Due to positive responses, I have decided to continue this.  ^_^

I finished this at 3 a.m. so it's quite possible that this fic
isn't as coherent as I'd like it to be.  C&C of any kind is craved 
and appreciated.

Disclaimer:  Waahh... it's late (currently 3:23 a.m.), and I can't 
remember who all owns Slayers at the moment, but I promise to put 
a real dislcaimer on my next chapter.  ^^;  

A Slayers Prequel Story of Rezo and Zelgadis
Family Ties
Chapter One


Rezo Greyweirs, the Red Priest, felt it, when the boy was born. 
Half a continent away, right in the middle of a casting a
complicated spell to heal some foolish street urchin who had
broken his back falling out of an apple tree... and he still felt
it.

*What is this?* he thought, so surprised by the overwhelming call
of the newborn's strangely familiar life force that he nearly
lost his concentration for the spell.  The crippled boy lying at
his feet moaned in pain, snapping his attention back to his
current situation.  Cursing silently for allowing himself to be
distracted, Rezo finished the spell by rapping the base of his
staff against the stone-cobbled street.  The metal rings that
adorned the jeweled ornament atop his staff jangled with
commanding resonance, and the boy was bathed in a bright halo of
bluish light that expanded to fill the surrounding area.  The
crowd that had gathered to watch the spectacle shielded their
eyes and gasped as they felt the tingle of residual power ripple
across their skin.  Later, those people would notice that any
minor aches, pains, scratches, cuts and bruises that they had
accumulated throughout their daily labors had all vanished in
that blinding moment.

Rezo didn't even spare a moment to reflect on the usual irony
that, while he could mend a severed spinal cord with relative
ease, he couldn't even open his own eyes.

The moment the spell was complete, Rezo lifted his head and gazed
into the distance, ignoring the urchin's cry of delight and
gratitude as the boy slowly staggered to his feet like a newborn
foal; ignoring the usual gasps of amazement and awe from the
crowd.  His sealed eyes saw nothing but the ever-present
darkness, but his inner sight was already far beyond the confines
of the walled city, beyond mountains, valleys, lakes and rivers,
searching, searching... 

...finding.

A large, comfortable room.  Thick carpeting.  Lacquered oak
furniture.  A canopied bed, all velvet and lace and sweaty,
blood-stained sheets.  And a woman in the bed, still gasping from
exertion, her skin and hair damp with perspiration; yet she was
beautiful and smiling as she reached out... 

"A healthy boy, my lady," the midwife said, placing the bundled
infant in the woman's arms.

Rezo wasn't in the least bit surprised to find that the woman was
his daughter.  He had suspected it from the first moment he had
felt the birth.  He *was* a bit surprised to discover that she
was now a woman, old enough to be married and bear children. 
Almost *too* old to bear children, he realized, for she appeared
to be in her late forties.  *Ah,* he thought with mild amazement
that bordered on annoyance at the reminder.  *Has it been so
long?*

He had never known the girl personally, having left her mother
before she was born to continue his search for the cure to his
blindness.  And he had no desire to consort with another
ill-begotten result of a lapse in his personal judgement. 
Besides, it appeared the girl had fared well enough, even without
whatever dubious fatherly guidance he might have given...  

But this was nothing out of the ordinary.  She had given birth,
and he had yet another unwanted grandson to his name.  Why, then,
had he felt the infant so strongly?  The birth of his own
children hadn't even stirred his notice in the least... and yet,
with this child, the pull on his soul had been strong -- strong
enough to distract him in the middle of a healing trance, which
was unheard of... 

The answer to Rezo's unspoken question chose that moment to walk
through the bedroom door, thus giving him one of the greatest
shocks of his life.

Rezo's forty-something daughter raised her loving gaze from the
infant in her arms... and favored Rezo's other grandson -- the
son of his son by another woman; a strapping young lad in his
mid-twenties -- with a radiant smile.

"He has your eyes," she said warmly.

Shaken to the core, Rezo snapped his inner sight back to his
physical body.

He noted absently that the crowd was pressing around him now,
begging for more miracles as usual, not noticing or not caring
about his momentary lapse into an astral trance.  Without a word,
he pulled his scarlet robes protectively around himself and
vanished from under their grasping fingers. 

He materialized in the main hall of Shabranigdo's tower.  Using
his staff to support himself, he staggered like an old man to a
nearby cushioned chair and sank down wearily.  A twitch of his
fingers, and a goblet of wine appeared in his hands.  Sipping
gratefully, he wondered if he could possibly calculate the
odds... and immediately gave up.  Who could have predicted, when
he had indulged in affairs with two completely unrelated women
who lived on virtually opposite ends of the world from each
other, that their offspring would meet, marry... and have more
offspring?

His daughter.  And his grandson.  That meant that the infant was
both his grandson... and his great-grandson? 

Rezo groaned aloud.  By the Dark Lord....  What a mess.

At least he now understood why the infant's new life had called
to him with such unusual power.  His blood ran in the child's
veins twice over, after all... 

Rezo frowned at the thought.

This could cause... complications.

Resting his head against the back of the chair, he reluctantly
cast his inner vision out once again.  Whether he liked it or
not, this bore further investigation.

The midwife was gone from the room when he returned, and Rezo
found his daughter and grandson cuddled  against each other,
acting for all the world as if they didn't know they were
blood-related.  Which, under the circumstances, was quite
possible.  The oblivious couple gazed adoringly down at the
bundled infant.

Even now, Rezo realized with a start, he could feel the power
coming off the boy in waves.  Power that was raw and untamed. 
Power that was sure to attract all kinds of attention -- mostly
the wrong kind of attention.

There were several resentful Mazoku, Rezo knew, who would
immediately recognize the source of the child's power, and
wouldn't hesitate to use such power against him.

Yes, Rezo mused grimly.  Something definitely needed to be done
about this child.

And perhaps, just perhaps, something... advantageous... could be
salvaged from this breeding disaster...

"Have you decided on a name for your firstborn son?" his daughter
asked, looking up into her husband's face.

"Zelgadis," his grandson replied without hesitation, as he
reached down to gently brush a lock of pale violet hair from the
infant's forehead.

"Zelgadis," his daughter repeated with soft approval.

"Zelgadis," Rezo whispered, and his solitary voice echoed within
the walls of the Tower of the Dark Lord.


*^_^*


"A toast!"  Zolf, wizard and mercenary extrordinaire, sloshed his
glass towards his best friend and business partner, Gentry
Bellmourne -- who was, he noticed blearily, looking quite drunk. 
Had he himself been thinking more clearly, Zolf might have
realized that yet another toast was probably not in their best
interests, particularly if they wished to remain upright. 
Unfortunately, the thought was lost in a rather pleasant warm
haze before it could fully form within his brain.  "To your
wife," he said.  "The ever-radiant Alicia, who, against all
odds..."

"We've already toasted my wife," Gentry interrupted, grinning
lopsidedly as his eyes struggled to focus on the man before him. 
"Three times now, I think.  Or... was it four?"

Zolf laughed, his voice echoing in the vaulted ceiling of the
dining hall.  He struggled to stand, but his legs didn't seem to
be cooperating, so he wisely changed tactics and remained
sitting.  "Then, to your son," he said, only belatedly realizing
that they had already toasted the newborn several times as well.

But apparently that didn't seem to matter, for Gentry
straightened in his chair, raising his own glass with such a wild
gesture that most of the contents spilled over the side onto the
white lace tablecloth.  Zolf winced.  Alicia was going to have a
fit when she saw, but... oh well.  

"Yes!" Gentry exclaimed.  "To my son.  My *son!*  Heir to
everything that is mine!"

Zolf tipped his glass eagerly.  "May he be as great a warrior and
sorcerer as his father."

"Nay...  May he surpass me!  May he bring honor and glory to the
name Bellmourne!"

Satisfied, they clanked their glasses together and drank.

With the toast complete, Gentry suddenly slumped back into his
chair, the drink, weariness or both suddenly overcoming him. 
Though his energy seemed spent, the smile didn't leave his face,
nor the gleam fade from his unfocused eyes.  "Yes," he said
quietly.  "He will be great.  I can feel it.  You should see him,
Zolf.  Healthy, strong..."  His smile faltered slightly.  "And...
there's something about him..."

*sh-ching*

Outside, in the distance; the jangling sound of metal on metal...

Distracted, Zolf peered up from his empty glass.  "Something?"

"Powerful."

"Um," Zolf grunted, not understanding.

*sh-ching*

Zolf's unsteady gaze shifted to the curtained window.  The sound
of metal on metal... 

Gentry didn't seem to notice, too lost in his own muddled
thoughts.  "Magic... I think..." he said, propping his chin up
with one arm, staring off into the distance.  "Maybe it's inborn
talent, or...  I don't know.  Can't explain it.  Never felt
anything like it, really..."

*sh-ching*

>From the kitchen, just off of the dining hall, there was a great
crashing, clattering sound, as if someone had dropped a tray of
dishes.  Startled, Zolf and Gentry both glanced over to the
swinging door just in time to see a kitchen maid stumble through,
her expression apologetic and a bit dazed as she looked at them
through heavy-lidded eyes.  "Master Bellmourne..." she said.

And then she slumped to the floor in a slumbering heap.

*sh-ching*

A violent surge of alarm-induced adrenaline cleared Zolf's
alcohol-addled mind in a rush.  He pushed himself to his feet,
even as Gentry did the same, their eyes locking with the same
fear and anger as they both understood.

Sleep spell.  Somehow, a sleep spell had managed to penetrate the
estate's magical wards.  They were under attack.

"Alicia," Gentry whispered in horror.  And then his eyes widened,
even as he turned to rush out of the dining hall and up the
stairs to the living quarters.  "The baby..."

But understanding came too late.  Even as Zolf quickly followed,
he felt the magic's influence seep through his lowered defenses,
and saw that the spell was having the same effect on his friend.

With a clearer mind, he might have been able to cast Reflect, or
even some kind of offensive spell, like Flare Arrow... though it
wouldn't do any good without a target.  And he didn't have a
target.  Not one he could see, at least...

*sh-ching*

Zolf cursed aloud as he felt himself slipping down to the floor
in unconsciousness.  The last thing he saw before the darkness
claimed him was Gentry, stumbling with wild, weary desperation up
the stairs, yet falling, slumping...


*^_^*


Rezo lowered his staff as the last of his sleep spell blanketed
the house.  Unsurprisingly, he could feel that his adult grandson
had put up the most fight.  The boy might even have lasted longer
against this, his mildest of magics, had he not been so falling-
down-drunk in the first place.

It was just as well.  In spite of whatever emotional distance he
had placed between himself and his descendants, he wished them no
harm.  He had no desire to fight with his own.  

His true battle lay elsewhere, after all.  This current
unpleasant task was simply to ensure that his enemies could not
create a pawn to use against him in the future...

He glided easily through the warded doorways, inwardly pleased
that these offspring of his were not completely without common
sense.  The magical defenses around the house would have defeated
many an invader, sorcerer or otherwise.  But they were as nothing
in the face of his power.

The house was near pitch black, all the lamps extinguished -- a
side effect of the encompassing miasma of the sleep spell.  But,
to a blind man, darkness is darkness, and Rezo slipped through
the halls, silent as a ghost, passing the fallen, sleeping bodies
of servants.

He found his adult grandson, snoozing peacefully halfway up the
grand staircase, and paused for a moment.

He couldn't see him with natural sight, of course, but he could
sense the young man with the astral sight that, in spite of all
its power, could never satisfy the ache within him; the burning
desire he had to see with physical eyes all the nuances of color
and texture, light and shadow and pure human expression that he
knew must exist, but could never experience...

The boy had obviously done well for himself, if the house and
surrounding lands were any indication.  He was physically strong
as well, with a lean, muscled form that spoke of plenty of
fighting experience.  And, of course, there was the aura of magic
that, though only a fraction of his own, still resonated with
familiarity... and Rezo found himself feeling a strange emotion. 
A flicker of... pride?

He began to lean over, his hand outstretched.  He couldn't see...
but perhaps, if he could only touch the boy's face...

He froze, then, shocked at his own lapse of reason, and pulled
back, straightening.  Now was not the time for such thoughts, or
even misplaced feelings of sentimentality.  He had work to do. 
Turning sharply, he ascended the stairs, leaving his grandson
behind.

Up the stairs.  Down the hall, to the room where mother and
infant lay... sleeping...

Rezo paused outside the room in surprise.  Powerful, active magic
swirled within.

*What on earth?* he wondered in amazement and curiosity.  *Is it
the child?*

The door opened before him, and he stepped through.

His daughter was sitting upright in her bed, very much awake and
frightened as she clutched her baby to her chest.  A strong
white-magic shield spell surrounded her and the child, keeping
the miasma of sleep magic at bay.

If Rezo was surprised at this, he was even more surprised at her
sudden gasp of recognition as she saw him.  

"You!" she exclaimed.

*Oh dear,* thought Rezo.

This was not good.

"You... know who I am?" he asked, his voice carefully quiet and
neutral.

Her mouth worked soundlessly for a moment before she managed,
hoarsely, "Know you?  Of course I know you.  I would know you
anywhere.  You are Rezo, the Red Priest.  One of the Five Wise
Men of the Age.  The most powerful human magic user alive. 
And... my father."

Rezo could say nothing in the face of such truth, except, "Yes."

They faced each other silently, neither moving.

As he stood in the uncomfortable silence, Rezo wondered, for what
would not be the first time that night, why he didn't just put an
end to the awkward situation by dissipating her shield with a
thought and putting her to sleep.

But he could hear her breathing, in shallow, frightened gasps. 
And he could hear the infant in her arms, stirring restlessly. 
The baby didn't cry, and yet he seemed to sense his mother's
distress.  The power Rezo could feel flowing from the child was
tainted with a silent, unfocused anxiety...

"I... looked for you," his daughter said finally, her voice
trembling.  "We both looked for you... mother and I.  We looked
everywhere, following the rumors and stories of your 'healing
benevolence.'  And yet, while everyone else who needed your
compassion seemed to be able to find you... we... never could..." 
The bitterness and pain in her voice were unmistakable.

Rezo sighed, and slumped imperceptibly.  This certainly was an
unexpected turn of events, and would have to be handled
delicately.  He could tell her all of his reasons for why he had
left so long ago, and none of them would make any difference. 
Nothing he could do would heal this wound.  And he was ill-
prepared to even try. 

Perhaps it was best to just be up front and honest with the girl. 
The woman.

"I..."

*I'm sorry.  I'm sorry that I'm such a selfish bastard.  I'm
sorry that my desperate all-consuming need to find a cure for my
blindness has left me incapable of giving you a father's love.  I
could say I'm sorry forever, but all the apologies in the world
won't make up for my neglect, and won't erase your pain...*

Rezo lifted his head and turned his sealed eyes in her direction.

"I'm afraid I am not here for a family reconciliation, or to
apologize for being a bad father," he said.

"I guessed that," she snapped, anger burning through her fear. 
"Your little sleep spell was supposed to get me as well.  Well, I
hate to tell you this, *Father*, but I happen to have a bit of
magical talent myself, in case you haven't noticed."

"I noticed."

He heard her swallow hard.  "Well then... if you haven't come to
apologize for abandoning your pregnant lover to a life of shame,
struggle and hardship forty-three years after the fact... why are
you here?"

Rezo's reply was silence.  She seemed quite a bright girl, after
all.

And she was.  

She drew back in horror, clutching her infant son tighter to her
chest.  "No..." she whispered.  "No, you... you can't have him."

"I don't want him," he said quietly.  "I think it should be
painfully apparent at this time that I am quite unsuitable for
fatherhood."

He could sense her confusion, her fear hanging palpably in the
air.  "Then... what?"

And here was where he needed to tread delicately.  "Your
husband," he said.  "Do you... know who he is?"

"Wh-what..?  I... I don't understand."

And she didn't.  He could hear it in her voice.

"Why are you asking about my husband?" she asked, anger flaring
once again amidst her fear.  "If you've hurt him, I swear I'll-"  

"Your husband is fine.  He is sleeping downstairs."  Well,
technically, *on* the stairs, but there was no need for her to
know that.

More importantly, he now knew that she didn't know that she and
her husband were *both* his descendants.  Which probably meant
that his grandson was unaware of his ancestry, even if his
daughter was aware of hers.

He didn't feel the need to enlighten her to that particular
unfortunate twist in her life.  He had caused her enough pain,
and in this case, ignorance was most certainly bliss.

And now, a half-truth would serve as well, if not better than the
whole truth in this instance.

"Listen to me carefully," Rezo said quietly, "and I will explain
to you why I am here."  He took a deep breath.  "Your son is in
danger."

"Danger?"  His daughter's voice was tight and thin.  "Yes, from
you."

He shook his head.  "Not from me.  From my enemies, which are
many.  My blood runs strongly in your son's veins, and the power
that you can feel from him now -- power that feels like *my*
power; that screams out to anyone who knows me that he is *of*
me; that he is mine -- is the result."

"He is *not* yours," she hissed.  "You have *nothing* to do with
him!"

"Don't deceive yourself," he responded sharply.  "You understand
my meaning.  You can feel as well as I, that you're son's power
is virtually identical to mine."

She fell silent at that.

"They will come for him unless I do something."

He could hear her shaking her head.  "No," she whispered, and
there were tears in her voice; no doubt on her face, if he could
only see them.  "No, you're lying.  He's just a baby..."

"That is to their advantage, for it will make him easier to
manipulate as he grows, and he will not be able to defend
himself."

"*I* will defend him," she cried.  "My husband and I will fight
together!  We will not allow *anyone* to take our child!"

"So," Rezo said quietly.  "You believe you can defend him from
Mazoku?"

Silence.

"Ma...  Mazoku?"

Rezo sighed; a heavy, world-weary sigh.  "I'm going to let you in
on a terrible secret, my dear.  There is a man who is working to
resurrect the Dark Lord, Shabranigdo."  He heard her sharp intake
of breath at that.  "I have been trying to stop him," he
continued, "but just in case I cannot, I have also been working
to find a way to destroy the Dark Lord himself, should he ever be
brought back to life."

A half-truth.  And yet enough of the truth, that he didn't feel 
*too* guilty...

"Because of this, as you can imagine, there are many Mazoku who
would like to destroy me.  Or, better yet, see me destroyed by my
own grandson, for reasons that have hopefully become obvious to
you.

"You have the power to wield magic, child, but you cannot hope to
stand against Mazoku.  They will come and take your son from you,
even if they have to pry him from your dead hands, and then they
will corrupt him for their own evil purposes."

He paused.  

In the silence, he could hear her sobbing.

Finally, she spoke.  "What... are you going to do... with my
son?" she asked brokenly.

Rezo bowed his head.  "I am going to seal away his power.  Once I
do that, he will not be able to perform any magic.  But he *will*
be able to grow up and live a normal life with you and your
husband, without any of you having to live in fear because of my
misbegotten legacy."

His daughter wept.  She knelt on her bed, her legs curled under
her as she cradled her infant son, rocking back and forth...

He waited.

Eventually, her weeping subsided.  Then, slowly, she moved to the
side of her bed, stood, and came over to him. 

"I hate you," she said softly.

Rezo suppressed the urge to flinch.  "I know."

"You're not doing this for him.  You're doing this for you. 
You're not afraid *for* him.  You're afraid *of* him."

Rezo didn't respond.

She reached out and handed him the bundled infant.  He took the
tiny child carefully, and rested him in the crook of his arm,
surprised at how weightless the boy seemed.  

"Do what you have to," she said coldly.  "And then leave.  I
never want to see your face again."

Rezo nodded his head in humble acquiescence.  Then, as she turned
away, he eliminated her shield of white magic and caught her
slumping body with a thought as she fell instantly asleep.  A
slight amount of levitation, and she was resting peacefully on
her bed.

Then, reluctantly... almost fearfully... .Rezo reached out with 
one hand to gently caress the face of the infant boy nestled in 
the crook of his arm.  

He felt soft skin; a light thatch of thin, silky hair.  The small, 
delicate curve of an ear... the whisper of an eyebrow... the 
little bump of a nose.  And then he felt tiny, warm hands reach 
out and grasp his fingers in a surprisingly strong grip...

"Come, little Zelgadis," he whispered.  "It's time."

And, as he began to cast the spell, it was only then that Rezo
realized that there were tears leaking from his sealed eyes...



To be continued...

TRP
-- 
"I think it's impossible to really understand somebody, what they want,
what they believe, and not love them the way they love themselves." 
                                                                
			from _Ender's Game_
			by Orson Scott Card