The Battle
Provenna’s face was almost expressionless,
but her green eyes flashed. “My father hated me. Aiden left me. Kozan used me. And the whole of the Realm despises me. Soon they shall learn to fear me.”
Mystia sat alone in Kozan's chambers. She was dressed all in white–a maid not going
to her wedding but to her death. Kozan
had left very early in the morning, and she had seen no one else save the
slave-girl who had brought her dinner.
The food, long cold, still rested upon the table before her, for Mystia
had not the stomach to eat. She had long
ago flung her veil aside–what reason had she to hide her face any longer when
death was so near? Her head was bent,
her hands covered her face, and her whole body shook as she wept tears of
anguish and terror.
"Joretham," she sobbed and could
say nothing more.
Presently, she began to regain her
composure. She sat up a little
straighter, and began to take slow, deep breaths. Her whole body was shivering, and she held
herself tightly. She felt colder than
when she had been in Kozan's dungeon.
At that thought, tears sprang once more to
her eyes. She could picture Orion,
beaten and broken, lying chained to the dungeon walls.
"Joretham," she whispered with a
pleading, trembling voice, "if you can hear me, help Orion. I know that I am going to die, but please
help Orion. Kozan says he’s the son of
Norenroth, and, though Kozan is an evil man, I find myself believing him. I do not know if there is any way to free him
of the curse which binds him, but I know if there is a way, you know what it is. Please help him. I fear death, but if it meant he would live I
would gladly give my life up."
She was silent for a long moment, and when
she spoke again her voice was so soft it could barely be heard. "I love
him."
* * *
The first, faint hints of sunlight were
showing in the sky as Orion stopped his riding–his wandering–and stood
still. He found himself in an open
place, surrounded on all sides by cold, gray buildings. In the middle of this quiet courtyard stood a
fountain, its softly bubbling water a peaceful undertone to a meditative
retreat. Orion's horse occasionally
shook its head and struck its hoof against the cobblestone. Other than that the place was still and
silent. A cool breeze blew across his
face.
Orion sat upon his horse for a long a moment,
looking at the fountain. All his anger
seemed to disappear at the sight of that solitary object, and he felt only loneliness. He dismounted and, taking the reigns in his
hand, approached the fountain where he stood for a time staring down at the
clear liquid surface and the soothing, hypnotic ripples. He reached out and brushed his fingers
through the water. As he did so, a
hundred different memories rushed unbidden into his mind of that night–it
seemed so long ago–when he and Mystia had sat at the edge of a similar
fountain, conversing.
Anguish filled him like a sickness spreading
out from his belly, gripping his chest so that he could not breathe. His legs grew weak and he sank to his knees. Would that he had fled Zaren as she had
bidden and never looked back.
He reached for the ring which she had given
him, but when his hand pressed against his chest, he did not find it. The ring–the ring Mystia had told him never
to lose–was gone. Fear filled him, and
for a moment he continued to hold his hand to his chest as if the precious
object would miraculously appear beneath his palm. He racked his brain, trying to figure out
where it could be.
He leapt to his feet, for he remembered what
had happened to it. He spun to face the
palace of his mother, just visible over the tops of the buildings. His eyes burned with rage.
He turned to his horse and, with a growl, began
to mount. Even as he did so, he stopped
short, one foot in the stirrup, and listened.
Through the early morning stillness spread a low rumbling. It was like far off thunder, but, though it
could barely be heard, the ground trembled with it.
* * *
Mystia sat unmoving, her arms resting upon
the table, her head cradled in her arms.
She could not sleep, but all of the emotions she had experienced during
the night had left her exhausted. She
could hear nothing, save the sound of her own soft breathing.
Through the stillness, the low, mournful
sound of Balor's horn broke. She started
at the noise and looked wildly around as she sat up straight. She realized what it was and, pressing her
hands to her breast, began to take deep breaths to slow her racing heart.
The sound of the horn died away, and the
princess was left once more in silence, but presently she realized she was not
in silence. Though hard to hear she
could make out a sound of something like far distant, rolling thunder. She sat still, her head tilted slightly,
holding her breath…and listened.
* * *
The morning had just broken. Its pink rays spread across the sky, and
there was not a cloud in sight, yet still it thundered. Orion’s horse gave a nervous shake of its
head as the thunder began to grow, and the warrior stumbled back and looked
around in confusion as the ground began to shake violently. He was thrown to the ground, his hand and arm
scraping against the uneven cobblestones.
As he scrambled to his feet, he looked up at the sky where he saw a
surprising sight. Above the city
hundreds of eagles soared through the air.
Their voices were lifted up in croaking shrieks of war as they sent
balls of fire raining down upon the city.
Already flames were spreading throughout the buildings and rising to the
sky.
* * *
Mystia ran to the window and pressed her
hands against the glass as she tried to see what was happening. She could see nothing, but she could hear the
savage cries of men, and she could feel the city shake with the pounding of
thousands upon thousands of feet. Her
heart was thumping in her chest, and her whole body was trembling. She barely dared hope an army truly was
attacking Nolhol.
Lightheaded, she rested her brow against the
cool glass, which vibrated with the commotion outside.
"Joretham," she whispered,
"let it be."
* * *
Orion stumbled back, and his eyes widened as the
ground before him continued to shake and buckle. His horse reared back and he threw his hands
up to protect his face as the ground suddenly erupted in an explosion of earth
and cobblestone.
The dust had no time to settle before fierce
goblins and men began to emerge from the hole now gaping in the ground. Orion was the first thing they saw. It was readily apparent that he was a
warrior, and the emerging soldiers seemed prepared to treat him as such, but
before they could attack him, Orion, who had neither weapon nor armor leaped
onto his horse and galloped out of the square.
Fighting was already beginning to break out in the streets as the
citizens of Leilaora and the many guards stationed throughout the city rushed
out to meet this unexpected enemy.
Orion charged through narrow, twisting
streets only to have his wild ride precipitously ended by a tall, unmoving
alley wall. The walls on either side of
him were too close together to allow him to easily turn his horse, which
neighed and pranced nervously with excitement and fear.
Behind him, Orion saw two soldiers–a human
and a goblin–running down the alleyway after him. With a snarling battle cry, he sprang from
his horse and charged toward them. His
attackers stopped short at the sight of this furious, beast-like man bearing
down upon them, and Orion took full advantage of their momentary surprise. The human tried to raise his sword, but Orion
barreled into him, sending him sprawling to the ground. With one swift motion, Orion broke his neck.
In another moment, he was on his feet again,
facing his other attacker. The goblin
bore a huge battle axe, but he could not swing it in the narrow alley, so he
dropped it, and, growling, met Orion.
The two tumbled to the ground.
With a howl, Orion scrambled madly onto the goblin's stomach and grabbed
his neck with his hands. The goblin
grunted and reached up to tear the warrior’s arms away, but he could barely
make Orion's arms move.
The goblin's eyes grew wide with terror, and
in a desperate attempt to save his life, he reached up and grabbed hold of
Orion's neck. The warrior's mouth
twisted into a mocking grin as slowly his grip tightened. The goblin gave a choked grunt as he
struggled desperately, but it was no use.
Orion's grip continued tightening until, finally, the sickening sound of
bones crunching reached his ears. The
goblin's arms grew limp and fell from Orion's neck.
Behind him, his horse neighed in fright and
pounded the pavement hard with his hooves.
"Fool!" the warrior cried then gave
a spiteful, desperate, bitter laugh. "Did you think you could defeat a
half dragon?" He began tearing at
the goblin's armor. "Did you truly think you had any hope of defeating
me?" There came another sickening crack as Orion yanked the helmet off.
"I, who am the son of Norenroth?"
He stripped the goblin of his armor and put
it on himself. The fit was decent,
though not nearly as good as he would have liked. Still it fit far better than the armor of the
human would have.
With one swift movement, he picked up the
huge battle axe the goblin had dropped and then turned to his horse, but as he
approached, the horse neighed and reared and would not allow him to draw
close. With a growl of disgust, he
turned around and stalked out into the city.
* * *
Aeneas held tightly to the saddle as
Nightfall cut his way swiftly through the low-hanging clouds. The young prince shivered, for the cloak he
wore offered little in the way of warmth.
It seemed that the closer they got to Nolhol, the colder and bleaker it
became. His heart was pounding and his
face was taut with anticipation and anxiety.
The griffin continued on, calm and steady, with large, slow beats of his
wings, but inside he too burned with anticipation, for every flap of his wings
brought him closer to what he hoped would save Orion.
Presently, through the stillness and the fog,
they heard a sound. It was very faint–nothing
more than a soft murmur–but it did not die away. In fact, as they continued flying it seemed
to grow louder. It sounded like a huge
waterfall far off in the distance.
"What...?" began Aeneas, but he did
not finish. Even as he spoke, Nightfall
flew out of the clouds and the young prince could see the surrounding
countryside. It was all gray and empty
and barren; not a thing of green could be seen.
As he looked ahead of him, he saw Nolhol, standing on the horizon, its
black towers and palaces rising into the gray and empty sky. His mouth fell open, for, though the city was
yet far away, he could tell immediately that it was under attack.
"Come on, Nightfall!" he cried.
"We have to hurry!"
* * *
Provenna stood upon an open terrace at the
top of a tall tower of her palace. Her
green eyes flashed with fury as she looked down upon her golden city, decimated
by fire and bloodshed. She could feel
the strength of hundreds of Magics pressing down upon her–struggling to hold
back the might that she, as a Power, wielded.
But though they could hold her back a little, they could not completely
overcome her.
Above her she could see scores of eagles
flying over the city, raining arrows down upon her men. She drew back her hand and with a cry flung
it upward. She could hear the shrieks of
agony and terror as the two nearest eagles were engulfed in flames. Even before they had fallen to the earth
another eagle burst into flames, then another, and another.
One by one they fell to the earth, and as
each fell Provenna's fury grew. There
was no escape. Her wrath was certain. Was she not a Power? Did they not owe her allegiance? She looked down and saw a group of
horsemen. She had never wanted to be a
Power, yet they hated her for something that was beyond her control. She flung her hand out and the horsemen were
engulfed in flames.
Her face twisted in bitterness, and another
eagle fell from the sky. She too could
hate.
* * *
Tnaka stood alone by a window in an empty
room of the palace, high within a tall tower.
None of the death and destruction filling the city was lost to him. If he looked up he could see the tower upon
which Provenna stood. It was very near,
and it would take him little more than a minute to run there, but he did not do
so.
The cries of the battling men filled his ears,
and he shuddered. He squeezed his eyes
shut, but he could still see the fire and smoke rising into the sky and the
blood-filled streets.
When would it end?
* * *
Mystia nervously paced back and forth in
Kozan's chambers. She could hear the
sounds of battle, loud and terrifying, right outside the window. Freedom seemed maddeningly near, but she
could not leave the room. When the
battle had first begun she had tried to escape, but the door was locked. She had used all of the magic she knew, but
Kozan had evidently protected his chambers from such measures. Now she was left there, fearing that at any
moment Kozan or the Dark Sorcerer would walk through the door.
All day had she been there as the minutes
slowly turned into hours. She had jumped
in terror when, through the roar of the battle, the sound of Balor's horn broke,
signifying the midday sacrifice. The
sickness which filled her was nearly over-powering as she realized that even in
the midst of pitched battle, sacrifices were being offered to Balor.
She continued pacing back and forth across
the whole of that dark and dismal room.
She had reached the door, turned, and was almost half way back across
the room when she heard a key being placed in the lock. She gasped and spun around.
She heard the key turn, and she ran to the
table. Grabbing hold of it, she looked
in terror at the door.
A small cry escaped her lips as it was thrown
open and the Dark Sorcerer strode in. He
stopped just inside the door.
"Come with me," he ordered.
Mystia held even tighter to the table and said
nothing.
He walked toward her and, holding his hand
out to her, again said, "Come with me."
"No." Her face was white and her
whole body was trembling, but there was something in the way she stood that
told the Sorcerer it would be a struggle to bring her out. He stopped short, surprised by her sudden
defiance. A look of realization crossed
his face. "You misunderstand me, Princess. I've come to rescue you."
"Get away from me," she said, her
voice low.
"Mystia," he said, his voice
growing dangerous as he took another step closer, "if you want to live
you’ll come with me now."
"I said get away from me!"
He took another slow step toward her, his arm
still held out. "I’m not here to take you to Kozan, nor am I here to take
you for myself. I have a love, and I’m
no servant of Kozan's."
"Stay away from me!"
The Dark Sorcerer's face darkened.
"I left Leilaora for you!" he
cried. "I put off, once again, my only hope for happiness just to come and
rescue you. Now come with me!"
With a lightning fast move, he sprang around
the table and grabbed her by the arm.
"Let go of me!" she shrieked,
striking him hard across the face with her free hand as she did so. She dug her nails into his skin and dragged them
across his face. The Sorcerer cried out
in pain, and Mystia herself squealed in disgust and horror as she felt one of
her fingers dig into his eye. He flung
her from him, and she screamed as she fell hard to the floor.
The Sorcerer swore and turned away from
her. His shoulders rose and fell with
painful, labored breathing. After a long
moment, he turned back to her. He
covered his eye with his hand, but Mystia could see blood running down his cheek.
He took a deep breath and then began to
breathe more evenly. After another
moment, he took his hand from his eye.
He had cast some sort of spell, for his eye appeared relatively intact,
but it was very red, and the Sorcerer was looking at her so oddly that Mystia
wondered whether he could see out of it.
He took another breath, and his anger seemed
to leave him.
"Get up," he said, "I want to
help you escape."
Slowly the princess rose, keeping distance between
him and her.
"I am not here to hurt you," he
said.
She looked distrustfully at him for a moment
before she finally said, "I am not willingly going anywhere with you until
you tell me why you want to help me escape."
The Dark Sorcerer was silent for a moment as
he considered what he should do.
"Very well," he finally said,
"I see we shall go nowhere unless I tell you." He took another
breath. "I’m Darus, enemy of Kozan and son of the last true king of
Delovachia."
Mystia looked at him in shock.
* * *
The battle raged all around Gideone. He coughed as smoke filled his nostrils. He was covered with dirt, and sweat and blood
streamed down his body. Strands of hair
stuck to his face and hung down in front of his eyes. He gasped for breath. His whole body screamed for rest. All day had he battled, and he felt as though
he would drop from fatigue, but he pressed on, knowing that if he fell he would
surely be killed. Slowly, Tmalion's army
was closing in upon Provenna's palace, but the closer they came the greater the
opposition grew until they were barely able to advance at all. But they continued to fight; they could not
stop now.
* * *
Nightfall made his way as quickly as he could
down the long, twisting stairs that led to the Kozan's dungeon. It had taken longer than he had expected for
him and Aeneas to reach and enter the palace.
When they finally had, they had split up and were now searching
desperately for the princess. The
griffin shook his head and gave a soft hiss of annoyance, for his large body
could barely fit in the small space between the two walls. Still, he continued downward. Step upon step, turn upon turn, deeper and
deeper he went, the smell of blood and death growing stronger the further he
went.
He found himself suddenly at the end of the stairs,
and he walked out into a small but open room.
Looking around only enough to notice the door leading to the long
hallway of cells, he spread out his wings and stretched out the whole of his
body. Even as he did so, he heard a man
cry out. His head shot up, and he looked
around to find the source of the noise.
A hissing croak escaped his beak as he felt the sting of a whip upon his
back. He spun around and found a man, lash
in hand, standing behind him. With his
body low to the ground, the griffin narrowed his eyes and opened his beak in a
snarl. The man's eyes filled with fear
and he turned to run, but, even as he did so, Nightfall pounced on him. With one swift swipe of his forepaw, he finished
him.
He could hear the cries of other men, and,
spinning around, saw them running through the corridor of cells. With a hiss he charged toward them, and they
screamed in terror as he advanced. The
corridor was narrow, however, and he could move but little. He cried in pain as he felt the blade of a
sword dig into his shoulder then sent his paw smashing into the head of the man
who had pierced him. He could feel the
bones crack beneath him.
The cries of the prisoners filled his ears as
he struggled forward.
The guards ran before him, and he managed to
push his way out of the small hallway into the room beyond. He hissed in disgust as he found himself in
Kozan's large torture chambers. There
were only two guards left, both of whom ran when he appeared. He fell upon one and broke his back, then,
spinning, walked menacingly toward the one remaining guard. The man stood, pressed against the cold, dark
wall and stared in terror at the huge, black griffin. Nightfall's eyes narrowed as he growled,
"Release the prisoners."
For a moment, the guard stood petrified.
"I said release them!" Nightfall
snarled.
The guard started and ran forward. He quickly found the body of the dead chief
jailer, and, taking the keys from him, began to do as the griffin had ordered. Nightfall watched him closely as first the
prisoners chained in the torture room were freed, then one by one the cells
were opened. He watched expectantly,
each moment hoping to see the princess emerge from one of them. When she did not he shook his head and began
to make his way once more through the cell-lined corridor, through the room
beyond, and up the long, winding stairs into the palace above.
* * *
Aeneas stood in one of the corridors of
Kozan’s palace and slammed his fist against the wall in frustration. He had searched every room he had come across
for Mystia but had yet to find her. He
struck the wall once more before turning and beginning his search afresh. He felt certain that if he found the harem he
would find Mystia, but he had never before laid eyes upon his father's palace,
much less entered it and become acquainted with its corridors and chambers.
He opened a door and looked in only to find
it was nothing more than a servant's barren room. With a
growl of disgust, he and slammed the door.
"Mystia!" he shouted. "Where
are you?"
* * *
"Sit down and I will tell you the
tale," the Dark Sorcerer said. He
could hear the battle raging all around.
The glass of the window shivered beneath it.
Slowly, Mystia did as he said, looking up at
him all the time with her black eyes.
Her distrust was still evident, but she waited silently for him to
begin. The Sorcerer sighed in disgust,
for he realized he would have to tell the tale in its entirety for her to
believe he was who he claimed.
"I was born in a country far away across
the sea," he began. "I have no recollection of my true mother or
father. My oldest memory is of the
streets and the darkness they held." He paused. "Fate, however,
sometimes smiles on even the most unfortunate.
When I was scarcely more than a babe, it became apparent that I
possessed great magic power–at least as much as an arch-sorcerer, if not
more. But I knew nothing of how to
properly wield it, so I remained a child on the streets, unable to raise myself
above that position.
"When I was nine or ten my father,
Constans, the king of Delovachia, came and waged war against my country. My country was completely overcome; the king
was killed as were most of the nobles, and the few lords who yet lived were
forced to pledge themselves to my father.
"Constans left, taking with him hundreds
of people whom he had captured and made slaves.
I was one of those." He paused. "We traveled across the sea to
Delovachia where I served in the palace.
I did well and soon became one of my father's most trusted slaves.
"He had no wife and no children. He was distant from almost all, and most
considered him proud and selfish. But he
was a good and honorable man who ruled firmly and justly, and I would have
given my life for him.
"He had many enemies, and, during an
assassination attempt, I saved his life.
It was more accident than intention, for it was by my magic that I saved
him, and, as a result my father learned of the great power I held. He made me his son and heir and had the
greatest teachers of magic come and instruct me in the use of my
power." He paused again, as a look
of sadness filled his face. "I became great; I was young and yet my magic
was strong. With such strength, I could
bring greatness to Delovachia such as it had never before possessed." A look of pain filled his face. "But, it
was not meant to be. When I was about
thirteen it was all taken from me. To
this day I do not know how. I was taken with
a fever and almost died, and when I finally grew well, all of my power was gone."
He struggled to speak. "It seems impossible; there’s not one record of
anything like that ever happening before, but it happened to me. My magic was gone, and I was left weaker than
even the weakest warlock."
* * *
Kozan rode upon a black charger through the
streets of Nolhol. Soldiers lashed out
at him, trying to cut him down, but how could they kill him, a Power? He struck them down with his magic before
they even touched him. All around him
the city burned, and, above it, the sky was filled with dark, foreboding
clouds. Occasionally, he could hear the
soft rumbling of thunder–sign that a storm would soon break. What did he care? Let it burn; let it storm. His army was slowly emerging triumphant. At the end of the day, Nolhol would still stand,
and his enemies would be destroyed.
The evening approached quickly and with it
the time for the evening sacrifice. The
dark king made his way toward his dark, towering palace. All day had he waited, but he could wait no
longer. Balor's altar screamed for
blood, and Balor's Law demanded the death of all High Elves. Mystia would be sacrificed.
* * *
The princess looked at the Dark Sorcerer as
he continued his tale.
"My father loved me, and he did not
throw me out because I no longer possessed magic strength," the Sorcerer
told her. "I redoubled my studies in the subjects other than magic. When I came of age, I left Nolhol and, with
my father's blessing, went out into Lairannare in search of some way to regain
my lost power.
"For six years I searched, but I found
no answers. I traveled the length and
breath of Lairannare and finally concluded there was no hope, and I was making
my way back to Delovachia when I met a people–a race I had never seen before, a
people that existed only as villains in all the stories and all the histories
stretching down from the beginning of time, your people–the Shallee.
"They took me into their midst and
showed me things I had never dreamed existed and taught me how to use magic
again. For one year I resided among
them, my magic growing ever stronger. I
had yet to grow as powerful as I once had been, but I hoped that in time I
would reach that point."
His face darkened. "I left them and returned to Delovachia,
but when I did I found my country subjected and my father murdered by Kozan.
"I joined his army," he continued
quickly, trying to force from his head all that Kozan had done. "I hoped
that I’d be able to destroy him from the inside. I was a good soldier and an able leader, and
I rose quickly through the ranks, until I was made the High General of all his
armies. I worked even harder toward
increasing my magic power and my standing with the people so that when the time
was right I would be able to kill him and take his place with as little
rebellion as possible."
He paused for a moment then said, "So,
you see? I’m no friend of Kozan, and I
wish to help you because you’re of the Shallee, the people who helped me regain
my magic strength. Now, will you please
come with me?"
Mystia's black eyes were filled with tears as
she looked at the man who had killed her father and destroyed her country.
"You are the only one here willing to help
me," she told him, "so I will go with you."
* * *
Provenna sent yet another blast of fire down
upon her enemies. For a moment
afterwards, she stood gasping for breath.
Her head throbbed with pain as hundreds of Magics pressed down upon her
with their power.
She saw an eagle flying toward her, and she
forced herself to straighten. With her
face twisted into a look of anger and agony, she drew back her hand and
unleashed another fiery blast of magic.
She looked wildly all around her. Where was Tnaka?
"Tnaka!" she cried with all her
might. "Tnaka!" But there was
no answer.
With a growl, she continued to battle.
* * *
The Dark Sorcerer walked so quickly through
the corridors of the palace that Mystia was out of breath trying to keep up. The halls were almost completely empty,
though occasionally they would pass a terrified slave. The sounds of war were muffled by the many
rooms and the thick stone walls which separated the Sorcerer and the princess
from the outside world, but they could still be heard, and they seemed to lend
speed to the steps of the two.
The Sorcerer led Mystia through a door and
out onto the balcony which overlooked the banquet hall. They walked along its length and down the
stone steps at the end into the hall itself which they quickly crossed, making
their way through the long dinner tables.
Mystia gasped as she noticed King Rolfaren. He was no menace, for he lay unconscious at
one of the tables–a pitcher of wine beside him and an overturned goblet before
him. The Sorcerer paid him no attention
but stalked past him to the doors which he threw open. Mystia cast one last look back at the drunken
king before she followed the Dark Sorcerer out of the hall.
* * *
Kozan, his clothes torn and dirty, ran
through the corridors of his palace. His
hair fell in a disheveled mess around his face, and, with a growl of anger, he
brushed it away, only for it to fall once more before his eyes. The cries of war filled his ears but he paid
them no heed. He had to get Mystia.
* * *
The Dark Sorcerer and Mystia walked quickly
down a long, open balcony that ran along the outside wall of the palace and
looked down upon a courtyard two stories beneath it. The cries of war and screams of pain could
now be fully heard through the open air.
The princess started as a crash of thunder
broke through the sounds of battle. The
clouds, which all day had threatened to storm, had finally broken and now sent light
rain down upon the city.
* * *
"Where is she?" Aeneas cried as he
struck the wall in frustration. He had
found the harem, only to then remember that Mystia was a High Elf and would
therefore never be loved by his father.
He had checked to make sure, and, just as he had expected, she was not
there.
With a growl of anger he turned and began to
run back to the main entrance of the palace where he and Nightfall had agreed
to meet. Hopefully, the griffin had been
more successful than he had been.
* * *
Mystia paused for a second to catch her breath
and shivered as the rain struck her. The
Sorcerer, seeing her discomfort, slowed somewhat. Both of them turned their faces toward the
sky above the courtyard, for the battle had drawn quite close and the sky was
filled with eagles and harpies all spinning and cart-wheeling against the
forbidding clouds.
Their brief reverie was broken by the sound of
footsteps pounding against the stone floor of the arcade. Mystia’s face turned white as she saw Kozan
running toward her.
After that, everything seemed to happen in a
moment. The Dark Sorcerer started
forward to stop the king, but Kozan had already seen the Sorcerer with Mystia
and was in no mood to ask questions.
Kozan’s spell was already half-completed
before the Sorcerer even started his attack.
The force of the magic blast threw the Dark Sorcerer back into the stone
railing of the balcony, and his head struck the stone hard. Before he could rise, Kozan was already
crying out another spell.
Wide-eyed, Mystia watched as the Sorcerer
raised his hand in a useless gesture of defense and was struck by another blast
of magic. The balustrade burst apart,
causing the Dark Sorcerer to fall off the arcade and, a look of surprise upon
his face, tumble through the empty air to the courtyard below.
Kozan did not stop to gaze upon him but spun
toward Mystia, his arm snaking out toward her.
"Let go of me!" she screamed as his
hand closed upon her arm.
She struggled against him as he pulled her
tighter, but he subdued her with a blow that almost knocked her
unconscious. He flung her limp body over
his shoulder and walked from the arcade.
* * *
Tmalion stood in a makeshift command station
where he conferred with several soldiers, one of whom was Gideone. The day had been long and arduous; tempers
were short, and the discussion was already growing heated.
"She's killing us," one of the
generals declared. "I don't care how much of the city we've taken. If we don't kill her soon, by day's end we'll
have nothing left."
"'Tis a fool's battle," growled
another, "and one we aren't going to survive."
"I wonder you can say that,"
Gideone exclaimed. "The men are fighting well, and we've gained much
ground.
"But the fact does remain," Tmalion
stated, "she's slowly destroying our troops, and none of us can even get
near her."
"Then we should try again," Gideone
answered. "It's late in the day and if we're all weak and tired she must
be more so. If we can't do it now, we
never will."
* * *
Orion ran down an alleyway so narrow that both
sides of his body brushed the walls. He
was covered in sweat and blood. All day
he had battled his way through the crowded, tumult-ridden streets, sometimes
barely able to move forward because of the crush of men. The whole time Provenna had stood upon her
tower, within eyesight but maddeningly out of reach.
He burst out of the alleyway and nearly ran
into a tall, white, stone wall. He paused
for a moment as he leaned against it, trying to catch his breath. He looked around, attempting to figure out
exactly where he was, and his heart began to beat louder as he realized the
wall in front of him was that which surrounded the royal palace. Long forgotten images began to return from
the days many years before when he had lived in Leilaora, and he remembered
that there was a small, little used door into the palace grounds only a short
distance away. He began to run along the
wall toward this entrance.
He looked up at what little he could see of
the palace. Provenna was no longer
visible, but he knew she was there and his face hardened. He would soon make her regret she had ever
been born.
* * *
Gideone leaned low in the saddle, and turned
his face slightly so the wind would not be blowing directly into his eyes. It had been several years since he had last
ridden an eagle, but he still remembered how, and now he was one of five men
winging their way toward Queen Provenna.
Out of the corner of his eye he could see Tmalion, to his left and a
little above him.
Provenna saw them approaching and turned her
full fury upon them, first trying to knock them from the air and then
attempting to incinerate them with a blast of magic. Tmalion, however, had prepared for that and
had as many magics as he could find on short notice on the ground casting a
protective shield around the attackers.
The five eagle riders were now very close to
the queen. Splitting apart, they
attacked her from all sides, making low passes over her head. Though she was prevented from attacking them,
she had any number of defensive spells at her disposal, and none of them
succeeded in touching her.
* * *
Tnaka knelt beside the window in the same
empty room he had been in all day. He
knew neither what to do nor what to think.
With a sad smile, he turned his gaze once more to what lay beyond the
window. The battle still continued and
the blood still flowed through the streets.
His gaze traveled slowly upward until it came to rest upon where
Provenna battled.
When it did, the elven Power started, for he
saw that she was being attacked by several eagle riders. Though she fought back they did not
immediately fall, and they seemed to be pressing her hard.
* * *
Gideone, breathing heavily, wheeled to face
the enraged Power who was throwing the full force of her magic strength at her
attackers. Although Gideone was not a Magic
of any merit, he could still tell that the shield protecting him and his fellow
eagle riders was weakening.
Gripping his sword firmly, he urged his eagle
forward. Provenna saw him coming and
directed a fiery blast of magic toward him.
He tried to dodge it but was not quick enough. The fire curled around him but did not touch
him, though the force of the blast nearly knocked him from his mount. He held his seat, however, and kept his gazed
fixed on Provenna. He swung his blade at
her as he passed, but as he did so, she struck him with another blast of
magic. He flew from his eagle and, with
a cry, landed roughly on the stone tower about ten feet away from Provenna. He scrambled to his feet and, not giving her
any time to think, charged at her with sword in hand.
* * *
Tnaka watched first in
relief as Provenna downed one of her attackers and then in growing concern as
it became apparent the fallen warrior was not dead. Tnaka's hand jerked instinctively to his
sword as he saw the warrior charge. In
the split second that he saw Provenna's life was truly in danger, he made the
decision he had put off the entire day.
He ran to help her.
* * *
Gideone saw Provenna, wide-eyed and
white-faced, staring at him, frozen, as he approached. Then everything around him exploded. In a storm of rocks, he was thrown once more
to the ground. With a groan he rolled to
his feet and looked at her across the small crater left from her attack. She stared at him, tight-lipped, not doing
anything, waiting for him to attack once more.
But, before he did anything, the other four eagle riders swooped down on
her. A sharp cry of anger escape her
lips as she turned to face this other foe.
As her attention was diverted, Gideone charged again.
It took only a couple seconds to cover the
ground between them, and this time he would have struck her. But he was thrown back once more, this time
with great force. His sword skidded
across the floor, and his face contorted in pain as the wind was knocked out of
him.
Whatever magic had been protecting him was
gone. He looked up and his face paled,
for next to Provenna, strong and unwearied, stood Tnaka.
* * *
Eagle ran into the palace armory. The battle was drawing near and soon, she
feared, the soldiers would storm the palace.
There were few weapons left, but, when she reached the place where the
swords were supposed to be, she found one remaining. She paused for a moment, breathing quickly
with excitement, then reached out and grasped the hilt.
She held the weapon up and looked at it for a
moment. Its steel blade shone with the
orange glow of the torches lighting the armory.
The sword was obviously too small and light for any soldier to use, but
it was almost perfect for her. She took
a few simple practice swings, then, her confidence growing, flipped it around
and pretended she was battling an opponent.
She heard footsteps echoing in the corridor
outside the armory. She turned and ran
to the door and, looking out, caught sight of the powerful form and wild,
auburn hair of Orion. He ran down the corridor and disappeared around a
corner. For a moment Eagle stood and
stared after him, then, taking a breath, set off down the corridor in pursuit.
* * *
"Kill him," Provenna ordered before
she walked from the top of the tower and disappeared into the palace below.
Tnaka stood, sword in hand, looking down at
Gideone.
The prince reached for his weapon, but Tnaka
knocked it aside with his magic.
"Fight me like a man," Gideone
growled, pushing himself up off the ground.
"I think we both know a sword is not going
to help you," Tnaka replied as he stretched his hand out toward the
prince. Gideone's face paled and twisted
in pain as a strong, unyielding pressure gripped his chest and slowly began to
squeeze.
Gideone could barely breath, but he managed
to gasp out, "What are you going to
tell Eagle?"
Tnaka did not respond, but the pressure
seemed to lessen slightly.
"D'you think she'll ever love you if she
finds out you never even gave me a chance to defend myself?"
Tnaka's face hardened. "She'll never
love me anyway."
Gideone clutched at his chest as the pressure
resumed and squeezed his eyes shut. He
did not have enough air to cry out. His
ears were ringing, and everything around him seemed to grow distant and hazy.
Suddenly, through the fog, he heard Tmalion's
voice, steady and authoritative. "Leave him alone, Tnaka."
In a rush air returned to his lungs as Tnaka
released his grip.
"I don't want to fight you," the
Power told Tmalion.
"You're going to have to," Tmalion
replied.
"Gideone may be nothing, but you're the
father of my wife."
"A wife you forced to marry you,"
Tmalion countered, a hard look on his face. "You can't expect to subject
my kingdom and run roughshod over the people of Lairannare and not have to
fight for the privilege."
Tnaka opened his mouth to say something, but
the words caught in his throat. With his
sword arm hanging at his side, he stood and simply looked at Tmalion.
* * *
Provenna stood in the corridor outside the
tower. Her whole body trembled with
rage. Tmalion and all who fought for him
would pay for what they had done; she swore it.
She leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. She heard the sound of feet pounding against
the stone floor and, looking up, saw Orion running toward her.
"Orion!" she cried, "Where
have you..." but her voice trailed off as he drew close and she saw the
look of raw, visceral hatred in his eyes.
Her face grew completely white, and a scream escaped her lips. She turned and fled.
* * *
"Please, listen to me," Tnaka
pleaded. "I never wanted to do you any harm. I never meant to do Eagle any harm. I never wanted to do any harm to
anyone."
"'Tis too late for apologies," Tmalion
answered as he raised his sword.
Tnaka started as a scream suddenly rang out
from nearby within the palace. He cast a
quick glance at where Provenna had disappeared; it must have been her.
Tmalion took advantage of the momentary
diversion and charged Tnaka. The Power
started and barely had time to raise his sword before Tmalion was upon him.
"Stop this!" Tnaka shouted. He tried to strike Tmalion down with magic,
but the elven mage was a much stronger opponent than Gideone had been and
deflected the blow.
Gideone snatched his sword up from where it
lay on the ground and ran to join Tmalion.
"I have no time for this," Tnaka said.
"Then make time," Gideone growled.
The elven Power answered by throwing Gideone
roughly to the ground with magic.
Tmalion attacked him with renewed vigor, but Tnaka defended himself just
long enough to give himself an opportunity to dash to the tower door. He slipped through it and caused the stone to
crumble behind him, sealing off the door and preventing Tmalion from giving
chase.
He flew down the tower's twisting stairs
until he reached the first door. He ran
out into the corridor beyond and looked wildly around for Provenna. She was nowhere to be seen, but he could hear
the sound of feet striking the floor. As
he looked down the corridor he caught a glimpse of Orion disappearing around a
corner. A cry escaped his lips as he
realized what was happening, and he took off with all his might down the
corridor after the retreating warrior.
Tnaka skidded around the corner and, once
again, could see Orion before him.
"Orion!" he cried, in a desperate
attempt to stop the wild warrior, but Orion did not slacken his pace.
"Orion!" Tnaka howled again.
A figure stepped out from one of the side
passages and barred his path. Tnaka
skidded to a halt and stared up in surprise as he saw who blocked his way. It was Eagle.
She stood, feet planted, sword in hand, jaw set firm.
"Get out of the way!" he cried
desperately as he saw Orion disappear around another corner.
Her voice was steady and her face filled with
determination as she said, "Tnaka, leave him alone."
* * *
Aeneas paced back and forth near the main
entrance of the palace, every so often casting a quick glance up in hopes of
catching sight of Nightfall. The clash
of steel and the cries of men rang in his ears so loud it seemed the battle was
being waged right outside the doors.
Aeneas reached one end of the huge,
intricately carved set of doors then spun around and walked back the other way.
"Where is he?" he muttered.
He reached the other end of the doors and
immediately turned and started back. He
had almost reached the other side when, behind him, he heard a soft
thumping. Spinning, he found himself
looking at Nightfall galloping up the corridor toward him.
"Did you find her?" the young
prince cried, but, even as he did so, he saw that Mystia was not with the
griffin.
Nightfall skidded to a halt, and for a moment
the two simply looked at each other.
"Now what do we do?" Aeneas finally
demanded.
"Calm yourself," the griffin
said. He cocked his head to one side.
"We have to think. She’s not in the
dungeon..."
"Or the harem..."
"Or anywhere in between, as near as we
can tell. So, she’s either dead or held
somewhere that we have yet to find."
"This is hopeless," Aeneas moaned,
slumping against the wall.
"'Tis not hopeless. We have simply to think harder."
"What good will thinking do?"
Aeneas demanded. "You yourself said she's not in the dungeon. She has to be dead then; where else would my
father keep a High Elf?" He stopped
suddenly, and he and Nightfall looked at each other.
"The temple!" they exclaimed together.
* * *
Mystia struggled against Kozan as he dragged
her through the twisting, torch-lit corridors of Balor's Temple. The sounds of the battle, seemingly far off,
still filled the place, echoing off the cold, stone walls. A choked sob of fear escaped Mystia as they
emerged from a hallway into the sanctuary of the temple.
The pyramid of steps leading up to the altar towered
over her. Kozan began to ascend, Mystia struggling
against him the whole time, her legs scraping against the stone steps, her
fingers clawing for any sort of anchor.
In a moment they reached the top, and Kozan threw her onto the
altar. King Ibrahim's staff was knocked
from the foot of the altar and went clattering to the ground.
Kozan held her fast and chained first one
hand, then the other. She kicked at him
as he tried to chain her legs. He
grabbed her bare ankle, and she howled in pain as he twisted her leg hard and
chained it also. She kicked at him one
last desperate time with her free leg, but that too he took and chained.
For a moment, he stood, breathing heavily,
looking down upon her.
"Kozan, please," she begged,
"stop. Let me go."
She pulled against the chains. Her whole body was shaking, and her breast
rose and fell with great, sobbing breaths.
"No," he murmured and shut his eyes
and turned away. His voice rose. "You
must be sacrificed."
* * *
"What are you doing?" Tnaka cried
in horror at his wife.
"Defending Orion," she answered,
her gray eyes flashing.
Tnaka tried to step past her, but she held
her sword up and blocked his path. "If you want to kill Orion, you have to
kill me first."
"But he's going to kill her." There
was desperation in his voice.
"You did nothing when Provenna treated
him with gross injustice. Why should you
rush to her aid when she faces the consequences? I don’t want to fight you," she told him,
her voice trembling, "but if I have to I will."
He struck her sword, trying to knock it from
her hands. "You don’t know what you're doing."
She lunged at him forcing him to jump
back. "I know exactly what I
do! You yourself said he's the son of
Phyre. How can you even think of killing
him when you know what death will do to him?"
Tnaka struck at her. "If he kills
Provenna, Lairannare is doomed!"
She could not hide her incredulity. "Look
around you. We're already doomed and
dying, and it's Provenna's doing, and Kozan's doing, and yours."
"It's not true," Tnaka denied as he
tried to run forward. As he did so Eagle
sent her sword slicing through the air and nicked his chin. The pain of the wound and the undeniable
reality that Eagle had inflicted it brought him up short. He could feel the blood pouring down his face
and neck, and he could feel poison entering his body. The poison he banished with a wordless, motionless
spell, but his horror remained.
Eagle's voice trembled, but her face was
filled with determination. "I said leave him alone."
* * *
Provenna ran through the corridors of the
palace, her slippered feet making but a faint sound against the stone
floor. Her breath came in short, quick
gasps, and she cast terrified glances behind her. She had managed to evade Orion, but with
every step she expected him to suddenly leap out from behind a corner and slay
her.
She rounded a corner and found herself in the
corridor that ran before the throne room.
Her whole body was trembling as she pulled open the great oaken
doors. She ran through, then turned
around and closed them as softly as possible.
She winced when she was not able to keep them from booming shut.
She stood, gasping for breath, sweat dripping
down her face, her back pressed against the doors. The beating of her heart began to slow, and
she started to breath more easily. Was
this not her palace and her throne room?
Was she not a Power? What had she
to fear? She walked across the floor and
made her way toward her crystal throne.
She was just mounting the dais when she heard
something pound against the great doors behind her. She spun around. Even as she did so, the doors were thrown
open, and a sharp cry escaped her lips as Orion entered the room. His clothes were torn, and his body was
covered with dirt and blood–both his and that of others. In his hands he bore a huge battle-axe. His auburn hair fell wildly around his face,
and he looked up at her with cold, blue eyes filled with murder.
* * *
Aeneas crouched low upon Nightfall's back as
they sped across the city. The rain had
stopped, and now the sky was simply filled with mist. Every now and then a low rumble of distant
thunder would pierce the sounds of war.
Before him, Aeneas could see the temple of Balor rising ominously into
the gray sky. With each beat of
Nightfall's wings they drew closer, but they flew not fast enough for the young
prince.
"Hurry," he whispered.
Finally, the temple was below them, and
Nightfall, lifting his voice up in a shrieking cry, began to descend. The top of the temple was composed of many
levels and balconies, and it was difficult to find any doors leading to the
interior. The griffin landed at the
topmost level of the temple roof, for it was the widest and most open.
Aeneas slid off and the griffin spoke.
"If we split up we’ll have a better chance of finding her."
Aeneas nodded. "All right." Before he could say another word, the griffin
leapt into the air and sped off toward the main entrance of the temple.
* * *
Mystia looked up in terror at Kozan. He stood over her, his jaw clenched tightly
shut, as he looked down at her with cold, unfeeling eyes.
"Let the ceremony begin," he
murmured.
The princess pulled desperately against the
chains which held her. There was a spell
to break bonds, but terror had driven it from her mind. What was it?
Kozan opened his mouth and began.
"Powerful is Balor and mightily he conquers." Mystia turned her head
away as he stretched his hands out over her. "Feel the fire of his
power."