Serena shivered, her whole body quaking and twitching as in a severe coma.
A whine escaped her parched lips, coupled with small cries of pain and
terror.
No! She screamed inside her head, watching as Astenfire was engulfed in
black flames, writhing against the bonds that held her in the inferno. A
cold, dark laugh echoed in the cavern's of Serena's mind, coupled with a
flash of red and the foggy outline of a dragon falling, limp and senseless
through a black void. Another tortured whimper tore itself from the
sleeping maid's throat, a panicked cry which no one heard.
Then the soft, sibilant voice whispered above the torturous screams of
Serena's friend, a voice Serena had come to recognize. The voice, hissing
in a foreign tongue explicit words tumbling and grating, rising to an
indefening crescendo, coupled with the flash of blinding red light, the
low, dark laugh of pure malice, the picture of Astenfire's shriveled
corpse, and her murderer..
"NO!" Serena sat in a rush, the cold sweat beading on her forehead,
drenching her hair and clothes. Her heart and mind raced as one, her
jagged, uneven breathing steadying slowly. She looked around the camp, now
bathed in a grayish glow of re-dawn. Aragorn and Colette, holding each
other in their sleep, Sagitar and Astenfire sitting quietly on the craggy
ridge, Astenfire's head on Sagitar's chest, the elves sprawled out in
disorder, snoring uproariously, and Moony.
"Moony!" Serena leapt up, waking half the camp with her cry. "Moony!" She
repeated, dashing panic-stricken across the camp, to where her dragon lay.
"Huh.Zerena.go back ter zlee- what the hell?!" Aragorn nearly threw a
partially unconscious Colette off him at Calyces' sudden outburst.
"Bloody.!" Aragorn ran over to Serena, his dark eyes wide with surprise and
fury. Serena knelt beside her dragon, its large blue-black head resting in
her lap, Moonbeam's large black eyes glazed and misted over in death. The
dragon's body was bloated and dark purple ooze dripped from his partially
open mouth, winding a path over a large white fang to fall and mingle with
the dragon's blood, now accumulating in a small puddle in Serena's lap.
"He's dead.dead." Serena began to whisper, gently rocking the dragon's head
in her arms.
"Poisoned." Murmured Aragorn, cocking his head at the boated hind legs.
Sagitar, his hair and clothes in disarray hurried up with Astenfire at his
side.
"A spy from the castle most likely." Growled Astenfire, furious at her lack
of attentiveness the previous night.
Aragorn's jaw clenched. "You are probably right. I'm sorry, Serena, but
there's naught we can do. Moony has gone to another world. Somewhere where
he's happy."
"How can he be happy without me?" Serena asked brokenly, looking up at
Aragorn, her eyes round and bloodless, tears winding their path down her
cheeks to land and mingle with the sludge and blood in her lap. "I was his
best friend. I created him. Set him free." Aragorn had no answer to this.
"Let's move now." Sagitar said decisively. "Better in the morning by
surprise than sometime when they can spot us." Aragorn and Astenfire
nodded.
With her temper still ablaze, Astenfire whirled around, death dancing in
her eyes as she snatched up her bow, and drew an arrow, notching it home.
She sighted the shaft, closing one eye and brining her cheek to the taunt
bowstring. And it happened.
A figure clad in red leapt onto the battlements, his voice echoing down to
them, "Once Sawney gets in, leave the others to kill him. We've lost many
men to fear, but that's good. I won't have cowards and idiots carrying out
my plans. Succeed in beheading Crimson, and I will reward you." Grinding
her jaw in anger, Astenfire heaved on the twine, stretching the supple yew
to its full extent, and then letting the shaft fly.
Frildur recovered quickly. "Bloody attackers at the west wall! Get yore asses moving!" He roared to a commandment scurrying by, up the parapet steps, and returning volleys of arrows and sling stones in retaliation. Frildur's group stared at him for a second, then broke, scattering and running about, all heading towards the castle keep where fortune or horrific death awaited. Frildur whirled around, belaboring glancing blows to Charmarks dashing past him up the rampart steps, bellowing, "Get up there, fools! You there, marshal the troops, split them in two, half to main, the rest to fight here! Move!" In the utter chaos ensured by the lone arrow, his force were undetected dashing over to the keep. The idea: corner Crimson like a wine in a bottle, then finish him off. Satisfied all who would be watching were busy retaliating and sending salvos of round, hard stones and red-fletched arrows, Frildur turned, and dashed off to the keep. Crimson threw himself out of his chamber, battle light dancing in his eyes. It was working. Sprinting to his bedchamber, he wrenched a long curved scimitar off of the two pine knots holding them in place atop the headboard. In its solid gold hit were fine chips of rubies, ending on a great one the size of a gull egg as the pommel stone. Two golden tassels hung from the hilt, fixed in place by two more rubies. The glittering cold silver steel caught the hazy pale light falling through Crimson's window, catching on the smooth blood channel and emitting a silvery glow. Crimson grasped the lethal blade, striding from the stone chamber to await Sawney. Testing the sword's balance as he nonchalantly made his way down the spiraling red staircase, two or three Charmarks ran right into him, the impact nearly throwing him off his feet into a chartreuse-stained glass window. "What the.?!" Crimson leapt to his feet, kicking the foremost soldier solidly in the face, causing him to topple, with a squeak of panic, down three flights of steeply winding steps, and careening with an audible 'crunch' into three more who had just dashed in through the front cedar gates. A spiteful rage filled Crimson, suddenly realizing.snatching his scimitar from its position on the stair, he whirled it expertly through the air, the steel thrumming in a wild silver blur. The first unfortunate Charmark to rise was immediately scythed through, the keen blade severing him shoulder to waist without so much as a snag. The last remaining one squeaked in utter terror, attempting to hop backwards from his furious master, half-heartedly drawing his cutlass, just as five more smacked into him from behind. Frildur's voice echoed up from below, "What the hell's going on! Get up them stairs, pea-brain!" "Bloody bastard!" Snarled Crimson, suddenly furious with himself.he should have know the damned one wouldn't care for the innocent's death, he should have been the one to go over the sill. Crimson whirled the blade aloft, hacking through the front ranks like a hot knife through butter. Foamy blood spurted up, dotting the soft rosy walls with the poisoning liquid. Crimson lashed out with foot and scimitar, the obsession of wringing Frildur's neck overcoming reason and thought. Leaping over the pile of decapitated limbs and squelchy red robes blossoming with blood, Crimson threw himself down the staircase, his ears ringing with his victim's terror- induced screams.
Frildur recovered quickly. "Bloody attackers at the west wall! Get yore asses moving!" He roared to a commandment scurrying by, up the parapet steps, and returning volleys of arrows and sling stones in retaliation. Frildur's group stared at him for a second, then broke, scattering and running about, all heading towards the castle keep where fortune or horrific death awaited. Frildur whirled around, belaboring glancing blows to Charmarks dashing past him up the rampart steps, bellowing, "Get up there, fools! You there, marshal the troops, split them in two, half to main, the rest to fight here! Move!" In the utter chaos ensured by the lone arrow, his force were undetected dashing over to the keep. The idea: corner Crimson like a wine in a bottle, then finish him off. Satisfied all who would be watching were busy retaliating and sending salvos of round, hard stones and red-fletched arrows, Frildur turned, and dashed off to the keep. Crimson threw himself out of his chamber, battle light dancing in his eyes. It was working. Sprinting to his bedchamber, he wrenched a long curved scimitar off of the two pine knots holding them in place atop the headboard. In its solid gold hit were fine chips of rubies, ending on a great one the size of a gull egg as the pommel stone. Two golden tassels hung from the hilt, fixed in place by two more rubies. The glittering cold silver steel caught the hazy pale light falling through Crimson's window, catching on the smooth blood channel and emitting a silvery glow. Crimson grasped the lethal blade, striding from the stone chamber to await Sawney. Testing the sword's balance as he nonchalantly made his way down the spiraling red staircase, two or three Charmarks ran right into him, the impact nearly throwing him off his feet into a chartreuse-stained glass window. "What the.?!" Crimson leapt to his feet, kicking the foremost soldier solidly in the face, causing him to topple, with a squeak of panic, down three flights of steeply winding steps, and careening with an audible 'crunch' into three more who had just dashed in through the front cedar gates. A spiteful rage filled Crimson, suddenly realizing.snatching his scimitar from its position on the stair, he whirled it expertly through the air, the steel thrumming in a wild silver blur. The first unfortunate Charmark to rise was immediately scythed through, the keen blade severing him shoulder to waist without so much as a snag. The last remaining one squeaked in utter terror, attempting to hop backwards from his furious master, half-heartedly drawing his cutlass, just as five more smacked into him from behind. Frildur's voice echoed up from below, "What the hell's going on! Get up them stairs, pea-brain!" "Bloody bastard!" Snarled Crimson, suddenly furious with himself.he should have know the damned one wouldn't care for the innocent's death, he should have been the one to go over the sill. Crimson whirled the blade aloft, hacking through the front ranks like a hot knife through butter. Foamy blood spurted up, dotting the soft rosy walls with the poisoning liquid. Crimson lashed out with foot and scimitar, the obsession of wringing Frildur's neck overcoming reason and thought. Leaping over the pile of decapitated limbs and squelchy red robes blossoming with blood, Crimson threw himself down the staircase, his ears ringing with his victim's terror- induced screams.