21 June 2012
“I know what you are thinking.”
Rhys’s slim, tall body slid into view in front of her. He stood there, his arms folded gracefully behind his back and his sharp features collected in a calm neutral fashion. As if he was standing within the elven courts, awaiting a feast and the cool talk of political intrigue rather than within her destroyed throne room, his once white clothes now stained red with the blood of wounded men.
She looked at him from her seat, a calm anchor in the wake of insanity. Outside shouts and screams could be heard as her men continued to defend the outer wall of the city from the flesh eating monsters swarming the valley floor. Even as the battlement above them shook with another bombardment, debris and dust raining down over their heads, his voice was as steady as the east wind.
“I do not advise it, m’lady.”
The doors burst open behind him, a bone chilling draft filling the room with a flourish, whipping his lily-white hair around his head. He ignored the wounded men being drug through the doors behind him, instead kept his shockingly green gaze locked with hers. It was not like him to ignore a wounded being. Of any kind. Ever.
Outside the Belgrin’s numbers seemed to grow by the hour, as her men grew weaker by the minute. Three days of bombardment against a city that couldn’t even be called a city, a sanctuary was more befitting. But protected it was.
The city lay nestled deep within the Cerdwin Mountains, surrounded on three sides by solid rock, the only way in or out was through a valley. Narrow, dangerous and cold, the only beings that risked the journey were those seeking true solitude. And the wall protecting them was carved from the very mountain itself, as were the walls surrounding them now.
She locked her gaze with his, searching those old, old eyes for answers. “Then what would you advise? At this moment I am well open to all suggestions.” She gestured around the room, women and children huddled together against the walls; their tears and cries had long since grown silent.
“You’re people need you. The council needs you. The circumstances at hand are unforeseen yes, but if we could hold the wall for another day. Two. Help will come.”
“Help comes too late Rhys. By the time any of our sister cities hear of this, we will be gone. And Menot will have gotten what he came for.” She sighed and leaned back against the hard back of the throne, sliding her hand over the smooth worn wood.
When the time comes, I will have everyone in this room. It’s the largest. And the safest.”
Rhys watched her, a thoughtful look coming over those icy features. “You always detested the throne…but now I see…you find comfort in it.” Stepping forward he climbed the few short steps of the dais. Each step was slow and easy, like a dance, like the carnage around them didn’t even exist. He reached forward, taking her small hand in his own. “And what will become of your people, when their queen is gone? Who will take your place upon the council? You are the only remaining member of the original order of the Great War. You would throw that away?” He watched her. His calm, collected look suddenly overtaken with a seriousness she had never seen in him before.
“Fang and Forest shall take my place. They are young. But they will learn, they are strong boys, both of them.”
“And boys they are. Barely have they reached one and twenty-“
She cut him off. Her words short and clipped as she looked beyond him to the night sky. She could feel the moon as it broke over the horizon. Soon. “I was not much older when Menart first invaded these lands, with the Nesdaq in hand.” Letting out a long sigh she wrapped her fingers around his, closing the connection. “They will be fine.” Even as she said it she could feel a twinge of doubt deep down.
Forest was strong. A leader in the making. He would keep going until he died. Would do anything for his people. His battle senses were honed to perfection and he could strategize better than generals twice his age. But Fang…She had always worried about him. His motives had always been his own. He was strong-minded and smart, smarter perhaps than is brother, more in tune with his magical side, more prone to political dealings. But lazy. Selfish. Spoiled. Twins they were born but they couldn’t be more different.
“Will they?” Without another word e turned away, gliding down the steps and striding towards the wounded men lying helpless across the floor.
“A guilt trip is the last thing we need at the moment.” She called after him, but he didn’t answer.
The throne room sat wide and deep, carved of every shade of marble from the deepest black to pearly white, and sat half enclosed in the stone of the mountain itself. Outside she could feel the moon rising higher into the sky, its light slipping across the floor, illuminating the ruby red blood now spreading like a plague.
They should have known better than to believe the shade completely gone. Over a century earlier during the Great War they had believed the shade killed, hence ending the war against him. She and the other seven council members had broken the Nesdaq –a stone said to have been touched by the Creator himself, the source of Menart’s power- into eight pieces. Each member took a piece to hide and protect. Both the elven and dwarven diplomats had voted the stone to be destroyed, rather than broken, both races fearing its power in the hands of another such as Menart. One hundred years later she was the only remaining member of the original order, the others having lost the battle of time.
The wound on her side throbbed suddenly, the pain shooting up her side and around her middle; she could feel the blood seeping down her body. The pain brought her back to the present situation. The presence of Belgrins meant that Menart was very much alive; the fact that he had fallen over the city like water over rock, with no warning, no word from outside alliances meant that he was strong. Perhaps he was as strong as he was a century earlier, only this time he did not have the Nesdaq.
She wanted nothing more than to be out on the walls with her men, as she should be, but as she watched the grotesque and demonic order grow before her very eyes she knew that there was no way they could fight back. They were very trapped with only one possible way of escape.
She had laid wards and spells of protection across the valley herself and she knew that her magic was strong’ she was too old to make a mistake as life altering as this. Only a sorcerer or mage as strong and old as she could possible breach her wards, and only someone she knew personally, trusted completely, could breach them without her feeling it.
Traitor.
Someone within the city had betrayed them. A majority of the population was made up of humans and mountain dwelling dwarves. Of the handful of mages and elves within the walls, only a select few held true power, and even fewer held her trust. But the question still remained.
Who.
As much as she wanted to order them before her, to force them to their knees and rip their minds apart for the answer, she needed them out on the walls with the others until the moon reached its full height.
The price for the spell she planned to cast would be high, the strength needed even higher, and she needed the power of the high full moon behind her.
The cackle of flames suddenly became dominant over the screams; smoke coated the air like a second skin. She was running out of time. Without another thought she stood, gliding down the dais silently even as the wound at her side screamed in protest, and blood ran freely once more. Directly behind the throne was a thick oak door, locked to all but her own blood.
It slid shut with a definite thud behind her, throwing her into a silence that pressed against her like a suffocating cloud. With a wave of her hand a torch sparked to life, its glow illuminating the narrow hallway leading deep into the mountain, away from the city.
The air smelled stale and dusty as she resisted the urge to inhale deeply, instead concentrating on keeping her breaths short and quick, as poisonous molecules did indeed permeate the air. It would invade your lungs, sink into the delicate tissue and eat away at it before moving on to the next part of the body until eventually there would be nothing left but a pile of dust on the uneven floor. Lost forever. It was fatal to humans, crippling to those such as elves or dwarves, a mild hindrance to those of pure magic such as sorcerers or shades.
The tunnel suddenly leveled out, the ground beneath her suddenly taking on an unnaturally smooth texture as it widened around her. The torchlight danced off the walls of the circular room, the smooth stone glowed in the faint light, illuminating the room all on its own. In the center of the room a circle lay engraved in the stone, a series of ancient symbols carved around it.
Behind her she heard a muffled cough, the shuffle of steps and the soft cackle of a torch.
~
Fang slipped through the doorway. He had been inside the throne room when Rhys had confronted his queen, and the conversation had done nothing but confuse him further. It was unlike her to sit back while the city was attacked, and even more suspicious that she now snuck off through a tunnel. A torch already in hand he had waiting a heartbeat before slipping into the passage after her, the air was stale and dusky, stinging his nostrils as he inhaled. Covering his mouth and nose with his carnage covered sleeve he couldn’t tell which smell was less desirable.
Sweat and blood dripped down his body; he’d forgone his armor for his preferred leather covering, it was as thick and sturdy as metal, and more flexible. The passage quickly turned into a narrow tunnel, and the deeper and narrower it got the worse and deeper the stinging became. It was bearable, but the air was obviously infected with something sinister, and possibly fatal to others. Covering his mouth again he tried not to cough as torchl
Black Moon Rising • Opuss № I