Chapter Seventeen
Alhambra, Kingdom of Gallia, 8th day of Ansuz
The soldiers cheered, whooped, and stamped their feet.
In spite of everything, Suleiman could not help but smile as he and Siesta took a bow. It was hard to resist the warm glow of the moment, the pleasure of their adulation. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt so confident.
"Thank you! Thank you!" Suleiman tried to wave down the cacophony. "And now, all the way from..."
A loud crack from above made his heart jump. He paused and looked up, and almost gaped to see a cloud of smoke billowing out from a set of windows on the top floor of the keep.
His heart clenched. Was it Louise? Had something gone wrong?
The soldiers had noticed too. They looked up at the smoke in surprise, nudging each-other and pointing up at it, or looking to their officers. The bonhomie was gone, but the atmosphere was not exactly hostile either.
Not yet anyway.
Suleiman's blood ran cold. He had half-expected something like this would happen, but now that came to it, he was frozen stiff, his mind a blank. It was all going so well!
"Mr Suleiman!" Siesta hissed, tugging at his elbow. Suleiman glanced at her, and came back to himself.
"We're just going to take five while this gets sorted out!" Suleiman called out. When the soldiers did not seem to notice, he hurried off the stage, Siesta right behind.
"Was that Louise?" asked Guiche. He and the other Ondines had abandoned their instruments and hurried down to the open area behind the wagons. Gimli was inside one of the wagons, handing down wands from the false bottom where they had been concealed. Montmorency took her wand, and a leather bag that clinked as she slid it over her shoulder.
"We can't wait to find out!" replied Suleiman. "We have to..."
"Halt! All of you!"
Heart jumping, Suleiman spun round. A mage officer stood beside the wagon, a half-dozen soldiers behind him. Suleiman could see no signs of drunkenness in any of them.
"Can we...help you?" he asked nervously.
"Until we find out what's happened, you'll be..."
The mage-officer trailed off as he saw the Ondines, standing frozen in surprise, wands in their hands.
Suleiman saw his face turn from stern anger to surprise, his mouth opening to shout a warning.
He moved, flinging himself at the officer with every scrap of strength he could muster. The officer's cry became a strangled cough as Suleiman knocked him backward. He heard the soldiers shout out in anger and surprise. Then a gust of wind knocked him flat as the Ondines unleashed a volley of spells, sending the soldiers flying.
The officer snarled in fury, kicking furiously as he tried to throw Suleiman off. Suleiman balled his fist and punched him full in the face. His head flew back and hit the cobbles, his eyes rolling up as his body slackened.
Suleiman felt a twinge of remorse, and hoped he hadn't hurt the man too badly. He had been enjoying the show just a few moments ago; or at least chortling to himself at the crude tastes of his common-born subordinates. It felt...wrong somehow.
"Suleiman!" called Montmorency. "We have to go! Now!"
Suleiman shook his head and stood up. He saw more soldiers approaching, weapons at the ready. Some of the soldiers from the audience had noticed too, but the Germanian beer had taken its toll, and most of them could barely stand up.
"The door! The door!" he yelled, pointing at the nearest side door. The door was open, two confused-looking guards staggering out. Guiche nodded in understanding, and aimed his wand at the unfortunate pair. His lips moved, and a bolt of compressed air leapt forth, hitting the nearest man and flinging him against his companion, both hitting the door and falling to the ground.
"Get the door!" roared a nearby mage-officer! "Stop them!"
One of the sober soldiers levelled his musket and fired, the shot whistling past Suleiman's temple. But the Ondines were already moving, charging at the unguarded door. Siesta was just behind, dragging a woozy-looking Irukuku with the help of Maxwell. Suleiman ran after them, bullets whipping past, and reached the door just behind them.
He glanced back. More soldiers were approaching; while a group of mages and mage-officers were rounding up the drunken soldiers in front of the stage. He glanced around to make sure everyone was inside, then dragged the door shut and pulled down the bolt, locking it fast.
Fists and musket butts banged on the door, accompanied by shouts of anger and crude curses.
"Did everyone make it?" he asked, turning to face his friends, all crowded in the narrow corridor.
"I think so!" Guiche called back, from the head of the column.
"Miss Montmorency!" It was Maxwell, squeezing his way past the Ondines. As he reached Montmorency, he held up his hands.
"Robin!" Montmorency beamed in delight as the little orange frog hopped into her hands. "Where have you been?" She held the frog to her ear and listened.
"Robin says they've found the tunnel exit, and Flame and Verdandi are waiting there," she said. "It's in the cellar."
"Lead the way!" Guiche called out. "Quick, before they get that door open!"
"But isn't it enchanted?" asked Siesta nervously.
"Yes, but it won't hold forever!"
Robin hopped off Montmorency's outstretched hands, and led the way through narrow corridors. After a few moments, they reached a small chamber, with two doors set into the walls opposite each other and perpendicular to the corridors. One door led to a set of stairs leading downward, while the other led to stairs going upward. Robin hopped back up onto his mistress' hands.
"Robin says the cellar is down there, as is one of the wells," Montmorency said, holding the frog to her ear. The other door leads straight up to the serving area between the upper kitchen and the great hall. From there, you can go anywhere on the first floor."
"Excellent!" proclaimed Guiche. He was about to say more, when a snuffling noise erupted from the cellar stairs.
"Verdandi!" he cried, eyes bright with joy, as the enormous mole squeezed its way through the door. "My precious Verdandi! Did you miss me?"
He dropped to his knees and hugged his beloved familiar, the mole chuffing happily.
"Uh…Monsieur Guiche?" Suleiman tried to interject. "We have little time."
"My darling Verdandi! My clever Verdandi! My…urgghhh!"
Verdandi let out a strangled cry and leapt forward, rolling over the unsuspecting Guiche. The salamander Flame emerged from the doorway behind him, looking very pleased with himself.
"Flame!" complained Montmorency. "That wasn't nice!"
Verdandi growled and rotated on the spot, glaring at the salamander. Flame made a cawing noise that Suleiman could have sworn was a laugh.
"Enough!" he called out, stepping in between them. "We don't have time for this! We have to find the others before…"
A crash resounded along the corridors. Suleiman's head snapped round, and saw Gimli dashing down the corridor down which they had just come.
"Soldiers! Soldiers coming!" he gasped as he reached the chamber.
"Quick! Baldwin! Check that way!" barked Guiche, pulling himself to his feet. Baldwin did as he was ordered, hurrying down the opposite corridor. Sure enough, a green-clad soldier poked his head around the corner a moment later, pulling swiftly back as a Wind Bolt from Gimli's wand flashed down the corridor towards him.
"They're coming!" Baldwin sprinted back the way he'd come. "They're coming this way too!"
Suleiman's blood ran cold. They were being surrounded.
"They're trying to trap us in here!" cried Malicorne. "We have to…"
His words became a yelp as a musket cracked, and a bullet smacked into the wall just next to his head; showering him in plaster. The Ondines ducked out of sight, and began leaning around the corners, sending Wind spells up the corridors towards the soldiers. Suleiman heard the crash and clatter of impacts, but still the shots came.
"We can't lose this room!" Guiche called out. "There'll be no escape if they cut us off!"
"We can't hold it either!" pleaded Suleiman! "We have to find the others!"
"Go on!" Montmorency yelled. "Siesta! Maxwell! Take Irukuku and go with him! Find the others!"
Suleiman's heart clenched, but he knew she was right.
"I'll be back!" he called, and dashed up the stairs. He paused, waiting while Siesta and Maxwell lugged the still semi-conscious Irukuku up the stairs.
"Gaaahhhh," she gurgled, smiling as if in some delightful dream. "Big sister…come dance with us…"
"What could have happened to her?" he asked aloud.
"No idea!" replied Siesta! "But there's no time! We have to go!"
Suleiman nodded grimly.
They made their way through the labyrinth that was the kitchen; which seemed to be even bigger than the one at the academy. To Suleiman's mild surprise, there was no one present. The kitchen staff had evidently fled.
A few moments of searching revealed a door, leading into yet another corridor. Suleiman thought hard, picturing the map in his mind, and trying to remember where they had come.
"This way!"
They raced down the corridor, and came out at a large chamber much like the one through which Sir Lancel had led them into the castle a few hours earlier. There was even a matching grand staircase.
"Up there!" Suleiman headed for the staircase.
Then jumped as the double doors crashed open. Suleiman spun round, readying for a sudden attack, but none came.
Then he saw. Standing on a raised dais across the inner courtyard, illuminated by twin moons. A tall, slim figure, his tan robe and pale hair wafting in the wind.
"Muuhhh," groaned Irukuku, rubbing her eyes. "What's all the noise?"
She blinked at Suleiman, then followed his gaze across the inner courtyard.
"Kyuii!" she shrieked, jumping and hiding behind Suleiman. "It's the scary elf! The one who took big sister!"
Suleiman stared at the distant figure. The elf, if that was what he was, stood in place, as still as any statue, his eyes fixed on Suleiman's own.
Ignoring Irukuku's whimpering, Suleiman strode out into the courtyard ahead of the girls. He walked on, eyes fixed on the elf, until he stood just before the steps leading up to the dais. All the while the elf had not spoken, nor moved so much as a muscle.
"Who are you?" he called out, challenging the elf. "Are you behind all this?"
For a few moments the elf did not respond. He was indeed an elf, for Suleiman could see him clearly. His form was lean and spare, concealed by a loose tan cloak. His face was thin and finely-formed, his eyes wide and bright, yet curiously cold. His ears were long and narrow, his hair a pale, elegant gold.
An elf, yet none like he had ever seen. He had seen pure-blooded elves in Arysia, the products of unions between half-elves, or those possessed of some elvish blood; as all the Mirza of Arysia were. But he had never seen an elf of Nepthys, an ancestor of his ancestors. This one had pale skin, like porcelain, whereas those of Arysia were dark-skinned. His pair was a sun-kissed gold, where those of Arysia had white hair.
An elf, who stared back at Suleiman, without feeling or effect, as if Suleiman were nothing more than a specimen, a small animal pinned to a bench, awaiting his scalpel; a thing to be examined and understood, and then discarded.
"I am Bidalshal of Nepthys," replied the elf, in a voice as cold as his gaze. "And yes, I have some part in these strange events."
Suleiman felt something cold wrap itself around his heart. This was an elf, but in no way like Tiffania, or even his own father; a pure elf born to half-elf parents, a portentous event among Arysians. His father, even at his harshest and darkest, had regarded him with warm, loving, pained eyes.
And Tiffania...
"I mean you no harm," Suleiman said. "I did not come here for violence. My friends and I came only to rescue the Princess Charlotte and her mother, who are imprisoned here. I... do not wish to fight you."
Another long silence.
"Then you and I are enemies," replied Bidalshal, with that same patrician coldness. "For I am tasked with preventing your purpose."
Suleiman's heart sank and he winced. Never before had he seen an elf of Nepthys. But he had heard countless tales of their wisdom, and their terrible power.
"But why?" he pleaded. "For what reason would you keep two innocents imprisoned? The elves of Nepthys abhor violence! For what purpose would you harm them?"
For an instant, a mere fraction of an instant, he saw something in Bidalshal's eyes. Was it regret? Shame?
"I act to protect my people," replied Bidalshal, his tone as cold as the darkest void. "To protect this world, and to ensure the fulfilment of the Great Purpose. When compared with these, no crime is too great, and no innocent inviolate. Two lives are nothing compared to our goal."
Something rose up within the traveling bard. How could he be so... nonchalant about the lives of others? He, an elf of Nepthys, who professed to respect all life?
"What wrong have they done to you?" cried Suleiman, overcome. "Why must they be punished? What power does King Joseph have over you?"
Another flicker, another something. His eyes glared.
"That is not for you to know!" Bidalshal's lip curled in bitter contempt. "Begone, or else face the power of the Spirits!"
"The spirits?!" Maxwell yelled behind him.
"He really is an elf! And not one like Miss Tiffania!" Siesta called back.
Suleiman gritted his teeth. That curled lip, that disgust, that casual indifference to the suffering of innocents, infuriated him on a level he could not describe in words. He would not back down, not before this arrogant creature, this elf who regarded his very existence, Arysia's very existence, as an affront to his dignity.
"I am Suleiman Reza Al-Karim!" he bellowed, stepping into a combat stance. "I am a Mirza of Arysia! I challenge you for the Princess Charlotte and her mother! Face me, or give them up! I do not wish for this... but if you will not move..." His hands were coming together in prayer. "Then I'll force you to move!"
The elf regarded him a moment longer, one narrow eyebrow raised just slightly.
"You have made your choice," he said. He extended on arm, the palm aimed at Suleiman, and his lips twitched in low whispers.
Something wrapped itself around Suleiman, trapping him as tight as a vice.
"Gnnh!"
He tried to move, but the grip was too strong. The next thing he knew he was moving, flying across the courtyard like a ball struck by a bat, so fast he could barely comprehend it.
He hit the wall behind him with a crash. For a fraction of an instant, his whole world was pain. And then all was numb, as he fell from the wall and slumped to the ground. He could hear Siesta, Irukuku, and Maxwell calling out to him, though it seemed so very far away.
He forced himself to look up. There was Bidalshal, standing on the dais, lowering his outstretched hand.
And he remembered, through a numb, cotton-wool haze. And by will alone, through a cloud of pain, he stood up. And his hands came together in prayer.
"Hundred Palms Guanyin..."
His Avatar responded. He felt its power coursing through him, driving away the pain, clearing his perception. He saw the look on Bidalshal's face, a look of mild surprise and curiosity.
"I'll make you move..." Suleiman glowered, and his hand came out.
"Seven Palms!"
He moved. One of Guanyin's palms obeyed his will, slamming down on Bidalshal as if to crush a fly. The elf did not so much as twitch, and for a moment Suleiman believed he had won.
Then the palm stopped, with a crash like thunder. Suleiman blinked in surprise, and then saw the glowing dome that surrounded Bidalshal, blocking the great silver palm, even as the stones below it cracked and crumbled. His face was still that cold, porcelain mask, but his eyes were wide and bright. Was it fear he saw there?
"I did not expect to face an Avatar Mage," said Bidalshal, his tone hard-edged. "But my Counter is proof against all attacks."
Suleiman snarled and unleashed another palm. A silver hand slammed down, striking the glowing dome, and then another, and another. For a moment, it seemed as if the mighty spell would not be defeated, that Bidalshal would be driven into the ground before his Counter yielded.
And then the dome cracked, and another palm flashed down, slamming into the paving stones with a crash like thunder.
But the elf was not there. Suleiman glanced from left to right, searching frantically for his opponent, his enemy.
"The spirits see all, and I see through them."
In the corner of his eye, he saw a flicker of movement. He turned, and for an instant saw the form of Bidalshal, leaping as if to strike. He brought down a palm, slamming like a meteor onto the paving stones. But again the elf was not there.
"I hear the cry of the wind, and the storm of silence."
Another flicker, in the corner of his other eye. Suleiman lashed out, his palm slamming down onto the stones, sending up a cloud of splinters and dust. But once again Bidalshal was nowhere to be seen.
"I walk in the shade of twilight, and hunt amid the shadows."
Suleiman turned, and Bidalshal was there, his form in flight, a glittering blade in his hand, aimed for Suleiman's heart.
Time itself had stopped, or so it seemed. It was all Suleiman could do to move, his giant Avatar fading away, to throw himself aside, as the blade flashed forth to spear his heart. He flew, fell, rolled, and came again to his feet. There was Bidalshal where he had stood only a moment earlier, his tan robes billowing around him, a gleaming sword in his hand.
"Persistent..." he growled, looking back. Suleiman snarled with frustration, slamming his palms together.
"Eighth Palm!"
Maxwell watched the battle, transfixed with fear and wonder.
"We have to help him!" Siesta yelled.
"Kyuiiiiii..." Irukuku whimpered. She was cowering behind Siesta, quivering in fright. "Scary elf! Scary giant monster!"
Bidalshal attacked, his silver-bladed sword hissing through the air. Suleiman twirled past it, moving like water, and grabbed at Bidalshal's outstretched arm, thrusting his leg to trip him. The elf tumbled forward, and for a moment Maxwell thought he would fall.
But the elf twisted in the air, moving as if his body was made of quicksilver. His broke free, whirling like a leaf in the wind, and thrust his hands towards Suleiman. A blast of concentrated air struck Suleiman in the chest, hurling him away. He hit the ground and rolled, then lay still.
Maxwell felt sick, as he watched Bidalshal strode towards his fallen opponent. Suleiman was about to die, and what could he do? He was just a squire, a mere novice! And neither Siesta nor Irukuku could do anything! He didn't even have a weapon!
Except he did. The knife in its wrist sheath, hidden under his shirt sleeve, the one his mistress had given him.
He glanced across the courtyard at the mansion beyond, then back at Bidalshal and Suleiman. Suleiman had raised his head, but he was still lying on the ground; his clothes torn, his skin bruised and bloodied. He was vulnerable, and Bidalshal was moving in for the kill.
"Miss Siesta, Miss Irukuku," he said, drawing the knife. "Get to the mansion and find Miss Tabitha, at any cost!"
He ran out onto the courtyard, ignoring their cries. His thoughts were fixed on Bidalshal's back, even as he strode towards Suleiman, ready to continue their battle. If he could only...
Then he stopped, and rose into the air, his legs kicking uselessly. He struggled and strained, but he could not even feel what had taken hold of him.
Bidalshal paused, and glanced sourly at him.
"Count yourself lucky that I'm not inclined to kill children," he said, in an equally sour tone.
Deep inside Maxwell, something snapped.
"Hypocrite!" he shrieked, tears of shame running down his face as he struggled against the magic that constrained him. "What have you done to Miss Tabitha? What have you done, you villain?"
Bidalshal gave him that look; the look of an adult dealing with a child, a child too spoiled and stupid to understand life's harsher realities.
"That is not..."
Then he paused, as a strange, warbling coo erupted from the doorway of the keep. Maxwell snapped his head around, and saw that the doorway was filled with a strange light. A shape emerged from the light, spreading out as it came on, like a bird spreading its wings.
But it wasn't a bird! It was a dragon! A great blue dragon, whom Maxwell had seen before.
"Sylphid!"
For an instant, Bidalshal stared in stunned disbelief as the dragon swept towards him, warbling its battlecry. He ducked as the dragon shot overhead, and Maxwell felt the magic release him. He landed on his feet, and stared up in amazement as Sylphid came around in tight arc, readying for another pass. How was she here? How could she have just appeared like that?
Then his eyes fell on the doorway, and Siesta hiding there, staring at the dragon in amazement.
There was no sign of Irukuku.
Sylphid swept overhead again. Bidalshal sprung up, his composure all but gone, and thrust out a hand at the dragon.
But behind him, Suleiman was on his feet, hands together, lips moving. His jacket had come open, and Maxwell could see runes glowing silver on his chest.
An invisible blow struck Bidalshal, and hurled him towards the mansion.
"No, Sylphid!" pleaded Tabitha mentally, as she saw her dragon take form. "No! Not like this!"
But there was nothing she could do, not now. Her last secret, the last thing she hoped to protect, was now well and truly out.
Behind her, the door opened. She turned, and saw that it was Sir Lancel de Rolet, a small bottle in his hand, his eyes hard and unfeeling.
"Time for your medicine, traitor."
He strode up to her, reaching with his free hand to grab her. She backed away, instinct taking over, a silent part of her still resisting what she knew to be her fate. She struggled, though she knew it was pointless, as Lancel gripped her by the neck, and pulled the stopper from the bottle with his teeth.
"A waste of time," he growled, gripping her neck so tight that she couldn't breathe. He moved the bottle closer, so close she could smell the foul concoction within. He would force it down her throat, and she would succumb to the same madness that gripped her mother.
Her mother, lying asleep in the bed behind Lancel, dead to the world, as oblivious to her daughter now as she had been for all those years.
She heard the rush of wind as Sylphid raced, rattling the window panes. The sound of it cut through her despair, urging her not to give up hope. She glanced down, and saw Lancel's wand in its thong hanging from his belt.
"Now, open wide." Lancel drove his finger and thumb into her cheeks, trying to force her mouth open. "Enjoy the peace of madness, traitor."
The wand! If only she could...
Something slammed into the wall outside. The whole room shook, and the window panes cracked. Lancel staggered, and Tabitha saw her chance. She grabbed at his wand, feeling it come away in her hands as she drew up her legs and kicked at Lancel. The faux-knight let out a cough and fell down, releasing her throat. Tabitha hit the ground and rolled, coming up to a crouch and thrusting her wand at Lancel, a spell on her lips.
Then she froze, as she saw the pistol in his hand, aimed straight at her.
For a few moments, though they felt like eternity, they stared at one-another; the only sound the battle outside.
"For what it's worth, traitor, I like this much better," snarled Lancel. His former composure was gone, and Tabitha could see the hatred shining in his eyes. "A swift death for those who betray the crown of Gallia."
So he was one of them. Tabitha had only met a handful of her fellow North Parterre knights, and had only a vague notion of how many there might be. But something in his eyes, in his tone, told her it was the case. His snarled traitor was not the snarl of a fellow countryman; it spoke of something much deeper.
She fixed her eyes on his, trying to find an opening, a way around him. She had his wand, but it would take her at least a second or two to enunciate a worthwhile spell. All he needed, at this range, was to pull the trigger. But could he take that risk?
"Miss Tabitha!"
Tabitha's blood ran cold as someone appeared in the doorway to her right. She glanced, and her heart flew to her mouth as she saw Maxwell standing there, his hopeful eyes turning fearful as he realised what he had wandered into.
Lancel's pistol moved, aiming straight at Maxwell. Tabitha let out a shriek, and Maxwell began to dodge. The flint sparked, and the pistol cracked, and Maxwell screamed and fell to his knees, clutching at his left ear.
Lancel turned back towards her, but it was too late. The magic was already flowing, the words leaping off her tongue, perfectly formed by years of practice.
"Wind Bolt!"
A ball of air, concentrated as hard as stone, flung itself across the room. It struck Lancel in the chest, throwing him back against the wall, so hard that the wall cracked where he hit. He slumped to the floor, unconscious.
For a moment, Tabitha stared, hardly daring to believe it. Then her heart rushed as she remembered her mother, and she leapt to her feet and darted to the bed. There her mother lay, safe in peaceful, innocent sleep.
She heard a whimper. She turned, and saw Maxwell kneeling there, still clutching his ear, tears of pain in his eyes. It took her frazzled mind a moment to remember who he was, and what had happened.
"Are you all right, Miss Tabitha?" asked Maxwell, forcing out the words. Blood was trickling between his fingers, and running down his neck.
Tabitha's heart ached. She felt sick at the sight of his blood, his pain. He had risked his life for her, whether he had meant to or not. He had given her the instant she needed, and now he was suffering.
"Maxwell, come here," she said, beckoning him to come forward.
This, at least, she could deal with.
Suleiman stared hard as Bidalshal rose to his feet. His robes were torn and stained, his long hair tangled, his face a mask of cold fury.
"Eleventh Palm!" He lashed out, the silver hand slamming down on Bidalshal. But again that glowing dome appeared, and the hand was stopped cold, and flung back.
"Now you will die," said Bidalshal, in a voice as cold as ice. He lifted gently into the air, glowing as his power rose. Around him, the shards and chunks of stone thrown about by the battle rose in a swirling cloud.
"The cry of the wind will still your heart."
The chunks flew, flashing towards him like bullets. Suleiman brought down his hands, the shards clattering as they bounced off. But more than a few slipped past, and Suleiman hissed as one of them grazed his cheek.
"Twelfth Palm!"
Snarling with rage, he thrust out his hand. One of the silver hands moved in response, slamming straight into Bidalshal's Counter, too fast for the elf to dodge. Bidalshal gritted his teeth, and the deluge stopped, as the elf poured all he had into driving the palm back.
Suleiman stared. He could have sworn that there were cracks in the dome. Had the blow been more powerful? Was it because he had moved along with it? And where had that sudden surge of power come from? What had driven away his weariness and pain?
"Let the earth revolt against the heavens, for the soil becomes me!"
The ground under him erupted, spears of stone lancing up to impale him. Suleiman had to throw himself sideways to avoid them, dodging again and again, as the very stones below him tried to take his life. He clapped again.
"Thirteenth!"
He lashed out again, half in panic. Again the Counter, again Bidalshal was knocked back, the dome shimmering under the blow. But Suleiman could see the cracks! Bidalshal was weakening! He prayed again, and wound up and threw a punch.
"Fourteenth!"
Another blow, this time a punch. Bidalshal was sent flying, slamming into the wall of the mansion. His Counter shimmered and vanished, and he slumped to the ground.
Suleiman dashed up the dais, and stood before the fallen elf. Bidalshal lay where he had fallen, staring back at him with cold, resentful eyes. Blood trickled down his crown.
"Kill me and be done, Suleiman of Arysia," he croaked, through bleeding lips. "Add more blood to the never-ending tally."
Something in his eyes, his resentful, agonized eyes, cut through Suleiman's fury.
"Why!?" he cried, misery and shame welling up inside. "Why do you hate us so much!?"
For a moment, Bidalshal looked bewildered. Then his face settled back into its former glowering.
"Look in the mirror," he growled, "and you'll find your answer."
In reflex, Suleiman reached up to touch his ears. Only then did he realize that he'd lost the cloth that hid them in the fury of battle.
"You are the embodiment of our every shame," Bidalshal went on. "The children of the fallen, the..."
"Lei!"
The cry silenced Suleiman's reply before he could make it. He turned, and saw Saito, Louise, Alice, Kirche, Siesta, and Tiffania racing across the courtyard towards him. Tiffania reached him first, and flung her arms around him.
"Suleiman!" she cried, pressing him to her. "I saw! I thought you would die!"
For a few moments, Suleiman tried to gather his thoughts. But the warmth of her embrace was too much to resist, and he let himself relax. He felt so very weary.
"That was something else Lei!" declared Saito, grinning from ear to ear. "Taking on an elf like that! You rocked! No pun intended!"
It took Suleiman a moment to realize what Saito had done to his name. He couldn't be bothered to retort.
"What about the others?" he asked, his heart clenching as he remembered.
"Fine for now," replied Alice. "We had to collapse the corridors to stop the guards attacking. But that won't hold them forever."
"And what have we here?" Kirche asked, sashaying around them to regard Bidalshal.
"An elf of Nepthys," said Suleiman, drawing away from Tiffania and looking down at Bidalshal. "He is Joseph's man, and Tabitha's jailor."
All eyes turned to regard the fallen elf. Bidalshal smirked bitterly, his eyes falling on Suleiman.
"I have done with her as her uncle demanded," he said. "She is now as her mother is, lost in eternal madness. Your victory was for nothing."
"Kyui! No he hasn't!"
The sound drew their attention upward. Irukuku was leaning out of a broken and blasted window, wearing an oversized shirt she had evidently found somewhere inside. Suleiman felt awkward, remembering what he had seen before. Perhaps now was not the best time to say anything.
"Irukuku!" Saito called out. "Is Tabitha there?"
"Kyui! Big sister and mother are here! Big sister's just fixing Maxwell's ear!"
"Why?" demanded Alice. "What's wrong with it?"
"The nasty man shot it, but big sister's fixing it!"
Alice sprinted into the building before Irukuku even finished the sentence, Saito and Louise hot on her heels.
"Looks like you've lost, elf," mused Kirche with a smirk. The elf ignored her, glaring coldly at Suleiman.
"It is not so strange," he retorted. "How fitting. An Avatar Mage, who is also Lifdrasir too. Ill fortune. Ill fortune indeed."
Suleiman shivered. What did he mean?
Saito raced up the stairs after Alice, Louise close behind. All at once they reached the upper floor, and there was an open door a little way along the corridor.
Alice raced up to the doorway, and then paused. Saito and Louise reached her, and looked inside.
On a bed, covered by blankets, lay a young-looking woman with long blue hair, her eyes closed. By the bed knelt Tabitha, and in front of her stood Maxwell. She held a wand to Maxwell's ear, the tip glowing. His neck and shirt were covered in blood.
The glow faded, and Tabitha removed the wand. The flesh of Maxwell's ear was pink and fresh, but it looked quite intact.
"Thank you, Miss Tabitha," Maxwell said awkwardly. Saito grinned, as he saw the younger boy blushing. Tabitha did not reply, but instead bent down and kissed Maxwell on the forehead, making him blush even more.
"Uh, my lady..." Maxwell turned face Alice. Alice stormed over to him, and Saito flinched, half-expecting her to hit him.
But instead she fell to her knees and wrapped her arms around him.
"I told you to stay out of trouble!" she complained, in a voice that sounded like she was about to start crying. "You're not ready to fight!"
"I'm sorry my lady," whimpered Maxwell. "I...I had to do something!"
"Stupid boy!" Alice's voice began to crack. "Stupid, stupid boy!"
Saito watched with a smile, feeling warm inside. Louise rolled her eyes, and stepped around them to gaze at the woman on the bed. To Saito, it was as if she had seen her somewhere before.
"Tabitha," she said. "This woman, I saw her. At the Sleipnir Ball."
"Yes," Tabitha replied. "You did."
"It's mother!" declared Irukuku excitedly. "Big sister's mother!"
"At the ball?" Saito was confused. "Why did...?"
A long, low roar reverberated across the courtyard. Saito had never heard it before, but somehow it chilled him to the bone.
"What was that?"
As if to reply, a great black shape whooshed across the sky above them. Saito dashed to the broken window, and gaped as he saw an enormous black dragon, wings spread, coming about in a long, graceful arc.
"Kyuiiiiiiiiiiii!" shrieked Irukuku, shaking like a leaf. "Ruin Dragon! Nasty mean evil scary Ruin Dragon!"
Saito was about to ask her what she meant, when his eyes fell on Tabitha. She was staring at the black dragon as it winged away into the darkness, a strange look in her eyes that set his teeth on edge.
"We have to go, now," she said, in a tone that brooked no argument.
"Right!" Saito turned to the bed, forcing himself to focus on the matter at hand. "We have to get her downstairs."
"No time for that! Out of the way!" barked Louise. As Tabitha dragged the whimpering Irukuku away from the window, Louise levelled her wand at the wall it occupied.
"Explosion!"
Saito felt the all-too-familiar gust of hot air as Louise's spell blasted the wall. At least it wasn't directed at him this time.
After a few seconds the dust settled, revealing the entire wall blasted outward, exposing the room to the night air.
"Oh thank you very much!" snapped Kirche, rising to hover in front of them. She was covered in dust and stone chips. "What if a big bit hit me?"
"No time for that!" retorted Louise smartly. "Come on! We'll levitate Tabitha's mother down and head for the cellar!"
Bidalshal watched, bitter resentment mingling with utter despair, as the humans levitated the still-sleeping woman down. The sight of their wands upon him, of their triumphant, yet fearful eyes, gnawed at his spirit.
He had failed. He had failed utterly. He was going to die, alone, amid the wreckage of a human fortress that had once belonged to his people. He would die, if not at the hands of these children, or the garrison, then at the hands of whomsoever that black dragon belonged to. And he knew of only one human organisation who were masters of such a beast.
A Ruin Dragon. An actual Ruin Dragon. Just when he thought things could not get any worse.
He could not even move. That final blow had hurt him even worse than he'd realised. His back was almost certainly broken.
He would die in this place, a defeated cripple, with none of his family or tribe around him, none of his own kind to console him and hear his last words. Ironic on top of all that, that he would die in a place that had once belonged to his kind; a place that had once been a palace of ease and civility, taken by the humans and turned into a fortress, a shadow of its former self.
"Rukhsana..."
He pictured his niece, at her little house by the oasis, full of strange artefacts from other worlds; the things she loved to collect and catalogue, trying to work out their purpose. He pictured his protégé Ali hanging awkwardly around, trying to get her to take him seriously. Not that she ever would, wilful as she was, like her mother.
The group had all come down from the mansion, carrying the unconscious woman with them. He saw that boy from before, the one who had rushed out at him with a knife. His ear was bright pink, the flesh newly healed. Had Lancel hurt him somehow?
"So what do we do with him now?" It was the swordsman, the one called Saito. "He hasn't moved since Suleiman laid him out."
"If he lives, he'll tell them everything," said the red-haired girl, the one called Kirche. "We need to choose, now."
"Kyui!" squeaked the blue-haired young woman who called herself Irukuku. "Airships, coming from the north!" She jabbed a finger at the dark northern sky.
"Airships?" Saito blinked, staring hard at the distant skyline. "I can't see anything. It's too dark."
But Bidalshal could. He could see the two tiny shapes on the distant horizon, barely visible against the night sky. Strange that a human girl could see as well as an elf could.
No, he hadn't been seeing things. Irukuku had indeed been that Rhyme Dragon, the one that attacked him during his battle with the Arysian. He had heard that they could take human or elf form, but he had never actually seen it done.
"She's right, partner!" added...Saito's sword? "We need to vamoose, now!"
Bidalshal blinked. Had the sword on Saito's back really spoken? It seemed impossible, but he had seen that metal piece move, clacking up and down in the manner of a mouth. An actual talking sword, but outside of Nepthys?
A talking sword, and silver runes on his hand. It could mean only one thing.
A strange whistling cut across the courtyard. All turned to see one of the young men, the fat one, whistling up at the sky. All at once a small grey shape dropped down from the sky, wings flapping furiously. The rotund youth smiled as the grey owl landed on his arm, and lifted it closer so that it could whisper in his ear.
"This is bad!" he declared, his smile fading. "Kudrassil says there's two ships, full of knights in red mantles! That black dragon's heading back towards them. It must have been their scout!"
"Right, that's it!" declared Saito. "We go, now!"
"Wait!"
The word had come from Charlotte, whom the humans called Tabitha for some reason. She strode forward, standing directly in front of Bidalshal, and aimed her wand straight at him. Her eyes were cold, hard, hurt.
"Why?" she asked, in that soft, low voice. Bidalshal shrugged inwardly. He had no reason to hide anything now, and truth was owed.
"Joseph wishes to feel remorse." His throat ached as he spoke. "His heart is broken. His every atrocity is an attempt to awaken it. To that effect he killed your father, and poisoned your mother, with a potion I made for him."
Tabitha's mouth opened in a barely suppressed gasp. Her wand, Lancel's wand, quivered in her little hand.
"Why?" demanded Saito, outraged. "Why do such a thing?"
Bitter rage blazed within Bidalshal's heart. As if they had the right to pass judgement on him, on his people! As if they could call themselves righteous, after what they had done to this world, after what that man they worshipped had done!
But that did not change his duty. Truth was truth, and truth was owed.
"Because I needed Joseph's friendship," he replied, his sour tone belying his bitterness. "Because my people needed his friendship."
"For what?" asked Kirche, glowering suspiciously. "What does he have that you could possibly want?"
Bidalshal paused, regarding her. She was clearly angry and suspicious, but he saw no deception in her, or any of them for that matter. Did they truly not know?
"The four have returned," he said. "And when they unite, Shaitan's power will be awakened, as it was before. My people will be destroyed, and the world cast into ruin."
He laid back his head, fixing his eyes on Charlotte.
"Yes," he said. "I would kill to prevent that. I would destroy to prevent that. I would ruin innocent lives to prevent that. I would make myself a slave to a mad King to prevent that. What are these things compared to the survival of my people?"
He fell silent, letting his words hang in the air. He could see their bewilderment, their horror, their hatred. A part of him relished it, luxuriating in the knowledge of their hypocrisy. They were no better.
"Is that supposed to justify what you've done?" asked Charlotte, her voice low and cold. Bidalshal paused a moment longer, and decided.
"No." It was the only possible response. "It cannot. And nothing ever can."
That was the ultimate truth, the truth from which he could not escape.
"Now, destroy me and be done with it," he said. "It's what you want, I know."
Tabitha continued to glare at him, her hand still shaking with rage. Bidalshal relaxed, readying himself for the end.
"Wait!"
Someone pushed past and crouched down beside him. It was that elf girl from before, still clad in that ridiculous dancing outfit. She looked like an elf of Nepthys, but what was she doing among these humans?
Unless...
He shivered. Yes, it was her, the rumoured half-elf from the Tristain Magic Academy, the one Sheffield had mentioned. Tiffania Westwood, the Fairy of the Forest, the half-elf from Albion.
A half-elf. The very idea appalled and unsettled him. Outside of Arysia they were vanishingly rare, the offspring of unions forbidden on both sides. Such a thing could not happen in Nepthys.
And yet, she was beautiful. And her eyes, her sad eyes, that threatened to melt the bitter ice around his heart.
"Miss Tiffania!" Suleiman called out, forcing himself to stagger after her.
"Get out of the way Tiffania!" snapped Kirche. "Don't interfere!"
"Please Tabitha, don't do this," pleaded Tiffania. "You're not like this!"
Tabitha ignored her, keeping her wand, and her eyes, fixed on him. Bidalshal could see the fury boiling behind them, the desire to kill him, to expunge her rage and pain in a blaze of hatred. How very human of her.
"Miss Tabitha." It was Suleiman's turn now, as he stood beside Tiffania. "Miss Tabitha, don't. Have mercy."
Mercy? Had he fallen so low as that?
"Miss Tabitha..." It was the boy from before, the one with the wounded ear, looking up at Charlotte with wide, hurt eyes; as if she had just slapped him. Charlotte glanced at him, and Bidalshal could see the conflict in her eyes.
Then, all at once, she turned away, snapping her wand down as if striking a blow.
"You didn't poison my mother," she said. "And I am not a murderer."
She strode away, shoulders hunched.
"Miss Montmorency," Tiffania asked, turning back towards the group. "Do you have any healing potions left?"
The question took them all aback.
"Why?" demanded the short, blonde girl, who was carrying a leather bag over one shoulder. "I worked hard on these potions! Why should I give one to an elf?"
"Please, Miss Montmorency," pleaded Tiffania. "We can't just leave him like this. He looks...so sad."
Sad? What was he to her? Some whimpering child no one wanted to play with? It was enough to make his blood boil. How dare she pity him?
"Oh, all right!" Montmorency reached into her bag, pulled out a glass bottle, and handed it to Tiffania. "This is the last one. I hope for your sake it's worth it!"
She stomped back towards the group in a clear huff. Tiffania took her thumb into her mouth and bit down upon it, breaking the skin and releasing dark red blood. With her other hand she opened the bottle, and let a drop fall on her tongue. Bidalshal watched, amazed, as the bite in her delicate skin began to heal, right before his eyes.
"It will heal me," she said. "So, you have half a chance at least."
Half a chance. Half a chance to survive, to escape, to return home and warn his people of the doom that was upon them.
There was only one choice. Though it galled him to the depths of his soul, there could be only one choice.
He opened his mouth, and Tiffania poured the potion in. He forced himself not to gag, as the bitter elixir ran down his throat. For a few moments he lay there, growing as his stomach churned, half-expecting a betrayal.
But then he felt it. He felt his cracked bones begin to repair, his wounds sealing shut, the pain beginning to fade. He felt strength in his limbs, his magic starting once again to flow.
"Why?" he croaked. "Why did you...help me?"
"We came to save someone, not to kill," replied Tiffania. Suleiman came to stand beside her, staying protectively close despite his injuries. "Besides, my mother taught me that elves deplore violence, and never use their magic to kill. I can't believe that one of my mother's people could be entirely bad."
Her mother?
"What was...her name?" he asked, unable to contain himself. Suleiman knelt down beside her, and Tiffania slipped her hand into his.
"Shajar," she said, her eyes full of pain. "Her name was Shajar."
Shajar. Yes, it had to be Shajar. He had not known her well, but he had heard of the scandal, of how she had quarrelled with her tribe and fled from Nepthys, never to return. Her tribe had suffered since then, shamed and shunned for their disgrace. He knew, only too well, what would happen if this girl's existence became public knowledge.
He should kill her. He should kill her, if only for the sake of Shajar's tribe, who had suffered too much already. And yet she had given him her last healing potion, and kept her friends waiting when all sense and reason demanded that they flee!
Why? Why, when all duty and decency demanded her death? Why, when he had just tried to kill the Arysian? Why, when he had barred their path with all his might, keeping them from saving their friend and her mother? Her mother, who had spent years lost in madness thanks to the potion he had made.
There was no getting around it. They had shown him mercy, and such a favour had to be rewarded.
"You raised her well, Shajar."
"The room upstairs, at the very back, is mine," he said, pulling himself to his feet. "On the desk stands a wooden casket. Inside it is a potion, the antidote to the poison that destroyed her mother's mind." He reached under the collar of his tunic and pulled out the key on a chain, holding it out.
"Why should we believe you?" demanded Kirche, as Tiffania took it. "How do we know it's not another poison?"
"Because we elves also follow the path of Arta, the path of truth." Bidalshal glanced at Suleiman, and saw the look on his face. "And in any case, it is the only repayment I can offer. Take it, or leave it. You have little time as it is."
He turned away, and began limping across the dais. His strength was returning, but his bones still ached, and his body still felt like lead. It would take all his cunning to get out of this one alive. But he had survived worse things in his time, and Alhambra offered plenty of hiding places and escape routes for those who knew how to find them.
He limped on, feeling them watching him, as he passed out of sight.
Finally, done, after a long delay.
I can only apologise for the long delay in posting this. A combination of Covid lockdowns, having my income clobbered, and IT-related problems proved a deadly combination. But I can now post chapters again, and so here this is. I hope it's reasonably entertaining, and there'll be another one before too long.
My best wishes to all amid these hard times.