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."