Chapter Seventeen –
The Wolf and His Fair Prey:
Lord Valdeth and Princess Elowyn Take a Walk in the Woods
Elowyn slept restlessly that night, after returning to her room – retiring early, and long before the ball had ended. Several of her newly acquired ladies-in-waiting slept in the bedchamber that was next door to hers, and she was especially glad of the fact that she now had several guards keeping watch over her personal quarters.
Not that that would help any, if he really wanted to get in and see me, she reflected, sourly, the next morning upon awakening.
It was a bright, sunny day over Iordania, but that helped none.
Obviously, her ruse to blend in with the other ladies of the court, by appearing in attire such as they did, had not deterred her nemesis from searching her out from among them. For some odd reason, she felt that he could find her anywhere, no matter where she went or what she did to hide herself – or was that his thought, that he had somehow insinuated into her brain?
Well, it mattered little. Her standing at court at the moment required only that she behave as a princess did, and she would be glad to do so, for the time being. Robbie and Sala had still yet to arrive and once again station themselves at her side, so adventuring any further would have to wait until that indeed came to pass.
Still, there He was, in her memory, in her mind…
Elowyn suppressed a shudder.
What could he possibly want from her this time? And how many times exactly had she asked herself that question – never once turning up a reasonable answer?
She hadn't any idea what her dark enemy's plan was…but she knew that she would soon find out, whether by her own art, or his. Somehow, she would discover what lay within his mind.
However, now, she wouldn't put herself in a position that would make it easy for him to ensnare her – although it seemed to her, as she thought about it, that perhaps his intentions were altered from their previous form.
After all, he had followed her all the way into her home territory – where she was surrounded by friends and family, and loyal subjects – and what possible motive could he have that would allow him to act rashly, when in such a dangerous position? He had moved quickly before to capture her, and in his own palace, where no one could hold the place of ruler but him…
She again removed her mind from such thoughts.
I will not remember, Jaedin of Sytherria.
All was quiet and cheerful around her; Elowyn looked up, from gazing at the skillfully woven carpet that was on the floor at her feet, and cast about herself. Her room was as white and lovely as ever, hung with silken draperies and tapestries detailed with gold: there were her wardrobes, her writing desk, her book shelves and chair; there was the table by the fireplace, and the mantelpiece. All these were hers, and she was safe.
For the moment.
Well – whatever Jaedin wanted with her this time, he wasn't going to even get near to it until she had found out just exactly what it was.
And that could – in all likeliness – take a bloody long time.
* * *
Shortly after this, Elowyn rose from bed, washed up, dressed, and went downstairs to the small dining room – this being a chamber the size of a mortal cathedral – for breakfast.
Here she found several of the morning servant detachment, but none of her friends. Apparently, Skye and Odessa-Gadriel had had to breakfast early and then take off on a riding tour of the countryside with some of their more exalted guests, and her other friends had gone with them. There was a letter arrived by courier that morning for her, however – upon opening it, she found that it was from her uncle Brendan, Robbie, and Sala.
They had reached the port in the southern tip of Elvendome, and now estimated that they would be arriving in Iordania within two days' time. This was an unexpected highlight in her day. In spite of the renewed presence of her deadly enemy in her life, soon her comrades would be once more joining her.
Elowyn ate quickly and thanked the cook, then – taking one last piece of powdered-sugar-dusted toast with her to eat on the way – ran back to her room. Skye and Odessa-Gadriel's absence meant that several of the guests, those of whom had not opted to go on the horseback outing, would be meandering through the gardens, left to their own devices.
All she could hope was that Lord Valdeth had chosen to go along with them.
She said an extra prayer to the Three for safety nonetheless.
It was told to her that yes, indeed, the Lord Valdeth had gone out on the ride; he was no longer in the palace that morning, and the older children of the prince and princess – three of them, and all under the age of ten – were all out and about in the gardens that day. Cheered by this, Elowyn went to seek them out.
On the way, she stopped to converse cordially with some of the guests, most of who were ladies who remembered Elowyn only as the adventurous, bold young princess who held an utmost dislike and disdain for gowns. Now, they all complimented her on how lovely she looked in her lovely walking gown of pale salmon-pink and gold, and commented on how glad they were of her safety, after her awful ordeal in the horrid desert land of Sytherria.
Ever with me, in my mind, aren't you, Dark One?
This put a slight damper on Elowyn's mood, and now she put a bit more alacrity into her steps, her high-heeled slippered footfalls clicking rhythmic and light on the pebbled walkway. Through the sunlit garden she passed, scanning this way and that for the third youngest child of Prince Skye and Princess Odessa-Gadriel – Shelbiraith, affectionately called 'Shelby', for short. She had promised him a special surprise for behaving for his nurses and going to bed when he was told the night before, before she had gone off to get ready for the ball…
As she rounded a bend in the pathway, she suddenly heard voices from up ahead – a child's voice, high-pitched and sweet and questioning: Shelby.
And a man's voice – infinitely deeper in pitch, although not quite baritone, but still not quite tenor: dry and cool in tone, resonant and instantly arresting.
Elowyn froze right where she was, stiffening in horror, and a terrible fear flashed through her green eyes, darkening them.
Shelby!
She picked up her skirts and walked quickly towards the sounds of those two voices, horrible trills of icy fear going up and down her back all the while. No, no, no – not Shelby, he's too young, don't tell me, not Shelby… was all she could think.
Within a moment, she had reached the end of the curve in the walkway, and came out onto a wide, circling patio of white marble, lined on both sides by large bushes of fragrant herbs – lemon balm, lavender, and chamomile, among them – with daisies poking their shining faces out of the green. There was a small covered pavilion, with a bench underneath it; behind it were the trees, and the rest of the gardens, the pathway going on by the bench to continue on through the place.
Elowyn stopped.
Sitting there, right before her, as if he had all the right in the world to be there: mocking her with his presence and taunting her with his indomitable omnipresence, was the dark-clothed figure of the one who styled himself as a vampyre nobleman—
Lord Valdeth of Isinvaele: Jaedin, the Dark Lord of Sytherria.
Elowyn felt herself shaking with rage inside.
It appeared that Shelby had happened upon the vampyre during one of his sojourns through the gardens, and that now Valdeth was showing him some of his more basic magic tricks – at a suggestion from the tall dark figure on the bench, the four-year-old went and retrieved a daisy from the bushes, bringing it to him.
Valdeth said something to the child, in a low voice that she could not quite hear, gray eyes scanning over the round little features with a curious, gentle intensity that Elowyn had not yet seen within them, and took the little white flower in his hands, cupping it in one palm.
Then, he covered it with his other hand – made a fluttering movement with his fingers – and opened his hands.
All at once, a host of shimmering butterflies, seemingly made of pure shards of coloured light, burst forth from inside those black-gloved palms, flitting up into the warm morning air. Delighted, Shelby watched them go, reaching out to touch one with the fingers of one hand. Valdeth continued to watch the boy, his perfect lips curving…
Elowyn was hardly entranced by the show of power; she had done such tricks herself many a time, since she had been about a year older than Shelby.
The tactic that her enemy was now using, however, was what her concentration, and anger, had now riveted on – he was trying to insinuate himself into her life, into the circle of those she loved, and she could only guess at why…
Stepping forward, abruptly, onto the patio, she reached out to let her own fingertips brush at the wing of one of the butterflies. It disintegrated into sparkling shards of light as soon as her hand had made contact with it, and Shelby looked up to see the newcomer.
With a noise of extreme delight, he turned his back on his new 'friend', and ran to her. The young princess knelt down and caught the adorable little elf-prince in her arms, bringing him up with her as she stood. With a thoroughly pleased smile, which totally hid the magma-like anger that was bubbling inside of her, she dropped a hearty kiss on the child's rosy cheek.
Her eyes went straight into Valdeth's, saying, Oh, no you won't. Not this time.
Don't even think about it.
Valdeth stood, rising to his feet, and stared back at her: gray eyes impassive and unreadable. Meanwhile, Elowyn turned back to Shelby.
"Shelby, you little imp – is this where you've been? I've been out looking for you all this while…I almost called out the guard to look for you – and then where would we have been? I hope you've not left your nurse in the same state, have you? Where's Isella?"
Shelby grinned into her face, all the while fidgeting about, as children will.
"She's talking to Riona the Maid, Elli." Most of the younger generation of the original crew had not yet mastered the syllables of Elowyn's name; Elli was the given appellation for her. "I wanted to go outside."
"And so you did, as I see." Elowyn commented. She glanced back at Valdeth. Still standing there, watching her. She turned to Shelby.
"Sweetness, you shouldn't talk to Lord Valdeth anymore."
The little golden features scrunched up in confusion; green eyes scanned her face.
"Why?" With childlike simplicity.
Elowyn turned so that she could look at Valdeth, secretively. Shelby followed her gaze.
"Because…" she whispered, in his ear – but quite loud enough for the vampyre to clearly hear her. "He's the Tickle Monster."
Shelby's green eyes – so much like his mother's in hue, but destined to be like his father's in shape – grew wide as saucer-plates, and he stared at the dark figure who stood just a little beyond them. 'Tickle Monster' was a game that his grandfather, ruler of all the elves: Skye's father, and Skye himself played with the children of that family, and Shelby lived in a mixture of mortal fear and anticipation of meeting up with such a creature.
Elowyn, seeing that she had won at least this newest battle, then let the boy back down onto the ground. "Now, sweet – go run off to my room and look on my writing desk." she told him. "I left you a new storybook there."
"With pictures?"
She smiled.
"Of course – your mother helped me with them. Now go on…and ask Isella to help you with the big words!"
And Shelby scampered willingly off, leaving Elowyn and her nemesis alone on the pathway together. She watched him go, remaining motionless until long after his footfalls had faded away; then, she heard the sound of another step being taken, only it was the step of a much larger, booted foot. Then, she turned around.
"Lord Valdeth," she said, cooing the words sweetly and cheerfully. "Will you take a walk in the gardens with me? They grow rather picturesque at this time of day."
He inclined his head, making an elegant acknowledgement of her words.
"But of course, my lady."
Elowyn put her arm in his, and they moved off into the gardens together. Not until they were completely out of sight of everyone else, but not out of yelling range, did she grab him by the shirtfront and haul him around, pinning him against a tree. Still holding on, savagely, to a chunk of his black velvet tunic, she looked straight into his silver eyes; Valdeth looked down at her, way down, with a vastly amused expression on his handsome face.
"The Tickle Monster, Princess?" he asked, lightly.
But she wasn't about to be distracted.
"Listen to me, Dark One," she said, glaring up into his eyes. "I do not yet know what plans, what intent, you have within you that led you to come here, to this place – but know this: I will find out what they are, and I will not allow you to bring the people that I love into this. If there is to be a battle now, it is to be a battle between you and me alone. Stay away from them."
She released him and turned away, making to return back into the central part of the gardens – but suddenly his gloved hand closed around the upper part of her arm, and she found herself whirled around, roughly, directly into his arms. They locked around her.
"Now here is a command for you, Princess," his cold, deadly voice hissed in her ears. "I do not know what you think you can do to stop me from behaving however I wish, and doing whatever I want, or who you think you are that gives you the ability to stand against me – but know this: I will not take no for an answer."
"Let me go."
"No."
The arms around her tightened. Elowyn felt her breath becoming short.
"Yet still you turn away from me, Princess…why?"
She looked deeply into his face. When her eyes made contact with his, full and without their usual ferocity, she saw the gray depths flicker, momentarily.
"Because your pursuit of my mind – my sanity itself – will give me no quarter."
"Ah, but I can give that to you, at least – it can end, Princess…"
A pause."
"You know what I want."
Elowyn recalled, in a horrid flash of memory, the feeling of his arms around her, their kiss, an inescapable embrace – her mind was being violated, trespassed upon, and all by this menace who would not leave her, who was within her now forever, who held a part of her within himself, just as she held a part of him within her—
"NO!"
With that strangled half-shriek, she violently pushed herself away from him, tripping over a fallen branch – he caught her, his hand moving with lightning speed to grip her arm again, crushing and bruising in its pressure…but, at the same time, saving her from a fall. Elowyn stared up at him, into his gray eyes, unable to look away.
Valdeth seemed as if he was hard-pressed to find his breath, and she saw that his face was intense with some seeming furious concentration, his eyes sparking beneath their dark brows.
"Princess, don't—" was all he could manage to rasp.
"Leave me!" she shouted at him, and turned.
She turned and ran, and did not look back.
Jaedin was there – he was there, in the flesh, and as adamant about pursuing her as ever, for whatever dark reasons that he had this time. The fact that he was now surrounded, on all sides, by his fiercest enemies, would not deter him. And he held an all-defeating card in his hand – if she revealed who he was, he would destroy everything and everyone whom she loved. One by one, they would fall. Skye, Odessa-Gadriel, Shelby, Robbie, Sala…all, he would not spare.
And if she endured his torments, she would fall.
Collapsing in a heap of sunset-hued satin and tulle, Elowyn looked up into the tree branches over her head, her eyes bedazzled by the rays of the bright sun that shone through them.
"Why?" she cried out to the heavens, as if they would part and answer. "Why?"
WHY?
* * *
She had fled him, once again. And, once again, he would go after her.
Gray eyes, rimmed with intense violet at the outer edges of the irises, lifted from the forest floor and focused on the depths of the woods, piercing past tree and leaf to follow after their quarry: a beautiful young princess whom he desired more than words could tell…
Suddenly, a vision flashed through his mind – momentarily blinding him – sending a jolt of white-hot pain, agony, through his head like the shaft of an arrow. Jaedin clamped both hands onto his shaven skull and fell to his knees, features twisting and contorting in pain.
The flashback, the memory, came unbidden.
He saw himself once more in the Black City, looking on the picture of the past as if he was invisible, a ghost, specter, spirit, of his own memories. Two figures stood before him: both were arrayed in black, and both exuded waves of dark power from their elegant frames…
He heard her voice: ringing cold and clear – at first.
"Jaedin, my Dark Knight…I have been many things to you over these many thousands of years, have I not?"
He heard himself answer, guardedly, felt his past wariness and suspicion.
"My lady has been everything; she knows this."
A nod from the beautiful dark one who stood across from him; she moved, took a step.
"Sovereign, queen, friend, confidante…" Her voice was rhythmic, musical. She was moving towards him now… "Mother…father…brother, sister…"
A pause; and now a pair of flame-lit eyes gazed up into his, seeing and knowing all.
"But never lover."
She had drawn close to him, he remembered, even in the midst of the vision: stepping so close that they were more than touching. Her hands rose from her sides and reached out, fleeting and playful, daring him to react to her; still, those flame-lit eyes never left his, and he never took his gaze of molten silver from hers – no, not until her fingers had actually brushed his cheek…
Then he had reacted.
He had recoiled.
Instantly, she had seen inside of his soul, had looked upon and recognized his deepest thoughts, had perceived his heart's longings: that intense, all-consuming, deadly poisonous desire that had tainted his being with its venom, causing his heart and hand to betray him…
She drew back, lips curling back in a vile, angered sneer: her eyes burned at him. He could feel their heat on the top of his head as he averted his gaze, twisting his body in an attempt to somehow hide himself, hide the truth that he knew he held within himself, from her.
If only—!
Then her expression altered: metamorphosed, like the ever-changing legend, the chimera, that she took her name from. It became cold, malignant, and knowing – malicious and triumphant. She had read his thoughts, and he was exposed.
"But I have not the great sea green eyes that so deeply entrance you, do I, Jaedin – Dark Lord? I do not have the regard of one proud, willful, and defiant – utterly untamable, full of the newborn Spring…a fair white lily: ringed with cold winter's frost, contemptuous and disdainful, born of light, and sea-lov'd…do I?"
He saw himself – felt himself – wince, at those words.
But she continued: her voice now as hard and icy as winter's most impenetrable ice.
"Jaedin, Lord of Sytherria…do you serve me with your life, and every breath?"
Now, he finally looked up at her: meeting her gaze, head-on, with his.
"For always, my lady. You know this as well."
Zaschaea sent him her cool, reptilian smile, moving again – circling him, making him feel like a caged panther, trapped in an inescapable tomb with a pit-viper—
"Do I?" she asked. She stopped, coming to stand before him once again; still close, this time, but not as close as before. Never again… Then, her hand was placed on his chest, directly over his heart. His pulse beginning to race – with fear, with dread, with anger, or perhaps something more – Jaedin looked into her eyes, lips parting…
"Prove it to me then, Jaedin," the Queen hissed, like a snake. "Show me your loyalty."
Then, she reached forward – her hand seemed to pass, suddenly, through his clothing, beyond the black velvet and silk, past skin and bone and muscle and tissue, and he screamed: noiselessly in the great white void, as she touched something deep within him—
Her slender, white hand – tipped with nails stained a deep black-red – emerged from the depths of his form then, and within its palm, she held something. Jaedin stared at it, silver eyes widening with dawning realization and horror – what had she just done to him…
In her hand, Zaschaea, the Ebony Queen and soon-to-be mistress of the Dark Realm in its entirety, held Jaedin's living power: his life essence.
Glowing pale, chalky white it was: like a ray of pure starlight severed from its source, and, as he watched in horror and helpless rage, it hardened into tangible form. Zaschaea then held it out to him: a slender vial of clear glass, hung on a fine chain of shining platinum. Inside of the vial, his life essence – the inner part of himself that he could not live without, as no creature could – glowed: sometimes brightly, sometimes faint. His face pale and livid, he looked into the face of his Queen, the entity whom he had served, and had sworn to serve, for all of eternity—
Into the face of the one who had just betrayed him.
And yet she smiled.
"Go to her, Jaedin," he was told. "Go to her, and seek her out until you have found her. Then, bring her to me…and do not attempt to deceive me again, my Dark Knight – for now I will see you, and know what you are about, anywhere you go. This – your life essence contained in this form, this crystal – will serve as our bargaining power. Go into the White Realm and fetch for me this princess, whom you so desire, and I shall render unto you again your freedom. Disobey me…and I will end your life at the first sign of rebellion. I have destroyed many lives before, Jaedin…do not think that I will hesitate to send you into an oblivion of agony."
"Can I turn to no one…?"
Then, the vision ended. All at once, it was gone.
Slowly, unsteadily and uncertainly, Jaedin rose to his feet: black velvet robes sliding down to drape about his tall, powerful and elegant form once again. His gaze now turned itself, once more, out into the forest.
Ah, Zaschaea, he thought, as he sent his probe for any traces of dark power in the air out into the wood, You do not trust me, even after these hundreds of thousands of years…but why should you? In a moment, I learned that not only can you withhold from me your faith, but that I – as well – cannot trust you. So then, where do we go? What have we to do now, when we have come to this impasse? I will not let go my desire, and you cannot wrench it from me…
And then, the Dark Lord of Sytherria turned crisply, neatly, with his usual cat-like grace – natural-born of his vampyre heritage – and went off, in a swirl of black velvet, into the woods, to seek out, once again, his quarry, the elusive young faery princess, Elowyn.
* * *
However, neither Jaedin nor Elowyn could have told, at that very moment, as they ventured out into the woods that afternoon, that neither of them would be returning to the gardens of Iordania, or Iordania as a whole, for quite a very long while, after that moment…
For Destiny – named Fate, if one will – was fast bearing down upon them, and would soon catch them up in its hands, to carry them off to unfathomable places…
* * *
Run – that was all she could think. Run.
Don't stop; just run.
Elowyn, scarcely pausing for even a moment's breath, sped across the wide, clean-swept courtyard of the Elven palace and entered the gigantic cavern that was the royal stables. Eyes sweeping from left to right, searching, she hurried down the rows of stalls, passing by equine entities more flawless and fair in form than most mortals could imagine.
At last, she heard a familiar whinny; hope spurring her on, she made her way quickly to the owner of that noise – Orpheus: standing, waiting, in his stall, ears pricking at her arrival. Tears stinging her eyes and threatening to pour in unstoppable rivulets down her cheeks, Elowyn hastily ducked under the silk rope and came to her old friend's side.
"Orpheus," she choked, barely able to speak. "Orpheus – oh, let's go – we must go. We've got to get out."
And the bemused Pegasus found himself saddled and readied for a swift ride, and at a very odd time of day, as well; since when had his mistress ridden out in such haste, and during the exact middle of the lunch hour, at that? But he suffered himself to be led by the reins out of his stall, down the long rows of the stalls, and through the door, into the blazing midday sun.
Elowyn spared only a split second's time to glance around herself. The courtyard was awash with life and activity; all around her, she saw guests and the regular denizens of the seaside Elven capital city, going about their daily business, quite without a care in the world.
But she was bent on escape.
* * *
The sentries at the gate marked the princess's approach and gave the order that it be swung wide for her, to admit her exeunt. Elowyn rode past them, swift and light as a Spring clinging onto the heels of a breeze, leaving puzzlement and curiosity in her wake.
Where was the princess riding at this hour?
* * *
Shortly after her, the dark-cloaked figure of none other than the vampyre lord, Valdeth, galloped up to the gate. Seeming to be in great haste, he steadied his mount with a confident and controlled hand, then looked up to the sentries.
"The Princess Elowyn!" he called up to them, his dry, elegant voice carrying easily into their ears, even at such a distance. "Which way did she fly?"
They pointed it out to him – having no idea that they were addressing the Dark Lord of Sytherria, and the bane of their world's existence for millenniums past – "That way, milord. Did she—"
But their questions, however, went unmarked, for Valdeth had set the spurred heels of his boots into his indigo-black stallion's sides as soon as he had been told which way the one he searched for had gone. And then he himself went thundering out of sight.
All that the sentries could do was turn to one another and shake their heads.
Quite obviously, faery princesses weren't the only ones in strange haste that day…
* * *
Elowyn had been riding – bareback, at that – since she had been two-years-old; she had gone off on her first gallop, unaided, and much to Vahlada's dismay, when she had been but three years of age. She was an experienced horsewoman, and knew the country surrounding the palace of Iordania well, having visited there many times.
But now she paid no attention to the breath-taking, heedless beauty and peerless majesty of the wind-swept coastline of Elvendome, passing by the wide, sweeping arcs of sea and sky with not a single glance. Riding hard, instead, she passed into the thick forest that marked the ever-changing boundary of the White Realm's enchanted wall…
A brief tingling feeling washed over her as soon as she had gone through the wall, telling her that she had passed the boundary. She looked around herself, then, reigning Orpheus in to a halt. The Pegasus stopped and shifted uneasily on all fours, huffing and pawing at the ground: spume forming on his lips and at the bit, as sweat coated his sides.
Elowyn reached down and bemusedly stroked his flank, eyes gazing out – dazedly, it seemed – at the forest. It was all strangely quiet, as if everything in that bit of nature had stopped living and turning to stare at her.
What are you doing here, Child of the Faeries? it seemed to ask, gentle concern in its tone. Whom have you fled, and where are you going?
Putting a hand to her forehead and closing her eyes fast against the torrent of tears that was now more than threatening to come, she slipped down out of the saddle and gathered the loose reins in her clenched hand, holding it so tightly that her knuckles turned bleach-white.
"I am nothing…no one…" she told it, as she wept. "Leave me be…leave me at peace – why won't you let me go? Please…just let me go…let me go…"
And she began to walk, leading Orpheus behind her.
She had no idea where she was – if she had been in full control of her mind and emotions at that moment, she would have easily been able to ascertain her whereabouts, within a moment…but now, her mind had shut itself down, and obstinately refused to form any coherent thought.
Mingled emotions were all that came instead – and memories.
She let them tear through her.
Revulsion – loathing, hatred – bewilderment – curiosity – fear – someone's arms around her, someone brushing his velvet lips on her cold brow, someone calling her a name in some language that she did not understand…what was it again – merron nenein, sahk-ta su aman? Was that what he had called her…Dark One, she had called him: servant of the Despised One, offspring of a vile witch, Jaedin of Sytherria…
"Jaedin."
His name was haunting on her lips – as if she was pronouncing the syllables of some forbidden spell, summoning the deepest shadows…
But that was what she was doing, wasn't she – calling on the name of the deepest shadows, the master of the darkness? That was what she was doing; that was what he was. And such a foe could never be evaded, not forever, at that…no matter what she did.
Jaedin of Sytherria.
Elowyn of Avalennon.
Jaedin…and Elowyn.
Jaedin Elowyn Jaedin Elowyn JAEDIN.
"Am I going mad?"
And a whisper came in her ears: a cold and spiteful woman's voice: "No, but you will think that it would have been just as well if you had, when you have laid eyes on this next aggressor of yours, little princess…"
Hissssss.
She tore her eyes from the ground and looked up – too late.
Without a moment's warning, a huge, tawny body came crashing down out of the tree branches over her head, coming to land in a cat-like crouch, gathering itself together…
Elowyn took a step backwards, her eyes wide with horror and dread, as she looked upon a most terrifying and loathsome creature: an apparition with not one but five heads with the features of lions without manes. Below those heads, it had long, slender wyvern-necks twisting horribly about, scales rasping and clicking against each other with each movement; its body was the shaggy, dingy frame of a hyena, with a wyvern's long tail flicking and lashing about on the ground behind it. She had never seen anything so hideous.
The creature – whatever it was – continued to crouch lower to the ground, its elongated silvers of eyes narrowing to focus in on one thing: her. Elowyn continued to back away, hoping to find something – anything – to throw at it, to defend herself with, should it spring at her…which she had no doubt it would.
Suddenly, an awful hissing snarl erupted from the foremost of the monster's five heads, and it craned its neck high up in the air, lips drawing back to reveal its yellowed fangs, which dripped gleaming saliva. Its nostrils flared, chugging out air, and then it gave a ground-shaking, mind-shattering scream—
And leapt at her.
Elowyn narrowly avoided it, catching Orpheus by the reins and jumping with lightning speed into the saddle. Veering off to the side, she brought him around; the Pegasus needed no urging – he spread his wings wide and took off at a canter—
A huge clawed paw suddenly swooped down out of nowhere, catching her neatly around the middle. Elowyn found herself torn out of the saddle, thrown against the monster's claws by the inertia of her movement, and fell violently to the ground.
Her mind blurred for an instant – but no more. She scrambled to her feet, facing the circling monster, and screamed – "Orpheus!"
Had the creature already taken down her beloved Pegasus?
No – back he came, wickedly sharp hooves pawing at the air, wings beating angry and loud, swooping in low over the monster's head. Elowyn heard the thud of the Pegasus' hooves on the monster's shoulders, flanks, and heads: she heard it hiss and snarl in antagonized pain, but she was too busy trying to run to pay much attention to it. Wrapping one arm about her torso – wanting to scream in pain – she scrambled off to one side…but the monster marked her! It wasn't interested in Orpheus at all – it was only after her!
Elowyn felt a yank at her skirt's hem, and suddenly her feet were dragged out from underneath her, sending her crashing to the ground again.
Cursing violently in faery, she fought back, but the creature was undeterred. Orpheus could do all he could in attempt to distract it; she could do all that was in her power to resist it, but the monster was after her blood – her life.
Whap!
The monster's other paw came around and batted her off to one side, and Elowyn was thrown up against a tree root that jutted out above the ground. She rolled over: blood pounding in her head, her breath labored and painful, whistling in her lungs; her abdomen was screaming with agony, and she could see that the silken bodice of her gown was tattered, hanging in shreds, stained with the blood that was rapidly welling up from the three huge gashes that were in her stomach. She couldn't get up – she couldn't move.
The five lion heads appeared in her vision then, hanging over her, and, in her delirium of pain, Elowyn could have sworn that she had seen each of its fives maws twist in a cruel smile—
Then, something totally unexpected – something unbelievable, that even she would have never dreamed of – happened.
"Be off and seek the shadows that spawned you, fell beast! She is not yours to take!"
It was a masculine voice that thundered those words – a voice that was hoarse and rasping with rage – with sheer, unmitigated fury.
Elowyn saw everything that happened next in a blur: a dark figure suddenly appeared before her, standing in between her and the monster, and it held some sort of razor-edged, deadly-looking weapon in both hands. The creature – the ranthar – suddenly paused, seeming to have second thoughts about its attack, and then it screamed, loud and long, again, and attacked the figure in front of her instead. Everything was a whirl of movement and violence – she saw flashes of skin, claws, clothing, teeth, and fur, heard the sounds of mortal combat—
There was a high-pitched, whining sound, that drilled itself into her senses until she thought that her mind would burst—
And then a mind-breaking explosion of blood-red fire.
* * *
Jaedin turned from the charred, torn, and smoking carcass of what he had always known to be the most fearsome of Dark Realm creatures: the ranthar, a beast created from some of the cruelest and most cunning of species in that world, possessed of a soul that was surely close to, if not exactly, that of a demon. He had never appreciated the keeping of the monsters in his Queen's war mines – but, at the suggestion of another, his opinion had been ignored.
And now he sought to discover just who and what had sent this particular ranthar into the very fringes of the White Realm.
Before this moment, he had thought this would have been nearly impossible; insinuating himself into the position of a vampyre nobleman, taking the place of the real person, had been hard enough, and required great skill of magic-working…
He knelt and looked on the heap of the beast's twisted remains, dispassionately.
It was one of the dominant male ranthars, he could tell; it had stood at least seventeen feet in height, just seconds before. A predator truly worthy of being feared. Unfortunately, the Dark Lord of Sytherria was a much more formidable predator.
But now, without warning, his gray eyes focused abruptly in on something that he had spotted hanging around the creature's neck.
Reaching forward, but taking care to avoid even slightly touching it – although he wore his habitual gloves of black leather – Jaedin pulled the leather collar off and stood, gazing at it intensely. A large, blood red crystal, tainted with inky black, hung from its center.
Jaedin's eyes narrowed dangerously.
Now hear this, he said in a low, controlled, but deadly voice, within his mind, to the crystal – and whomever was looking through the other end of it. You have given me this task, and I will finish it. I, and none other.
He let the crystal and leather strap slip through his fingers and fall to the ground. For a moment, he stared down on it emotionlessly, coldly. Then he brought his booted heel down on the crystal's broad, flat surface – effectively smashing it. Having done this, he turned around.
From the limp, pale heap of rags and long, disheveled golden hair that lay on the ground behind him, came a faint sound that almost qualified as a feeble whimper. Actually – now that Jaedin thought about it, as he lunged towards that fallen figure, belatedly, cursing himself for not having done so sooner – it probably had been a whimper.
Elowyn opened her large sea green eyes, wincing at the light of the sun as it entered them, and she immediately went tense all over, her body stiffening in protest and fear, when she had realized whom it was that held her in his arms. Jaedin edged her cautiously – with exceeding gentleness and care – into his embrace, and she began to struggle, weakly.
"No…no!" she murmured. But she was fading.
Jaedin placed one hand around the back of her neck, cupping her head in his palm, and stroked his thumb along her hair, an almost tender look softening his sharp and proud features.
"Shh," he soothed, trying to calm her.
Even a dark lord knew, having walked many a battlefield in the long centuries of his life, that an injured being must not be allowed to become frantic. That would speed unconsciousness, and, perhaps, coma – or death.
And she must not be allowed to die. Yet, was his grim and slightly sadistic thought.
"Shh," he said again, and continued to stroke his fingers along her hair.
Elowyn gazed up at him with disoriented and terror-filled eyes for a moment longer, and then she gave a soft, peculiar little sigh – and was motionless in his arms. Of course, she still lived, and would live on for a while longer, if he and his orders had anything to do with it – but now he had to move swiftly. Ranthars were chiefly employed by the warlords of the Dark Realm because of their brutality and intelligence, and also because the wounds that they inflicted on their victims would, within a matter of minutes, quickly become septic, and painfully infected.
Jaedin didn't know why the Queen had sent this creature after Elowyn; she didn't trust him, in the matter of the princess of prophecy, he already knew, but he had thought that killing the child wasn't even remotely in the plans…
A distraction, perhaps? To detain you whilst she goes about some other diabolical plot of hers, you think?
He shook his head, and stood, bringing Elowyn up with him. She settled easily into his arms, fitting against him as if she was made to be there…
Jaedin smiled mordantly to himself at that thought.
Such had always been my thought, but she will not accept it, I fear…
Now he glanced over, into the trees.
The princess's Pegasus stood there, watching him with its uncannily intelligent, seemingly all-knowing eyes, and Jaedin quickly took note of how its ears had flattened back onto the crown of its head. Not too friendly then, he observed.
And rightly so.
Still…
"Look, you," he said, stepping around various undergrowth, fallen logs, and the sort: approaching both the irate Pegasus and his own mount, which he had left behind him directly before hurtling to Elowyn's rescue, unwilling to let her be killed when he knew that that was not what he had been commanded to do concerning her.
He looked straight into the eyes of the Pegasus – Orpheus, he seemed to recall, was its name – and spoke slowly and authoritatively.
"I find the need to procure aid for your young mistress here rather pressing, and then, afterwards, I really don't have any desire to spend my time arguing with a horse."
The Pegasus' ears flattened even more upon hearing those words, and it lowered its head, beginning to bare its teeth at him. Unimpressed and totally unfazed, Jaedin let his lips tighten and went to mount his own stallion, bringing Elowyn into the saddle with him as easily as he might a lightly packed rucksack. Then he glanced back at the Pegasus again.
"Come along, if you wish…but she's coming with me."
And with that, he rode off into the waning afternoon light, heading for the magic wall once again. One never emerged from the White Realm in the exact same place as one had gone in, it was well known, and so he had no real idea of where he would end up once he had passed through that boundary. He wouldn't, in all likeliness, be very near Iordania again.
Just as well, he thought, as he urged his mount into a gentle canter. They seemed like to soon become suspicious of Lord Valdeth of Isinvaele anyway…
Hoof beats from behind him served to inform Jaedin that Orpheus was following, and closely at that. Somehow, he felt, the Pegasus seemed to inherently know of just who and what his young mistress's companion was.
And Jaedin didn't appreciate getting an attitude from a horse.
Meanwhile, Elowyn was still and pale, her head resting against his chest, half buried in his full-cut tunic, a warm and gentle pressure against his skin.
Jaedin glanced at her speculatively.
"What will we find of each other this time, Princess?" he asked her, murmuring to her unconscious form.
Will I finally learn of just what it is that allows you to elude me, to keep me at bay, unable to touch your heart? Will you at last give in to the knowledge that you long to discover me – to truly know me?
"Merron nenein – sahk-ta su aman."
One within me – mistress and only lover of my inner self.
My soul.
* * *