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“Oh, wise and mighty Radnor,” the goat called to me while humbly bowing low. “The satyrs mean you no harm, and you mean no harm to us.”
I nodded toward the stucco wall surrounding the village. Carved into it was a story of a dragon being killed by satyrs. You killed my mate, I said through thought, though I didn’t think he could hear me.
His gaze darted to the wall, understanding dawning in his eyes. Those were our primitive ancestors from centuries past back when dragons and Fae were enemies. We are farmers. He held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. Even if we wanted to kill a dragon, we wouldn’t have the means. A powerful mage has put a spell on you. He pointed at me with the tip of his staff. I can see it in your eyes.
You killed Isa, I said with a growl, though I was feeling less confident. Why wasn’t my memory of Isa’s death clear? And why did it feel more like a distant dream?
We are peaceful farmers, Radnor, the mage said again as more satyrs crowded behind him. Not a single one of them carried a spear or a sword. We’re not dragonslayers. The mage bowed low before me, and the other satyrs followed. Please, go in peace.
With an anguished roar, I jumped into the sky, more confused than ever. If the satyrs didn’t kill Isa, then what happened to her? Perhaps the satyrs had killed her long ago, and that’s why I couldn’t recall memories of her death. Yes, the satyrs from long ago had killed my mate, perhaps centuries past. Should I return to the satyr village and kill their peaceful descendants for something their ancestors did? I let out another roar as I remembered that little fawn blinking up at me. Astrid was her name, and I knew in my heart I couldn’t harm the satyrs, no matter how much I wanted to burn them all to ash.
Thorin
ALL WAS QUIET IN THE satyr village as Thorin rode in one crisp autumn morning, accompanied, of course, by three dozen Windhaven soldiers who’d so easily succumbed to his mind-spinning magic and had followed him into Caldaria, believing they were protecting the Fae realm from demons.
After a soldier helped him dismount from his horse, he frowned at the pristine cobblestone roads and fresh thatch roofs. There was no sign of a dragon attack and no sign of a dragon anywhere, save for a few deep pawprints outside the village. This village should’ve been burned to the ground. What had happened?
Thorin ordered a dozen guards to shield him. The rest he sent to encircle the village, ensuring the satyrs wouldn’t flee.
A horn blared, and the villagers raced from their huts, armed with pitchforks. They were no match for Thorin’s soldiers.
They neighed their disapproval, waving their pitchforks at the soldiers, backing down when they were met with sharpened swords. Then the satyrs parted, and a familiar old goat with a long gray beard that cascaded down the front of his robe like tangled weeds passed through them, his wooden cane striking the cobblestones. Thorin recognized the mage, Naji, who had the power to mind-speak all creatures, from slugs to dragons. His rusty magic was no match for Thorin’s, and since satyrs lived about as long as humans, he would be dead soon anyway.
The old goat leaned against his cane and splayed a knobby hand across his chest. Hello, mind spinner.
Thorin gave a start when the mage’s greeting projected into his head.
“Hello, Naji,” Thorin said aloud. “How did you know I was coming?”
The mage’s dull brown eyes narrowed. “It was only a matter of time after someone burned our Retinea fields, and then Radnor tried to destroy us.”
Thorin thoughtfully rubbed his bushy beard, his dark gaze sweeping over the village as more satyrs came out of their huts, women, and even children carrying big sticks and blades. “I see the dragon failed.”
“He didn’t fail.” Naji turned up his chin. “You did.”
Growing ever tired of this lesser mage’s insolence, Thorin gritted his teeth as magic heated his veins. “I won’t fail again.”
Naji’s hood fell back, his wrinkled goat ears rotating like hands as he thoughtfully eyed Thorin. “I once thought of you as a friend.”
Thorin inwardly flinched. It was true, they had once been friends, for it was Naji and the satyrs who’d first taken him in when he’d fled Delfi all those years ago. Naji was just a young man then, but he’d been kind, just like the rest of the satyrs—the only reason the satyrs still lived. Thorin didn’t want to hurt the peaceful race, but they possessed the herbs that made it much more difficult for mind-spinning magic to work.
He breathed out a slow breath. “I’m sorry it has come to this.”
A spark of flame lit in Naji’s dull eyes. “Did you think we didn’t have Retinea in storage?”
“I knew you did,” Thorin said with a sneer, “but my magic is stronger than your herbs.”
The mage stepped back, holding up his staff. “We shall see.”
Thorin slowly raised his hands, magic buzzing through his veins like a swarm of hornets. “You shall see only what I allow you to see.”
The foolish satyrs behind Naji shielded their eyes. As if that would protect them when Thorin’s magic could penetrate their skulls.
Why, Thorin? Thorin gave a start when Naji’s plea projected into his head. Why alter the memories of the entire Fae realm?
Why else, but for love? Thorin answered back through thought.
She will never love you, mind spinner. Not in the same way she loves her mates.
