A/N: Hi everyone! Thank you so much for the birthday wishes! Cake and ice cream all around! It's a wonder I still have any left! Anyway, this chapter was so long that I actually had to cut out a scene. (horrified gasps) I know, it's awful. But I know someone would have complained about length. I'm not pointing fingers, it's just a fact of life. Besides, I'll be surprised if no one comes after me with a torch and a pitchfork. It's longer than usual, but I think it's well worth it.

Warning: Please keep your hands and feet in the chapter at all times. Also, buckle your safety harness. Emergency exits are in the top right hand corner labeled with an "X". We recommend that you do not use the emergency exits and wait for the chapter to stop. No food and drinks will be allowed near the computers; we wouldn't want you to short circuit and crash. Thank you and enjoy the chapter! (repeats in spanish)


29) Capture

The tent flap rustled and Ephraim came into view. He was in full armor and even held his usual steel lance; he was saving the awesome power of Siegmund for later. The prince's expression was slightly absent as he made his way over to Artur's cot.

"Natasha told me you wanted a word with me?"

The sage nodded. "I want to join the battle."

A teal eyebrow rose skeptically. "Really? Can you walk?"

Artur opened and shut his mouth repeatedly for a few seconds. Finally, he sighed. ". . . No."

Ephraim's mouth quirked into a sympathetic smile. "Well, then, I'm sorry to say you can't join us."

Artur set his jaw. "You need my magic."

The Renais prince nodded hesitantly. "It would be a great help, but I'm not sending you into battle when you can't walk."

"Then set me atop of a horse! I'll be fine there! Or let me ride double with Lute!" Artur protested, clenching the sheets around him with fisted hands.

Ephraim closed his eyes momentarily. "I know you're worried about her, but she's smart Artur. She won't let the fiends get the best of her. I may not be able to guarantee anything, but my confidence in her is unwavering." Teal eyes looked down at him admonishingly. "You should have the same confidence and trust in her."

Artur looked away, abashed. "I—I do. It's just . . ."

The other man nodded. "You worry anyway, I understand. She's a prodigy, Artur, she'll be fine. Try not to worry too much. We'll back before you know it." Ephraim looked at his lance as he swirled it lazily in the air. "Now, I should probably get going. The only way you can help us is by staying here at camp, healing any of the wounded that come in. I'll talk with you later."

Artur slumped against the pillows as Ephraim walked away. He glared at his lame leg and cursed silently at it. Of all times to be bedridden, it had to be now! He leaned forward to massage the rising ache. Artur glanced over at the wooden cane Natasha had placed by his bed. She had said to stay off his feet for another few days, but . . .

He shook his head. No, he'd only do more damage to his leg if he pushed himself this early. The still-tender muscles would strain themselves keeping him upright and the few hours afterward would be less than unpleasant. He didn't want that. He'd just have to sit tight and avoid the tongue-lashing he would have received for pulling such a stunt. Artur lied back and stared at the tarp above him.

Lute was out there right now . . .

But just as Ephraim had said, Lute was smart and she was excellent with magic. She'd be all right. She'd be just fine. And he wouldn't envy the weariness which the troops would return with. Having just mastering an ambush, they were already tired. Being sent out to defend camp would make them drop dead tired.

Artur just wished he wouldn't feel so useless. He was still able to fight. Granted, he needed help with getting out there . . . He would just have to settle with healing the wounded when they came back. At least then he'd have something to do. He might not be as good with a healing staff as he would with a Lightning tome, but he could mend gashes and heal broken bones easily enough.

He sighed and dragged his pillow over his head. It was going to be a long wait.


The wave of fiends was upon them before they could register the attack. Snarling mauthe doogs lunged out in trios and clusters of mogall forces cast their wicked magic. The monsters that would have been easy pickings only months ago where now proving difficult to defeat. Ewan cast bursts of Divine one after another. He was aware of Kayll doing . . . something and found out just what that was when he collided with a petrified mauthe doog. Using the object to his advantage, Ewan ducked behind his new shield. They were surrounded by demon hounds and floating eyes imbued with dark magic. If help didn't come soon, they would more likely than not become brunch for the monstrosities.

Ewan briefly wondered if this wild cocktail of desperation and adrenaline was what the units in the ambush felt.

He wasn't sure how long Lute's Divine tome would last, but he hoped there was a good amount of strikes left in the book before it became useless to him. Ewan wasn't entirely sure why, but he wasn't feeling too confident about this battle unlike all of the previous ones he had fought in.

He grabbed a quick glance at Kayll and suppressed a shudder. The air around her crackled with black energy and her eyes were luminous, reminding him of the crimson moon that had hung in the sky only scant hours ago. Her blue-violet hair whipped around her as she twisted and turned, obliterating the abominations as easily as if she were shooing away bloodthirsty mosquitoes in the summer heat. Despite the fact that her magical attributes were equal with those of the fiends, she was vanquishing them far too easily.

It unnerved him.

And that only made him grow angry with himself. He had nothing to fear from Kayll. She was his friend, he was confident of that. Simply because she wielded Dark magic didn't mean he should doubt her. Knoll used Dark magic too, and he was their ally. But Knoll wasn't here. He was targeted, previously wounded, and was dismissed from service until the threat was gone. However, Ewan was targeted too . . . and the fiends seemed only interested in Kayll.

It was a curious observation and it almost cost him as a hellhound leapt at him. He diminished it to ash with a burst Divine.

He frowned. Were the fiends no longer interested in their supposed revenge?

Ewan snuck a glance at Kayll. Or had their crosshairs turned on a different target with a different objective in mind?


Lute was making last minute preparations. She had an elixir, she had Fimbulvetr and Bolting with her, and she had an antidote for poison with her. In her experience, the worst thing to face in battle—other than being put to sleep by those damnable enemy priests and being petrified by the accursed gorgons—was being poisoned by a bael. It was the most painful thing she'd come across on the battlefield. The poison was slow to kill, but quick to drive the victim to suicide to stop the sensation of being burned alive. When one of those monstrous spiders loomed over you, so close that you could see the poison dripping from fangs as long as your forearm, you knew you would either die or be poisoned.

A small shudder made her body tremble. She understood why Artur was so terrified by the beasts . . . but she couldn't say the same for his irrational fear of the tiny spiders that had often "found" their way into Artur's living quarters. Lute bit her lips to keep from smiling. They would have to work on that later, after this mess was cleaned up.

Lute scanned the contents of her tent again. Her lilac colored eyes landed on a small, poorly bound, frail book resting on top of a pile near her bedroll. She had never taken it with her into battle. She had never even thought about it. Yet, looking at it now, Lute felt a sudden urge to take it with her. She crossed the distance between herself and the book and reached down to pick it up, mindful of the fragile condition.

This thin, little book was actually a project she had been working on. She had read somewhere in a book, whose title she had long forgotten, that it was possible to create your own magical tomes. She had pounced on the opportunity and tried it. Over a couple years and many months, she had figured out how to instill her own energy into the rune marked pages.

It was more of a ritual than anything else, really. She'd had to cover herself nearly head to toe with runes inked onto her skin. The rest of the ritual consisted of a deep meditation much like the one Saleh went into when he did his Valega exercises. In this meditative state, she had focused on transferring her energy to the rune-marked parchment. Her first dozen or so attempts had failed miserably. In the second dozen, only half had been absorbed into the paper. She had persevered nonetheless. Over time, she had transferred enough energy into the worn-out little book to obtain a few attacks before its magic ran out.

Lute stared hard at the small, obviously handmade book. Something, some ominous feeling, made her tuck the book between the layers of light plate armor and the thick leather vest she wore during battle. She didn't question instinct; it was how she had become so knowledgeable.

Finally deciding she was ready, the mage knight exited her tent, collected her mount, and joined her team. Garcia was sharpening his axe with a whetstone when she approached. Vanessa offered her a small smile and continued scratching her pegasus behind her ears. Innes nodded at her as he checked the fletching on his arrows, a grim expression on his face. She could dimly hear Kyle muttering, yet again, to Forde, who seemed comfortable enough to take a pre-battle nap.

She halted by Innes, absently stroking her horse's short mane. "Are we to set out in a few minutes, Prince Innes?"

Innes examined the feathers on the bolt before setting it aside, finding something faulty with the alignment of the vanes. "Very soon, Lute. As soon as Ephraim gives us the okay." From his tone of voice, he didn't sound too happy about waiting for Ephraim's preference in time.

She felt the same.

"If we wait around any longer, I'm sure to go out of mind." Lute muttered.

Innes smirked and attached the quiver to his belt rather than his back. Lute knew that when the arrows were within easy reach, vulnerability to attack decreased.

"Yes, I'm sure everyone is ready to burst out onto the field, yelling hysterically, stark-raving mad. But then, I think we're already slightly insane for having lasted through this disaster this long. No sane person could." Innes gestured to Forde, still dozing despite the stern words being mutter into his ear. "Does that look like a person of sound mind? Sleeping before, during, and after a battle?" He chuckled as he shook his head.

Lute smiled in response, but it soon faded when she looked out over the horizon. She knew the danger lay out there, just beyond the dips and slopes in the terrain.

"How are we to fight an enemy stronger than us? More intelligent than we ever gave them credit for? They have their own language, they can think like the brightest strategist, they are indefinitely stronger than their brethren we last faced—how can we possibly win? They, no doubt, have us outnumbered even if there are fewer of them than the last time. I admit I'm apprehensive about facing a general. Though, someone among us must have already done so. I believe we have eliminated two generals. Did you notice how the vast majority of them were wights and entombed with their lesser cousins?"

Innes studied her, staring hard at her as she spoke with a fierce scowl on his face. When she had finished, he looked out at the stretch of land before them. "They may be stronger and they may be smarter, but I'll have none this 'we're doomed, woe is me' talk." He shot a sharp look in her direction. "It's bad enough some of our spirits are low. I shouldn't be needlessly worrying that our most determined prodigy with the biggest superiority complex I've ever come across is predicting our downfall."

He might not have intended for her to grin, but she did. Innes, in his own arrogant, snide way, lifted her spirits. She showed her gratefulness with a nod of her head. Innes only smirked in return.


The mass of fiends parted as Zinneth made her way towards Nianna. Drengar, beside her, walked with anticipation that tensed the air around them. The mauthe doogs fell back immediately, stilling as the gorgon passed them by. Zinneth noticed a flame haired male youth beside her with a determined visage. This altered the plan slightly, but the male could be easily taken care of. Zinneth's eyes found Nianna's and the blood-red orbs seemed to mirror the other exactly.

The gorgon general smirked as the girl froze, hatred blazing in her eyes. "Ah, Nianna, my pet, you have been very disobedient: straying so far from me."

"Do not call me that!" She shouted.

Zinneth's eyes flashed and her face contorted into a snarl. The girl stiffened. "You will not speak to me in such a way! You shall be punished for this treasonous act and will not speak a word in protest!"

Nianna said nothing, but the mutiny remained in her ruby eyes.

The fighting had stopped quite suddenly, though no one noticed. The boy was looking from Nianna to Zinneth in obvious confusion. The gorgon smirked, knowing he couldn't understand what was being said. She slithered forward and rested a hand on the girl's shoulder. It was rigid beneath her scaly touch.

"Nianna, did you really think you could win them over? Did you actually believe they would love you?"

The girl flinched as if struck. She tore her eyes away and stared at the ground, her hair falling into her face. Zinneth had scored a tender spot. She always did this when Nianna proved difficult because it always worked.

The male, only a few feet away, spoke out in the disgusting, guttural language his kind possessed. His tone was confused and wary. There was also an undercurrent of anger beneath it all. Zinneth surmised he was asking Nianna who the apparently superior fiends were. Nianna replied in the same tongue, somehow making it sound more pleasing to the ear with her faint accent. The boy turned his burgundy eyes to Zinneth, who mused if the boy could wield the power of Stone she might have been what so many of her victims were now. He barked out a long accusation which only succeeded in boring her.

"Nianna, child, you will get rid of the male now. Send him back to his kind. We only want you this time." Zinneth ordered in her soft, whispery tone.

Her wayward servant only looked up at her defiantly, shrugging off the hand. "You tell him that. I cannot make him." She said smugly.

Zinneth frowned. "And why not?"

"He is immune to Persuasion." She explained. "I cannot force him to do anything."

The general sensed that not everything Nianna had said was true, but Zinneth would have more fun if she played along. "Then he is also immune to Possession, correct? Somehow, I do no think that is possible. I would like to test this theory."

Nianna's crimson eyes widened. "No!"

"Yes." Zinneth hissed the word softly. She turned to the youth, studying the scrawny male with a critical eye. "No, I have changed my mind. He will not leave quite yet."

The gorgon general and the magic user locked gazes. Zinneth loathed Possessing a human; their minds were so very dull. She felt herself falling as if through space. She felt his soul, his essence that defined him as who he was. From the outside, she watched a peculiar expression cross his face. Latching onto the presence which was very much like a wispy fire or a cloud of smoke, intangible but able to hold a form, Zinneth welded a piece of her soul to his.

The spiritual contact caused him to cry out. She felt his revulsion toward the alien feeling of two psyches pressed against each other. He fought her, trying to back away. Zinneth gripped his spirit tightly and dove into his mind, the source of all function. This intrusion was much like a thief breaking into a castle to hold the king hostage. By threatening the king, he had control of the situation. However, she did not hold his mind hostage.

She became one with it.

Her essence conformed to all of the contours, sinking into every nook and cranny, prying open locked memories and emotions. She left nothing alone, searching everything, disregarding his protests, and prizing open every barrier with her presence. There was no place within himself she couldn't go.

Bluntly put, she raped him spiritually and mentally.

She could feel his soul shudder and wild fear entered his mind. She relished this power. She had total dominance. She had control. And nothing he did could force her away.

On the outside, in her own physical body where the majority of her being was, she could see him trembling. His claret eyes were wide with shock, stunned. She smirked. She knew he would never have thought he could be violated in this manner. So pleased was she that the physical attacks Nianna launched on her went ignored. For a minute or two, at least.

Zinneth turned sharply to her, scowling fiercely. "Away from me, you troublesome wretch!" She shrugged the girl away.

Nianna, rage in her fiery eyes, leapt toward her again, fists swinging, nails raking the tender scaly flesh around Zinneth's wrists and at the junction of her elbow. "Let. Him. Go!" She screamed.

Zinneth pushed her to the ground and straightened to her full height. "This is part of your punishment, Nianna. You will watch this boy, who is so very fond of you. You will watch him squirm beneath my power. And you will do nothing about it."

"No! I will not let you!" Nianna screamed again, lunging for Zinneth's fleshy and so very vulnerable throat.

But muscled arms caught her around the waist and pulled her to an equally muscled gray chest. Drengar smirked down at her in sick pleasure as the fear entered her eyes. "My, my, you are quite feisty today, are you not?" Drengar chuckled and reached around to stroke her cheek.

Nianna screeched and suddenly the scene exploded in black flames. Drengar shouted in alarm and released her immediately, escaping the demonic fire with only mild burns. Nianna straightened, panting, limbs quivering with incomprehensible rage. Zinneth frowned, unscathed only because of her distance and her power. The attack was purely Dark magic, but it had caused damage to the maelduin general. Slight though the wounds may be, it took energy and power beyond Nianna's skill to injure a fiend general with Dark magic.

How had Nianna gained such power?

"Do not touch me." She spoke raggedly, her words wavering with the emotion in her voice.

Drengar, briefly examining the burns on his arms, looked quite offended. And murderously possessive. His crimson tail lashed angrily.

The boy shivered in her grasp again, drawing Zinneth's attention momentarily. The mind numbing fear that had been consuming him at a moderate rate had engulfed him entirely upon seeing Nianna's unholy attack. She felt a sneer grace her serpentine face.

"Impressive, Nianna." She murmured. "Very impressive. But . . . can you do it again?"

The girl with blue-violet hair glared and Zinneth wondered if she was contemplating using her Stone on the general.

"Could you do it again and risk putting your dear 'friend' into a prolonged slumber?"

Nianna stared at her harshly. "What are you talking about?" She asked coldly.

"I believe the human term for it is 'coma.' Would you risk that?" Zinneth asked. "I believe the turmoil he is suffering through added with the fright you gave him with your last attack would be enough to push him over the edge."

"What are you saying?!" She demanded.

"I am saying, pet, that he does not care for you like you think he does." She sneered. "He fears you as he should. You are not wholly human. He does not understand you, child. And from my experience with humans, I know that they destroy the things they fear, they shun the things they do not understand. No one could ever love a monster, Nianna. I told you that before."

If the girl could go any stiffer, she would have. However, at the moment, Nianna was coiled tighter than any spring had ever been. Zinneth could sense her rage and frustration rising. It was only a matter of time before she unleashed another attack with similar power as the first.

"You lie! You do not know anything about him!"

"You are not the one in contact with his soul. I think I know everything there is about this human." She glanced over at the boy who was gasping for breath, the sweat rolling down his face in waves, his pupils contracted to pinpoints. If he weren't so paralyzed with horror, she knew he would have screamed a sound awful enough to wake the dead.

"And he is just like all of the others." She continued. "Pathetic, weak, and so very disappointing. He is not even putting up a fight." Zinneth moved closer to him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

The human male, overwhelmed by the sensation Zinneth's presence touching him physically, converging with him spiritually, and immersed within him mentally, cried out and collapsed to the ground. It was a weak, pathetic sound that carried only a fraction of the chaos within him. He lay there, shaking and trembling, confused and terrified, on the ground before the gorgon general. Never in her existence had she felt such a strong desire to spit upon a creature before her. Sickened by his frailness, she relinquished her hold on him, withdrawing from him entirely.

"Ewan!"

So the pathetic thing huddled before her had a name. Zinneth shook her head and joined Drengar a few feet away.

The maelduin was impatient. This capture was taking too long. He enjoyed watching the human weakling succumb to Zinneth's power, but he was impatient. Zinneth held the reins here. Drengar grimaced at the unintentional pun. He surveyed the area around them and grinned too widely for the expression to be considered "happy."

"Zinneth, I believe we have company." He muttered, his tone belying his composure.

The gorgon general looked up and spotted the group of six humans hurrying towards them. "Humans. They are always getting in the way. I should like to be rid of them, particularly this party, for good. But, that will come later. We will have our revenge, yet. For now," She turned to look at Nianna. The girl was on the ground beside the boy called Ewan. She was whispering something frantically in the human's disgusting tongue. "We will collect what rightfully belongs to us and leave."

But Drengar shook his head obstinately. "No, the female who speaks the Voice is in this group." He shot her a sidelong glance. "We could save time and pick her up before we leave."

Zinneth shook her head sharply, her tresses hissing her protest. "No. They will fight. Ryfon-Zahn-Syn will be very displeased if I return with a small fraction of the troop I left with."

"Promise him a position in the next attack and he will pardon you." Drengar said shortly, eager to join the fray that was already forming.

Zinneth was silent for several moments. She gave a long-suffering sigh and relented. "Try if it is possible. But if you are wounded gravely, do not expect me to sew you up."

Drengar was gone before she had finished.

She shook her head and slithered toward Nianna. "Come, pet, let us go home."

Nianna stood swiftly. "No! I am not going back with you! I am not going anywhere!"

Zinneth hissed softly. "You will return with me without protest or the boy dies. Do not test me, Nianna. I will kill him before you can draw a single breath. And I will kill the other humans coming to his rescue."

The girl turned to see the small party of humans clash with the fiends. Despair shone brightly in her eyes as she realized she had no choice in the matter. She knew Zinneth's might all too well. She crouched beside the human again, who had yet to show evidence of his sanity. Nianna whispered something in that revolting language again and stood.

"I will go with you as long as you do not harm them." She said at last.

"There will be no guarantees."

Nianna looked up sharply at her, glowering. "Then—"

Zinneth simply raised her snake-headed limb. The mouth opened and a black, non-light spilled out. It sullied the air like smoke and seemed to consume the light and color of everything it touched.

Nianna took an involuntary step backward, eying the cavernous mouth of the serpent head. "You do not need to resort to that. I will go with you."

Smirking, Zinneth closed the mouth. The smoke-like black light slipped back into the serpent's mouth, finding entryways through its nostrils and seemingly closed mouth. "Good, Nianna, you remembered. You would not want this power to be unleashed here and now, not with these humans so close, right?"

Nianna continued to glower at her. "I said I would go, so let us leave."

Zinneth scanned the fray and spotted Drengar attempting to unseat the female from her horse. "First, we need to get Drengar."


Lute had never seen a maelduin move so fast. The ugly brute before her was dashing left and right, hitting her and smacking her with his large hands. She had tried—really tired—to hit him with Bolting before he got too close, but the maelduin had sidestepped them so quickly and so effortlessly it made her wonder just what these monsters were capable of. And now, before she could ready another attack, the maelduin was trying to shove her from her mount. The war horse lashed out on occasion with its front and rear hooves, but it never landed a hit.

There was a malicious, greedy sneer on his face as the maelduin came at her again from the front. Her horse reared up, but the maelduin was taller and swept her out of the saddle with an outreaching arm. Once she was clear of the saddle, the maelduin clutched her to his chest. Lute was assaulted with the musty, horsy scent of sweat and the polluted aura of the fiend.

She was shocked—no, stunned—for a moment, simply trying to regain her sense of direction. And when the scene fell into place like a completed puzzle, Lute shrieked and pounded her gloved fists into the maelduin's barrel-like chest. The beast only grunted, a sneering kind of sound.

"Release me!" Lute shouted in the Voice of the Dead.

The maelduin's stride faltered once. "So it is true." He spoke in a deep, gravelly voice. "You do speak the Voice."

"Release me or you will regret it!"

The maelduin's arms snaked around her, trapping her to his solid chest. "I would like to see you try, little human."

Lute struggled to reach her Fimbulvetr tome trapped between her side and his chest. If she could only reach it, the maelduin would be an ice sculpture before her. But the fiend saw her objective and yanked out the tome wedged between them. He slowed his galloping pace slightly to peer at the book curiously. He opened the tome with clever fingers and studied the runes for a moment. Then, with a sneer of disgust, he tossed it aside.

"You will not need that where you are going."

Incensed, Lute fought and struggled for all she was worth. However, fighting against the maelduin's grasp was like trying to pound your way out of a concrete tomb. She would not be escaping his hold anytime soon. She had only one option left and prayed to the light above that it would work. Lute didn't particularly like this option, but if she wanted to live she had to do this.

Taking a deep breath—and nearly gagging on the stench of horse sweat—she screamed: "Innes! Kyle! Vanessa! Help!"

She hated it. She really, really hated calling for help. She was the best magic user there was and she was screaming for help. She loathed it. But she had to. She had to call for help if she wished to live and see Artur again.

The maelduin was surprised at first. The human female was screeching in a language he couldn't understand. And when he heard returning shouts from the other humans, he clamped a large hand over the human's mouth. Lute took the opportunity to bite him. She dug in her teeth and fastened a tight hold on the hand. Lute drew blood and grimaced against the thick, sour taste.

Shouting in both pain and outrage, the maelduin freed an arm to slap her about. Lute screwed her eyes closed and hung on to the putrid flesh between her teeth. She ignored the pain blossoming in various parts of her body. When the fiend realized she wasn't letting go—his slaps were doing nothing to help—and her human comrades were making their way toward her, he did the only thing he could.

Lute was aware of the single arm that was crushing her to the fiend's chest. She was also aware that the hand she had latched her teeth on was connected to the arm holding her. And then she was abruptly aware of the other hand around her throat. Gasping, she released the fiend's hand as her own hands flew to her throat. The beast's grip shifted. Lute was now held in the crook of his right arm while his left hand deprived her of oxygen.

The last thing Lute saw was the expression of twisted pleasure on the fiend's face before a black fog crowded in. Everything faded away.


A/N: Thank you for joining us in Chapter 29: Capture. Photos can be retrieved at the booth around the corner.

Some of you may have noticed through your experience here with me at By the Light of the Fire that contractions have been absent from speech in the Voice. This may have made sentences sound awkward even when they are technically correct. The absence of contractions is just another quirk in the language, such as the abense of posession words used with an apostrophe and the letter "s". If you have noticed this, please reward yourself by taking cake and ice cream from the food stand. If you have not noticed this, look for it in future chapters.

Once again, thank you. That is all for this week. Goodbye!