I am a slurvish author. Horrible and lazy, with no real excuse for taking this long to update. I apologize to everyone. And this chapter is terribly short, but it is a step forward. I think two more chapters, maybe three until the end of the story. To all those loyal readers who have not yet abandoned me for leaving you hanging, a most heart-felt thank you!
So bear with me, folks. I will do my best to keep this moving again, and not stall out again. In this chapter, Alice faces the Agingroth for a second time. As they say, third time's a charm. And in the case of Underland, the last and final hope for her to defeat the beast. Stay tuned next time for the final battle...
~Jade
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"Quick, Chessur. Send a team of my royal guard to search for Chriton's home. Ask all the villages and towns in the realm. All the elders, someone must know something. It is our last hope."
Something felt wrong in Marmoreal, foreboding and dark. Mirana could feel it. They had just two more tries before Agingroth would destroy them all.
xXx
The second morning of Underland's – no, Alice's – stand against Agingroth dawned a bit later than normal. In a bit of kindness and mercy Time had delayed the start of the day by an hour or so to allow Alice additional time to rest. The salves had healed most of her shallow cuts and bruises, and a good night's sleep had done much to rest her weary body. Her mind, however, was a different story.
Her dreams had been terrifying. Agingroth had been everywhere; not only on the battlefield, but in Marmoreal's halls, devouring everyone and everything in site. He had been at Witzend, completing the destruction the Jabberwocky had begun. He had even been in the woods just past Thackery's house where she had played during her trip as a child, ripping trees up by the roots in gusts of wind that pulled all life into the darkness. Her heart had broken at the site of her friends and companions falling victim to the abyss, all that was left of Tarrant's life being destroyed again, and the site of that grand redwood she had so cherished in her youth, all gone in seconds.
She stood before him again, armed to the teeth with every weapon she could bare by her side, the moment of the Vorpal sword's destruction haunting her, replaying in her mind again, and again. But this time, when Tarrant stepped in to her aid, Agingroth had not shoved him away. In her nightmares, he had used that wicked black blade to run him through, the jagged wound gaping, Tarrant's face contorted in a grimace of pain, his eyes meeting hers one last time before he collapsed.
"No! Tarrant...no!" Alice shot up in bed, drenched in sweat, tears falling down her face.
It had been a dream. Nothing but a horrible, terrifying dream. She prayed it was not a premonition.
Alice accepted the assistance of her handmaid-turned-squire without protest. How can I beat this thing? His skill is far superior to my own. He's a magical being. I'm...I'm just a girl.
"Don't be lettin' yesterday's events draw ye down, Alice." The familiar burr caught Alice's attention immediately.
"Tarrant!" Alice broke away from her maid and ran to her Hatter, only one leg greaved and no shoes, almost knocking him over with an armor-weighted hug.
Despite surprise at her actions, Tarrant, held her tightly to him, wishing with all his might that he could be enjoying this embrace without the feel of cold steel encasing her body, and second, that he could go in her stead. "Alice..." he breathed. "You'll do well today. You held your own yesterday against an unknown. Today, you know who and what that creature is; we're one step closer. And if anyone can defeat it, it is absolutely Absolutely Alice, Champion of Underland."
Alice pulled away, fresh tears clinging to her lower lids, but a smile on her face. "Thank you, Tarrant. I needed to borrow a bit of your muchness today." Then realizing they had an audience, she coughed slightly, and stepped out of his arms.
"My sincerest apologies, Tarrant. I..." she paused, blushing a bit at her reaction to him, "...I had a horrible dream last night that the Agingroth killed you. I must have gotten a little carried away to see you alive this morning."
Tarrant beamed in return, not that she had suffered such a terrible fright in her dreams – Slumber had been most naughty last night! – but at her excitement to see him. Months ago, he had vowed to win her back. Training had, of course, taken precedent – couldn't very well have been distracting her from her training, now could he. But soon, in just two days, when Alice found a way to triumph over the beast, he felt his efforts to formally woo her may just face less resistance.
He bowed deeply, an action made less formal when accompanied with a broad smile and a wink. "No apologies needed, my Champion. A hug from the savior of Underland, the Queen's chosen knight, and a most beautiful one at that, is a most welcome greeting."
"I shall go fetch the Bandersnatch for you. Whenever you are ready, we will be waiting."
When Alice was dressed and ready, she found Mirana and Tarrant at the front gates, Tarrant's horse saddled and stomping restlessly next to Bandy. In her hands, Mirana held the Vorpal sword, whole once again thanks to the tireless efforts of Marmoreal's finest blacksmith, who had worked through the night to reconstitute it.
"I've doused this with the most potent protection potion I know. I know not the Agingroth's true power, but perhaps this will help." Mirana was uncharacteristically somber this morning, devoid of her usual levity, the burden of the day weighing even their monarch down. "I've also packed a satchel full of potions for you to try against him and provided a list of incantations to try. Godspeed, Alice."
"Thank you, Mirana." Alice embraced her friend and mounted up.
The ride was long and somber. Tarrant tried to share reassurances with the Champion whenever he could, a smile here and there, a bit of light conversation on how Weather was behaving himself remarkably well, given the circumstances, but nothing brought Alice out of her funk.
Perhaps it is just as well, Tarrant later mused. Just let her think, ye madman. Let the Champion prepare her mind, as you have prepared her body and spirit these past months.
Iracebeth did not even await them this second morning. Knowing now that Agingroth would keep to his word and would not destroy Mirana's kingdom until the third day, she spared herself the additional proximity to the beast. Instead, Agingroth, once again in the form of the abyss, stood - or rather existed – before them.
Alice took a deep breath and dismounted from the Bandersnatch, scratching him comfortingly on the head. Her eyes met Tarrant's, which flashed between green and red, fighting the madness back from his mind. His hand hovered near the handle of the dirk on his belt, his great claymore once again conspicuously thrust into the ground near to his side.
"Are you ready to play again, Champion? I did have such fun yesterday." Agingroth mocked, his deep voice hollow and echoing from the darkness.
"What fun can it possibly be to fight me as a nothing? Face me as a man, Agingroth! I will see your true face when I destroy you." Her bravado evoked a chuckle from the darkness.
"Very well, Champion," he sneered. The man in black once again stepped out from the abyss, without the fanfare and pageantry of his initial appearance. His power had been demonstrated and the threat issued the day before; his power spoke for itself today.
"Give me your best shot. And make it entertaining. I will have to face you again tomorrow, and I'd rather not be bored with a repeat of yesterday." His large arms were folded across his chest, legs braced apart, blue eyes boring into Alice's.
In the pause before Alice began her attack, Agingroth sighed deeply, shifting his weight slightly. How he tired of this constant cycle. Devour a civilization, exist aimlessly, hunger growing, until he was called again, then spend three days fighting whatever champion he was directed at. Eternally bound to this sequence of events, eternally bound to the Maleficium. As long as that book existed, he would have but three days at a time to live as a man, to experience the world, but forced to destroy it all the same.
Admittedly, at first, he enjoyed his fate immensely. The power, the feeling of invincibility, the immortality. But after two millennia, he realized the hopelessness of his condition. At least he could have fun occasionally; when he faced a champion with promise, with skill and heart, he at least enjoyed the fight.
Alice, the chosen Champion, foretold in the still-blank-in-the-future-Oraculum, stood before him, a satchel over her shoulder. She pulled out a bottle of green liquid, spoke a short incantation, and threw it at him with all her strength. A purple fire raged over Agingroth's body for a moment, his eyes a mix of shock and laughter, but it was too-soon extinguished. Realizing that potion had failed, Alice moved on to the next, and the one after that., a rapid succession of explosions and smoke. But none did more than flare and fail, time after time.
"Ah, that's what you're after, then, my dear?" A rumbling laugh fills the battlefield as he reverts into the abyss. "Your potions, like flies, are nothing more than an irritation to me."
Alice tried again and again. Ice from a vile hit him, frozen water vapor forming a frozen fog around them; it seemed to freeze the air that was sucked in, snow falling inside the abyss for a bit. Yet another failure.
Bottled lightning. Nothing. Incantations don't work, either. Mirana's mightiest paralyzing spell did nothing but temporarily slow the swirl of light and matter being pulled in. Try after try, Alice endeavors. They work, but as soon as they are sucked into the abyss, he rebounds quickly.
He laughs, dark and menacing. But also with very real enjoyment. This has surprised him again! The girl certainly has spirit. This is the most fun he's had in his duties in three generations.
Seeing Alice is out of potions, that she's leafed through everything in her book, Agingroth returned once again to human form. A smile on his face, eyes dancing. With only three days, he chooses to stand as a man as much as possible.
Struggling against panic that none of Mirana's potions or incantations did more than irritate the Agingroth, Alice commenced once again in a sword fight against her foe with the reconstituted Vorpal blade.
Tarrant stood by never allowing his Alice to get so far from him that he'd be unable to jump into the fight again. Watching Alice fight be beast was testing his resolve. For seconds, he'd find himself lost in the madness, pure fury welling up inside him as the beast struck against Alice time after time, swirling around in a veritable dance along the battlefield. However, the observation that Agingroth was doing nothing more than playing with Alice kept him from falling irreversibly over that edge. As they had see the day before, should he chose to do her serious harm, he had to do naught by bring that black blade down upon the Vorpal sword hard enough to break it.
Alice thrusts, turns in to a slash meant to get past his blocks. She steps to the side as he strikes, keeping her feet mobile, careful to stay out of the aggression line, using every tactic she had drilled with Tarrant during their training. But as he did the day before, Agingroth swats her away easily, suffering only the smallest cuts, and rarely at that.
"You can't be without vulnerability," she spoke, more to herself than to the beast. Getting back up, Alice slowed. The weight of the armor was wearing her out, its bulk restricting her movement. Against her better judgment, she stopped, panting heavily, and began to remove the plates, leaving only her heavy cloth jerkin and leather leggings as protection.
"Nay, Alice! Ye've got ta stay strong, proctectin' yerself from it!" Tarrant called to her desperately. Alice staunchly ignored Tarrant, instead focusing on Agingroth, who in a surprisingly sporting fashion, was allowing her to rid herself of the armor without an attack. Her mind knew better than to take such a risk, but she felt he would honor the bargain; the true day of reckoning would not be until tomorrow. Until then, Agingroth would not kill her, despire her best efforts to destroy him. It was an gentlemen's agreement of sorts, contrasting starkly with the trial of life and death being waged.
Now lighter and more agile, Alice tried a new tack. No more all-out assaults. In and out. Quick, precise, strategic strikes. First, at his stomach, then his chest, his neck, to his side. Seeking his a soft spot or some indication he was weaker in one area than another.
Her sword stung him once, twice, a third time. As the Vorpal blade rebounded off his, it went quickly, snicker-snack across his throat, a thin line of black blood welling. He hissed in pain, pulling back, bringing his hand to his throat.
For a moment, Alice thought she had made progress. He's in pain, he's bleeding at the neck!
Instead, she watched the wound, like every other, heal itself.
Agingroth was now greatly irritated. How dare this simple mortal sting him so? Had he not been sporting? Had he not spared her life when he could have destroyed her a hundred times? Now, it is getting annoyed with Alice. While none fatal, the wounds are numerous and are taking his power to heal. She's like an annoying fly, buzzing about him.
sHe stopped, sheathed his sword and took a breath. You forget, old man. While this is all there is to your life, she's fighting to protect hers. He almost wished he didn't have to kill her. Almost.
"I have another day, Champion, before I destroy your precious Marmoreal. I had thought to allow you to live all three days, I did so enjoy your sparring. However, I have grown weary of your constant slashing and whatnot. Perhaps I will kill you and see what other interesting opponent chooses to face me tomorrow. You Underlandians have always been such fun."
With a battle cry, Agingroth drew his sword and ran at her. He lept the last few steps, his sword raised above his head, poised to strike straight down, through her pathetic Vorpal sword, but stopped short as blood-red eyes met his own.
Tarrant, always on guard for Alice, blocked her body with his own. His great claymore was no match, even for an aborted strike by Agingroth, and that wicked blade slashed deep across shoulder, across his chest.
A look of shock passes over Agingroth's face more a moment. He should kill the Outlander for this indiscretion. Two days in a row now, he's stepped in to protect the Champion. Once again, he willingly placed his own life in danger for her, as she was for her kingdom.
Agingtroth growled loudly and turned away. A series of deep breaths calms his rage.
"Tsk, tsk, tsk, Madman. I have warned you once before not to interfere. One champion at a time, or I shall go against my own vows and kill you all before the end of the third day. I only hope you can impress me with something better tomorrow."
Agingroth sheathed his sword and stalked away, ignoring the admiration he felt for the man's courage. He almost remembered what it was to love. He would give the pair one more day together before the end came.
Alice stood at Tarrant's side, in shock. Agingroth had spared Tarrant's life, she knew.
Together, they limp off the field. Tears fill her eyes as she thinks about the danger he faced for her and the danger she's put him in by allowing him to accompany her to the battle. The sun was setting as they pulled the salve and bandages from her satchel.
"You won't be able to pull that trick a third time, Hatter," Alice scolds. "This cut is far too deep for you to fight again." Watching him carefully, she removed the torn, blood-soaked shirt, and softly spread salve over the cut and bandaged it carefully. Had Mirana not packed this healing paste, his injurious would have undoubtedly required stitches.
"Alice, I couldn't do less. I couldn't have stood by and watched him kill you."
The sincerity and tenderness in his voice touched her, as did the gentleness of his hands as he wrapped her swollen wrist and the ankle that pained her.
They rose, limping towards their mounts, when Tarrant's hand grabbed her arm and pulled her back to him. "I'll do the same tomorrow, if it means sparing your life. When this is over, you were to return again to your world. If it comes down to it tomorrow, you'll do just that." Tarrant pressed a vial of purple liquid into her hand. "Take this. The last vile of Jabberwocky blood. If the Agingroth..." he paused, hesitating. "If things look to be going badly for you tomorrow, drink this. I'll take your place as Champion, and you go back above. This is not your land. These are not your people. This will not be your death."
"Tarrant..."
"Just do it, Alice. You will not die here," He barked, eyes red, the purple around his eyes growing darker and larger, vaulted himself onto his horse. "Let's go. You need a good dinner and some rest."
Tarrant knows she can't win this next day. Neither can he. He couldn't give her her memories back, he couldn't train her well enough to win, he's a failure. The anger he felt at himself simmered, threatening to boil over.
But maybe...maybe if he gave her one more day to remember! The last hope is one more day of searching.
His mind was racing, planning, plotting. He knew what he had to do. He only wished he would have time to tell her goodbye.
Tarrant didn't know if there was a great creator, this God that Alice had spoken of, nor if he would ever see her in the hereafter, but he hoped. And he believed in Alice. And that would be enough.