His focus was on his navy boots, but something had him glancing up. A smile formed, and he grabbed a handful of Drekkoril’s fine linen shirt. “I see a building in the distance.”
Drekkoril removed his fist and straightened the sleeve of his long tunic. “There are beings inside.”
Closing his eyes, Rorie reached out with his magic and sensed a few souls ahead. “A kind of darkness but devoid of spellcraft.”
“How can one be dark and not have spellcraft? I suggest we keep walking until we find wielders of light who may be of some use to us.”
“No, we have walked for endless days. I will go and speak with these strange creatures. If you do not feel comfortable, you can wait outside.”
“This is a delicate situation, and things might not go well for us. It is imperative that I am at your side.”
“This is not about who is the ruler of the Fae, Drekkoril. You have reminded me every day since I summoned you that Bétea chose you as Noble Protector, not that my being selected was ever a possibility. It is unnecessary to have such a title to wield control, and it should not be a single man who determines everything—especially when he only knows of how a bemollo feels and not a fairy.”
“I cannot help what Bétea does, and you should accept her choices. You need me, whether you wish to admit it or not. All fairies require a bemollo or bemolla to guide them. Like every fairy, you are rash, impulsive, and reckless.”
“This is why there is discord. You have no kindness for fairies in your heart or mind.”
“Roriethiel, I will not stand here and argue with you. I have decided we will continue walking until we find lightbearers.”
“Wrong,” Rorie snapped. After he ran to the outside of the gray structure, he glared at the fool, though Drekkoril was too far from him to witness it. Returning his attention to his purpose, Rorie stood in front of a small building with a large shield affixed to it. Under it was a metallic banner with symbols he could distinguish as letters, but the words were a mystery. Rorie shrugged as he heard the crunch of Drekkoril’s boots eating up the distance—he had to walk in even if he did not want to. It was frightening, but he’d already made his declaration in front of the haughty bemollo and would not listen to another lecture.
It took Rorie a moment to enter, as it was a type of glass that reflected his image perfectly. Tugging on his tunic so it lay flat, he righted his short vest, then flung his hair over his shoulder. Impeccably dressed, he grasped what he hoped was the handle and yanked open the door. Inside, a man in a black uniform behind a tall desk was smiling. His brow creased when Rorie closed the space between them.
The man asked him something, but Rorie couldn’t make sense of his words.
“Speak again,” Rorie ordered.
Not comprehending, they stared at one another for a moment. Rorie waved a hand toward him, and the guy went back to speaking. It gave Rorie enough time to weave a quick spell to grasp his language. With different dialects of Fae’is, Rorie had used such a method in the past and was pleased that it worked.
“I don’t know how to get you to understand me,” the man murmured.
Content that they could now comprehend each other, Rorie smiled winningly. “Good day to you. I am hoping you can be of service. I am Protector Roriethiel of the Fae. Can you direct me to the nearest spellweaver so I might return to my realm?” Before the man could respond, Rorie was disgusted to find Drekkoril walking in. “I have this well under control,” he muttered to his bemollo.
“Are you really Fae?” the uniformed man asked, his voice registering as excited. “I didn’t think we would find any other races from storybooks andbam…one pops in here. Wow, I wonder what Fate has in store for us next. Maybe there really is a Loch Ness Monster!”
Although they could now converse in whatever native language this person used, Rorie didn’t understand some of his words. “Loch Ness Monster? Fate?”
“Perhaps their Fate is our Bétea,” Drekkoril stated, with disapproval still clear on his face. “To answer your question, we are Fae. What are you?”
“Welcome to the Council of Sorcery and Shifters. I’m a part of the Order of the Fallen Knights. Our job is to guard and defend our people. Are you the leader of the Fae, Protector Roriethiel?”
“He is not. I am Noble Protector Drekkoril. He is my fairy, and his title is honorary.”
“It is not honorary, Drekkoril. Without me, you would not exist.”
“This gentleman couldn’t care less about your foolish opinions on how our government should function. Bétea selected me. I suggest you figure out a way to deal with it.”
“Ignore him,” Rorie demanded of the man staring at them, his expression blank. “By what name are you called, and why were you stripped of your magic?”
“I’m FK4 Cosmo Vetere, and I’m a fallen knight. We weren’t stripped of our magic; we are resurrected without any.”
Rorie’s eyes widened while Drekkoril stared at him with a mixture of fear and censure. “How have you returned from death?”
“Arch Lich Chander Daray, who leads the Order of Necromancia, personally resurrects every fallen knight. I was brought back to life a year ago.”
“Did he cause your death, and that is why he has summoned you? For how long are you on this realm?” Rorie wondered.
The fallen knight chuckled. “No, I don’t know who I was in my past life. None of us do. Well, that’s not correct. Three of us do, but that’s not the point right now. He resurrects us to do a job, and we’re immortals.”
