So this is the story I wrote for the sci fi/fantasy story writing contest at Sage Con on Saturday. I won first place! Yay! The next chapter of Band is on its way, but as this is life, a dark cloud of scheduling conflict is standing in the way of its completion. Boo! So to tide you over, I have this. Enjoy!

If he’s a proper elf then they don’t make them like they used to. He’s all pointed limbs and cornsilk hair, and he has honest to goodness freckles. But his bow is that of a proper seelie lord; deep enough to be called respectful but shallow enough to prove that he thinks nothing of you. When he rises I see the reason that he was sent to me in the first place. One eye is the proper green of his people, while the other is a fierce yellow. A half seelie elf.

“My lady sends her regrets that she could not grace you with her presence, but sends her beloved messenger, Aguellan Greenhall, in her stead, and trusts that I shall prove most useful to you in your coming quest.” I’ve been dealing with the elves long enough to know what he’s really saying. Translated, this means, “My queen is too busy looking in the mirror and dealing with the unseelie court to be bothered with the possible destruction of the human race. Though I was raised with all the manners and charm of any of my seelie brethren, my genealogy has been held against me for the last few millennia and therefore I was considered expendable in case you go and do a stupid thing like try and save the world and get everyone very, very dead.” How sweet. But there is a saying about beggars and choices, and I will gladly welcome anyone who will stand with me against the rising dark.

“You are welcome here, Aguellan, and I thank you for your presence in my hall. A room will be made ready for you, so you can rest after your long journey, and prepare for your next one.” Another perfect bow; it’s always the ones who have something to prove about their chosen race that have the worst to say about ours.

“My gracious thanks, Auldshield.” He leaves off the “lord” from my name. There will be more from him before all of this is done, and I hope that he isn’t the last left alive. Otherwise our suicidal mission will come off worse in tales and histories than it already is right now. A group of humans, a mad dryad, and now, a disrespectful half seelie outcast. The race of man has been saved by better, but I’ve never heard it saved by worse.

I find Danae in the courtyard, flitting from one tree to the next as a humming bird would. Each time she stops, she presses her thumb and two middle fingers together and presses their tips against the bark, as if she has actually formed a beak. Her pinky and pointer stand high like sentries.

“I enjoy your trees, Lord Auldshield.” She always knows when I am here. “Nippet does as well, don’t you pet?” her contorted hand rises and falls. She brings it to her ear, listening intently. “Yes… yes… Nippet says that the oak in the corner has leaf ants. You will want to take care of that before we leave, in case we all die terribly. It would be good for your family members to bury what is left of you beneath a proud oak.” Her face changes expression like a passing shadow, and now the points of her smile threaten to cleave her head in two. “Nippet says we have to save the world. The stars are singing to us, a song of victory and pain. Can you hear it?” Her good eye is jade bright, nearly drawing attention from the livid scar and milky film that cover its partner. It is a terrible thing, when someone tries to cut down a tree while a dryad rests inside of it. Often the dryad dies along with the tree. If the woodsman stops in time, the tree may be saved, but the shock of it will kill the nymph inside it. Or in the case of Danae, the dryad will be left half blind and completely mad.

“I cannot hear the music, Danae, though I am sure it is beautiful. Thank good Nippet for his excellent advice.” She giggles and nods, before returning to her perusal of my trees. Others may question my inclusion of Danae into a party of war, but mixed within her babble are gems of pure prophecy, an unintended gift of her chaotic mind; a useful gift when fighting an enemy that outnumbers you. I am no prophet myself, but I expect that she will save all of our lives before the quest is over.

When we start out it is cold and dark, the sun still debating its own journey over the sky. My men are laden down with packs. Aguellan refuses to carry more than what he himself shall need, and Danae cannot stand the feel of anything not completely pure, our leather packs and preserved rations included. I make sure that my own pack is twice as heavy as all the rest. I ask nothing of my people that I am not willing to shoulder myself. The road will be long, and the way treacherous, and we all shall thank my tired shoulders with our grumbling bellies before it is all over. Danae walks next to me for a time, puffing up her chest and mimicking the march of the soldiers, though “Nippet” stays in front of her like a guide.

“Nippet does not like this month, Lord Auldshield. We shall be mourning before it is done.” I blink, surprised. I expected hardship along the way, but not so soon.

“Is that so, milady Danae?” she nodded.

“The trees are making a thousand promises that their leaves cannot keep, and the willows mock those that cannot bend. Twenty men shall fade to eighteen, and mothers will never learn that they should mourn their sons.” I glance behind me. Who would it be? The younger men, who are full of hope and ignorance? The older men who are weary already but will march forever? I have chosen my best men, and can afford to lose none of them so soon. But Danae is not to be questioned in such matters.

“I…. thank you for your words Danae.” She lifted her hand imperiously, glaring at me from her whole eye. “And those of Nippet, of course. Now, run along, and see what more the trees tell you. If the men see you marching so well, they may become confused as to whom it is that they should follow.” She rewards me with a brilliant grin, and is gone in a blink. I begin to harden my heart to the thought of losing good men before the enemy has a chance to kill them honorably.

There is music playing, soft and low. Aguellan stops so suddenly that Terrick runs into him, but Aguellan doesn’t even scold him.

“The unseelie.” He growls. I stiffen. If the unseelie are so close to my keep than the enemy is indeed strong. The wild elves are already breaking treaties, and sitting like wolves at my door. I glance fearfully at Aguellan. Tales say that those who already hold unseelie blood are more susceptible to their charms, and there is an expression of longing mixed in with his hatred.

“Danae. Stay with Aguellan. Do not let him leave.” Aguellan starts to protest, but I glare at him so fiercely his words die in his throat. “That goes for all of you. The unseelie will move us from our purpose if they can. They will tempt you with food and drink, dances and women beyond your imagination. If you fall, then you are lost forever, a slave to their court. You are all good men, the best men. I trust you to stay strong.” Yet Danae’s words from a fortnight ago play in my head, and I know even as I give my orders that at least two will sneak off, and be lost in the madness of the unseelie. I know that even if I tied each man to a tree and had Danae close the branches around them, I will lose two men tonight. It doesn’t stop me from trying. “Stay strong, men. We have an enemy, and the unseelie serve him. To fall to them is to fall to him, and let the darkness claim us so close to home.” All of my men solemnly promise not to be tempted.

Terrick, loyal but foolish, and Derend, acerbic and surly, are gone the next morning, their packs left neatly next to their bedrolls, and no footprints in the dew to betray which way they went. I feel their loss acutely, even as I know we would never be able to find them. Aguellan’s expression is hard and scornful, but there is a trace of relief that he was not the one to be gone this morning. Danae’s hand moves sadly back and forth.

“Nippet says that the wish for excitement and the wish for excitement to end are so very close, that the unseelie can offer both through either side of their mouths.” She turns her disturbing gaze on me. “Two are gone, Lord Auldshield, but more will go if we tarry. The sun burns brightly on the skin of the unseelie, but the shadows of their hearts provide them with shelter. Our enemy grows within them like moss on an elm, and we cannot fight his hold on their wild minds.” She tilted her head, “listening” to her hand once more. “There are orange blossoms in the blood of the fallen, but their petals are wilted. Worms twine about their fingers.” I shudder, forcing my mind away from thoughts of what that might mean for Terrick and Derend.

“Do not worry, Danae. We are leaving now.”

Danae is true to her word. Six more men are gone before we are at the enemy’s gates. Bryal, Kosef, Niren, Jorga, Fles, and Helef are given quick burials within their own cloaks as shrouds, fallen to orcs, goblins, and desperate men. Aguellan is resembling the unseelie more and more each day, an effect of the dark presence of the land. His hair grows wild, and he takes to wearing goblin teeth as ornaments within it. Danae grows thin as we leave familiar forests, the trees here unfriendly to her chaotic mind. Even “Nippet” droops, the fingers that make up his ears falling to half mast whenever he speaks through Danae, which comes with less and less frequency. She cries at night, complaining of poisonous roots coming into her mind and leaching what it finds inside of her. I know it is the enemy, trying to gauge what we know by attacking the most vulnerable among us. If we do not finish this soon than it will end with all of us dead.

The guards throw three of us at the feet of the enemy. Danae is keening, curled protectively around her left hand. They have broken every finger that makes up Nippet. Myself, I sport a broken cheekbone and leg. Huri will die soon, his organs pierced by his own bones during the beating that they gave him. But Aguellan…. Aguellan is standing next to a throne carved from the bones of men, purring like a cat under the touch of the woman who sits there.

“I must admit, I am surprised you are still alive, Lord Auldshield.” She punctuates her words with mental blows, so that needles of pain underlie every syllable.

“The former queen… of the unseelie court. I find myself surprised as well. You were exiled for being a traitor. Hard to do in a kingdom full of thieves and liars.” She only laughs at my attempt of strength.

“Yes, well. Even amongst the unseelie there are certain rules, and a taboo against lying with the seelie is among them. Yet as you can see, I have built myself up once more, and stronger than the unseelie court, or even the world, could ever have imagined. Isn’t that true, my son?” As Aguellan nods, it all falls into place. Aguellan’s heritage, his presence on this mission. The loss of Terrick and Derend, despite their loyalty. The continued attacks specifically aimed at Danae, preventing her from revealing the truth to us amidst her madness. The way that we were fallen upon the moment that we crossed the wall into the fortress, as if the enemy were waiting in that exact spot. I lunge forward, ignoring the roar of pain in my leg as my hands reach for the supple throat of the one who betrayed us all. I’m batted away before Aguellan even widens his eyes in surprise.

“Now, now… that is no way to treat the son of your host. Bad manners, Lord Auldshield. Bad form. All of this will be taken care of in a manner appropriate.” She smiles at me, and each stained tooth comes to a deadly point. “I will kill you and make you into a goblet. Guests will drink mushroom wine from the hollow of your skull.” Huri’s breath gurgles in his throat, and then goes silent. Now there are two, if you can count Danae. Queen Bonebreaker obviously doesn’t, as her attention is focused on me.

“I must thank you, of course, for bringing my son safely to me. I had begun to wonder how I would ever liberate him from the seelie court. They are so protective of their treasures, even those that they hate. I will get to them in time of course, as I well get to all of the kingdoms. But what if they killed my poor boy in the meantime? No, your act of defiance was well timed.” She kicks my broken leg, and the world goes white in a wash of pain. “That won’t save your life, of course. But it earns you my thanks. Kill him, Aguellan.” Quicker than I can defend myself, Aguellan stabs me in the gut. The bastard. A slow and painful death as my bowels empty into my bloodstream. Aguellan returns to his mother’s side like a proud dog. Queen Bonebreaker is laughing shrilly at my misfortune, but her shriek of joy is cut off suddenly. Danae sits next to me, broken hand curled against her chest and good hand extended. Roots, black and sharp, have grown through the cracks in the cobblestones around the throne. One of them has pierced Queen Bonebreaker’s eye and lodged itself in her skull, while Aguellan stares on, horrified. Danae wiggles her broken fingers pitifully.

“Nippet…said… we have to save… the world.” She pants. Aguellan roars, coming to attack the nymph, but is suddenly stilled by a knife in his chest. As I collapse again, having thrown it with deadly accuracy, I scold him for his foolishness in leaving an enemy alive.

“Good man, Nippet… good man. You’ll see to that tree of mine, will you, Danae?” she nods, struggling to her feet.

“The stars will sing of your victory and the oak will grow strong on your blood.” She affirms. I sink back to the ground.

“Th…thank you, milady Danae. It has been a pleasure to serve with you.” She is already gone, mentally at least, humming to herself as her broken fingers twitch. The world grows fuzzy on the edges. The world has been saved by better, but never by worse.