tKatS, second chunk

[maderr]

The morning was cloudy and damp, chilly but with the promise of warmth later in the day. Trey's breath misted as he mounted Whisper, clasping hands with Bran and casting Topaz a tolerant glare.

"Fare thee well, Trey. Best of fortune to you, come back safe and victorious."

"I am hardly going off to wage war," Trey smiled. "Though I admit things tend to take the path of violence around me. Keep safe while I am gone." He turned to speak to his second in command. "Do not go soft on our soldiers."

"Perish the thought, brother." Morgan smiled and waved him off. "Cause lots of trouble for me."

"Best of fortune to you, Lord Montaine." Topaz bowed to the somber lord. "Victor, attempt to stay out of trouble."

"My pardon, Lord Advisor, but do you not mean I should keep my Lord of Mistdale out of trouble?" he blinked, the picture of innocence.

Trey swatted him. "Just for that, you will prepare our meals the length of the journey."

The assembled group laughed. Lord Montaine nodded to Topaz, "Thank you, Lord Topaz. Majesty. I owe you a great deal for this kindness you have granted me."

"Nonsense," Bran brushed his words aside. "With all I have heard, it is I who owes you a great deal more than can ever be repaid. Enough of this. Your journey is a long one, so you had best be off."

Trey nodded, turning his horse and leading the way from the castle courtyard. The gates were raised as he and Montaine approached and once beyond them he increased the pace, rapidly taking them beyond sight of the castle.

They traveled in silence through the gray morning light.

"I have neglected to thank you, Lord Trey." Montaine broke the silence.

"Nonsense," Trey responded, turning to look at the man riding beside him. Sunlight was beginning to spill across the sky, lightening Montaine's graying hair and making Trey's almost silver. "It is my duty to assist you, and an honor."

"It is only that you seemed displeased by it last night."

Trey looked toward the far horizon. "I was displeased only because I feel the Lord Topaz has set me a task I am unfit to complete. I am no sage." His lips tightened at his unhappy thoughts, but he said no more.

Montaine pursed his lips thoughtfully, "And yet when I first posed my problem, Topaz immediately suggested you. Surely he had reasons for such a staunch belief."

"No doubt," Trey agreed shortly. "But let us not dwell upon the Dragon's motives."

"As you say."

Trey twisted in his saddle and looked at his squire, "We will stop an hour after sunrise, Victor. See that you have breakfast prepared shortly thereafter - and you do not eat until we and the horses are cared for. Is that clear?"

"Yes, my Lord. Perfectly." Victor nodded enthusiastically.

Montaine chuckled softly, voice low as he conversed with Trey. "Your squire reminds me of you at that age - though much more agreeable and less inclined to a fight."

"He has as much fussiness as I did anger," Trey said, glancing back at his squire, who was torn between keeping a careful eye out for would-be dangers and falling asleep. "When I was reinstated as Captain, Bran felt it would be a good match."

"I look forward to seeing the knight he will become. Under your tutelage, I am certain he will be a great one."

"Only if he becomes as interested in swords as he is in fretting over my clothing," Trey said ruefully. "Though he has skill aplenty as a bowman."

Montaine laughed. "I do believe he is a good squire for you."

"So I am frequently told." Trey cast Montaine a pensive glance. "So tell me more of what has befallen your son. Surely there are details that you have neglected to relate."

Montaine sobered. "Aye. The mercenaries didn't appear and fall upon us all at once. They were clever, did it a piece at a time. My father was dead almost before I understood what was going on. They went after Dunstan before my father was even properly buried. Sometimes I wonder if Dunstan did not figure it all out before I did."

"If he had, he would have said something."

"Nay," Montaine flashed a brief smile. "Not if he was intent on protecting us. He has a knightly sense of duty - I believe he got it from you."

Trey was startled, "From me? I sincerely doubt that. I was not much of knight, the years I saw him."

"You would be surprised," Montaine murmured. "But enough of that - I believe he knew that he was next. And it is not hard to deduce that the best place to attack Dunstan is in his garden." Montaine closed his eyes, as if trying not to see the bad memories he was dredging up. "A hundred times I asked him, begged him, commanded him to place wards and the like in his garden - but he was insistent upon its remaining 'uncontaminated'. The only magic he used in that place was to make the roses all year long."

He sighed, "I guess whatever he was thinking, it worked. The curse they tried to lay down did not work, as it should have. But I am not certain he expected things to occur as they did."

"It is quite the puzzle I am being sent to solve," Trey said with a grimace. "Why am I never given simple assignments?"

"That is an easy enough question to answer." Montaine gave a genuine smile. "You would grow bored and start causing trouble again."

Trey ignored him. He gazed into the distance and then slowly turned his head around to take in all their surroundings. The castle was well out of sight, only the smoke from the kitchen fires visible, thin threads of gray in the sky. He turned back to Montaine. "I assume my visit is purely a social one, so far as pretext goes? My presence will not cause you further trouble?"

"Nay," Montaine said. "You are an old friend. They cannot forbid me visitors if they are to keep their motives secret. Simply take care in your investigations."

"Of course," Trey replied.

"Pardon, Lord Trey." Victor drew up beside them, pointing to a spot some distance ahead. "That looks like an ideal location for breakfast."

Trey nodded and reached out to ruffle Victor's bright hair. He laughed at Victor's affronted expression. "A most ideal location. Run ahead and secure it for us, Victor."

"Yes, sir!" Victor urged his horse forward.

"If only you had been so eager to please at that age."

Trey snorted. "Where would the fun have been in that?"

*~*~*~*

The sound of steel against steel rang out across the open field, followed immediately by a pained cry and the thud of a body thrown hard to the ground. Victor cursed softly and forced himself back up on his feet.

"Your hair needs a trim, boy." Trey grinned, raising his sword again in preparation for attack. "If you could see properly, your defense might not be so sloppy."

"Yes, sir." Victor said obediently, raising his sword barely in time to block the hard, jarring swing of Trey's sword. He managed to block several more before Trey once more slid under his defense and hit his side hard with the flat of his blade. Victor, stumbling back away from the blow, tripped over his own feet and once more hit the ground.

"Your feet, Victor." Trey lowered his sword and held an arm out to help Victor up. "Do not become so occupied with your sword that you forget the rest of your body."

"Yes, sir." Victor nodded dejectedly and combed his tangled orange curls from his face. He brushed the dirt from his clothes as best he could, and then retrieved his sword.

Trey sheathed his own sword. "Fix us dinner, lad. And do not look so glum." He winked. "I am certain Lord Montaine will find a suitably humiliating story about me with which to reassure you."

"Aye," Montaine replied. "It is simply a matter of telling the one about the horse or the pigs and the banquet."

Victor's gloomy face lit up. "Oh! I know the one about the pigs!"

Trey groaned and gripped his forehead, as if warding off a headache. "I forbid that story to ever be retold in my presence." He sat before the fire Montaine had started, directly opposite him. "Nor are you relating the horse incident."

"Incident?" Montaine threw his head back and laughed. "Trey, it was a trifle more than an incident. She wound up in the pond."

"I made my most sincere apologies." Trey glared at the fire. "And it was not my fault she would not leave me alone."

Montaine eye's sparkled. "Would it have been so awful, Trey? To be her Knight Errant."

"Yes." Trey started to say something more, then recalled to whom he was speaking. "It would never have worked. And I was naught but a fresh squire at the time. Hardly fitting for a Knight Errant."

Victor, in the process of preparing a stew for their dinner, looked at them in confusion. "What is a Knight Errant?"

Trey rolled his eyes. Montaine smiled. "An outdated custom, these days. More outdated than I thought, if you have never even heard the term." He frowned in disapproval at Trey. "Honestly, my Lord of Mistdale. What are you teaching your squire?"

"What he needs to know, rather than nonsense."

Montaine clucked in disapproval. "Keep at that stew, lad. A Knight Errant is an old custom no longer used. It used to be that Princesses, certain ladies, and many Sages each had their very own knight. That knight's sole purpose was to protect the person to whom they were sworn."

"You mean like a bodyguard?" Victor asked.

"Yes," Montaine said. "Except bodyguards are hired for a certain period of time. Knights Errant are sworn for life. They exist solely to protect that one person."

Victor looked dazzled. "So why did they stop doing it?"

"Because." Trey said sharply. "It was impractical. The best knights in the realm were forced to live for one person and one person only. Sometimes those people were worth it…but many were not and too many knights died or were forced to kill those that did not need killing. Over time they became more of a status symbol and less a matter of protection. Even with Vladimir, the world now is not so dangerous as it once was. Women and Sages no longer need such protection. If they do, there is an army to provide it."

Montaine tsked softly and shook his head. "Not a romantic bone in your body, Trey."

Trey's voice was flat as he replied, "I am a soldier." He looked at Victor. "Try not to let dinner burn while you are fancying yourself a knight off to rescue a fair princess."

Victor flushed and went back to stirring. A moment later he looked up, mischief in his green eyes. "At least I would rescue her and not dump her in a pond."

"Indeed." Trey's lip's quirked though he attempted to remain stern. "Perhaps we should resume practice after we eat."

Victor groaned.

*~*~*~*

"It-it really is black!" Victor gaped, awed, at the castle in the distance. "I have never seen such a thing."

Trey and Montaine shared a look of amusement. Montaine beamed, proud of his home. "The Black Castle of Bellewood. We know not who built it, only that the stone is not native to this land." He smiled at Trey, goading him. "Some say it was built by the Children of the Mist."

"The Children of the Mist?" Victor looked at him, puzzled. "Do you mean the Children of the Moon?"

"Yes, lad." Montaine threw his arm out to indicate his lands. "But here, they are more commonly known as the Children of the Mist." He winked, "I will have my beloved Beatrice tell you our tale of the Lost Ones."

"Yes, my lord." Victor's eyes snapped back to the castle. "It is beautiful."

"Yes, it is. They say once the stone was as smooth as glass, positively dazzling in the sunlight." He grinned, "They say it was even more amazing in the moonlight; a castle meant to either shine or vanish in the darkness."

Victor was enraptured.

Trey gave an aggravated sigh and urged his horse forward, calling back to Montaine over his shoulder. "If you are finished filling my squire's head with nonsense, I would like to make the castle before supper. Victor, now!"

"Yes, my lord." Victor obeyed immediately and the three continued on toward the black castle.




"Lady Beatrice," Trey accepted a pale, delicate hand and bowed low over it. "You are more beautiful than my memories told me. You have your mother's smile."

Beatrice smiled. "I see you have learned some pretty manners, my Lord of Mistdale."

"Trey, please. I am not so reformed as to want to hear the sound of my title all the time."

"Then you must continue to call me Bea, please." Beatrice laughed, and Trey was happy to see that she still could. Like her father, it had almost seemed as though she had forgotten how. Truly she had grown into a beautiful woman, strawberry blonde curls neatly secured with gold netting, save for a few which insisted on freedom. Her blue-green eyes were dulled with strain, but there was a spark when she laughed. The pale skin and almost bony frame were, no doubt, a result of the curse that plagued her. Her dress was oddly out of fashion, the neck high rather than cut low enough to show the flesh above her breasts as was popular. "And may I say that you are every bit the handsome knight I always thought you would be, if you ever stopped being such a brat!"

Trey smiled, "I am still very much a brat, or so my friends tell me."

"Then you are a very handsome brat. You must receive proposals every day."

"Not as many as you, Bea."

Victor was staring at Beatrice in awe, barely remembering not to let his mouth hang open.

Beatrice smiled at him. "Who is this handsome young man?"

"This is my squire, Victor from Hickory."

Beatrice held out her hand and curtsied. Victor, too dazzled to move immediately, took her hand as if it were made of glass and bowed low. "M-my Lady."

"An honor to make your acquaintance, Squire Victor. I am sure one day you will be the finest of knights."

Trey snorted. "One day."

Beatrice clucked. "Be nice. Under you, he does not have much of a choice." Taking her father's arm, she motioned them all inside. "Come and rest yourselves. I have ordered supper and it should be ready in an hour's time." She swatted Montaine's arm. "You should have sent a messenger ahead to announce your arrival. I could have had dinner waiting for you."

"There was no reason to put you to extra trouble, Dove." Montaine smiled fondly at his daughter. "And we could use the hour to rest, else we might fall asleep in our soup."

"You still should have sent word," Beatrice chastised gently. "Your rooms are this way, Lord Trey. There is a small room just off yours, for Victor." She smiled at the squire, who turned pink and looked away. "It is comfortable and warm. The nights here can get quite chilly, so do not hesitate to ask for extra blankets if you need them."

Trey smothered a laugh, knowing from Victor's face that the boy had just decided he did not require any blankets to survive the night. "Thank you, Bea." He bowed as they stopped in front of the indicated room. "I promise we will tell you everything about the capital at dinner."

"Yes, you will." Bea said.

Montaine looked at his daughter, "In return, Bea, I promised the young lad here that you would tell him all our stories about the Lost Ones."

"Oh!" Beatrice clapped her hands together. "Of course!" She beamed at Victor, who looked as though he had been given a rare and precious gift. "Those were my favorite stories growing up." Her smiled abruptly fell, "Dunstan always told them best…" She attempted to shake off her sudden gloom. "But I am not so bad in his place." She nodded. "Rest, change, and we shall see you at dinner."

"Who is Dunstan, my Lord?" Victor asked once the door closed behind him. "She looked so sad…"

Trey sighed, "Dunstan is her brother, younger by two years…he has gone missing." He gave Victor a warning look. "You are not to say anything about it, is that clear? No matter what, do not discuss him."

"Y-yes, my Lord." Victor nodded and set about opening the trunks they had brought with them, setting out a fresh set of clothing for Trey before digging out his own. "Need you help changing, my lord?"

"No." Trey moved away from the window he had been staring out of, letting the fine tapestry depicting a rose garden fall back across it. Mechanically he went about cleaning up and donning the fine, long, dark blue-gray tunic and black underclothes that Victor had set out for him.

"Would you like your sword, my Lord?"

"Just my daggers." Trey firmly grasped Victor's shoulder, urging the boy to stand still and attend him. "Listen to me, Victor. My purpose here is more than I have said. There are people here who intend Montaine and his family harm. So be silent, be observant and do as I tell you - no matter what I say. Do you understand me?"

Victor's eyes had gone wide with surprise, but they narrowed in seriousness as he listened. He nodded, "Yes, my Lord. I am yours to command."

"Good. Then fetch three of my daggers and see that you wear the other two."

"Yes, sir!" Victor scrambled to obey.

Trey sat down to pull on his good boots, rich black leather polished to a high shine. Though he had the soft shoes more appropriate for dinners and balls, he loathed them. And given the nature of his visit, good boots were preferable to slick silk.




Had they been in a crowded room rather than a private dinner, he still would have known the mercenaries on sight. One was skinny, his build reminding Trey greatly of the wiry Gerald. His dark brown hair was shorn close to his head. His companion was of a slightly larger build, head shaved and sporting the ear jewels popular amongst inhabitants of the coast. Though they looked every inch the lazy nobles in their silks and satins and fine jewels, there was a menacing shadow to their demeanor that set them glaringly apart from the others in the room. These, then, were the leaders of the handful of rough soldiers he had seen skulking amongst Montaine's knights.

It took Trey only a glance to discern that the bald one was the Sage - and quite a strong one.

"So you are the famed Misty Knight of the North," the skinny one said by way of greeting. "Not a very flattering name, is it? Either you are as weak as the mist, or you are a monster."

Trey narrowed his eyes, his ire instantly aroused. "You seem to have forgotten your manners, stranger. As well as your intelligence. Or is it typical in your world to greet monsters with rudeness?"

"I was merely trying to be playful, Lord Captain," the skinny would-be noble replied easily. "It is rare that Lord Montaine has so infamous a guest."

"Indeed," Trey said coolly.

"Come now, my lords." Montaine frowned at all of them. "Trey, my friends share a unique sense of humor but they mean no harm." He looked at the mercenaries, "And I will thank you gentleman to treat my old friend with respect."

"Of course," the bald man said lazily, watching Trey through hooded eyes. "I am Frederick of Connoughton. My friend is Brandon of Farshire. You are Lord Trey of Mistdale, Knight Captain of the North."

Trey nodded stiffly and finally took his seat. He could hear Victor shifting nervously behind him and quietly motioned the boy to stillness. "Mulled wine, if you please Victor."

"Yes, my lord." Victor dashed away to fetch the requested drink.

"So, how come you to know my Lord Bellewood?" Trey asked pleasantly.

"We were passing through and begged permission to rest here. I am afraid we are overstaying our welcome for love of the place."

"Nonsense," Montaine admonished. "I enjoy the company. Even with Beatrice I grow lonely."

Trey stifled the urge to reach across the table and swiftly dispatch the two mercenaries; it would not be difficult.

Movement caught his attention, and all four men stood as Beatrice entered the room. Once more she was dressed in an out-of-fashion dress, this one dark blue and embroidered with silver roses. Her hair was bound in fine, silver netting. Her nervousness as she stared at the two mercenaries was apparent only because Trey watched for it.

He also took note of the way she touched her chest, right below her collarbone. He kept his satisfied smile to himself, pleased to have already answered one of his own questions. "Enchanting, Lady Beatrice. Your presence adds much to an already splendid meal."

"Thank you, Lord Trey." Beatrice took the seat opposite her father, where her mother would sit were she alive.

The meal was a fine dance between pleasantries, stories and challenges between Trey and the mercenaries. Try though they did to discern an ulterior motive in his presence, they learned only that he was simply as he claimed - an old friend and guest.

Beatrice helped to keep the atmosphere light, insisting on story after story of the palace she had not visited in more than six years. Her father at last called a halt as dessert was brought out. "Dove, there is still a young man here waiting anxiously for a promised story."

"Of course," Beatrice bowed her head, lips twitching. "I am being greedy." She smiled at Victor, standing quietly at attention just behind Trey's seat. "Do you suppose your lord would grant you permission to sit and enjoy a few sweets while I tell your story?"

Trey motioned for Victor to sit. "Of course. You have done well tonight, Victor."

"Thank you, my lord." Victor said quietly, unusually shy and quiet. He gingerly took a seat, as if scared someone would bark at him to get up.

Beatrice waited until he had overcome his nervousness to enjoy the sweetmeats set in front of him. "Do you know the meaning of the name Bellewood, Victor?"

"No, my Lady. Some sort of forest, yes?"

"Yes," Beatrice nodded in approval. "'Belle'," she spelled it for him. "Is an old word, from a language that we no longer use. As you already know, none of our ancestors are native to this land. Bellewood is our family name, from a time and place long forgotten. Our ancestors gave it to this castle to make it ours and drive out the spirits of those who dwelt here before us."

"You mean the Children of the Moon?"

"Precisely," Beatrice said. "The Children, it is said, could control their world with naught but a thought. Their magic was incredible, powerful - and wholly new to the invaders that came to steal their land. It seduced us, this wonderful thing called magic, and instead of slaughtering the inhabitants we in turn seduced them, coerced them, made them part of us."

"At least until we realized our magic would never be as powerful, that all we could do was create complicated spells that were, at best, pale imitations of what the Children could do."

Brandon rolled his eyes and looked bored. "Why must you always discuss the wretched faeries?"

"They are not faeries," Trey said coldly. "Faeries are myth. The Children of the Moon very much existed, though of course they were not as glamorous or mysterious as legend has made them out to be."

"But why do you call them such an idiotic name?" Frederick asked.

Beatrice bowed her head politely, "I will explain. They are called the Children of the Moon because their magic had but one weakness. It waxed and waned with the moon. When the moon was full, their magic was beyond compare. When there was no moon? They were little better than us - though still quite capable of magic."

She turned back to Victor, smiling. "When at last our ancestors began to do away with the Children, they drove them apart, separated them into small packs and then killed them. There is strength in numbers, and our ancestors made certain those numbers were few - and on a night when there was no moon. The last of them were driven into this castle, their last stronghold. It was our family which was charged with killing them, but there was one problem which they could not overcome."

"What was that?" Victor asked, sweetmeats forgotten on his plate.

"The mist," Beatrice said simply. "This castle was once called the Phantom Castle, because of the black stones from which it was built, and the mist that came off the ocean every night. Once the sun went down and the fog rolled in, the castle was all but impossible to see. And attacking by daylight was useless, because the Children attacked at night, when they were strongest. Daylight was for resting." She paused to take a sip of wine, looking pensive. "But one night the fog did not roll in, for whatever reason, and there was no moon. The Bellewood army wasted no time, and stormed the castle. But when they entered it - no one was there."

Montaine spoke up as his daughter fell silent, "Some say that many of the Children snuck away under cover of night and mist, and that they live among us still. Others suggest they escaped to the sea in search of a new home."

"It is believed," Beatrice resumed her story. "That if they ever vanish completely, they will take the magic with them. Some believed, back then, that we had magic only because they allowed us to have it. And if we killed all of them, magic would cease to exist."

Trey rolled his eyes, "Which was absurd, because magic is not unique to the North."

"Yes. I think that bit of the legend was mostly to assuage guilt over killing them." Beatrice conceded the point with a nod. "Dunstan always said that magic was a gift, for better or worse." She smiled at Victor, "I always thought it was a battle that finished off the Children of the Mist, but my grandfather said the Bellewoods and the Children simply became one. That the reason members of our family are so magically strong is that we carry the blood of the Children in us. That we are their descendants. Dunstan disagreed. They used to love to argue over the matter."

Victor beamed, "Thank you for the story. I think it sad, but also pretty."

Beatrice smiled at him and quietly urged him to finish eating.

"There is another bit of the legend you might like to know, Victor--"

Trey glared at Montaine, "Will you stop filling his head with foolish tales? I have been doing my best to see he does not learn them!"

Montaine blithely ignored him. "The Knights Errant came into being not long after all that, when normal people still feared magic and worried that amongst the Sages, who were closely watched by the King, Children bent on revenge might be hiding. Knights Errant were originally used to protect Sages from those that feared them. In fact, the name came about largely as a jest - errant fools who gave up everything to protect someone who quite feasibly could have been an enemy."

"I grow weary of these foolish tales," Brandon groused.

Trey nodded, "The hour is late; it is long past time I sought my bed. My Lady Beatrice, thank you for the tale. Though I think it foolish, I appreciate your making the effort."

"My pleasure, Trey." Beatrice stifled a yawn.

Trey motioned to Victor, "Escort her ladyship to her chambers and then fetch her something hot to drink. Report to me when she no longer requires your assistance."

"Yes, my lord!" Victor all but jumped out of his seat and ran to Beatrice's side, escorting her from the room with all the manners he had drilled into himself.

Trey stood, as did Montaine. "Thank you, my Lord Montaine, for the magnificent dinner."

"I appreciate your traveling so far to visit me. Shall I escort you to your room?"

"No, but thank you." Trey spared a nod for the two men across from him. "Sleep well, my lords. May your nights be dreamless."

"And you, Captain."

Another nod, and Trey departed. Alone in the hallway, he pressed a hand to his forehead, allowing some of his trembling to make itself apparent.

It was harder than he had thought it would be, dwelling in the Black Castle. The voices always present in the mist were stronger, louder, within the castle.

He never should have come…but the memory of dark beauty and eyes that burned when they spoke of magic would not retreat from his mind's eye. Curse the Dragon anyway, for forcing this upon him. Trey all but snarled in frustration as he reached his room, ripping away the tapestry to let in some fresh air.

The door opened and closed a few minutes later, and he almost smiled as Victor immediately set to squawking. "What are you doing? Trying to make yourself sick?"

Trey laughed. "If you are cold, Victor, why not go ask your princess for an extra blanket?"

Victor turned six shades of red, all of them clashing horribly with his orange hair. Muttering curses beneath his breath, Victor retrieved the tapestry Trey had thrown aside and covered the window. "Do you require anything else, my lord?"

"Go to bed, Victor. We have many long days ahead of us."

Victor was silent for a moment. "…I did not like those two men, my lord. They had mean eyes."

"Most observant," Trey said, nodding his approval. "They are the ones we must watch out for. Now say no more of it, for you never know who is listening. Go to sleep and do not leave your room until sunrise. Is that understood?"

"Yes, my lord." Victor took the strange order in stride, and vanished into his own room.

Trey stripped out of his fine clothes and retrieved an older set from his trunk. The short tunic, breeches and undershirt were all soft and faded with wear and tear, the dark gray fabric patched in several places. His boots were just as old, but long his favorite pair. They were high, coming just up to his thighs, soft and pliant, and required lacing. Dressed, he stretched out on his bed and listened to the thrumming of old magic all around him. The castle was soaked in it, the legacy of a people who had vanished centuries ago.

Guilt was part of the reason he had never attempted to court Dunstan. But fear had also kept him silent, if he forced himself to be honest. He'd spent his whole life hiding, for fear of the old myths that labeled him an enemy. For fear that someday he would succumb, as his mother had, to the mist.

Turning onto his side, Trey let his eyes slide shut. He waited, unmoving, as the bells chimed through the hours. When they rang once and then fell silent, he opened his eyes and slid soundlessly from his bed.

Outside, a half-moon shone bright in a clear sky. But no one within the castle could see it, for a heavy blanket of mist had settled around the castle and across the fields surrounding it. Trey crept from his room, through the hallways and down into the main courtyard.

Only the night guards were about, high on the castle wall and unable to see through the mist. Even the torchlights, which Trey had noted before, were invisible - that or the mist had put them out.

He was little more than a shadow as he made his way through the mist, moving as easily as if he had lived in the castle his entire life. Reaching the wall on the eastern side of the castle, he followed it until he came upon an old wooden door.

Barely had he touched it when the door creaked slowly open. Trey slipped through it and pulled the door shut behind him, making his way along a footpath he could sense but not see, winding his way until the path at last ended in a small clearing in the small wood that lined the eastern side of the castle.

The clearing was a nasty tangle of thorns, the faintest shreds of moonlight making visible a vast number of roses. By day they would be a rainbow of colors; red, violet, orange, yellow and pink. In the moonlight and mist, however, they were mere shadows of their normal vibrancy.

What once had been a rose garden was now little more than a mess of thorns and roses, surrounded by dead grasses and dying trees. The rose bushes climbed high, using one another as support, some extending so high they clung to the tree branches above them.

There was no obvious way inside; the roses guarded well the statue within what had once been a beautiful garden. The mist seemed to curl and curve around Trey, stretching past to delve into the tangled fortress before him.

Trey reached out to touch the nearest rose, the petals limp and starting to shrivel at the ends. It almost seemed to twitch beneath his fingertips, reaching toward Trey's calloused touch, absorbing the mist that brushed it.

Around the flower, the tangled rose bushes shuddered and began slowly to move. Several minutes later, a narrow opening appeared in the tangle. Trey gave the pale, pale rose he had touched another caress as he passed, a silent thanks, and vanished through the gap that closed behind him.

Beyond the wall, within the garden proper, it looked as though the world had died.

Once the roses must have flowered everywhere in the garden - he could see the remains of the wooden slats for climbing roses, a dried up fountain and marble bench, traces of where the roses must have been so carefully and lovingly arranged. But now there was no trace of even a weed; all life had given itself over to sustaining the roses and the man they guarded.

Trey's soft boots crunched on dead grass as he approached the statue in the middle of the garden.

The statue was beautiful. It appeared to be made from gray marble, and had Trey not known the reality of it, he would have said it had been carved with great love and care.

Dunstan was even more breathtaking than Trey had remembered. Even turned into soft gray stone, he was beautiful. He was dressed in the old-fashioned robes his grandfather had been fond of, the bottom and ends of the wide sleeves meticulously embroidered with an intricate knotted design – such a style had not been used in more than a decade. Modern robes were heavier and tended to hang loose rather than cling as the older ones. His hood partially obscured his face, only one well-sculpted cheek and a stone-cool eye bared to Trey's eyes. Several soft-looking curls had escaped the confines of the hood, brushing Dunstan's shoulder. It looked as if he'd been waiting for someone, and some sound or movement had turned his head.

His half-hidden face was stunning; a high cheekbone and small nose, full lips slightly parted and curved in a soft smile, as if the same person who had turned his head had interrupted some happy thought. Trey thought it strange, that Dunstan had been struck down while smiling. Surely he must have consumed by worry and fear. Yet he smiled.

Unthinkingly, Trey reached out to stroke the bared stone cheek. It was warm, his sensitive hands feeling the faintest thrumming of life beneath the stone. He let out a sigh of relief, not willing to admit he had been worried until his fears were eased.

Dunstan yet lived, though he would not live too much longer. It was a matter of days, not weeks as Montaine believed, before the roses grew unable to sustain and protect Dunstan. He caressed the stone cheek once more, hand lingering before he forced himself back to work.

His eyes flashed silver, and the mist around him began to shimmer. The shimmer spread out, like a ripple in a pond, absorbed where it lapped against the thorns. The wall shivered, shook, and then seemed to strengthen.

Shuddering, uncomfortable with his powers but determined to save Dunstan, Trey's eyes flashed once more. He closed them, then opened them again. Satisfied that he had bought himself some extra time, he reached out once more to touch the statue, caressing its cheek, thumb brushing across stone lips.

Eventually he forced himself to turn away, leaving the garden until he could return to free the trapped sage.

But to do that, and all else that must first be accomplished, he would need his magic at it's strongest - when the moon was full.

*~*~*~*