Chapter Thirty-Six –
Now the Battle Lines Are Drawn
Shwing!
What must have been either the fiftieth or fifty-first arrow sliced through the air and embedded itself in the dusty tapestry on the wall behind Arin of Lærelin, so narrowly missing his ear that his long white-blond hair was stirred in the wind of its passing.
The immortal enchanter-king shook his head slightly, in grim and apathetic disapproval of the foul-looking goblin chieftain who had sent the object his way. He had plans for the demise of that particular hideous servant of evil, to be put into action in the near future. Between hacking away at a closer foe and trying to stay behind the stone pillar that was shielding him from more dire attacks, he cast about himself quickly.
Where was that mutton-headed sop of a brother-at-law of his, Gavin, anyway?
Reinforcements would be nice, Arin thought.
Then he dug his glowing enchanter's sword deep into the stomach of his opponent, with such a vicious strength of the arm that the blade went through both iron and leather armor, and flesh and bone. He set a booted foot against the quickly expiring goblin and wrenched on the hilt of the sword, pulling it out with a hideous scraping noise.
His lifeless foe fell like a load of bricks to the ground, and Arin kicked the corpse out of his way, lightly leaping over it to press on further in the fracas.
Just a few yards away was the doorway out into the hall beyond the chamber he was currently inside of. As he ran through it, he found himself compelled to instantly dodge to the side in order to avoid a falling, burning banner that had formerly been attached to the ceiling above his head. He strained to see through the scarlet haze around him, his eyes protesting against the acrid smoke that had begun to fill the air.
He could hardly make out friend or foe, for all the figures that struggled and fell about him seemed to be composed of the same dark and unrecognizable materials. Suddenly, he became aware of someone shouting at him, from a little ways off—
"Father! Father!"
It was his son – his eldest child. Robeneron had an enormous gash on his head, running from about halfway up his forehead to a point perilously close to the outer corner of his right eye, and his fine royal prince's clothing was ripped, and bloodied. The thought that the blood on his son's clothing might be the blood of the boy himself made Arin's mind seethe with anger, but he had no time for that now. He shoved some of the burning wreckage aside and lurched forward, waving an arm as a signal.
"Robbie – here! Here!"
At last, the boy caught sight of his fair-haired, tall, and handsome father, and came towards him. They met in the shelter of a pillar and the table that had been overturned beside it, and Robbie whipped out his bow as soon as they'd put themselves as much out of sight and target-range as possible, fitting an arrow to it with a lightning speed that had, in times of peace, made his father quite proud. Between arrows, they spoke, voices clipped and terse in tone.
"Your mother?" Arin queried.
"With Uncle Gav."
"Things downstairs?"
"Hardly better than up here, Father, but I have reason to believe—"
Here Robbie paused to stoop and get out another arrow, and fire it off; his eyes gleamed with an almost fiendish pleasure as the missile made secure and unquestionable contact with another enemy warrior's chest.
"I have reason to believe that they're being slowly forced back. They can't push forward forever…"
"Vantage point." Arin commented, with a slight nod.
The small Lærelinorean seaside city of Menellendor had been prepared for such an attack of dark forces since the Battle for the Academy that had taken place across the ocean, in Elvendome. Nonetheless, no one had been expecting such a random battle, instigated just as the sun had begun to set.
The royal family's dinner with the marquis and his lady whom they were staying with, during their visit, had been ended on a slightly foul note.
Shall have to make reparations for that later, Arin noted to himself, thinking grimly of what Elladine would have to say about his slaying the first of their attackers – and by decapitation, into the bargain! – in such an inappropriate place as the dining room itself.
The head, as it had bounced to the floor, had wound up at the feet of the lady of the house, as well. Perhaps he ought to have pushed the fellow out the door before striking at him; he was a fighter of a caliber that he could have done that, but he just hadn't. Proper etiquette was thrown out the window in the face of a surprise attack.
Bloody underworlds.
Finally they heard boots clomping up the winding staircase nearby, and then Gavin of the White Realm made his appearance, with his sister – Queen Elladine, Arin's wife and Robbie's mother – and her oldest daughter following directly on his heels. Gavin shot out a hand and a blast of red and blue light came from it, which promptly hit the nearest enemy warriors and turned them into piles of dust. Arin grabbed his son's arm and pulled him up, and together they ran across to their comrades.
Elladine spoke as soon as they had reached one another.
"Mardyos, Willith, Kistella, and the people with them have driven most of the enemy out to the shipyards," she told them. "It looks as if we've finally earned ourselves some respite. For however long."
Arin clenched his jaw momentarily, focusing not on avenging the threat to his family and country – and their world as a whole – but on completing the task at hand, which was to end the battle, dispel their foes, and begin putting things back to order, and ready everything and everyone against a future attack.
"Good," he conceded. "Gav?"
"Still present, although possibly given over to internal bleeding."
"You and the rest of us," Arin growled under his breath.
Being immortal meant just that, but it didn't mean that those who went in the category of the deathless and ageless couldn't be hurt. He had learnt that painful lesson several irritating times over as a result of tripping over miscellaneous toys left scattered about the floor in the children's nursery, years before, in the dark of the night.
"How did we leave the front bastions, the outer walls?"
"Holding, and holding well at that, brother. Those who man the ramparts are skilled and capable fighters – you have trained your assassins well. Too well, it seems, telling by the rapid retreat of our enemies." Gavin ended this statement with a smirk, his trademark expression as the comic relief of the faery court.
"Then let us repair to assist them, that this thrice accursed battle may at long last end!"
Arin turned quickly on his heel and made off for the stairway, with Ella, Gavin, and the young prince and princess following close behind.
Elowyn made a faint hissing noise – something that would have petrified any opponent of hers had they heard it, as would have the look in her green eyes – as she stepped back from the watching glass, moving her hand briefly over it in a gesture that caused the picture floating within it to dissolve and become mist, once more.
The battle had been a sudden and bloody one, and, no thanks to the evil Ebony Queen, her loved ones had prevailed over adversity, and would live to see the light of the new day. But having witnessed the skirmish and knowing who had instigated it, and yet being able to do nothing about it – at that moment, at least – she felt the blood run white-hot within her veins.
Soon, her mind whispered to her, firmly.
Soon.
And so she then closed her eyes and lifted her chin a bit, breathing in deeply to restore the harmony of her soul with the world around her. When she opened her eyes again, she looked immediately across the watching glass – now no more than a wide, shallow circle-shaped pool of clear water, over which a silvery mist drifted in gracefully furling and unfurling waves – to her companion, whose gray eyes met hers boldly.
"The forces of good and evil met in battle at the city of Menellendor," she informed him, promptly. "There were some deaths, and many injuries on both sides, but more so on the enemy than ours. Arin, Ella, Gavin, Robbie, and their comrades fought well. I am hardly surprised to see that my nephew has already become an even more skillful archer-assassin than he was when we last parted ways."
She remarked this last in a softer, more thoughtful, and infinitely, plainly fond and proud tone.
"And they won – they took the day."
"I presume that the Calling will reach them soon?" Jaedin inquired, seeing what she had not yet said within the depths of her eyes.
Elowyn nodded: her gaze and expression become distant as she reached out and gently stroked the silky petals of a water lily that floated within the waters of the watching glass, amidst the haze.
"Yes…by dawn, they will have learnt of it. They will have seen it. No one has made the Calling for centuries now, since the last great war between the White Realm and the Dark…but they will know it. And they will answer."
Then, she whirled back around to face the glass again, and moved her hand over the mist in another magical gesture: a funny, almost mischievous light made her eyes sparkle as she commented—
"Now, let us see how the rest of the world is faring…"
The city was in shambles after the night's battle, but by dawn, most of the fires caused by the savage onslaught of the invading army had been put out, and the wounded were being cared for as the dead were found and tended to.
Arin, ever aware of his duty as king and primary ruler, was on his feet for many hours after the last of the enemy army had been driven off, into the woods. Having assumed his dragon form to chase them away, he knew that no soldier of that particular faction of the Dark Realm's forces would be returning anytime soon to the seaside port of Menellendor.
He was helping lift a fallen beam of wood off of a weathered old battle-ax of a soldier who had fought under both Arin's father and grandfather's command when he felt a slight warmth come into the chilly, dark air, and suddenly a shaft of hazy ruby red glowed in the horizon.
Dawn was on its way.
Arin looked back to his companion – a valet of the resident marquis's house – and made a movement with his head that signaled him to lift his end of the beam. With a rough grating sound as wood scraped against stone, the beam moved and they heaved it off to one side, carefully assisting the bruised and stunned but otherwise uninjured man to his feet. Arin saw him off to the impromptu hospice that was to be found under a set of white canvas tents that had been pitched in the center of the city square.
There, one of the healers attempted to persuade him to leave the rest of the work for others, and retire, but the king would hear none of it. He did, however, accept a cup of restorative tea, and after handing it back to the healer-apprentice who had given it to him, he turned to exit the crowded tent. The air outside was slowly growing less cool as morning drew closer, and he could already see the ruddy glow in the distance dissolving, its fiery first colours muting into delicate pastel shades.
He smiled, a bit ruefully, pushing some of his white-blond hair, which had become plastered to his forehead with sweat – and, he now realized, blood, from a cut he hadn't known he had had – off of his face.
Normally I wouldn't be seeing this part of the morning, he thought, as he wearily and somewhat painfully removed the leather glove he'd worn all night during the fracas and gingerly put his fingertips up to examine the wound on his head, which stretched from his temple to about two inches back into his hairline.
He frowned.
Normally, I would still be in the comfortable sanctuary of my own bedchamber, with another six hours or so until anyone really needed for me to be awake.
Such is war.
As an immortal, he didn't often worry about wounds, because most were trivial enough that they healed within a few moments – skin re-fusing over a cut, and that kind of thing – but larger injuries were just a bit of an annoyance.
Especially when he had better things to do.
Murmuring a few words in Lærelinorean, he put a hand to the side of the head, barely skimming his fingers over the wound, and closed his eyes. He felt a sensation something like a gentle fizzling and something like a cool wind blowing along the open, sore cut that he hadn't noticed before, and then, as simple as that, it was gone.
How unfortunate that this kind of magic can only be used on immortals such as I, when there are others who need it far more.
He looked down at the ground, taking note of the people still hurrying past him – carrying wounded on stretchers to the healers, pushing through the rubble in search of other survivors and dead; there were people going back and forth, beginning to repair the damage done to the city.
There was still life here.
But blood had been spilt in these streets.
Arin turned: glancing this way and that in search of any familiar faces – his wife, his son, daughters, or perhaps even the marquis or Gavin. None of these were anywhere about, however, at least that he could see, and so with a bit of a sigh, he decided to try his luck at finding his way back through the rubble to the castle.
Perhaps Ella and the others would be near there.
The few people he passed on his way through the cobblestone streets quietly but respectfully acknowledged their king upon seeing him, and he replied in kind, but was otherwise silent, determined upon his mission. The sky gradually took on a gray hue that was tainted with a pale, pale blue, which grew brighter as the light of the sun strengthened. By the time he had reached the gates that separated the marquis's manor from the rest of the city, the sun was cresting the horizon.
"Where have you been?"
And Arin found himself borne backwards by the unexpected, rapid assault of his very frustrated but relieved-looking faery princess, who glared at him with a light that warned him to take heed, and assume proper manners, as he stood there before her in the street, with her holding him securely by the arms. He tried to look innocent.
"Ella, darling, I don't know what you mean—" he began, but she gave him no quarter.
Abruptly, the grip of her tiny hand tightened to a surprisingly firm pinch.
"You—don't even start with me, Your Royal Majesty!" she snapped off at him. "I was just at the healers', and they told me you'd been by, and that you had an enormous gash on your forehead and across your shoulder blade, and you wouldn't hear of taking a rest! I've been worried sick, you unbelievable man! "
Weakly, the Lærelinorean king tried to protest, but his raven-haired queen would hear none of it. "Ella, really…it's not as if it's going to kill me..." he began again, but her dark eyes flashed a lightning at him that caused him to give way, and clam up, as she turned him around. "I'm perfectly all right, in case you didn't know," he muttered, under his breath.
Elladine clenched her jaw as her gaze fell upon the bloodstained tear across her husband's back, reaching from his left shoulder to just below his right shoulder blade.
He must have received it the night before during the battle, she surmised, and in the midst of all the fighting and activity afterwards, he somehow hadn't noticed it. The wound, having been left open to the air, had bled freely and caused his tunic and shirt to stick to his back, under his long gray cloak, and she wouldn't have been at all surprised if it had already become inflamed or infected.
"Arin? Do me an immense favor, love, and don't move an inch – or this will hurt a bloody lot." she said lightly, as she moved her fingers to begin carefully peeling the bloody fabric away from the skin. Arin took the warning not a second too early, and an angry hiss of pain – akin to the noise a dragon might have made when injured – escaped him as the separation was made. Cold air bit into the previously unnoticed wound and made his vision swim.
"This is going to need some antiseptics," Ella commented, and gently pulled the cloak he wore over his back again. "Inside now, Majesty."
Obediently, he let her take his hand, and then wound her arm through his, as he had so often done through all their many years of marriage – in peaceful and turbulent times. Together they walked up the winding, sandy path that led through the gardens of the manor, back towards the house itself. The doors were again being watched by a pair of the marquis's guards, who immediately recognized the king and queen, and allowed them entrance.
Ella steered him without preamble towards the fine quarters that had been allotted to them for the duration of their stay in the city, and then disappeared on an expedition to the manor kitchen in search of the herbs she would need to make up the antiseptic poultice she intended to put on the gash in his back. Arin crossed the room, opened a window, and let the breeze stream in.
Meanwhile, Ella picked her way through the wreckage-strewn halls and stairways of the manor, offering words of encouragement and occasional aid to the servants, villagers, and others who were cleaning up the mess. At last she came to the kitchen, where she shooed a sleepy-eyed maid and troupe of scullion-girls off to rest; then the faery princess went in search of the items she needed.
Having found the herbs, gauze, and other simples that she required, she returned to the bedchamber she shared with her husband, and found him standing by the window, looking out at the sunrise. Actually, by then, it was more like the morning sky, for the sun had fully risen.
When he heard her softly say his name, Arin turned around and smiled at her, faintly. Even immortals could become tired after an entire night of fighting.
"Lovely morning, isn't it," he said, and stepped away from the window. Ella returned his expression, and placed her armload on the chest at the end of the bed, crossing the room to him.
"Let's see this war injury of yours now, my love," she said, and reached up with practiced care to undo the clasp of his cloak.
Arin helped her by easing the gray woolen item off of his shoulders and then made a slight circling gesture with his hand, just barely turning the wrist. The cloak lifted from its downwards trajectory and floated across the room, to hang itself over the dressing screen that had been provided for the privacy of the occupant of the room, should it be required.
Ella managed then to extricate him from both his tunic and shirt, and surveyed the cut again with an analytical eye.
It had probably come from a glancing spearhead or pike, and not a sword or arrow, and was deep enough that she knew that, had her husband been mortal, she would have been quite worried about him. As it was, he was immortal, and the most that such a gash would do to him now was cause him the bit of pain that would most certainly put him into a sour mood whenever he went to stretch his limbs in order to fire an arrow or whatnot.
"Face-down, please, milord," she said, motioning with one hand that he ought to stretch himself on the large canopied bed. Arin obliged, and took uninhibited bliss from the feeling of the cool silken pillows and velvet coverlet as soon as he had lain down. He felt the mattress sink slightly as Ella took a seat beside him on it, and then something brushed across his injured shoulder blades, something that made him clench his jaw and inhale sharply again as it stung into the open cut. He sensed her apology before she gave it.
"Rosemary and hyssop – if you want to use your sword again in under a fortnight, dear-heart, you can't have an infection. I'm sorry, Arin."
"Sssill blldy hrrts." Arin mumbled, his face buried in the pillow, and Ella laughed for the first time in what seemed an eternity, but in reality had only been a night.
"I think you'll live."
After cleansing the wound with clean water and the herbs, she applied a poultice of crushed lavender leaves and blossoms, eucalyptus tree oil, and a restorative medicine she had found in one of the kitchen cabinets – in all likeliness meant for first-aid use in times just such as these, though Menellendor had never before experienced an attack of the Dark Realm in all the long years of their rule. Using her magic, she eased the soreness of her husband's muscles and the fiery stinging of the wound on his back, and placed the gauze over it. If Arin was to actually rest for more than two hours, he would be able to move without pain again by that evening.
She sat back, preparing to return to the kitchen the things she had borrowed to tend to her husband, and was just moving to stand when Arin suddenly caught her wrist in his much larger hand and kept her from making her escape. She frowned, and began to protest.
"Arin—"
"Turn around," he ordered.
Ella sighed deeply. She had heard that tone of voice from him before – he could be more commanding than any other man in the realm, and though the king of Lærelin did not often employ his firmest tones, it was well known fact that one had better obey right-quick when he did do such a thing.
She turned around, putting her back to him, and heard the rustling of the bed as he stood up. A moment later, the long, thick fall of her raven's tresses lifted from its placed at her back, and Arin made a growling sound in intense frustration. She winced.
He'd caught her this time.
"And when did this happen, my lady?" he inquired pointedly, having exposed the enormous, bleeding goose-egg on the crown of her skull, hidden beneath all of her hair.
"Some witless klutz of a lumbering ogre-brute clobbered me with his shield—I ran him through!" she protested as her husband quickly stepped around in front of her and gave her a no-nonsense push on the shoulders that was not quite gentle. She sat down hard on the springy mattress and glared obstinately up at him. Arin's ice-blue eyes only held a keen-edged though well-meant annoyance, however.
"If you can treat me like a giant infant," he said coolly, reaching for the medicines she had just employed on him and gesturing for her to hold her hair out of his way, "Then I suppose that turnabout is fair play, your Majesty – and as I am the king, I make the rules."
"Bloody tyrant," she snarled underneath the mass of hair that he'd pushed over her face.
"And if calling me names helps you sleep better at night, dear," he continued, without pausing in his work, "Then by all means, go ahead. I'm sure that stone floors and walls don't blister very easily."
When he had completed his task, Arin leaned forward, in front of her.
Ella's head had bowed, and her arms were wrapped tightly around her torso. She had been absolutely silent for several moments, which worried him. "Ella, love?" he murmured, gently, and reached out, brushing her hair back over her shoulders, and away from her face.
This revealed to him what he thought it would – a pale, tear-streaked face and violet-blue eyes that glittered like jewels in a stream, their frame of thick black lashes clinging together in spikes.
She shook her head at him.
"I saw my son fight in a battle for the first time last night, Arin," she said to him, and suddenly he remembered her as she had been hundreds of years before.
He himself had been lying on the floor then, his life's blood gushing out of him at such a pace that he had known that his death was imminent, and she had been holding him in her arms, begging him not to leave life. She had been crying then, too, and in much of the same manner as she was now. There was fear, unmistakable fear, in the faery princess's voice, and in her eyes.
"He was so brave – I couldn't have been more proud, or more terrified – and Joanna…" speaking of their oldest daughter, "There was an armored knight charging at her, with an awful mace, swinging it back…"
And she couldn't go on any further.
Knowing exactly what he had to do, Arin immediately took her into his arms and held her close, feeling their conjoined heartbeats and breathing as Elladine's tears fell onto his shoulder. Her form quaked with heart-wrenching sobs, but he held on.
"I didn't want it to come to this," she whispered, through her tears. "I knew that it would, one day – we all did, didn't we? – but I didn't want it...I didn't want it..."
"No one did." Arin said, softly.
Then he curled his fingertips under his wife's chin, and raised her face to his.
Elladine had always been intelligent, resolute, and brave, never one to quail in the face of danger – or adventure, which had been one of the things about her that he had first fallen in love with, among the many, many others. She had always been brave, and confident, knowing that no matter how dark the night grew, at its end there would be an even brighter light. But sometimes even the most hopeful soul could learn to despair.
"We lived – we all came through, didn't we?" he murmured to her, caressing a stray lock of her glossy dark hair behind her ear with a bit of a smile. "We're alive, and the shadows have been run off for the moment, haven't they? The children will be all right. If anything, we know what they're made of now – they've proved their mettle."
"Arin!"
And she poked him in the ribs in protest. Well, at least she was smiling again now.
The king grinned, and rolled over onto the mattress, pulling her with him. It had been a long night, and now he was fully ready for some sleep – if not an all-out coma. With a swift jerk of his arm, he pulled the coverlets up over them and magically slid the curtains at the window shut.
"Now," he said, tapping a finger on his wife's nose, "I should very much like to get some sleep, if you don't mind, my queen. Wake me next century, would you…"
She sighed in contentment, and draped an arm across his chest, drawing herself close to him, and laid her head against his shoulder.
"Sweet dreams, my enchanter."
And within five minutes, both monarchs of Lærelin were lying fast asleep.
As it was, a good part of the city went to sleep during the sunlit hours that day, and at nightfall, King Arin and Queen Elladine rose with the rest of those who had been able to rest. Garbed in simple but majestic attire – deep blue velvet for Arin, and black for Elladine; 'simple' for both because of the gravity of recent events – they descended to the great hall that fronted the manor's dining room.
There, the Crown Prince and the two princesses awaited them, similarly dressed, with their uncle serving escort. Gavin had just come from a visit to the outer walls of the city, Arin decided upon seeing that his brother-at-law wore a heavy cloak and his sword. Princess Joanna and Princess Echo immediately darted forward and embraced their parents joyously, having waited many long hours to be reunited with them after the battle; then Robbie, having courteously waited for his sisters to greet the king and queen first, came forward and was warmly acknowledged by his mother and father as well.
"The marquis is away, seeing to the repair work on the city," Robbie informed them as Gavin led them all towards the doors to the dining room, "And so he has requested that we start dinner without him. He won't be back for another few hours at least."
"Gives his most profound apologies, of course," added Gavin with his usual cheeky facetiousness, merriment dancing in his gray eyes. Arin sent him a thoroughly disapproving look, but Gavin was used to getting that reaction to his remarks from everyone, anyway, and so didn't mind him. Then, Arin declared—
"Then I suppose that we'll all just have to go on without him, won't we? Miladies."
He stepped aside, permitting his two daughters to pass by on their way to their seats, and then suavely assisted Elladine into her chair before taking his place at the head of the table.
In an instant, servants had come to gracefully dole out that night's fare, and the royal family went to eating with a relish. Most of them had slept a good part of that day, and all were famished. As soon as he had tended to the most demanding part of his appetite, Arin turned to Gavin.
"What word from the walls?" he inquired.
Gavin swallowed the mouthful of soufflé that he'd been enjoying and then replied—
"Repair work is all the action going down now, Arin. They're looking to strengthen the ramparts so that if there's another attack…"
He paused, in thought.
"If there's another attack, they'll be more ready for it. It's too unfortunate that the fleet's been deployed to the high seas – we could have used the cannons of at least one battle ship last night. 'Twould've saved you the bother of shape-shifting, Arin, although dragon-fire is much more effective in the long range than cannon fire."
"Shape-shifting is never a bother when I do so to defend my family and kingdom," Arin said, darkly, rolling the stem of his silver wine goblet back and forth between his fingertips. "Have we any word from Elvendome as of late? How fares it with Skye and his folk?"
Gavin looked at him in complete, serious silence, and Arin felt himself grow cold inside. Beside him, at his right hand, Ella stiffened – her dark eyes flaring slightly wider – and she set her fork down on her white porcelain plate with a beautifully musical chink! that seemed as loud as an explosion in the sudden silence. Robbie averted his gaze to the table top; Joanna and Echo suddenly looked as if they were both about to cry.
"Fates." Arin breathed, taken aback by the unspoken news in Gavin's silence. "They've been attacked too. Iordania has been attacked."
"Not Iordania, actually, and for that we may thank the sovereign Three," Gavin said, finally, and rose to refill his goblet, doing the same for Arin and Ella as well.
As he resumed his seat, he explained—
"Apparently, they had much of the same experience as we – from out of nowhere, Dark Realm forces swooped down upon the city where they were staying: Pyrisdior, I think Skye said it was, and the elves were hard-pressed to drive them back for a while."
"But they won out?"
Gavin nodded.
"They did indeed. However, they are in about the same boat as us now, Arin – left with many repairs and little time to do them, as they've no idea if the enemy will strike again, without warning, or not. It's time someone did something. If this is only the beginning, we won't be able to stand much more of this."
Arin stood, pushing his chair back from the table, and they all watched him as he crossed the floor, going to the window. In the distance, the sun glowed red in the horizon.
Which reminded him of something…
"This morning, as I slept, I dreamt a strange vision," he said, in a low tone. "It was as if I had transformed into a bird or some other winged creature, and was flying over thousands of miles of land: it passed beneath me as if I was moving with the speed of the wind, and I saw countless different sceneries. Then I reached a mountaintop, where the sun was rising, and there was a bright flash of light, a wave of it, that washed over me, and went out through the entire world. It was…all so real…that I somehow couldn't bring myself to believing that it hadn't been, upon awakening. Does this seem strange to any of you?"
And he looked back at them suddenly.
Each one of the people sitting at the table met his eyes directly, and shook their heads. Ella voiced their answer—
"No, for I dreamt of the same thing."
"And I saw it."
As one, they all whirled to face Echo, who was sitting quietly in her chair, looking down at the cambric napkin in her lap, studying the delicate fingers of her hands. She had spoken.
"Echo, what—" Arin began to ask.
Then two things happened at once: first, the room seemed to vaporize, and become insubstantial, transmuting into pure, radiant white – a brilliance so dazzling that it pained their eyes – and second, a wave of energy, so powerful that the floor beneath their feet, the foundations of the fortress itself, began to shake.
But before they'd even had time to cry out, the painful brightness vanished – or faded, really – and they dared to open their eyes…and look at their new surroundings.
A/N: Hehehehe...I'm back! Due in during the next few weeks (hopefully...) the concluding chapters to the infamous Jaedin and Elowyn story! Yes, we are nearing the end...
I know, I know...I've kept you all waiting for a bloody long enough time...but here's two more chapters - and long chapters, at that - to feed your interest. Assuming it's still there.
Now, on with you!