Disclaimer: I don't own the Power Rangers!!! Anything you recognize as coming form the PR universe is not mine. I'm just a poor, stessed-out, sleep-deprived, over-caffeinated college student. If you try and sue me, I will hunt you down and use you for archery target practice, among other cruel and unnatrual things (like bore you out of your mind by rambling endlessly about neuroendocrinology)...
Norwyl and the Lady, however, are mine.
Oh, and this is my first fic, so I'd very much appreciate feedback and constructive critism. All flames will be used to light the furnace of my nefariously plotting mind...
Right, now onwards.
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The sound of fabric whispering across stone and light but hurried steps echoed mutely as a tall figure made his way hastily down the otherwise silent, abandoned corridor. Torches were set at regular intervals along the tapestried walls in polished brass sconces; their gentle yellow light threw writhing shadows against the marble floor and walls that set the dark figure even more ill at ease.
Curse this damn castle. I really must speak to Wyvern about finding more suitable lighting for this place.
But the thought was gone before he could dwell on it. He had far more pressing and critical issues to deal with right now than such a frivolous detail. Like the survival of our people and all that is good in this world, he thought wryly.
At the end of the corridor, he came upon a set of ornately-carved double doors flanked by a pair of black-armored guards. Barely giving the statue-like men a glance, he rapped sharply on the sturdy, age-darkened oak. As he waited for a response, his eyes scanned the hall behind him with grim gray eyes, as if expecting some nameless fear to come leaping out of the dancing shadows at any given moment. With the recent turn of events, he wouldn't be surprised if something did manage to slip through their defenses. He needed to be on his guard no matter what; what was on the other side of these double doors had to be protected. At any cost.
The soft grinding of the doors being pulled open brought his attention back to the task at hand.
"Norwyl?"
At the sound of his name, he turned to see the reason behind all the bloodshed now taking place a few miles beyond their planet's atmosphere. The Lady stood framed in the doorway silhouetted by the gentle golden light emitted from inside her chambers. Though slender as a reed, she stood nearly as tall as he did, but her delicate appearance belied the strength and will of the finest tempered-steel sword.
It was obvious that he had awoken the Lady from slumber, if her ruddy, disheveled appearance and hastily thrown-on robe were any indication, but her green eyes were alert and filled with concern.
"My Lady, I am sorry to disturb you, but that which we have most feared has come to pass. It is time."
Wordlessly, she nodded and turned to gather her things. There wasn't much. With a dangerous journey ahead of them, they could not afford to burden themselves with worldly possessions. When she emerged from her chambers, she was dressed in leather breeches, boots and a long brown tunic with a white linen shirt underneath. She had thrown a dark brown cloak around her shoulders, and slung over her left shoulder was a satchel containing provisions and clothing. A sword belted around her slim waist completed the ensemble. Gripping the strap of the satchel in her hand, she nodded curtly to Norwyl and they set off down the corridor with her two guards trailing them like a pair of silent, deadly shadows.
At the statue of the Triumph of Zordon, the small party paused. Stepping forward, Norwyl pulled aside a tapestry to reveal a hidden door. When he pressed his palm into the hand-shaped indentation on the wall to the right, the door panel hissed and slid open to reveal a flight of stairs descending into darkness.
"Hurry now."
As the Lady and her two guards stepped through, Norwyl turned to cast one last glance at the corridor they had come from. By morning, the citadel would be overrun, and this was very likely the last time he would see this place he had called home for so many years. So much at stake, but is all this sacrifice worthwhile? He, Keeper of the Citadel of the Light, Lord Commander of the Eltarian army, member of the Eltarian delegation to the Inter-Planetary High Council, Master Warrior of the Order, and High Seat of the mighty House Aeryth, had commanded armies was the veteran of two intergalactic wars. He commanded the fear and respect of countless people with his legendary prowess as a warrior and his mastery of the ancient mystic arts. With a word, he could raze cities and bring kings to their knees. Yet, in the face of the most dire threat his people and the galaxy had ever faced, he could do nothing. He, Norwyl jin Haida di Aeryth, could only stand by and watch helplessly as his world was torn apart by war and dissent.
As the small party descended into the darkness below the citadel, Norwyl couldn't suppress a small flame of resentment for the woman now trailing behind him on the stairs. What did this woman possess that was so powerful that it must be protected with the sacrifice of so many lives? Could she even grasp the magnitude of the blood debt she owed?
More than you could ever know.
Startled, Norwyl whipped his head around and came face to face with the Lady.
"How…?"
He trailed off as her calm, even stare bore into him. Silence reigned in the corridor as their two gazes locked, one angry and confused; the other, calm and steady.
I'm sorry.
This time, the words were like the gossamer wings of a butterfly brushing across his mind. They carried with them such an unbearable sense of sorrow and pain that for a moment he was almost overwhelmed as he gasped and clenched a fist to his heart. When he looked back up, those same emotions were now reflected in the eyes of the Lady. As he searched her deep green eyes, he could see something else that he couldn't quite put his finger on. Determination? Fear? Compassion?
Disconcerted, Norwyl found himself jolted back the present as the distant sounds of battle reached their ears. They were getting closer. They had no time to lose if they were to make it in time. Turning back around, he tried to put the memory of the Lady's sorrowful green eyes out of his mind as they resumed their descent. They had a long journey ahead, and he could ill afford to let his thoughts stray.
Soon, the corridor broadened, and they came to a hangar with a single sleek spacecraft resting in its docking, its pilot pacing restlessly beside it.
"Hurry, my Lord," he called once he caught sight of them. "We must leave before the Kalians encircle the planet."
As the engines hummed to life and the ship rose, Norwyl glanced over at the Lady, and for the first time, he was able to study her features up close. Her nose was quite bold, and her large eyes were almond-shaped and tilted, giving her the appearance of a hawk. She certainly was not beautiful in any sense, but her fair skin, expressive eyes and strong, slender figure lent an overall allure to her bearing. All of a sudden, the Lady turned her fathomless gaze towards him. Embarrassed to have been caught staring, Norwyl quickly turned his attention to the control panels and focused on helping the pilot get the ship airborne. Within moments, the roof of the hangar had slid opened to reveal the Eltarian sky lit up by the explosions of ships from the distant battle as they came to a fiery end.
"Bloody Kalians! The battle's come closer than I thought. We'll just have to hope for the best."
"Aye, my Lord."
He could feel himself being forced back into his seat as the ship gained speed and altitude; glancing out the starboard window, Norwyl could make out the faint outline of the Citadel as it rapidly faded into the distance. This was perhaps the last time he would ever see his home again, he realized, and he couldn't suppress the wave of sadness that washed over him. But the Citadel could be rebuilt. He had more pressing matters to deal with right now, like making it through the raging battle up ahead without being sent back to the Eltarian surface in little pieces. If they could survive these next few moments, then they would have a chance of saving all that they held dear, and the sacrifices of those who died for their world will not have been in vain. So much at stake. So much to lose. And all because of the woman now sitting behind him in the cockpit.
As they left the atmosphere, they began to feel the shockwaves from some of the nearby explosions reverberate through the ship. Their ship was designed to look like a standard Eltarian battle cruiser, but it had far greater speed and maneuvering capabilities in the hopes that the disguise would buy them enough time to make their escape. Suddenly, shipboard alarms began to sound.
"Warning! Enemy ships locked on," a calm, feminine voice announced.
An explosion near their starboard wing rocking the ship a heartbeat later confirmed that they were indeed being pursued by enemy craft. Gritting his teeth, Norwyl silently offered a prayer to Zordon and whatever powers that be to see them through….
TBC