--The Fourth Realm--

A fanfic taking place in the Realms of the Blood, created by

Anne Bishop whom I worship and pay tribute to every day.

Just kidding. Or so you think.

(Written by the Great and Powerful Keski,

spell checked by Microsoft Works Word Processor)

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Chapter I

Slaves

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Alnevar spread his wings and ignored the hot, sandy air, instead choosing to enjoy this brief chance to spread his dark, membranous wings and let them dry. It was hot out here at night, hot out here during the day, hot out here constantly. Pruul was never anything else. He was forbidden to use his wings, "Lady" Zuultah fearing he would fly away, managing somehow to overcome the pain of the Ring of Obedience.

Right now, at midnight, he could fly. If he started now, he'd be long gone by the time anyone noticed his absence. Perhaps too far for the controlling ring to reach his own Ring of Obedience.

But he couldn't leave. He had to wait. Althemen… This was Althemen's test, his trial. The Black Widow had said so. Just as she'd said that Caelar…

Caelar… pathetic excuse for a father. All the better that he was dead now. If he had still been alive, Alnevar would have broken free of slavery just to go kill the bastard. Always heaping honors on Althemen just because he was a Warlord Prince and one Jewel rank darker than Alnevar. Never mind that Althemen had been born with ridiculously small wings that more closely resembled bats' wings than Eyriens'.

No, Alnevar had been backstabbed by Althemen, the one man Alnevar had always trusted, and sold into slavery. Two hundred years ago. Alnevar tried not to hold grudges, but this was a big grudge, and two centuries was a long time for wounds to heal… or fester.

Alnevar shook his head. He turned his head to look back at the slave compound and smirked. Queen Zuultah was a fool to think the spells on the compound walls would keep a Gray Jeweled Half-Eyrien Warlord in. He came out here almost every night, and no one had ever caught him. As far as he was concerned, it was an invitation to keep doing it. He folded his wings reluctantly and turned around.

"Damn," he muttered as he walked back to the compound and passed through the wall, ready to sleep the rest of the night away before he had to endure another blistering day of mining salt.

"You'll die by my hand, Althemen."

---

The air just in front of the Kaeleer Dark Altar shimmered slightly. The stone slab changed to a dark mist, and through the mist stepped… something. Several somethings.

The first something was feral, wild. Its eyes glittered with unrestrained hunger. It resembled a human to some extent, but it also resembled a wolf. It was covered in thick white fur, and had an elongated face. Its eyes were pushed apart far too much to be human, and the teeth which protruded from its drawn-back lips were sharp, pointed fangs. Its hands also much resembled paws. It wore no clothing, but was covered by the thick white fur.

The second creature was more humanoid, at least at first glance. It… he… stood upright, his pale skin offset by his black and red tuxedo under the black cape that fell about his shoulders. His silky, straight, black hair fell to his shoulders and drew no attention away from his life-sized black dragon wings. His eyes, however, drew attention away from everything else. They were green, but aside from that, they were piercing, soul-freezing things that looked as if they would--and indeed, they probably could--read a man's very soul.

The third creature was difficult to identify, for it never stopped shifting, moving, changing, warping. It seemed to consist solely of shadows, but it had gleaming crimson eyes and its claws were black like the rest of it but different, for they glinted with a malevolence that both threatened and enticed. It emitted low, squeaking noises akin to a guinea pig.

The dragon-man looked around briefly and narrowed his green eyes. "Follow," he said, speaking in the Blood's Old Tongue with a deep, intimidating voice.

The shadow creature screeched and writhed excitedly. "Where'ss the girl, Lusseik?" it squeaked in the Old Tongue with a slightly sibilant voice. "How long until we can go back home?"

Luseik held up a long-clawed hand. "We shall stay until we find the girl, and we shall not return sooner."

"I know, I know, but thiss Realm feelss… dirty. I don't like it."

"It is not an unadulterated extension of the Darkness, as our own Dachrea is. That is why. Do not let it worry you, Keski."

Keski hissed. "I feel tainted jusst being here."

"Enough of your griping!" the wolf creature snarled abruptly, and spun to face the little creature. "We're here to find the Ebon-Gray Jeweled Black Widow, not to listen to a half-grown gejk whine about leaving its home Realm!"

Keski hissed defensively, abruptly growing to thrice its size. Its claws extended as well, glimmering dangerously.

Furious, Luseik stepped between them, the Black Jewel that swung from his neck glinting angrily. "Keski, Satiyen! Cease this foolishness now!" When he got no response, his wings flared to their full, massive span and he roared, the sound of a full-grown, enraged dragon emerging from his man's throat. The two cowered, their argument forgotten. "Lord Versiver and Lady Kennesra," he growled, his voice still not having returned to normal, retaining the deep, gravelly quality of a dragon's cry, "sent us here to work as a group. You two are not going to betray the trust they placed in us by tearing each other apart over a simple argument!"

No response. Luseik folded his wings and exited the Dark Altar.

Keski glared at Satiyen and followed Luseik.

Satiyen snarled and trailed behind.

---

Althemen's eyes narrowed ever so slightly. His Ebon-Gray Jewel flashed with barely contained rage.

"If you fancy keeping all of your limbs," he said too softly to the Yellow Jeweled Prince across the desk, "leaving would be a wise choice."

The Prince took the excuse to hastily exit the room.

Althemen barely had time to place a shield around the interior of the room as well as himself before he found himself diving at breakneck speed into the abyss, almost not stopping when he reached the level of his Ebon-Gray Jewels. The second he reached the level, though, he unleashed the raw power into the room. The temperature rose slightly, but the room was unharmed.

He waited for a moment, then dropped the shields.

"Well, that is a convenient way to vent rage."

He picked up the note again, addressed to him in feminine script, his hand shaking in rage and grief and pain and bloodlust and a dozen other emotions. Finally, he slammed the note onto the desk.

"Anna…" he whispered.

He pulled a sheet of paper out of a drawer and began to write furiously.

---

The quarter-Eyrien, wingless, female slave cowered under the guard.

"Think you can make a fool of me, eh?" the guard sneered, giving her another kick in the ribs.

"No--Please--stop--!" Anna whimpered. The guard kicked her again. Finally, another guard entered the room and grabbed the first.

"What are you doing?"

"This little tart pissed me off. I'm teachin' her a lesson."

"Well, Dorothea wants to see her, so lay off."

The first guard growled and left the room. The new one looked down at her. His voice had a hint of pity in it, but just a hint. "You feel good enough to go see Dorothea?"

"Does anyone ever?"Anna said weakly. The weakness, however, was half-feigned. Half real, because damn, her ribs hurt, and half-feigned, because she'd be damned if she let these fools get the better of her. She wore the Ebon-Gray and, although no one knew, she was a Black Widow. None of these guards wore anything darker than the Opal, which outraged and, in fact, offended her. She hadn't even seen any Warlord Princes, of any rank. But she couldn't do anything about it. At least, not yet. Soon, they'd come… Versiver had said they'd come for her soon. Last night, he said they'd been sent out. A dragon-man… a wolf-man… and a gejk. Whatever that was.

"Well, then," the guard said, his voice suddenly hard, "she's asked"--asked, ha!--"to see you." He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her to her feet. She wrenched her arm out of his grasp.

"I can stand on my own, thanks," she snapped. "I suppose I need an escort to find Dorothea's room?"

The guard snarled and unleashed a taste of his Purple Dusk strength into her mind. Unable to shield herself for fear of bringing Dorothea's wrath down on her--shields were not permissible Craft for slaves--she was forced to take it. Not that that was a problem for an Ebon-Gray Jeweled Black Widow against a Purple Dusk Jeweled Warlord, but it was a nuisance nevertheless.

"You'll come with me," he snarled, and grabbed her by the arm. He led her down the corridor and eventually they came to an ornate blackwood door. The guard pushed it open, shoved Anna in, and shut the door.

Dorothea stood facing her, wearing a revealing black dress that complemented the Red Jewel pendant that rested between her breasts. Which were, of course, accentuated by the dress's low cut neckline.

Anna rolled her eyes. "How desperate are you, that you always have to wear to most sluttish thing you can dredge out of the bottom of your wardrobe?"

Dorothea's smile faltered for a moment, but reappeared immediately. Red strength assaulted Anna's inner barriers but pulled back before they collapsed. By then, Anna was on her knees, holding her head. As Dorothea pulled out, Anna got to her feet, her eyes narrowed to slits.

"You always were a mouthy little chit," Dorothea said amiably. "And your dear father Althemen has once again refused my requests."

"Good," Anna said. "I'd rather endure your crap myself than force it on him."

The Red licked her inner barriers. She winced. Then she bared her teeth.

"You're awfully rambunctious for any ordinary witch," Dorothea mused. "One might wonder if you were something else… Like maybe… a Black Widow."

Anna froze. Did she know? How could she know? She'd hidden it well. No one except herself and her father knew what she was… and maybe her uncle, Alnevar, but he was in Pruul.

Dorothea's eyes seemed to pierce Anna's soul.

She finally found her voice.

"No, not a Black Widow. Just a very skilled bitch. Kind of like you, except I haven't quite perfected the art of being a grade-A slut as you have."

Dorothea chuckled. Anna braced her inner barriers, but Dorothea did nothing. Probably afraid of damaging Anna permanently. Her inner barriers were close to collapsing now. Easily rectified, if she'd been allowed to use Craft and her Jewels, but ah, therein lied the problem.

"As I said, your father has again refused my request. Do you know what this means?"

"The usual, right? Fifty lashes?"

Dorothea smiled. "Wouldn't that be nice? No, I'm afraid we'll be… upping the ante a little bit. Give your daddy a bit more incentive to comply. What say we make it… a hundred lashes?"

"So long as I don't have to look at your ugly face while I'm getting them." Anna braced herself again, and again, no rebuke.

Dorothea let out a small laugh and clapped her hands once. Four guards entered the room. Dorothea addressed the guards.

"Take her out to the courtyard. Strip her. Tie her to the whipping posts. She is to receive one hundred and fifty lashes."