Chapter Thirty –
Battle for the Academy,
It had grown late in the afternoon by now, and the air, as it rushed past the smooth metal hull of the Sytherrian glider ship, was chilly and thick with moisture: the scent of fallen leaves, wood smoke, and harvest hanging over the earth. The sky – the sun having begun to drift towards the far-off, tree-lined horizon – had begun to change from its bright, azure blue to a paler, more lavender-toned shade, the overall effect much different from the sunrise that Elowyn had witnessed in the desert of Sytherria.
Now she stood alone on the walkway upon which, earlier that day, she and her friends had caught their first sight of the Ebony Queen's new force of warriors. She still wore her jeweled white gown, which gleamed purely in the waning sunlight, but she had also added the comfort of a thick, satin-lined wrap of white velvet, which she snuggled into for more warmth.
As she stood there, she heard the faint click of a booted foot upon the metal floor behind her, and then black-silk-clad arms had come around her waist: drawing her against someone who was even more warm, even more comforting, than the white velvet that she had wrapped about her bare shoulders. With a little noise of delight and contentment, she turned halfway in those arms, so that she could burrow her head up against the gently heaving and then residing chest that was behind her. His voice came to her then, tainted with the dark playfulness of a predator that she had come to expect – and enjoy – from him.
"You know, Princess," he told her, "After all of this is over, you are mine."
She stirred; looked up at him, arching a mutinous eyebrow.
"I never said that I would be," she replied, coolly.
Jaedin caught her on her bluff, however. With an equally cool and mischievously taunting smirk on his lips, he said—
"You didn't say that you wouldn't, either. You are mine, and I am yours, whether you like it or not, whether you accept it or not. If you refuse to acquiesce to your heart's commands, then I will simply have my way, and I won't apologize for it."
"And what if, Jaedin of Sytherria," she asked him, "when 'all of this is over', it turns out that I have been betrothed, by my parents, to some prince, lord, king, or whatnot, who is much better, and much worthier, than you?"
But all she got to this was his most arrogant look, and his dry chuckle. He laid a finger upon her lips, keeping her silent as he revealed to her, "Oh, I do not think that I have much need for fear there – to begin with, flat, you would not permit such a thing to come to pass, nor would I. And there is no better or worthier one for you than me. I am all there is; and you, my sweet white lily, must simply come to terms with it."
She smiled coyly.
"Must I?" she questioned, and he grinned, his smile showing off the perfect whiteness of his vampyre's smile.
"Yes, you must, as I have. You, my precious white opal and fair lily of the cold Spring, shall be the lady of Sytherria."
Her hands pushed against his chest, half-heartedly.
"You toy with me," she whispered, as his lips began to brush against her cheek, her hairline, and then she felt him smile against her skin.
"My fairest love," he said, pulling back so that they stood – hands alone conjoined, with the wind whipping around them, stirring her hair and gown, and the long black cloak that he wore, making it look like the wings of a gigantic bat. He reached out, tipping her chin back so that she was forced to look up, into his face, and then he smiled at her, winningly, engagingly, and utterly irresistibly.
"Why would I…"
No one was around to look at that moment; no words would be spoken, in jest or in hearsay, about anything that might be seen on that wind-swept walkway, so Jaedin, Lord of Sytherria, quickly – almost hungrily – took Elowyn in his arms, imprisoning her in his embrace. She did not fight back or flinch away, but willingly allowed him to kiss her, showing him an ardency, as they embraced, that matched his own. Her arms went about him, pressing against his shoulder blades, and as the wind whirled around them, they became so caught up in their kiss – in each other – that, once again, they quite forgot everything.
When at last their lips were free again, Jaedin still held her close to him, murmuring words in his own language that she did not know the meaning of, but could guess at well enough.
Hearing them made her think of the future, and imagine what it might look like… Considering such brought, again, several very interesting pictures to her mind – the one that stuck out the most was her older brother, Gavin, chasing Jaedin around with a broom, threatening to beat him over his hairless skull if he came so much as within fifty miles of his sister ever again.
Jaedin must have had some sense of her thoughts at that moment, for she then felt his touch upon her mind, and then she could think of nothing but them, of nothing but the very moment before them.
Which wasn't all that bad, she thought, as she swept several heartfelt and ravishing kisses along his sharply angled, squared jaw line, up towards his cheek and ear, as she drew her hands up above his high collar, and over his shaven head. Jaedin whispered his name for her again, and she said the same to him, which made him flush warm, and her cheeks to burn a bit. This, with her former worst enemy. Jaedin wanted nothing to do with being her foe, her arch-nemesis, ever again; in fact, at that moment, it was the very last thing that he wanted to do, and he told her so.
But he would always be her Dark One – her Dark One, would he not?
Oh yes; of course he would.
Neither of them would have it any other way.
Then, for a long time, they simply stood together on the deck, as the sun slowly began to turn slightly redder than before, and the air grew colder. But Elowyn was safe in the arms of the one who loved her, and his warmth, joined with hers, was more than enough to banish the chill from her reality.
BAM!
At once, Jaedin whirled the both of them around, staring with eyes that were nearly alight with an intense gray fire as they watched the burst of burning sparks that had only just missed them where they stood on the deck travel up into the sky, and disappear.
The silence only remained for a split second.
* * *
"Captain Dahk-Marr, what in the deepest circle of the underworld was that, and why did it come so bloody close to hitting me?" Jaedin lashed out as he stormed into the command room, utterly furious and dragging Elowyn along behind him by the hand.
Rákkhed came towards them, looking utterly baffled.
"What was it?" Jaedin snarled, in a tone that informed everyone who heard it that he would not, under any circumstances, tolerate a delay of answer.
But his captain of the guard was unable to provide the reply he wished.
"My lord, I crave your pardon, but we have not been able to yet discover what caused the blast, and it is too dark below us to tell; if we could but—"
"Answers first, Captain; time for thought later," Jaedin growled, as he strode over to the far-seeing glass, black cloak swirling and snapping angrily in his wake. He had still not let go of Elowyn's hand. He leaned over the globe, snapping out the words that would cause it to become active, and glowered into its misty depths.
Even as he had thought that his existence might hold the promise of being peaceful, if only for a moment, that hope had been shattered. We could have been killed – she and I! Whoever is responsible for this will pay dearly for it—
Then Elowyn was grabbing onto his arm.
"It's them – we've reached the Academy! They sent a warning rocket up to meet us because they saw us, even with the Invisible Cloak; they think that we're an enemy, and that's why they tried to blast at us. Jaedin, we must to go down and speak to them!"
* * *
"…You don't have any time to waste; they will be here by nightfall. You must get everyone out now."
Weldyor, chief-administrator and head professor of Mythology and Animal Shape-Shifting, walked in through the arched doorway of his study, a large group on his heels.
There was Prince Orlando, the famed faery nobleman who had once been transformed into a hideous beast by a rogue wizard of the White Realm; with him was his beautiful wife, Arielle Ávanarï: the Half-Faery, and Lord Brendan, brother to the ruler of the faeries, Orandor. Following behind them was none other than Elowyn of Avalennon, Child of Prophecy, and Jaedin, the former Dark Lord of Sytherria; Prince Robeneron and Lady Salamaïre were also present, along with several more of the Acaemy's most preeminent and respected teachers, composed of both faeries and elves.
Elowyn was the one who had spoken, and her words had been uttered in a heated and passionately insistent tone that spoke volumes of the urgency of the situation. The head professor took his position by the fireplace and waited for them all to file in. The black-garbed vampyre Dark Lord was, he noticed, by far the tallest, and yet he stood behind Elowyn, who was at least a foot and a half smaller than him, and wore nothing but white. The vampyre's gray eyes pierced into Weldyor's intensely.
"But I am baffled by this," the old wizard said, shaking his white head from side to side. "There has been no hint of a Dark Realm presence in Elvendome for countless millennia now, and even with the threat of encroaching war…"
"You cannot think that we are mistaken," Jaedin hissed from the back of the company. Instinctively, several of the faeries drew away from him, alarm and distrust flitting across their fair faces. Jaedin, however, paid them no heed. Stepping forward, he addressed the faery without hesitation or apology.
"Within perhaps only a few hours, that army will descend upon this place like a horde of locusts. They've been sent here to kill every one of you, and if you do not act now, it will be to your own devastation. Consider this – within perhaps only a few hours, you will be looking at a battlefield that stinks of destruction and death. The walls that surround this place will not keep them out; neither will the spellbound gates and bastions, or the chasm that is beyond them. This army will find a way across, and through – it is driven by a force darker than you have yet dealt with, even the most stalwart and war-hardened of you," He gestured widely with a swoop of one arm to the group in the room, glaring at each of them in turn. "You must heed our warning, and take everyone out of this place now. You cannot remain.
"Then shall we leave the Academy to destruction?" fired back one of the teachers, a raven-haired elf with fiery brown eyes. "Look around you, if you will, Dark Lord of Sytherria, and see what we have to lose – what of the destiny of this place, if the Queen gets a hold of it? If we run, she will only gain a foothold in our land."
"Enough, all of you!"
This came from Arielle, who stepped forward: her brilliant blue eyes blazing with fury. First she addressed Jaedin, stabbing a finger in his face.
"It is true that the will of the Ebony Queen is powerful – more than powerful, but coming to us with the choice of flight or doomsday is certainly not to our aid!"
Then she rounded on the elf that had spoken out, Eislen, and spoke even more vehemently to him.
"And you – do you not have any idea what carnage would be wreaked among even the most skillful warriors we have here, should any remain to fight, and try to keep the dark forces back? Are you suggesting that we stay? I have three children within this place, and when I think that I must now go back to them and tell them that we must stand and await the coming battle…"
She was silent for a moment, trying to contain her emotions; then, she burst out, "I will not think of it! If there is a battle to ensue, then I will cast my lot, and that of my children's, in with Elowyn and her companions."
Brendan now took his turn to speak, confronting Weldyor with an even but underlying urgent tone. "What they have told you is true," he said, grimly. "A dark army, composed of Skullex, human, and other more unsightly warriors marches on this fortress, even as we speak, and they will be here before the morrow. The choice of what you will do is, in the end, yours, but I counsel you to this – gather together the students, and allow them to board the Sytherrian warship; they will be safe there. In the meantime, let those of us who are determined to do so remain behind, and defend the Academy while we may."
"If it stands, it is at the will of the Three," said Robbie, from the back of the room, his voice ringing into the air. "And if it falls…if it falls, it is likewise so."
* * *
Elowyn stood with Sala, watching as the beginning ranks of the very youngest students were quickly and quietly hurried onto the Apocalypse, which had been brought to hover a scant twenty feet off of the ground in the largest courtyard of the Academy. The night had fallen rapidly around them, and now all was cloaked in darkness.
Not an hour after their arrival, the two had exchanged their lovely day gowns for battle-garb: chain-link mail shirts underneath their dark shirts and tunics, leather breeches, and knee-length boots. Their cloaks billowed about them in the cold breeze, and the light of the torches nearby glinted off of their hair, eyes, and the various weapons they wore strapped to their skin.
Still, there was no sign of the enemy army.
Elowyn glanced up at the high walls of the building that was nearest to her: the stone glimmered pure and strong in the light of the moon, but clouds were beginning to blow in from the north, and soon its comforting glow would be obscured. She shivered a bit, desiring to banish the chill from her soul, but unable to.
"I hate this," she whispered to Sala.
Her friend nodded, wordless.
They continued to watch the progress of the evacuating students and their caretakers. The pupils of the academy ranged in age from as young as five to eighteen or nineteen; certainly, none of them were aptly prepared for a fracas in the midst of their own home. The process was slow and painstaking: if the Queen had any of her spies out to report to her the movements of her foes, they would instantly notify her of any untoward activities within the Academy's walls.
But there were so many students…would they be able to board them all in time?
Elowyn caught sight of Rákkhed Dahk-Marr, Orlando, and Robbie at the exact same moment then. Rákkhed was in the act of coaxing a very young and very frightened-looking little girl onto the hovering skiff that would take the group that she belonged to up to the larger vessel. She looked very uneasy, having been suddenly brought away from her dinner in the great hall, into the courtyard: only to be told that she must now accompany this strange, swarthy-faced man with the curving blade at his side and bizarre, swirling marks on his face, onto the gigantic humming thing above her head.
Her fright was understandable.
Rákkhed, however, in the end, won out: the little girl, an elfling – telling from the now-exposed pointed tips of her little ears – suddenly decided to trust him, and wrapped her tiny arms about his neck, allowing the Antari to gently lift her off of the ground, and step into the skiff. He spoke to the figure that manned the vessel, and it sped off towards the open boarding deck of the glider ship.
Elowyn, relieved, turned back to Sala.
But her friend was gone; Robbie and Orlando had called her over to help chaperone the next load of students, and Elowyn found herself alone. Alone, though, for only a moment. Before she'd even had time to let her sudden sense of loneliness sink in, she felt an arm slip about her waist.
"Istver-ar…" she murmured, pushing her face into his chest and breathing in deeply, inhaling the scent of evergreen and incense that was so uniquely him.
Jaedin drew his hands through her hair, knowing that soon, she would plait it into a braid and then pin it up somehow, so that it would not get into the way when she fought. Somehow, the mental image of her decapitating a Skullex chilled him – he felt the hilt of her sword pressing against his hip, and disliked the feel of it.
"Merron nenein…" he murmured back, and then held her away from him, gazing deeply and earnestly into her green eyes. "You know that I would rather have you be on board that ship, Elowyn."
But she shook her head, as he had known she would.
"Never," she told him. "I will not leave them – I will not leave you. This is my place, and I do not intend to abscond it."
He smiled at her, and playfully flipped a wavy lock of her pale golden hair over her fine, straight shoulder.
"My own sweetest sword-maiden," he said to her. "When will I learn to trust in our Fate? It is not our destiny to leave this earth until we have together vanquished the darkness. I know this too well to forget it, even now."
"I will not leave this earth, nor will I leave you," she swore to him, knowing it as truth in her heart. "Neither will you leave me."
"May my sword run me through before such a thing ever comes to pass," he promised back, and drew her close for an embrace that surged with emotion. "Oh Elowyn – how is it that I have not found you until now, when we must turn our thoughts not towards love and peace, but war, blood, and death? The darkness closes in around us, and, shadow as I am, even I cannot surmount it."
"Jaedin, it will end," she whispered.
Then, there was a call to them from the ramparts nearby – "Ho there, Elowyn, Jaedin!" – and, abruptly, fearing themselves caught in their passionate embrace, the Dark Lord and the Princess immediately detangled from each other. Elowyn raised her voice and replied to the sally, "Here! What's afoot?"
It was Robbie who called to them. He had returned from his last trip up to the ship, having exchanged his place for someone else, and was now on the sentry detail at the walls. He ran a few steps down the stairway from the ramparts, and without any seeming difficulty found them among the shadows.
"A lookout at the North Tower just spotted movement to the southwest, that's what," he replied to her inquiry, as he ran up to them. In the cold moonlight, his pale skin looked even whiter, his hair even more jet-black, and his eyes glittered a bit. "Come now – they want you to join us there; you as well, Jaedin."
Then he turned and took off for the stairwell again, Jaedin and Elowyn following swiftly behind, directly on his heels. They went a little ways down the wide pathway that the top of the walls made, stopping only when they'd reached the nearest watchtower. Then, a golden-haired and blue-eyed faery instructor – Caldon – came to meet them.
"Our sentinel at the North Tower is Elyssia, an elf of the western woodlands who has the eyesight of an eagle, and until now taught an upper-level class of advanced telepathy." he told them. "She reported having spotted several yellowish pinprick lights in the distance…"
Thunder cracked overhead, making them all jump, and realize the exact extent of their overwrought nerves.
Caldon continued, in a hushed tone, "That would put them at only about five miles away, if the lights she saw were our approaching friends."
"Which, I have no doubt, they are." Elowyn muttered, not quite under her breath, and the handsome faery nodded to her words.
"How much longer before all the students are on board?" he asked.
Robbie shook his head, grimly.
"I'm not certain of my estimate…" he said, and seemed to be hesitant of telling them the true answer to that question. At Jaedin's slight glare, he revealed, "But to my guess, there's still another two hundred who haven't even been told that they're supposed to be readying for departure yet…"
Elowyn groaned.
"Fates, are they going to converge on us all and leave us scrambling like sewer rats trying to make our escape? We've hardly any time left!"
Jaedin was already standing, his hand on her elbow causing her to do the same.
"We're just going to have to speed things up a bit then," he said, and then he was pulling her down the walkway after him, without apology or fuss over his brusqueness, Elowyn, however, was used to and even welcomed his domineering, authoritarian behavior towards all things, at certain times, and now was one of those moments.
In less than a minute, they were in the dining hall.
Some of the students – especially the younger ones – were still seated at the tables, finishing their dinner, as their teachers stood around them. Some of them looked a bit nervous, and some would occasionally move across the room to whisper to each other; others looked relatively calm, even a bit complacent, as they watched over their charges and reprimanded ill behavior from time to time. Elowyn felt Jaedin's arm go stiff underneath her hands, his muscles tightening, and when she looked up to his proud, sharp profile, she knew from the set of his jaw, the gleam in his eyes, and the darkness in his drawn-together eyebrows…
The Dark Lord was about to be very dictatorial.
Moving so fast that she had to scurry after him like a puppy whose master had left it behind, dodging tables and benches, Jaedin swept into the dining hall, and snatched up the first child who came within his reach. It was a young boy, about five or six years of age, and of mostly faery descent, although Elowyn could detect a faint trace of Elvish blood in him; the child had been running around, rowdily playing king-and-knights with a few of his friends, and had blundered straight into the Dark Lord's legs.
Now he writhed and kicked in protest as Jaedin tucked him under one arm and thundered out orders to the startled people in the chamber. They were about to be attacked by a merciless army, he snapped at them; evacuation had already begun, and if they were the ones who wound up getting left behind, it was not from lack of effort on his part.
His words, predictably, caused an immediate reaction.
Suddenly, people of all ages were running about, friends searching for friends, teacher vainly trying to instill order again – a general pandemonium. Then, one of the faeries who was heading up the evacuation effort outside appeared in the doorway, and Jaedin thrust the child into his arms, coldly ordering him to get moving, or be responsible for delivering the bodies of each child in that room to their mothers, as he and Elowyn brushed past.
"Who the bloody underworlds do you think you are?" the astonished faery called after him, and Jaedin turned, sending him a glare that would have promptly transformed even the most greedily roaring fire into pure ice.
"I think, my friend," he spat, in his most contemptuous and venomous tone, "the question that you meant to ask is what the bloody underworlds I think I'm doing – and there lies your answer!"
He pointed back towards the chaotic room, and then grabbed Elowyn's hand in his again, leaving the faery momentarily distracted; by the time he'd looked back to where the furious specter in black and his companion had been the second before, they were already gone.
* * *
Meanwhile, Jaedin was fuming as he stormed down the hall, Elowyn in his wake. She kept her silence, knowing that – in this sort of mood – he might not know, or care, whom he lashed out at.
They came upon the boys' dormitory, and Jaedin stepped inside: Elowyn remaining behind. She heard him snap out the same order that he had given in the dining hall to the adolescents inside, and then he was emerging from the doorway, and they were on their way to the girls' hall. Elowyn carried the message this time, and before long, they'd emptied an entire wing of the Academy of all of its inhabitants.
By now, the courtyard was swarming with people, and the Antari and the Academy teachers all had their hands very full. Jaedin and Elowyn went back up to the ramparts, and made a progress report. In a little under an hour, the fortress would be emptied, but for the defenders – then the battle could begin.
Then the sentries' cries began to sound up and down the wall.
In the midst of the stampede of the panic-ridden mass, Elowyn stopped: whirling around, and froze, her eyes having gone wide. As she looked on, each of the watchtowers were lit up at their crests by red flames – the signal of attack. Then she caught the words in the shouts of the people who stood on the wall—
" 'Ware! 'Ware! We are embattled – they have sprung on us! 'Ware!"
Elowyn heard a high-pitched, sharply whining sound on the air then, and dived to one side, tackling a pair of students as – without warning – a deluge of flaming objects began to fall from the sky, shooting over the top of the wall. Catapults! Her mind reeled with horror, her senses threatening to overthrow her mind, as people began to fall around her. There was the sound of screaming – yelling – crying – further fiery attacks from the sky, and then the swoop of wings on the air, a ragged bellow—
Dvastir warriors, mounted atop hideous, hyena-like winged beasts, appeared in the sky then, diving out of the sky towards the crowds of fleeing students!
Elowyn swept her bow from its place at her back and fitted an arrow to it, even as she heard Sala's ringing cry over the tumult – "Bring them down! Fire at will!"
The fell creatures were assaulted by the deadly rain, and many of them fell into the midst of the people in the courtyard, to be instantly set upon by those who had chosen to fight. The more dexterous and skilled enemy warriors, however, managed to wheel their mounts away from the arrows, and sailed off into the night sky.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Some of the Dark Realm army had managed to get past the arrow-deploying assassins at the gatehouse, and now they stood upon the bridge, attacking the enormous gate with a battering ram. The heavy steel bolts and thick wood held, however, but no one knew for how long.
Elowyn called out to the people who surrounded her, "Make for the skiffs! Get the students on board!"
Then she ran forward, shoving and hauling people onto the skiffs, left and right, until there was no room left upon them. They could not return for another load of passengers; whoever was left upon the ground must now remain there, and fight if they could.
Her friends – she did not know where they were. She swung around wildly, sword drawn, casting about for her companions amidst the chaos. Within a moment, she had spotted Sala, up on the wall with the other archers, valiantly leading the effort to hold back the wielders of the battering ram. Another orb of flaming shrapnel came flying through the air, and blasted into the stones in the courtyard not fifteen feet away from her, throwing dirt and debris everywhere, with a nearly mind-shattering noise of explosion.
The Apocalypse's engines ground to life, and Elowyn saw it lift away from the ground, and begin to move away from the courtyard, and the Academy itself.
And there they were.
The battle was upon them – the first of the war – and they had no choice but to remain. To stand, and fight.
Still, the barrage of airborne attacks continued to rain down upon them from the night sky. Elowyn caught sight of her other friends, as they ran here and there, every which way: fighting off more strikes from the winged beasts and their masters, and struggling to put out the fires caused by the catapulted objects. Brendan fought hand to hand with a Dvastir warrior, and their swords flashed and zinged off of one another in the cold, pale moonlight. Robbie launched himself at the enemy fighter from behind, and they rolled onto the ground; Brendan finally ran the other figure through with his sword, ending it. Nearby them, Orlando and Arielle and the few other teachers, with their left-behind students, had formed into a ring around the frightened looking younger academy-goers. Elowyn felt her heart turn to ice within herself – some of them were only children.
The opposing army would make no distinction between an unarmed six-year-old and a martial expert of two thousand years.
Thinking of this made her recall Jaedin – where had he gone off to? Had he remained in the fight, or had he been aboard the warship when it had departed, with the number of students that they had managed to evacuate?
No – he hadn't! She saw him upon the wall, and now he was fighting off a number of dark figures, which seemed intent on bringing him down.
He was several lengths away from Sala and her archers; they could neither see nor hear the sounds of the Dark Lord's struggle from their position. Elowyn called out to several of the fighters around her and rallied them about her, then ran to the vampyre's defense, crying his name furiously as she did so.
Ladders – wide, towering ladders had now been raised to the walls of the fortress, and that was how their enemies had managed to confront him. As Elowyn ran down the wall, her group of faeries and elves dashing behind her, she fought off one after another of the things, pushing against each with a strength that she had not known her small, female body to possess, until they went crashing down away from the wall.
Slowly but surely, she battled her way to Jaedin's side, and when she had gotten there, to him, he flashed her a smile.
"Princess!" he shouted to her, "I'm so glad you've managed to join me!"
Elowyn swung viciously with her sword in reply, clanging it into the helmet of the soldier whom she was now faced against, and then struck out with her booted foot. It made firm contact with his gut, and sent him lurching backwards as she lunged forward, quickly and cleanly slashing his throat with her blade.
It did not matter now whether she had truly fought in any sort of fracas before – now, her instincts came in, and she only felt the apathetic, chill regard that a predator has for its prey, towards the enemies she saw before her. They had attacked her friends, the innocent people within the walls of what they had thought to be a safe haven, and herself.
Retribution was required.
Just then, the attack on the walls seemed to have waned; their foes had all either given up or been slain, but they all knew better than to think that the battle would have been over in a scant five minutes. Even as they stood, they heard the defenders of the gatehouse calling out, warning that the army beyond was attempting to break through the heavy wooden gate.
Jaedin took off at a run down the wall, ordering as he ran, "Archers! Take off those most exposed around the ram!"
Then he gathered the people who stood in the courtyard together and gave to them their directives. Take the remaining children, and make for the farther side of the Academy – the part of it that faced the walls. Somewhere on those beginning foothills of the mountains, there had to be some sort of path that would take them out and away from the fortress. The enemy, he told them, would soon break through, knowing the tenacity of those they faced, and he did not want the blood of infants on his hands.
Another resounding boom of the battering ram against the gate served to punctuate his words, and at once, his words were rewarded with movement. Orlando, Arielle, and now Brendan took positions as the leaders of that group, and although Jaedin tried to make Elowyn go with them, she refused to leave his side.
Together, they ran back to the gatehouse, and in through its doors.
Within it, they found eleven archers at the thin slits of windows, taking aim and then firing at the first available targets they could catch a glimpse of. Robbie and Sala were there, leaning against the wall with swords drawn, firing off their own barrage of arrows now and then. They looked up as Jaedin and Elowyn entered the darkened chamber.
"The little ones have escaped?" Robbie asked, anxiously, and Elowyn nodded, although her eyes were downcast and filled with pain.
"For the moment, yes," she replied, "But I fear that if we cannot somehow keep these evil creatures from coming in, to us, the young lives of those who are even now being led forth from this place of destruction will be ended, ere this night is flown."
"What can we do?" "Is there no hope?" rang out among the other people in the room, and Sala hastily commanded a continuation of their defense. Jaedin looked 'round at the other dark figures within the room, gray eyes unreadable.
"They will come through, whether we wish it or not," he said, in a low voice. "We have only to stand our ground and hold them off for as long as we can."
"Can't you shape-shift? You transformed into a dragon once before, to save us from the harpies," Robbie said, suddenly. "Do it again, and end this now."
Jaedin shook his head.
"I cannot, Robeneron."
"Why not?"
The vampyre refused to answer; then again, he didn't have the chance to, for at that very moment, the repeated blows upon the gate ceased, as did the war cries and commotion from the army that stood just on the other side of the wall from them. A voice rang out, clear and commanding, over the dead silence, as everyone froze.
Jaedin immediately stiffened, for the person that the voice addressed was him; as they listened, and heard what the speaker had to say, he put his face in his hands and fell back against the wall, with a loud groan.
"Jaedin DragonMaster, lord of Sytherria and former knight-errant to the lady of the Dark Realm: Zaschaea, the Ebony Queen – show thy face! It is Arranus Griffynor who speaks!"
As soon as that had been said, anyone at all who knew of the ancient history of Evyrworld knew exactly who spoke.
Arranus Griffynor was another one of the Ebony Queen's most favored lieutenants, a brilliant and merciless warlord whose prowess in battle was only matched by his extreme hatred for his enemies, and his boyish sense of humor in times of peace. He was a noble figure, although his outward appearance well hid the dark, twisted creature that was inside of him. Standing tall, with the bronzed skin of a god, and the high, aquiline features of a true nobleman, gray-eyed and golden-haired, he had been one of the Dark Lord of Sytherria's contemporaries. And, it had been noted through time, one of his greatest enemies.
Now, as they looked out through the narrow windows in the gatehouse, they heard his rich, cultivated voice echoing against the stone walls of the Academy, and Jaedin grit his teeth in anger and frustration.
"Come now, Jaedin…" Arranus said, in an indulgent, comradely fashion as he rode back and forth in front of the gate, before his troops: mounted upon his fine gray charger, arrayed in his finest golden armor with a scarlet cloak and scarlet-plumed helmet to match.
"Don't be so unsociable; there's no call for that. Step out and speak to me – we've not seen each other face to face for many a year now, and I would renew an old and cherished acquaintance…"
Elowyn listened to the sound of that golden voice, and immediately felt her heart gripped by icy talons of fear as she heard how it trailed off into sibilance at the last syllable of that word.
Here, now, was a viper: poised to strike, and without any compunction towards doing so. Arranus, apparently, had been the one selected to lead the Queen's forces in their first foray against the White Realm, into Elvendome; it was no small wonder why. Not only was he without qualm about slaying both man, woman, and child – he was also a person who could, very easily, push Jaedin over the edge.
If the Queen's former knight could be driven to the point of mindless, bloody rage and violence by anyone, Arranus would be that man.
She dashed to Jaedin's side, and grabbed his hands, pulling them away from his face. Her green eyes stared into his, desperately, as she said to him, "Don't listen to him, Jaedin – don't listen. You know what he wants, don't listen."
"Jaedin…" called the dark general's voice again, turning a bit singsong. "I won't ask you again. Precisely what hinders you from coming out to meet me? You can't be afraid; I know that that is plainly not you. What is it then? Perhaps you are busy…busy, no doubt, with your lovely Princess, may I assume? However, I must ask you – why do you carry on such a dalliance with her, such a childish, puppy-eyed infatuation? After all, she was the one who dragged you into all of this: she, and none other."
Jaedin stood, looming ominous and black even in the shadows, and everyone backed away from him.
So, this was the Queen's plan. She would send forth her army, and have it led by the one person whom she knew would instantly break down even the last barriers of his self-control, to the point where a confrontation between the two would be inevitable?
Then so it would be.
If Arranus wanted to see the Dark Lord of Sytherria, he would.
And, without a word, Jaedin passed from the chamber, and went out to meet his foe in direct confrontation. The dark army stood still as they awaited the answer to their leader's sally, and – at last – a figure robed all in black stepped forth from beneath the shadows at the gate. Arranus, sitting atop his magnificent stallion, smiled broadly: he knew who it was who approached him, and he was pleased. As the dark form moved forward, he swung down out of the saddle and went to meet his guest.
"Long has it been since I last looked full upon your features, Griffin-lord of the South," Jaedin's dry, resonant voice said from within the depths of his hood. "Yet I am hardly surprised to mark that their perpetual puerile cast remains, as does the sullen clouded brow and shiftless eyes, the uneven chin."
"Shiftless eyes and clouded brow, perhaps," Arranus replied, one eyebrow arching coolly; then, as a direct taunt, in retaliation for Jaedin's insult given to him, he said, "But at least my lower face isn't marked by a scar from a lowly Skullex. Golthaur's life was ended as of late; it seems that he and several other members of our collaboration had a disagreement, which ended in bloodshed. Really, a very nasty deal. One that could easily be duplicated this night, Jaedin, which was the true reason I called you out here."
The caustic amusement of the vampyre fairly dripped from his voice as he replied, with an undercurrent of a laugh in his tone—
"I had hoped that you wouldn't have invited me out here merely to discuss our facial features."
Now Arranus was becoming irritated with the delay in things. His features abruptly took on a dark, almost feral cast, and he paced towards Jaedin, as he bit off at him, "Of course I wouldn't have – too much lies at stake here for us to stand about, bandying words back and forth between each other. I've come to you with a purpose."
"Name it," the specter in black hissed, sibilantly.
"The Queen has sent me here to relay to you this message, should I ever chance to find you during our foray into the Elven lands." Arranus revealed. "She wishes you to know that you have a choice – you may remain here, with your newfound allies, and watch them fall, one by one, or you may return to her now, to the Black City, and once more take your place at her side. There is still time for all to be forgiven, and she is quite willing to take you back under her wing. I beseech you, Jaedin: choose wisely, for this is not a decision that she will allow you to make again. After this moment—"
Jaedin made an impatient movement with his hands, cutting him off.
"There is no turning back – I know," he lashed out. "All too often has this been how each ultimatum runs in my life, each decision: I have only one choice. But I have made my choice now, Arranus, and I will not turn back from it."
The other's eyes burned with a deep fire as he heard this.
"You will not reconsider?"
"I do not need to answer any question of yours, stable-urchin," Jaedin replied to him, casually swatting him aside with his words, as if the golden-armored general were a mere housefly whom he had become annoyed with. "The fact that I am here with you at all is merely due to my curiosity towards what you had to say. I must admit, I am slightly disappointed. I had thought that you would have come up with something much cleverer…but forgive me: ultimatums have long begun to bore me."
And the gray eyes gleamed beneath their hood.
This affront was almost too much for Arranus to handle. He had long resented Jaedin for his superior skills and strength, both in battle and normal life, and even secretly despised him for having come into contact with the elusive Child of Prophecy, who was rumored to be as beautiful as the dawning sun itself. The Queen had shown much favor to Jaedin, and now – even as he took the seemingly suicidal path against her – he appeared to prosper. He glowered at Jaedin then, hands working at his sides.
"Now, if that is all of the message that you were sent to convey," Jaedin said, in a cold and utterly frightening manner, "I suggest that you desist in the attack upon this place, and take yourself off to your Queen in her twisted bastion of a city. Tell her what I have said to you: that I have cast my lot in with those whom she had, lying, named to be my enemies. I have found the truth, and with it I shall remain. Naught of what you can say, or do: know this, will serve to sway me."
"So be it, then, Jaedin DragonMaster."
Jaedin smiled slightly beneath his hood.
"So be it."
Then he stepped away, and returned to the gatehouse, unsheathing his sword as he did so. Now the battle would continue – and, perhaps, his conscience would at last allow him to rest, for he knew that he had, finally, made the right decision.
* * *
The battle went on through the night, and eventually, it was fought both inside and outside of the Academy. The walls of the fortress had been constructed of stone, and stone did not burn – but everything else could. Fire and destruction raged through the place, as the night wore on. Defender and assailant alike fell, one beside the other, and under the face of the moon, much blood was spilt.
But not before one side had been utterly destroyed would the fighting end.
As enemy soldiers thrust their way into the very chambers where the arts of magic and enchantment had been taught, for so many countless centuries, they encountered a stout resistance. Each of the defenders were skilled in the martial arts, and a lady-warrior of the Amazons led the archery front, while two young faeries had marshaled together a group of swordsmen.
Those two were, of course, Robbie and Elowyn, who had found themselves abruptly driven away from the main lines of the battle by an unexpected attack. Now, they worked together against their foes, even as they were forced into a domed, circular-shaped room: one of the lecture halls.
Within moments, writing desks and chairs had been thrown aside, smashed against walls and leapt over, and trodden underfoot until they were worth no more than kindling. Lifeless bodies lay sprawled on the ground everywhere, even as their comrades strove against each other.
Elowyn was engaged in a skirmish with a helmeted female warrior, who matched her blow-for-blow in their combat; with graceful, calculated slashes of her sword, she parried each attack of her assailant, moving backwards as she did so. When she'd reached the center of the room, she felt her shoulder blades come up – hard – against some else's backbone; the thought of turning now to this newest threat went through her mind, but was within an instant dispelled: the person behind her was Robbie.
He too was fighting against an opponent who was equally matched with him, and she glanced at him over her shoulder, briefly, shouting out, "Well, Rob – how's this for a late summer night's excitement? Trumps being caught in a useless, all-hours cotillion, doesn't it!"
He couldn't afford to look back at her; his foe was yet advancing on him, and she felt him lurch to the side as he jumped quickly in the air to avoid the blade that had been swept out at his legs. When he had reconnected with the floor, Robbie made his reply—
"That remains to be seen, Elli! I'd really like to know where our so-called reinforcements have gotten off to though; it looks as if we're in a bit of a fix!"
"No jot!" she muttered, as she spun around and shot out her hand at the female fighter before her, sending the other girl flying backwards through the air to crash into a pile of overturned desks and benches.
In a second, she'd flipped herself back onto her feet and was lunging at Elowyn again, with a growl of anger. The faery princess, however, had gained enough time to recover, and plot. The instant her antagonist had raised her sword to aim a blow at her, Elowyn sent a numbing blast of power her way, and when the tigress fell back, she promptly caught her across the torso with her sword blade. Herein ended the duel, and then Elowyn turned to narrowly avoid a crushing blow from an expertly wielded mace that had been crashing down towards her head.
The chaos in the lecture room wore on for a while, finally escalating when the faeries found themselves driven backwards out of it, and into an unaccommodating hallway.
Their enemies seemed inexhaustible in number – it appeared as if they were coming out of the woodwork, and by the scores. Even with the added help of their powers, it did not seem as if the struggle would soon be ended.
Robbie was knocked backwards, without warning, by a hearty shove from his current combatant, who bore down on him with an iron-spiked club raised for a kill.
Losing his balance, the prince went crashing into a doorway that was at the end of the hall, slipping against the smooth wooden panels just as the club's spikes dug into the wood where his head had been the split second before. With a crash, the door splintered asunder, and Robbie fell into the room beyond it. His sword flew from his hand, skittering across the stone floor, and he looked up – in instantaneous despair.
The club came whistling towards him again, aiming for his exposed chest as he made a last-ditch attempt at forming a counterattack blast of magic, but he would never be able to defend himself in time—
Then, the hulking, armored body went stiff, and the figure within it made a choking sound of protest…as Robbie saw the bloodied sword-tip that had torn through the front of its tunic, from behind. The blade disappeared, with the sound of metal scraping against metal, and the body fell forward onto him.
With a disgusted objection in the faery tongue, Robbie pushed the corpse off of himself and grabbed the hand that was offered to him, pulling himself to his feet.
"You couldn't have made him fall the other way?" he asked Elowyn.
She seemed about to reply to his sarcasm, in kind, but then her green eyes had focused on something else within the room, just behind him. Robbie began to ask her what was wrong, as he turned around…and then he saw what it was that she was gaping at.
In the shadows at the back of the unlit room huddled a group of five or six Academy students. Most of them were under the age of ten, with the exception of two older figures. Even they looked to be only around thirteen or fourteen.
No one was with them.
The princess and her nephew were obliged to continue the fight, but when the last of their opponents had been either driven off or slain, they turned back to the knot of frightened children. Their attackers would return soon, they knew, but now…
Elowyn was pale and rigid as she stood looking at the shaking, white forms before her; she was seething with rage.
"They were left behind – no one even knew that they were here," she said, green eyes alight with the fire of her anger, "They've been trapped, during all of this."
And with that, she went forward and took the smallest child – a little she-faery – into her arms, simultaneously grabbing the hand of the boy elf who stood next to her. Elowyn's comrades forsook guarding the doorway, looking out for any further attack from their enemies, and soon the abandoned children were being escorted out of their hiding place, flanked by their rescuers.
Jogging along beside her, sword in hand, Robbie questioned, "And now what do we do? We can't bring them into battle—"
She bit off her next words without even looking at him.
"What else can we do, Robbie? I'm not going to leave them here, to themselves, if that's what you are suggesting we do!"
"No," he said, quickly. "Can we not follow after the others on the mountain path – Orlando, Arielle, and Brendan have charge of the other students; surely it would be safer for these young ones to be left in their care rather than bring them along with us!"
But just as he said this, something huge and hard came hurtling into the side of the building that they stood within, crashing into the stone walls with the sound of an explosion. The older combatants flung themselves around the children to shield them, as mortar and rock rained down about them, and the air was filled with a thick cloud of dust. Now several of the children were crying, and Elowyn struggled to her feet with her load, calling out her orders to her companions.
"Do as he says – to the path into the mountains!"
And they all took off at a run down the corridor, dodging around fallen rafters and huge chunks of stone. Through a doorway and out into the cold night air they dashed, then down a steep stairway. Elowyn, looking forward, could already see the hanging bridge that led across a short gorge, then up into the mountains. If only Brendan, the other two faeries, and their group had not gotten too far ahead—!
Suddenly, something clamped down on her shoulder; Elowyn jerked back, losing her hold on the child she held in her arms, and felt herself hauled backwards.
Then she screamed.
* * *
Jaedin watched as faeries, elves, Skullex, and countless others fell around him, fighting off attacks on every side. He had faced many a desperate battle in his life, but never before this night had he experienced such a dire urgency to win, and he knew why.
Tonight, he was not merely fighting for himself.
He was fighting for his princess.
But she had long since disappeared from her place at his side. The last time he recalled having a glimpse of her had been before their enemies had made a sudden rush at them, which had resulted in the split of their unified fighting effort. He had been able to sense her presence within his mind, however, as the skirmish went on, until he had become distracted by the appearance of mounted warriors. Within all of forty-five seconds, he had dispatched the rider and taken the restive horse's reins into his own hands, quickly molding its will to his own.
Having been deprived of his ability to shape-shift or even utilize his powers without causing notable damage to his already waning life essence, he found that it was much easier to deal with his enemies from horseback. To anyone else, however, it would have appeared that the Dark Lord did not find any sort of fighting difficult at all.
Suddenly, then, he became aware of a pair of eyes that had focused on the back of his head, and wheeled his horse around, turning to face his adversary. The golden armor and blood-red cloak of Arranus, general in command of the Queen's army, showed plainly in the moonlight, and Jaedin twirled his sword around in one hand, calmly facing him.
Come to meet me now, was the thought that the vampyre heard from the other figure on horseback. He nodded, in assent.
And then they were charging at one another.
The sound of the collision between the two riders and their mounts was horrific; the horses screamed in pain and terror, and swords clanged in the darkness, as two bodies smacked together. When they fell apart, Arranus had driven his ivory-hilted dagger deep into Jaedin's shoulder, but the vampyre did not react with any sort of pain, dismay, or surprise at all. Instead, he merely plucked the weapon out of himself and threw it away.
His dry voice rasped through the shadows – "Is that the best you can do?" – and then sparks flew from the swords' blades, again, as the duel continued.
Eventually, they were both unhorsed, and Jaedin knocked Arranus' sword out of his hand. The general flung a crescent of killing power in the Dark Lord's direction, which Jaedin averted with the blade of his own sword, causing the bright green sliver of light to go spiraling through the air, and slice into the wall nearby.
Jaedin continued to advance on him, as Arranus darted towards his sword. With not a second to spare, he took it in his hand again and blocked the blow that Jaedin aimed at him, although he fell to one knee with the force of the attack.
Now totally unaware of any of the struggle that was going on around them, the two enemies fought their way beneath a destroyed archway: lashing out at one another like a pair of furious, indomitable serpents, both extremely venomous and deadly, and both equally averse to being defeated. Then Arranus was flung back against the wall by Jaedin's elbow in his chest; for a moment, he stood there, winded, as Jaedin took the chance to regain his own breath.
How well they both remembered this very same scenario, only in a much different place and time! The Queen had matched them against one another, during their training, many a time, and now they were both keenly aware of just how impossible it was to defeat one another.
Still, Arranus had his orders, and Jaedin had his princess.
"I never expected you to surrender," Arranus gasped as he raised his sword again. Jaedin had dealt him a wicked slash to the head, and now blood mingled with sweat, streaming from the long cut near his hairline.
Jaedin's full lips quirked a bit, in a menacing smirk.
"Nor did I expect you to surrender," he replied.
"Then how do we end this?" Arranus fired back, as their swords clanged together once again: locking together in the beginning of a furious contest of the wills.
"You run away." Jaedin snarled.
But this was not at all what Arranus had in mind. Beginning to laugh, softly and mockingly, deep in his throat, he pulled back with astonishing speed and drew forth something from within his cloak. The intense gray fire in Jaedin's eyes transformed into a living inferno as he saw what the general now held in his gauntleted hand…
A silver stake.
Arranus waved the weapon back and forth in the air, tauntingly, as he revealed, "She gave this to me, only a short time after she'd become aware of your betrayal, Jaedin of Sytherria – she placed it my hands with a single command – 'Take this,' she said to me, 'And bring it back to me stained with his blood.' "
"She promised you power and riches beyond your wildest dreams as well, didn't she?" Jaedin sneered, turning the Queen's words into a vile degradation of the spoken language. Arranus recoiled, with a snarl, as he continued, "And what else did she give you? The assurance that you would live forever after in high regard of all around you, in a place of unsullied authority, when you had made the lands of her enemies run with rivers of the blood of the men, women, and children whom you had slain? It is folly, Arranus – a folly that you have walked into – and you will reap its rewards."
"The folly is upon you, Jaedin DragonMaster – now death, death to you and all your vampyre kindred!"
Arranus lunged at him, with an animal-like ferocity, and Jaedin found himself unexpectedly borne backwards by the brutal strength of the assault. They slammed against the wall, and then he felt the silver stake pressed against his torso, directly against where his beating heart lay. If he so much as moved…
The hot, belabored breath of his foe washed onto his face, as the two glared into one another's eyes. Arranus grinned in open exultation. Now, at last, he would finally make an end of the Dark Lord of Sytherria, the Queen's Black Knight…
"Silver," he breathed, his words turning into a low hiss: "It's the only thing that you fear – the only thing that can kill you."
Jaedin looked him straight in the eyes.
And if Arranus had had any sense whatsoever, he would have immediately – at that very moment – backed away, and then run as far from the black figure in front of him as he could possibly get, or simply given up his sword.
"It's not the only thing."
Then, a jangled blur of movement and confusion – the cold, smooth surface of the stake was slipping, vanishing into thin air, or seemingly so; Jaedin spun around, black velvet cloak whirling; an explosion of pain, then deadening shock and numbness.
Jaedin now put his head close to his opponent's ear and murmured, for Arranus' ears alone, "But only when it touches me – otherwise, it is just as deadly to you."
And he stepped away, as the very quickly expiring Dark Realm general dropped to his knees, and then fell backwards onto the cobblestones beneath their feet – the end of the silver stake jutting out of his chest, embedded in his heart.
The vampyre coolly readjusted his leather gauntlets.
Before he had even had time to turn from his fallen enemy, however, a sudden, searing flash of fury and terror ripped through his head, nearly blinding him, and he heard a scream shatter the night air, a voice shrieking in his head: JAEDIN!
Elowyn.
If he had thought himself war-like before, he now went utterly beyond that. His beloved, somewhere within the fortress, was being assaulted and – although she fought back like an enraged wyvern – her foes were too many for her to surmount. A thick, red rage filled his mind, pumping itself through his veins until he could hear nothing but the rush of the blood in his own ears, and her echoing calls to him.
Jaedin tore through the darkened courtyards and walkways of the Academy, not stopping until he suddenly came upon the battlefield that was just beyond the chasm that separated the fortress from the lands beyond it. The struggle had wreaked its damage there as well, and now it appeared that most of the fighters had brought themselves out onto the field.
"ELOWYN!"
At the thunderous shout from the dark figure across the bridge, the Skullex who were dragging Elowyn towards their waiting comrades stopped: frozen by sudden consternation at the depths of fury within that single call. Elowyn's eyes widened, with both hope and dread, as she instantly recognized Jaedin's form.
The leader of her antagonists, however, soon regained his grasp of reality; seizing her arm, just below the elbow, he whirled her around, pinning against him so roughly that she felt a white-hot pang go through her entire arm. Then he called out, in his rough, harsh voice to the vampyre who stood upon the bridge, facing them.
"Do you wish to have the White One?" he asked.
He grabbed a fistful of her hair with his other merciless hand, jerking her head up until her neck cried out to her at the ungracious angle that it had been subjected to.
"Then come get her!"
"Release her now, and I will send you and your men back to your Queen," the vampyre said, slowly stalking towards them.
The Skullex merely laughed: loudly and raucously.
"I think not! You are over-confident, Shadow-Master – her very air speaks of the stars, of the light, and it is such a one that our Lady has commanded us to bring back to her. She remains with us."
Jaedin now stood within ten feet of them, separated from them by nothing more than the heaps of mangled bodies and war-gear.
"I tell you a final time – release her now."
"Or what?" the Skullex mocked. Then, to further torment the one whom they took to be merely her would-be rescuer, he raised his dagger's blade to her throat—
Elowyn did not have time to so much as blink, for at that very moment, a cataclysm sundered the very night air. Jaedin raised both arms towards the skies, and then brought their hands crashing back down towards the earth.
A shockwave of glowing gray light appeared, seemingly out of the sky itself, and blasted out towards them, with a noise that sounded as if the earth itself was groaning. The ground began to rock, tumultuously, violently, beneath their feet, and Elowyn felt the hands that held her slacken their hold. She turned 'round, wondering why, and screamed as she saw the Skullex melting into dust, one by one, each shrieking horribly; their captain reached out towards her, but she was already out of his reach, falling to the rumbling earth.
All around her, mind-shattering destruction was occurring: the gray wave went out from the black figure who had caused it, who had called it into being, and shot out into the very furthest reaches of the battlefield. Everyone who had been standing was now sent to their feet, as vicious tremors rolled out towards them. She felt his arms coming around her, making her stand even as the earth shook, and she closed her eyes, willing herself to be lost in the depths of his black cloak, in the warmth of his embrace, as the noise reached its climax—
Then, nothing.
* * *
On the battlefield, nothing remained but the remains of the previously slain fighters, twisted and broken bits of weaponry and whatnot, and heaps of fine, gray-tinted dust that the quiet night wind swirled around in the air.
All was utterly silent.
Jaedin raised Elowyn in his arms, as she clung to him, and, utterly drained and exhausted by the great power that he had just exerted, managed to take the few steps that were necessary to bring them over to a toppled chariot. Then, he fell to his knees, and they both rolled to the ground.
The battle was over; only silence and the stars remained now.
* * *
A/N: Hmm…how's for some battle action, and a whole bit of Jaedin/Elowyn interaction…'tis too much fun, I tell you…onwards, again…