Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 "Night" by Absinthe (soloset@yahoo.com)

   [ The first in the Hawksblade series.  Although it is written in a
somewhat different style than the other two, it provides quite a bit of
back story.  ]

   This was the place.  She could sense the darkness within spreading like
a sick, sour stain through the old cemetary even as she reined Loyal to a
stop in front of the gate into the once hallowed burial ground.  The moon
was full, and misty tendrils of fog crept around the heavy wooden gate and
chipped headstones, lending an air of mysteriousness and sending shivers up
and down her spine.  Angrily, she scolded herself for her momentary fear,
then slid down, dismounting easily from the tall moon colored warsteed
despite the nearly sixty-five pounds of armor and weapons strapped around
her slender form.  She wore it well, the flawless silver plate etched
across the right breast with the crest of her family, a fierce looking hawk
with wings outstretched, and it gleamed in the moonlight as she strode
towards the moss-encrusted steps of the old mausoleum that was the focus of
the darkness, drawing the heavy sword from the scabbard at her belt and
holding it ready.  Her shield she left behind, strapped behind the
warsteed's saddle- it would do little good in the close confines of the
crypt, and would hinder more than it aided.

   The blade, like the armor, was a family heirloom- both had seen
centuries of use in the service of generations of Hawksblade knights.  In
fact, it was this very blade that gave her family its name- found by the
first Hawksblade, then an untitled footsoldier, in the hoard of a dragon,
the long, wide blade was etched with the same hawk that graced her armor.
Its name was Talon, and it was a finely crafted weapon, long hilted for two
hands, the blade balanced and light enough for one, and designed for the
highest of purposes, the slaying of undead.  Its magic reflected that- only
the purest of heart and motives could wield it, and Kestrel Hawksblade was
not the least of her family to carry it into battle.  This night she hunted
the evil that had begun to prey upon the innocent villagers of this once
peaceful town, an evil that roamed the night, stealing children and tearing
them to pieces.

   When word had reached her in Castle Hawksblade, some three hundred miles
away, nothing would deter her from riding out that very day despite the
grand ball that would be held in the castle for midwinter's day, a ball
that her mother had been planning for nearly six months.  She regretted
this, as it was to have been held in her honor, for her twentieth naming
day, but knew in her heart that there was nothing she would rather be doing
than this, defending the innocent from the scourge of undeath.  Although
her father had simply nodded, accepting that his eldest daughter would
carry on the family tradition, her mother refused to understand, and they'd
quarreled before she left, as they did each time she chose to don the armor
and go to do battle with the forces of evil.  In her two years of service
to the principles of good, she had earned herself a name for courage and
valor, and she was not about to ruin that name simply to please her mother.

   Although Loyal was the best of his kind, his ancestors as distinguished
and lineage as proud as her own, it had taken them nearly a week and a half
to traverse the slush clogged pass and raging rivers swollen with run-off
from the early spring thaw.  She'd known immediately that this was the town
besieged- a pervasive air of decay and darkness swirled through the very
air, centered upon the cemetary, as she'd suspected from the first.  The
mayor of the town, a nervous little man who jumped at the slightest sound
and had lost whatever hair he'd had to start with, was so pleased to see
her that he practically fawned at her feet, offering rewards beyond measure
for her kindness, and apologizing abjectly when she curtly informed him
that she expected nothing.

   Kes pushed open the heavy stone door.  It slid open with a faint sigh,
the stone gargoyles carved across its face leering down at her as she
stepped into the darkness, then waited for her eyes to adjust.  The
moonlight filtered down through cracks in the ceiling, creating more
shadows that it revealed.  This was a crypt in the old style, designed for
several occupants, each allotted a high-walled alcove just large enough for
the sarcophagus and a narrow aisle around it for mourners to pay their
respects.  A narrow, heavy black iron grate set into the floor of each
alcove allowed rainwater and the occasional flood to drain away, and the
walls of each were decorated with memorials and tribute to the resident.

   Holding Talon before her, she opened her senses, using the gift granted
to every Hawksblade by birth, feeling confidently forward with her mind,
searching out the source of the evil.  Predictably- evil is always
predictable, she thought, a bit irritated- the darkness was lurking in the
alcove farthest from the door, meaning that she'd have to pass in front of
five of the yawning black portals that hid the deceased occupants within.
Taking a deep breath, she strode past the first of the gaping black mouths,
glancing within to find the shadowy stone coffin within apparently
untouched.  The second and third were intact as well, and she had just
lifted her foot to step in front of the fourth when something hissed along
her heightened senses, causing her to turn, very slowly, back towards the
third alcove.

   Her eyes searched the dimly moonlight traced stone coffin, vainly
seeking to discern shadow from shadow.  Nothing- then a flicker of movement
as the the grate near the base of the sarcophagus slid an inch backwards
with a faint scratching sound, a sound that repeated itself, to her horror,
from the alcoves deeper within the crypt- and from those behind her as
well. A sudden blast of evil immobilized her, numbing her sword hand, a
mental attack that only one who knew of her gifts could have designed.  A
trap!  Her mind screamed as she tore through the gossamer web of evil
around her and whirled, bolting for the door, a flash of dead white
catching the corner of her eye as she sprinted past the second alcove, an
unearthly howl rising behind her, her only thought to reach the silvery
square of light just beyond the last yawning darkness, and something with
sharp claws was lunging at her as she flew past, and then she was diving
through the door, twisting through the air to land hard on one shoulder,
her blade jolted from her grasp by the impact and narrowly missing impaling
her as she skidded across the half-frozen ground to fetch up against the
cemetary gate.

   Stunned, she lay still for an instant before the unearthly howl washed
over her and she staggered to her feet.  Talon was half buried in the snow
a few feet away, and she stumbled over to it, heedless of the icy bite of
the metal as she dragged the blade free, her left arm hanging limply at her
side.  Turning, she lifted the blade, then took a step back- a pack of
slavering creatures, hideous and bloated, the color of a week old drowned
corpse, huge heads split nearly in two by jagged toothed maws, three, five,
a dozen- pouring from the black pit of the crypt, howling with bloodlust.
Before her mind could truly register the sight she was running towards the
gate, through, and running across the wide field that separated the
cemetary from town proper, the bewildered refrain How could this go so
wrong, so quickly?  running through her mind, punctuated by the pounding of
her mailed feet into the soft loam of the field.

   One of the ghouls closed in on her heels, and she whirled, slicing its
head from its body before completing the spin, her forward motion slowed
only a little.  It crumpled, another taking its place as they flanked her,
for all the world like an unnatural pack of wolves running down a spooked
silver stag.  She ran a second one through as it leapt towards her from in
front, the razor sharp edge of her blade sliding free through its corpse
without so much as a pause.  Horribly quickly, the mist rose, turning
everything into a sodden white nothing, and suddenly she was running for
her life in a silent dreamscape, the only sounds the harsh rasping of air
through her lungs, the faint clink of her scabbard against her mail-covered
legs, and the occasional yip from the ghouls.

   A figure suddenly appeared before her, rising out of the mist without
warning.  She swung Talon to one side as she slammed into him, just quick
enough to avoid slicing him in half but sending him sprawling.  She
staggered, barely managing to keep her feet, horrified at the limp,
boneless way the figure lay.  Quickly, she dropped to one knee, turning him
over to check for a pulse.  Her scream echoed in her ears, ringing inside
her helm as she recoiled, dancing backwards into the fog as the figure, a
man once, now a hideous, half-rotted corpse, slowly pushed to his feet and
reached for her.  Helplessly, she turned and ran, instinct guiding her
through the encompassing fog towards some faint spark of life and warmth.

   A low gate loomed, and she skidded to a stop, throwing her arms up in
front of her face as she tumbled over it, her blade spinning off into the
darkness, sliding over the muddy ground until a wooden well stopped her
with a solid thud.  Panting, she lay still, body quivering with terror, as
she waited for something to reach her and rend her limb from limb.  After
an endless span, she lowered her arms, the glint of moonlight off of her
armored arms blinding her for an instant.  Using the side of the well to
support her painful crawl to her feet, she numbly checked herself- her left
arm throbbed painfully still, and she was bruised all over, but no bones
seemed to be broken and her armor appeared to be undented.  The fog was
gone, as quickly as it had arrived, and the silver moon lit the silent
darkness with a cold, harsh light.  Kes strained her ears, hunting for some
sound of pursuit or ambush, but heard nothing.  She turned, slowly, making
a full circle.  Behind her, behind the well, perhaps fifty feet distant, a
ramshackle old farmhouse, lent a faded grandeur by the moonlight that it
most likely lacked in daylight, perched, a warm yellow light issuing from
its welcoming front window.

   She completed her turn, hands raised defensively, hesitating to accept
such an easy escape.  Warily, she sucked in a deep breath, concentrating,
and opened her senses, reaching out over the town for some hint of life. 
She found nothing.  A sick horror overtook her as she realized that the
townspeople, all of them, were dead, her overconfidence their damnation.  A
dark shape detached itself from the shadows, then another, and another,
decaying corpses of the townspeople she had failed, and for a long eternity
she found herself unable to move, paralyzed by despair and guilt.  At last
she turned, and, the armor suddenly hampering her movements, jerkily began
to run, dodging past the well, her pace smoothing as she focused on the
narrow rectangle of light that illuminated the front porch of the
farmhouse, her world narrowing to the door of that refuge.

   Just a few more paces- she could feel the icy cold of death on the back
of her neck, sense the dead things shambling towards her, reaching out with
sharp-clawed hands to tear and rip at her back, and then she was leaping up
the stairs, colliding with the door and pounding, screaming at the top of
her lungs, and then falling through as someone pulled the door open. 
Hastily, she dragged her feet from the door's path, and the someone slammed
it shut.  Panting, she rolled over, leaping to her feet and backing against
the stairs, her gaze shifting through the yellow light to find her savior.

   The kind-faced old man chuckled, a bit anxiously, reassuringly.  "There
now, ye're safe now, lass." His weathered brown face creased with a smile
as he added "A spot of tea will fix ye right up." He moved slowly, bent
over with age, towards the kitchen, chuckling softly, nattering about the
weather and seasons long past, and she took a step back, knuckles whitening
against the warm mahogany of the stair railing as she saw what his
grandfatherly facade concealed- his hunched back stripped of flesh, bared
to the bone and flesh, writhing maggots dripping from gaping rents. 
Silently, beyond screaming, she turned and fled up the stairs, his reedy
old voice following her steps.

   A slightly curved, black sheathed sword hung in the place of honor above
the stairs.  She stared at it numbly, its familiar outline teasing her
memory, even as she reached the top landing and stepped through the
doorway, as if her body were not hers to control.  It opened out into a
large, once friendly room, a large bed, rumpled and unmade, under a wide
window completely shrouded by a heavy crimson velvet curtain, a thick ivory
throw rug tossed invitingly before the roaring fire and a second, smaller
doorway to one side of the immense fireplace.  As she took in the
surroundings, a blast of numbness smashed into her like a soft, buffeting
wave of lethargy, causing Kes to stumble as the lash of it sapped the last
of her strength.  She slipped, falling to one knee under the sudden
onslaught of heat and mental battering, struggling to keep her head up
against the suddenly unbearable weight of her armor.  She searched her soul
for some weapon, some armor against this attack, but her doubt and despair
left her vulnerable.  Fighting the weariness, she lifted her head, her
closing eyes catching a single glimpse of the man lounging on the bed
before she crumpled limply to the floor, forcing out a single word before
darkness engulfed her.

   "Darien..."

   *******

   Kes laughed, running through the grass under an unseasonably warm
midwinter sky.  The sun was setting, brilliant blues and reds against a
cloudless pale blue backdrop.  Twilight was creeping across the hills and
fields, but she had no fear of the darkness- not here, in the meadows
around Hawksblade Castle, not with Darien chasing her playfully in a game
of tag.  Today was her sixteenth name day, and she knew without a doubt two
things- that her beloved Darien would ask for her hand in marriage before
the day's end, and that they would live happily ever after.  She knew these
things with the surety of a girl who has never known heartbreak, and she
could never have foreseen the darkness that was about to descend upon them.
For now, she was oblivious to her future, and she laughed as she ran
through the grass under the unseasonably warm midwinter sky.

   At last, she slid to a stop and sat, breathless, her slender legs tucked
underneath her and her modest white summer dress spread about her like a
cloud.  Her snowy hair curled free of the blue ribbon she'd tied it back
with, tendrils caressing her throat and cheeks, and she knew she looked
ravishing, and the thought made her happy.  Darien raced up, the grin on
his face widening.  "Tired out, Sparrow?" he asked archly, vainly trying to
conceal his own labored breathing, as he doubled over, his hands on his
knees.  She laughed again, a husky alto chuckle that she knew warmed him to
his toes, the innocent flirtation of a untried girl.  Grinning, he fell to
the cool grass next to her, heedless of the sprawl of his long legs,
leaning back on one elbow and looking up at her with eyes the color of new
leaves.  He was two years her senior, and so proper and honorable that it
sometimes drove her crazy, but she admired it as well.

   "Not as tired as you were after sword practice this morning," she
teased, knowing how it rankled him that she could best him in swordplay,
though she never bothered to do more than dabble and he was expected to
someday captain the keep watch as his father did today.  She, on the other
hand, looked forward to the inheriting her father's lands and title, and
settling down to a life of pleasure and leisure- preferably with the dark
haired lad by her side.  Grumpily, he pushed the dark hair out of his eyes,
and scowled.  "I wasn't at my best this morning, as you very well know."

   Kes grinned.  She did very well know- she'd dared him to match her drink
for drink last night in the wine cellar, drunk him under the table, and
managed to steal a kiss to boot.  His expression suddenly shifted, and she
found herself pinned as he lunged, tickling her mercilessly until she cried
with laughter.  Abruptly, she stiffened, a black shadow passing over her
mind as her gift alerted her to danger.  He smiled down at her, suddenly
uncertain, and for a timeless instant she was frozen in the moment before
her world shattered.  Then the world moved again, and she screamed as dark
misshapen figure, claws shining under the newly risen moon, lashed out,
catching him by the shoulder and dragging him backwards, away from her. 
His hand went to his belt for the sword he always carried- not today, it's
my name day, come play with me and leave that silly thing behind- and an
expression of pure panic flashed across his eyes as he struggled, as the
demon thing wrapped dark bat wings around him and tore out his throat,
crimson blood fountaining out to spatter her dress and hair as she screamed
and screamed and screamed.

   *******

   She woke up hoarse.  She was kneeling on something soft, her hands tied
behind her back and her feet bound under her at the ankle.  Her armor was
gone, the quilted gambeson as well, leaving her clad only in the short,
midriff baring shirt and loose cotton shorts she favored under the heavy
padding necessary to wear plate armor.  Her hair was tied back, loose
tendrils curling around her face and tickling her nose, and she fought back
a sneeze as she raised her head to inspect her prison.  She was faintly
surprised to see that she was still in the large room in the farmhouse, the
heavy throw rug under her knees and facing the bed.  Sprawled out on it, as
young and handsome as she remembered him in her dreams, was her lost love.
He was stretched out in a position similar to the last time she'd seen him
alive, consciously mocking her, his dark head propped up on one elbow as he
gazed at her with those leaf green eyes, so startling in such a pale face.
He was dressed all in black, black silk shirt tucked into black leather
breeches, the swordbelt he had never been far from in life missing now.

   A movement beside him revealed a tousled redhead, beautiful, and wearing
nothing but her skin, a lazy hand stroking up and down his side.  Kes was
surprised by the flash of pain that seared her- she knew, in her soul, that
this was not truly her Darien, but rather an evil thing created by his
death.  And yet... when a brunette as naked and sensuously lovely as the
redhead crawled out from under the rumpled blankets, Kes had to force her
face to remain impassive.  With a casual wave, he dismissed them, never
taking his eyes from her face.  The two women, moving with an unnatural
litheness that betrayed their true natures, ambled through a door through
which a smaller bedroom was just barely visible.  Kes shuddered as the
redhead caught her eye as she walked past and smiled, white fangs gleaming
in the firelight.

   She fought down the terror and managed a weak, twisted grimace that
might have passed as a smile.  "And here I thought you were partial to
blondes." He sat up, gracefully, pulling one long leg up and wrapping his
arms around it in a pose of contemplation.  The familiar gesture wrung at
her heart.  "I am." he said eventually, swinging his legs over the side of
the bed and prowling over to her.  Cruelly, he dug his fingers through her
hair, twisting a fistful of the silken mass in his hand and dragging her
head back.  She stared back at him fearlessly, her blue eyes empty of pain,
empty of everything except the sudden certainty that filled her that he was
still himself despite the terrible changes wrought by the demon-thing.  He
stared back, his eyes darkening with frustration and rage.  "Your eyes are
as innocent as the last time I gazed into them." He released her head
suddenly, taking a step back, his lips curving into a mocking smile as if
he read her sudden hope.

   "You can't redeem me, Sparrow..." Did she hear a hollowness under the
smooth, seductive warmth that pervaded his light baritone, or was it simply
her heart betraying her?  The pet name twisted the knife.  "I'm a monster,
a creature of darkness- a soulless thing." His words echoed hers of that
third night after his death, a night she'd rejected him utterly and
forever... or so she'd thought.

   She set her chin stubbornly, her shoulders square despite the tight
bindings around her wrists.  "If you were a monster, I'd be dead already."
She looked at him intently, puzzlement crossing her features when he began
to laugh.  "Still my sweet, innocent Kes, I see.  You live because I am not
one to waste a tool." He knelt before her, dark hair just a little too long
and falling before his eyes as he delicately drew a circle with one
forefinger around the nipple of her left breast.  She sucked in a shocked
breath, drawing upon her training to resist the heat of his touch, lifting
her gaze to stare distantly over his shoulder.  His hand lashed out,
catching her sharply across the cheek, and her head rocked back.  Angrily,
she glared at him, and he chuckled, a soft sound that held no mirth, his
finger tracing lazy circles down and between her breasts through the thin
material of her shirt.  "You lie," she said levelly, the red mark on her
cheek throbbing painfully.

   She stared at him, eyes as cool as a winter rain, and at last he dropped
his hand, leaping to his feet with a catlike grace that made her shudder
with loathing and fascination.  He paced, angrily, tension twisted in every
lithe step.  "I should kill you now." he growled, half to himself.  Between
one blink and the next he was kneeling before her again, his strong,
slender hands around her throat, his gaze locked on hers.  After a timeless
moment, he snarled, his hands moving to her shoulders and pushing her back,
drawing her legs towards him and unfastening the bindings around her
ankles. He paused for a long moment, his hands resting on her ankles, his
eyes unfathomable, then his hands slid along the smooth skin of her calves,
up over her knees, and brushed the silky soft skin of her inner thighs. 
With a sudden sharp gesture, he tore the thin fabric of her shorts as
easily as a mortal man might tear paper.  She shivered, resting back on her
pinned hands, as he spread her legs apart and lowered his head, his eyes
dark and filled with promise.

   She cried out as his tongue touched that spot, flicking lightly back and
forth with the slow, easy motion of a cat lapping milk.  A surge of
pleasure so sweet it was like pain jolted her, curling and twisting inside
until she wanted to scream with it.  Unconsciously, one long, slender leg
slipped over his shoulder, the other curling around him as she arched back,
pressing his head deeper against her, oblivious to the pain in her injured
left arm.  His hand slid down around to cup her bottom, his other hand
stroking the inside of her thigh.  She moaned, her eyes fluttering closed
as he increased the pace, roughly lashing her with his tongue.  Then,
suddenly, he was gone, leaving her aching and empty and wanting- she
shuddered, gathering her wits, horrified at herself and fighting to feel
disgusted.  He stood a few feet away, his face lost in shadow, his hands
clenched at his sides.  "For years I have wondered how you tasted." His
voice was taut, his face still hidden.  "You are even more beautiful now
than you were then."

   Without warning he was kneeling behind her, the slender blade of a
silver knife pressed against her throat, his mouth a hairsbreadth from her
ear.  "You have sworn a solemn oath by the gods to slay creatures such as
myself." With a quick motion, he slashed through the ropes around her
wrists.  "I give you that chance, Paladin." The knife hilt brushed against
the fingers of her right hand and she curled them around it reflexively. 
With a flicker, he was once again kneeling between her legs, his green gaze
intent as he slowly reached up to touch her cheek.  She stared at him, lost
in a maelstrom of conflicting emotions, and, never dropping his eyes, he
slid his hand along her jaw and down her throat and chest to lie flat
against her stomach.  She shivered, and he slid tentative fingers up, under
the thin shirt, to cup her breast, his thumb stroking over her erect
nipple. She stifled a gasp, fighting to remain impassive, as he tore open
the flimsy shirt, exposing her to his gaze.  The look on his face as his
eyes raked over her body made her grit her teeth, the warmth between her
legs spreading upwards through her body.  "I still love you," she said
quietly, knowing that he felt the same, however deeply the emotions were
buried.

   He leaned foreward, carefully, and she watched in anticipation as his
mouth closed over her left nipple, his tongue brushing over it lightly and
sending electric jolts through her.  His eyes were closed, and she knew
clearly that she should kill him now, and her hand tightened on the knife
hilt and her arm tensed- and then she cried out as he pressed his tongue
against her nipple hard, a sudden tightening in her midsection so sharp it
was achingly sweet.  He raised his head, his eyes dark and filled wth need,
eyes on hers as his free hand unfastened the buttons of his breeches.

   As they slid down over his muscled thighs Kes sucked in a deep breath,
desire overwhelming her at the sight of him.  She wrapped the fingers of
her left hand around him, the knife hilt all but forgotten in her right,
his groan of pleasure at her touch sending thrills through her.  He leaned
back, drawing himself through her loose hold, his breath shuddering though
his body, and she followed him, kneeling over him, poised to take him
inside.  She hesitated, crouched, staring down at him for a long moment,
and suddenly his thoughts were open to her.  She knew, even as she eased
forward, her hands flat on his chest, the knife still held in her right
hand, to slide down over the head of his cock, that he was wondering if she
would kill him before he came, and she knew, too, that he didn't care, he
wanted her so badly he was willing to pay any price, even as he groaned at
the slick wetness of her body caressing his.  With a swift motion, she
impaled herself on him, the instant of pain forgotten as his cry of
pleasure and the arching of his hips added to her own pleasure as she rode
him, meeting his thrusts with her own, his hands sliding hard along her
hips, her smooth flanks, up to cup her breasts as she arched her back,
pressing herself against him.  "Gods," he groaned, his breathing faster,
the tension building, his eyes half-closed with pleasure.  "So...
beautiful... so..." His words were punctuated with thrusts. 
"My...lovely... Sparrow..." The knife fell from her hand unnoticed as she
buried herself in him as surely as he was buried within her.

   Her sudden climax startled her, her hands clenching into fists, a primal
scream ripped from her lips as she came, arching and grinding her hips
deeper into his, torn apart by the feel of him inside her.  He reached up,
sliding his hands around her shoulders, pulling her down to him and burying
his face in her throat even as his body pounded into hers.  A sudden sharp
pain almost lost in the sweetness of his body, and a second wave of
pleasure rolled over her, then a third, and a fourth, each more incredible
than the last until she wept with it, feeling his final powerful thrust,
his hot juices mixing with hers as he came deep inside her, shudders
wracking his body as his hips moved, slowing at his release until there was
nearly stillness.

   At last he relaxed, his head thrown back, dark hair tousled and face
somehow utterly innocent despite the pleasure of what they'd just shared.
She curled limply against his chest, sweat darkening the white curls around
her face and slicking her body.  Gently, he dislodged her, rolling her over
on her back on the soft rug and propping himself up on one elbow, his gaze
tender.  She smiled up at him, content, for the moment, to lie next to him
and let tomorrow take care of itself.

   "I have only one choice, beloved." His voice was husky, filled with
emotion, and she felt a sudden tightening of fear for him, for whatever
he'd decided to do.  He hesitated, then leaned forward, sliding an arm
around her shoulders, lifting her and drawing her into a deep kiss, and she
raised her head to deepen it.  As she did, a coppery taste filled her
mouth. Panic-stricken, she tried to break away, but his hand held tight to
her face, and she screamed against his mouth as blood, his blood, filled
her mouth and ran down her throat.  At last he released her, wiping the
back of a hand across his mouth, his eyes dark as she rolled away,
kneeling, coughing and gagging.  The blood seared through her stomach, fire
lancing through her limbs, and she wrapped her arms around her midsection,
doubling over.

   His eyes were impassive as he watched her agony.  "When I kill you, you
will awaken one of us." he said calmly.  She shook her head in denial, the
agony of knowing she'd been misled, that she'd misled herself far more
painful than the convulsions still rocking her body.  Some inner strength
or remnant of her purity forced her to her feet, and she staggered the few
paces to the bed, collapsing against it in agony.  He shook his head, a
slight smile on his lips.  "You didn't truly think I'd let you go alive,
did you?  Perhaps ask you to sit with me while I faced the rising sun?" His
lip curled into a faint, mocking sneer at her feeble attempts to stand. 
"You cannot escape fate, beloved." He climbed to his feet, fastening his
breeches, sure in his victory- but he didn't realize until it was too late
what she was about.  "No!" he shouted as her blindly grasping hand yanked
the heavy curtain away from the bay window over the bed.  Sunlight streamed
in, driving him a step back, one long fingered hand thrown up over his eyes
as he threw himself backwards through the door to the smaller bedroom.  Kes
sagged against the bed, the unseasonably warm midwinter sunlight easing the
knot of agony within her, the sudden relief from pain dragging her down
into unconsciousness.

   She awoke in a narrow rectangle of wan light, the steep angle telling
her that sunset was not far away, not more than a few hours.  She staggered
to her feet, the knot of agony gone, feeling oddly empty and hollow inside.
The door to the smaller bedroom was shut, and she gave it wide berth,
having no desire to confront the demons within.  Her armor was stacked on
the floor next to the stairs, the only piece missing her gambeson, but the
closet proved to contain ample clothing to replace it.  She slipped into a
pair of trousers that weren't too big and a shirt that was, then quickly
pulled on the rest of the mud-streaked silver plate, wincing at the few new
scratches and dents that had gone unnoticed in the darkness of the night.
Darien's sword was still hanging above the stairway, and she hesitated,
bringing it down and sliding the slender blade from the black sheath
partially, running light fingers over the familiar weapon.  After a moment,
she strapped the belt around her waist, knowing that if she were unable to
find Talon, she would need a weapon.  She shivered, suddenly cold. 
Scooping up the heavy crimson curtain, she tied it around her neck as a
sort of cloak, and wrapped it tightly around her as she slipped down the
stairs.  Of the farmer there was no sign, and she fervently prayed that he
had gone to his eternal rest.  Her body started to ache, her left arm
rebelling against the strain of the heavy armor, but at last she reached
the gate, where a welcome sight greeted her eyes.

   "Oh, Loyal..." She nearly wept, wrapping her arms around his neck as he
whickered softly, brushing his muzzle against her hair.  He sported four
gashes along his flank, not deep, but was otherwise unharmed.  At last she
pushed him away, remembering her duty.  She turned, slowly, once, twice,
surveying the ground near where she'd fallen the night before.  A glint of
sunlight reflected from metal caught her eye, and she knelt, picking up the
blade.  And just as quickly dropped it, the icy cold metal biting her flesh
hard enough to make her cry out with the pain.  She opened her hand,
staring down at the palm, a thin white line branded across it.  She stared
at it for a long moment before throwing her head back and laughing, a
harsh, mocking sound.  Of course- she'd fucked a dead man, she couldn't
have thought up an act more inimical to Talon's purpose if she'd tried. 
Cautiously, she used the end of her shirt as a pad to lift the blade, and
it remained inert.  Quickly sheathing it, she climbed wearily onto Loyal,
spurring him away from the site of her disgrace and into the forest.

   At last, after what seemed like an eternity of dreamy wandering but
couldn't have been more than an hour, she found herself in a hidden
clearing, a sense of peace pervading the area.  A tiny spring bubbled up
near one edge, grass and hardy winter flowers waving next to it, the trees
around it healthy and ancient.  Kes reined to a stop in front of a massive
oak tree about opposite the spring, a tree that had stood for centuries and
would, she sensed, stand for centuries more.  A dark hole peeked from the
trunk just a bit below the ground, and she judged it deep enough for her
purposes and wide enough.  Dismounting, she carefully stripped off the
armor, collecting the pieces in a pile in the center of the heavy crimson
curtain, including Loyal's barding and her shield.  She added Talon in its
scabbard last, after a very long pause.  Shivering in the cold, she tied
the four corners together to make as neat a bundle as possible, then knelt,
shoving the bundle out of sight, deep within the hole.  The sun was
brushing the tops of the trees as she finished, and she knew that she must
be far from there before darkness fell, though where she would go, she did
not know.  Kicking her heels against the horse's sides, she rode from the
clearing into the forest.  She did not look back, although she wished to.