This turned out a little differently than I anticipated. For one thing, the enchantress became a lot meaner than I had imagined her, although she was always supposed to get extremely pissed off at somebody. Indeed, the kernel of the story was the golden glow she got when performing heavy-duty magic, and yes, for those of you who play the guessing game with this high fantasy AU, that is a hint as to who she is. The name of the stronghold was a historical tidbit I picked up when trying to find a place name that suited the feel of the piece.

In loose "real" time, this takes place a bit more than a year after "Fantasy Tale for the Modern Reader" and about four months after "From Fire, From Ashes", and though there is a sorta real event tied to the story, the scenario kinda took off on its own.

I still don't own the real people, just the weird little alternate universe.

The enchantress was deep in meditation, seeking forces beyond the ken of mortals, when the guards knocked upon the door. She tried to ignore the sound, trying to stay in the contemplative trance that allowed her to touch the most elemental of magics, but the insistent pounding drew her back to the waking world like a tether. Rising from her seat on the floor, she adjusted her crimson and gold robes and opened the door of her study. "What is the meaning of this? I left orders that I was not to be disturbed," she snapped.

The younger of the guards, a tall, raven-haired woman, spoke in the singsong accent of the southern lands, "And we would not have disturbed you were it not for the disturbance at the city gates, my lady. A traveler has come to our city seeking aid."

"And? What does this have to do with me? Let another handle such ordinary affairs. I have more important concerns." The enchantress's voice was cold as winter ice, and so was her face, except for the glint of magic that had begun to appear in her eyes.

If the guards were fazed, they did not show it, but then, that was why the enchantress had selected them as her guardians, plucking them from the armies in which they had previously served. The older guard, stocky and dark-skinned, said, "And we would gladly have let others handle such ordinary affairs, my lady, except that the traveler asked for you by name and said that you had sworn to her an oath."

If she had been as cold as winter ice before, the enchantress now burned like cold metal. "Only one woman holds such power over me, and if this one is not she, then she will suffer long and hard for her audacity in taking that promise as her own. I shall see her." She gathered her robs around her, and the guards were hard-pressed to stay ahead of her as she came down from her tower, staff of power in one strong hand. Despite her hurry, not one strand of chestnut hair slipped out of place; perhaps it was a frivolous use of her magic, but she had learned early on that the appearance of power was as important as the actual presence of power, and it would not do to seem unkempt in front of a visitor. A convenient mirror at the foot of the staircase allowed her to confirm that her reflection showed an elegant, composed figure, dangerous as an unsheathed blade.

In her receiving hall, under the watchful gaze of more of her select guard, she recognized the visitor immediately. The mercenary was disheveled and worn, showing signs of exposure on her broad face and bare arms. Livid scratches showed up against her white skin, swollen and red with infection; her armor was dented, scratched, rusty, and rent, with no sign remaining of the favor her employer would have given her. Only sheer willpower kept her conscious and even vaguely upright despite her exhaustion and injury. As swiftly as she had donned it, the enchantress dropped her façade of cool calm. She signaled the guards away with imperious gestures and took the mercenary's head on the lap of her robes. "Old friend, it has been long since I have seen you. What has befallen you?"

"Bobcats," the mercenary whispered. "Took us all. Don't know if any others made it. Knew I could come to you." Her eyes rolled up in her head as the trial she had endured finally took its delayed toll on her and she lost consciousness.

The enchantress held her close for a moment, then rose, bearing the weight of the larger woman as if it were nothing. She turned to the leader of her guards and snapped, "Tend to this woman as you would me. Should any harm befall her under the care you find for her, you'll suffer my wrath from now 'til the world's end. Send for whatever healers you find needful. I stand ready if you judge her in need of my magic." With that, she handed her burden to the leader of the guards, turned upon her heel, and ran up the spiraling stairs that led to her tower and the magical tools within. The guards, while stunned by the force of their mistress's orders, did not hesitate in their work, taking the strange mercenary to the quarters, where her wounds would be healed.

In the tower that looked out over the bleak and chill lands of the north, the enchantress incanted spells that no woman in her right mind would dare use. Lightning crackled in the tiny room as she summoned elemental powers and bound them to her iron will. White as snow, her twisted face and clenched fist showed the strain that the magic took on her. Yet she knew what she must do to seek those who had near to killed her old friend and slain who knew how many other warriors. Words not meant for this world grated out from between her clenched teeth, and from the hand she had not closed in her fight with the magic, she dripped the mercenary's blood onto the crystal ball. Again she spoke in the magical tongue, demanding of the magic that it show her what the mercenary had seen. Though it drew nearly all the energy out of her, she wrenched the magic to her will and was able to collapse, barely conscious, into a chair to study the scene in the crystal ball.

And just as suddenly, she was the mercenary, creeping through the woods with a band of other freelances gathered by this coastal lordling to find and assassinate another lordling so that the two bits of land could be joined. Not that she cared about the political ramifications of the deal; her home was far to the north, safe from these petty machinations. What concerned her was the gold she had been promised for this mission, gold that could help her ailing mother and weary father. The women around her had sold their services for similar reasons: families, villages, friends, lovers, who needed help a more honest career could not supply. Successful beyond their wildest dreams, all that remained was to escape the lands of their victim and return to the lord who had employed them.

They were all careful, all trained in woodcraft, all wary enough to watch their steps, and yet a dry stick cracked, the sound echoing until it was as loud as a scream. Still, none of them made a sound, none of them gave in to the urge to curse their fate. They continued their way through the woods of the enemy, hands on their weapons of choice; her hand was on the hilt of her trusty broadsword, a weapon that had never failed her, perfectly balanced and heavier than most could bear.

A snarl broke the silence, and a pack of fierce wildcats sprung out from the trees. She bit back a curse; were these creatures even native to this part of the land? She had no more time to wonder about that, only to draw and hack and hack until there was nothing left to kill, and still it was not enough. She longed to help her fellows, hearing them scream, seeing them fall in her peripheral vision, but two of the great cats had her pinned against a tree, and though she fought fiercely against them, she could not hope to defeat them in time to save herself from the dozens of wounds that poured blood into her eyes and down her arms to slick her hilt. The broadsword became too heavy for her to lift, and she fell…

The enchantress shook herself from the vision, drawing herself back to survey the scene in ways the mercenary could not. She saw that there had been no other survivors- but not merely because of the giant cats that had come across them so suddenly. There was a band of warriors in hiding among the trees, and they loosed arrows into the mercenaries from behind, a deed that completely lacked in honor. Her eyes narrowed as she watched the scene play out, and her blood ran cold at the level of betrayal. The warriors wore brilliant orange, a color like the sun at dusk, a color that would stand out in the wilderness.

It was the same color as the sashes the mercenaries wore to recognize each other in close quarters.

Rage swept through her, fierce and sudden yet tightly controlled. Blind, mad destruction here would do her no good. She had to find the treacherous snake and root him out. Then and only then could she exact the proper revenge that burned in her blood and redoubled with every beat of her heart.

"Enough of this," she said to no one, and though she was drained to the dregs, she readied herself for one more spell as she swept down the staircase, the crimson and gold of her robes accented by the crimson blood on her hands and the golden gleam of her once-brown eyes. "Where is she?" she asked of the nearest guard, and it was a token of the woman's training that she knew exactly who the enchantress spoke of. She pointed the enchantress in the proper direction, staying on guard the whole time.

The anger leaked into the enchantress's magic, strengthening it but weakening her control. She was beyond caring as came like a thunderstorm through the doorframe and shoved aside the healer who had come with startling swiftness to tend to the mercenary's wounds. The enchantress focused her power on the mercenary, doing in seconds what ought to have taken weeks, and the screams of pain coming from the hardened mercenary were a token of how bad an idea this had been. "Where was your employer?" the enchantress demanded. "What land can I find him in?"

Through gritted teeth and between screams, the mercenary eked out an answer, and the enchantress released her magic as quickly as she had unleashed it, leaving the mercenary panting and mostly healed in her wake. She had much to think about, given the information she had just received.

The Hornet's Nest. She had heard of the place in older texts. Magic was unreliable there, tending to turn wild without warning or provocation. A perfect place for a lord to establish his stronghold if he trusted steel over sorcery. Were she a more prudent woman, she would have waited, perhaps gathered her own band of warriors to take on the lordling, but she cared not for these concerns. She would force the wild magic of the Hornet's Nest to her will or die trying.

She swept down the stairs and to the stable where her horse was kept. Saddling the mare quickly, she was out and away before any of her guards could realize her absence. This quest was hers and hers alone. She could take care of herself against the honorless soldiers of an honorless lordling who fancied himself a great ruler. And if she could not… well, that too would prove a point, albeit one she would rather not see proven.

The days and nights blurred together; all was dark before her eyes. Fury in her blood was the only thing that kept her upright, and she had no idea what was sustaining her steed, unless somehow her magic had infused it with extra strength and stamina. She had little time to think of these things, though. She was not interested in the details of her trip, so long as she arrived in one piece at the Hornet's Nest. Even on her deathbed, she would never be able to say how long it was she had spent on the road. After the days and nights, she arrived at the foot of the hill that housed the lord's stronghold. She understood now the reasons why it had been given its name, and not merely because to enter it would be inviting peril onto one's self. She could hear/feel against her skin the peculiar itch of untamed magic, buzzing in her ears like a million paper-thin wings. For all that the texts spoke of the power in this land being unmanageable, she sensed that she could use it, and a cruel smile came over her pale, pale face. She urged her horse up the hill, riding directly to the front gate. There was no need for subterfuge; if anything, she wanted this petty lordling to know who had struck this blow in the name of justice.

A bored-looking guard, his dark eyes sleepy and disinterested, looked her over as she approached the gate. "Speak your business, woman. The Lord of the Coast has no time for charlatans."

"I come for justice and revenge."

"I am sure my lord will redress the wrong done." His voice was slippery as oil, mocking her. "What shall I say your name is?"

Her voice flattened and deadened, marked only by the crackle of magic that she alone could hear. "I am death incarnate," she intoned, and with a single glare from her glowing eyes, the guard was ashes on the ground. The days spent traveling, with only the barest trickle of magic keeping her and her horse forever moving, had helped her gather her power. She was as strong as she had ever been, ready to destroy. She stretched out her hand and the door disappeared in fire. The flames did not dare touch her as she dismounted and came into the castle.

The lord's guards sought to stop her progress. They did not, could not, succeed. Some she destroyed as she had destroyed the doorkeeper. Others were not so fortunate; tortured by spells they could not escape, their shrieks made for a foreboding chorus as she found her way unerringly to the lord's throne room, where he and a few chosen toadies made merry.

The enchantress's lip curled. So this was the mighty Lord of the Coast. Why, he was nothing! A gross parody of a man, his armor might have once fit him, but no longer. He was hairless, which she supposed he might have done to himself in hopes of intimidating his enemies, but which made him look like a grub. He reminded her of nothing more than a horse turd, and for a moment, she amused herself with the thought of having that be his eternal fate. But then she thought of her oldest and dearest friend, the agony she had been in when she came to the enchantress, and the pain she had had to endure at the enchantress's hands for this vengeance. No transformation was enough for him.

He blustered at her, "Who are you? What do you want here? How dare you enter this room uninvited! Guards! Seize her!"

Orange-clad warriors streamed from all sides of the room, through doors and hidden passages she had not seen before. An ordinary woman would have been concerned and most likely doomed, but the enchantress was no ordinary woman. She raised her hands as if surrendering, turned her palms towards the soldiers who charged her from either side, and ordered, "STOP." Her voice rang with the authority that the lord's lacked, and her eyes glowed golden from edge to edge as the magic flowed through her. At once, all the men at arms froze in place as if they had been turned to stone. Only the enchantress and the lord remained free to move.

Seeing her power, he quailed and tried to run. She grinned, showing sharp white teeth, and pointed at his feet. "STAY," she commanded, and immediately his boots adhered to the flagstone floor. "Did you believe you would escape justice so easily? These things are not merely for children's stories, my dread Lord of the Coast." The hatred in her voice was so concentrated that it chilled the man's bones, and he thought he could see it dripping into the cracks of the floor. "You thought to use foreign mercenaries to eliminate your rival, then in turn eliminate the mercenaries to avoid paying them the gold they were due. Is that because you did not have the gold, oh puissant lord? Could it be that for all your power and might, you could not pay a simple band of mercenaries the few gold pieces that were their due for taking care of the business you were not man enough to handle yourself? Or did your greed spur you on to hoard what was rightfully theirs, blind you to the obligation you swore? You made sure that the bobcats found them and would devour them, and that if the bobcats did not, your men would. If there were no survivors, your plan would succeed, and even if one or two managed to escape, you could always claim you had no idea there were bobcats in that forest. But you chose the wrong mercenaries, oh terrifying lord. Woe upon you, for you betrayed the sworn sister of a powerful enchantress, and we do not take easily to the betrayal of those we hold dear."

"I-" He stopped, for his voice would no longer speak audible words. The enchantress shook her head pityingly.

"I care not for the excuses you wish to make or the insults you wish to hurl. The only sound I will deign to hear from is your cries of pain." She thrust clawed fingers at him as she chanted words of dreadful power in a voice that brimmed with power and hatred. The golden glow of her eyes spread to suffuse her entire body until she shone like an angel of vengeance, and her voice rose to a crescendo. Then he began to scream in earnest, and the sound was sweet to her ears. Coolly, she looked about the hall, taking in the unmoving figures of the lord's army. "These are your most trusted men, are they not? These are the ones you gave the order to attack. They obeyed you implicitly, for you were their lord. They too must pay for their actions. I think they should be punished fittingly for their crime." She began her spellcasting anew, and the lord's eyes widened as he watched flesh and bone transform in unnatural ways, flowing as they were reshaped, until a pack of bobcats stood where there had once been men. Her words became cajoling yet still commanding. She spoke once more, and the bobcats sprung to life, all eyes fixed on the paralyzed lord. A cruel smile wreathed the woman's lips. "They shall rend you limb from limb, but it shall be long ere death claims you. And they too shall know suffering, for human blood alone shall reverse the transformation. They will regain their form, knowing what they have done, and their fellows shall fall upon them too. None shall be spared. None shall leave this hall save I." She wrapped her robes around her, not flinching as the first splatters of crimson blood hit her, and walked away, pleased by the screams of agony that came from the hall.

Before she departed the Hornet's Nest, she stopped at the lord's treasury and emptied it of the lord's ill-gotten gold. Revenge had its place, but no amount of vengeance would feed the hungry or heal the sick. This was owed to the mercenary as much as the lord's blood had been. Crimson and gold, she came to her horse, loaded the gold, and rode for home. The distance was long and the miles hard without the fury of her magic burning through her; she stopped nightly at inns or to rest under the stars, and the journey took nearly twice as long as it did when she rode down in her rage. At last she was at the tower she had claimed as her own, and along with her guards, the mercenary she had known from childhood met her at the base of the tower. "I feared for you when I awakened to discover you'd gone. I've hardly slept in fear for you."

"You had no reason to fear for me," the enchantress replied, dismounting and unfastening one of the saddlebags her horse carried. "This is yours, old friend, from the treasury that once belonged to the self-proclaimed Lord of the Coast. It was owed to you, and I collected it in your name and the names of the others who rode by your side. He betrayed you. He sought to use your services, then murder you to save himself a few gold coins.

The mercenary held the saddlebag and assayed its weight with the speed and experience of someone who had done this a thousand times before. "This is far more than I was owed," she said.

"Part of it is your first commission from me. You spoke of others who rode with you. They surely had kinfolk who still await their return. Find as many of these as you can, deliver their share of the lord's gold, and explain what befell them. After that…" The enchantress shrugged. "I may find that I have need of a single personal bodyguard. Someone who would have to stay by my side at all times, even when- especially when- I would be in the most dangerous of situations. Someone I could be utterly certain I could trust with my life. I can think of none more suited than you, old friend. Be assured, if you are still of the mercenary mindset, I can pay you well in coin… and in other ways if the coin is not sufficient for you."

The mercenary hesitated, then she happened to catch the brown-eyed gaze of the enchantress. For a moment, the enchantress's eyes seemed to glint gold, or perhaps it was a reflection of the wealth she held. Whatever the reason, the mercenary's mind was made up in that moment. "Aye, old friend, I'll take your coin and whatever else you offer me. I'll be glad to stand by your side and wield this sword of mine for your honor."