Author's Note: This story is meant to be a continuation of C.S. Friedman's
Coldfire Trilogy. Some of the characters are of my own creation, while
others are taken from Friedman's work, with permission. I make no money
from this work of fiction. R&R. Archiving is okay, as long as you link to
my site:
Daraiz stepped out into the harsh sunlight, bringing her manicured hand up to shield her eyes. The sunlight glinted off the black polish on her fingertips and the silver ring that resided on her middle finger. Her long black hair cascaded down her back in ebony streams as it fluttered in the wind, as did her black trench coat. Her quicksilver eyes flashed cold fire as she scanned her surroundings looking for her next stop. Young men slowed as they passed her to admire the high, firm breasts that strained against the tight fabric of her white tube top and the narrow hips and shapely legs that were encased in black leather pants that fit like a second skin. Daraiz spotted the last shop she'd decided to try. The high heels of her knee-high black boots clicked on the street as she walked.
Inside it was dim, almost dark. A welcome change from the blinding sunlight outside. Daraiz had never been very fond of sunlight in the first place, but on days like this, where the sun glittered off bleached white snow everywhere you looked, it was hell. Daraiz knew she had her ancestor Gerald Tarrant to thank for this little innovation of her anatomy. Daraiz glanced around the small shop at all the hunting gear. Bows, arrows, rifles. Everything a hunter could ask for. A Hunter. Daraiz grieved for the death of the Hunter, yet she knew, somehow, that the man, her ancestor, Gerald Tarrant, had lived. Her father had never spoken of the day when he'd burned the head of the Hunter, but she knew what must have happened. They'd struck a bargain. Gerald Tarrant lived. She knew it. And she would find him if it was the last thing she did.
Daraiz's mother had died in childbirth, and Daraiz always felt that somehow, Andrys Tarrant blamed her for his wife's death. Oh well. Her father was dead now too, killed in a hunting accident (how appropriate), and so now Daraiz was truly alone. Now she would learn the truth. Growing up, her father had always told her how much she was like her ancestor, Gerald Tarrant. It was always the little things. The way she walked, the way she brushed her hair out of her face, the way she brushed dirt from herself, the way her eyes glittered like cold, cold fire. Andrys had always told Daraiz that she was like a female version of the Hunter, and deep down it had pleased her to hear it. Now, Daraiz would find out just how alike she and her ancestor really were, because she would find the man himself.
First she had gone to see the aging warrior, ex-priest, Damien Vyrce. He'd had a lot to say. Mostly he spoke of the Hunter's personality, and how Daraiz really WAS like him. Then, finally, after much coddling, Daraiz had wheedled out of him the story of the day of the Hunter's supposed death. Vyrce had been surprisingly emotional about this. It would seem that Vyrce had grown very close to the Hunter and hadn't realized it until much later, when the man was no longer around. Vyrce had then told Daraiz about his encounter with a seeming rich fop, not long after the sacrifice of the Patriarch, who had made so many insinuations about the Hunter's fate. "So, what you're saying is, in order to save the world from returning to a fae vortex, he gave up his very identity?" Daraiz gaped. The ex-priest nodded. Daraiz sat stunned for a moment at the sheer nobility of such a gesture. "He really was a great man wasn't he?" she asked in an awed voice. The ex-priest nodded again. "For all the evil that lay inside him, he was a man of great nobility. I imagine he's still alive somewhere. Probably owns a hunting shop knowing him." The priest grinned. "He loved irony like that. Had a dry sense of humor that way," The ex-priest sobered. "If you find him, you can't make him actually say the words. That he was the Hunter, I mean. That would ruin everything he worked for. But he'll make some general insinuations. You'll know. He's a lot like you, ya know. His mannerisms and so on. He'll like you, I can tell. Though he probably won't show it." Vyrce grinned. "Why don't you come with me? I'm sure I could use your help finding him. You're my best bet!" Daraiz pleaded. Vyrce shook his head slowly. "Sorry, kid. I made my peace with the Hunter long ago." "Wouldn't you like to see him one last time? I mean, you have to know your days are numbered." "So much like Tarrant." Vyrce chuckled, then he nodded. "All right, kid. I'll go with you. But not yet. I have some things to get in order first. Tell you what, I'll meet you in Jaggonath in two weeks. If Tarrant's anywhere, he's probably there."
And now, a week and a half later, Daraiz stood inside the last remaining hunting shop in Jaggonath. She stood in the center of the shop looking about her. A salesman came up to her, asking if he could be of help. Daraiz shook her head, then, thinking better of it, asked if he would mind taking her to see the owner of the shop. The man nodded and lead her down a hall at the back of the shop. He stopped in front of a carved wooden door and knocked lightly on it. A voice from within, sophisticated, cultured, called out, and bade entrance. Daraiz entered the room and the salesman bowed slightly and left to resume his duties.
Daraiz stood in front of a great wooden desk, facing a man who looked surprisingly like her. Behind the man's plush leather chair, on the wall, hung a portrait of the man she sought. The Hunter. Daraiz gaped at it a moment, then recovering she looked back at the man seated behind the desk. "Is there something I can do for you?" The man asked calmly, his face giving away nothing, Daraiz noted. "I think so," Daraiz began. "But perhaps first I should introduce myself. My name is Daraiz Tarrant." She stressed her last name, and as she said it, she bowed slightly. A gesture she unwittingly acquired from the man sitting before her. The man's eyes widened slightly. "Daraiz Tarrant. It's a pleasure." The man replied. Daraiz gazed steadily into his eyes for a moment. "What can I do for you, Mes Tarrant?" "I'm... looking... for someone." She replied. "As a matter of fact, I'm looking for the man in that painting you have hanging behind you. The Hunter. My ancestor." The man behind the desk nodded, his eyes narrowed as if in thought, as he gazed at Daraiz. "I see." He said. "How strange." "How is it strange, Mer...?" "Forest." The man supplied. "Mer Forest. How is it strange?" Daraiz pressed. "Well I find it strange that you would be looking for someone who's been dead for several years." "I don't believe he's dead." Daraiz replied firmly. "In fact, I'm sure he's not. Well, not dead in the traditional sense. My ancestor was famous for finding ways to escape death. After all he'd been through, I doubt he would've up and died so easily. My father was a weak man, Mer Forest, and I strongly doubt he was able to kill Gerald Tarrant, no matter how much hate my father carried with him." Daraiz explained. "So, Mer Forest, can you help me?" "Perhaps," Forest began. "Perhaps, what you're looking for is right in front of you." Daraiz smiled and closed her eyes. "I should've known. Too many coincidences." Daraiz replied. "What bargain did yo-- the Hunter," she corrected, "Make with my father?" "He never told you?" Forest asked. "He refused to. He was convinced that if I knew the Hunter was still alive that I would seek him out. My father never ceased telling me how much like the Hunter I was, which to him was a bad thing," "But not to you?" Forest pressed. "Not at all." Daraiz said firmly. "My father was also convinced that my mother's death was my fault. She died giving birth to me, you see." Daraiz explained. Forest nodded. "My father died not long ago. In a hunting accident." Daraiz grinned at this. The irony wasn't lost on Forest either. "And so now you seek your ancestor." Daraiz nodded. "I've had so many questions. There are times when I've hated him for what he did. Destroying the fae, I mean. So much power, lost! Gone! Never to be seen again! And for what? Science!" Daraiz raged. She calmed herself. "Then I realized that this science was what he'd spent his entire life fighting to obtain. I just wish it hadn't cost us the fae. I could've been an adept. I could've seen so much, controlled so much. So much power.... gone...." Daraiz said, her eyes blazing frigid fire. Forest gazed back at her with a similar cold stare. "You crave power, just as the Hunter did." Forest remarked off- handedly. "What you don't realize is that science brings it's own kind of power. Besides, if he chose to, the Hunter could bring the fae back with a few simple words." Daraiz stared at him in astonishment. "Hm. That's what Vyrce said." Daraiz said quietly. "You've spoken to Vyrce?" Forest asked. Daraiz nodded. "How the hell do you think I found you?" She asked with a grin. "You know damn well that man knows you better than anyone." Forest nodded, a slight grin playing across his lips. "So. Will you?" "Will I what?" "Bring the fae back? Knowing you, you've recorded enough scientific information to last a life time. I want to know what the Hunter knew. I want to see the world the way he saw it. I wanna feel the fae flow through me and bind to my will. The forest can be rebuilt." "No it can't. Nothing can bring the Forest back." Forest spat. "On the contrary, Mer Forest. I've already begun work. All that remains is the fae. When I went to Vyrce, he had a little something to show me. It would seem he managed to recover some of the Hunters books, intact. The books he managed to save, just happened to be the ones with the notes about all the species in the Forest." Daraiz explained with a grin. "And besides that, ever since I was little, my father had been planting trees in the far corner of our estate. He said that particular part of the property happened to be a melting pot of fae, when it existed. Now it's just a normal forest, but with the books Vyrce recovered and the Hunter's knowledge of the fae and it's workings, just think! The Forest could be recreated!" Daraiz exclaimed. "Of course," she sobered, "It's entirely up to you." Forest sat back in his chair, his eyes narrowed in thought. "Vyrce would be very upset with me." Forest replied. "Vyrce will be dead in another year or so." Daraiz pointed out. "He lacks the self-preservation my family is notorious for." Forest sat silently for another moment. "This will change all I've worked for. All Vyrce has worked for." Forest pointed out. "What is it Vyrce was working for?" "The salvation of the Hunter's soul." Forest grinned. "Why worry about an afterlife that will never come? After all, the great Power is no more. So there's no bargain with them." "Which presents another problem, how will we sustain life?" "Simple, Mer Forest. Once the fae has returned, surely the Powers will, but they'll be weak at first, so when we strike a deal with them, we can call the shots." Daraiz explained with a sly grin. Forest nodded approvingly. "So tell me, Mer Forest, would you like to introduce yourself a second time?" "I will, but first, show me Vyrce's books and the new Forest."
"There, you see? I told you everything was taken care of. I had the castle built about a year ago. When my father asked me why, I'd told him that it was going to be my home once I married. The fool had believed me." Daraiz chuckled. Forest nodded approvingly. "It seems you've thought of everything. Now, Mes Tarrant, I think I'd like to introduce myself." Forest said, standing back to look at her directly. Daraiz watched him expectantly. "My name, Mes Daraiz Tarrant, is Gerald. Gerald Tarrant. The Hunter." Forest said with a slight bow.
That was the last thing Daraiz remembered as her eyes fluttered open. Her vision was slightly blurred, and she had the worst headache she could ever remember having, but other than that she didn't think she was hurt. She struggled to sit up, pushing the hair out of her eyes. Her vision was slowly returning to normal and she sat on the soft grass looking around her. Not far from her sat Gerald Tarrant, as he was before, when he ruled the original Forest. It was dark out now, which was good. Daraiz doubted strongly that she could've dealt with that dreaded sun. Gerald sat there looking at her for a moment before speaking. "I'm not sure whether the sunlight will hurt me or not. It shouldn't, since I haven't struck any bargain yet, but it might. If we're going to travel to the Powers, we have to leave now, and travel only at night." "Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks for asking." Daraiz grumbled as she struggled to stand. Tarrant was already on his feet brushing himself off. Once he was clean, he moved to help Daraiz up. "You remind me of Almea." Tarrant said softly. "Your wife." Daraiz whispered. Tarrant nodded. "You look a great deal like her. You could pass for her sister." Tarrant said, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes in thought. He abruptly stepped back and turned in the direction of the main house. "I assume you still have horses?" "Of course. The best." Daraiz called after him as they moved towards the house. "After all, they're yours."
They were headed out of Jaggonath later that night on horses, with an extra horse towing supplies when they bumped into Vyrce on his way into the city. The ex-priest guffawed when he saw Tarrant, then his wrinkled eyes narrowed in disgust as he rode up alongside the Hunter's mount. "What the hell'd you do now, Gerald?" Vyrce demanded. Tarrant looked at Vyrce with his almost grin. "Why whatever do you mean, priest?" "You know damn well what I mean. You went and admitted who you really are, didn't you?" Vyrce accused. Tarrant merely looked at him. "Couldn't you leave well enough alone?" Vyrce demanded, glaring at Daraiz. "The girl has a right to know her family, Vyrce, don't be so self- righteous." Tarrant interrupted. "After all, if it weren't for you saving my books, I never would've done this." Tarrant grinned devilishly. "You've already damned my soul to an eternity of Hell, Hunter. This last transgression isn't going to make a bit of difference, so don't try and make me feel guilty. But you! You're soul was saved! Why'd you choose to go back?" Vyrce demanded. "Do you know how difficult normal life is for me, Vyrce? After ruthlessly killing people for over 800 years? I survived off blood and fear. Now I have to eat food and get filthy like the rest of you. To tell you the truth, Vyrce, I don't much care for it. Quite frankly I missed the fae, the way I could bind it to my will and weave illusions of blood, death, and cold, cold fire. I missed it, Vyrce. I truly did. Now I'm getting it back. Hell be damned!" Tarrant replied. "And you're taking the girl down with you." Vyrce said quietly. "Nonsense!" Daraiz finally spoke up. "It was me who talked Gerald into it in the first place, priest, so go preach somewhere else. You've served your purpose." With that, Gerald and Daraiz reined their mounts onward.
Daraiz stepped out into the harsh sunlight, bringing her manicured hand up to shield her eyes. The sunlight glinted off the black polish on her fingertips and the silver ring that resided on her middle finger. Her long black hair cascaded down her back in ebony streams as it fluttered in the wind, as did her black trench coat. Her quicksilver eyes flashed cold fire as she scanned her surroundings looking for her next stop. Young men slowed as they passed her to admire the high, firm breasts that strained against the tight fabric of her white tube top and the narrow hips and shapely legs that were encased in black leather pants that fit like a second skin. Daraiz spotted the last shop she'd decided to try. The high heels of her knee-high black boots clicked on the street as she walked.
Inside it was dim, almost dark. A welcome change from the blinding sunlight outside. Daraiz had never been very fond of sunlight in the first place, but on days like this, where the sun glittered off bleached white snow everywhere you looked, it was hell. Daraiz knew she had her ancestor Gerald Tarrant to thank for this little innovation of her anatomy. Daraiz glanced around the small shop at all the hunting gear. Bows, arrows, rifles. Everything a hunter could ask for. A Hunter. Daraiz grieved for the death of the Hunter, yet she knew, somehow, that the man, her ancestor, Gerald Tarrant, had lived. Her father had never spoken of the day when he'd burned the head of the Hunter, but she knew what must have happened. They'd struck a bargain. Gerald Tarrant lived. She knew it. And she would find him if it was the last thing she did.
Daraiz's mother had died in childbirth, and Daraiz always felt that somehow, Andrys Tarrant blamed her for his wife's death. Oh well. Her father was dead now too, killed in a hunting accident (how appropriate), and so now Daraiz was truly alone. Now she would learn the truth. Growing up, her father had always told her how much she was like her ancestor, Gerald Tarrant. It was always the little things. The way she walked, the way she brushed her hair out of her face, the way she brushed dirt from herself, the way her eyes glittered like cold, cold fire. Andrys had always told Daraiz that she was like a female version of the Hunter, and deep down it had pleased her to hear it. Now, Daraiz would find out just how alike she and her ancestor really were, because she would find the man himself.
First she had gone to see the aging warrior, ex-priest, Damien Vyrce. He'd had a lot to say. Mostly he spoke of the Hunter's personality, and how Daraiz really WAS like him. Then, finally, after much coddling, Daraiz had wheedled out of him the story of the day of the Hunter's supposed death. Vyrce had been surprisingly emotional about this. It would seem that Vyrce had grown very close to the Hunter and hadn't realized it until much later, when the man was no longer around. Vyrce had then told Daraiz about his encounter with a seeming rich fop, not long after the sacrifice of the Patriarch, who had made so many insinuations about the Hunter's fate. "So, what you're saying is, in order to save the world from returning to a fae vortex, he gave up his very identity?" Daraiz gaped. The ex-priest nodded. Daraiz sat stunned for a moment at the sheer nobility of such a gesture. "He really was a great man wasn't he?" she asked in an awed voice. The ex-priest nodded again. "For all the evil that lay inside him, he was a man of great nobility. I imagine he's still alive somewhere. Probably owns a hunting shop knowing him." The priest grinned. "He loved irony like that. Had a dry sense of humor that way," The ex-priest sobered. "If you find him, you can't make him actually say the words. That he was the Hunter, I mean. That would ruin everything he worked for. But he'll make some general insinuations. You'll know. He's a lot like you, ya know. His mannerisms and so on. He'll like you, I can tell. Though he probably won't show it." Vyrce grinned. "Why don't you come with me? I'm sure I could use your help finding him. You're my best bet!" Daraiz pleaded. Vyrce shook his head slowly. "Sorry, kid. I made my peace with the Hunter long ago." "Wouldn't you like to see him one last time? I mean, you have to know your days are numbered." "So much like Tarrant." Vyrce chuckled, then he nodded. "All right, kid. I'll go with you. But not yet. I have some things to get in order first. Tell you what, I'll meet you in Jaggonath in two weeks. If Tarrant's anywhere, he's probably there."
And now, a week and a half later, Daraiz stood inside the last remaining hunting shop in Jaggonath. She stood in the center of the shop looking about her. A salesman came up to her, asking if he could be of help. Daraiz shook her head, then, thinking better of it, asked if he would mind taking her to see the owner of the shop. The man nodded and lead her down a hall at the back of the shop. He stopped in front of a carved wooden door and knocked lightly on it. A voice from within, sophisticated, cultured, called out, and bade entrance. Daraiz entered the room and the salesman bowed slightly and left to resume his duties.
Daraiz stood in front of a great wooden desk, facing a man who looked surprisingly like her. Behind the man's plush leather chair, on the wall, hung a portrait of the man she sought. The Hunter. Daraiz gaped at it a moment, then recovering she looked back at the man seated behind the desk. "Is there something I can do for you?" The man asked calmly, his face giving away nothing, Daraiz noted. "I think so," Daraiz began. "But perhaps first I should introduce myself. My name is Daraiz Tarrant." She stressed her last name, and as she said it, she bowed slightly. A gesture she unwittingly acquired from the man sitting before her. The man's eyes widened slightly. "Daraiz Tarrant. It's a pleasure." The man replied. Daraiz gazed steadily into his eyes for a moment. "What can I do for you, Mes Tarrant?" "I'm... looking... for someone." She replied. "As a matter of fact, I'm looking for the man in that painting you have hanging behind you. The Hunter. My ancestor." The man behind the desk nodded, his eyes narrowed as if in thought, as he gazed at Daraiz. "I see." He said. "How strange." "How is it strange, Mer...?" "Forest." The man supplied. "Mer Forest. How is it strange?" Daraiz pressed. "Well I find it strange that you would be looking for someone who's been dead for several years." "I don't believe he's dead." Daraiz replied firmly. "In fact, I'm sure he's not. Well, not dead in the traditional sense. My ancestor was famous for finding ways to escape death. After all he'd been through, I doubt he would've up and died so easily. My father was a weak man, Mer Forest, and I strongly doubt he was able to kill Gerald Tarrant, no matter how much hate my father carried with him." Daraiz explained. "So, Mer Forest, can you help me?" "Perhaps," Forest began. "Perhaps, what you're looking for is right in front of you." Daraiz smiled and closed her eyes. "I should've known. Too many coincidences." Daraiz replied. "What bargain did yo-- the Hunter," she corrected, "Make with my father?" "He never told you?" Forest asked. "He refused to. He was convinced that if I knew the Hunter was still alive that I would seek him out. My father never ceased telling me how much like the Hunter I was, which to him was a bad thing," "But not to you?" Forest pressed. "Not at all." Daraiz said firmly. "My father was also convinced that my mother's death was my fault. She died giving birth to me, you see." Daraiz explained. Forest nodded. "My father died not long ago. In a hunting accident." Daraiz grinned at this. The irony wasn't lost on Forest either. "And so now you seek your ancestor." Daraiz nodded. "I've had so many questions. There are times when I've hated him for what he did. Destroying the fae, I mean. So much power, lost! Gone! Never to be seen again! And for what? Science!" Daraiz raged. She calmed herself. "Then I realized that this science was what he'd spent his entire life fighting to obtain. I just wish it hadn't cost us the fae. I could've been an adept. I could've seen so much, controlled so much. So much power.... gone...." Daraiz said, her eyes blazing frigid fire. Forest gazed back at her with a similar cold stare. "You crave power, just as the Hunter did." Forest remarked off- handedly. "What you don't realize is that science brings it's own kind of power. Besides, if he chose to, the Hunter could bring the fae back with a few simple words." Daraiz stared at him in astonishment. "Hm. That's what Vyrce said." Daraiz said quietly. "You've spoken to Vyrce?" Forest asked. Daraiz nodded. "How the hell do you think I found you?" She asked with a grin. "You know damn well that man knows you better than anyone." Forest nodded, a slight grin playing across his lips. "So. Will you?" "Will I what?" "Bring the fae back? Knowing you, you've recorded enough scientific information to last a life time. I want to know what the Hunter knew. I want to see the world the way he saw it. I wanna feel the fae flow through me and bind to my will. The forest can be rebuilt." "No it can't. Nothing can bring the Forest back." Forest spat. "On the contrary, Mer Forest. I've already begun work. All that remains is the fae. When I went to Vyrce, he had a little something to show me. It would seem he managed to recover some of the Hunters books, intact. The books he managed to save, just happened to be the ones with the notes about all the species in the Forest." Daraiz explained with a grin. "And besides that, ever since I was little, my father had been planting trees in the far corner of our estate. He said that particular part of the property happened to be a melting pot of fae, when it existed. Now it's just a normal forest, but with the books Vyrce recovered and the Hunter's knowledge of the fae and it's workings, just think! The Forest could be recreated!" Daraiz exclaimed. "Of course," she sobered, "It's entirely up to you." Forest sat back in his chair, his eyes narrowed in thought. "Vyrce would be very upset with me." Forest replied. "Vyrce will be dead in another year or so." Daraiz pointed out. "He lacks the self-preservation my family is notorious for." Forest sat silently for another moment. "This will change all I've worked for. All Vyrce has worked for." Forest pointed out. "What is it Vyrce was working for?" "The salvation of the Hunter's soul." Forest grinned. "Why worry about an afterlife that will never come? After all, the great Power is no more. So there's no bargain with them." "Which presents another problem, how will we sustain life?" "Simple, Mer Forest. Once the fae has returned, surely the Powers will, but they'll be weak at first, so when we strike a deal with them, we can call the shots." Daraiz explained with a sly grin. Forest nodded approvingly. "So tell me, Mer Forest, would you like to introduce yourself a second time?" "I will, but first, show me Vyrce's books and the new Forest."
"There, you see? I told you everything was taken care of. I had the castle built about a year ago. When my father asked me why, I'd told him that it was going to be my home once I married. The fool had believed me." Daraiz chuckled. Forest nodded approvingly. "It seems you've thought of everything. Now, Mes Tarrant, I think I'd like to introduce myself." Forest said, standing back to look at her directly. Daraiz watched him expectantly. "My name, Mes Daraiz Tarrant, is Gerald. Gerald Tarrant. The Hunter." Forest said with a slight bow.
That was the last thing Daraiz remembered as her eyes fluttered open. Her vision was slightly blurred, and she had the worst headache she could ever remember having, but other than that she didn't think she was hurt. She struggled to sit up, pushing the hair out of her eyes. Her vision was slowly returning to normal and she sat on the soft grass looking around her. Not far from her sat Gerald Tarrant, as he was before, when he ruled the original Forest. It was dark out now, which was good. Daraiz doubted strongly that she could've dealt with that dreaded sun. Gerald sat there looking at her for a moment before speaking. "I'm not sure whether the sunlight will hurt me or not. It shouldn't, since I haven't struck any bargain yet, but it might. If we're going to travel to the Powers, we have to leave now, and travel only at night." "Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks for asking." Daraiz grumbled as she struggled to stand. Tarrant was already on his feet brushing himself off. Once he was clean, he moved to help Daraiz up. "You remind me of Almea." Tarrant said softly. "Your wife." Daraiz whispered. Tarrant nodded. "You look a great deal like her. You could pass for her sister." Tarrant said, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes in thought. He abruptly stepped back and turned in the direction of the main house. "I assume you still have horses?" "Of course. The best." Daraiz called after him as they moved towards the house. "After all, they're yours."
They were headed out of Jaggonath later that night on horses, with an extra horse towing supplies when they bumped into Vyrce on his way into the city. The ex-priest guffawed when he saw Tarrant, then his wrinkled eyes narrowed in disgust as he rode up alongside the Hunter's mount. "What the hell'd you do now, Gerald?" Vyrce demanded. Tarrant looked at Vyrce with his almost grin. "Why whatever do you mean, priest?" "You know damn well what I mean. You went and admitted who you really are, didn't you?" Vyrce accused. Tarrant merely looked at him. "Couldn't you leave well enough alone?" Vyrce demanded, glaring at Daraiz. "The girl has a right to know her family, Vyrce, don't be so self- righteous." Tarrant interrupted. "After all, if it weren't for you saving my books, I never would've done this." Tarrant grinned devilishly. "You've already damned my soul to an eternity of Hell, Hunter. This last transgression isn't going to make a bit of difference, so don't try and make me feel guilty. But you! You're soul was saved! Why'd you choose to go back?" Vyrce demanded. "Do you know how difficult normal life is for me, Vyrce? After ruthlessly killing people for over 800 years? I survived off blood and fear. Now I have to eat food and get filthy like the rest of you. To tell you the truth, Vyrce, I don't much care for it. Quite frankly I missed the fae, the way I could bind it to my will and weave illusions of blood, death, and cold, cold fire. I missed it, Vyrce. I truly did. Now I'm getting it back. Hell be damned!" Tarrant replied. "And you're taking the girl down with you." Vyrce said quietly. "Nonsense!" Daraiz finally spoke up. "It was me who talked Gerald into it in the first place, priest, so go preach somewhere else. You've served your purpose." With that, Gerald and Daraiz reined their mounts onward.