"If the truth were to be told, I still do admire you. I
     may not care to pay the price that you have -- that you
     might still pay _ for my existence, but there is great
     beauty still within you."

                                             _Rhynn Wanderer

        It is late on the night of Beltane. I stand at the
top of my battlements looking across my island. Through the
tips of some of the evergreens I can see the water beyond,
rocking gently between the Gulf Islands. The air is cold,
the wind is picking up. Forecast calls for fifty mile an
hour winds before midnight tonight. I let my bones chill
just a little more before returning inside; it will make the
fire that much warmer.
        This night, I take up the same task that has haunted
me for so long now. I open the volume written by the
Huntsman on the Mask of Tears and search for the key to its
power. Unfortunately, the old man was vague on several
aspects of its creation, and the mysteries remained locked
to me. For now.
        Anyway, my mind is not focused enough for such
research. Little things distract me: the weather that has
been unusually bad, the fact me tea is too strong and my
sock is folded over uncomfortably within my boot.
        The fact that it is Beltane.

                          * * * * *

     "Erik, you are such a fool! Of course want to stay! And
I can't see that it should be that hard to arrange. Why,
just last night my father said, `Katlyne, I would give all
my gold to arrange for you to stay here with that handsome
young sidhe. I think he is absolutely wonderful, and wish to
see you happily married by the end of this month.'"
        I laugh. I laughed a great deal with her. "It would
be much easier if I was here more often." I sigh. "It seems
the duties of a knight call me to wander ever more. The
dauntain are not easy criminals to stop. Besides, though I
have a title, I cannot support a family right now." Mharyon
was good to me I remember. I had decent rooms and such, but
a family... it would have called for schooling, constant
contact with the mundane world, shopping, rules.
        "Oh Erik, I do so want to rush into this," she puts
her arms around my neck, her smile washing over me like the
Cheshire moon. "I want us to have kids, a dog and a cat, and
two budgies. And I want a white picket fence, and a nice
place where we can grow old together. I want us to stop
worrying about the present and get on with the future so
much it makes my whiskers curl. Certainly just being able to
wake up in the morning beside you wouldn't be enough. I'd be
off to Alaric's bed in a minute."
        Alaric. He had a mind sharp as a diamond shard. He
was one whom I could never run from, no matter how hard I
wanted. Had it been anyone else who delivered the news, I
would have been furious I'm sure. As it was, I was shocked
into inaction. But there was still time for Katlyne and I to
live out our fantasy. "I know... and... that is why I wish
to ask you now," my fingers fumble in my pocket. I can't
grasp the rosewood box I need so badly. She giggles at my
obvious nervousness; I blush. The box decides to aid me and
allows me to draw it forth. "Katlyne, please, allow me to
take you as my wife." Her eyes sparkle as she opens the
small box to find the silver ring inside. It cost me an
unearthly amount of dross to buy it from the boggan who
crafted it, but it was all worth it when I see her eyes
light up like that. I don't even need to here her answer as
I slip it on her finger. The promise is sealed with a kiss.
        And shattered with the opening of a door. For right
then as we stood smiling at each other, Alaric entered my
rooms, "Katlyne-" He looks ashen, near death. And it is no
surprise, for death is what he brings. "It's your father.
I'm - I'm sorry."
        The rosewood box falls to the floor. I don't know
whether it was her or I who stepped on it once we finally
began to move.

                          * * * * *

     Lifting the volume on the Mask, I place it back in its
hiding spot behind my books. I leave the fire place and
wander towards the stained glass window housed within the
library. A noble sidhe blinded by a radiant light.
Winterholm, the name my keep, is worked into the top of the
window. I've never been completely sure what the symbolism I
was wanting was when I commissioned it; I often wonder when
I'm trying not to think about other things. Such as another
Beltane night.

                          * * * * *

     "Kamal was a noble man, m'Lord, and highly respected by
his people. I ask that you grant me the quest of tracing his
murderer."
        "Erik, we have been over this. There will be an
investigation done, but you will not be part of it. You are
much to close to the case." My face burned with
embarrassment. How could he have made such a bland statement
before the court?
        "Am I not a knight of this realm? Is it not my duty
to solve such mysteries?"
        "You are and it is, but may I remind you, Sir Erik
Mikelson, that it is my prerogative to decide who shall
handle this investigation." He is getting agitated with me.
When our tempers rise Mharyon and I do not get along well.
        "M'Lord I-"
        "My decision is made, Sir Erik. That is final.
Please, leave the court and take some time to rest." Please.
It is not a request, it is a command. There was no need for
the please. I suppose, however, it is a sign of the respect
Mharyon held for me. Most he would have plainly commanded.
He gives me a little grace. I take it with true wilder
style. I storm out of the room.
        "She'll be waiting for you, Erik." Alaric is at my
side before I am beyond the doors of the throne room.
        "She'll be waiting for me to bring the killer to
justice."
        "Let Mharyon handle that. Right now-"
        "I'll let Mharyon handle what he can! I know how
much effort he plans to put into this, and so do you. It's a
commoner, Alaric. Lord Mharyon wouldn't care whether it was
Kamal or a Red Cap's grandmother. They'll both get about the
same amount of investigation."
        "Let it go Erik. This isn't your quest."
        "It is now."
        "My friend-"
        "If I was you'd understand." Perhaps he did too
well. I wonder if he whispered that to me as I stormed off.

                          * * * * *

     Blinded by a radiant light. Blinded by pride. I have
been blinded by many things. I looked everywhere for her
father's killer, and turned up as much evidence as Mharyon's
search squad - none. I finally returned to court one day,
exhausted, famined, and near ready to give up. Then I heard
the whispers. The court gossip about Katlyne and her father
-- I nearly challenged a few associates before I crossed the
thresh-hold to the throne room. I asked Mharyon, knowing
full well, how the investigation was going. I didn't expect
it to be called off.
        "M'Lord, if you find it taxing on resources, then
please allow me to take up the investigation. You know I
require little."
        "I know as well that you have been investigating the
matter without my consent, and in fact going against my
words. You are lucky I have been so lenient with you, I am
not usually so. As for the official investigation, it is
about to be called off. There is simp-"
        "M'Lord," my voice is strained, my upset far more
obvious then I would normally allow, "You cannot do such a
thing."
        His anger flares. If there was ever one thing to
upset Mharyon, it was telling him how to run his estate. "I
can and I will! You are out of line Sir Erik!"
        "A man was murdered! Your pitiful investigation was
nothing more than a superficial attempt at justice!"
        "Hold your tongue before I cast you from this
court!"
        "Cast me forth with your will! I would sooner wander
and find justice then put my loyalty to an incompetent
lord!"
        "So, Erik Mikelson, you would run my land? And what
makes you think you are so worthy? I cast you from Cair ABE
till you prove yourself worthy of living within its walls!
Take him away!"

        How could I have been so blind? Rage, rage kept me
from seeing the dangers of what was occurring. I hadn't seen
Katlyne since the night of her father's death. In my shame I
didn't wish to see her now. I went to find Alaric.
        He wasn't home.
        Nor had he been at court.
        A few questions turned up facts. He hadn't been
around for some time. Last anyone knew, he was headed for
Katlyne's house.
        I wandered by. The street was painted blue and red
from the flashes police lights. Someone had tried to fly
from their roof apparently. It didn't wok very well. I
watched the police distractedly as I approached her house.
        Then the cold hit.
        I felt it in my fingertips first. That's where I
usually feel it first. Then at the base of my neck. Then it
slammed into me so hard I almost fell backwards. In my mind,
the sound of a gunshot accompanied it. The ice of Banality
was thick, and it came from Katlyne's house.
        I knew then that she had taken Alaric's life, and I
knew then what monster she had become. People who do what I
did, hunt Dauntain, refer to them as Nihilists. I called her
traitor. Day and night I had searched for her father's
killer. What had she done? Taken the life of my -- my
friend.
        That night I drew Cold Iron for the first time. I
found Alaric's body halfway up the stair to the second floor
of her house. I could describe what I faced within, but it
would be meaningless on paper. Never had a seen such a
gauntlet of banality; such terrible chimera constructed from
a mind full of despair. And the strength of banality
emanating from where she lay -- I was sure she must be
lashing out in hatred at those who killed her father, but
Alaric was the wrong prey. How could she take him? Perhaps
because he brought the news she held him in some way
responsible. This is what I reasoned as I approached her
room.
        I burst the door, a cry of outrage upon my lips,
ready to face a foe with the power to undo me completely.
        I, instead, found her fetal on her bed. She was not
crying, nor was she sleeping. she was staring with cold,
empty eyes at a world that held no more joy for her. I do
not know if she recognized me as I fell to her floor,
sobbing at the loss of these two people. The house was alive
with her living nightmares, but she was as dead as a rock
that could breathe. I had come to kill in rage. Instead I
killed in pity.

                          * * * * *

     Now, I stand by my picture of the blind sidhe wondering
what blinded me into forgetting to use a chimerical weapon
such that she may live again, instead of the Cold blade.
That blade, which so suited my original purpose, was not the
perfect cure for her affliction. As a commoner she could
have had another chance. Instead, I removed the last
remnants of hope from her.
        So now I too am locked within a castle of winter.
        In courts across the land fires burn with the
Beltane night. Here, my stone walls keep me warm.

        Or cold.

                             Erik Mikelson, Knight of the
Realm

         * * * * *        * * * * *        * * * * *