Jaedin cast himself down on his tall throne, a look of black fury upon his countenance

A brief word of explanation….My good friend and fellow author, Kates, is a masterful writer of fantasy fiction, set in the realm of fairy tales and imaginary realms. For some time now we have been reading and reviewing each other’s works. One night after reading her latest story, titled True Hate and True Love I had a sudden “flash” of a possible crossover between her world and mine. You will find the result below, posted here with her permission.

~Riene

A Chance Encounter

Characters and setting from True Hate and True Love

Original Mountain Artwork and Jaedin’s Eyes

and used with permission.

Jaedin cast himself down on his tall throne, a look of black fury upon his countenance. She had escaped him, and he had barely escaped the wrath of his dark queen. The Antari slipped away into the shadows of columns in this hall, avoiding their dark lord’s furious, introspective gaze. Only Rákkhed Dahk-Marr stood near to the throne upon the dais, waiting patiently, as he had stood awaiting his master’s orders these long millennia.

He sat, slender black-gloved fingers drumming impatiently on the armrest of the throne, the other hand splayed, fingers stroking his smooth jawbone and chin. His violet-tinted eyes were now storm grey with anger, and all who came before his gaze shrank, cringing before that look of implacable hatred.

But to whom was that hatred aimed?

And outside the palace, thunder clouds gathered, fueled by their master’s wrath.

Mattias rose stiffly, from where he had been sitting on the stone floor of his Tower. Drawn about him with carefully etched chalk lines, lines to connect the energy forces of this world of Icander, was an intricate pattern. Arcs and tangents crossed each other at precise intervals, sweeping curves and softly-glimmering runes reflected the moonlight which shone down through the dome above. He raised a hand and placed it behind his neck, stretching cramped muscles, and gazing narrowly at the stars. It had been hours, hours in which he had sat, meditating at the crux of the diagram, his powerful mind sunk deeply into the exercise, his spirit walking along the ley lines, seeking the apex which would open a door into another world.

Infuriated beyond endurance at his own folly, and at the eyes he felt watching him now from every corner of the coliseum, Jaedin rose, black robes swirling about his feet, one clenched fist half-hidden by his side.

“Captain Dahk-Marr,” he ground out, a muscle working in his jaw, “I go to my chambers. See to it I am not disturbed!” He spun on one booted foot and stalked from the chambers, his heavy cloak snapping behind him in his furious wake, choosing to ignore the rising murmur of voices from the court. He would arrange to reward their…curiosity…later.

Rákkhed nodded once briefly, impersonally, then stepped closer then to the throne, turning his own cool gaze on the minions who scurried about, on the Sytherrian “nobility” whose presence was required at all important functions. He nodded toward two of his men. “Follow him, see to it no one interrupts his rest, on pain of death.”

The Captain of the Guard watched his Master go, a faint line of concern between his eyes.

Mattias stepped carefully across the diagram, through the “doorway” he had left for himself, and walked slowly across the room that Rien laughingly called his “sanctum.” He pushed open the heavy carved wooden doors, his mind automatically brushing aside the spells and wards that kept them sealed against intrusion, and stepped out into the chill night air. The distant smell of rain came to him, brought down the mountains by a cold autumn wind. As always, his feet took him around the parapet to the south wall, where he leaned on folded arms against the damp stone. Somewhere, down that winding narrow trail through the trees lay a low stone farmhouse…and Rien. Mattias focused his dark eyes, extending his senses.

A light glowed feebly, the single candle flame flicking in a slight draft. She was awake then, still. The cold night air bit into his damaged hands, and he tucked them into the warm sleeves of his black woolen robe, and turned to walk reluctantly back toward the laboratory entrance. The wind whipped the ragged ends of his long black hair loose from the leather thong he had used to bind it with, temporarily obscuring his vision. A fleeting image came to the mage, and he saw Rien bent over a small auburn haired little boy, asleep on the cot beside her bed. She drew the worn quilts up about the child’s shoulders, and held back her long loose hair as she bent to kiss his flushed cheek. Ander slept peacefully, undisturbed by the rising winds, and she straightened, lifting the candle. Her grey eyes were sad, and, he thought, tired.

“Oh, Rien,” Mattias thought bleakly, accepting the inevitable pain that always accompanied thoughts of the Healer. “In a different time and place I would not be parted from you.”

The mage sealed the heavy doors again behind him, and reassumed his position within the diagram, clearing the tangled pull of emotions from his mind. There was just time once more tonight before the storm swept down from the mountains, to seek another world.

Jaedin strode down the corridors, his foreboding expression even more remote than usual. The bitter silence of his rooms would be a welcome respite after the watchful eyes and petty intrigues of the court. The Sytherrian “nobility” never let an opportunity pass for a sly comment in the subtle game of cruelty they played, hoping to win their dark lord’s notice and approval, perhaps even his favor. Little did they know how he despised them all.

He slammed shut behind him the great metal doors of his private chambers, and slung his cloak to the floor. Though it was not time for his Sleep, Jaedin threw himself across the across the immense bed, canopied with black and gold silk hangings. He rolled onto his back, clasping his hands tightly behind his smoothly-shaven head.

Why could he not get her out of his mind? This despised faery princess with her great sea-green eyes….. Was it her tall cool proud beauty that intrigued him so, or the fierce way she defended her mind, her heart against him, shutting him out? There were other women court that he could—and had—taken for his pleasure, but none of them had captured his thoughts, had burned her poisoned way into his soul as this child had.

His eyes narrowed. Elowyn was no innocent child. She had danced before him, turning, twisting her lithe young body on the floor of his ballroom, her eyes daring him, challenging him to respond. And he had….

Memory surged back to him, the feel of her pale silken hair gliding smoothly through his fingers, her mouth, cold and hard growing warm and responsive under his, the way her soft feminine form had melted against his chest… Stop it! Jaedin roared, in the silence of his mind. He rolled over, burying his face into the coverlet of his bed, but the images continued, unbidden. They had danced together, each perfectly in step, her body light, a featherweight sprite in his arms, as though their thoughts had entwined themselves as his arms had entwined hers. He had been furious when the Lady of his court had interfered…Elowyn had been falling; he knew it with certainty. And then later, in this very chamber...he had sought again to bend her to his will, but this time using a very different set of methods. And there, for a very brief, fleeting moment, had tasted desire.

“Enough!” It was not until the ringing marble walls echoed back his shout did Jaedin realized the words had been spoken aloud. With a violent movement he erupted from the bed, pacing the room. This would never do; he could not surrender even so small a part of himself to this…this child…this enemy faery princess who enchanted him so. His lips curved in a faint dry smile. No, Jaedin…poor choice of words.

With a sigh he crossed his legs and sat down on the icy marble floor, a fluid, graceful movement of power and control, his black robes pooling about him. Jaedin shut his eyes, concentrating inward. He would meditate, and seek to clear her from his mind.

And outside, the storm struck like vengeful fury.

The ley line looked as mercury glass, a glimmering shining sharp line, etched in front of him. Though a tiny corner of his mind knew the lines were only chalk, drawn on a stone floor, they now appeared as silver strands of web, stretching throughout the void between worlds. Again he came to a crossroads. Here, the powers of a mage were null; he must rely on instinct, on training…but no one had walked the lines between worlds in ages; it was a dangerous path. A mage could easily lose his way, wandering the void forever, unable to return home, unable to die. He paused, considering, reaching out along the silver-grey strands. Down this one, naught but silence, down this one…echoes. Echoes of anger, of intelligence, of an undercurrent of fear and loss. Mattias paused. The echoes were unlike anything he had sensed. Perhaps this node was an Apex, a gate between worlds. He set off down the path.

There was an impression now. This line did indeed lead to another world, a world not unlike his own, but with far stronger magic woven into its aura. The vibrations he sensed were coming from someone who too was immersed in meditation, someone who knew the disciplines and techniques. Curiosity is the bane of all mages…he walked unhesitatingly toward those thoughts.

Jaedin was unaware of the coldness of the floor seeping into his body, slowing his heart, stilling his breath. Never before tonight had he experienced such a deep, profound state of meditation. Unknown to him, two worlds moved closer together, two storms of seething energy surrounded two men, very far apart in other ways. He became aware of a presence near him, an impression of great intelligence, of dispassionate observation. Like some feral hunting cat, Jaedin turned his head, seeking the source of this impression, his hooded eyes searching.

It was a man, a man like himself, a man of power, who radiated command. A man of immense age, whose deeds and past were black with the scent of old blood, of evil. “Who are you?” Mattias thought at him.

Grey eyes, tinged with violet at the edges, focused. A man, then, a magic-user as well, but not one of this world. He raised an eyebrow. I command here. You are in my fortress. What is it you seek, stranger?

Mattias studied him. The words were arrogant, assured. A wry smile touched his grim face. A challenge indeed. As you can tell, I am a visitor. A mage, powerful enough to walk the void, and seek another world.

Begone, mage, Jaedin snarled. I’ve no use for you, nor your words tonight. I have problems enough of my own, and you are not welcome here.

The words were harsh, but beneath them lay the edges of a raw wound. A woman.

There was no question in the stranger’s voice, and Jaedin watched him warily. He had the impression of rigid discipline, and of coolly observant, obsidian eyes. A woman, yes. He probed, cautiously, sensing carefully concealed scarred depths of old grief and loneliness. And that is something you understand only too well yourself, mage, he sneered.

Mattias blinked, the only outward sign of surprise. This man, this “Dark Lord”, for that was how he thought of himself, could seemingly read his soul as well, and was only too accurate. Yes. I too mourn a woman I cannot have.

Then more fool you, sneered Jaedin, for I will possess my quarry in the end. She will not escape me.

Mattias shook his head. I will not pursue the woman I love, I will not condemn her to the pain and ostracism she would feel, were she to love me. You seem not to care, about this woman you...desire.

Jaedin circled him, soundless in this mysterious place, suspended from time and the corporeal world of matter. No, I do not care for her. She will be my prisoner; I will force her to submit to my will.

Yet you do feel something for her, the mage’s mind probed. She has disturbed you in ways you thought would never happen—were not even possible. He turned, watching the Dark Lord’s controlled, authoritative movements, his face calm, certain. You want her for yourself.

I will give her to my Dark Queen, and she will reward me with power, with treasure beyond your limited imagination.

And will you be happy, then?

I have no need of happiness, mage. I have what I desire.

In the end, power is nothing but dust.

Jaedin laughed, a bitter, dryly amused sound. What would you suggest, mage, that I marry this chit? Live an eternity at her side, in sweet bliss? he sneered.

Mattias smiled faintly. You suggested it, my friend. In the end, evil falls. It is always so.

Not this time. And what of yourself, mage? Will you so calmly go to your death, never having the courage to tell this woman of your own desires?

He turned away, pain evident in his tone. She would not want me, Dark Lord.

Jaedin laughed shortly. Nor would mine, were I so foolish as to offer her my heart.

For a moment, the two men faced each other, truth plainly etched in the brittle shards of the words between them, then Mattias raised his hand in salute. I cannot linger here, the forces that let me walk this path between the stars are fading, and I must return home. Think on my words, Dark Lord.

Be a man, mage. Take the woman you want, and tell the world to go to the blazes. And never return here again to disturb me.

Mattias inclined his head and stepped backwards, fading, the contact broken.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

He became aware he lay cold, stretched upon the hard marble floor. Jaedin drew his legs under him and rose, walking stiffly toward the bed. It had been a dream, a product of his subconscious, yet the mage’s words lingered on.

…and will you be happy, then?

Shaking his head, he turned and left the chamber, seeking the Antari. There was quarry to pursue.

And far away, on a distant world where winds brought the first hint of snowfall, Mattias sat staring into the flames of the hearth, a glass of wine untouched beside him.

This crossover story is based on

True Hate and True Love.

To read Kates’ original fiction, click on Jaedin’s eyes.

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