Chapter Thirteen –
A Plan Gone Horribly Awry
The halls of Dranthiris-Ankhar seemed even blacker than usual, devoid of the fiery glow that the torches lit there normally provided, or the scorching light of the desert sun from outside. But, in this, they also seemed safer: less menacing and omnipresent, and fortuitously empty for the small young figure who fled down the halls, glancing behind herself every once in a while.
Elowyn knew that what time she had now would not amount to much – somehow, she could already sense, deep in her senses, that the Dark Lord was not far behind her. She could feel the distant waves of his consuming, terrible anger upon her mind.
Of course he would be angry: she was running away from him again, but in this darkness, they would be hard-pressed indeed to find one another, even if they tried.
As she ran, she resisted the urge to draw the back of her hand across her mouth, to clear away the sickening, possessive sweetness of the memory that she had of his lips upon hers. It had been all too addicting, too controlling: that moment, and she knew now that it would take her a very long time to entirely clear it from her mind.
Even then, though – she doubted that she ever would.
Did she really want to…?
Run, Elowyn: run!
Sandaled feet barely making any noise as she swept along the dark hallways of the Sytherrian royal palace, moving quickly and desperately. Elowyn had no idea where she was going. The only thought in her mind was that, perhaps, if she ran fast and far enough, there might be a chance of her finding a way out of the incredible labyrinth that surrounded her. It was her only hope; once she had made it out of the palace, the Antari would aid her in her escape—
But only after she had found her way out of the darkness.
The halls, stairways, and rooms that the pale, coldly fair young princess passed through seemed to blur before her; no one of them looked even remotely the same, and yet she felt as if she were somehow going in circles. Then, gradually, she became aware of the fact that she was going down – descending even deeper into the blackness, racing her way into the very bowels of the fortress. Down an iron stairway she clattered, almost losing one of her bejeweled sandals in the process, terrified at what might happen if she fell.
He was behind her…
Elowyn came out onto a walkway that loomed above a vast chasm-like space, riddled with the light of what seemed to be fires of the deep underground. Thousands more steps led down into this place, and everywhere she looked, she saw doorways that led further into the shadows.
But one stood out among the others, somehow – it was just a little ways off to her left, and to this she went. Around the corner, beneath the doorway her shimmering figure sped, eventually coming into a narrow corridor, through which blasts of cool, moisture-ridden air flowed.
Obviously, this was a way to the outside, as the place that she had just come from had air that was hot and close, kept in that one space for who knew how long – perhaps since the building of Dranthiris-Ankhar. She didn't know.
A pale, bluish light came up, in a rectangular form, ahead of her: another doorway. Elowyn ran towards it, not even bothering to look behind herself now.
The place beyond the doorway that she passed through was a long, wide hall of sorts, with huge pillars lining it in layers on both sides. Still, the gusts of fresh air came towards her – this had to be a way out. She cast about for another door; surely—
Then, from behind her, she felt the air behind to vibrate: to tingle, as if a bolt of lightning was about to strike it. A heavy, inescapable presence stretched its invisible hand towards her, groping in the darkness, searching for her: terrible and fell.
She wanted to scream.
No: she mustn't give in to the terror now. No matter what wrath the Dark Lord had for her – no matter what he might try to do – no matter what minions and awful creatures, his servants, that he might send after her, she had to run. She had to get out!
Summoning her every strength and momentarily closing her eyes, holding her breath, and praying to the Three that They would guide and protect her, Elowyn paused – only a moment, and no more. Upon opening her eyes again, she glanced about herself. It would be a terrible gamble that she was about to make…but there was no other way.
And then she ran.
Her figure dashed out of the shadows, instantly revealed by the cold light above her – and then she disappeared again. She was weaving in and out of the darkness: alternately running, then pausing, and then running again. It was as if she had suddenly become a fleeting shadow.
He was getting closer.
Princess, you've crossed a line now…you should be very, very afraid.
She ignored the voice in her head. She was going to get out.
Finally, she found the door, and, without pause, ran through it. All at once, she found herself in a much smaller, narrower room, with high walls that stretched up to a ceiling that was far above her head. Stopping abruptly, she craned her head way back, in order to stare suddenly at those walls…for they were lined, with hardly any space to show through, with a host of strange and terrible weapons: all of which gleamed bright and razor-sharp in the cold light.
Elowyn stared at them.
What place is this?
And then her eyes focused on the room's most dominating inhabitant…
There, in the very center of the floor, stood a huge suit of armor that loomed over her: full and undeniable menace and cruelty in its air. 'Who are you, that you dare to enter this place – my resting place?' it seemed to ask of her. And Elowyn could only stand where she was and stare at it.
Somehow, she felt as if she had seen this suit of armor before – where? Surely, she had never encountered its wearer; for none of the villains that she had ever battled before had ever come close to being as great and terrible as the wearer of this armor must have been…
It was the Dark Lord's armor.
She had seen it before: in the pictures of the old history books and ancient legends that were kept in the libraries and other places in Avalennon; she had seen the scenes that had been depicted by the most skilled and knowledgeable artists and historians of any times. Awestruck, she approached the towering iron figure, staring up at it. The blank spaces where the eyes were meant to look through glared down at her: a ring of blade-like spikes crowning the skull above them, and the long, curving talons that ornamented and made lethal the gauntlets at the motionless arms gleamed in the pale light at her, seeming to ask: do you really want to cross the one who once bore us? Do you know what deadly peril you have now stumbled into?
Then, her eyes slowly moved, down from those gauntlets, to the belt and sword-scabbard that hung at the suit's waist.
And her eyes widened—
The sword was gone from the scabbard.
She heard a sword being drawn, ringing high-pitched and fell.
Oh, Fates – no. What have I done?
For now she saw a dark figure standing across from her – on the other side of the suit of armor – and it was a tall, powerful figure, from whom waves of dire hatred and rage seemed to flow, a figure whose gray eyes glared into her own. He had a sword leveled at her.
Elowyn took a step away.
"So, at long last, you've had your fun," the voice cut through the air to her: fraught with deadly hate and menace. "But now know this, Princess – I can never let you leave this place…"
The stationary tip of the sword suddenly flashed in the light – slashing through the air as he lunged towards her.
Elowyn fell back, only just avoiding the blade – without a moment's time to think any further, she rammed herself against the suit of armor, pushing it with all her might. Instantly, it gave a horrendous groan and gave way, crashing to the floor. Elowyn didn't wait to see if she had done any damage to her attacker; all she did was turn and run.
A ragged shriek of unearthly, boundless rage followed her out the door.
Within an instant, she was back in the room of pillars, and running into the shadows. And within an instant, he was behind her again. Elowyn slammed herself to a halt behind one of the huge stone formations, becoming completely silent – although she felt that her heart was beating so loudly within her chest that he could surely hear it was well as she.
Carefully, she turned her eyes to one side, glancing out of the corner of her vision, looking for an escape—
Fortune smiled upon her, clear as day.
For there, leaning up against the wall with a hundred others of its kind, was a Sytherrian wyvern-rider: a razor-edged, light vehicle of iron, which would hover above the ground and zoom along at great speeds when its captain indicated that this was his desire. Elowyn knew this instantly with the aid of her faery powers, which had – she now sensed – suddenly begun to return.
That was the Dark Lord's great power: he froze the thoughts, instincts, knowledge, and abilities, every act of the free will, of his opponents. That was why she had been so unable to evade him…and now, as she was making her escape, running further and further beyond the reach of his powers, would this no longer affect her? She didn't have time to consider on it further. She had time only for escape.
Father, Mother – brothers, sisters, friends and comrades one and all – the wide world, as a whole…it is over, at long last.
I'm coming home.
One wyvern-rider left its comrades on the wall of the weaponry chamber.
* * *
Her escape had indeed weakened his hold on her – and Jaedin well knew it. This, and the stunning effect of the nasty trick that she had employed on him, had impeded his abilities greatly, almost leaving him without any sort of power, and now, as he followed relentlessly behind her, he swore that no such thing of this caliber would ever again occur.
He stood for a moment in the open floor of the weaponry, casting about himself for any trace of her in the shadows. Then, finding this impossible, he cursed eloquently in his own tongue and whirled about, narrowing his gray eyes with an anger that would have struck down any soul that had seen it in an instant. Elowyn – Princess, I will find you…
Silence; he took a step forward—
Zoom!
The Dark Lord of Sytherria had to react with lightning reflexes in order to avoid having his head taken off by the Sytherrian wyvern-rider that suddenly tore out of the shadows beneath the pillars and went over him, shock waves stirring the air in its wake. Jaedin allowed an inarticulate strangled noise of fury to escape his throat, nearly a scream, and made a violent gesture with both hands, instantly teleporting himself back to his throne room in the palace. There, before the black smoke of enchantment had even cleared around him, his irate voice screamed at the ranks of his servants who had gathered there—
"FIND HER – NOW!"
Then, Jaedin himself tore down to the lava-riddled grounds of Dranthiris-Ankhar, storming with unconcealed fury to the platforms where the Sytherrian glider ships were anchored. Terrifying all who stood before him, he ordered that one be launched.
He intended to take down the escaping prisoner himself, and he knew just where he would have to go in order to do that.
Somehow, after she had managed to knock him unconscious, the lights had gone out all over the palace. The torches and other lights in his fortress were all kept going after nightfall by a central ensorcelled talisman that was kept in a chamber deep within the place: the spell on which could only be broken by moving it from its original position. Jaedin was too infuriated to fully think on how this might have come to pass – all that was in his mind at the moment was the knowledge that his faery prisoner had made her escape with the aid of the darkness, and that now, she would be heading straightway to the magic wall that was not three miles outside of Dranthiris-Ankhar.
If she were to reach that wall, which she could sense the presence of with her inherent magical abilities, she would pass through it – were she not stopped – and reenter the White Realm.
And then she would be out of his reach.
Jaedin gritted his teeth: a truly feral snarl twisting his lips, and gave a gesture that commanded the glider ship to be launched. He went to the fore deck and stood at the bow: shining gray eyes piercing into the early morning haze like daggers, the harsh winds that passed by the speeding vessel ripping about his shaven skull and clothing, causing the long black cloak he wore to billow, bat-like and ominous.
She wouldn't escape him – he wouldn't let her. There was no way that she could escape to the White Realm, where he had not dared to enter in over four hundred thousand years, since that last great battle between the forces of evil and good. Would he follow her there now, if she somehow evaded him? No, he told himself, no – she will not escape me. Her will cannot surmount mine; it is impossible.
It was impossible – everything was.
Where is she?
His tracing spell went out into the night, grasped at and then locked on to her – she was moving fast, and he could barely keep his senses focused on her, so weakened were his powers becoming in regard to her. She was slipping out of his reach!
No, Jaedin thought again, jaw clenching in tandem with his gloved fist. She'll not make it out of this place. She will not leave the boundaries of Dranthiris-Ankhar. She cannot.
The glider ship bore down on Elowyn, fast gaining on her; and then, Jaedin – knowing that she would, in all likeliness, play a hidden trump card in their game of hunter-and-hunted – gave the order to the crew of the ship that it should be turned around, in a wide arc. He would meet her head-on, and the one who blenched…
Well.
It would not be him.
Elowyn's sea green eyes narrowed as she saw the glider ship's movements; she knew what her dark captor was about, and she knew what he would to do her if he were to capture her. Never again, Jaedin of Sytherria, she told him within her mind: her gaze focusing on the tall, proud figure who stood at the bow of the vessel that was zooming towards her on the blood-tinted morning air.
Never again.
Jaedin's eyes narrowed as well, looking straight into hers, and his mind touched on hers.
We shall see, Princess.
Elowyn sent him a mysterious, somehow knowing little smirk then.
Ah, but we won't – and do not be so sure of yourself from now on.
There was a beat of wings on the air then; Jaedin whirled around, stiffening in fury and shock, only to see – too late for reaction, too late for prevention – the gleaming, sleek figure of a winged stallion: shining white in the rising sun's glow, come forth from the shadows. The Dark Lord of Sytherria uttered a wordless scream of rage—
But it was too late.
The fleeing faery princess leapt from the wyvern-rider onto the back of the Pegasus, with perfect grace and ease, and, once she was fully in the saddle, the creature veered off to the side and vanished into the hazy dawn.
Dranthiris-Ankhar nearly exploded with the force of his fury as the Dark Lord teleported, once more, back to his throne room. The Antari who awaited him there received one command, and one alone.
"Bring her back!"
* * *
But the Antari had made a promise, and devoted to their lord as they were, and always would be, they would also never break a promise.
Rákkhed Dahk-Marr's forces raced out into the dawn, riding hard: urging their fierce, noble steeds on; a hundred Skullex accompanied them. They chased the faery princess and her winged mount out into the desert, heading towards an oasis of truly deadly beauty, where the magic wall to the White Realm hung. The Pegasus, however, outdistanced them all, and then, furtively, when they had almost reached the invisible enchanted wall, Rákkhed held up a hand: giving the secret signal to his men that they should rein back.
The Antari immediately obeyed, and pulled their mounts up short; meanwhile, however, the Skullex hurtled on ahead of them, directly towards the magic wall—
* * *
Elowyn looked once more over her shoulder – the magic wall to the White Realm was less than two hundred yards away, and closing…
The dun-coloured form of the Pegasus stallion reared up, prancing madly, as it passed through the invisible barrier, which seemed to burst like a soap bubble and fall into a countless shards, with the sound of an enormous, earth-shaking groan, as soon as the faery princess had passed within it. The Skullex followed through—
And were immediately assailed by a thick rain of faery and Elven arrows!
Chaos broke out: the Skullex's mounts went mad and surged in a terrifying pandemonium around her; Elowyn clung to Orpheus, who reared up once more, his neigh a fierce scream, the whites of his eyes showing, sea-coloured mane flashing in the newborn sun's light.
Then, all at once, there were figures arrayed in shining armor: mounted, with weapons drawn, pouring out of the trees all around her, breaking into the panic-stricken ranks of the Skullex and mowing them down like hay. Suddenly – hoof beats behind her; Elowyn turned, mind finally breaking under terror and overwrought strengths, and saw the figure in gleaming silver that was behind her. Hands reached for her, and she shied away, crying out in fear – "No!"
But these were gentle, protecting hands, and she felt herself gathered into someone's lap, pulled out of Orpheus's saddle. A woman's voice that she recognized rang out from beneath the helmet that the figure wore, carrying over even all the chaos that was about them, "We have the princess – fall back! Fall back!"
Elowyn saw the shining figures brandish swords one last time at their foes, heard the Skullex's awful cries as they fell; and then it was too much: she could take no more.
Into the blissful darkness she went, willing and broken.
And, their enemies completely vanquished, the faery and Elven forces returned to the fair citadel of Avalennon, bearing with them their returned princess, who rested lifeless and unconscious in the arms of her sister: Queen Elladine of Lærelin. There, she was received by her incredulously relieved parents, the Lord Orandor and Lady Vahlada, and the realm rang out with overwhelming joy.
The nightmare, at last, had ended.
But, for at least one soul in that world, another nightmare had only just begun…
* * *
A/N: Hmm. Wonder who that could be? Poor Jaedin. Ah well, I suppose you could say he deserved it. Mmm. Please r&r! And now, I will herein end my commentary, leaving you with a promise to update again very soon – for next we will see the beginning of Part III of True Hate and True Love…
Cast List:
And now, introducing the one and only, the one and best, the indomitable and undefeatable (all right, well, almost) Numero Uno villain in Evyrworld—
Jaedin, Dark Lord of Sytherria: Tom Hardy
(See Star Trek: Nemesis. It'll all become clear to you then…)