Author's note: My dear faithful reviewers, I thank you from the bottom of my heart for your support. I did not imagine that after all this time you would still want me to update. Love ya!
Also, many thanks to my new reviewers. I hope you will enjoy this chapter as well.
Oh, and another thing, I've found on a site a brief description and info on some of the weapons in PoP:WW. Here's one:
FRAVASHIS SWORD:
"Within Babylon there exists a small cult of elite Warrior-Priests dedicated to the protection of the royal family. Named for the Fravashis (Guardian Angels), they are sworn to watch over the King and his kin, though always from a distance. It is said that the Fravashis' swords derive their strength from the life-force of the guardsmen themselves, a continual reminder of the meaning of sacrifice.
A small band of Fravashis were dispatched from Babylon following The Prince's departure. They have tracked his ship to the Island of Time, remaining in the background – hoping there won't be any need for them to intervene. But while the Fravashis have come to protect The Prince, no one has come to protect them. And the Island is home to foes they are ill prepared to face."
I figured it would be a shame to overlook this piece of info, because it adds nicely to the story. Read the chapter and you'll understand what I mean.
Episode XI : "New faces, old ways"Once inside the alley, the Prince slowed down the pace of his stallion when he realized he had blindly rushed into a pool of utmost darkness. There was a full moon that night, shinning in all of its cold splendor on the clear sky, but its vague light was not enough to guide a lost soul through the labyrinthine streets of Babylon. The Prince had stopped his stallion, being reluctant about venturing into the blackness that lay before his eyes. Seeing how his sight was not much of a help, he strained his ears for any sounds that might alert him in case something would approach him. For a few moments nothing could be heard except the wind, but then the eerie voice from before burst out of nowhere, echoing in the Prince's mind, and then faded away as fast as it had come.
Although he was unable to make out any exact sounds, the Prince assumed it must have been some sort of voice, because it was too intense to be a simple breeze, and he felt like it deliberately smashed against his ears. When he heard the voice, it seemed to have come directly from behind him. He turned and looked in all possible directions, now that his eyes had accustomed to the darkness and he could scarcely make out the shape of things, but he found nothing. Soon afterwards, he heard the voice again, this time coming from far away, and when he turned around he saw a smaller alley, with all its torches lit. The Prince was certain that there had been no light coming from that direction a few moments back, and as much as he hated it, he had to admit his courage had started to abandon him. The thought of going back had briefly cross his mind, but he shook it away rapidly.
No, I will not run like a coward. I must get to the bottom of this, the Prince thought as he dismounted, unsheathed his swords, and ran inside the lit alley.
He had reached the middle of the alley when he heard what sounded like a strong breeze blow behind him. He turned around on the spot and saw the torches being extinguished before his eyes, by a dark fog that retreated into the darkness, at the back of the alley. His curiosity arousing the same time as his fear, the Prince took a few steps forward, hoping to spot something in the fog stretching before him. No sooner had he done this than he heard the same mysterious wind blow once more behind his back. He spun around and saw the fire of the last remaining torches disappear. Once again he found himself alone in the darkness of the alley, his only companion being the full moon on the sky, which he prayed would not vanish behind a curtain of thick clouds.
Not knowing what path to take, the Prince became aware that there was nothing he could do other than keep a tight grip on the hilts of his swords and wait for whatever he had gone after, to come after him. His wait was not long and bizarre noises echoed once more behind him, always behind him, as if whatever was after him wanted to sneak up behind him and take him by surprise. But the Prince was not one to allow his enemies this kind of satisfaction and stood courageously in the face of the dark fog that had started to slowly swirl around in one spot. In his left hand he held his secondary sword right in front of him, prepared to block incoming attacks while in his right hand he held up his magnificent Eagle Sword, ready to strike down any foe.
He had a menacing air about him and in an ordinary battle there would have undoubtedly been adversaries who would not have waited to experience the Prince's advanced fighting abilities on their own flesh, to flee from his sight, but this was no ordinary battle. The Prince stared at the swirling fog before him and in the darkness of the night he thought he could see a silhouette emerge among it, rising to impressionable heights and shaping into an enormous form. Whatever it was, it was most certainly not human, though the outline of its body held some familiar traits. The Prince did not know what it was but he knew who it was, the same creature that had attacked him in his tent, in what thought it had been only a dream. If this was another dream, it was without any doubt the most realistic dream he had ever dreamt.
Breathing soundly and heavily, as if from the depth of an abyss, the creature took one step towards the Prince, who, in his turn, reluctantly took a few steps back. Stepping from the dark shadows into the moonlight, the creature revealed its true form before the Prince. Its massive, three feet tall body was as black as coal, bearing odd white markings that for an unknown reason could be clearly distinguished in the dark, as if they were somehow, glowing. Its hands had sharp claws for fingers and two, very large, turned horns rested on its head, while its face was difficult to distinguish amid the fog that still swirled around it, though much slower, even peaceful one would say, had the circumstances been different.
Staring back at the Prince with its small eyes that, unexplainably, had turned from a glittering white to a bright, burning shade of red, the minute it stepped closer to the Prince, the creature remained motionless. Remembering the way it had attacked him in his supposed dream, the Prince kept his defensive stance till the moment he decided to make his move, turning both his sword towards the creature's stomach, from where the deadly tentacles that burned his flesh, had sprung on their first encounter. Upon being attacked, the creature did not retort, but instead began laughing a demonic, muffled laugh, as the Prince slashed in vain at its body that seemed to be made of smoke and not of flesh and blood.
Before the Prince could attempt a different attack, the creature clenched his neck into its metal-like hand and lifted him to its level. Gasping for air and cringing at the pain of having the creature's sharp claws piercing his neck, the Prince fought hopelessly to free himself as warm streams of his own blood lingered, from the inflicted wounds, down his chest and back and his life-force was slowly drifting away. At a moment when he thought he would surely die, he found himself thrown by the creature to the opposite end of the alley, at a speed greater than the most powerful catapult in the world could reach. Smashing against a stone wall, the Prince fell to the ground on a pile of baskets, most of which now lay flat beneath him.
A good couple of minutes passed before the Prince found the strength to move his body, which felt to him heavier than ever. Sustaining his weight first on his hands and afterwards on his knees as well, he managed to push himself up and stand straight. His tired eyes scanned the surroundings and fortunately there was no sign of the creature. Also fortunate was his finding of his two swords, lying close-by. Unfortunate, however, was the roar that came from above him as the creature jumped down from the tall building he had just smashed the Prince into. Jumping to his right, the Prince barely avoided being stomped upon by the gigantic monster.
The only solution that the Prince thought of immediately, acknowledging the state he was in, was running, at least until he could think of a way to dispose of the creature. So, he ran as fast as he could, without looking back, taking whatever turn his instincts told him to take. He was running aimlessly, with the creature close behind him, just like in his dream. At one point, the wild chase took him through a narrower alley, where the buildings on either side were connected by wooden beams, forming more or less, some sort of rooftop over the alley. Hastening his pace, he made a sudden jump and grabbed hold of one of the beams. Next thing he knew, he was running on the improvised rooftop of wooden beams.
Looking back to see if this made any difference whatsoever, he saw the creature approaching furiously in a vortex of black fog that devastated everything in its path. He knew it was high time to conceive a plan and there was not a moment to spare. He had to act quickly if he wanted to live through the night. As he approached the end of the alley, and therefore of the rooftop he was running on, he all of a sudden deviated from his path and sprung to his left, grabbing onto a metal pole, higher on the wall, from which hang a street-lantern, where a fire still burnt brightly. Putting his acrobatic skills into practice, he swung on the pole and then let go at the precise moment, grabbing onto a higher pole, situated not too far in front of him.
Once he had climbed up, onto the pole, the solid rooftop of a large building was only a step away. He took that step and started running back, looking down at the alley that he had just came through. The creature was there, searching for him. Now it was the Prince's turn to take it by surprise. Drawing out his smaller sword, he threw himself upon it, landing on its upper back, at the back of its neck. The same time he landed, he impaled the full length of his blade into the thick nape of the creature's neck. The creature roared and started to move around frantically, as the Prince pulled out his blade and stroke it again and again, only to find that the results were no different from the time he had attempted to cut its stomach.
Before the Prince could take notice of what was about to happen, the creature smashed its back against a nearby building, making him relive the previous, painful experience. Falling two feet to the ground and this time landing directly on the stone pathway, the Prince did not loose consciousness, but he soon wished he had, as the creature's tentacles tightened around his ankles, lifting him upside-down off the ground. Everything occured the same as before, only this time the Prince was thrown with greater strength, smashing through a large, wooden door, and landing in an interior court, inside a water basin where women would come to do laundry.
Soon the creature came after its prey, but something peculiar happened. Seeing the Prince lying unconscious underwater, it simply stood and stared. Then, it began circling the basin, never reaching inside with its claws or tentacles, to pull out and destroy its opponent, careful to avoid even stepping into the puddles that had formed around the basin when the Prince splashed into the water. The creature waited and waited, groaning and breathing hard, as if in frustration, until sounds of humans approaching reached its hearing.
Earlier that day …Before the Prince had even set out of the encampment that morning, the woman had already entered Babylon and had traversed a great section of the city. She passed through poorer neighborhoods, situated close to the surrounding walls, on her way to the more impressive dwellings, in the proximity of the royal palace and the other grandiose buildings. Having abandoned the horse she had stolen outside the city walls, she had made her way through the city in her own, particular way. From the rooftop on top of which she was currently standing, she had a perfect view of the house she had told the real priestess to go to and wait for her there.
A feeling of nostalgia took hold of her as she admired the house that had been her home for the past six years. Although she was happy to be back, at the same time she was aware that once inside Babylon, she would inevitably have to face old problems, which she had not yet been able to deal with once and for all. She remembered this when she heard familiar noises coming from the street below, and as she saw someone moving in the shadows, near the only path she could take in order to reach her home, she sighed with annoyance:
"Not again … "
For a brief moment she contemplated going back and taking another way home, even though that meant going halfway around the city, but that was only until her keen senses detected an unknown presence behind her. Ready to make her move, she was stunned to see that her opponent had anticipated it. Before she could even begin to turn around, several large strips of purple cloth came from behind and wrapped themselves around her, pinning her arms against her body so that she could not move them. After that, whoever had thrown the strips at her, pulled them back, and her along with them, thus getting her tied up even more.
"We will take what you have stolen, and this time you will face the proper punishment for your crimes," spoke the man who had captured her and who was now holding the ends of the strips like reins.
His tone, though not menacing, was nevertheless very serious, speaking like a righteous man, entrusted to do justice. The woman on the other hand, far from being scared or worried, broke out into a slightly hysterical laughter.
"We have been through this so many times, I was hoping we'd be friends by now," she smirked turning her head to look at the man behind her. "How about showing me your face for once. No one's looking. I bet you are a very handsome man," she taunted her captor who wore a purple turban and various cloths of the same color that covered his head almost entirely, revealing only his eyes. He was dressed with a loose black blouse, black pants and a purple, sleeveless coat with silver patterns, reaching halfway between his knees and ankles, tied at the middle with a red sash.
"Give us the bag," the man ordered, indifferent to her comments.
"Certainly, if you tell me how exactly to do that."
The man sighed, finally acknowledging the fact that the bag was pinned to her body, wrapped under the wide strips of purple cloth and there was no manner in which she could have reached it. He pulled out a knife and attempted to cut several strips, just enough to be able to retrieve the content of the bag, when the woman, who had her back turned to him, used her heel to inflict pain upon a very sensitive part of his body. Hoping to catch him off guard she turned and attempted to perform another kick, this time to knock him over, taking advantage of the fact that only her upper body was tied up in purple cloths. Unfortunately for her, he caught her foot in his hands just as she was about to deliver a powerful blow to his head. Trapped in a very uncomfortable position, the woman acted fast, flipping backwards and hitting the man under his chin, with her free foot. He stumbled backwards and collapsed, but not before releasing her right foot from his grasp.
The woman landed safely in a calculated position and noticed two other men, dressed in outfits identical to that of the man she had just defeated, advancing fast in her direction. Smirking at them, the woman quickly turned the other way around and started running towards the edge of the roof. The men gave chase and came to a sudden halt when the woman stopped in front of them on the very edge, nearly making them bump into her. She turned and stared at them with a puzzling grin on her lips, waiting for them to approach. Not knowing what she had in mind, the men came towards her with very small steps, and when they were close enough, she jumped. Leaping forward, one of the men wanted to grab her, but instead he was only able to grasp the loose end of one of the strips, which was exactly what she had hoped for. With the man holding tight the piece of cloth, she rolled all the way to the ground, undoing the bonds. He attempted to pull her back up but succeeded only in hastening her escape.
Once free and in full control of her body, she twisted during her fall, when she was very close to the ground, so that she would not fall on her back, and landed smoothly in a crouched position. The entire weight of her body was sustained only by her palms and the tips of her feet, while her back was arched almost like a cat's and her bent legs were close to her body. She stood up slowly, undulating her body in a rather sensual manner, and when she turned to gaze back at her pursuers it was somewhat like she had performed a pirouette. She smirked at them, relishing her success, and just as she was about to make her triumphant exit, the bag she carried on her right shoulder, containing the urn she had retrieved, was snatched away harshly and pulled upwards.
Enraged more by the fact that she had been caught by surprise than because of the bag being stolen from her, she looked up to see a not so ordinary bird, flying with the strap of the bag clenched in its talons. The bird, which was about the size of a hawk, had a slender body with long feathers in shades of purple and red, the tip of each feather being dipped in black. It had only three, very long feathers for a tail and a crest of another set of three feathers, though half shorter than those from the tail and colored in bright orange. The woman's eyes trailed after it in astonishment, watching it fly directly to the two men who had remained on the rooftop. When it got next to them, the bird was suddenly enveloped in a purple fog, which spread around it until the other two men were nearly hidden from sight, as well. The fog cleared as fast as it had appeared and now three men were standing on the rooftop, all of them dressed identical, the only difference being that the one who stood where the bird had stopped, was holding the woman's bag.
"So it seems I don't know all of your secrets. How frustrating," the woman muttered, with concealed anger in her voice.
Still eyeing the three men with intense dislike, any plan she would have devised to get the urn back that very moment was shattered when loud voices coming from down the alley announced the passing of the King's guards, other acquaintances she had no desire to meet. Though it took her mere seconds to cast a short glance in the direction from which the noise was coming, when she looked back up, the three men were no longer there.
When she eventually reached her house, the woman chose to sneak inside through the somewhat secluded servants' entrance. She crossed the narrow corridor and entered the kitchen, hoping that no one had gotten up that early in the morning. She made her way across the room and stopped in front of the door leading to the main hallway, peeking from behind the curtain of wooden beads to see whether there was safe for her to pass unnoticed. She gently pulled the beads apart, careful not too make too much noise and was with one foot over the threshold, when a familiar voice called her name.
"Maniya!"
"And here I was concerned about not waking you up," she smiled at the woman who had crept behind her.
Nadira approached, welcoming her home with a warm, motherly embrace that Maniya was delighted to receive.
"This time I was actually concerned about you. Venturing off like that into the Persian camp was a foolish thing to do. What if someone recognized you?" Nadira spoke very seriously, grasping Maniya's shoulders with her hands and looking her straight in the eyes.
"My quarrels are mostly with the palace guards, not the King's soldiers. Besides, I could not have let the priestess go, and she was very keen on it."
"Yes, that is also true," the elderly woman sighed, removing her hands from Maniya's shoulders.
"Where is the priestess? Has she arrived safely?"
"Yes, she is resting now. It is, after all, very early in the morning"
"Then what are you doing already up at this hour?" Maniya sneered.
"Waiting for you, of course. Where is the urn, by the way?" Nadira inquired, which put Maniya in an uncomfortable situation, making her lower her gaze in embarrassment. "Did you fail to retrieve it? I sent Nasmat to help you. Did she not come?"
"No, she did come," the woman made her way across the room to a small window with a view to the street " …… and it was not difficult to retrieve it, but when I reached the city I was attacked and the urn stolen from me," she continued while glancing absent mindedly out of the window.
"Stolen? No, this cannot be," a shrill voice cried out with despair and both Maniya and Nadira turned to look at the priestess standing in the doorway. "We must retrieve it, we must. The urn has to be put back in its rightful place."
"Fear not, the urn will be returned," Nadira spoke with confidence. "Do you know who took it?" she addressed Maniya.
"Yes, my dear old friends, the Fravashis," she answered sarcastically.
"Typical of them, always meddling with things that are none of their concern," Nadira added on an equally sarcastic tone, though with traces of slight indifference and resignation.
"Actually the fault was mine. My staying at the Persian camp had diminished my power of concentration," Maniya cast a glance at Nadira, who shook her head smiling.
"Does this mean we will never get the urn back? No, there must be a way. Who are these people? Why do they want the urn for?" the priestess was in a high state of distress and her hands and voice trembled as she spoke.
"They don't want the urn. In fact I am certain they do not know what it is. The Fravashis are a small cult of elite warrior-priests, who, for hundreds of years, have dedicated their lives to protecting the royal family. They are sworn to watch over the King and his kin, though always from a distance. When they saw me carrying a bag with the King's coat-of-arms on it, they must have assumed I had stolen some of his majesty's possessions," she made a short pause, then added with a sneer, " …… again."
"Now they have probably taken it to the King's treasure chamber," Nadira continued.
"That is what I fear."
"But you can take it back, can you not?" the priestess inquired, dismissing from the start a negative reply. There could not be a negative reply. The urn had to be returned.
" …… I can't," Maniya finally responded with deep regret, gazing at the trembling priestess who looked back at her with wide, watery eyes. "There is only one way to get inside the treasure chamber, through the main doors. I cannot get in and out without alarming the guards or setting off the complicated defense mechanisms, unless I had permission to enter, which is thoroughly impossible."
"There is one thing I forgot to mention," Nadira spoke before the priestess could display further outbursts of panic. "The King's eldest son is to be married soon and his bride is arriving today."
"I really do not see how this information could be of any use to me," Maniya responded, slightly confused.
"The prince has not yet seen his future wife, and she is an Arabian princess who, according to their customs, must keep her face covered at all times in the presence of strangers."
"Well, I believed this information may be useful after all …… very useful."