Betrayal
Written July 2003.

He prowled the streets silently, leaning against the wall, listening for any whisper of sound that would belie the presence of another. Finding nothing, he continued on, his graceful movements making not a sound, disturbing not even the night air.

There was nothing here, but perhaps the next street would hold a sign. Anything. He was getting desperate.

As he crossed into the next street, he bent down onto the ground, touching it lightly, reading it for the signature of Seria. If she had crossed this path recently, he would know. But he felt nothing, just an empty vibration in the ground, radiating a certain hollowness that reminded him of the empty void in his heavy, aching heart.

He moved on to the next street, and the next, finally finishing the round of all the streets in his immediate area. His time was running out. Soon he would be found. Or she would. And all this painstaking searching would be for nothing.

The dark of night changed into the red dawn of day. Ducking into a tavern at the end of the street, he sat alone in a corner of the bar, ignoring everyone around him, and ignored by all. He kept his head down, that no one would recognize him.

Someone slid into the seat opposite him. Without looking up, he knew that it was Elenya.

"What's wrong?" his best and probably his only friend in the world asked. "You look tired and drained."

"Seria. You've heard-" Anarya paused, his voice choking. "She left, threatening to reveal the secrets of our magic." Anarya stopped, thinking only of his beloved. "I have to find her. She has no defences, nothing. She is alone. Out there," he gestured out the window, into the bleak, empty street.

"But why are you doing this to yourself, trying to find her? They will find her, and she will die. There is no way out. She made her choice. You must make your own."

"You don't understand."

"There's nothing to understand," Elenya said, a touch of frustration in his voice. "She knew the rules. Yet she chose this path. You have to let her go."

Anarya battled with himself shortly, debating whether to tell his friend the truth, angry that Elenya wouldn't understand human compassion. Finally, "I'm life bonded. To Seria."

A shadow passed over Elenya's face as he tried to comprehend this. Anarya let him take this in. Like many of the Elvenkind, Elenya didn't believe in true love, particularly life bonding. They thought it a frivolous creation of the humans, to justify their own greed.

"Oh," Elenya finally responded. He sounded unsure of himself, perhaps not understanding the depth of the problem. He knew the lore about Vanwe, and took Anarya's words at face value. "Do the Vanwe know?"

Anarya nodded. "I haven't been to the last three meetings. Not since last week. They'll come after me next. They'll figure it out. I told them about the lifebond. I let it slip once, and they jumped on the information." Anarya buried his face in his hands, cursing his stupidity in letting them know. "If I hadn't left, they'd have killed me anyway. It would have guaranteed her death."

Elenya sat there for awhile, finally getting up and leaving, his feet making no noise on the ground, and his body moving with all the grace of the Elvenkind. It did not escape unnoticed by Anarya that before, Elenya's body stance had been radiating a certain ironic sympathy. Now there was disgust, and a certain distrust for his friend.

*Figures,* Anarya thought. *He wouldn't want to be seen with someone on Vanwe's deathlist. Am I now a walking curse? Will everyone I come in contact with get killed eventually?*

Not wanting to think about that possibility, Anarya got up off the chair in the booth and left, his feet barely touching the ground, ignoring the glances that he got from people around him.

Silently, he resolved to find Seria as quickly as he could. He hit the streets, continuing on through the city, sure that Seria would not have gone too far. He searched through all the dark alleys he knew of, realizing that she would never have walked on the wide streets, where she would be spotted easily.

He hid himself magically while he walked, meeting no one else that he knew on the way, and walking out of the way of anyone he saw. Anarya avoided all eye contact, keeping his head low, covered with the hood of his cloak.

Finally, hours later, he found a faint magical trace of Seria in a deserted alleyway. Night had fallen by now, and it was dim and dark out. He ducked into a small a alcove to perform a small spell. Now that he had found her mark, he could trace it easily.

Sending his mind into a trance, he followed the path where she had last been. It seemed to go on forever, finally ending a long way from here. Hitting a dead end, he gave up in frustration and decided to follow what he could of the path before him. He stepped out onto the street, walking quietly, almost like a shadow.

The street seemed quiet and deserted, the lamplights glittering in the dark night, shining brightly against the sky. The houses on either side were dark, the occupants likely asleep. The stone road ahead of him was an old road, wet with the remnants of this morning's rain.

He walked along, creeping against the walls of the buildings, scanning around him for anyone who would impede his progress.

For miles he went. Then he stopped short, his body staying completely still, his ears pricked. He heard a small sound in the dark, nothing more than the whisper of cloth, but it was enough. It wasn't loud enough to have been someone who had accidentally stumbled upon this road. It had to be someone after him.

He turned around in time to see a figure, cloaked in black, run toward him, wielding a large mace. He pull a sword hastily from the sheath at his side, as the man continued towards him. Anarya raised his sword just in time to block the swing of the mace. The blow of the sword set his ears ringing.

Shoving the mace to one side, he proceeded to take the offensive side, scoring cuts all over the man's body, clothed in black. The red of the blood showed through, then disappeared, soaked up by the black fabric.

The mace sliced into Anarya's shoulder. He cringed, feeling the burning sensation of an open wound. He felt the blood run down his arm, but dared not look, for fear of taking his eyes off the assassin. The wound was on his sword arm, and make his sword seem much heavier. Yet, he dared not switch hands, for that would leave him open to attack.

Anarya kept slicing at the man, who backed away slowly, to Anarya's intense frustration. Finally, Anarya managed to hit arm of the man. He cut clean through the bone, and as the arm holding the mace fell to the ground, Anarya was able to plunge the sword into his heart. The man fell silently, making not a sound, leaving as quietly as he came. Anarya looked around quickly, amazed that their exchange had not caused unwelcome visitors.

Anarya's gaze returned to the man, wondering who had sent this particular assassin. He had more enemies than he could count. Any of them could be responsible for this.

He felt the same burning rage that had engulfed him when the Vanwe had cast him out. He had lied to Elenya when he said that he had left voluntarily. They had exiled him for his connection to Seria. And they would hunt him until he too died. For their exile was just another term for eventual death.

He almost cursed Seria for causing his exile, but bit his tongue, realizing that the Vanwe were never really his brotherhood. They were just a group of greedy, power hungry mongerers, all vying for the power of the dark magics, and the attention of the Gods.

He wanted revenge. Anything would do. The burning rage consumed him as he continued to stare at the masked man. As the instincts drilled into him from birth took over, he inadvertently shifted form into that of a vampire. Leaning down, he sucked the life and blood from the now cold corpse of his attacker, using that blood to heal his own wound.

Finally, he realized what he was doing. He took a step back, shuddering involuntarily and changing back into his Elven form. *Seria was wrong,* he thought. * I can't be anything other than the vampire that I was born as. Maybe she won't want to see me.*

Anarya cast that thought away quickly. They were life bonded. Seria couldn't have left because she hated him. In fact, she had given no sign that she hated him. She had simply - disappeared was the right word for it.

But the simple fact for Anarya was that he could never forget his childhood. He had been brought up by a vampire, his father, who taught him the ways of the vampires. It wasn't until he had met Seria that he had discovered the ways in which his mother's Elven heritage showed through. He had always wondered how a vampire could breed with an elf, but that didn't really matter from the time that Seria arrived. She had taught him that all that mattered was his heart.

And in less than a day, the Vanwe had taken that all away from him, stolen it, snatching it from right under his eyes.

"Vanwe," he muttered, spitting out the word. "I was so naive then. I didn't know. They seemed so - right for me. They seemed to understand the problems of being a crossbreed. Yet, I discovered after a year's membership that they were truly beings roiling in evil, taking advantage of each other, using blood magic left and right. By then, it was too late to leave. They had secrets that no one was to know. Secrets of magic, dark magic. Magic that could raise the dead. Magic that had been lost for the past century. None had ever left and survived. It's unlikely that Seria will be the first."

Pushing away these thoughts and concentrating on his immediate task, he continued to follow Seria's magical trace. He walked into night, his resolve strengthening with each step he took.

For two more days he walked the streets, retracing Seria's footsteps in the dark alleyways. No one say him, and he saw none. Yet, he suspected footsteps behind him. But every time he stopped, they did too.

He had felt more than one magical search pass over him, and each time, had clamped down his shields, and tried to hide himself, holding his breath in his nervousness. Yet, each time, they simply paused, but never stopped for long.

This only made him more suspicious. Yet, as a result of it, he only wanted to try and find Seria faster. He had quickened his pace, pushing his Elven constitution to the maximum.

He didn't sleep at all, and was as a result looking a little haggard.

Turning a corner, he saw that he was now in the scum area of the city. Beggars lined the street, sitting pitifully on the sidewalk, their malnourished limbs stretched out as they called out for money. Children stood along the graffitied walls, gazing at him with their large, woeful eyes.

Their pain tugged at his heart, but he ignored it. He heard Seria's voice calling to him, reminding him how important the little kindnesses were. Yet, he ignored the children, blind to their cries, having eyes and ears only for Seria. "I'm coming, Seria," he whispered softly.

Those who heard stared at him, wondering if this hooded stranger was another of the cracked ones, ready to be scooped up by the city guard and executed by night.

Ignoring the stares, he walked along the sidewalk, finally stopping in front of a tavern called *The Singing Finch*. This was where Seria's trail ended. He opened the tavern door, stepping in.

The first thing he caught sight of was Seria serving an Eldar some tea. He stood there, taking in the sight of her beautiful figure for a moment. She was just as he remembered her. Her slender Elven figure, enhanced by the Elven silks she was wearing.

Her blue eyes danced around, warming the room and filling the hole in his heart. He admired the grace which with she moved, the grace that she had been born with and was so used to. In contrast to her, his movements looked clumsy and graceless.

"Seria," he whispered loudly at her. She looked up, and when her face lit upon his, instead of joy, he saw dismay cross her face. His face, previously delighted at having found her, fell too. "What's wrong?"

"You're here for Vanwe, aren't you?" she said flatly. Anarya was confused. He had come to save her, not kill her! He wondered why she didn't trust him. She knew of their lifebond, and knew that he could no sooner hurt her than hurt himself.

Anarya shook his head. "No. I'm here to warn you about Van-"

Before he could say more, the doors behind him crashed open. It would have been more accurate to say that several someones opened them the wrong way, ripping them off their hinges. He turned around, to see many of his ex-clanmates staring at him. He gaped, stunned and unable to say anything.

One, the tallest human, stood in the front, the others flanking behind him, as if protecting him.

"Thanks for doing our work for us," one of them said, his mouth twisted into something that was not quite a smirk.

"Wha-?" Anarya managed to gasp.

"We didn't even need to do anything," one boasted. Anarya's mind identified the speaker as Scraya, one of the clan leaders. "We only have to follow you. You led us straight here. It was so easy. And now, you shall pay the price."

Anarya's heart dropped. So he was the one who had led them here. Perhaps, if he hadn't tried so hard to find Seria, she would have survived. Guilt washed over him like a dark shadow, filling him with rage. A glance as Seria showed that she believed the same. That if he had never come, she would be safe in here right now. Perhaps she would have been found out, but not this way.

Anarya felt like a betrayer, someone worthless. Definitely not worth Seria's attention and time. And definitely not worth being life bonded to.

The part of his mind that was not numb, that was still working, drew his sword out from his sheath and advanced upon the mixture of humans and dark elves standing before him. He knew he was outnumbered, but he wouldn't go without a fight.

Anarya plunged his sword into the first figure he saw, who blocked his attack easily. Anarya parried the man's next attack, but finally killed the man. He continued working through the crowd of men, who scored easily on him.

Each new wound made him feel as if his life was draining out of him so quickly that he could never stop it. They all hurt as the red of the blood soaked through his cloak, staining it. They felt like large stings on his body, each wanting to do the most damage.

Yet, he was so angry, and numb with grief for endangering Seria that he felt none of it. He would give up his life for her if he had to.

He knew that in the end, he would die anyway. What mattered most to him was revenge upon as many of the Vanwe as he could kill. Those who had called him their brother a long time ago. This was his revenge, and Seria's too.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw one wielding a rapier run past him, heading for Seria, who was defenceless.

"Noooo!" he screamed, trying to fight his way to her, but others blocked his path. As the man reached her, Seria tried to run, but was pinned between the man and a table.

The rapier sliced into her delicate flesh. Anarya felt every hit, and as it made the final plunge, he arced backwards, feeling a deep pain through his heart and in his spine.

He collapsed into a heap onto the floor. Another shock through him sent him convulsing. Then all was black, and he froze, no longer moving.