane punishment. It was from the eldest daughter that Philippe found some escape. She was married to a man similar to Mr. Herring but she retained a good heart and a kind smile when she passed him by. Robert came home a month after Philippe had arrived to the manor. He only watched as the young man was greeted by his mother and sister with hugs and kissed. As he watched, he remembered the words that the older Elf had said to him in the truck. If this Dark Lord had come back and found what he sought, then even the life of Robert and his family would end.

 

“Amarion! They’re everywhere!”

A girl was crying in the arms of a woman as the fires licked the walls around them. Another was standing at the door of their prison, screaming as guards ran past them. They would die here. And everything would be lost.

Pushing the other man out of the way, he called out to one of the guards who stopped to look at him. He whistled a soft tune that carried above the roaring of the fire and creaking of the crumbling building. The man came toward them with untended strides and stood before him looking a little confused.

“Very good,” he said in a low voice that even sent a chill throughout his body. “Dagger.”

As the solider pulled the dagger from his belt, he blinked as if not sure what he was doing. As soon as it touched his hands, the soldier was pulled against the bars of the prison on his back and his throat cut…

 

No!

Philippe dropped the dagger in pure horror as he watched one of the night guards fall to the ground, blood staining his hands as it ran down the blade. A cold pit in his stomach fell like a block of ice in his gut. He had just killed a man…

I tried to keep him away but he wouldn’t! Faroth sobbed, mewling in the darkness of the slaves’ quarters. It was when he realized that it wasn’t just the Elves that were watching him but another. In the doorway, his face ghostly white, stood Robert Herring.

The dagger clattered to the ground and Philippe stumbled back, away from the doorway. Robert pulled a pistol from his belt and with pure rage, yanked the cell doors open. Fearing for there lives, the slaves scuttled out of his way.

“Faroth! Faroth!” Philippe cried, collapsing against a wall in the back of the building. He pulled his legs up to him, crying first the name of the tiny dragon that pressed itself against his cheek, then those names off the others.

“After all I did for you!” Robert cried. “After saving your life this is how you repay me!” Philippe looked up, a pistol barrel pointed at his head. “And how did you plan to escape?”

Philippe trembled at the man’s wrath. He hadn’t known that Robert had anything to do with his being here. “I didn’t know…”

“Didn’t know! How could you not know that you were killing a man?”

Because he didn’t! Faroth hissed, whirling on Robert with dragon-sized wrath. The solider froze, eyes locking with the night blues. I told Nick to stay away but he didn’t believe me that Philippe was dreaming again. Dreaming of killing a man in the same way. Philippe didn’t even know he was doing anything.

“If you’re going to kill me, then kill me,” Philippe hissed, placing a firm yet gentle hand on Faroth’s head to silence him. He eyes were serious and as Robert watched he saw surrender in his eyes.

“Why did you kill him?” Robert asked after a moment of long, thoughtful silence.

“I didn’t know I was till I woke up to Faroth screaming at me,” Philippe repeated. Faroth sighed a, Duh, as Robert came closer. “I have nightmares. I know nothing about what they are, where they are or if they actually happened. Faroth brought me back to Sentra because I nearly killed a man on the world he came from. Now I only wish to die. Kill me.”

The pistol was lowered to the ground – slightly. “You’re…you’re mentally ill, aren’t you? That’s what Sara told me.” Philippe winced at the mention of Robert’s sister who had the same name of the little girl that he still loved and missed distantly. “She knew something was wrong but…I need to tell.”

A shot rang out outside and Robert fell to the ground. Faroth warbled and flew out the small window. “What is it?” Philippe asked Faroth. Robert answered, not knowing that the Elf was speaking to the fire lizard-sized dragon.

“If it’s a raid…”

“Raid?” Philippe repeated.

Yes, it is a raid, Faroth replied. He was perched on a tree above the slave quarters. I need to get you out of here!

No! You know I wish to die!

You are not going to die! I promised Phalinth so just shut your stubborn Elvish mouth!

Philippe made a face. I didn’t use my stubborn Elvish mouth, dead glow!

Robert was crawling toward the door. Suddenly, Faroth appeared and grabbed the young man’s shoulder. No! Don’t go out there!

“What’s going on?” Philippe demanded, standing a bit taller as Robert fell back against the wall as if he was in a battle, pistol in hand.

Others have come. They are Elves. They’re going to the manor to kill Robert’s family while others are coming to fight the raiders. Take off my collar!

“No!” Philippe growled. “You’ll get shot!”

“I’m not going outside!” Robert hissed back.

“Not you…Faroth, get over here.” Reluctantly, the dragon did so.

Robert watched them. “You call that thing a dragon?”

“Yes.”

Prove it, Faroth challenged, glaring at him from his rider’s knee. Take. Off. The. Collar.

“Fine…Robert, get over here!” Unsure of what the Elf was going to do, Robert crawled on his belly toward Philippe who was struggling with the elastic like collar around Faroth’s neck. “Ready, Farry?”

Let this beast fly! Faroth crowed. The collar was removed and Faroth winked between. Moments later there was the loud bugle of a night blue dragon swooping over the battle. Landing outside the window where Philippe was rising with Robert, the dragon tore open an opening. Robert fell back in fright.

“Ah!”

“Don’t shoot! I’m going to help your family get out of here!”

Running forward and grabbing Robert’s hand, Philippe helped him climb onto the dragon’s back. “Hold on tight!” he shouted seconds before Faroth launched himself skyward, winking between to avoid being shot at.

Landing behind the manor, Philippe and Robert rushed inside; thankful the back entrance was not being used as an entrance point for either parties that fought near the slave compound. “Father! Sara!” Robert was crying as they raced through the halls. Quite suddenly, his family appeared, racing toward them with a group of Elven raiders behind them.

“What is he doing out!” Jake Herring cried seeing Philippe next to his son.

“I’m saving your ass,” Philippe growled, eyes flashing. “Run!”

As bullets exploded around them, they ran for the back door.

You’re not going to make it! Faroth cried. Do something! Remember Flynnth’s hatching a Turn ago!

He had used magic then, saving his life and perhaps even Tay’s. Skidding to a halt he turned to the angry Elves. “Go!” he shouted when Robert and Sarah turned to look at him. They kept running. Philippe raised his hand and calling upon a sudden desire to live he called upon a magic that was as raw as un-mined gold. The power that shot from his hand threw Philippe backward with a cry. Robert grabbed him and dragged him to his feet before they ran. His hand was bleeding and appeared as if it was burned. Once Faroth knew the entire Herring family was on board, he took off, leaving the rest to fend for themselves against the Elves. The night blue winked between to a place of safety.

As the dust cleared in the hallway, an Elf peered into the dark hallway. All power had been cut with that single spell as well as the walls had collapsed under its power. He had, however, seen the man that had wielded that magic and as his comrades rose, cursing as they realized that their quarry was gone, the dark haired man set his jaw, eyes burning with a hatred that had long been quenched by the death of a man that now lived again.

“Amarion,” was the single word from his lips, spoken with hatred, contempt and revenge before turning to his followers and ordering them outside.

 

 

hilippe’s predicament and crime was not lifted because he had saved the life of the Herring family. He was taken to a state prison and charged with murder. Faroth kept to hiding now that he was dragon sized again but he was constantly reminding his rider that he had to return to Falas. There he had family and friends that didn’t care that he was an Elf.

That was until Philippe was informed that he was to be executed in three days.

Robert Herring went on a hunt about Philippe, taking in the information that his sister had told him about the Elf. When he came across the records of a Philippe Alan Ramsey, and Elf who had served at the Ramsey estate, he found a history that explained his manners when dealing with his father or mother. Jake took this into note but still showed no interest in saving his life. As Robert learned more from the records and history books, he also began to seek out a physiologist that would come and look at an Elf. He found only one. Dr. Eric Jordon was a specialist that not only agreed to look at Elves but was well known for his success in his field. After explaining everything he knew about Philippe, Robert sank to his chair in relief when Dr. Jordon agreed to see Philippe and would be boarding a plane that very night.

When the morning came for Philippe’s execution, the Elf rose and walked silently to the room where he would finally be able to go to sleep and dream no more dreams. Faroth still did not understand this but after much convincing, Philippe had it in Faroth’s brain that the men and women in the white surcoats were just going to help him sleep peacefully. Though Faroth still thought his riders was going to kill himself, he had said nothing when they came to get him that morning.

There was silence as Philippe laid himself on the table and allowed his hands and legs to be strapped down so that all he could do was flex his fingers. One young woman went to dry a tear that fell from his face but paused, noting that she was not the only one that sensed they were killing an Elf that had lost all will to fight and would lay where he was without the restrictive bands on his body.

Needles! Faroth cried and Philippe winched. They’re going to kill you!

No, my friend. It’s going to let me sleep.

I don’t believe you! There was nothing else after that but Philippe took it as a sign that his dragon was remembering what he had been telling him for the past three days.

A knock on the door startled the young woman who was about to administer the first shot onto Philippe’s arm. The entire room paused. Philippe’s heart beat faster as one of the men went to open the door.

“Forgive me, but I wish to have a word with the boy before this is carried out,” a man said. Philippe watched as a middle aged man with raven black hair and a rather cheerful expression entered, a briefcase in hand that matched his suit.

“This is government business,” the doctor in charge of the execution said.

“Ah, that’s the same thing the pretty little woman at the desk said…until I showed her this.” Holding out a folded piece of paper to the doctor, the man went over to Philippe, smiling. “Not exactly on the healthy side of life, are you, boy?” he said.

“And you are?”

“Doctor Eric Jordon, Psychiatrist and a few other things if needed. I’m here to ask you one thing and depending on what you say will depend on what will happen to you and if these nice men and woman get to take the life of yet another Elf.” Philippe only blinked, waiting for this mans question. “It was brought to my attention by a young solider that you were found two-hundred and fifty years ago at the bottom of Adamant Ridge by a Jeffery Ramsey.” Philippe nodded. “And that your memory has been lost, perhaps until this point. I’ve dealt with memory lose cases before, Philippe, and though I have to ask your full corporation and trust, we may be able to least put an end to these dreams that are causing you to do more then just sleepwalk.”

Do it!

The voice was not Faroth’s.

You don’t have a choice this time, Elf-boy! Phalinth hissed into his mind as Jesioth backed her. Faroth said that you were going to go to sleep and how and we’re here to stop you. Cynte needs you and we refuse to let you go. Eat those words, Elf!

Philippe’s heart had stopped for a moment as he realized that though he could not return to Falas (yet), there were those that could come see him. Faroth announced that K’man and the Weyrleaders were coming, putting life back into Philippe’s body as tears streamed down his face. Eric blinked, startled by the Elf’s reaction.

“Well? I don’t have all day.”

“Yes, I’ll do it…”

Good choice, Faroth chuckled as the dragon landed next to the others who were rushing into the building to see the Elf for the first time in months. Behind the pale gold and silvery blue, a white, night and speckled gold appeared above the streets before the State Prison. The dragons below bugled a greeting as they circled to land.

Philippe was to be transferred to the capital of Jasal in Hanva where Dr. Jordon’s office was. The Elf was given fresh cloths, though still that of an inmate since he was listed as dangerous by the government. Considering this, it took some for the wardens of the prison by complete surprise when the dragonriders rushed forward and hugged him so tightly that it was clear that Philippe had been missed. M’len was the first to grab his friend. Unfortunately, Philippe was handcuffed and the two fell to the ground, M’len laughing so hard he didn’t seem to notice the defense that the guards took up.

“Shards and shells!” M’len cried as they struggled to at to their feet. “You’re nothing but skin and bones! Don’t they feed you around here?”

“Honestly, yes, but I have a hard time keeping solid things down…” his eyes fell on Cynte and any other remark against the prison was silenced by the obvious condition of the young gold rider.

She was pregnant.

Seeing that he had noticed, Cynte came forward to wrap her arms around him, kissing him soundly on the lips so that his body melted in her unexpected embrace. Then his hands, thought bound, flattened along her stomach. He looked at her, a mix of joy, worry, and hope in his eyes.

“It’s your baby,” she smiled, blushing. “Philippe…I need you. I really do.”

“Just because I’ve taken it upon myself to take care of her while you’re gone,” M’len said when Philippe was rendered speechless. He was going to be a father! “Doesn’t mean she needs the support of the other half. Would you have let these people kill you if you had known about this?”

Still, Philippe could not find the words to say. Instead, he lifted his arms so that she could duck into his embrace where he held her, thankful for another moment in his life that she had come to Falas. “How many months?” was the first thing he was able to ask between silent tears of joy.

“Almost five months.”

We’re going to make do an ultra sound to find if it is male or female, Phalinth said, rather pleased with herself. Though, the dragoness added among the soft chuckles that only existed with the dragonriders that had heard her, I don’t know how they can tell with all the noise…

Dead glow, Faroth sighed while Philippe and Cynte laughed. It felt good to laugh again, to be among friends even if it was for a time. Philippe didn’t want to move, feeling her gravid body against his and knowing that inside her was a child of his own flesh and blood. He was going to be a father. That, he decided, was something worth living for. In all his Turns at Falas, the one thing he never had had was a child of his own. Now, after over thirty Turns, he was finally being given that chance.

Before the guards were able to take him away, K’man asked to speak to Philippe alone. In a small office the guards left them. K’man didn’t say anything for a time but Philippe waited, knowing his Wingleader to well.

“I don’t blame you, K’man,” Philippe finally whispered, breaking the silence that permeated the air.

K’man turned to him. “I wanted you killed, Philippe, not exiled. J’ren fought to keep you alive. I wanted to end your misery that has haunted me since the day I helped pull M’len away from you. It scared me, Philippe and you know as well as any of the old-timers from Falas that I don’t admit that often.” Philippe nodded, solemn and grave in the presence of the white rider. “And look at you now. You are skin and bones, hardly the Elf that I remember at the Gather’s or around the Weyr. You look dead, if not worse.”

“Yes,” Philippe said simply. “I’ve been through Hell. It’s the coming back part that I’m uncertain about.”

K’man nodded, turning away and taking a deep breath, standing straighter as he slapped his gloves against his hand. “Yes, well,” he said and Philippe straightened knowing that the man was now abandoning the feelings he had just betrayed for something on a more business level. “Faroth informed us on enough to let me know that perhaps there is a way to help your people. J’ren agrees to it as to the Wingleaders but I need more information from you about these Raids. I am also going to get in touch with the government while I am in Jasal to see if there is something that we can do to stop them or lessen them.”

“You mean…” Philippe trailed off.

“Well, I do intend to on getting your people out of there. If there is to be a major catastrophe, as Faroth informed us, then I intend to use whatever power I have to save as many lives as we can. Arrangements at Falas are already being put into effect. Now, tell me what happened that night as a dragon’s gibberish is hard to explain when he’s in a hurry.” K’man came forward, clasping the Elf by the shoulder with a smile that was between two friends. Nodding slowly, Philippe smiled and with ease of many years of dealing with the moody white rider, told him everything he thought he should need to know to carry out this plan.

 

Dr. Jordon received a free flight back to Jasal, Hanva – via dragonback. The flight was meant to avoid a hassle with the press that had suddenly become quite interested in the Elven Dragonrider from Pern. Not that Jordon didn’t mind. That is, after his feet were back on the ground where he liked them. Planes he could handle, a dragon as a different story.

Philippe found out the day after arriving at the Jasal Mental Hospital (which put pits in M’len and Cynte’s stomachs due to the other patients that were walking around at times), that he would be having a daughter. The rest of the day Cynte stayed with him in his room which was guarded and devoid of any luxurious due to some cases that came in here. They choose a name that suited both of them and could be seen as ‘Elvish’ and contemporary. Tynena Ariel Ramsey was what they decided on. Or, as Philippe made sure everyone knew, Tynena Riverfire, which was the meaning of her first name.

Then they left, returning to Pern and taking his meaning of life with him. Philippe lay in the darkness of the white room feeling the walls close in on him. Soon, he thought. Soon I will go home and live a life I dream of…

One month later, Philippe was still a ‘prisoner’ in room 86-F and not any closer to remembering why he was found on the bottom of Adamant Ridge. If anything, he was worse. Dr. Jordon saw Philippe as a challenge for here was a man that had not only had the life all Elves sought, but was struggling with a past that was eating him up inside. Try as they might, not a single clue had been dropped that would explain who he had been once.

I happened on a Thursday during the annual CAT Scan to see if there was any change in Philippe’s brain activity. While the Elf lay in the machine, Dr. Jordon and his team stared at the pictures before them. There was no warning at all. Electricity flickered and the scanner suddenly became a shower of sparks with Philippe still inside. Faroth screamed and tried to leave his perch (since Philippe had put his collar back on), but was grabbed as those in the opposite room ducked as the glass shattered. When all was quite, Dr. Jordon rose and looked into the room.

“Philippe!” he cried, running from the room with other behind him.

Philippe was unconscious, lying still as if he was no longer breathing. He was, barely. As nurses raced to find the needed equipment, one of the young assistances that had snatched Faroth lifted the creature to Jordon’s eyes. The once rich blue and black hide was gray and as lifeless as the Elf’s. Jordon picked Faroth up and placed the cat sized dragon on his rider’s chest. “He’s not dead yet,” he told the lad who whipped his tears away.

New reached Falas sooner then Jordon thought. He would not allow any visitors until Philippe was stable for more damage had been done then one would have thought. M’len and Cynte stayed most of the night in the waiting room. When morning came, Jordon came to tell that that the shock had put Philippe in a deep coma but he was currently stable. Cynte clung to M’len who held her, eyes closed and praying for his friend that had made Falas a place worth living at.

 

Two nurses walked down the halls of Jasal Hospital. It was late thus there were few that were up. They were men, young though a bit skinny for their size and age yet attractive at the same time. Both were dark haired and pale skinned. They received no questions as they made there way through the hallways, stopping at room 86-F and pausing before the blond one pulled out a card and slid it through the lock. The door clicked and with a nod to the other, he entered. Seconds later, the dark haired nurse also slipped into the doorway.

“We make this quick,” the one said.

“And if we’re caught?” the dark man asked, pulling out a dagger from thin air as the other did the same.

“What does it matter? Our revenge will be complete.”

Philippe lay motionless; the grayish-blue Faroth still curled up on his chest. As the two men took their places on either side of the medical bed only one noticed the change in the Elf’s breathing. “Ril,” he hissed and looked down at the face of the man he wished only to die and the longest journey through Death possible.

Philippe’s eyes were open. At first he thought that the Elf had just died, eyes opening to the world as muscles relaxed in Death. Then Philippe blinked, slowly but focused in one spot.

It was a moment that he would never forget. As Ril moved to make his kill, Philippe turned his head to the blond haired man who stared, seeing something in the eyes of his son that he had thought lost thousands of years ago. He froze.

Philippe knew this man, the one that was not hidden by shadow. Yes, he knew him. As he gazed into the other’s face he saw his life flashing before his eyes. This man – laughing and smiling in one memory then screaming in the dark in a cold, rainy forest. His heart clenched and a fear came into his eyes. “Father…” it was stated as both a question and a statement. Ril paused in his attempt to kill his own brother, staring in disbelief and fear.

Turold Grayfox backed away even as Faroth’s color began to return and the night blue lifted his head weakly to regard the men in the room. The only thing that Faroth saw was the dagger in Randaril’s hand. With a scream he launched himself at the ‘nurse’, biting and clawing.

This woke Philippe from his trance as well as Turold who lunged to pull the blue lizard-creature from Randaril. “Faroth!” Philippe cried, moving to raise a hand in command only to find his strength to low to complete the maneuver. “Faroth!” he cried again, leaning back and coughing, weak and dizzy before slipping into slumber once again.

Turold grabbed Ril’s arm and ran from the room. They vanished down the hallway, leaving Philippe sleeping without dreams for the first time in nearly a year (or Turn if you went by Pern’s timeline).

hilippe lay in his bed staring at the ceiling. M’len had told him that while they were on Sentra waiting for him to wake up Cynte had gone into labor. She was in the delivery room now. Faroth was perched on his side stand listening to something far away.

Still, the birth of his daughter did not ease his heart.

Of all the people in Sentra he had to be the very person that caused the War.

He was Amarion Ashfalcon.

Once again, there was not life in his body. He cried, remembering how selfish he had been. How he had killed his ex-wife, his brother’s wife and his son. How he had nearly killed his brother – as he had almost M’len. Then there was the fire at the Black Water Prison. It had been an attack of Dead servants that Lord Krelnar had raised from Death, sending them against the prison in search of Amarion. Taking use of that opportunity, Amarion had not only managed to burn down the entire Prison, taking hundreds of life with it, but erased his very identity amidst the confusion.

He was so certain that his father had been in the night before. It was dark but he knew his father and had once loved him above anything else. Who the other was that Faroth had attacked he was uncertain but he feared that his brother still lived and sought revenge for the death of his beloved wife.

He wanted to hold Cynte.

Crying did little to ease his pain. He wanted to run, run away and never come back.

I will take you anywhere you want, Faroth said ruffling his wings and looking down at his distressed rider. Or whenever you want.

At first that last statement wasn’t clear. Philippe stared off into space, wishing he could turn back time and take back all that he had ever done to get him in this unfixable mess. How does one go before an entire world and say that you’re sorry for starting a war that had killed millions and put his own people into slavery and servitude? How does one make everything right again? If only he could go back in time…time…

He looked at Faroth. “Take me back to the Estate,” he said. Faroth arched his neck.

Take the collar off, the night blue replied.

No, Philippe said sternly.

With his identity known, the Adraln government became involved in his case. Philippe was told that he was to be sentenced to death – without a trial. Though the Weyrleaders, K’man and L’gal fought for his life in court battles, there were others present at the rallies and demonstrations outside the courthouse that none recognized or paid any attention to. They only watched, hunched over and dressed in beggar’s cloths as if they were poor. Indeed they were, living off what they could find but their identities were shielded by well formed spells for even in this age, they would be spotted easily and sent to join Amarion when his day came. Both waited for that day. They wanted him dead.

Philippe had lost all spirit the day police came to escort him to the city square. It was like a holiday for so many that Philippe only blinked as the armed guards, some of them Mages as well, handcuffed him and lead him into the streets to the police car. The crowd cheered when he came out, waving signs that happily called an end to the War and the death of a long hated man. Two held no signs nor chanted the death of the dragonrider. They knew better then the mortals that thought that by killing Amarion the war with Krelnar’s Necromancers and Dead would end. As the squad car pulled away, pushing through the crowd, a wing of dragons appeared in the air, bugling. They were not there to break up the crowd or save Philippe. They had lost that battle.

They were here to say goodbye.

The dragons landed in the Square where a platform has been built as if this was the Middle Ages rather then a modern society. Philippe was to be shot by ten expert marks men. K’man only hoped his death was swift for he did not want the Elf to suffer anymore then he had to. He had suffered enough.

The ride was in silence. Faroth was curled around his neck, crooning softly in response to his rider’s loss of heart. The men with him were heavily armed and strong enough Mages that no magic would help him even if he wanted it. Philippe remembered how strong he was as a Mage and a Necromancer but made no move to bring those powers into use. They were dormant now. They would remain dormant until his death. He feared both. He was a dragonrider. And that was what he would die as.

Hauling Philippe out of the car, two guards led him through the crowd toward the platform. He did not struggle, as many in the cheering (and booing) crowd had almost hoped, but walked as one accepting a fate he was guilty for. However, Philippe looked up when a group of people broke from the crowd (K’man nearly throwing one of the police aside with the threat that he hadn’t fed Mixuith in a few days). Philippe’s heart fell as he looked upon the people that had loved him without knowing what he had done in a life he had forgotten. As the crowd grew silent in confusion as to what the dragonriders were doing, K’man came forward and gripped Philippe’s shoulders firmly. All the white rider could do was smile helplessly. Then he spoke. “I did not want it to end this way,” K’man whispered. “They will not let you return to Falas in peace.”

Philippe tried to smile reassuringly. “Even at Falas I can no longer find peace, K’man. Not when others have suffered at my foolishness. You tried. I thank you. I will take responsibility for what I did. I am not the same Prince they think I am.”

K’man nodded, pulling Philippe from the police to hug him tightly. Philippe closed his eyes. Then K’man stepped back so that Philippe could endure the hardships of parting with the others. Synde kissed his cheek and J’par hugged him with little words which was rare for a Harper. J’ren and Kahii were remorseful with few words only those that they hoped would ease their own hearts. Tay stood with Elizabeth but could find no words to say as he said good-bye.

Lastly were M’len and Cynte.

M’len held onto the Elf’s frail body for dear life. “I can’t do this…” the blue rider whispered. “You’re my best friend…and…”

“I know…” Philippe said, crying. “But I cannot live like this. With the guilt and no way to get rid of it. Falas will go on as does Life. I don’t want to live with the memories of a man I even hate. I killed innocent lives, M’len.”

The blue rider shook his head stubbornly. “No! No, Philippe, Amarion killed them. You didn’t and that man you killed at the Herring place was not your faults but Amarion’s as well. You were in a dream. You didn’t know! I…”

“I need you to let me go…”

M’len lowered his head, his hands clutching both of Philippe’s in his. Finally M’len let Philippe go, watching as his hands left the Elf’s.

Cynte stood close to M’len, her face buried in the man’s shoulder, her daughter cradled in her arms. She looked at Philippe, tears in her eyes as he came to her. Faroth crooned, his eyes whirling with deep blues of the deepest sadness as Philippe lifted his cuffed hands to hold her tightly to him.

“‘Parting is such sweet sorrow’,” Philippe whispered, his voice chocked as he quoted Shakespeare in a voice laced with the pain she felt. He didn’t want to let her go. From her he found a strength he didn’t think was left in him. “Let me see her,” Philippe whispered, stepping back so his weyrmate could raise the tiny bundle for him to see. She ducked out of his embrace so that he could run his hands along the baby’s face. He didn’t say anything for parting with a child of his very own was painful. He had waited years as Philippe for his own child and even as Amarion. Now, when he finally had everything he wanted, he was to walk the final road into Death, never to return.

“Take care of her,” he whispered so softly only those nearest heard him. “Please?”

“You know I will, Philippe,” she cried. Elizabeth took the baby and she threw her arms around the Elf who could not wrap his arms around her. He kissed her, giving her the strength she had given him.

“Don’t watch,” he whispered into her hair. “This is one thing I cannot bear to have you see.”

“But…” she began.

He took her hands and led her back to M’len who knowingly wrapped his arms around the girl. When he turned her to face the blue rider’s chest, he placed a gentle hand on her head, taking M’len’s arms and placing them so that Cynte would not bee able to see anything but his friend’s riding jacket. Then he looked at M’len. “Don’t let her see,” he said, shaking his head softly. M’len nodded, hiding his face in Cynte’s hair as if afraid to watch as well.

M’len took his friends hand where it held the girls. Slowly, Philippe let go, watching as he broke contact with them for the last time. Once it had been broken, the police grabbed him and hauled him away through the crowd.

As the dragonriders watched, the crowd began to cheer on his death once again. No one moved and the police around them was doubled in fear that they would try to save him. M’len did watch, squeezing Cynte so tight that it nearly drove the breath out of her and the baby that had been given back to her at her request. She listened. She did not watch.

One man’s eyes had seen everything, his acute ears picking up the slightest conversation of the farewells. Beside him, another watched with satisfied (yet wishing he could stab Philippe to death rather then watch others do it), expression of fulfilled revenge. Something was changing in the first man’s eyes. Understanding, perhaps, or was it pity? As Philippe was brought forward he only watched, like a wolf or fox, gray eyes watching M’len, Cynte and the others. Mostly, his gaze rested on the girl who trembled in the man’s arms.

“This will not be,” he suddenly said.

“What!” the younger hissed, grabbing the other’s arm as he moved toward the crowd. “We’ve waited years for this! He’s the one…”

Turold glared at Randaril. “He’s the only one that may save us! Think about it Ril. For once use your head and brush aside revenge. Think!”

Randaril did think but it was only with bitter resentment that he accepted the fact that his brother would have to be saved in order to stop Krelnar who was gaining power in the south. “Fine. But don’t expect me to let him live for long.”

As the lost king of the Elves slipped through the crowd, Philippe was tied to the post. Faroth flew over head, set free of his collar and settling on one of the buildings above the Square. Phalinth nuzzled him but he only watched. He would not go between until his rider took his last breath.

The dragons were singing softly, their humming drowned out by the cries of the crowd that chanted for Philippe’s death.

He was leaving. Leaving his life behind. Not only was he leaving the life he hated and feared but that where he knew what love was to the highest extent. He was leaving Faroth, (I’m not going to leave you ever!! was Faroth’s indignant scream. I’ll follow you into this Death.), Cynte, his daughter he would never know, and M’len. Falas. His home which was where his heart now lay. He was leaving them forever.

Taking a deep breath, Philippe stood straight, clenching his hands and closing his eyes. As he filled his lungs with his last breaths, he heard the police officer ordering the troops to take aim. He opened his eyes toward the sky, his tears unchecked as he prayed that his life be ended swiftly and that those he loved would be alright without him.

“Fire!”

There was no pain in his chest. Nothing. The dragons bugled, flaring there wings on the buildings high above the Square. Faroth launched himself into the sky and dove.

We’re leaving! the night blue cried as if he had been talking to another. As the startled crowd watched, the dragon swooped low over them, sending many screaming. Philippe watched as Faroth extended his front talons toward him – inches from his chest ten bullets spun in mid air. He cannot hold them forever! Faroth cried. The restraints suddenly fell and without a second thought, Philippe leapt for his dragon. Gotcha! the night blue beamed before the blackness of between enveloped the two, leaving Turold to release his magical grip on the bullets and throw an invisibility cloak around him so that he could get out of the city without being caught himself.

 

Dangling from his dragon’s talons and laughing slightly at his helplessness, dressed in a thin prisoners suit and as white as a ghost, Philippe began to feel the harsh bit of between like a slap in the face. We’re going back in time, Faroth informed him. We’re going here. You seem to have this place in you mind a lot. Faroth showed him the image he had plucked from his rider’s mind. It was the Estate, covered in snow with the Christmas lights decorating the house and lawn. The trip ended and the winter air wrapped around his body, Philippe shuddered and Faroth landed by the lake.

Maybe you should have grabbed something for your feet, Faroth said as Philippe landed in the snow barefoot. And warmer cloths.

“Maybe, but I think I can handle a bit of snow.” Faroth dipped his head and Philippe stretched the collar around his dragon’s neck. As the night blue shrank to the size of a fire lizard, Philippe studied the tracks on the snow, following them to a large stone in the center of five fist sized rocks. “Good Lord, they didn’t…” Philippe breathed, walking over to it. It was indeed a memorial. Kneeling, Philippe traced over the words that graced the white marble;

 

Philippe Alan Ramsey

May his road bring him peace,

His laughter never grow dim,

And his love for his children

never be forgotten.

 

A loyal friend from 1234

to his departure in 1235

 

They think you’re dead, Faroth said sadly, landing on the Elf’s shoulder. You’re not dead.

“No,” Philippe sighed, touching the wilted flowers at the base of the last words. One was a rose, still red and frozen as if in time. Taking a deep breath, Philippe turned and trotted down the trial that would lead him back to the first home that had welcomed him and called him friend.

 

Sarah Sumter looked up from her reading to watch the moonlight play on the snow outside. Next to her, Nate was studying the newspaper. Her eyes looked at him but she soon lowered them. On her hand was a wedding band and upstairs her two children lay sleeping. Nate had asked for her hand during collage knowing that her heart belonged to the one man they both had loved. It had been seven years since Philippe had left them. She often found herself pausing before his room, wondering if he had snuck in and lay sleeping with that soft smile on his lips. She never did open the door. And Philippe had yet to return.

“I saw something,” on of the orphan boys said, pointing outside. Nate looked up from the paper and peered outside. “By the barn,” he said.

Standing up, Nate went to peer into the darkness. Just as he was about to say that there was nothing there, a figure passed under the lights of one of the decorated trees. “Miles,” he called and his butler came forward at the call of his name. “Come with me.”

Sarah stood up, her book being held by her finger so she didn’t lose her place, yet. “You are not going out there alone! Let the security handle it!”

“They’re gone for the holiday, Sarah, you know that,” Nate replied. “Besides,” and he pulled out a small pistol from his pocket and unlatched the lock. She pouted and sat down, opening her book but never reading a word.

The man, for it appeared to be a man, was wearing a thin garment and nothing else. As Miles and Nate watched him make his way up the un-shoveled walk, they noticed that he was muttering to himself.

“…Security you are, Eric. Can’t even shovel the snow so people can at least walk to the door without freezing their feet off.” There was a pause. “Give it up already, Farry. I know quite well I should have grabbed shoes or something but frankly I just wanted to get out of there. If you make another comment about that stupid thing you’ll be the one I throw off a cliff next.”

“Sir,” Miles asked, shocked as Nate stepped out from the doorway and began to run toward the stranger. Looking up, Philippe paused, his heart frozen for a moment before he recognized an adult version of the kid he had left behind.

“Nathanial!”

Catching the Elf in a warm embrace, Nate laughed, nearly crushing the thin figure to his chest. “Dam it, Philippe it is good to see you! The best Christmas present ever, if it is five days early. What did you do, break out of a hospital?”

Philippe laughed. “Well, something like that. Nate, this is Faroth. He’s actually a dragon but as most people are afraid of them, I keep this collar on him so he stays this small.”

Nate’s eyes widened at the lizard like creature around Philippe’s neck. “Well, you certainly to have a tale to tell. Get inside before you freeze to death. Rosemary’s going to chew your ass out for being in this weather with nothing but that on!”

Indeed, Philippe was lectured seconds after he was greeted by the Head Woman. While Nate went to tell Sarah and his sister, who were staying for the holidays at the Estate, Rosemary sent the Elf to his room and made him bath and dress before coming back down. She also told him that he had to eat a large dinner that she was going to prepare for him. She wouldn’t take any excuses which left Philippe feeling a bit guilty that he may not even be able to keep solid foods down yet.

The bath was wonderful. Faroth was still playing in the water when Philippe went to find some cloths. His hands fell on a green sweater and paused, smiling. Then, after pulling on another warmer shirt as he was feeling rather cold, Philippe pulled on the first thing Sarah had ever given to him.

“It still fits,” a voice said in the doorway. Philippe turned, startled, and then smiled when Sarah came into the room.

“You have grown up, kid,” he sighed.

Her smile was still coy and sweet, seductive and lovely at the same time. Coming up to him as he shook out his wet hair, frowning at it, she reached for him and pulled him toward her. She only stood before him, running her hands along his chest and shoulders as if testing his solidness. Finally, he grabbed her wrists. “I’m real,” he said before kissing her gently on the lips with more chaste then she wanted. “And back, for a time.”

“You’re not staying?”

“I can’t. I’ll explain later. Where is Jeffery?”

Sarah bit her bottom lip and looked down at the floor. When she looked back up, Philippe’s eyes feared for the worst. “He’s in the hospital, Philippe. He’s dying.”

His blood ran cold. Of all the people he wanted to see, Jeffery had been the one he needed to talk to most. “Why? What happened?”

“He’s sick. I don’t know with what. I can’t pronounce it but he went in yesterday when he fell and didn’t get up. It’s not a stroke or heart attack. He started to get sick when he learned you left.”

Philippe stepped away from her, his eyes hard. “You’re blaming me for this!” he cried.

“No, Philippe! No, he blamed himself for you leaving but that’s only when the symptoms started to show clearly that we diagnosed him as ill. He was getting sick when you were still here. We’re going to see him tomorrow. Come with us. At least stay for Christmas, please.”

“Oh, I’m not sending him back till he’s nice and plump!” Rosemary grinned as she came in, towels in her arm. She was plumper herself, and had a few more gray hairs but her grin toward Philippe hadn’t changed. “Get down stairs, you twig. I had the cook throw you together something special which will have you looking like you did when you decided to up and leave this place. Go on! Sarah, drag him if you have to.”

While Sarah looked ready to drag him off, Philippe bounded after Rosemary as she was heading into the bathroom and stopped her, looking a bit apologetic. “Rose, I need to tell you something before you go and have me disappoint you,” he said. Rosemary raised her eyebrow at him. “I can’t exactly eat solid foods yet. I’m a bit sick, too. Something light would be best.”

Her eyes looked him up and down then she slumped her shoulders. “All right. But I don’t intend to let you go anywhere on this dragon of yours till you’re well enough. Speaking of that dragon, where is he?”

Hiding from the towel lady, Faroth told his rider who chuckled and gestured toward the bathroom with a flick of his head. Traitor, the night blue hissed.

 

The next day was cloudy and snowy. They went to the hospital to pay a visit to Jeffery Ramsey. Philippe was allowed in after Nate insisted that the old man had to see him before passing away. Then he explained why and Andrea Martin finally let him in.

“Good morning,” Nate said softly, entering the room where Jeffery lay watching the news.

“Well, well,” came the sick voice of Jeffery. Philippe winched and Faroth crooned. “Bring me anything this time or are you going to let an old man die without flowers?”

Sarah laughed. “You have plenty of flowers,” she said going to kiss his forehead and pulling up a chair. “We brought you something better then flowers,” she grinned.

“Better then a plant? Oh, I know…”

Nate cut him off, perhaps the first time in his life that he had done so to Mr. Ramsey. “No, sir, someone that came back.”

At Nate’s beckon, Philippe stepped through the door way and into the room. Jeffery didn’t look as bad as he had for the past few months but he defiantly wasn’t his normal self and was paler then usual. Philippe smiled as the old man’s face lit up. “Bless my soul! Philippe!”

The Elf did a shallow bow, which put tears in Jeffery’s eyes. “Damn you, get over here!”

However, as they embraced, Philippe whispered something in Jeffery’s ear that no one else heard. “I wish now that you had left me alone,” the Elf sighed.

“What are you talking about?” Jeffery scolded as Philippe backed away to sit on the bed. “I have never regretted saving your life nor has anyone that worked with you ever wished that you were dead!” Philippe hung his head. “What makes you say that?”

“I was committing suicide.”

There was silence in the room. Nate went to close the door then came to stand behind his wife. Jeffery stared at him, noticing for the first time that his old butler was not at all healthy or the same. “Suicide? Why?”

“The attack on Adamant Ridge happened a few nights earlier,” Philippe said his voice growing cold and stern at the same time. “The trucks that were taking us to the Prison in Stonemere were attacked by the Lord Krelnar.” Sarah’s gasp came out in a near his at the mention of the Dark Lord she had only read about. “My mother and sister were killed. My father and brother were spared. I was taken away though the information that they wanted from me I still would not tell. They beat me. I confronted Krelnar and managed to banish him into a Sleep deep in Death. With their Lord gone, his servants sought revenge. I let them. They threw me over the cliff thinking I was dead.”

“You remember who you are,” Jeffery said. “Or were.”

“Yes. The Prince. I will not say my name here. I came back from the future to hold a promise,” and he looked at Sarah and smiled slightly. “Krelnar has returned.”

“I had prayed each night you were not him,” Jeffery sighed. “But my heart spoke true when I would not listen.” The old man closed his eyes, taking the Elf’s slender hand in his and squeezing them tightly. “I do not know what to say.”

“I thought you would like to know,” Philippe said softly, placing his hand over Jeffery’s and trying to smile. “I just wish I knew what to do now. The government knows in that time. Someone saved me during my execution. I don’t know who.”

Nate snorted. “If you really are Amarion then that is not something he would say. The textbooks…”

“Speak of an Amarion that died at the bottom of Adamant Ridge,” Philippe interrupted. “He is trying to come back but after all that I’ve gained I refuse to let him win.”

The young man didn’t say anything else.

“Philippe, listen to me,” Jeffery said. “You’re over three thousands years old. I’m only eighty-eight. You have seen so much and been to so many places, not to mention watched our civilization grow from the beginning that I can not begin to see how the words of a dying old man will help you. But, I will try.

“When I found you I sensed that something inside you, in your heart was good and pure. Never did I think that every time I watched you with the children or going about your duties that you could have been the right-hand man to a Dark Lord. Never, ever. But, you are and despite all that I’ve done for you there is one thing that I want you to know. It’s that inside you is everything you need to decide what is right and what is wrong. Perhaps Amarion fell for the Darkness but what if Philippe has the power to hold it at bay and ward it off where Amarion did not? No, you cannot forget who you are nor what you did. However, nor can you go back in time and undo everything. Whatever you decide to do, make sure it comes from your heart. And, you think a head as to what may or may not happen. I’m not going to be there when you return to the future, but I have faith in you, as Philippe Ramsey. Amarion I never knew. The choice is up to you.”

Philippe was silent for a time, his eyes closed and tears in his eyes. Jeffery pulled him closer for a hug. “You’re a bit thinner then you use to be,” the old man noted, patting his shoulders as if he was indeed the Elf’s father.

“Philippe is sick, too,” Sarah said, reaching out to touch Philippe’s leg gently. “But I think he’ll make it if he stays with Rosemary long enough.”

“No doubt,” Jeffery chuckled, sounding tired. “I think I should take a nap before the nurses come in to fuss over me. Take him home make sure that he’s sent back with a bit more meat on his bones. Can’t have him saving the world looking like a toothpick!”

The ride back to the manor was in silence. They had stayed a bit longer, introducing Faroth who pleased Jeffery greatly, especially when he found out the bond between the Elf and the miniature dragon. Then they were shooed out by a nurse. Sarah was cradling Philippe in her arms the ride back. Nate stared out the window, wrapped in his own thoughts. The Elf was given to Rosemary for the rest of the day and was kept in his room for most of the evening till dinner.

The next few days passed by quickly. Rosemary saw little improvement in Philippe’s weight though he was feeling better. On Christmas day, Philippe woke up to Faroth prancing around the bed waving a large ornament ball he had obviously stolen from the tree. “You’re such a silly dragon,” Philippe sighed as he got out of bed and went to get dressed. “Maybe we should have put you on top of the tree and made it a Pern Christmas.”

Faroth snorted as he chased the ball off the edge of the sheets and into the pillows. What else to you want me to do when I’m stuck this big? I have to keep in shape somehow, you know.

“Uh-uh.”

When Philippe entered the living room, only Nate sat in the chair, his arm holding up his face that watched the fire burning in the hearth. “Where is everyone?” Philippe asked, freezing in his tracks.

“Jeffery died last night,” Nate said softly.

 

Jeffery Kane Ramsey was buried on the manor not far from the plague that Nate had had made for Philippe a year after the Elf had left. Unfortunately for Sarah, Nate and others that had been to thankful that Philippe was home, the Elf announced that he would be leaving that day, returning to a life he was uncertain about now that his past was revealed and Krelnar had returned seeking him.

He said his farewells to Sarah and Nate, their two children who had delighted in seeing the Elf their mother talked about so often. Faroth crouched to allow his rider to mount and as they all watched, Rosemary leaning into Eric Brawnly and crying loudly, Philippe silently asked his dragon to take him back to the future.

There were no dragons on the dark lawn of the capital cities park when Faroth landed, his wings causing the freshly cut grass smell to waft over him. I’m always with you, Faroth reminded Philippe as he slipped the collar around his dragon’s neck. Philippe only smiled, too a deep breath, and with Faroth on his shoulder, set off for the hospital wing.

His world went black as he passed the two large shrubberies and Faroth found himself in the grip of a very strong man.

e was in a forest, in a glade, under a star filled sky and a fire crackling nearby. Raising his head, Philippe moaned at the pain it caused. There was no one to be seen though it was quite obvious that whoever it was that had dragged him here had no intentions of killing him yet. His hands were bound and legs tied with a thin golden rope, flecking his fingers, Philippe found that there was no way to break the knot or slip his hands free. “Faroth?” he called out.

“Well, well, the runaway traitor awakes! Have a nice sleep, brother?” The last word was filled with more scorn and hatred then the rest of the sentence. Philippe rolled over to see his younger brother Randaril, also called Ril by his family. There was a sword against Philippe’s throat. It was his own sword, Annuren. This was no replica like the one he had left in his bedroom at the Ramsey Estate. It was the sword his brother had stolen from him.

“A little low for you, Ril,” Philippe replied, his heart racing.

Annuren hummed as it was jabbed under his chin, cutting flesh. “You’re down there and I’m up here with the sword this time. Now, would you like me to bleed slowly or would you like to recount how you killed my wife. I know you murdered her. Stop hiding it.”

“Yes, I killed her,” Philippe hissed, eyes narrowing. “I also killed Tabben that day,” he spat, his heart clenching at the nickname of his firstborn son, Tabeyen Brushfox.”

“That is enough, Randaril,” Turold replied, entering the glade with two small conies in his hand. “I told you we’re not going to kill him – yet.”

Ril spat on him but withdrew the sword, sheathing it. Philippe scowled, twisting slightly in the dirt to turn to his father who sat cross legged next to the fire cleaning his kills. His brother sat down on the other side of the fire, glaring at Philippe. “Hungry?” Turold asked. He turned to Philippe.

“If you’re not going to kill me, why hold me as prisoner?”

“For matters of my own reasoning, not his,” Turold replied, jabbing a blood stained dagger toward the sulking Randaril. “Of which will be explained later.”

Philippe sighed, turned around and stared into the darkness of the forest. He sought Faroth and found the night blue sleeping peacefully nearby. After some mental prodding, he woke the dragon up. Do you know where we are and what they’re going to do to us?

Not us, just you, but no, I don’t know. Faroth yawned. We’re still in Hanva, that I know but we’re not going to stay long. They told me not to tell anyone where we are. Turold says he needs your help with something. I don’t know what and don’t trust him but he says it might help you, too.

Philippe didn’t answer to that and the dragon went back to sleep. The two Elves finished there meager meal before setting out again. Faroth rode on Turold’s shoulder while Randaril pushed and shoved Philippe down the path they were taking. They traveled till morning, pausing for a small breakfast. Where Turold was heading Philippe didn’t know.

“I need to go back,” Philippe suddenly said. Ril pushed him as if to shut up him.

“Indeed,” Turold said, stopping to face his eldest son with no emotion in his eyes. “Back to what is a different question.”

“What do you want with me?” Philippe cried in exasperation. “If you want revenge for the death of Tia and mother then take it and be done with it. My life has no different road then if you brought me back to face the Adralian government!”

Turold took a step forward, causing Philippe to recoil in the face of his father’s wrath. “Why?” he repeated. “Why, Amarion, because I believe there is something that you owe us and I believe you know what it is. Now I know what it is that your mother and sister died for. That damn Stone of the Necromancers which you stole and hid in Astrael. That is why we’re not going to kill you yet.”

Philippe paled, much to the satisfaction of his brother. “The Stone! No, father! No, no, no, no…”

A sudden weakness came over him and Philippe collapsed to the ground, shaking. Faroth warbled and flew to his friend’s shoulder, pressing his cheek against his face.

“And why not? You were one of the most powerful Necromancers of this world, and a threat to Krelnar who, may I remind you, has returned to the Life once again and seeks only the power of that accursed Stone to bring this world to ruin.”

“Let’s just kill him and be done with it,” Randaril snorted, reaching for Annuren. “We don’t have time for these games!”

“Neither do I,” a voice said behind them.

“Aenon! What are you doing here?”

“K’man sent me to find you…Amarion Ashfalcon.”

Hearing the scorn in the man’s voice, Ril stood up taller knowing that there was another that hated his brother as well. Philippe struggled to stand. “Aenon, I did not know! If I had known I would have…”

Senael and Athar rang out, the melodies of both the Binder and Speaker forcing Philippe into silence. Both Turold and Randaril fell silent as well but under their own fear seeing that it was a Necromancer that had found them. Behind Aenon, Jarel Redwood also stepped forward – and Tayenden Hawkvale who looked as if he was going to run forward and free Philippe any moment. Jarel held him back as Aenon stepped forward.

“You know where the Skies of Fire is, Philippe, and you know what it can do. You also know that Krelnar will use if for should he find it and it’s only a matter of time before he does. Now, as I serve under Falas’ Wings just like you, I see no reason to bring up an ancient quarrel just yet.” He turned to Turold. “The three of us ride dragons, as does Philippe. “We ride with you, under the order of our Weyrleader and K’man.”

What do they want you to do? Faroth asked.

Wield the power of the stone. I’ll be killed if I do. Krelnar will be waiting for me. I have a family, Faroth! I can’t leave her and M’len alone!

Then fight, was all his dragon told him before Aenon lifted the binding effect on Philippe who stood. He was silent for a moment then turned to his father who looked at him with little expression on his face. Yet, despite what he hide so well from Randaril, Philippe could see the lines of worry, pain and a glint of hope in his eyes. He also thought about the last words that he had heard Jeffery tell him and closed his eyes, bowing his head. Not in defeat but in surrender to the inevitable battle that was to come. It was what he had feared from the beginning. His father gripped his shoulder and nodded after untying his hands and legs.  Philippe returned the gesture before turning to Randaril. “Give me Annuren.”

“No,” Ril replied tartly. “You don’t deserve it.”

Philippe never wavered in his stance. “Give me Annuren.”

“It is time, Randaril Silvermark,” Turold told his youngest son. “Give him his sword.”

As his brother handed over the ancient blade, Philippe felt the power in it and grasp the hilt, a power surging through him as the sword welcomed back its rightful wielder. Then his eyes fell on Tayenden. “You are the last one I want here,” Philippe said. “Does Elizabeth know what you’re doing?”

Tay managed a small smirk. “Not quite. M’len is staying with Cynte so I volunteered to go find you. I’m not leaving, either.”

Aenon had returned Senael and Athar to the holders on the bandolier on his chest. Philippe placed his hand where he had once kept his own set of bells though there had been more in number as he had found uses for other Songs as well. The more bells worn, the more skilled and powerful the Necromancer. Philippe knew Amarion had been as strong, or stronger the Krelnar.

“Randaril and my father will ride with me,” Philippe suddenly said, reminding the King and Ril of the Amarion they had lost over a thousand years ago. “Tay and Aenon will come with me. Jarel, I have a different task for you.” Pulling the young Elf away from the others, he gave him specific instructions and sent him off to fulfill them. Aenon handed over his bells, telling Philippe that he would be needing them more and that if all else failed, he could whistle the tune strong enough. Faroth landed on his shoulder and without further word, the collar was slipped off of the blue’s neck so that they may ride him back to the ruins of Astrael.

Randaril now was the one full of fear as he clung to his father behind Philippe. Without a riding harness the ride would be less easy for the Elves yet Faroth dared not rise to high in fear that they would be spotted by unfriendly eyes. Taking the image from his rider’s mind, Faroth vanished between just inches from the ground – S’mar would have killed him if he had seen that, Philippe thought as they emerged above the once proud gardens of the city. Around them, two small dragons appeared and settled as well.

“You hid it here?” Turold whispered, covering his eyes from the glaring sun. “In the graveyard? Why hasn’t he found it yet?”

“Because,” Philippe replied as he slid down his dragons shoulder with more practice then the other two. “The only person that should know where I hide it is Ril,” he said, walking past his brother who blinked at the words.

It wasn’t until Philippe lead them into a royal burial chamber that Randaril suddenly realized what his brother had been doing that day. With a calmness that was purely acting, Philippe went to the burial case of Kistde Woodshadow, his ex-wife and sister-in-law. As Randaril watched, his heart breaking, Philippe pulled the top off with the help of Turold and, with great effort on his part, looked down at what remained of a women that had loved his brother so much yet had had to end her immortal life at the hands of a man such as himself – a man he had once been and refused to be again.

There, in the chest where her heart at been, Philippe beheld the doom that had caused everything. The Stone the Elves called Renel Annuyr; the Skies of Fire.

I won’t let it eat you, Faroth said as if trying to make his rider laugh.

That is not why I fear it.

As Philippe’s hand’s reached out to take the accursed Stone, the fire-storm wraith Senulth let out a cry that was neither dead nor alive.

“Krelnar!” Turold cried.

Take it! Faroth screamed. Without second thought, Philippe snatched the stone that had begun to glow as the Lord of Asphnath came near. The power sprang to life at his finger tips. Philippe cried out but held on tightly, beginning the song that would not only bind the Stone to his will but also begin the very thing that he feared he would not be able to do.

“Fool…”

 

Death’s sea was in a turbulent state. Philippe opened his eyes as the shape that could only be Krelnar came rising forward. Somewhere in his mind, Faroth bugled a challenge. Annuren hummed under his fingers.

This is it, Philippe thought. My test and the end. Here I will stand in the last fight I never thought was my own. Memories don’t fail me now!

Krelnar came from the Black Sea, and Philippe raised Annuren in his left, pulling the Stone back toward the crashing waves as a golden fire rose from its tip. Krelnar screamed at this but Philippe did not back down. When the Dark Lord’s spirit crashed upon him, Philippe entered the fight for his life, and all those on Sentra.

The power that erupted as Philippe had called upon the powers of the Stone had caused those in the tomb to be thrown back against the walls or even outside. When they looked up, Philippe’s body had vanished.

“Where is he?” Tay screamed above the wind that roared around them. “Where is Philippe?”

Only Aenon had the best idea where the Elven blue rider had gone. “The stone will claim his entire life,” the human Necromancer said. “His body has been dragged into Death…” He did not finish his explanation for in the spot that Philippe had vanished, a beam of golden light sprang up into a pillar, rising above the broken hall where Kistde lay and erupting into the sky. It spread, like fire burning a dry forest or piece of paper across the sky, eating up the sunlight. Across the world, the day of every person on Sentra at that time stopped as the phenomena that had only thought to be a legend and myth came true. The End of the World had come at last. Some fled into there houses or the nearest building. Others watched in silence as if waiting for it to claim there life.

But what few people saw was the golden rain that fell from the sky when all had been covered in its flames. How the rain splashed on the broken stones of the city of Astrael, spreading along the outside of the stones, burrowing into the earth to bring forth fresh shoots of trees that grew quickly, their braches arching to meet the renewing rain. At the same time, it sought out the Dead that dwelled in Astrael, catching them in a white tidal wave and sending them back to Death and past the Last Shore where they would never return from again.

Tay watched in awe as he beheld the rebirth of Shaor. Aenon closed his eyes, knowing that his home city in Asphoanth would be under an Armageddon at this time as Philippe controlled the powers of the stone to rebuild the shattered world of Sentra rather then destroy it.

“He’s going to die!” Tay suddenly cried, leaping onto Aaleth’s neck and sending his dragon aloft.

“No!” Aenon cried. “Don’t do it! Tayenden!”

“We go with him!” Senulth announced. Aenon slipped into death as his wraith dragon shimmered and was lost into the storm that raged within Death. Tay and Aaleth went between leaving Turold and Randaril alone in the terrifying beauty that was caused by the Stone, properly named Skies of Fire.

 

“You are a fool, Amarion,” Krelnar hissed as the Elf parried yet another attack. He had moved the Skies of Fire around his neck, the power of the stone fully unleashed on the world of Sentra. In his hand he held Teval and Senael in one, Annuren in the other. Both bells and sword fought a magical battle against Krelnar. Philippe dodged another attack, striking out with his own and hitting its mark.

“Only a true fool would have failed to do what his heart told him to,” Philippe hissed.

“You may have one this battle and saved your precious world, but there is still one thing I want from you. I will have it.”

“Tynena,” Philippe hissed, raising his hand and sending Ranis forward with a flick of his hand. The bell sang clearly, stilling the ocean once again. With a simple word, Philippe sent the bell back into its holder. That was a trick in using so many bells and it was where Mage magic came in handy. “She is my second child and you will not touch her! Go back, Krelnar, to the depths were you came!”

The Shadow hissed, diving under the black waters only to emerge under Philippe, it groped for the stone around his neck which suddenly came to life as Philippe cried out. Krelnar was sucking him down into the sea. Taking one last breath, Philippe plunged into the freezing waters of Death.

He was going to die.

The choice was simple now as he fought to keep Krelnar’s shadowy fingers from taking the stone around his neck. Seeing now what choices lay before him, Philippe closed his eyes and summoned a source of strength that the Necromancer Lord could never understand – love. Love for his dragon, for Cynte, M’len, his daughter that he would never see for the first time; for Falas, Jeffery, Sarah, Nate…his mind named them all before he released the deadly furry of the Stone on it’s Master.

“You come with me,” Krelnar hissed, grabbing onto Philippe with a vice grip.

Philippe passed out.

Aaleth screamed as he dove toward the fray that held Philippe. Tay screamed as he and his dragon were swept up in it. Clinging to his green’s neck, Tayenden reached out as far as he could each time they passed Philippe and after what seemed eternity, Tayenden wrapped his cold fingers around Philippe’s. “Aaleth!” the Elf cried.

I can’t, the tiny green moaned, straining to gain altitude.

“Storm Fire!” Senulth commanded as he hovered above them. A white flame rose around him and lunged at the huge shadow that held both Elves and the tiny dragon. Krelnar screamed though again and again the dragon wraith berated it until at last Aaleth broke free, vanishing between back to life where the three fell into a heap on the flowering grasses outside the palace in Astrael. Later, Aenon and Senulth emerged, worn out but in better shape then the other three.

Turold placed his hand on his son’s head and sagged with relief. Ril met his gaze as the King announced that Philippe was alive. Then he went to Tay. “He didn’t know what he was doing,” Turold sighed as he scoped up the younger Elf and carried him inside. They left Philippe in the sunlight, letting the warm rays warm his body. As Jarel returned and Aenon went to help with Tay, Ril looked down at his brother, noting the teardrop shaped necklace around his neck and the silver-white sword in his other hand. “For her death, I shall never forgive you,” he whispered then left Philippe alone while Faroth slept near by, his hide once again gray from his rider’s near death experience.

irds sang somewhere near by as Philippe woke from sleep. He didn’t open his eyes yet felt something stir under his chin and smiled. Silly dragon, he told Faroth who crooned sleepily before relaxing in his new position. Don’t expect this all the time, he said, raising a thin hand to poke the night blue who growled softly at being disturbed.

Someone chuckled, laying a gentle hand on Philippe’s forehead. “So you are awake,” Turold smiled.

Philippe opened his eyes as his father sat down on the large bed. The young prince blinked. This was his old room! “What…” he began.

“You did a bit more then I had hoped,” the King replied. “Shaor was cleansed of the Dead and all that Krelnar did to the land. And the city was rebuilt. Of course with most of our people still in captivity it will be a while before anything is settled.”

Philippe only nodded, feeling drowsy and content at the same time. “Yes…What happened?”

The King smiled. “Only what needed to.”

“Tay!” Philippe suddenly cried, recounting his battle in death and bolting upright. Faroth tumbled into the covers with a squawk. Turold lay a reassuring hand on Philippe’s shoulder and pushed him back down onto the covers. “He is fine and is recovering well though his actions were foolish, if not stupid.  He did save your life.”

Philippe stared at his father. It was strange yet at the same time not seeing the man again, as sickly as he was yet with eyes that spoke nothing of a hatred that Philippe was so sure was there. Turold had watched him allow his mother and sister die with no remorse or heart. Had vowed that if Philippe was not killed that night he would find him and make him pay for all he had done. That was the father he remembered. Then he recalled the execution and the man standing in front of the crowd, hand outstretched and magic lacing trough the air toward the bullets. His father had saved his life.

He also told me to get you out of there. He said the big park in the center of the city. I didn’t trust him. You needed to see Jeffery and Sarah again.

Faroth was crawling back toward his rider over the mountains created by the Elf’s legs. Philippe watched him then turned to his father. “Of all the things I did, you saved me?” he asked.

Turold smiled softly, laying a hand on his sons. Philippe flinched slightly. “I can never forget what you did, Philippe. But I know what it was that they demanded of you. Everything has fallen into place. I know your mother is proud of you though she cannot be with you. I have forgiven you for I saw the day you were to be killed before the eyes of all Adraln that you had changed. The girl…”

“Cynte,” Philippe breathed, laying his head back into the deep pillows and closing his eyes. Turold squeezed his hand. “Do they know?”

“K’man will be coming today to arrange for the return of those that wish to come to Astrael. I know of the refugees and what he has done along with your Weyrleader, J’ren,” Turold smiled, using terms he was unfamiliar with rather then calling J’ren a lord, which Philippe had thought he would. “Apparently these dragons of yours are smarter then those I remember in my childhood,” and he reached out to touch Faroth’s small head. The night blue crooned, closing his eyes at the touch. “For which I am grateful. They saved my son’s life.” He looked at Philippe who started to protest to those words. “I don’t see a Necromancer’s Lieutenant anymore, Amar, I see the son I lost when he began his journey into darkness. You’ve grown and whether you go by Amarion Ashfalcon or Philippe Ramsey, you must never forget that you are my son and still,” he said, stressing the ‘still’ so that Philippe jumped slightly at it’s harshness, “the Prince of Shaor and Amaras.”

“But I cannot stay here. I belong at Falas…” Philippe nearly whimpered, feeling his heart wrench at the thought of leaving his island paradise on Pern. Nothing could compare to those crystalline waters and white sand beaches. Even Amarion had never seen a place so beautiful.

Water sounds good…Faroth yawned, perched on Philippe’s knee. When can I be big again?

No one paid any heed to the poor blue.

“I know, Amar. I know. That is why Randaril must take your place though his heart is filled with such bitter anger and his mind only thinks of the death of his wife that I fear for Shaor’s recovery in the political ring. I need you there, Amar. I trust you and being a dragonrider and trusted by K’man, I have more trust in you then your brother.”

“Ph’sey, taking a stand in the political ring. This I must see,” K’man chuckled as he entered large, room. Philippe’s chambers were large, reminding the Elf of Rivendell for the Earth major-picture film, The Lord of the Rings. Apparently, all the luxuries of a prince of the realm had been restored during the Fire Storm’s renewal. Not that it mattered much but it was a comfort to be lying in a huge bed of expensive cloth and fancy pillows under his head. His weyr could never be like this!

K’man placed his gloved on the ash table near the large windows and came over to the two Elves. Turold rose, his hand leaving Philippe’s almost reluctantly. Philippe blinked but was slowly coming to terms that his father had accepted him back into his heart. K’man nodded to the king, executing a rather awkward bow in his attempt to show respect. Then he turned to Philippe who straightened slightly in the bed. “You are looking much better.”

“Thanks…I think…”

The white rider laughed. Philippe saw in his face the worry and pain that was still etched in his tanned skin. K’man only shook his head. “Cynte will be coming later today so that you may spend time with her and your daughter. We owe your father a great deal for coming to his senses in time.”

“You knew where I went?” Philippe asked, a bit paranoid at the thought.

“No. We knew Faroth took you to a place he said you needed to be.

“I told your dragon to get you to a safe place,” Turold shrugged. “Like I said earlier, the dragons of Pern are smarter then many here would give them credit for. Now, K’man, what do you bring me?”

The two left the room and Philippe relaxed on the soft bed. Faroth clamored back to his chest where he sat there, staring at his rider until Philippe finally asked “What?”

Faroth wants to swim. Faroth needs collar off so he can swim in big, beautiful lake. Faroth go now.

“You sound like a retard,” Philippe muttered but pulled the collar off. The dragon went between to the lake seconds afterward. Tossing the collar onto the bed stand, Philippe lay where he was, watching the sunlight stream into his bedroom for sometime. Faroth announced that Phalinth and Jesioth had arrived and without a second thought, Philippe jumped out of the bed he had been laying in for the past hour. His cloths were where he had left them and though some of the artifacts were the result of an evil-self he now considered dead, Philippe pulled on a white shirt, an embroidered tunic of green with a leaf motif and some pants. Out of a habit that returned now that he was in this room, he put his dagger, Brelir, on his belt. The crown that he had worn on special occasions sat near his mirror and he looked at it with a bit of foreboding. In his heart, he did not feel fit to wear it anymore.

Wherry’s teeth, Faroth scolded but he didn’t say anything more for Jesioth and his mate joined him in Araith Tevalia, Lake of Reflective Moonlight which lay a few miles away from the city.

Cynte and M’len were walking up the grand stairs when Philippe came into view; a bit awed himself at being in the place of his birth. Cynte was carrying Tynena and M’len was pointing at one of the large paintings in the hallway. It was of Philippe astride a black stallion.

“That was my old horse, Tir Ahis Kantha. A great horse. Brave yet his only weak spot was carrots and his fear of my brother. He hated standing for that portrait. By the time it was over I thought he would never let me on him again!”

“Philippe!” Cynte cried as he came to stand next to them.

“Ah!” the Elf cried, grabbing Tynena in fear her mother was going to let her fall. He hugged the girl close to him, tightly while M’len took the baby. He kissed her soundly, two hands on her face before wrapping them around her body, riding jacket and all. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Cynte stepped back suddenly. “For what? Do you have any idea how proud we are of you? All of us and that’s including more then just the people of Falas! You’re known in quite a few places, Elf-boy, and any place that you’ve spent longer then a day at that remembers you were thankful that your father saved your ass. Besides, I thought I told you I wasn’t going to let you die?”

The Elf smirked, remembered that from the night Faroth first caught her gold dragon. “Sneaky little writer,” he chuckled, pulling her to him again. “Can I say hello to M’len now?”

“Oh, I suppose,” Cynte sighed mockingly. She took Tynena from the blue rider while Philippe embraced his friend who was crying silent tears of joy.

“Don’t ever go where I can’t follow,” M’len whispered and it was all he said. Philippe smiled but could find no answer. The bond between the two was love but never could they be called lovers. Best friends till the end and that is where there relationship would stay till they did part in the distant future of Falas Weyr’s story.

In the shadows, Randaril watched the friends reunite. In his hand was a small knife, held ready to stab his wife’s murder. As Philippe took his daughter in his arms, Randaril felt his hatred grow until he could not hold it in.

“Damn you to hell!” he cried and the dagger flew.

Over my dead body! Enya hissed, taking flight from her perch on the railing. She winked between and appeared next to the flying dagger, plucking it from the air and taking the weapon into the blackness of between and leaving it there. When she returned, she attacked Randaril with angry screams.

“Enya!” Philippe cried to his weyrmates talking pale gold fire lizard.

He tried to kill you! she growled coming to the Elf’s outstretched arm obediently. Again.

Philippe shushed her, giving her back to Cynte who held Tynena tightly to her chest. M’len put his dagger away slowly as Philippe gently placed a hand on his friends. His eyes never left the man in the hallway.

“You killed my wife!” Randaril hissed, coming forward despite the growling winged wolf walking up the steps toward them, the two fire lizards growling, the bugle of four dragons, and the glare of one mortal man. “In cold blood so that she wouldn’t tell any one of your ‘secret’ that sent our people into slavery or Death! I don’t care what Father says. You’re a murder! A cold blooded murder and I will not allow the likes of you to live!”

“I also killed my own son,” Philippe said. “And despite what you may think, Ril, I miss her as much as him now that my mind is clear of the darkness Necromancy pulls one into. That last thing I wish to have happen now is to lose a brother that I also miss.”

Randaril spat. “Dragon blood,” he cursed. “I…don’t…”

There was a difference. Randaril had come up into Philippe’s face while his brother kept M’len at bay with a steady hand. The girl was just watching; prayer in her eyes that she would not have to watch his life be threatened again. She wanted peace. Amarion… Philippe…only watched him. Indeed, his eyes were clearer then they had been in the last few days he had seen his brother before he was lost into the night. He felt something close to forgiveness in his heart but brushed it away as the sight of his dead wife under his brother’s bloody dagger returned to his mind. “NO!” he screamed and lunged at Philippe. Seune barked as the rolled down the marble steps and M’len was thrown to the ground. Cynte screamed.

“What’s going on?” Turold demanded, running up to them with K’man on his heels. “Damn it! I told him…” he didn’t finish his sentence for he was running down the steps. M’len was on his feet and followed behind K’man.

“I will kill you! I will! You killed my wife! My dreams! My life!”

“Ril! Ril, please!” Philippe cried, trying to avoid his brother’s attacks that seemed to come everywhere. A wolf lashed her jaws on Randaril’s arm and yanked with a growl. His brother screamed as blood ran down his arm and onto Philippe’s chest. Turold grabbed his son and pulled him away with such force that M’len had to jump out of the way to avoid being hit. Seune let go but her teeth left several deep gashes on Randaril’s arm. K’man went to Philippe who sat up, staring at his brother with worried eyes. “I’m alright,” he told his Wingleader and stood up.

“Randaril I ordered you to stay away from him!” Turold growled. “Kistde is dead, as is your mother and sister. Even if you killed him you could never bring them back. What is done is done.”

Randaril’s jaw flexed, his eyes darting to Philippe who walked up next to his father, eyes concerned and focusing on the blood on Randaril’s arm. Seune stalked up next to them, head lowered and wings bunched at her side for more intimidation.

“What the hell is that?” Randaril asked, staring at the wolf.

“Her name is Seune SilverWing. She’s my wife’s and has a deadly protective streak.” The silver winged wolf growled, acknowledging Philippe’s words. “She also throws a pretty good wind attack,” he added.

Randaril vanished.

“Ril!” Philippe cried, stepping forward to touch his brother whom he knew to have clocked himself with an Invisibility spell. Turold held him back.

“Let him be. He needs to work things out for himself,” the King sighed. “In the meantime, why don’t you return to Falas and aid K’man in bringing back those that wish to come home? And,” he added, turning to meet his eldest son straight on. “Why don’t you bring me one of those little dragon messengers. They seem quite useful.”

Philippe grinned though his brother was not forgotten. If there was anyone that he wanted back it was his little brother. “That I can do.”

 

Falas Weyr never seemed more beautiful.

Faroth bugled a loud, powerful welcome to the watch dragon and his rider as they appeared above the Star Stones. Philippe waved at them, laughing with joy as his dragon began to descend toward the weyr he shared with Cynte and, until she didn’t need her mother, Tynena. Because most dragonriders gave up there children early to care for there dragon, Philippe knew that his days off seeing his little girl everyday would be rather limited.

Phalinth rumbled a welcome to her mate as Philippe landed. Cynte didn’t come out to greet him. He frowned slightly until the gold said she was sleeping. Tynena had been fussing all night. With a concerned smile, the Elf pulled off all his belongings so the two dragons could find a place on the Rim together before the brewing clouds brought the storm in. He turned once more to watch the activity in the Weyr. It was normal. Beautiful. Home. Weyrlings were near the Barracks tending their young dragons, dragons bathed in the lake or hunted at the Feeding grounds, and dolphins were playing in the Bay. Philippe sighed, smiling with content for the first time in over a Turn.

“What did you bring back?” Seune asked, padding onto the ledge to inspect his luggage. “The entire palace?” She wagged her tail before leaping lightly over one of the sacks and into the Elf’s arms to lick him to death. “She’s sleeping. Ty was crying all night. We think she’s sick.”

Philippe frowned, pulling off his gloves and looking down at his collection of gifts and cloths. “She’s only half Elf,” he said. “Thus she only has half of by blood which keeps little colds away. It could be a bit more though. I’ll see what I can do. Think you can drag something so I can see them both sooner?”

The winged wolf chuckled. “Whatever you say, your Highness,” she said, gripping one of the sacks with her fangs and pulling with all her might. Philippe rolled his eyes at the title, whacking her with his gloves in minor punishment. Seune only grinned.

Tynena wasn’t deathly ill though she had a fever and was flushed. He pulled out some remedies and herbs from the collection he had brought back. It chilled the fever and let her sleep more peacefully. Leaning down to kiss her small forehead, Philippe sighed. He was a father, again. He had missed so much of Tabeyen’s life that he wished he could tell his son that he was sorry and make it up to him some how. But even for a talented Necromancer like Philippe, such was impossible. He had Tynena now and where he had fallen short with Tabben he vowed he would make up for with his daughter.

She was going to be spoiled rotten!

Philippe grinned, adjusting the furs and blankets around her before standing up and pulling off his jacket.

“I hate you,” Cynte’s tired voice chided from the bed. “I spend all night trying to get her to sleep and you…”

“If she wakes up tonight I’ll take care of her,” Philippe promised, dropping the jacket on a chair before he went to the bed where she still lay curled up, eyes closed as if she hadn’t been watching him with the baby. Philippe ran his hand along her shoulders before lying down beside her. “I promise.”

Seune jumped onto the end of the bed. “I smell something good! What is it! It’s in the little bag!”

Cynte looked at the Elf. “Bring a few things back, did you?”

He chuckled, kissing her forehead. “Perhaps a few gifts. You sleep. I’ll take care of the mutt.”

“Hey!” Seune cried indigently. “I am not a mutt! Just because my father is Alskyrian and Reririan and my mother was from Ryu it doesn’t mean I’m a mutt!”

“Wanna bet, mutt?” Philippe challenged.

“Nice shirt! Is that silk?” Seune asked, trotting after the Elf back into the living quarters.

“No, it’s not,” Philippe sighed. He forgot how annoying the wolf was. Sometimes he wondered if this was a curse. He had picked her out to give as a gift to Cynte the day of her Impression. It was just luck (or fate) that he now had to put up with her. “Now which bag did you say you’re present was in?”

“My present! Yippee!”

She is as much of a ditz as Segarra, Faroth sighed. Philippe agreed with his dragon before pulling out the wrapped organs of various animals that would be a delicacy to a winged wolf. As she enjoyed her meal, her tail wagging so fast Philippe thought it would fall off, he began to unpack, humming the song he had sang to Faroth there first night as dragon and rider – the song his mother had sang to him when he was a child and later to his sister when they were imprisoned at Black Water Gate Prison.

urold Grayfox’s fire lizard egg hatched three days after Philippe brought it to him. It was a silver-gray male with marks of white on its belly and wings. At first it made no sense to the Elven King who fed the creature in silence. Then he blinked for, besides the wings, the fire lizard looked like a gray fox! He named him Anan, after his wife Ananhail.

There was also an egg left in Randaril’s room. When Randaril found it he had left it in the pot near the hearth with little thought. The night it hatched he was startled to find that it was a fire lizard. Instantly he knew his brother had brought him the egg. He was about to kill it when he looked harder. It was not one of the common colors but a specially requested FGPC egg. Its hide was molten green with shades of deep green to shades of sunlight leaves in summer. On the creatures head was a small four pointed star that hardly seemed like a star at first. It was silver. A silver mark.

“I’m not trying to bribe you,” Philippe said in the doorway as Randaril sat on the bed, the hungry fire lizard beginning to scream in his hand. He was still dressed in his riding gear, his gloves tucked in his belt and a bowl of freshly cut meat in his hand. “You might want to feed her.”

“Her?” Randaril repeated, blinking. “How do you know it’s a her?”

“I had the Geneticist at the Hall alter her genes like I had them alter father’s egg.” Philippe shrugged his eyes sad and face drawn. “I can’t bring Kistde back, Ril but if I could I would. She loved you more then me even if she gave me a son that I should have loved like a father. This is as close as I could get.”

With those words the fire lizard’s color made sense. Shadowy green, like a forest floor – Woodshadow. The silver mark on her forehead for his name, Silvermark. Ril did not move though Philippe shoved the bowl of meat at his brother, sitting down next to him. “If you don’t feed her, she’s going to leave.”

Randaril didn’t say anything to his brother for he didn’t know if he should hate him still or thank him for something that truly meant a lot to his broken heart. Philippe only watched, nervously but patiently. “What are you going to name her?”

It was a while before Randaril was able to think of a name. Finally he answered. “Kistde.”

Philippe smiled. “That was what I had hoped.”

“Amar…” Randaril turned to his brother, crying before wrapping one arm around him.

“She’s yours. If I could bring her back or change history I would but even I can’t do that. I’m a dragonrider now and though I need to bring father to the convention in Hanva that is what I’m always going to be. I can’t stay. You have to take my place as the Prince, Ril.”

Randaril sat back, giving Kistde another chuck of rabbit. “Me? Prince of Shaor?”

“Who else does he have?” Philippe shrugged. “It’s only you and me and he knows that I belong at Falas now. And I’m not leaving my family there after everything I’ve been given.”

“You’re wife?” Randaril asked. “Cynte?”

The blue rider nodded. “Funny that her name sounds so much like hers,” and he gestured to the fire lizard on Randaril’s lap. “But yes, Cynte. Also M’len, K’man and Faroth. I have a rather important place there. I’ll help father and you until you don’t need me any longer. And I’ll visit when I have the time,” he promised.

“I still can’t forgive you,” Randaril whispered.

“I know,” Philippe sighed. “I don’t expect you to fully anytime soon. But I want you to come watch father and I today. You’re going to need to do the same things. She can come with.”

 

It would be years before Sentra was set right. During those months, Philippe traveled between Sentra and Pern, between his duties as dragonrider and crowned Prince of Shaor. Randaril would never fully forgive his brother for taking his wife’s life but he learned that the Necromancer Amarion had indeed died that stormy night in November when he had learned the truth about his brother. What was present now was not the Amarion of before but a new Amarion who had changed into a man with purpose and pride for his people. Not even the first Amarion had had those qualities. It was also a while before Turold Grayfox accepted his son as Philippe and would sometimes call him by that name. With the help of K’man (on occasion), and his father, Philippe won back the respect of the Elves and ended slavery of his people. The president of Adraln was voted out unanimously the year following the Skies of Fire Rebirth. The former president had died during the Cleansing for he had been controlled by Krelnar as had the past Presidents. The laws were changed and were set back as it should have been.

The Renal Anneyr was kept by Philippe at Falas. Its power was used up, spent at it’s full to both destroy and rebuild. Perhaps again its powers would return in full strength but not for another ten thousands years or more. By then, Philippe’s story would be legend and song as was the last time it had come into existence. In an engraved box on the bookshelf in the weyr he shared with his weyrmate, the Stone lay, still kept in the form of a pendent as a reminder of the little boy that had carried it for two years without ever knowing what it truly was. At times Philippe would take it down, dust it off and peer at the amber-like crystal encased in gold and surrounded by diamonds. He still felt remorse and guilt for what he had done but somehow he too had been cleansed that day when he had used the most powerful weapon ever wrought in Sentra – the Skies of Fire.

 

The End!

(not…*evil laugh*)