The Black Ankh
Duel of Fates, Cont'd
by Laura Campbell, aka Shadow of Light Dragon

The next thing I remembered was an empty, windowless cell. Manacles attached to the roof bound my wrists, stretching my arms in opposite directions. The aeth'raesh'al was still encircling one of them…

Relief, and hope, sparked within me. I didn't know why Mellorin hadn't taken the bracer, but so long as she hadn't—

The door opened, admitting my double. She closed it behind herself and leaned back against it, appraising me by the light of the In Lor spell hovering above her. The angle of the lighting hollowed her face. "I see you've regained enough strength to make yourself look decent," she said. "The reality is quite nauseating, you know."

I arched a brow at her.

She returned the facial expression. "Nothing to say?"

"What do you want to hear? 'You win'?"

"I was expecting you to ask why I haven't destroyed you."

"It was preying on my mind, but I figured if you wanted to tell me you would, and if you didn't want me to know there'd be little point to my asking, except to give you the undesirable pleasure of saying, 'What? Tell you all my plans?' and laughing in my face."

She pushed away from the door and circled me slowly. In the blackrock hilt poking above her right shoulder, Arcadion's crystalline prison glowed.

"Why haven't you destroyed me?" I asked, finally.

"He wants you broken."

"What do I matter if he has you? Wasn't that the idea?"

Her lip curled into what could have been a sneer, but it lasted only for a fraction of a second. A shadow of fear passed across her face and she looked down, as though examining the path she took around me, and folded her arms. "You know him. He wants what he can't have."

"Yeah. I know him." I pulled lightly at the chains and sighed. "So what are you going to do? Lead a parade of Britannians through the door and kill each of them in front of me until I beg you to stop? Ultimately it won't mat—"

"Richard."

I stopped, and felt the iron cuffs dig into my wrists. "What?"

"If you beg him nicely enough, he will allow Lord British's Resurrection. Britannia will not die."

I gritted my teeth.

"You have a week before your decision will no longer matter."

"Why did you do it? Why did you kill him?" My hands clenched. "Virtues, you may be a twisted version of me, but that means that, deep down, there is still a part of me in you. I can't believe you felt nothing when you butchered him."

Mellorin pursed her lips, but didn't meet my gaze. "A certain feeling of satisfaction, perhaps?"

"And the Guardian? You're his loyal dog?"

She smiled fleetingly, humourlessly, and turned for the door. "Think on what I've said, Elora. I'll be back later."

"If you destroy me," I said, "you belong to him forever."

Her hand paused on the latch. "How is that any different from belonging to you? Being your dog?"

"Having been in both situations, I'm sure you know the answer to that."

Mellorin turned back to me. "You're right. I don't want to belong to him. But I don't want to be under your thumb either." She took a breath. "I have a way out. A shot at freedom." She twitched then, and her face clenched like a fist. "Let go," she muttered. "Let go! Or I swear I'll—" Her hands raised to her temples as she gasped. "I'll… release… her… and—" She took one step towards me and dropped to her knees, shaking violently.

The thought arose that even if she wanted to free me she wouldn't be able to. If the Guardian could bring her down so easily… But that said, he couldn't force her to do what he wanted through pain. Pain incapacitated.

I stared at the writhing form on the floor. This was the person who'd killed Richard and countless others, yet it was almost impossible not to feel pity. I knew what it felt like to have my head in the Guardian's vice.

Then one of her hands gripped the Blacksword's hilt and ripped it from its scabbard. Her face lifted and her eyes were wild when they fixed on me. The blade scraped across the stones as she stood, and rasped, "I told you—" the sword lifted, clenched in both white-knuckled hands, "—to let me—" it pulled back in preparation of a swing. I tensed, not knowing where it would land, "—go!"

The Blacksword sheared through the chain binding my right arm then kept going until it and Mellorin hit the wall of the cell. She screamed—at the impact, at the Guardian's reaction, I didn't know. The agonised sound bounced endlessly against the stones and in my own ears. It was the only thing that stopped me from bringing my right hand to my left and escaping. I couldn't help staring in horrified pity, or help feeling my insides twist at the sight of my own pain. I had to do something.

"Arcadion," I whispered, reaching my free hand towards the abandoned Blacksword. The sword glowed, and I had the faint impression that the daemon was thinking about its options… but then I could feel the hilt taking form against my palm. The weapon had barely made the transition from floor to hand before I swung it against the chain holding my left hand, severing it. Without a pause for thought, I brought the hilt across Mellorin's head and she crumpled into silence. But my ears still rang with her cries. Hesitantly, I knelt down and tried to remove the bracer she wore, but Kra'lysie had been right. I couldn't open it.

"All right, you," I said to the Blacksword, trying to keep in mind that the daemon blade had been stuck through my chest (not to mention Richard's) not so long ago. "Where are we?"

"I don't know," Arcadion replied. "Not Britannia. Mellorin took you elsewhere so you couldn't communicate with anyone."

"Did she bring anyone else with her?" I had an insane urge to shake the sword when it didn't reply at once. "Answer me!"

"What are you going to do, Master? Strangle me?" The voice was a sneer of contempt. "I don't see why you're angry at me, anyway. Is it my fault Mellorin used me to kill your precious king? Or those people on the Isle of Fire?" Arcadion's voice became a malicious whisper. "Or Mariah? Or Jaana?"

"No." My hands clenched around the hilt as though I were trying to throttle it, and I stared into the glowing jewel. "You're lying…"

"Am I indeed?"

I turned on Mellorin's prostrate form, flames burning in my mind. The pity I'd felt for her before was forgotten, replaced by a need for blood like nothing the Lifestealer sword had inspired in me.

"Kill her and you die," Arcadion reminded me sharply, swiftly. "But you can break free. She said she knew a way to break free, remember? I can tell you how. You can do the same. You can end this, Elora, without her compliance, then safely pursue vengeance if you so desire."

As attractive as the offer was, the daemon's voice was too eager. "I should bring her back," I muttered, staring at Mellorin. The fire retreated, under control again, but it smouldered still. "This will be much easier if she's our prisoner. And I have to find Dupre, Bishop and the others…"

"They are still on Britannia," Arcadion said. This time his voice was sullen, but it still carried an undertone of anticipation that made me feel uneasy.

"What aren't you telling me, Arcadion?" I narrowed my eyes at the ether gem. "Mellorin may have a stronger claim over you than I, but you are still bound to me in some way, and I demand a true answer from you!"

The daemon hissed. "When you return to Britannia, the call of the Undead will claim you. You will be unable to resist it, Avatar. You will go to Stonegate and bring about Armageddon. And with the aeth'raesh'al upon your arm, Britannia will only be the start of it."

I tried to ignore the chill. "I know about this 'Call', Arcadion, but I've never felt it. Why should I succumb to it now?"

"You would have when you returned to Britannia, but for the stolen life-force in your veins. That is gone now—"

"Thanks to you!"

"—and I expect you will heed the call as soon as you go back."

"If I'm undead." I glanced at Mellorin as she groaned. Her body was twitching, as though someone was trying to kick her awake…

Damn that red bastard.

"Where is my sword?"

"Excuse me?" Arcadion sounded offended.

"The Lifestealer!"

"Back in Britannia… Master." The daemon's voice took on a smug, drawling note. "What now? Will you wait until she awakens? A word from her and I will be in her fist, and you looking down my blade… if not impaled upon it again. Will you try to speak reason to her while the Guardian rends what's left of her sanity?"

"It seems," I replied softly, "that the only other choice you present is to return to Britannia and go to Stonegate, whether I like it or not, and end the world."

"The world is ending anyway, isn't it?"

"I plan to stop that. Where's Lord British's body? And don't just say 'Britannia', Arcadion. Where exactly is Richard's body?"

"In the Shrine of Spirituality."

Of course… who would think to scry there? Could you, when it's not a part of the land mass that is Britannia? With the moongates out of order, only she or I can get there. And what reason would I have to pay a visit to the Shrine of Spirituality with all this going on?

"She wanted to drop him into another plane," Arcadion went on, "but apparently he must be kept in contact with Britannia if the world is to… continue. The Guardian doesn't want Britannia to perish. Until he's ready, that is."

"Then why kill him at all?"

"To lure you back. He can be very impatient."

Mellorin groaned again. One of her hands clawed at the stone floor as she folded in upon herself.

"And the Crown of the Liche King is like the Horn of Praecor Loth," Arcadion said. "An item of legendary power that the Guardian covets, but can only attain through the efforts of others. Mellorin cannot serve him in this, but you can. Another reason why your bracer wasn't removed."

"Who else serves him?" I asked suddenly. "Who is the traitor?"

"What?" Arcadion replied.

"Who betrayed what we were doing to Mellorin? I know there's a spy in my army, Arcadion. Tell me who it is."

The daemon's voice conveyed a shrug. "It is a daemon. To tell you the truth, Avatar, I'm surprised that you, with your undead abilities, haven't figured it out for yourself."

"I haven't been using my undead abilities… much…" I muttered. Silence returned to the cell for a minute. "Can you protect me, if I go back to Britannia? Stop me from… you know… forgetting who I am?"

"Do you remember," Arcadion said, thoughtfully, "that you promised to release me once?"

"I remember."

There was another silence, in which I had the impression that Arcadion was envisioning a myriad of potential futures. At length, a sigh came from the Blacksword. "I will endeavour to remind you that you are the… Paragon of Virtue. However… I will not be able to help you if Mellorin recalls me."

I reached for the aeth'raesh'al, and hesitated. I went and crouched beside the twitching body of Mellorin and brought my mouth close to her ear. "I don't know if you can hear me," I said, "but leave Arcadion with me. Please."

"You think she will listen?" Arcadion asked, darkly amused.

"I don't know."

Extending the aeth'raesh'al's field over Mellorin as well as myself, I took us to Britannia. To the Shrine of Justice.
Shamino and Iolo were there when we appeared, and both men viewed the arrival with mixed expressions of relief, horror and caution.

"That's Mellorin," I said without preamble, pointing the Blacksword at my unconscious double as I rose from my crouch. "If it was me, she'd look like…" I shook my head. "I don't know. A decomposing corpse. Gag her. Tie her up or something. Don't let her have the ability to use her bracer. Make sure she's watched so she can't cast any—" I stooped again, and pulled the reagent pouch from Mellorin's belt, "—spells. Oh, and if she starts screaming or anything like that, use Sleep magic."

"She—" Iolo began.

"Richard's body is at the Shrine of Spirituality," I went on quickly. I could feel something in my head clamouring for attention. Something I hadn't felt previously. "And there's a daemon spy in the army. Get the mages to sniff it out."

"Where—"

Mellorin stirred again.

"I'll handle things," Shamino said. "Kra'lysie could handle the daemon problem, if she can be bothered to listen to me." He turned and ran for the forest.

I opened my mouth again, but Iolo said, "Dupre! Where's Dupre? Elora, what happened? Zaria's mages said that all of ye were captured!"

The call was becoming more insistent. I tried to drown it out by talking louder. "I don't know! I think he and the others, whoever survived, are on the Isle of the Avatar. I was taken elsewhere. Listen, Iolo." I shoved the reagent pouch into the bard's hand. "I don't have much time, even to explain. I have to get to Stonegate, and it'll be too dangerous for you guys to come with me. I can't do anything else before I handle this. The world will apparently end in a week unless Richard is Resurrected."

"Or sooner, if the Stonegate thing doesn't go as you intend," Arcadion muttered.

"Thou'rt taking that with thee?" Iolo said, glaring at the Shade Blade.

"Yes. While Mellorin's out of action, it might be a good idea for you guys to move. Retake Britain or Empath Abbey, whatever's closer." I glanced past Iolo, just in time to see Shamino reach the edge of the trees and vanish beneath them. "No reinforcements will be coming to stop you, so long as we have our prisoner here."

Then I looked east. I had to go that way…

"Thou canst really not just take her bracer?" Iolo asked, hopefully. "All this, or most of it, could be over if thou couldst."

"I can't." I glanced back to him briefly, with glowing eyes. "But you can try to talk her into taking it off." I felt a smile curve my lips. "I suggest during one of the screaming sessions, when it sounds like the Guardian's attempting to run her brain through a mincer." At his shocked expression I turned east again, and began to walk.

After a few minutes, Arcadion asked dryly, "So, Miss Paragon of Virtue… what is the Mantra of Compassion?"

"Shut up, Arcadion."

-TBC-