"Music of the Soul" BY;Fjm

Castle Dilis was burning.  Dwoars, the ugly, short, piggish, soulless people, were everywhere, overrunning it.  The Elves fought back valiantly.  It was their last stand and they did battle with the resolution of knowing if they lost now, they lost forever.  They had to win with the soldiers who were here.  There were no reinforcements to come.  It was a desperate battle.
The royal family had been forced back farther and farther into the castle.  They did not know how the battle outside fared.  King Arnou found this greatly distasteful.  He should be at the front lines, leading the battle, not hiding in the servants’ passages.
Kyrril, officially the court musician, but also the king’s greatest assassin and spy was covering their backs.  His longbow twanged regularly.  His distinctive gold edged, red arrows found their marks in the eyes and hearts of any Dwoars who got too close.  But his arrows were running low, and the Dwoars kept coming.  Finally the arrows were gone, just as a swarm of twenty or more Dwoars appeared in the hallway.  Kyrril gritted his teeth, and drew his knives.  He hated hand to hand combat, but he would do anything for the king he served.
“Run!  Go now!” Kyrril yelled to the royal family.
“Kyrril, no!” the queen cried.
Kyrril looked back, his green eyes blazing fiercely.  Queen Meriel could not argue with that look.  Her husband put an arm over her shoulders and led her through the next door to a servants’ passage.  He glanced back to see Kyrril fighting the Dwoars, his knives a blur of steel.  Then the door closed and they ran.
Kyrril fought with everything he was worth.  His daggers were double-edged and razor sharp.  They cut through even the tough Dwoar hide easily enough, but there were so many of them.  He was backed up against the wall, with nowhere to run.  At least they could not get behind him.  He kicked a snout, and stabbed at another, while blocking a short sword from a third.  The pile of dead and wounded Dwoars was growing around him.  He hated to admit he was growing tired.
He had a surge of hope when he realized there were only five left.  He just might win this battle.  He lashed out with renewed strength, but it was short lived.  Another dozen approached from the stairs.  Among them was the largest specimen he had ever seen.  The other Dwoars cleared aside to make room for him.  Kyrril panted.  He stood, knives ready.
“Heh, heh, heh.  Little Elf,” the giant Dwoar chortled.
Kyrril was miffed.  At 6’2”, he was tall, even by Elven standards.  And he was certainly still a head and shoulders taller than this Dwoar.  “Bring it on,” he growled in reply.
The two circled each other, stepping over, around and even on the fallen Dwoars.  They made a few feinted lunges, and then their blades clashed in earnest.  The Dwoar must have weighed at least twice what Kyrril did, and used that weight to his advantage.  Kyrril was lighter and more agile, but the piles of dead bodies hampered his movement.  There was no denying it now, he was tired.  His knives were chipped and dented from blocking the Dwoars’ heavier blade.  Blood was running down Kyrril’s arms and legs from the many nicks he had received.  Even so, that many small cuts eventually take their toll on a body.  With the blood on his hand making the hilt slick, a heavy blow from the Dwoar sent one knife skittering away.  Kyrril stepped in close to the burley Dwoar and shoved his other knife deep into his chest.  The Dwoar coughed blood into Kyrril’s face.  Kyrril broke free, rolling to grab his other knife, and wipe the blood out of his eyes.
It wasn’t until he stood, that he noticed the deep gash in his side where the Dwoar’s sword had connected.  There was no time to worry about it now.  The Dwoars were regrouping to come after him again.  Kyrril put his back to the wall once more.  He ended up leaning against it as the room spun sickeningly.  He found he could not keep his knives up.  His arms were heavy and his head felt thick.  His side was on fire.  His knees gave out and he fell, knives still in hand.  He retched, the pain of the convulsion making him scream.  He could stay up no longer.  He fell on his side, clutching the burning wound.  He curled up, and screamed again.  He expected a swift end now.  Dwoar swords would surely finish him off, but he felt no pain other than the burning and throbbing from that last cut.  A final thought passed through his mind as darkness claimed him: poison.

Kyrril lost consciousness before seeing his salvation.  A group of Elven soldiers burst into the hallway and made short work of the remaining Dwoars, the last in the castle.  They had won, but at a very high cost.  Over half their number were dead, but all the Dwoars were killed as the battle wrapped up.  A couple of soldiers paused by Kyrril.  He did not appear to be breathing.  He was surrounded by nearly 50 dead Dwoars, many by arrows, over half with knife wounds.  A few others found the entrance to the servant’s passage the royal family had gone down.  The soldiers called down the hallway and soon the royals returned to the room. A field medic was already tending Kyrril’s many injuries.
“Did… did he do all this?” the queen asked, indicating the pile of dead Dwoars.
One of the soldiers nodded.  “As far as we know.  We arrived just as he collapsed.  We finished off only a few.  Most of these were already dead or dying.”
Queen Meriel knelt down by Kyrril’s head.  She brushed his red tinted, golden brown hair away from his face.
“He still lives?” King Arnou asked.
“Yes, sire.  Barely.  I don’t know for how long.  It appears the worst wound was also poisoned.”
“It does not matter.  Make sure he gets the best care possible. Kyrril is dear to me.”
A week later, Kyrril was settled in bed in a room by himself.  His wounds had barely closed and were healing slowly.  His body was wracked by a high fever the healers tried hard to fight, but to no avail.  Several times, they thought they would lose him, but he continued gasping for breath.  King Arnou visited as often as his duties would allow, which was not nearly often enough for his taste.  Queen Meriel stayed near him as much as possible.  There were times she begged him to stop fighting and go to the Eternal Kingdom instead of continuing to suffer here, but he struggled on.
Months passed.  His wounds healed, but still he did not wake.  Finally, one afternoon two seasons after the battle, the fever broke.  Meriel dried his face of the sweat beaded there.  Kyrril’s breathing deepened and steadied and soon he slept deeply.  He did not truly wake for another couple of days.

“Are my eyes open?” Kyrril croaked softly.
“Yes,” Queen Meriel answered, trying not to let her shock at the now milky white appearance of his eyes show.
“Are they bandaged?”
“No.”
Kyrril sighed.  “Then I am blind.  Very well.”
“Can you see nothing?”
“Light and dark.  Some vague forms.”  Kyrril shook his head slowly.  “It is good that I can play by feel and don’t need to see music sheets,” he said, chuckling softly
Meriel smiled.  At least he kept his positive outlook.  She knew too many who had suffered maiming wounds and fallen to despair.  “Can I get you anything?”
“Something to drink.  Maybe some food?  Just broth… I don’t think I could keep much else down at the moment.”
“All right.  I’ll be back.”
She patted his shoulder before leaving.  Kyrril closed his eyes and she found him resting when she returned.  Meriel called his name softly and he opened his eyes, useless though they were.  She helped him drink.  He tried to feed himself, but only made a mess.  He was too weak to even get the spoon to his mouth.  Despite his protest, the queen took the bowl and spoon from him and fed him until he declared he was full, thanked her, and fell asleep once more.
When Kyrril woke next, he lay still and concentrated on listening, smelling and even feeling the very air around him.  He determined he was alone in a room with no windows.  He guessed the door was open a crack by the slight movement of air around him.  Then he heard the door open further and could make out a dark form standing in the white light of the entryway.
“Who’s there?” he asked amiably.
“Queen Meriel.”
“Greetings, Majesty.”
“You’re looking better today.  More color in your face.”  She came over and took his hand in hers.  “We were so worried. Arnou said you fought like a Dark One when the Dwoars came and you made us run.  When the fighting was over and we found you, we thought you were dead.  You were cut up so badly and it didn’t look like you were breathing.”  She choked and covered her face with her free hand.
Kyrril gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.  “It’s alright.  I survived.  And I will still serve, blind or not.”
“Oh, Kyrril…”
“What of the others?”
“Dilis’ population is nearly halved.  King Arnou is still working to make sense of the mess that has been left us.  The prince was sent to the High King to keep him out from underfoot here.  I think he is more traumatized than he is letting on.  Jeerol willing, the time away will do him good.”
Kyrril could sense that there was more.  Her son may have been traumatized, but she was too. He could practically taste her stress.  “You need a song,” he murmured.  “Bring my flute.”
With out question, the queen stood and left the room.  She returned a short while later with his ornate reed flute.  He gave her his thanks, blew a couple of notes, then closed his eyes and played.  As was his custom, he did not play a known song, but played the music that welled up from some place deep inside him.  He lost himself in the melody, sure that whatever it was, it was exactly what his queen needed to hear.  Somewhere, far off, he was aware of her sobbing, but he continued playing.  He never knew how much time passed when he played like this.  Only that he played as long as was necessary.  Finally the tune died out.  He lowered the flute then felt Meriel’s hand on his cheek.
“Thank you, Kyrril.  As always…”
Kyrril smiled.  “As I said. I may be blind, but I will still serve.”
They spent a few minutes in silence then Kyrril asked, “I am in a room with no windows?”
At first the queen only nodded, then blushed and spoke, “Yes.  You’re in one of the inner chambers.  Would you like to move?”
“I would.  I want to feel the sun, and hear the going-ons outside.”
“I think we can arrange that.  Let me check with the healers.”
The change of rooms was approved later that day.  During the move, Kyrril tried to walk, being led by the queen, but found his body too weak to get far on his own.  A few of the healers helped carry him to his new room.  The chamber had large glass doors that opened onto a balcony overlooking the castle and town below.  Kyrril spent the rest of the day listening, smelling and even feeling the world outside those doors.  Each day the sun shone, he was brought out onto the balcony to spend a few hours sitting.
One evening, as the queen came to help him back to bed, he asked her to wait.  “Tell me about the sunset,” he quietly requested.
Her hand rested on his as she described the fire of the sun, the color of the clouds, the darkening sky and appearance of the stars.  She suddenly stopped when she felt him shudder.  “Oh Kyrril… I’m sorry.”  She held him close as he cried.  Tears ran freely down his cheeks from his now solid white eyes.  He composed himself a while later and she helped him back to his bed.  In all the time they knew each other, it was the only time she ever saw him cry.

After a full month of bed rest to recover from his wounds and become accustomed to using his ears and nose as his primary senses, one of the healers brought him a straight, stout stick.
“I’m blind, not a cripple,” Kyrril stated, slightly irritably.
“Well fine, if you WANT to bash your shins into things and fall down stairs, go ahead and try getting around with out it.”
Kyrril blushed slightly, realizing he’d been hasty in his judgment.
“Come on.  Get up.  Time for you to get your legs working again.”
The blind musician found he really did need the support offered by the staff for several days until his strength began to return.  Once he could walk several times around his room, he began to explore the hallways of the castle.  He learned to sweep the staff back and forth slightly in front of him to warn him of obstacles.  He found himself unconsciously counting the steps between places.  He quickly memorized where the few rough spots in the halls were.  It was not long before he was walking alone through the castle and surrounding gardens.
People visited him frequently, and he soon learned to recognize many by the way they moved and breathed.  Some of the servants and even healers turned this into a game, trying to sneak around him, or even pretend to be someone else.  He soon became adept and caught them every time.  As quickly as he could, he was back in court, playing his music for the royal family and courtiers.  He never covered his strange, milky eyes, bearing his war wounds with out regret.
The months passed and though he kept the staff with him, he rarely used it inside the castle.  He knew his way around and his hearing was keen enough to catch most people before he might bump them.  The only trouble he had was when occasionally something was out of place, but even then, he often sensed its presence in time to use the staff to explore first.  Usually, about the time he tapped it, someone was there to help guide him around.  At first, the help people insisted upon offering was irritating, but he came to appreciate it, secure in the knowledge that they did so out of care, not condescension.

Several years passed and over that time, except for the haunting appearance of his white eyes, some even doubted that he was blind as he got around easily.  Many thought his music was of even higher quality since the final battle and his injury.  He found that while he had been something of an elitist before the war, he now wanted to know everyone at the castle.  Each and every one of the lives there was precious.
There was one servant who remained a mystery.  He was pretty sure it was a woman.  He recognized her by her quick scurrying along the walls and often ragged breathing.  He knew she kept herself cloaked.  She seemed to always be in a hurry and he never had a chance to speak with her, though he tried.  He was not sure if it was her apparent devotion to her work, or just the mystery of her that drew him.
He finally got the chance to meet her one day in the Queen’s chamber.  Meriel had requested he play for her.  Only she and a few handmaidens were present.  Kyrril concentrated first on his queen and played music for her.  Then he allowed his senses to wander and played for each of the others.  He knew when he’d reached the odd, cloaked girl.  He had not known she was one of his queen’s attendants.  While still beautiful, the melody took on an eerie, hunting quality.  He was aware of the women looking at each other, wondering whose music he was playing now.
Suddenly, the cloaked girl screamed, “Stop!  Stop it!  Do not play for me.”
Kyrril stopped suddenly, his head snapping up.  Had he been able to see, he would have been looking right at the girl who had collapsed near the wall, shaking.
“Everyone, leave us.  Kyrril, stay please.”  The queen went over to the cloaked girl and took her by the shoulders, holding her close.  “Vessas, it’s all right.  It’s only music.”
Vessas choked, “No, milady.  It’s more than that.  He… he plays our souls!”
Kyrril had been about to begin playing something soothing to try to calm the traumatized girl, but upon hearing the fear in her voice, he opted to remain silent.
“It is true, Vessas.  Kyrril has an uncanny knack for playing exactly what we need to hear, a talent that has only increased with the loss of his vision, but there is nothing bad about it.  It is only music.”
“I don’t WANT to remember!  Do not play for me.  Never play for me,” she admonished the musician.
Kyrril bowed to her, “Forgive me, Lady.  I often do not know what I play.  I only play what comes to me.  I did not mean to cause you undue stress.”  He could hear her gasping, trying to control her emotions.  He again wondered what caused the odd wheezing he heard through her.
Though Kyrril could not see it, Vessas sent a pleading look towards the queen.  He could however feel the tension.
“Perhaps, it would be best if you left us as well, Kyrril.  I’m sorry,” the queen said.
“Do not apologize, Majesty.”  Kyrril said, standing.  He gave a bow.  “Your Majesty, Lady Vessas.”  He left them and went to walk in the gardens.
Kyrril found a place near one of the fountains, under the fragrant trees and sat on a rock.  He drew out his flute and began to play.  He played a few tunes he had learned over the years, then relaxed.  He felt the music deep inside and let it flow out, through his lungs and fingers.  He played for himself, for his home, the Elves, the land.  He played for the joy of playing.  He played his thanksgiving to Jeerol for life, his own and all the lives around him, from the people to animals to plants to the very earth he sat upon.  Time lost meaning as he lost himself in the music.  He was finally roused late into the night by the queen touching his shoulder and calling his name.
“Kyrril!  Come, silly.  It’s well past dinner and bedtime.  You’ve been playing all afternoon and most of the night.”
Kyrril blinked, feeling time catch up with him again.  He took stock of his surroundings.  He was outside, near water and trees.  It was dark out.  Someone was nearby, with a lantern, talking to him.  It was the queen.  What had she just said?  She was laughing as she dragged him to his feet.
“I sent for you long ago, but no one could figure out where you were playing from.  We figured as long as you were playing, you must be all right.  But it is very late now.”
Kyrril chuckled.
Meriel led him back inside and spoke as they walked.  “We’re having a hunting trip in a few days.  I would like it if you joined us.”
Kyrril gave Queen Meriel an odd look, strangely expressive even in his blindness.  “I will come, but…” He could sense her concern.  He sighed.  “I have not even touched a weapon since the final battle.”
“I know, but we would like you to come play for us.  To celebrate the kills and the ones that get away.”
“I said I would come.  I just… I haven’t even thought about hunting in over a year.  I think I am quite resigned to my roll as solely a musician now.”
Meriel gave him a hug.  “But you are so much more than that.  I think your melodies have kept us all sane.  You are a most excellent counselor and you don’t even say a word.”
“Except for Lady Vessas,” he said ruefully.
“Do not worry about her, Kyrril.  She had a… very rough encounter during that last battle.  And, like you, she bears the physical scars, but unlike you, she has not come to terms with them yet.”
“I see.”  Kyrril suddenly laughed, realizing what he just said.
By this time, they had arrived at his room.  There was a plate of food waiting for him.  He sat to eat, and the queen left.

Two weeks later, the hunt was well underway.  Kyrril found himself mostly alone in the camp while others went out hunting.  He sat in the sunlight, fingering his bow.  He had hardly touched it since the battle that stole his vision.  He did not know why he brought it.  He could not hit a target.  He’d tried once.  The results had been comical despite the best efforts of those around him to guide his aim.  He clenched his teeth in frustration.  There had been a time when there was no target he could not hit.  He sighed and forced himself to relax.  Jeerol had taken his vision, and though he did not understand why, he tried to accept the One God’s actions graciously.  He did not always succeed.
Suddenly, he heard the sound of approaching hooves.  The pattern was wrong to be a horse.  It sounded like… deer!  It was dashing out of the woods, into the meadow where they had set camp.  He did not hear sounds of pursuit.  With out really giving thought to his actions, he picked up an arrow and nocked it to his bow.  He drew back and was surprised at the protest his muscles gave.  They had not been used in this way in over three years.  He concentrated on the sound of the deer.  It sounded large, probably a stag.  He waited for just a moment, listening around and beyond, trying as best he could to be sure no one else was around, so that should he miss the stag, he might not accidentally hit them.  It seemed clear.  He adjusted his aim slightly to give room for wind and the stag’s movement, and loosed.
He heard the distinctive sound of an arrow striking flesh.  He was thrilled that he had hit, but was it a fatal shot or had he only wounded the animal?  He did not hear further hoof beats.  He did hear a voice though.
“Dear God of All!  Kyrril?  Did you just launch that arrow?” he heard a male voice ask excitedly.
“I did.  Where did I strike?”
“Straight through the heart!”
Kyrril blinked.  He found that hard to believe.  “Take me to it… Lanny.”
There was a pause.  Then Kyrril felt a hand brush by his face, he leaned back slightly, but did not blink.
“Are you SURE you can’t see?”
Kyrril grimaced ruefully.  “Positive.  Which is why I need you to take me to the deer.”
Lanny laughed and took Kyrril’s hand, leading him out into the meadow.  Lanny led him well, and Kyrril never stumbled once.  They arrived at the deer.  Kyrril knelt down and felt it.  It was indeed a stag, with a large set of antlers.  He felt a little badly that he had ended the life of such a magnificent animal.  He whispered thanks to the deer for giving its life that they might eat.  His hands ran down its neck and to its chest.  Sure enough, the arrow had struck the animal’s heart.  He grasped the arrow and felt it.  He wanted to be sure the arrow was his, that this was not a trick being played and someone else had in fact shot the deer.  He recognized the ever so faint carving along the shaft.  It was his.  He smiled.
“Lanny, we need to get it dressed and maybe start roasting it, have food ready for the party when they return.”
“But, Kyrril, there’s already food cooking.  And they need to see this shot.  No one’s going to believe it!”
“Then let’s at least get it field dressed.  We don’t want to ruin the meat just because a blind musician got lucky.”
Lanny called a few others over to help.  One of the helpers was the handmaiden, Vessas.  Lanny had to tell the story of what he’d seen several times and even then, many were not sure they believed.  The deer was drained of blood and brought back to camp.  It wasn’t much longer before other hunters began returning.  The official telling of the tale was held when all were back at camp and accounted for.  Lanny spruced up the story some, but still kept it simple.  Several of the hunters were jealous as they recognized the antlers and knew they’d been chasing the animal for days.  But none would deny Kyrril the glory of his kill.
That evening, Kyrril played the music of the hunt, giving background music for each story told.  Kyrril’s music provided an infallible method of telling when a hunter colored the truth by deviating off the melody into a strident screech.  Such screeches were met with laughter around the campfire and the culprit was made to amend his story.
Late that night, as most were retreating to their bedrolls, Kyrril felt someone approach quietly.  By the odd ragged breathing he knew who it was.
“Lady Vessas?”
“How… how do you know?”
“I listen.”
“But what makes me different from anyone else?”  There was almost an accusatory tone to her voice.
Kyrril paused, choosing his words carefully.  He did not want to frighten or anger her.  “Everyone has different patterns to how they move and breathe.  You are always in a cloak.  Even on a warm night full of fires such as this, or in the noonday sun in summer.  That is what usually tells me it is you.”
“You don’t really see our souls?”
Kyrril laughed softly.  “No.  What ever gave you that idea?”
“Just… just something the lower servants have spread around.  It’s silly.”
“I should say so.”
“Then what about the music?  How do you play people?”
“I… I don’t know.  It is a gift I have always had, one that I have cultivated more since losing my vision.  I just relax and… I hear the music inside me.  And then I play what I hear.”
“Do you hear it now?”
“I could listen.”  Kyrril picked up his flute.
“No!  Please don’t,” she begged.  “Don’t play me.”
Kyrril rarely wished he could see as badly as he did now.  He wanted desperately to look into her eyes, see if he could fathom what pain lay there.  Instead he reached out gently.  She backed up.  “Don’t.  Don’t touch me either.  Stay away from me,” she suddenly snapped.
Kyrril was taken aback.  “You came to me, Lady.”  He wasn’t sure she heard, for she had fled.  He sighed and crawled into his bedroll for the night.

Over the next weeks, back in Castle Dilis, Kyrril heard very little from Vessas.  He refrained from asking about her, though curiosity was killing him.  Then one evening, he was required to play for a diplomatic dinner King Arnou was holding.  Kyrril was about to enter the dining hall when the door suddenly burst open and someone crashed into him.  He caught the fleeing form, and took a few steps back to keep his balance.  It took him only a moment to recognize her.
“Lady Vessas?  What is wrong?”
The girl was shaking, clinging to his tunic.  Kyrril put his arms around her and held her for a moment.  He did not need to try in order to hear the discordant music playing within him and knew that it came from her.  Never had he heard such terrible sounds.  Something had upset the girl terribly.
“Please, tell me.  What happened?  Is there anything I can do?”  The passion in his own voice surprised him.
“J-just take me to my room,” she managed to get out.  Kyrril was about to turn, when he heard the dining hall door open once more.  He was going to pay it no heed, but a sneering voice made him pause.
“Awww, isn’t this sweet?  The blind servant and the maimed wench: what a perfect pair.”
Kyrril did not recognize the male voice.  Obviously, the speaker did not know anything about him.  Kyrril was, in fact, a titled lesser noble.  He felt Vessas clutch more tightly to him.  “Who are you?” he demanded.
The sneering voice just laughed, but Vessas answered quietly.  Muffled by his tunic and her cloak, but his keen ears heard her.  “Lord Damien Earthhallow, once my fiancé, until he saw my face after the war.  Then he said he had seen prettier bitches on the streets of human cities and would not have me.  Just now he was asking why I even bothered pretending I was still a lady.”
Kyrril tightened his grip on the girl, but raised his blank eyes to meet those of the young Lord’s.  His voice was icy cold, reminiscent of the fact that he had once been the king’s assassin.  The fire that had once burned in his green eyes returned, despite their milky whiteness.  “How DARE you,” Kyrril snarled.  “You will apologize to the lady at once.”
Lord Damien’s eyes were locked by Kyrril’s.  He could not look away.  And he was compelled to obey.  “I… I am sorry milady.”
“Now, leave this place.  And never return to Dilis again.  If you do, I will hunt you down.  And if I ever hear that you have so much as made a snide comment in passing about ANY woman EVER again, I will find you.  And you will know what it is to live maimed.  Now get out of our home,” Kyrril ordered.
The young lord never questioned the order.  He was told, and he left immediately, not even bothering to pack his belongings.
Kyrril stood, quivering with rage, his whole body tense as a bowstring.  His anger was called into check by Vessas’ voice.  “Thank you, Kyrril.”
Kyrril placed a hand gently under her chin, his fingers cupping her cheek as he made her look up at him.  He could feel that her skin was anything but smooth.  Terribly scarred.  He guessed burns.  She looked up into his milky eyes, but rather than horrified at his look and touch, she felt safe and calm.  Kyrril was glad to hear the music leveling, becoming more peaceful.
“If anyone EVER dares insult you like that again… Come to me.  Please.”
She suddenly pulled away from him.  “Why?  So the crippled wretches can stick together?  Safety in numbers, is that it?”
“No.  Because I will kill anyone who dares insult such a beautiful young lady.”
“HA!”  Her laugh was a cold, hard bark.  “I’m not beautiful.  I may have been once.  You can’t see what I look like.  How would you know?” she demanded bitterly.
“I do know.  I felt your face.  You have fine high cheekbones, a well-shaped nose.  Large eyes that I am sure flash with fire when you are roused.  And, I can sense the beauty deep inside.  Your music… it is broken and discordant now, but there are hints of a beautiful melody deep in there.  I’m sure it was there before, and it can be found again.”
“You and your music,” she sneered derisively.  “I will not tell you again never to play me.”
“I do not intend to, Lady Vessas.  Do you still wish an escort to you room?”
“I think I can make it there on my own just fine.”  Suddenly her voice softened slightly, “And you have a dinner to get to, do you not?”
Kyrril nodded.  “Have you eaten milady?”
“I’ve lost my appetite.”
“Allow me to at least have one of the servants bring you something?”
Vessas sighed.  “Do what you will.  I care not.”
Kyrril gave her a bow, then went back through the dining hall doors.  He played one song before he motioned a servant over and asked them politely to see that Lady Vessas was brought food and drink.  The servant nodded, bowed and hurried away.
A few days later, Kyrril was called into the king’s audience chamber.  As soon as he entered, he knew they were alone.
“You sent for me, Sire?”
“Yes.  Kyrril, I received information today stating that you threatened a lord.”
“Damien Earthhallow?”
“Ah good, so you know whereof I speak.  What happened?”
Kyrril explained what had occurred outside the dining hall that night.  He spoke boldly and with out remorse.  Arnou saw the flicker return to Kyrril’s eyes.
“You know I trust your judgment, but you can not threaten to maim a lord.  I would not say anything, but I know you never make promises you don’t intend to keep.”
“You are right.  I do not.  As long as Lord Earthhallow behaves himself, it will not be an issue.”
The king gave an exasperated sigh.
“But I will try to contain my wrath,” Kyrril added.
“Thank you.  You are dismissed.”

Over the next month, Kyrril was aware of Vessas haunting him.  She always kept just out of speaking range, but he knew she stalked him.  He wasn’t sure if he should be disturbed or amused.  He wondered why she did it, but did not ask.  He did his best to be careful not to play the music he heard when he knew she was near.
One day he was alone in the garden and lost in his music.  Once again he was playing for the joy of playing.  He was vaguely aware of Vessas’ approach, but was already too deep in the music to control his playing.  Despite his promises and best efforts, the underlying melody that was Vessas’ melody came through.  She heard and approached.  Vessas listened with a mixture of feelings, the foremost of which was a deep sadness.  She listened and remembered.  She went through happy memories of early childhood and adolescence.  She thought her young adult years had been pleasant enough, but now she was no longer sure.  Then the music changed, following the trail of the horrors of the war.
Vessas began to tremble.  She covered her ears.  “Stop.  Kyrril, stop!  Don’t play anymore!”
Kyrril was oblivious and continued playing.  Finally in desperation, she balled up a fist and hit Kyrril in the jaw, hard enough to send him backwards off the log he was perched on.  Kyrril sat on the damp ground thoroughly confused.  His white eyes blinked, he listened and heard only harsh words coming out through wheezing breath.  Vessas’ tirade to Kyrril about never playing her abruptly ceased as she realized Kyrril was still looking lost and confused.
“Kyrril?”
“Vessas?  What… happened?”
“You were playing my music.”
Kyrril shrank back just a little.  “Vessas, I’m sorry!  I did not even realize you had come.  I would have stopped if I’d known.”
“I… I know.  I think I realize this now.”  She reached down, over the log.  “Here, let me help you up.”  She took his hand and helped haul him to his feet.  She saw the bruise spreading over his cheek as he fingered it lightly.  “Oh…” she moaned.  “I’m sorry.  I shouldn’t have hit you.”
Kyrril gently placed a finger against her mouth, stopping her.  “No.  I promised never to play your music and I broke that promise.  You were with in your rights.  Besides, when I am that deeply lost in the music, it is virtually the only way you can get my attention.”  Even now he could still hear her music.  She was as confused and lost as he’d been a moment before, but for different reasons.  He sat back down on the log.  He was surprised to feel her sit beside him.
“Don’t play, but tell me.  What do you hear?”
Kyrril thought silently for a moment.  “I hear great beauty, hidden under great pain.  I have been trying to listen to that underlying melody, but the pain often drowns it out.”
“I don’t understand the Queen.  She is under huge amounts of stress.  She feels the people’s pain like her own.  And yet she enjoys listening to you play.  Whereas me… I can hardly stand to listen when you play for someone else.”
“I don’t know how to answer that, milady.  I only know she feels stronger, more able to take on the rest of the world after she does.  But she also allows me to finish.”  He gave her a roguish grin with that last statement.
“Are you saying I need to listen all the way through?”
“Perhaps.”
“I’ve been listening to you,” she said quietly.
“I know.  You’ve been stalking me.  I’ve felt you in the room with me, but you never came close enough to talk to.”
“Why?” she suddenly asked.  “Why do you insist on tormenting me so?”
“What?  Vessas, I don’t know what you mean.”
“Ever since I began walking the halls again after the last battle… and the fire… YOU have stalked ME.  You say you don’t want to play my music, but you do.  You frightened off Lord Earthhallow, though I’ll never understand how you did that.  And you touched me… and said I was beautiful.”  The last was added very softly, but Kyrril heard.
“The war with the Dwoars taught me that life is beautiful.  I realized I was surrounded by people and did not know who any of them were.  When I lost my vision I was dependent upon others.  I think Jeerol wanted to teach me humility.  I realized I’d been very alone before, but never lonely because I had my work.  But now, I can do little and so I started making friends to combat the loneliness.  Besides, I like knowing who’s around me, and to know who they were, I had to talk to them.  But you would never let me talk to you.  You were always in a hurry.  It seemed you were even avoiding me.  Something I did not doubt until this last month when it seemed everywhere I went, you were there.  I have done more than my fair share of killing; it is time I began healing.  And if my music can provide some comfort to others, then I am more than happy to oblige.”  Vessas remained silent.  He tentatively reached over and touched the young lady.  “Vessas?”
She shrugged out of his reach and left him.  He thought he could hear her crying as she ran away.  He felt a dull ache in his chest he’d never been aware of before.  He wanted so much to help her, but she would not allow herself to be helped.  He picked his way out of the garden and back to the castle, using his staff to guide him, though he had this particular path well memorized.  He went to his room to be alone and think.
Kyrril did not see Vessas at all over the next few days.  He called it curiosity, but he knew it was worry when he finally asked Queen Meriel.
“Is Vessas still here?  In Dilis I mean.”
“Oh yes.  She’s around.  Why do you ask?”
“Um… curiosity.  Last month it seemed I could not get away from her, and just the last few days I have not sensed her at all.”  Though he could not see, he felt the odd look the queen was giving him.  “What?”
“Nothing… nothing,” she answered lightly.
He glowered playfully.

Early the next day he was surprised to receive a message from Vessas via one of the other servants.  She was requesting he join her in a very secluded part of one of the gardens.  She also specifically requested he bring his flute.  Uncertain of what she intended, he went.  She was waiting in a sunlit glen, cut off from the rest of the castle and garden by trees and flowering bushes.  She rose and helped him find the small break to get in.  He could tell by the slight raggedness of her breathing that she had been crying only moments before.
“Are you all right, Vessas?” he asked gently.
“No.  That is why I asked you to come.  I’m desperate Kyrril.  I can’t live like this anymore.”
Kyrril was concerned.  He wasn’t sure what she wanted.  The music he heard was frightening.  It felt like glass being thrown and shattering.
“I will try to help in any way I can.  What do you require of me?”
“Play.  Play for me.  Play what you find in my soul.  Don’t stop, even if I change my mind later.  Make me listen to all of it.  Take this pain from me.  Heal me as you heal our queen,” she begged.
“I can play, but I can not take the pain away.  Only you can do that.  You must release it of your own free will.  But the music may help.”
“I don’t care.  I don’t know what else to do.  Just… just try.  Please.”
Kyrril gave a slow nod, sat and put his flute to his lips.  He felt deep down and found the beautiful melody that was Vessas’ under the pain.  He listened for a moment, then began to play.  Kyrril was quickly lost to the music.
Vessas allowed herself to fall into her own memories.  The music brought them all flooding forth, good and bad.  She looked at each and set some aside fondly, and shoved others away from her disgustedly.  But those would return and press on her until she made her peace with them.  The bad memories became more frequent and more frightening the closer they came to the present.
Finally, Kyrril could control the melody no longer.  He played the agonizing, discordant, shattered song.  Some part of him was aware of Vessas screaming.  The notes from the flute mingled with her cries into an absurd and horrific sound that only a few heard and none could understand.  Unknown hours passed and still the awful song and sobs continued.  Slowly the tune became mellow, more relaxed.  Kyrril felt something in his lap, but was helpless to act on it.  The music still held him.  Slowly, the beautiful tune he’d always heard below everything else came forward, stronger, and more emphatic, chasing away all other chords.  Soon it was pure.  He played it soft and low and began to come back to himself.  He continued playing.  He did not know how much time had passed, but he was beginning to feel exhaustion deep inside himself.  He wondered idly how much time had passed.  It could have been a few minutes, or several days.
He knew Vessas was asleep, her head in his lap.  After a while he felt her stir, and the music inside was silenced.  He was fully aware of his surroundings again, fully aware that Vessas was awake.
Vessas lingered where she was, comfortable in her nearness to Kyrril.  She gave a soft, shuddering sigh, and then he felt her touch his cheek.  “Thank you,” she whispered.
Kyrril took her hand and gently kissed the back of it.  “Glad to be of service, Lady Vessas.”
She entwined her fingers with his, but did not otherwise move.  He leaned back against a tree and they both slept as they were, serenaded now only by the soft chirps of nocturnal creatures.

They were woken by the singing of birds at dawn, but neither stirred until the sunlight warmed their faces.  Vessas sat up, but her hand remained clasped with Kyrril’s.  “Did you sleep well?” she asked him.
“Well enough.  But I think you put my legs to sleep!”  He laughed as he tried to rub some life back into them.  He halted her attempts at apologies by asking seriously, “How are you?”
She paused and thought for a moment.  “Better.  Not perfect, there is still some healing to do, but… I think I’m on the right path now.”
“Good.”
She leaned over and kissed his cheek.  “Thank you.  Thank you for your music, and especially for your patience with me.  I’m sorry for all the times I’ve been rude to you.”
Kyrril felt a strange tingly thrill surge through his body at that little kiss.  He held her for just a moment as he said, “It’s all right.  Such is the price of being a confidant.”  He brushed the back of his fingers against her face in a gentle caress. “Do you mind telling me what happened?”
“I’d rather not-“ She began to object, but then paused and amended, “All right.”
She then told him how when the Dwoars had set fire to the castle, she was trapped in the wing that was burning.  “I tried to get out, but I couldn’t.  There were either flames or Dwoars or both.  I finally found one of the servants’ passages and tried to get out that way, but the passage caught fire.  There was so much dust in there and it all burned.  It was all smoke and fire and pain.  I’m told I was found by soldiers fighting the blaze and brought to the hospital area.  I spent the next months in constant pain.”  She paused here and looked down and away ruefully.  “And then Damien came to visit me.  I’d been looking forward to his visit.  Everyone told me I looked fine, but no one would show me a mirror.  I knew Damien would be honest.”  She gave her cold, hard laugh and shook her head.  “HA!  I had no idea just how honest he would be.  That was when he made the comment about having seen prettier bitches in human cities.  He’s never even been to a human city.”  She choked and brushed tears away from her eyes.  “And then, that night at the banquet…”
Kyrril brought her close and held her.  She cried against his chest for a few minutes.  Her hood was off for the first time and he petted her hair, or rather, what was left of it.  “It’s alright.  Cry it out.  You were hurt badly, and Damien poured salt in your raw wounds.”  His soft murmuring became a quiet hum until she regained her composure.  She continued clinging to him though.
She sniffed and caught her breath.  “You… you were the first one to call me beautiful since the fire.  But I could not believe it.  You’re blind, how would you know.  But, now I know you did.”  Kyrril felt the soft tremble of her body.  “Do you still think I am beautiful?”
Kyrril gently touched her scarred face and head.  Half her hair was gone, as was one ear.  Her whole face was crisscrossed with burn scars.  She had only one eyebrow and no eyelashes.  He bent his head down a little and kissed her full on the ruin that was her lips.  She gasped and stepped back.  “Gorgeous,” he told her and pulled her back.  She cried softly against his chest.  By the time she recomposed herself, the sun was well up and both of them were very hungry.  They walked back to the castle arm in arm.

As the next months passed, the two were hardly separable, sparing only times when their duties required them to be apart, and at night, when each retired to their own chamber.  The queen was the first to comment on the changes for the better seen in Vessas’ attitude and personality, but she was certainly not the last.  They both ignored the rumors that insisted they were anything more than close friends.  Vessas was grateful for the help Kyrril was able to offer in recovering from the mental and emotional trauma of her horrible injuries.
One day, they were both free and took horses out into the forest around Dilis.  They had packed a picnic and their bows.  Kyrril never expected to make a kill like he had during the hunt, but he felt naked in the woods with out it.  He turned recognizing what and where potential game was into a game with Vessas.  She was soon convinced he was not guessing; he was right nearly all the time.
“Now I know why some doubt you’re really blind.  You’re just too good at that.”
“It’s all in the ears, milady, with a good grounding of woodland lore.”
“What about that stag you shot?  Think you could do that again?”
“Not in a million years.  That was pure chance.”
“I’ll bet not.  You brought your bow, string it and let’s see.  You’ve heard all the game, before I ever saw it.  You should try hitting something.”
“Why?  So you can laugh?”
“Why would I laugh?”
He gave in with a sigh.  “All right, but when my arrows go wild, YOU get to retrieve them.”
“Agreed.”
They spent the next few hours hunting.  At first Kyrril was hardly trying, and his arrows came close, but did not hit. Vessas got tired of searching the woods for lost arrows and called him on his lack of effort.  Rather than risk his friend’s wrath, he promised to try harder on his next shot, but they found no game for over an hour and their watchfulness faltered.  Suddenly a large quail-like bird exploded out of the brush right in front of them.  Kyrril nocked an arrow and loosed with a speed learned in years of clandestine operations.  He was surprised to hear the satisfying thump of the bird hitting the ground a short distance away.
“You did it!” Vessas cried out.  “I knew you could.”
“Shush,” he said, blushing.  “Let’s go get it.  We can eat it for lunch.”
They found a clearing to sit in for their meal, plucked the bird and roasted it over a small fire.  Several hours later, they were cleaning up their camp and starting back for home.  They had been so wrapped up in talking and enjoying each other’s company uninterrupted that they did not heed the nervousness of their horses until one neighed shrilly.  They both hushed, senses straining.  Kyrril could hear sounds of bipedal movement in the woods.
“Who’s there?” he called, hoping it was a prank being played by some friends.  The answer they received was a low growl.
“What is it?” Vessas whispered.
“I’m not sure.  Get on your horse.  We need to go.  Now.”
He threw their last few lunch items into a bag and took the bag to his own horse while Vessas mounted.  He had just tossed the bag over his saddle when a scaled creature leapt from the woods and landed on him.  He heard Vessas shriek and was not sure if it was in pain or just fright.  The horses thrashed, lashing out with their hooves at the attackers.  Kyrril managed to push the creature off him long enough to reach the knives he always kept in his boots.  He cursed himself for not noticing the animals sooner.
“Vessas, what is it?” he cried, fending off claws with a knife.
“Drakken.  Aahh!  There’s at least six.”
Kyrril remembered Drakken, but it had been many years since he’d last encountered them.  Mottled green and brown featherless creatures that looked like a tall, lithe cross between a lizard and a bird.  They were a non-sentient type of Drake.  They always hunted in packs of four to twenty.  He hoped six was all there were.  They attacked by leaping on their prey and gouging with their foot claws and biting with a mouth full of serrated teeth.
“Free the horses, let them fight,” he told her, while making a stab at one of the Drakken.
“I’m trying!” she called back.
Kyrril felt his blade sink deep into one of the Drakken and heard it shriek.  He kicked at it to get it off his blade and out of his way.  He could hear the sounds of hooves pounding the ground and connecting with scaled flesh.  He knew Vessas must have gotten the horses free and they were now attacking the large lizards as well.  He listened for the gurgling growl and attacked the next one closest to him.  He managed to stab it in the shoulder, but then felt a tearing pain in that arm.  It had turned and bitten him.  He yelped with pain and surprise.
Then he heard Vessas’ voice, “Get off him!”  There was a thunk as something solid connected with it and the Drakken was torn free.  He had no time to be glad of his freedom though.  He’d lost the knife in that hand, and he heard another Drakken preparing to leap from behind him.  He spun and charged, stabbing it in the belly before it had time to comprehend what its would-be prey was doing.  He felt horse hooves fly over his head as one of the horses took out another that was trying to leap on him.  There was a heavy weight on his chest, carrying him over backwards.  Claws dug into his legs, belly and chest.  He could only hope to fend off the teeth until someone got the Drakken off him.  He had hold of its throat and was barely keeping its snapping mouth less than an inch from his face.  He felt fire in his side as a claw tore him open.  Suddenly the weight was lifted.  He held very still, aware that one of the horses was directly over him, trampling the Drakken.  The Drakken attempted to flee and the horse continued after it, but at least they were away from Kyrril now.
Suddenly Kyrril screamed in agony.  The wound in his side was burning.  He felt nauseous.  Poisoned again?  It wasn’t possible.  His hands pressed into the wound and he realized the Drakken claws had reopened the old scar from his battle with the Dwoars.  It was his last conscious thought before intense pain caused him to black out.

Vessas fought back as well as she could, and simply held onto the horse and let it kill off the Drakken when it was obvious it was her best option.  She watched as Kyrril fought against the lizards.  She lashed out with her own foot at the one who had him by the arm.  Her kick connected solidly with its eye and it was thrown off him.  The other horse stomped it into the dirt.  When Kyrril fell under one, she spun her horse around and gave it the signal to kick and trample it.  When all the Drakken were gone, she leapt off her horse and dashed back to Kyrril’s side.  He was unconscious and bleeding heavily from his arm and side.  He had numerous other deep cuts from their claws.  She bandaged the worst as best she could with strips of fabric torn from Kyrril’s tunic and her own dress.  She knew she had to get him back to the castle and quickly.  She signaled her horse to get down on its knees, and from there, she dragged Kyrril into the saddle with her.  With the other horse’s reins tied to her saddle, she kicked hers into a gallop and held onto to Kyrril tightly as they rushed for home.

“What happened?” the queen demanded upon entering the hospital room.  Healers were working frantically to close Kyrril’s wounds.  Vessas was watching fretfully from the wall.
“We were attacked by Drakken, Highness,” she answered.  “Kyrril was hurt badly.”
“He’s suffered several deep cuts, but none bad enough to warrant his unconscious state.  He’s also suddenly developed a high fever.  Highness, his symptoms are much like after the battle with the Dwoars.  And look, one of the claw cuts is right over the old sword wound,” one of the healers told her.
Queen Meriel pursed her lips in concern.  “Tend him with all your skill.  He’s survived worse wounds, he will live through this.”  She spoke with a conviction that gave hope to all in the room.

Vessas rarely left Kyrril’s side.  Meriel came to watch over Kyrril while Vessas slept.  King Arnou checked on them at least once a day.  Kyrril lay deathly still, his face pale and sweating as his wounds slowly healed.  A month passed before the fever broke.  Vessas was holding his hand when he woke up.
“Kyrril, can you hear me?”
He groaned and tried to squeeze her hand, but he was too weak.
It was enough of an answer for Vessas.  “Go back to sleep.  Regain your strength,” she told him and kissed his forehead.
When he woke next, Vessas propped him up and helped him get a drink of cool water.
“Ah… thank you,” he whispered.
His white eyes appeared to look around the room.  Vessas took one of his hands.  “I’m here.  It’s all right.”
His other hand came up and touched his face, feeling around his eyes.
“What is it?  What’s wrong?” she asked concerned.
“Dark… it’s all dark.  Are there no lights?”
Vessas bit her lip.  The room was well lit.  She caught his other hand and lowered it.  Then wrapped her arms around him.  She felt him trembling.  “It’s all right Kyrril.  We’ll get through this.  Together.”
He clung to her and cried.  She let him cry himself to sleep then laid him back down again.
When next he woke, he heard no one in the room.  It was all very quiet.  “Vessas?” he called, but received no answer.  He tried again, louder, still with no response.  The darkness of his vision seemed to close in around him.  He had never in all his life felt so alone.  He had never felt fear such as this before.  He curled into a fetal position and whimpered.  He was just barely controlling the scream that threatened to well up from inside him when he heard the door open, followed by footsteps and then felt hands on him.  He grabbed the person who’d come.
“Kyrril!  It’s all right.  I’m here.  I’m sorry, I had to step out for a moment.”
Kyrril could only repeat, “Don’t leave me,” over and over again.
“I won’t.  I won’t Kyrril.  I won’t leave you.  I love you.”
His shuddering suddenly stopped.  He sat up and took her hand.  The overwhelming darkness melted away, and though there was still no light, he felt warm and safe.  “Vessas… I love you too.”
They shared their first passionate kiss there in the sick room.

Several months later, Kyrril had fully recovered his strength and plans had been made for he and Vessas to wed on the day of the Harvest Moon.  Though he could not see his bride, he knew she was stunning.  They joined hands before King Arnou.  Their vows were shared before the witness of the city.

Two hearts joined
Through darkness and light
Through fire and pain
None shall sunder
Two souls made one