Lloyd felt like he'd been running for hours. All the hallways looked the same, now, just cavernous grey stone, lit by some eerie power. There were few deviations to the path. Everything was the same. It wasn't his element. Stress was fine, heavy stress, creeping through the dark hallways of manors or crossing a stronghold of the target's power. Impending death was just an afterthought. But this was mad.
Weary from the exertion, he collapsed against a shapeless, blank wall. Lloyd speculated that he was too far deep into the world of the Fair Folk to see any more warnings from the human slaves or bones from dead prisoners and beasts.
He leaned his head back against the stone. Nino was further into this terrifying world of evil creatures than this, it wouldn't ever be so easy as her, panicked but safe, running around the corner, screaming for him, Linus, Father, Legault . . .
A year or so of watching, tailing, worrying, laughing, living with Nino had left all the Fangs (perhaps not Sonia or her similarly colored underlings) soft in the heart for her. Lloyd refused to believe that he may have to return to the base without her, in failure, for the first time since he was a just a little older than her, back when the base was nothing but a shepherd's hut on the hill at Argeshire . . .
"Stop that," he chastised himself, standing. "You don't even know if you can come back."
Lloyd looked right and left. Which way had he come anyway? Both passages looked the same. He groaned. Kneeling, he tried to determine the direction he'd come. The signs were minimal, only the disturbance of small bits of gravel his boots made as he ran.
Thump-thump-thump.
Alert, his eyes snapped up, glancing right and left. It was the sound of a heavy man's footfalls. Linus, maybe? Trolls were supposed to be enormous, too, but it didn't sound as heavy as the massive Mama Cuchina. He was in plain sight, too. The very pebbles he'd been examining began to quake.
A flash of yellow rounding a corner out from the middle of the wall bowled him over. Lloyd grunted and tumbled gracelessly to the ground. His hands extended to get a grip on his assailant, closing on fluffy, golden tail feathers. What appeared to be a gigantic bird continued to run wildly through the corridor.
It huffed and puffed, obviously quite shocked. Lloyd struggled to hold onto the creature as it ran, dragging him mercilessly against stone floor. The bird swung to a stop, twirling him into a wall, trying to shake him off or kill him. Lloyd's fingers still clung desperately for the feathers, and the bird was going insane, shaking and flailing with vigor.
"Cut—it—out!"
Lloyd grunted, finding his footing. He pounced on the beast-bird awkwardly, trying to gain the advantage, but the thing wouldn't stop moving. Lloyd kneed it again, disregarding any possible harm he was doing to the blasted thing. It gasped suddenly and something landed on the stone floor and skidded away.
A golden egg.
Lloyd and the bird froze at the same time and looked at each other. The bird had a human face atop its long neck, with a beak for nose and mouth. It looked sheepish.
"What in the name of God is that?" Lloyd asked, pointing accusingly to the shining egg. His other arm remained tight around the bird's fragile body. It shuddered at the mention of the Lord's name.
"Don't say dat. Iss an egg," the bird replied nasally, ruffling the yellow and white feathers of its neck. It regarded him rather defensively. "I got scared."
"My God . . ." Lloyd repeated, astounded. The bird snapped at him roughly, almost taking an eye out.
"Don't say dat," the bird squawked shrilly. Lloyd cringed, and ground his teeth harshly, but did not release the monstrosity.
"What are you?" Lloyd asked, trying to put as much distance as possible while still securing the creature thoroughly. He'd done more impossible things.
"I'm a goose," the self-proclaimed goose sniffed primly. This thing had more than eggs stuffed up its ass.
"No you're not. You're too big."
"How would you know? Have you ever seen a goose?"
"Yes," Lloyd said, losing patience. He was arguing with the biggest goose in the world. Ursula would be laughing at him, long and loud, with much pointing. "I used to herd them when I was little. And they were definitely smaller."
Lloyd disregarded the creature's face; there was no way he was going to continue bickering with the fae bird for longer than he had to. He slipped the dagger from his boot awkwardly, glaring at it with the type of expression usually employed by ruffled nuns handling small children.
"How did you get here?" he began, pointing the knife edge to the bird's trembling neck. It seemed to have lost all inclination to struggle.
"I ran," it sniffed again, but it was punctured with a distressed gulp.
"That's not what I meant," Lloyd hissed.
"Den what do you mean?"
"I mean, can I go through there too?"
"Where too?"
"There!" he jerked his head to the seemingly solid wall.
"I don't know," the bird replied irritably. Lloyd pressured the edge against its feathery, stalk-like neck. It squawked once, a short, high noise and then clamped its beak shut.
"Tell me," Lloyd said, near pushed to the limits of his patience. "I'm looking for someone?"
The bird's frightened expression changed. "Who?"
"My sister," he said quickly. "Short, green haired lass. Twelve or thirteen years—human." Lloyd tacked on the last part so the damnable creature wouldn't confuse her with fae child.
"Oooh, do you mean da liddle one da good queen brought in?" da bird—the bird, Lloyd corrected himself mentally—cooed affectionately. "She was da most piddiful wretch—da queen stuffed her in da wight-pit, she did, until da liddle girl could behave."
A spark flashed behind Lloyd's eyes, lifting him upward from within.
"Is she unharmed?" Lloyd asked. He pushed the knife against the beast's neck, reminding it not to make any sudden movements. "Tell me!"
"She's in the wid da wights! Dat's all I know!" the bird squealed, its voice piercing Lloyd's ears. "Dere, I told you. Now let me go!"
"If I let you go now, you'd just run back and tell that queen of yours," Lloyd reasoned. "C'mon. You're leading me to Nino."
Although the bird protested vocally, it complied rather willingly. Lloyd chalked it up to the persuasive powers of the iron edge. (Didn't imps fear iron anyway?) He took a moment to glance at the egg. Normal goose eggs were fairly large anyway, but the golden egg seemed monstrously large, as large as his head.
"She's wid da her Ladyship," the goose warned solemnly. Lloyd grimaced.
"Then me and her Royal Highness can have a little talk," he replied, equally firm. Lloyd Reed prided himself on being the level-headed brother. And if he was all riled up and angry, then this Fairy Queen had something to fear, 'cause Linus Reed was probably gearing up to rip her magic-mottled head off.
If he wasn't already dead or lost.
..0..
Linus twitched as yet another little brownie—pixie, gnome, dwarf, he'd had enough with classification for today—stepped over him, like a small hill. There were other dark spots where smaller things had lain; probably children, Linus cringed. He'd never once killed a child, even when the job demanded it. There was something inherently wrong about murdering kids in cold blood.
Even Legault didn't hold with it, and he was the cleaner. That was how wrong it was. But these things were going about it like . . . slaughtering pigs or cattle, or reaping a harvest.
Linus gave his bindings another good struggle. They did not loosen, and he earned a sharp pinch in the arm for his trouble. Nothing.
At least he wasn't blindfolded. The room he was in had a low ceiling, made of grey, ominous stone like everything else. If he'd been standing, he would have had to stoop slightly. Little imps scurried about dressed like common gypsies, in ragtag clothing and heavy gold. Linus examined a passing female who was particularly decked out in her stolen goods. A pair of earrings similar to the ones Ursula wore, fairly small against her face, jangled heavily on the fairy's mottled green shoulders. Bracelets she wore like necklaces, in rows. But . . .
No silver. Not a speck.
Another green man rounded him and began to sever the bindings on his feet. Linus' first instinct was to flail as soon as the strange ropes were cut, but an imp with the face of a squashed frog grabbed him by the nose and turned his attention to her.
"You aren'ts moving an inch," she instructed nasally. Her nails dug into his flesh. "Or I rip off your noseses."
Linus stopped trying to roll onto his back to get away. The little woman had strong arms; she could no doubt rip his nose from his face. Father plays that game with Nino, he thought unconsciously. Except this time, it would really be his nose, instead of just father's thumb looped under his index finger. Besides, his sword was still strapped to his back. These creatures hadn't thought to disarm him. They probably didn't need to.
He was forced to his feet. Linus couldn't stop himself from predicting his fate. Would he be woven into a bolt of cloth? Or cooked and eaten for weeks, like when someone brought down a big deer?
Linus did have to slouch forward a little to keep from clobbering himself on the spitefully low ceiling. The main traffic was probably children.
They led him, hands behind his back. It would be best to go along with these creatures, especially since the female was still clutching his nose with a vengeance, perched on his shoulder as he walked.
Linus scanned the hall for a way out, but even with Eyes or Sight or whatever, nothing made itself clear. The corridor became more and more contorted and Linus swore that it was crooked, that it was leading him upside, ever so gradually.
Finally, there was a door. Rather, it was a slab that swung open into a room, lined with a real, lush carpet and real, ornate furniture and tapestries and bookshelves loaded with books and a variety of real foreign knick-knacks. And in the center of it all, with a massive book propped open on her lap, was Nino, intently engrossed in the story.
The whatever-the-hell-they-weres forced him forward. His shock at seeing Nino—unharmed, unconcerned, and indifferent to the peril she was in—locked up his legs and Linus toppled over onto his face with a grunt. The gnomes cared less for him, and left him lying there as they funneled out the room. The slab swung shut, and a tapestry draped itself over the stone wall conveniently.
Nino looked up. Her sprightly blue eyes grinned quicker than her smile and she laughed with joy to see him.
"Brother!" she exclaimed merrily, rushing to untie him. The book was haphazardly shoved aside as she stood. Her hands, skilled in knots, loosened the thick ropes with deft ease.
Both he and Lloyd had taught her all the skills a girl like her would need. (Knot-tying, tree-climbing, cookie-stealing, where to aim a kick if neither he nor Lloyd were able to make it in time, etc.) Linus felt a bubble of pride rise in his chest; he'd taught her well.
"Urgh, I thought I'd never get free," Linus muttered, rubbing his wrists gingerly as Nino tossed away the gag. "Nino, you're in danger. We've gotta get out of here!"
"No, we're not!" Nino giggled. Linus stared at her, awaiting her no doubt harebrained explanation. If he'd gone through hell . . . why wasn't Nino in danger? And what about Ursula's stories . . .?
Dammit! Ursula must have been lying, just like that filthy Sonia had taught her. Ursula was Sonia's right hand, after all, not loyal to the Reeds, the real Reeds or Nino at all. Not even to the Black Fang. Revulsion lodged itself in his throat, but the more rational part of his nature pushed it down. Benefit of the doubt, Uncle Jan repeated, whenever he and his brother stole sweets and then denied it with full mouths. It was funny that he was remembering such far-off memories now . . .
"Why not? What's going on, Nino?" Linus asked, a little calmer now.
"I dunno," Nino shrugged carelessly, sitting down next to him. She pulled the book back onto her lap. It made her seem comparatively smaller, the giant tome resting on her knees like that. "This is boring now."
It took Linus a moment to realize she was referring to the book. He chuckled tentatively.
"Of course, it doesn't got pictures," Linus shook his head, leaning over to see the wall of text. Nino only ever looked at books for pictures.
"Doesn't have," she corrected mockingly. Linus swatted her.
"Danger or no, we have to find Lloyd and get out of here," he said in a rare serious, calm tone. "I don't like it here, Nino. There's a Queen here, and she sounds like a nasty piece of work—"
"Oh, I met her," Nino supplied readily. "She's not so bad. She said I could stay as long as I liked. Lloyd's in the other room, talking to her now."
This surprised him. So, Lloyd, ever the practical one, had sought out the queen immediately? Linus sighed.
"Well, damn," he frowned, leaning back on his palms. His hands sunk into the thick carpet. "All my work is already done for me."
Nino laughed. It was nice to hear her laugh again, even if it was at him. Linus grinned too, holding out a fist. "Let's play, lass."
She stared blankly at the fist for a few scant seconds until recognition must have dawned on her; Linus didn't blame her for forgetting their game. It'd been a long day for her. Nino held out her fist even with his.
"Rock, knives, paper!"
Linus crowed in triumph. "Ha, I win—paper covers rock! Say it!"
This time Nino stared at him blankly. Truly, utterly confused blue eyes stared back at him, without the slightest clue. A cold hand of realization gripped him.
"Say what, brother?" she asked, the color draining steadily from her face. Her voice was a little hollow sounding, like wind through the cracks in a house. Linus glanced at the pictureless book she'd been reading so avidly. As casually as he could, he closed the covers of the open book and took note of the title.
"Nino, what is this book called, anyway?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.
"The Flamebrand," she shrugged, idly picking at the carpet. Linus watched in horror as she regained the warm, light voice and sanguine complexion of his little sister.
In one fluid movement, Linus leapt for her throat. His fingers closed around the white, paling flesh there and clamped down.
"B-brother!" she choked. "I can't . . . can't breathe . . ."
"Imposter," he growled, enraged. "Don't you ever call me that!"
Nino's face changed then. Her pupils disappeared until her eyes were blue plates on white, contracting into pinpoints. Linus felt her own hands clasp his wrists; her touch burned like fire and seared as her moldy-green fingernails dug into his skin.
"Fine," she gasped, and with surprising strength, threw him against a wall. Linus rebounded quickly, drawing his sword as she sucked down air desperately. Her white face wrung itself thick with deep-etched grooves.
"Lilith," Linus said, his voice gone cold with hatred.
"Yes," she replied, her voice remarkably smooth and youthful. Queen Lilith was no younger than the dead King Grendel, it seemed; just less decayed. But although her face and posture where bent and distorted with age and evil, her silken golden hair flowed to the floor, shifting with every movement, as if it had a life of its own.
With a furious roar, Linus raised his blade and charged at the Fae Queen, just as she began to laugh.
..author's note..
I am not a good person. But none the less, I appear before you with a probably sub-par chapter of a fic that has not been updated since January-ish. I foresee two more chapters of this, if all goes well. Thank you for not, y'know, killing me.
Meelu da Bold