Undying Ch. 22-26

"You have such odd sensibilities, sweet sister." The way she tried to look after the dead was endearing.

"And maybe... maybe we should go back to Ani and Adiel?" She sounded tentative and he pulled her back against him.

"My Ani, I can do that, but why do you sound so uncertain? Does it make you unhappy now to be called my sister?" If the bond was dissolving he needed to find a way to forge a new one.

"No," she embraced him and sighed, "you're my brother and I love you. I'm just... I'm feeling..."

Vezar ran his hand over her head and caressed her ears feeling the threads. "Olthon. Your threads are being pulled at, Syreilla. Your husband is being used to manipulate you, to make you uncomfortable with me." Olthon had left his threads exposed as he reached for Syreilla's and Vezar thrummed across them angrily.

"That wretched elf." Her mutter sounded tired and annoyed.

"I need to feed you again, sister. And I need you to stay touching me as much as you can bear to. I can keep us out of their sight, as long as you are close. It grows more tiring when you step away, or when we are not well-fed."

Grumbling, she buried her face in his chest, "We need some bandits."

"Mm. Yes." The way she buried her face in his chest and curled against him, almost begging to be fed made him ache to find prey and feel the warmth of her gratitude.

Visions of her pressing herself to him in the night, hungry and needful, were stirring in his mind. If he could find some elvish prey or even half-elves he could have her in her perfect, delicate form once more. Bandits would have to suffice until he could find them.

"Is there a way to attract them?"

"One cart alone, no guards, a father and child..." Syr sounded speculative, "We're an easy target. If it were me I'd come in the back and rob you blind while you cuddled and chatted. Most bandits aren't that patient, or quiet."

He glanced into the back nonetheless. "What would you be looking for if you were robbing us?"

"The lockbox with Robion's money and any goods that were valuable and light enough to make carrying them off of the cart worth my time." She paused thoughtfully. "Speaking of thievery, I want to get some of my tools back in my pockets next time we stop. I might be unarmed without my boot knife, but I hate to be unprepared."

"The lockbox is under our seat. And you are never unarmed now, sweet Syreilla. A single scratch and your opponent is at your mercy." Vezar felt her shiver. "I can teach you how to make it free of pain for them. They feel as though they are simply drifting into sleep."

"If I ever... If I ever have to use it. If you ever get tired of feeding me. I'd like you to teach me." The sweet, timid sound of her childlike voice made him want to crush her closer and promise to protect her from her own hungers.

They rode in comfortable silence and Vezar relaxed, enjoying the closeness as she clung to him until the sound of hoofbeats again approached from behind. "Get into the back my Ani, gather your things. If this rider stops I would be ready to take his horse and flee."

"Yes, papa." Syr slipped from his lap as he released her, darting to the back. He heard her rummaging in the trunk again.

The hoofbeats neared, unslowed and for a moment Vezar thought this rider would also pass by, then the elf leapt from the horse's back, lunging at him with a blade drawn. His face split into a grin and he didn't bother to try to evade. Let this elf sink his blade, he would be fed to sweet Syreilla.

From the corner of his eye, he saw her moving forward as if trying to intervene but without her half-elf blood, she wasn't quick enough to put herself between them. Syreilla didn't even have time to scream as the elf shifted his attack and pinned her to the wagon boards like a butterfly. The agonized roar that broke from Vezar shattered the air and made the elf shrink back in terror as he landed on the wagon bench.

*Twenty-four*

It didn't matter what that monster had made her face look like. The elf couldn't know for sure that she'd been turned into a monster too. And if she had, there would be a way to fix it. There would have to be.

Still, Kaduil was almost relieved when Olthon stepped away from him cursing in elvish. Vezar was thwarting the elf's attempts to track them with Syr's threads. The threads weren't cut, but they were so pressed down that it was as if they ended abruptly. They were moving in a southerly direction, it was the only small help Olthon had been able to gather.

They stopped for the night where the roads split toward Wreton and the Acrine Bridge.

The Acrine Bridge is where the elves expected Vezar to go. But Kaduil had the feeling they might be going toward Wreton.

Tirnel snorted derisively, "Why would they go to Wreton? There's nothing there. Once they cross the Acrine Bridge Vezar will have his choice of roads and he knows that side far better than this one."

"I don't know, but I know Syr. If you say you have a reason to think they'll go one way, she'll go the other just to spite you. She knows how to lay low and how to keep out of sight. My Syr told me once, being a thief is only partly about the thieving, most of it is in the not getting caught. It's rare for my wife to find herself-"

"It's still disgusting to hear you call her your wife. Even now that she's been altered by Vezar." Tirnel grimaced. "He'd be a fool to listen to a thief and go in a useless direction. Vezar is no fool."

"But you are." Olthon's annoyance was as plain as the loathing on Tirnel's face had been. "She's clever, and he'll use her skills and cleverness as he once used mine precisely because he isn't a fool. He may not be as familiar as she is with this side of the Acrine, but I can promise you that girl knows more than one way to cross the river. I would hesitate to say that any direction she goes in is useless."

"What are you suggesting, Father?" Tirnel's glower reminded Kaduil of Syreilla when she'd heard about the last shipment they'd had robbed. She'd left the mine looking like that and come back with a cart of all of their goods and then some. No one had dared to rob them since.

"We should send men in both directions. We know he'll cross the Acrine. Let them take the long way. If we see or hear of a pair traveling together on the road to Wreton we follow them at a distance until then."

"Why not just kill the thief and let him try to find his way on his own? It would make him more predictable." The elf he'd heard called Dolthidir suggested.

"At this point, it might be kinder," Maethion suggested cautiously.

"You're not going to kill my wife." Kaduil straightened and drew his axe. "You don't know for sure what he's done to her and she'd be safe at home in the mine if you hadn't dragged her out of it."

Holding up his hand placatingly, Olthon dismissed the suggestion, "Killing her would be a waste. Even if our success is limited, she's the only reason we've been able to track him as well as we have. We need her alive."

"We're going to Wreton in the morning." Kaduil put his axe away. He wouldn't be following at a distance if he found them, he'd be taking his wife back to the mine. "Take your elves any way you want."

"Very well. Dolthidir, I want you to come with us. The rest of you will go to the Acrine Bridge, cross, and wait for word." Olthon instructed grimly.

They'd found the pair by late morning. A father and daughter had stopped at a farmhouse to rest with a dead friend they needed to get home to Wreton. Speaking briefly with the farmer and his wife, Kaduil was sure it was them. The father had looked at his daughter in a way no father should be looking at his own girl, and she seemed oblivious to it. The girl was sweet and considerate, apologetic that she'd gotten sick.

The sickness seemed to concern Olthon greatly. As they rode, the elf began to try again to pull at Syr's strings, this time to make her want to be away from Vezar. He fainted as the monster finally noticed. When he was revived, all he said was that Vezar had made it clear his hold on Syreilla was strong and he was not going to release her.

Kaduil picked up his pace and the wagon came into sight. Olthon hissed at him to wait but Kaduil put his heels to the horse intending to fetch his Syr. The other elf shot past him. He hadn't yet reached the wagon when the anguished roar reverberated through the air, it felt like the ground shook, the sound could be felt in his bones. The roar of a dragon in pain.

His horse screamed and turned, refusing to go toward that sound, bolting in terror. Struggling to get free of the stirrups Kaduil flung himself off of the beast and spun to run back toward the wagon. The monster had pounced on the horses pulling the cart now at a dead run. They screamed and fell. It felt as though he were running in a nightmare, the air was as thick as honey and his ears rang.

The growing beast that was Vezar roared again, now in fury, and struck at the cart. Kaduil could see that he picked up the limp form of a child from the back with his bloodied, clawed forearms as he took to the air.

He reached the cart after the hideous creature had pushed off, making the wooden thing crumble. The elf hadn't attacked Vezar, he could see that as Vezar flapped massive wings and carried Syreilla into the sky. Dolthidir had attacked Syr. In the child's form Vezar had put her in, she'd been helpless to defend herself.

Weran and Bhirren were suddenly at his side and he realized the ringing in his ears was his own voice screaming out for Syreilla. Falling to his knees as he watched the dragon fading into the distance with his limp passenger, Kaduil didn't know if he should be praying Vezar could save her or not, but he would regardless. His golden wife. She needed to live.

"I told him not to attack Vezar." From his saddle, Olthon surveyed the destruction and the withered husks of the dead horses and elf.

"He didn't," Kaduil panted hoarsely. "That knife-eared kin-fucker attacked Syr. She'd been put in a child's form, she was helpless."

"She said Vezar loved her, I thought she had been deceived..." Olthon sounded amazed. "He never intended to assume anything like his true form ever again. To see him embrace his dragon half for her sake is..."

"He looked more than half dragon," Weran muttered darkly.

"No, a true dragon would be larger, more formidable. He'll be easier to track this way at least. Villagers will be talking about the dragon that flew overhead with a child in his clutches for months."

Kaduil covered his face. He needed to find her before the elves did. They wanted to kill both her and Vezar. Rubbing his face and coming back to his feet he pulled his axe wordlessly as Olthon dismounted to get a closer look at the dead elf.

"One of these boxes should be used to hold Dolthidir's remains. I would have him returned to his kin."

Olthon never saw the blow, Kaduil's axe cut the elf down like firewood.

"We bury them both here by the road. I'm not going to let them kill my golden-haired girl."

"She may already-" Bhirren gently tried to broach the subject.

"No!" His hands shifted their grip on his axe and the dwarf in front of him took a step back. "She's not dead, that damned dragon wouldn't have taken her if she were. He's going to do anything he can to save her and I'll hunt him down and take her back."

The two dwarves set about digging a shallow grave as Kaduil searched the broken wagon for anything of use. The food from the farmhouse was untouched, it was in the same box as Syreilla's tools. Some were missing, and as he turned what was left in his hands he remembered watching her dress and put all of her things into their places. Her pouches of supplies for dragon's fire were here, and her boots. He took all of her things and put them in the saddlebags. There was no doubt in his mind that he could find her. She'd want her things back.

Opening the other boxes he came across another corpse. This one laid in something like repose. "Dig a bigger grave. There's another corpse here."

Weran climbed into the wreckage to look, "The one that Syr wanted to get to Wreton, I'd bet. We could get a cart off of a farmer and take it where it needs to go, it's in the right direction."

"You can. I'm going after Syr. If you get back to the mine before I do, tell Batran and Mordaeg I won't be coming back without my wife." The look on his face must have been grim because both dwarves bowed to him.

"Clan Hammersworn will welcome you both back, Kaduil Hardjaw." Bhirren gripped his shoulder as he climbed from the broken cart. "We'll take the body to Wreton and then go back to the mine. If you need help killing that dragon, send for us. We'll come, and we'll do what we can."

"I won't need help." Kaduil didn't know how he knew, but he did. Vezar was nothing he needed to be afraid of. He set off in the direction the dragon had flown.

*Twenty-five*

"Syreilla, please, sweet Syreilla." Vezar's voice came to her through a mist of confusion and pain.

Her chest ached as Syr forced her eyes open, "'M here. Vezar?"

The angular face hovering over her had odd ridges under the skin, his black hair was coarse and looked as though it had been hastily pulled to cover his ears.

The man breathed a sigh of relief, "Syreilla. Zyulla be thanked." He pressed his face down against her own.

"Vezar, what happened?" She let him help her up to sitting, despite her soreness. "It feels like someone ran me through."

"An elf tried to kill you. He stabbed you through the chest, very nearly through the heart. I..." He swallowed and looked at his hands with what looked like shame. "I changed and brought you here. I gave up my gifts to have your life spared."

"Vezar, brother," Syr reached out and took hold of his hand. It felt soft, like the skin on the belly of a snake, and she noticed he had sharp claws where his fingernails should be. "You gave up your gifts?"

"I am still undying, Syreilla, but I will be hideous until the end of time. I can no longer draw from others..." His eyes were riveted to her hand touching his own.

"You are not hideous." She lifted her hand and tilted his face to look at her. Her fingers moved over the ridges of his angular face and brushed his hair back from indented and craggy ears. "You're beautiful, Vezar."

His eyes widened and the black ovals in the middle of the golden-brown orbs expanded. "You are the only one to say that and mean it." His lips curved and pulled back in his too-wide smile. "Your hair is golden again, Syreilla. You are the golden treasure I will not part with."

"My husband is going to take issue with that, br-" her half-teasing words were cut off by Vezar's urgent kiss.

"I am not your brother. I love you, Syreilla. I would give up everything I ever wanted, I have given up everything I wanted to keep you alive. In time, I hope you will come to see me as a man you-you might love." The feeling of his claws lightly brushing the skin of her face as he so earnestly spoke sent a thrill through her she'd never felt before. "All I've done to you has been undone, I can see you feel some desire for me now."

The giddiness lighting his face made her smile despite herself. "I do. But it doesn't change the fact that I have a husband, whom I love."

"A husband you will never see again. You are here with me now, sweet Syreilla." Vezar looked content. "Your desire will grow if you let it. I hope that you will. Kaduil will believe you dead, perhaps in time he will even remarry."

"Dwarves don't remarry. Even if he thinks I'm dead, he'll wait for me." The thought made her insides twist.

"Humans remarry. I even knew an elf that did once. If you need to wait until he dies to be mine completely, I will wait, but don't deny me your desire." His words felt as smooth as velvet, they sounded reasonable and part of herself wanted to agree.

She pulled back and shuddered, "You're as bad as an elf, Vezar."

"Elves wish they had my talents, sweet Syreilla." He smiled sheepishly. "I did not say I would wait patiently."

Changing the subject to something safer would be a good idea, Syr glanced around, "Where are we?"

"The temple of Zyulla, the goddess of mercy and the bringer of peace to the desolate. She gave me what I have called my gifts, though because I am what I am I could only be granted them with a curse. I did not learn to use them as she had hoped, and she took them back as the price to spare your life." Vezar studied her face.

"Her name sounds familiar somehow."

"The mother of Odos and Imos, the wife of Atos, and lover of his forlorn brother, Ruler of the Underworld, whose name should not be spoken?" Vezar's smugness was almost unbearable.

"Ahhh. I think I caught the end of a sermon mentioning her once while I was robbing the temple of Imos." Her grin almost split her face at his sour expression. "If she's Odos' mother she probably has a soft spot in her heart for thieves. I can't be anything but what I am."

"You can at least refrain from mentioning it, and I've seen you pretend to be an innocent before, Syreilla," he snapped reproachfully.

"You're going to tell me a goddess, who is supposed to have raised Odos, wouldn't know a thief when she sees one? Pretending would be offensive!" Needling him for that offended look was too much to resist.

The laughter that made him look up in startlement raised the hair on the back of her neck. It was so familiar she would have known it anywhere.

"Master Odos?" Her head swiveled around.

"Young Syreilla, my wicked little rook. I enjoyed my funeral, and a cask of mead for me to take to the grave was very generous." Odos looked a great deal younger than he had the last time she'd seen him, as young as he'd been the first time she'd met him, but his crooked grin was unmistakable. "People talked about it for a long while after, that warmed me as much as the mead."

"I try to do my best for the ones I love, Master Odos." She matched his grin.

"As do I, little rook." He stepped closer with confidence, his hazy grey eyes studying Vezar. "I took a great deal of pride in finding her a family, the husband was a bonus, child of Hevtos. You've taken it upon yourself to steal her away without even a nod in my direction?"

"Why would you send such a beautiful creature to live with dwarves? She is perfection and they..." Vezar trailed off, his eyes fixed on Master Odos as if he were going to be struck down.

"They adore her and know to appreciate her. She has one of the true great gifts, the ability to see beauty where others don't, much like my mother." The look on his face was dangerously grim and his eyes darkened like storm clouds.

"Our mother shouldn't be compared with a common thief." The second man entered from behind Vezar, he looked remarkably like Master Odos but with a colder set to his mouth and a priest's robes instead of Odos' common but serviceable clothes.

"My little rook is anything but common, brother. She's more loyal than any of your priests." His face cracked into his crooked grin.

Vezar looked as though he wished to sink into the floor, murmuring sickly, "Brother Somi."

"As loyal as a hound, I've heard it said, brother. No doubt she also has fleas." His scowl said he was well aware of her exploits robbing his temples.

Syr scratched her head obligingly, with a broad grin. "Not too many. I try to bathe regularly."

"Syreilla!" Vezar hissed at her, aghast.

"This one murdered an entire order that wished only to help guide him, to help him see the wisdom in choosing to return to his true form, and yet he still has more decorum than your little rook." The sourness of his face as he spoke made her want to say something in response, but Master Odos rested his hand on her head.