Chapter Three

A Return to modern times….

Not for the first time, Rhychard Bartlett stood there staring at the desolated ruins. It wasn’t supposed to end this way, everything he loved destroyed. He was supposed to receive his happy-ever-after. He deserved his reward for saving the day, for defeating Vargas and putting an end to the Gateway to the Nether by blocking the evil that dwelt there from reaching Harbor City. He earned his happy ending with all the sacrifices he made and the betrayals fate forced him to endure. He deserved to get his Renny back. They were supposed to be happy. It was his due!

Yet, even Rhychard knew no one received a guarantee ensuring them a happy-ever-after, especially a Warrior of the Way.

He came close, his grip inches from claiming his prize. Yet, as his father always said, almost only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades. Almost doesn’t count in life or even in matters of the heart.

Or in battles with the Unseelie, the creatures of the Void.

Rhychard stared at the charred rubble of Harvest Fellowship, wondering what he could have done differently that would have granted him his happy ending. And, just like every other time he stood there wondering the same thing, nothing came to him.

In the month that passed since his battle with Vargas, the demon who set out to destroy Harvest Fellowship in order to open a Gateway to the Nether, it became Rhychard’s ritual to visit the ruins of the church and torture himself with what-ifs. However, he only saw the lifeless body of Renny Saunders sprawled out on the pastor’s desk, blood—her blood—pooling around her, her life force so far gone that not even Kree’s healing powers could save her. The coshey could only grant them a few quick moments to say their goodbyes.

It wasn’t supposed to end like that. She wasn’t even supposed to be there; she promised, right after they reconciled, to stay home. Rhychard finally came clean, telling her the truth about everything, about being a Warrior of the Way, about the faerie world. Everything. She knew he didn’t cheat on her, knew about the faerie world drafting him into a battle humans didn’t even know existed. Most importantly though, she knew he still loved her, and what’s more, he knew she loved him. They were going to survive and rekindle their relationship. Perhaps even get married.

Except Renny didn’t survive.

It wasn’t fair! But then, life wasn’t fair. At least, not his life, the life of a Warrior of the Way, a human Warrior in the midst of a faerie battle. His happy-ever-after denied. Kendalais, that pompous, arrogant, stuffy, son-of-a… The Warrior Master had been right. Warriors didn’t need emotional bonds. It never ended well and only put the ones they loved at significant risk.

Rhychard reached up and caressed the engagement ring that hung around his neck as he tried to push the bloody image of Renny’s body out of his mind, and instead, focused on the brightness of her smile. Before Renny’s death, when there was a spark of hope he could win her back, he carried the ring in his pocket to remind him of Renny, his lost love.

Once Rhychard vanquished Vargas, destroyed the Gateway to the Nether, and reduced Harvest Fellowship to a mound of rubble in the process, the small band of fighters—Rhychard, Tryna, Buttercup, and Kree—returned home. Kree collapsed on his loveseat, the three-hundred pound coshey exhausted from the battle, as well as his attempt to save Renny. Emotionally numb, Buttercup hid herself in her room, her life once again hers with the deaths of Jerome, Vargas, and Adrian Michaels, the corrupt pastor, while Tryna popped her way to the Land Under to give her report of the battle. Blood covered Rhychard, most of it Renny’s, and needed to scrub the memory from his flesh. Renny’s blood bathed the ring, as always nestled in his pocket, as well. It wasn’t until he held the white gold ring with the small diamond in his hand, her blood dripping from the band, that he allowed himself to collapse under the weight of his grief and loss. When his sobs subsided, he polished the ring and slipped it onto a gold chain before latching it around his neck. It would serve as his reminder of what he fought for and lost. A reminder to keep people from getting close to him. He wouldn’t lose anyone else. For the next month, he focused on work, rebuilding his business as he survived from day to day by just putting one foot in front of the other.

A sudden flare of heat burst across his back, the invisible Guardian Sword warning him of a creature of the Void nearby. Searching the sky for gargoyles, Rhychard fought the urge to yank the sword from its sheath, pulling it out of its glamour of invisibility into the light of day. He knew it pulsed blue, announcing the same warning as the heat across his back.

He heard the snapping of twigs behind him as footsteps crunched down upon the same path Rhychard used to reach the property. He collapsed the Nether Gateway a month ago, and during that time, the Guardian Sword remained dormant, the Unseelie hiding underground, licking their collective wounds. This was the first time the sword flared to life since then, using its magic to warn the Warrior of some denizen of the Void in close proximity. Obviously, their wounds were healed.

:Kree?: Rhychard sent a mental call out to the elven hound. No answer. Kree could speak over great distances, but even the coshey had his limits. Rhychard was on his own.

“Has the last battle left you with such confidence, Warrior? I know the sword told you of my presence. Yet, you do not draw it. Bravery or stupidity?” The voice—male—with a lilt to it, like an accent—Irish?—there, but not really there.

Out of the corner of his eye, Rhychard watched as a dark elf stepped up beside him, his arms folded inside a dark tunic, hidden from view. Dark hair fell over his shoulders and down his back, his pointy ears pushing through the ebony strands. His red cat-eyes stared at the collapsed building in front of them, his bluish lips pressed into a thin line, his face the color of ash.

“How do you know I’m alone, and Kree isn’t a few feet away, ready to shred you to pieces?”

The dark elf nodded. “Stupidity it is. I know you’re alone. I also know you come here every day. Hasn’t anyone taught you to be more circumspect in your daily life? Stop following the same path. Change your routines now and then. Don’t be so humanly predictable. I really am surprised Vargas had such a hard time killing you.”

“And yet, he’s dead, and I’m alive.” Rhychard turned and glanced down at the elf, the Unseelie a full head shorter than the Warrior, but then again, Rhychard reached five inches past six feet, so most people were. “Aren’t dark elves supposed to be…taller?”

The elf shrugged, his shoulders thin under his tunic. “Aren’t Warriors supposed to be smarter? But, then again, you are a human. Perhaps you’ve reached your capacity for intelligence. The faerie are a superior race, after all.”

“You’re cocky, arrogant, psychotic, even asinine, but superior? Hardly. Although, coming out here like this does make you pretty ballsy.” Rhychard turned, crossing his arms over his chest. “So, obviously you’re not looking for a fight. Who are you, and why are you here? I thought I made the church property sacred ground again.” The Unseelie were not permitted on sacred ground, an area saturated with the Way. If they stepped foot on it, they’d burst into flames. It had been the clue that caused Rhychard to know something was wrong at Harvest Fellowship over a month ago. The demon pranced around the church parking lot without exploding into a pile of ash. Yet, when Rhychard halted the Gateway from forming, he assumed the land reverted back to sacred ground. Obviously, he was wrong.

The dark elf shrugged again. “It’s neither sacred nor evil. It’s merely soil. When you put a halt to the ritual last month, it canceled everything out, making it neutral.” The elf turned and faced the Warrior, his hands still tucked inside his tunic like a monk. “And my name is Aradhon.” His grayish skin pulled taut over his frame. “I wanted to meet you.”

“Why? Considering the Unseelie aren’t usually so up front about things, I can’t imagine you introducing yourself before trying to stab me in the back.”

“Oh, I assure you, if we ever face each other in battle, it will be just that—face-to-face. We’re Warriors, you and I. We fight head on. But, I’m not here to fight you. My orders are merely to check on someone. However, I couldn’t pass up the chance to meet the human Warrior of the Way. As I hear it, you’re the talk of both realms.”

“Sorry, I don’t do autographs. Do you make it a point to say hello to all your enemies?”

“We’re not enemies by choice, as I see it. You didn’t volunteer to be a Warrior, if I hear correctly. The Seelie basically tricked you.” The elf turned back to the desolated church. “This isn’t your fight.”

Rhychard glared at the smug elf. “Not my fight? Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t the whole mission of the Unseelie to wipe humans from the face of the earth? Isn’t that what started the entire Way versus Void battle? I think that kind of makes this my battle, whether or not I volunteered.”

Aradhon nodded. “I heard how noble you are.” He glared at Rhychard, his cat-eyes narrow slits. “That may get you killed one day. Hasn’t it already cost you enough? Vargas killed your betrothed, did he not? Why would you fight me?”

The mention of Renny twisted Rhychard’s gut. “Because she would want me to.”

Aradhon gave a sad shake of his head. “Ah, well. As I said, I merely wanted to meet you. I am glad you did not disappoint. The rumors seem to be true. However, I do hope you reconsider. While the Seelie value life, the Unseelie do not. Your betrothed already became a casualty. Would you risk others, as well?”

“Threats?” Rhychard felt his chest puff up as his body tensed. He fought the urge to pull out the Guardian Sword and slay the elf to head off any further pain.

“Merely an observation for you to ponder.” Aradhon bowed his head slightly as he stepped backward.

“May our swords never cross, Warrior.” His blue lips curved up into an insincere smile as he turned and walked off, his steps never making a sound as he disappeared back into the woods surrounding the church property. Rhychard wondered if the dark elf snapped the twigs on purpose when he arrived. Without the sword, the Warrior knew the elf truly could have totally ambushed him.

Rhychard watched Aradhon walk away, felt the cooling of the Guardian Sword as the Unseelie disappeared. Well, that was the weirdest conversation I’ve ever had. He doubted, however, that it would be his last conversation with the dark elf.