A/N Thank you for your reviews everyone, but also ToaD, since I can't send you an email back thanking you. Reviews are the only way I get better. I decided to change the second chapter from 1st person back to 3rd. Hopefully its better like this, please let me know. Also, I fixed a lot of sentence structure/grammar errors in the first chapter. Hopefully that's better now too. Thank you for reading.

-------- Part II – RHYS --------

She flew away from him into the night and disappeared against the starry night, but still he gazed after her, wanting ... what? Did he want her to return to him; that she wouldn’t somehow be the very embodiment of the one thing he hated most in life? He didn’t stop her and he turned finally and walked back to the others.

There were still the eyes of his fellows upon him. Most of them sad, none of them blaming, but all of them were silent. Rhys found he had no words, nothing that would quell the sudden emptiness that gripped him. He forced it away.

She was a beast, a demon. Spawn that had killed his family, everything he loved. Irrationally the hatred rose in him again and he stomped away to his hut, alone, to bury those feelings deep, never to be touched again.

He could protect this village without her.

Early the next morning Rhys awoke to a knocking at his door. As he turned over on his mat, he was mildly surprised to find it empty, cold, but all to quickly the events of the previous day came back in rush. It was with a scowl he knew he’d have to cleanse his home of her presence; her lingering sweet scent of honeysuckle and oranges. Her simple clothing, along with the dress Tiani had made for the summer festival folded neatly in the corner, made Rhys scowl further as he opened the door.

Llahin stood there, pale and frightened. His youthful, carefree demeanor was gone. All he could do was point to the distant fields and Rhys knew immediately something was wrong. He rushed past the youth to look around.

The heady smell of smoke was everywhere, and villagers were in the street between the huts. A dull orange glow illuminated the distance beyond the hill. The fields were on fire. Villagers were mobilizing quickly gathering buckets. Those fields were their only source of wheat and corn, even the livestock were over there. They had to be saved.

As Rhys moved past, Llahin grabbed his arm. “M’Lord!” he cried out. “You must go to the tavern! Two men have come there. They...they claim to be dragon-riders.”

Llahin wisely took a step back as the older, larger man scowled. Dragon riders?! This is all HER fault. If she had never come here, this would not be happening now. Instead of his cloak, Rhys reached for his weapons.

Dragon-riders. Evil men and elves that bonded with the demon spawn dragons. If there were Riders here, then their dragons were nearby.

As he rushed to the tavern, Rhys knew the simple life was over.

The moment he entered, he saw the two Riders. One was tall and gaunt, the other short and somewhat overweight. Both were armed and both were guzzling ale as fast as the owner Afen could draw it.

Quickly Rhys thought back to the stories he’d heard about the Dragon-bond. It extended the life of the bonded, and made them stronger. This could be a problem, he thought. He was outnumbered. There was no fright. He fought now to save his people. He had to win.

One of the Riders looked over. “Well now...what’s this?” He slammed down the mug, “Where’s that whore that lives with you?”

Rhys stiffened. Despite what she was, and what she had done, Rhys bristled visibly at that particular term. She was many things, but she was not a whore. He knew it was unwise to tell them she was gone and honor demanded he not send them into her back. “Why are you here? Why is this town so important to you?”

The taller of the two laughed. “You place too much value on yourself commoner. We are here for Ah’kuielarhnn. That’s all you need to know. Bring her to us.”

“She is...busy.”

Their looks went from mildly amused to incredulous to angry. “Damn her then. If she is too busy to speak with us, then we shall burn her home down around her.”

In an instant, Rhys had drawn his weapon and lunged forward. His sword sunk into the overweight pig and scraped against bone. As the man screamed in sudden agony, his companion drew his own weapon.

Forced to retreat or lose his head, Rhys withdrew his sword. It was a beautiful thing; its handgrip wrapped with silk and its silver blade etched with faintly glowing runes. It had been his father’s sword.

As Rhys fled from the tavern into the street, he drew his second weapon, a double stringed crossbow, which had been a gift from her. Any thoughts of Aquiel disappeared as the uninjured Rider emerged from the doorway, murder in his black eyes.

It faded away as a bolt entered his heart and he fell dead to the street.

A small victory, but he had no time to gloat. The second Rider stumbled out of the tavern as Rhys ran back to it. Time was of the essence. Dragonriders shared a peculiar bond with their dragons, what one felt, the other knew.

Rhys slammed the Rider up and against the wall, anger causing him to shout. “What do you want with Aquiel?”

Pain mixed with fear caused a response. “She…she’s going to die.”

Shocked, Rhys dropped the Rider but before he could scamper away, Rhys blocked his path with the silver sword. “Explain.”

The Rider glared at the blade. “There is a disease…Scale Rot, it is killing off the Dragons, both kinds but it attacked the Feathered-Ones first. We sought help from the Council in Halai but now its begun to affect the Children too. The Council told us to find Ah’kuielarhnn...something about her death and destiny.” He coughed up blood. “We heard she was here.”

Rhys could only stare at the Rider incredulously, unmoving, uncomprehending. When the pig smiled, Rhys raised his sword to kill him.

The blow never landed. Instead Rhys found himself knocked against the tavern wall. Dizzy and disoriented there was an unfamiliar, moist heat surrounding him and he looked up to find himself face to face with the snarling maw of a Feathered Dragon.

It was a small dragon, relatively, but large enough to kill Rhys with but a single bite of its powerful jaws and there was no escape. The creature opened its mouth to spew its deadly breath. At this range...it would be fatal.

Rhys closed his eyes and prepared for a painful, but hopefully quick death....which never came.

The Feathered-One began to jerk spasmodically, out of control. On its back was another man holding two metal disks that dripped with blood and gore. He had somehow sliced through the dragon’s spinal cord at the base of its skull. He jumped to the ground in front of Rhys as the dragon slowly died behind him.

The man was dressed in brightly colored traveling clothes and his mismatched eyes, one green the other amber, gazed steadily at Rhys, sizing him up.

Suddenly he snapped his chakram together with a musical clang and held his hand out towards the other man with a smile that was closer to a smirk. “So...this is the human Ah’kuielarhnn told B’rithael who told Teronarn’mryl who told me about. Name’s Daffryn Rayqe, storyrteller, chef...” he glanced backwards pointedly at the carcass behind him. “...dragonslayer. At your service.”

Rhys didn’t move. He was still a bit overwhelmed. This man appeared normal, yet he’d just watched him kill a dragon in a single blow.

Daffryn’ smile didn’t falter but after a moment, with lightning speed, he reached down to grasp Rhys’ hand and place it in his own. There was a slightly exasperated look on his face now. “Ahem, Daffryn Rayqe. At your service.”

“Rhys Alexander.”

Daffryn cleaned his weapons silently and put them away and then frowned. “I’m sorry we didn’t get here sooner. Your fields...”

“...will grow again.” Rhys finished. “No one was hurt, that’s the important thing. So, what brings you here?”

An hour later both Rhys and Daffryn were sitting in Afen’s tavern with two mugs of Afen’s mead. Rhys’ mug was mostly untouched, and his eyes studied this Daffryn.

Daffryn was most obviously a bard first and, as he’d said before, a chef. He’d immediately picked apart Afen’ mead recipe and complimented it, bringing a smile to the old man’s face. He was obviously skilled in certain fighting abilities and he was on his third mug of mead.

“So let me get this straight. You are here because of the Scale-Rot sweeping through the Dragons. The only cure lies in the ancient city of Cesenea below the city of Risonia and Aquiel is the only being that can retrieve this. However a group of necromancers called the Da’wah Kaar are also after the cure for some reason and are going to assassinate Aquiel. So in response, the council sent you and a dragon named Thaniel to find her first.”

Daffryn finished off his mug. “Yeah, that’s about right.”

“Do you really expect me to swallow that crap?”

The bard shrugged. “Well if you put it that way...”

There was an anger building in Rhys. This bard might have killed a dragon, but he was one of THEM. He worked for the spawn, he was friends with the spawn, and he dared to speak as if the two of them were old friends. There was no way he could truly understand how badly Rhys wanted to see every dragon fall screaming into the abyss. He couldn’t understand that Rhys had sent the only woman he’d ever loved away forever because her very being absolutely repulsed him.

“So...what does this have to do with me?”

Now Daffryn looked bothered. “She’s not here?”

“No. She left.”

Kandra hurried by to refill Daffryn’s mug for the fourth time and he flipped a silver piece to her. Her plain features lit up brightly. It was more money then she normally saw in a week.

“Strange.” The bard remarked. “We got our information from Narn, and he’s rarely wrong.”

Annoyance crept into Rhys’ voice. “Well, this is one of those times.” He slammed his mug down, sloshing mead across the oak table. “She’s gone and I hope she never comes back.”

The man was silent a moment and watched Rhys over the rim of the pewter. “Lover’s quarrel?”

It was too much for Rhys and he leapt to his feet in a rage. Kandra scuttled away, accustomed to the periodic outbursts. “You dare to insult me?”

Daffryn was either completely un-intimidated or his skill level exceeded Rhys’ by such an extent the bard was undaunted by the outburst. Rhys could not back down. Male ego demanded no less.

Despite the fact that Rhys had seen Daffryn personally kill a dragon, he did not exude such a power. He wore well-tailored and clean clothing while his hair was in a simple elfin braid. His skin, bronzed by the sun and his body, was more athletic than muscular. He was more a displaced noble then a warrior.

Vexed by his blasé silence, Rhys leaned over the table towards him. “Why would you think I’d have anything to do with those demons? Especially THAT one...”

A smirk pulled at the corners of the bard’s mouth and he set the mug down. “At the very mention of her name, you sat there like a petulant child, angry over nothing.” He began a very unflattering mimicry of Rhys. “OOOH I hope she NEVER comes back...”

Before Rhys could react in anger, Daffryn was leaning over the table in the same manner, nose to nose with the larger man, all traces of mirth gone from his face. “Be careful what you wish for. Once the Da’wah Kaar get to her, they will take from her everything...and they will kill her.”

Rhys looked away, his face stone and it didn’t falter. Daffryn backed away. “Well then, I suppose since she’s not here, Thaniel and I have worn out our welcome.” He winked at Kandra as he headed towards the door. “Have a nice life Rhys Alexander...”

At the doorway, he paused and looked back. “...alone.” Then the bard Daffryn Rayqe was gone.

Rhys unclenched his fists. Anger clouded his mind. Dragons! This was all HER fault. They village would never be the same again. Sure life had been harsh before her, but this...they didn’t have to live in constant fear. He stormed out of the tavern and set about helping the villagers rebuilding.

It kept his mind off his troubles. By nightfall, Rhys had managed to put Daffryn Rayqe, dragons, and even Aquiel out of his mind. It worked for three days.

The third night, the dream came.

He rolled over in his bed and her warm sleeping scent rose all around him. Warm arms encircled him and he opened his eyes to see love smiling upwards at him. Human eyes. Love for only him. Before either of them could utter a single word, Aquiel had snuggled against Rhys, in that hollow that forms when you lay on your side. A perfect fit and he pulled her tightly. Oranges and honeysuckle, warmth and love, it was all there, all he needed. For a moment Rhys couldn’t understand why he’d ever want to send her away. Pangs of anguish shot through his heart at the thought. She hummed softly; something she only did when she was content and her soft lips pressed against his shoulder. Suddenly a different type of desire overtook Rhys and he shifted slightly to pin her body beneath his.

As she smiled up at him, there was no trace of her draconic heritage. Though she could snap his neck with little more than a thought, here she was submissive, his, vulnerable and defeated before him. He moved a hand to her supple neck and it flashed through his head how quickly, how easily it would be to kill her now. But the very thought of such an act revolted Rhys. The very thought that just a few days ago had made him feel stronger, righteous, now made him want to vomit. He moved away from her, overcome with shame.

Aquiel followed him, concern on her features and her hand threaded into his. Despite his moody behavior, his violent outbursts, his moments of weakness, she chose to stay beside him.

Suddenly something painful hit Rhys in the head and he doubled forward. There was blood, but none of it was his. Aghast, he looked up as black robed figures ripped Aquiel from his grasp. Powerless to stop them, he felt hands hold him down, hold him still. There was blood on her face, on her shoulder and Rhys seemed trapped in tar, slowed, unable to move.

The man that held her seemed to do so with magical ease. Bony fingers wrapped around her neck and choked away any sounds of protest she might have made. Aquiel’s eyes, capable of bespeaking anything to Rhys now pleaded, begged him for help. When it didn’t come, those eyes, clear, now clouded over with tears and betrayal and unbearable sadness.

The cloaked man held up his other hand and tiny globules of light began to stream out from her and into him. It was then that her eyes closed and her mouth opened in a silent scream. Rhys could only struggle uselessly as the Da’wah Kaar leeched every bit of magical energy from her body.

Slowly the flow of energy ebbed and quit and the necromancer dropped her limp body to the ground. They disappeared in a flash and Rhys, now able to move, was at her side instantly. Aquiel was still and silent, her body cold but he continued to hold her tightly, as if just that act could change anything.

As he held her, her body, bereft of its magic, crumbled into dust and blew away on the breeze. Rhys was left with nothing but a lingering whisper, “Mi’aeri...”And even that faded away.

Rhys awoke with a scream, drenched in sweat. It had all seemed so real, so vivid. He could still smell the honeysuckle of her hair. Suddenly he felt alone, frightened.

A walk would probably calm his nerves. Tendrils of his hair streamed against his face as he stepped out into the night air. Normally he held his hair in a braid, but that had been something Aquiel had always done. Now, he simply tied his hair back.

Rhys couldn’t decide if he was disturbed more by the dream itself or the fact that he’d allowed a mere dream to affect him like a child. It all seemed so real.

Even the emotional effect had seemed real. Aquiel had died in his arms and he felt his heart shatter, his world collapse around him. He’d felt the rage at being unable to stop it, to help her. He’d let her be tortured and killed and his own soul had been crushed asunder.

There was only one reason why. His head could no longer deny the feelings in his heart. He loved Aquiel, and loved her despite what she was. Shame washed over him for allowing his ego to override his heart so completely.

A sense of dread filled him then. Was the dream some prophesy? He had to believe it was a warning. Daffryn had said the necromancers were after her. That dragon-rider had said the same thing. But, despair tore at him then. How would he find her? Rhys had no idea where Halai was, nor did he know where to find Aquiel...and the only people that did were three days gone.

It didn’t matter. He’d still find her and keep her safe. The night she’d left she’d mentioned Gilenstaad as her birth home. Perhaps she’d gone back there. It was the best place to start.

Rhys rushed back home and packed up a few meager belongings, weapons, rations and a change of clothes. Then he headed over to Arabella’s cottage.

Arabella was the town baker. In her younger days, she’d been a sailor and had been the ships cartographer. If anyone in the village had heard of Gilenstaad, it would be her.

The elderly woman glared at Rhys as she opened the door and he blurted out his dilemma. After a moment, the glare melted away and she let him into her cottage. She listened as Rhys told her about the dream and his desire to find Aquiel.

She smiled when he asked for a map of Gilenstaad and retrieved a scroll from a shelf. Gilenstaad was a single valley a week of riding away. He could make it there in four days. Arabella’s kindly smile filled Rhys with hope.

After he thanked the woman profusely, he headed to Elias’ home. Rhys was the leader of this village; someone had to take his place while he was gone. Only one could fit that role. Elias.

If he refused, Rhys knew honor would dictate he remain here. It would kill him, kill his soul, but he had to put the good of the many above his personal desires, his love. Duty and responsibility were important to Rhys, and he held both to the village. He held both to Aquiel as well. Rhys wasn’t sure he could make a decision between the two and he prayed it wouldn’t come to that.

Elias had been more than just a babysitter as Rhys had been growing up. He’d been a mentor, a father, a friend to the burgeoning warrior.

The door opened to a sleepy-eyed man wearing a red stocking cap. “Rhys?” He mumbled, trying to shake away the last vestiges of sleep. His eyes traveled across Rhys briefly and the perceptive elder must have seen the truth. “Hurry boy, she needs you.”

It was all that Rhys needed to hear. He saddled his horse SugarRye quickly and by the time Elias had gone back to sleep, Rhys was already out of town, headed towards Gilenstaad.

“I will save you Aquiel...I swear it.”

.