Legion of Light VI (Tales of the Seraphim): Symphonia Destructio

~ Third Movement – Rondo ~

***

“… found her… river bank just… walls…”

Where am I?

“… belongings… all she… staff…”

Why can’t I see anything?

“… badly wounded… treatment…”

Why is everything so white?

“… under guard…”

Why is everything…

***

When she came to again, she felt as if she were cocooned in soft feathers, an embracing warmth from which she didn’t want to be released. It was with all the reluctance of waking up in the morning after a long lie-in on a cold winter’s day that her consciousness began to return to her, hazy thoughts starting to make coherent sense through the thick white fog that obscured her mind. Although she wanted nothing more than to fall back asleep, a little nagging voice would not remain quiet… a whispered worry that warned her she had perhaps slept for too long.

One by one, gradually and grudgingly, her senses began to return to her. First to respond was touch, amplifying the pleasurable sensation of something gentle and warm against the whole of her bare body. Next was taste, and the dry distasteful rancidity upon the back of her tongue that reminded her of her prolonged hunger and thirst. Third to revive was smell, hinting at the delicate traces of lavender and lilac upon the crisp clean air that entered lightly into her lungs. Then she could hear again, and the lilting tones of murmured Elven speech reached her ears from what seemed a long distance away.

She dared not trust her sight, however, for a protracted period of time after she woke. Part of her hesitation stemmed from the pounding throb that haunted her temples, pressing upon the back of her face like a heated compress. Mostly, however, she was fearful of the fact that she was completely unable to move any part of her body whatsoever, and was too scared to open her eyes to confirm what was going on.

At long long last, however, she allowed them to flutter weakly open. Barely discernible images wavered in her vision as her brain struggled to focus, as if it had been asleep for so long that it had forgotten how to do even the most basic of tasks. It did not help that the room she lay in seemed to be excessively veiled in darkness; heavy curtains were drawn against the night beyond the lone window, and the only light came from a pair of gently flickering candles mounted on opposite sides of the spartan cubicle. The shadows of two Elven forms seated at a table near the door danced on the wall opposite, in perfect harmony with the heartbeat of the flames.

All at once the darkness all around her seemed to close in upon her helpless form, and she drew breath into her lungs for an involuntary scream, unable to keep the primeval fears from conquering her mind. What emerged from her throat, however, was a barely audible croak, and for one eternal moment, cold fear clutched her heart in a grip tighter than any vice. Unable to move much more than a single muscle, was her voice also useless to her? Would she be trapped in a powerless and paralysed body for all perpetuity?

“Nimloth… think… awake…”

The overwhelming panic roared in her ears, such that she was unable to make out what the young feminine voice was saying. Then one of the shadows on the wall leapt to her side, and a firm grip took hold of her hands, and the terror seemed to vanish just as quickly as it had beset her. In its place came lethargy and limpness, draining her body and soul of whatever strength they had left.

“You’re okay, edan. You’re okay.” The voice – that of another female Elf, perhaps a decade or so older than the first – had a slightly strident quality to it, and Yuka caught a flash of gleaming silver-white hair as its owner leaned over to reassure her. She looked up into strongly beautiful features, and pale skin as luminous as any full moon. “This is the Council Tower in Winyaurient. You were found half-drowned and badly wounded not far from the city, and brought here for your safety. Your wounds have been treated, and your possessions… such as they are… are intact.”

Yuka managed a small nod, trying and failing to swallow the lump in her throat. A single tear trickled a lonely path down her cheek as she finally realised that, somehow, she had managed to evade recapture by Maeril’s minions.

“Sleep now,” the voice continued, calming, reassuring. “Rest well, and we shall see about feeding you tomorrow morn.”

The mere mention of food was nearly enough to cause the dull ache in her stomach to erupt into flaring pain, but even that was drowned out by the sudden need to obey her benefactor, to slip back into the welcoming bliss of slumber. On the other hand, that little voice inside her head still would not remain quiet… there was something she had to tell them…

“How… long…?”

“A day and a night,” the Elf replied with a wry smile. Yuka’s reaction was a mixture of relief and anxiety that did not quite make it onto her face: Thank the kami, there’s still time… I have to warn them…

“Our healers are the best in the land,” the voice continued, unheeding of the thoughts that were spreading through the young woman’s mind like wildfire. “You have them to thank for…”

Yuka, however, was already fast asleep.

She awoke to find herself in her bed in Trenyce, in the underground bunker that she called home. Usually she preferred roomier, airier quarters, with a balcony from which she could see the stars; the destruction and devastation apparent in the desecrated Raiaeran city, however, was more than enough to drive even the most claustrophobic person underground. Her eyes darted frantically around her room, wondering why her senses were on high alert, wondering why her heart was pounding so loudly in her chest. Was Ar’zhanekkar playing pranks on her again, sending his scuttling pets into her room to drive her…

“Lord Maeril requests your presence in the throne room immediately.”

The voice belonged to the Elven shadow-mage, Angelus, who stood nonchalantly at the head of her bed. His slate-grey eyes glanced distastefully from her slender form, dismissing her as casually as a hawk dismissed a fly. In a swirl of shadow he was gone, leaving her alone once more in the dark.

She dressed as quickly as possible, and made her way even more swiftly to where she had been summoned, not wishing to dwell any longer than necessary amongst the abandoned remains of the once-thriving city. The wind was a lonely moan as it journeyed alongside her through the ruined buildings, but by the time she reached the high-roofed chamber that the Death Lord Maeril Thyrrian called his throne room, she longed desperately for its company. The silence that dwelt in the depths of the dimly lit hall was far more frightening than anything the outside world could muster.

The half-Elven death knight sat alone in the centre of the room, his massively armoured form imposing and terrifying no matter how many times she met him. Metal plates darker than the night itself were offset only by the bloody crimson eyes nestled in the recesses of his horned helm, and the oversized greatsword planted in the stone in front of him was a blatant symbol of his overwhelming power.

There were others in the room as well. Her patron, the daemon Natosatael, who leered at her knowingly as if to emphasise that she could not survive amongst such company without his protection. The shadow-mage Angelus, enigmatic as always as he bowed before Maeril, his eyes hiding a curious mixture of hatred and pity. And the loathsome necromancer Ar’zhanekkar, craven and lily-livered in the extreme but a dangerous and powerful foe nonetheless. It was the gruesomely triumphant sneer worn by the last of these lieutenants that sent frosty chills racing down Yuka’s spine, warning her that something was greatly amiss.

“Yuka Kanamai,” Maeril’s powerful voice boomed throughout the chamber hall, rooting her to the spot as effectively as any spell. “You came to us under the protection of Natosatael seeking power, and it is now time for us to grant it to you.”

No…

“I have found an alternative to you, my dear,” the daemon smiled deceptively, the malice in his sibilant tones coated in sugar. “You are not necessary for my plans any more.”

No!

“You are mine!” Ar’zhanekkar roared, his wheezy cry shaking the very rafters in victorious cacophony. Tendrils of his malevolent power whiplashed outwards to bind her frozen feet in place, grasping her exultantly like some prized trophy. “You will make a fine addition to my pets…”

NO!!

The scene changed, abruptly. Blinded by a sudden flash of light, she blinked, and the throne room was replaced by the ash-strewn fields of Nenaebreth where the Legion of Light had met Maeril in battle. The Death Lord and his lieutenants still stood before her, and she was still bound to the ground in fear, but now she was not alone.

“I thought I smelt something filthy.” Yoshi, half-dragon samurai, one of her oldest and staunchest friends.

“Are you getting yourself into trouble again?” Thomas, enigmatic psy-mage and a close confidant who had never hesitated to come to her aid.

“Lay another finger on Yuka and you won’t live to regret it.” Ingwe, shy and scholarly but always the first to leap to her defence.

Wait.

Without hanging around for her to acknowledge them, they charged, headlong into their waiting foes. Yoshi faced off against Maeril, crescent nodachi meeting oversized greatsword in a violent clash of keenly forged metal. Ingwe had thrown himself into battle against both Natosatael and Ar’zhanekkar, and though the former was only languidly defending himself against Ingwe’s spellcasting, the young man was piling enough pressure on the pair of them to make a Thayne proud. In the meantime, Thomas and Angelus seemed to be almost engrossed in conversation, completely ignorant of the arcane and martial slugfest that swirled all around them.

Don’t leave me…

To her eyes, they all seemed so powerful, so out of reach. How could Yoshi stand tall and exchange blows with Maeril, the death knight who was renowned as one of the greatest warriors in Xem’zund’s service? How could Ingwe hold his own against a daemon and a necromancer at the same time? How had Thomas known for months in advance to secret one of his agents within the Death Lord’s service?

Don’t leave me behind…

One by one they disappeared from sight… first Yoshi and Maeril, still locked in mortal combat, then Thomas and Angelus, still conversing with pointed looks in her direction. Ingwe was the last to leave, and by the time he did his opponents were beginning to overwhelm him through sheer weight of spellpower alone. And yet the young man continued to pick himself up off the floor, defying his foes to the very moment they too faded away.

Don’t leave me by myself!

For long moments the darkness cocooned her, blanking out all sound, all smell, all sight. Her breaths came in rapid, ragged gasps, her sanity buried beneath a drawn-out scream that symbolised her loneliness and terror. Her powerlessness in the face of Maeril and his lieutenants… her inferiority compared to her erstwhile classmates from the Academy… each and every dark shadow in her soul seemed to engorge upon her helplessness, devouring her mind in greedy hunger. Only slowly was she able to re-establish control, each and every shred of thought that passed through her head taking an eternity to make itself heard.

When at last she could see again, she found herself in a dark windowless room… a cell, for lack of a better description. The wooden beams that supported the straw ceiling were low and rotten; the only furnishings within the room were a straw-filled mattress and a ragged blanket that had once been embroidered with pink flowers. She was crouched, hugging her knees to her slender chest, in the far corner from the one entrance, the dirty sliding door that opened every now and again for either of two reasons: the miniscule plate of rice gruel – with a slice of fish and some pickle, if she was lucky – that she was fed twice a day, or the burly men who would drag her out into the sunlight for her ‘training’.

It was the home of her childhood, and the site of some of her worst nightmares. Her ‘training’ had included extensive physical workouts as well as prolonged lessons in every subject conceivable in the Nipponese curriculum, and some that were not. As the second daughter of her parents’ underworld organisation, she was being primed to take over much of its less savoury activities, in lieu of her older sister who would be the ‘respectable’ face of the business.

I don’t want to.

“She’s no good. She’s not ruthless enough.” The voice of her father, determined to bend her to his will at all costs.

I don’t want to!

“She’s too kind. Perhaps we should make better use of that quality.” The voice of her mother, who had suggested an even more insidious way of indoctrination.

I! Don’t! Want! To!

“Get out of here, Yuka. You’re not cut out for this.” The voice of her sister, who had been unable to help her for fear of her own safety.

Stop it!

“Run!” The voice of Misaki, her one and only friend from those dark dismal days, who she had left behind when transferred to the Academy… and then abandoned completely when she had fled, with Thomas’s help, to Haidia.

Leave! Me! Alone!

Her past reached up to strangle her, thick tendrils of cloying darkness wrapping tightly around her neck. No matter how she struggled, no matter how she thrashed, she couldn’t breathe… couldn’t move… couldn’t…

“… up. Wake up. You’re simply having…”

“… a bad dream,” Yuka finished for the silver-haired Elf, her words limp and barely audible amongst the remnants of her stupor. Thankfully, however, her senses returned to her with far greater speed than they had the previous evening, although that only meant that she was immediately conscious of the sweaty stickiness of her skin and the early spring chill that seeped in through the open window, courtesy of the low-hanging grey clouds beyond.

“… well, I was going to say a nightmare,” the Elf replied with another wry smile, and Yuka immediately warmed to the strength and intelligence in her steady grey eyes. “How much do you remember of the past few days?”

“Not… much…” the young woman replied, gratefully accepting the proffered assistance to raise her into a more upright position. The blood drained from her head and she immediately felt faint, needing a couple of deep breaths to continue. “I remember… falling into the river… and then nothing… until I woke up…”

“Last night,” the Elf finished for her again, studying Yuka intently. The Nipponese sorceress returned the gaze, taking in the gilded silver armour and the matching long curved blade. A swordswoman, most likely a Bladesinger… “Well, I’m Nimloth. Nimloth Vanyar. I hope you don’t mind the forthrightness of my greeting… there is little need for courtesy in Winyaurient these days, and if I recall correctly, your people are less ritualistic than mine in such matters.”

Again, Yuka caught the sardonic smile, and did her best to smile back. What emerged was a sickly, weak attempt to turn up the edges of her lips, accompanied by an embarrassingly loud growl from her stomach to remind her that she hadn’t had anything to eat for a good long while now. The situation was remedied almost immediately as Nimloth produced a small bowl of porridge, still slightly warm… although Yuka would most likely have settled for anything, so long as it was edible. The swordswoman continued to speak as Yuka’s body, invigorated by the enticing smell, suddenly rediscovered enough energy to spoon the meal to her mouth.

“I’m the one who found you outside the gates, two nights ago…”

“… actually, that was me,” a second voice butted in, which Yuka recognised as the younger female from the previous evening. Wisps of short bluish-black hair entered her vision, followed quickly by a youthful, inquisitive face, and the human woman realised belatedly that the Elf had been waiting behind her all this time. Part of her felt embarrassed by the lack of attention she was paying to her surroundings; the rest of her was concentrating on gaining as much nourishment in as little time as possible, and really didn’t care about such trivialities.

“I’m Elenwe Aman,” the voice announced with all the innocent aplomb of a schoolgirl… which she didn’t seem to be much older than, despite the fact that she too wore armour and carried a sword at her side. Even through the incessant hunger, Yuka’s mind chimed a flagrant warning; what was such a young Elf doing in such livery? Had things really become so bad that the Raiaeran defenders were being forced to call upon children to do battle? “I ride for the Sky Knights stationed here at Winyaurient.”

“… and if you hadn’t strained Nieninque… her pegasus… so badly the day before yesterday, you wouldn’t have had to come on patrol anyways, and you wouldn’t have found her, with me. Elenwe’s still in training, and by all rights shouldn’t be doing anything like this, but we’re so short on manpower…” Nimloth was caught between trying to explain the situation for Yuka’s sake and warding off the pout sent in her direction by the younger Elf, and settled instead for forging on with the introductions.

“It’s thanks to our healers that you recovered so quickly.” She indicated the far end of the chamber, where three more female Elves sat at a table, blocking off the only door into the room.

“Actually, we didn’t have to do that much.”

“Your body seemed to know how to heal itself.”

“We just helped it along, a little bit.”

Yuka actually managed to forget about the food in front of her. Not only did the three Elves speak with the same voice, but they also had the same face framed by the same red hair, smiling at her with the same green eyes, and wearing the same flowing robes. From what she remembered, Elves were not known for their rate of reproduction, which made the birth of Elf-children extremely rare and auspicious occasions. What, then, were the chances of Elf triplets?

“The Anwamane sisters… from right to left, Amarie, Earane, and Eldalote,” Nimloth sighed, clearly expecting Yuka’s stunned reaction. “You can tell them apart by the way they wear their hair… Amarie’s is parted down the centre, Earane’s on the right, and Eldalote’s on the left.”

“Only sometimes.”

“Oh don’t do that. You’ll just confuse her.”

“Don’t worry. We’re used to this.”

Elenwe giggled at what was obviously an ongoing joke. Nimloth simply sighed again, clearly worn out by the childish antics of everybody but her, especially when there were more important things to be concentrating on. Reaching out, she gently pried the bowl away from Yuka’s fingers; it was just as well that it was now empty, for judging by the way the young woman’s jaw was still gaping, it would be a while before she remembered her hunger again.

“As for you, Yuka Kanamai…”

At that, Yuka’s mind snapped back to reality, and she turned to match Nimloth’s gaze with equally hard and cautious eyes. The swordswoman raised one hand appeasingly, pointing to the scabbard on the bedside table next to her and explaining,

“One of the Sky Knights can read a bit of Akashiman. He said the lettering was a bit different, but that the sword was obviously a priceless gift to one of that name. I’m assuming it’s yours?”

Yuka nodded mutely, suddenly realising that she didn’t know just how far she could trust the Elves. True, it was unlikely that they were working for Xem’zund in any shape or form, but…

“Your staff is also there… it was a bit bent out of shape when we found it…” Nimloth continued, again watching her closely, only to be interrupted by the triplets.

“It also had some sort of tracking rune on it.”

“We removed it from your staff and sowed it all over the northern marshes.”

“I’d love to see the look on the face of the one trying to track you now.”

Unbidden, the image of Ar’zhanekkar’s wrinkled features contorted in aggravation and frustration sprung into Yuka’s mind. The young woman grinned, then giggled, then burst out into laughter that was almost as painful as it was a relief, unable to dislodge the vision from her mind. Her companions exchanged glances with each other, bemused by her reaction… and reassured, perhaps, that she had not suffered any lasting damage from her ordeal.

It took a brief moment for Yuka to compose her thoughts once again. When she finished, however, she was clear of any doubts that might have clouded her path.

“I’m assuming you’re here to guard me as much as take care of me,” she spoke, her newly rediscovered voice far stronger and clearer than it had been before. Once again her companions exchanged meaningful glances, and Yuka knew that her guess was true. “After all, it’s not every day that you get visitors out of Timbrethinil.”

Nimloth nodded, then gestured for her to continue. Yuka obliged after another brief moment of thought.

“I need to speak to whoever’s in charge in the city. I have something you need to know, which will also explain my presence here. Please, I need to do so soon… this is an urgent matter, and many lives hang in the balance.”

“You won’t have to wait long to do that…” Nimloth replied, one eyebrow raised at the fact that the young woman was now making demands of them, no matter how politely they were phrased. Half of the Elf’s mind appreciated the honesty, while the other half rankled somewhat at the fact that a mere human had the gumption to be so brash. “The Council were asking to speak to you as soon as you woke up. As you said… it’s not every day that we get visitors from Timbrethenil, after all.”

At that, the swordswoman paused. “Just out of curiosity, what exactly do you need to tell us?”

“The Death Lords plan to destroy Winyaurient. By dropping a meteor on it.”

“And why should we believe you?”

The circumstances were certainly far different when addressing the entirety of the city council, Yuka noted. Fifty pairs of eyes bore into her head from above and around her; their owners were all stern politicians or taciturn warriors, resourceful and powerful Elves who were those largely responsible for the fact that Winyaurient had fared the winter in far better shape than any of the other Elven settlements under siege. The young woman could sense every iota of their misgivings and distrust, and what hurt most was that – no matter how much in the right she thought herself to be – she couldn’t blame them for it. If she were in their position, she would have reacted in exactly the same manner.

“I spent the best part of the last week fleeing from their armies in order to bring you this information. I was found by your patrol with my sword buried to the hilt in the heart of a dire wolf alpha, having eluded him all the way from Timbrethinil. If these facts are not evidence enough to prove my sincerity, then I do not know what is.”

Her words echoed loudly about the chamber, and she cringed inwardly at how brash her voice sounded. But she knew that the message she bore was more important than any ritualistic politeness… that she had to be heard, no matter what the cost. Otherwise everything she had worked towards, everything that she had sacrificed, would be meaningless.

“This is true.”

“But that only begs the question… what were you doing there in the first place?”

“Especially a human, like yourself.”

One after another the councillors made their objections known. Yuka bristled at the undercurrent of prejudice that underlined their accusations, and at the implication they were making. It only hit home a moment later that they had every right to suspect her, and that she had no words in defence of her actions… such were the consequences of turning to daemonic means in the pursuit of enough power to defend herself against her past. For a moment Yuka froze, a single bead of sweat trickling guiltily down her brow.

“I…”

Somehow the silence was even more accusatory than the words that had previously filled it. Again she could feel their eyes bearing down upon her from the shadowy alcoves above, while a single beam of light from the outside world illuminated her as she stood at the central rostrum. It was an interrogation under the guise of a hearing, only one step away from torture. Yuka knew that she had to find a way of convincing them before they resorted to such measures, or there was no telling what dark recesses of her soul they would dredge up…

“I am not the only human to fight for the Raiaeran cause, am I?”

There was one other card she could play. It made her feel even dirtier than before, to use his name under such circumstances, but she felt that for now the end justified the means… she had to make them believe in the forthcoming catastrophe. Everything she had seen, everything she had found out in Timbrethinil had pointed to one thing only… and Yuka wasn’t counting on Ar’zhanekkar or Maeril to be considerate enough to wait a year for her to convince the Elves of her warning.

“I am a personal friend of Ingwe Helyanwe, the human who fights for the Legion of Light… I hail from the same homeland as he, far across the eastern seas. Although the paths we have walked are far from similar, we share the same desire not to see Raiaera fall to the tides of undeath.”

A bit hypocritical, perhaps, given that not so long ago she had been sheltering under Maeril’s power. But not once had she actually raised staff against the Elves or helped the Death Lord in doing so, and in fact she had been the one to complete the Legion of Light’s victory at Nenaebreth when she had ordered Natosatael to back down at the climax of the battle. Once again she felt the bile rising at the sheer filthiness of her words, knowing that she was damned to all eternity for the web of half-truths she was spinning… but the glances of recognition that were being exchanged over her head gave her hope that perhaps she could at least redeem herself somewhat.

“The Death Lord in charge of the north is one Maeril Thyrrian, a half-Elf turned to Xem’zund’s cause. His chief necromancer is named Ar’zhanekkar. Together, they are making preparations for a grand ritual of summoning, in which they intend to obliterate the resistance in Galonan and here in Winyaurient for once and for all. Hearken to my words… send scouts to verify my story, if you must. But for the sake of all who live here, I beg you to begin the evacuation of these lands… and to send word to the far shore as well, in order that the garrison at Galonan may also avoid decimation.”

Her voice echoed once more about the stone hall as she pressed home her perceived advantage, concentrating her persuasive efforts on the central figure in front of her… an elderly matron dressed in flowing green robes who seemed to be seated in the position of highest authority. If she could be convinced, Yuka thought, then perhaps…

But her heart sank when the flinty blue eyes refused to be moved by her entreaties.

“We shall look into your words,” the stern voice replied, unintentionally reminding Yuka of her headmistress from her Academy days. “Know however, that things are not as simple as you may think… and that we are unable to make decisions this grave based on your testimony alone, especially if you have no evidence to back up your claims.”

“But…” the young woman tried to argue, the desperation in her eyes transferring itself to her voice. Her words, however, were immediately overridden by the more powerful tones of the councillor-in-chief.

“Until we are able to verify your identity and reach a consensus as to what to do with you, you will be confined to the castle and placed under constant guard. This council is now dismissed.”

The members of the assembly began to file out from their high-backed seats all around her, low whispered conversations indicating that they had already turned their attention to other matters such as their dwindling food reserves and the undead siege lines that had loosely encircled them for many months now. Solitary and stationary in their wake, Yuka was left to contemplate how easily they had brushed off her warnings… and what little she could hope to do about things now.

Evidence…

Lost in thought, Yuka paced from one wall to another in the small room, the same one that she had woken up in, only now allocated for her ‘personal use’. No doubt the Council had taken into account the fact that it was on the fifth floor of the lake-ward tower, and that it had only a single doorway that led to a tightly spiralling staircase as easy to defend as any rampart. Still, she had to admit that the room did have its charms, not least the fact that the vista over the Laure Linae from the wide window was nothing short of spectacular…

Concentrate! Evidence!

Her two guards – Nimloth and Elenwe – exchanged bemused expressions as Yuka’s face flitted quickly through disgust and resignation before settling back into focused concentration. The young woman had not paused in her ponderous pacing since she had returned from the assembly, and both Elves were secretly wondering to themselves how long it would be before the young woman’s body, not yet fully recovered, would collapse beneath her. She seemed determined, almost possessed, to prove her innocence before the Council; it was almost as if she believed that something very important inside her depended upon it.

Evi…

“You shouldn’t really be doing that, you know.”

“It’s not very good for your convalescence.”

“You’ll take twice as long to get better.”

The door swung open as the flame-haired triplets filed into the room, each of them wearing a knowing smile that grew just a little bit wider when they caught the expression on Yuka’s face. It was their experience that humans actually became accustomed to the sight of three identical Elves much sooner than other Elves did, but that didn’t stop them from enjoying the awe while they still could. The Anwamane sisters were known to be slightly elfin like that.

In the meantime, Yuka’s expression had morphed from surprise to chastisement, and then back again to resolute purpose. The young woman knew that what they were saying was true, but she was equally aware of the fact that she didn’t have the luxury of lazy recuperation. She had to convince her captors / benefactors of the danger, else…

“We heard that the Council refuses to believe you unless you provide some evidence. Which won’t be easy, given that you’ve just run away from Timbrethinil.”

“Somehow, I don’t think anybody on their side would be willing to simply spill their guts to us, either…”

“But we think we have a way of helping you, if what you say is really true.”

Yuka blinked once, then nearly leapt upon the three Bards in her eagerness to hear their solution.

“Please, if you know anything…” she begged of them, her words betraying a hint of the desperation that her current lack of feasible courses of action was causing. Such was her plight that she would most likely have accepted if they had offered her a return trip to Timbrethinil or an extended spell in Winyaurient’s dungeons in turn for the speedy provision of hard evidence. Thankfully, their terms were not quite so severe.

“The tracking rune that was embedded on your staff…”

“We thought that we might be able to trace it back to the person who implanted it…”

“Which would then allow us to cast a scrying spell in the vicinity to find out what’s going on.”

Their words paused for a brief instant to allow the young woman to scrutinise their plan, examining it from every angle before she committed herself. Predictably, Yuka didn’t spend too long doing so, knowing that it was possibly the only option she had available. On the other hand, the fact that the Elves were proposing it to her rather than simply effecting it meant that they were either being overly considerate, or…

“What do you need me to do?”

The eldest of the triplets, Amarie, smiled brightly. In one brief moment, Yuka had firmly established herself as not only intelligent and quick-thinking, but also not so proud as to reject working with Elves in order to accomplish her goals. In short, she was exactly the type of person the Bards required to achieve their own aims.

“Act as a conduit to help us cast our songs,” Amarie explained, before her sisters elaborated even further.

“The spells we need to cast are relatively complicated. We’ll need to concentrate on our songs, not on siphoning power from the leylines.”

“As a human sorceress, we guessed that you’d be fairly proficient in doing this for us. With your help, we might just be able to pull this off.”

Yuka nodded in response, certain that she would be able to play her part in what the Bards proposed. However, there was one thing that was still preying on her mind…

“You said you were going to trace the tracking rune,” she spoke thoughtfully, her brow knitting as she posed the question. “But didn’t you say yesterday that…”

Amarie blushed prettily, Earane and Eldalote quickly following suit.

“Yes… actually…”

“We removed it from your staff and scattered it all over the marshes to confuse your foes. On leaves, on insects, on small animals… all over the place.”

“I’m afraid we’re going to have to go back and retrieve one first…”

“That’s my job then, I suppose.” Nimloth, who up until that point had been observing the conversation with a mixture of confused befuddlement and mild amusement, finally volunteered. Her voice reflected a defeated resignation that spoke of her inability to keep up with the enthusiasm of her younger companions. Silver hair shimmering as she rose to her feet in a musical melody of tinkling scales, she made for the door. “Wait here, and don’t any of you dare leave the castle. I’ll be back as soon as I can…”

“I’m coming with you!” Elenwe cried, belatedly realising Nimloth’s intentions. The youngest of the Winyaurient Elves darted out of the door with barely enough time for a farewell smile when it became clear that the swordswoman was not going to wait for her, and Yuka could just about hear her voice over the fleet-footed patter of her boots on the stairs as she chased after her friend. “Two pairs of eyes are better than one!”

Yuka wanted to join them in their hunt, but the Council’s restrictions and her injuries weighed heavily upon her. Impatient, but knowing that she couldn’t do much else for the time being, she fell back onto her bed to wait. Every minute of time she could not act upon the information she bore ate away at her conscience, but there was still a chance, however slim it now seemed, that her efforts would bear fruit.

For now, she would be patient.

Bright light seeped from the tower window into the evening sky, a constant glare that harshly contradicted the flickering flames that flared from the rest of the castle. Gradually it began to die down, having shone for at least an hour into the gradually dimming heavens, until finally once again the twilight sun upon the western forest was the dominant source of illumination upon the battered, war-torn marshes.

Nimloth and Elenwe had taken two hours to find their quarry, the Bladesinger using her rudimentary skills at the arcane arts to track down and capture a small cricket that bore one of the runes. The Anwamane sisters had needed another hour to prepare their ritual, including the incenses and potion-filled phials that would be necessary to maintain their spells for the required duration. Only then, with the afternoon beginning to wane from beneath them, had they been able to begin.

Having spent so long in the centre of the chanting circle formed by the Elven triplets, Yuka was both mentally and physically exhausted by the time their murmured song began to draw to a close. Acting as a conduit was very much like constantly running errands for a merciless taskmaster, demanding unvarying concentration and unyielding devotion to the job. Continuously drawing energy from the streams of power that flowed beneath the Raiaeran soil, channelling it through her body and distributing it to the three Bards who sat around her, the luxury of sparing a moment’s thought elsewhere was something that she could not afford. Until the very last second of her duties, Yuka would remain vigilant and careful, a character trait that had served her well so far throughout her travels.

And when it all comes to an end…

“How was it?” Nimloth asked, her voice hushed by the scale of the magics she had just witnessed. As a Bladesinger herself, the silver-haired swordswoman had some experience in the arcane arts, but she had been an indifferent student at best and stood in awe of those who made spell-slinging their primary profession.

If anything, the Anwamane sisters were even more shocked by their own work. Drained and spent, they sat as one in solemn silence, legs and arms folded in complicated intricacy and eyes closed in concentration. Amarie was the first to regain mental equilibrium, and to interpret the incredible sights that their scrying spell had shown them.

“Yuka’s right.”

The simple words hung delicately in the air, but to Yuka they meant absolutely everything. Her sigh of vindication echoed through the quiet in a barely audible whisper, and only after her shoulders relaxed in relief did she realise quite how stressfully they had been tensed up.

“That necromancer is definitely preparing for something beyond a normal spell.”

“And there’s no doubt that he’s targeting Galonan and Winyaurient, either.”

Earane and Eldalote only confirmed what Amarie had already stated, but their words added enough weight to the situation that even Nimloth seemed slightly taken aback. Even the normally playful Elenwe seemed subdued and dim, the overwrought atmosphere taking its toll upon her spirits.

“The question then, is what do we do next?”

Again, it was Nimloth that took charge of the situation, absorbing the information and attempting to deal with it as only a professional soldier could. It was clear from the expression she wore that she had yet to fully process the entirety of what was being said, and yet her first thoughts were towards the safety of the city and the people she had sworn to protect.

“We have to warn the Council,” Yuka pointed out, eliciting nodded agreement from the five Elves. “If possible, I’d also like to warn Galonan, but there’s no way…”

“Leave it to me.” Perhaps surprisingly, it was Elenwe who spoke up this time, her youthful eyes suddenly brimming with fervour. “I’ll talk to the captain… if he doesn’t agree to send anybody, I’ll go myself.”

“Don’t push yourself too hard… remember Nieninque is still injured!”

Unfortunately, Nimloth’s admonishment fell on deaf ears as the younger Elf-maiden scampered from the room, intent on her task. The Bladesinger made to follow, but was stopped by the eldest of the Anwamane triplets; Amarie smiled appeasingly, before advising,

“She’ll be okay, Nimloth. Of all the people in this castle she cares for Nieninque the most. She knows not to risk her injury.”

The swordswoman paused, then nodded slowly. “In which case…”

“You should probably talk to the Council, Nimloth.”

“After all, of all of us, you’re the one that they would most likely listen to.”

The Bladesinger cast her gaze around the room, to find all three flame-haired sisters, as well as Yuka, matching her grey eyes in hopeful expectation. The eldest Elf blinked once, then sighed; she’d expected the responsibility, but it didn’t mean that she relished it. Political infighting was not her specialty… but she supposed that fighting for her city was. Resigned, she was the second to leave the room, her metal boots clinking on the stone steps as she descended the tower.

Left with the Anwamane sisters, Yuka was left to contemplate the fact that suddenly everybody believed her, and seemed willing to act on her behalf. It was almost anti-climactic, in a sense, since she had been fighting on her own for so long. On the other hand, it was not such a bad feeling…

Or was it? Left without anything to do, she suddenly felt empty and unneeded. Perhaps she had been spoilt by the long-awaited interaction with others of her alignment, as opposed to fearing for her life amongst Maeril’s bloodthirsty lieutenants, but now Yuka wanted more.

“Is there anything we can do? I mean, is there any way we might be able to help the Council deal with this situation?”

Amarie saw that Yuka’s point was a valid one. Even if the Council believed Nimloth’s persuasion on their behalf, there was no guarantee that they would be able to act on it. Was there anything they could do in the meantime to…

“I don’t think there’s much we can do to stop the spell any more…” she sighed reluctantly, unwilling to admit such defeat. “We can’t mount an offensive, not when we can’t even break through the siege lines that surround us. There’s no hope for us except to somehow escape…”

“But how?” Earane asked, continuing her sister’s train of thought. “If we can’t hope to escape by land, then our only option is across the lake… but we’ve nowhere enough boats and nowhere enough Sky Knights to cover us if we want to retreat…”

“And that leaves us no option. Not unless, of course, we can find a way of teleporting the entire castle to a safe location…” Eldalote’s words were speculative and meant to be as whimsical as they were unrealistic. Somehow, though, they managed to set off a proverbial candleflame within her eldest sister’s mind.

“… we could talk to Valkyr,” Amarie whispered, and both of her sisters turned to stare at her. Yuka, the only one who didn’t quite understand what was going on, was left somewhat in the dark by the horrified comprehension that passed between the triplets… and the fact that all three of them ended up nodding somehow didn’t inspire her with much comprehension.

She got the feeling, however, that it was a case of desperation. And desperate times, of course, called for desperate measures.

Valkyr, Yuka learned, was a young female Dwarf. Not only was she considered eccentric by even her own kin, but she had also voluntarily exiled herself from her own people in order to live with the Elves… or, more accurately perhaps, to study the secrets hidden beneath the ancient Raiaeran city. As they walked, Amarie spoke at length on the Dwarf’s unique ideas in combining magic and technology, and at the difficulties she had encountered so far due to the fickle nature of accumulating mana to power anything of a mechanical bent; it was obvious that the Bards respected Valkyr, but that they also considered her a bit mad.

Earane and Eldalote led the way through the immaculately swept corridors of the castle, guiding Yuka deeper and deeper into the bowels of the ancient structure. The young woman found it almost impossible to believe that the Elves who dwelt within had been under siege for nearly six months; the castle was spotless, with not even a misplaced speck of dust to blemish the sanctity of the walls. The lower levels of the castle were every bit as cleanly and crisply maintained as their upper counterparts, despite the fact that they were so far underground that the dying rays of the sun could not penetrate, and had very obviously not been used for any major purpose for a long period of time. Yuka was left to wonder just how many ages ago the hallways through which she now strode had been constructed, as well as just how they had managed to survive all the tests of time in such impeccable perfection.

No wonder the Dwarf Valkyr shows such interest… Yuka mused, although there was something about the story that stuck in her mind. Amarie had mentioned the fusion of magic and technology, and the impossibility of maintaining a connection between the two… which meant that there was something in Winyaurient that drew Valkyr’s attention. Something that, perhaps, could save them?

She spoke of her concerns to Amarie, and the eldest triplet was quick to answer.

“Maybe,” the Bard replied, the sphere of light she held in her palm flickering from her flame coloured hair. “At least, there’s enough hope perhaps that it’s certainly worth asking her about it…”

Their route took them further, ever further into the ground, until Yuka lost track of the number of inclines and stairwells they had descended. Only when she’d almost given up all hope of ever seeing sunlight again did Amarie stop in her tracks, cocking her head slightly to pay attention to a sound that Yuka’s human ears could not catch. A moment later, the Bard indicated a side passage, which led the small party to a magnificently vaulted antechamber that Yuka could only describe as the innermost sanctum of the citadel.

A soft green glow emanated from a set of three crystals embedded in an esoteric mechanism in the centre of the room, casting their sickly illumination upon the intricate frescoes that decorated the high marble arches. Beside them knelt a diminutive figure, obviously tampering or experimenting in some manner with the consoles attached to the crystals.

“How fares your research, Valkyr?” Amarie called out from the entrance to the chamber, and Yuka winced at just how hollowly the Elf’s words echoed through the darkness. A glance upwards confirmed her suspicions; she couldn’t even see the ceiling from where she stood. Just how large was this hidden room, anyways…?

“Nae tay weel,” a heavily accented voice called back, although Valkyr didn’t bother to pause her work to greet her visitors. Still buried in her tweaking, her words took on a discordantly muffled quality as she concentrated for a long moment. “Ah micht jist hae an idea whit these ur supposed tae dae, but as tae hoo they dae it…”

Unfortunately, try as she might, Yuka was unable to keep up with the rest of the Dwarf’s conversation. Unlike some of her friends from the Academy, she had never been completely comfortable with juggling multiple languages at once, and Valkyr’s harsh accent, combined with the technical descriptions and terminology she liked to use, made it nearly impossible for the young woman to understand. Yuka caught something about how the mana crystals seemed to supply power to somewhere beneath the castle, and how analysis of the surrounding rock had provided evidence that the castle hadn’t been built at its current location, but from approximately midway through Amarie’s and Valkyr’s discourse the young woman found her attention inexorably drawn elsewhere… namely to the very appearance of the female Dwarf who finally abandoned her task and stood up to meet her guests.

So that’s what Dwarf women look like… I’ve never…

Yuka only caught herself staring when Valkyr noticed, and rounded upon her in mocking fury.

“No, human, I don’t have a beard, I’m not chubby, and I didn’t pop from the ground like stone.” In fact, Valkyr was almost the opposite of what Yuka had been led to believe of the stereotypical Dwarven female, slender and baby-faced despite coated in grease and dust. Her dark brown hair was done up in a simple ponytail, and though she was no taller than a ten-year old human child, her eyes as they glared up at the Nipponese sorceress warned Yuka that this was nobody to trifle with. Whether her appearance was due to her youth, her lifestyle, or a general feature of all Dwarven women, Yuka was unsure; all she knew for certain was that her face was flushed with embarrassment at being caught in a rude act.

“I’m sorry,” she quickly apologised, her horror quite apparent on her features. Yuka felt exceedingly dreadful about what she had just done, knowing that her involuntary lapse in concentration had been the very image of poor manners. “I didn’t mean to…”

Valkyr was equally as quick to wave away her contrition with a dismissive flick of her fingers.

“Dornt fash yerse abit it,” she reassured, grinning widely in an attempt to placate the young human. “It’s jist ‘at aam a bit toochy abit sic’ things… Ah escaped frae Gunnbad tae gettae frae male-dominated societies an’ caste restrictions. Ah jist dornt loch bein’ looked at loch ‘at, tis aw.”

Amarie smiled in relief as the tension subsided, and Yuka matched Valkyr’s grin with a tentative smile of her own. The Bard was the first to turn her attention back to the matter at hand, reaching out to caress one of the enigmatic mana crystals and murmuring, “Are you suggesting that we might actually be able to make this entire castle just… move?”

“Aye, perhaps, if we hud th’ time tae analyse it… wa dae ye ask?” Valkyr’s face was the picture of confusion, but Yuka’s lit up as she realised what Amarie had already done.

“Time we don’t have,” the Bard replied, her voice growing in confidence and hope. “But maybe, just maybe, you’ve just saved us all.”

~ Fourth Movement – Finale ~

***

Two figures stood in the semi-darkness, focused so intently on their tasks that they did not seem to notice the shadows that crept and stalked about them. Four more were scattered about in varying stages of slumber, propped up against whatever makeshift bedding they could scrounge in the underground chamber. No words were exchanged, and aside from the occasional sigh and the ever-present background hum of the glowing crystals in the centre of the room, the silence was absolute.

Every now and again the larger figure would rush over to the smaller, to exchange hurried words under their breaths or to scribble something on a pad of parchment. Every now and again the smaller figure would toss aside her equations and calculations and start anew, renewing her efforts on a blank fresh slate. The process of scientific endeavour was a slow and unrewarding one, fraught with dead ends and red herrings. The thin sliver of chance separating success from failure was the ability to sift through the irrelevant information to find the one piece of data that truly mattered, and here the two women were being tested to their absolute limits. The cluttered stack of surplus notes abandoned upon the cool stone floor was unspoken testament to the long battle they had fought so far.

The following excerpts are extracted from that discarded pile of tattered parchment, cured skins adorned with spidery script and barely intelligible figures scattered without structure across the cluttered sheets. There is neither order nor sensibility in how the writings are organised, writings that only a genius – or a madman – can interpret. Within the mess of Common scrawled in a rough Dwarven hand, however, there are yet some passages remotely discernible…

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The girl's got a mind sharper than my axe! Sure, it helps that she's got a better feel than I do for Elven magic, and she sure ain't much to look at, but in twelve hours with her I've found out more about the crystals than in twelve weeks locked in here alone. Not that I had much choice, mind what with the siege and all...

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As I suspected, the crystals are integrated into a network that extends throughout the castle like some Elf-made blood system. What for, though? There's no sign of any engines anywhere, and the girl says she can' interpret dormant Elven sigils well enough to determine their purpose... given enough time, Amarie might, but that dratted Bard is asleep again...

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Thirty-six hours now, and still no real progress. Amarie's taken Eldalote to try to decipher those blasted sigils. Earane's keeping a watch on the enemy to give us some sort of warning if anything does happen, for all the good that it'll do us. Nimloth and Elenwe are about as useful as piles of scrap metal. That leaves the girl, and myself.

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Repeated references to something called “Jashak-lad”. No idea what it means, although I'm told it translates roughly as “magnessar field”...

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The girl's slept only five hours in the last two days. I know only because I've been awake longer. Don't know why I'm writing this, although it could be because there's nothing else to write?

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Breakthrough! Earane managed to trace the mana network to a small chamber off one of the abandoned underground networks. There's enough in there to make my head spin. It looks like a control centre of sorts. Don't know how I missed it before. Maybe now I can finally begin to work out how this blooming thing actually works.

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... or not. It was a control centre all right, but not the one I was looking for. Judging by the markings on the walls, it was for some sort of defence mechanism, which I doubt was any good when faced with a meteor. Back to square one again... how did this castle move?

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Nearly sixty hours now since the human girl arrived. No progress, although at least Elenwe's making herself useful by bringing food, blankets, and hot beverages. An improvement, at least, from scrap metal.

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Okay, recap time. I know that the castle wasn't built here... evidence of destructive impact in the rock strata, build-up of sediment and weathering around the foundations, all sorts of geological and constructive anomalies that scream 'wrong!' to my Dwarven intuition. The only reachable conclusion is that it was brought here somehow, but that would mean by air, since there's no other option. Ancestral myths about 'flying fortresses' and 'castles in the clouds' only reinforce this theory. It's as if some massive winged beast picked up the castle and deposited it here, although knowing the Elves it's probably a bit more arcane that that... as my old mentor used to say, if you rule out all the impossibles, anything that's left, no matter how improbably, must be a possibility...

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Recap part two. I've thoroughly searched every inch of underground passageway, and I'm relatively sure that the only major anomaly is these mana crystals. Conversely, the mana crystals are the only unknown factor remotely capable of powering such a feat as causing this stone behemoth to fly. Their very presence here is something that piques my interest. Call it scholarly intuition. They seem to be at the heart of an intricate network of circuits that channel the energy they produce throughout the entire underground structure, but although there are what seem to be activation controls, there's nothing here to indicate what this activation would do, or how to control its effects. And I'd much rather not resort to simply flipping the switch to see what happens... such science is simply a recipe for disaster...

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In the end, though, we might have to resort to just that. The girl and I are getting nowhere, and Amarie says she's getting this foreboding tingling sensation whenever she concentrates on Timbrethinil. I've got a very, very bad feeling about all this...

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Six figures were scattered about the semi-darkness in varying stages of slumber, propped up against whatever makeshift bedding they could scrounge in the underground chamber. Aside from the occasional Dwarven snore and the ever-present background hum of the glowing crystals in the centre of the room, the silence was absolute. Only the clock kept ticking, relentless and without regard for their mortal needs…

“Yuka! Valkyr!”

Cultured Elven tones, distinctly youthful and feminine, reverberated musically about the whitewashed walls. The patter of fleet footwork upon the stone floors sounded as a sturdy counter-refrain to the light soprano, steadily growing louder in a rising crescendo. The echoes seemed to hang in the dense air for an eternity before finally manifesting themselves, in the form of a slender flame-haired Elf maiden, her pretty features flushed by the long trek down from her quarters to the underground chamber.

Reflecting the clear green glow of the mana crystals in the centre of the room, four faces turned to attention at the words. The closest was a slender and baby-faced Dwarf with dirty brown hair, nearly buried in the midst of a tall pile of parchment. Furthest was a dark-haired, dark-eyed human, her face far paler than was healthy from exhaustion and effort. Between the two were a pair of Elves, the first garlanded with the innocence of youth and curls so dark they was almost blue, the second with distinctive silvery-white hair and the stylised mythril armour of a Bladesinger. Each of them knew that Amarie’s hurried footsteps could only mean one thing.

“It’s begun.”

Better rested than their companions, the two Elves were quickest to react to the Bard’s warning. Atmosphere that had been stale and stagnant even at the best of times suddenly became thick enough with tension that it could be cut with a sword; Nimloth quite literally proceeded to do so as she drew her slender blade decisively, the keen edge singing lightly as it carved a silvery swathe through the momentary hesitation that paralysed them all.

“I assume that Eldalote and Earane are rallying everybody from the streets to the castle?” Ever the calm one, the eldest of the Elves turned her thoughts immediately to the safety of her comrades, and to how she could best help them. She didn’t have to wait for Amarie’s belaboured nod of acquiescence to make up her mind. “In which case I’d better help them. The Council will need some convincing.”

Swiftly she stepped from the chamber, pausing only to give those left behind a quick nod embodying her encouragement. The young Elenwe was the first to pick up on this and the next to move, nimbly following her senior to the entrance.

“I’ll warn the rest of the Sky Knights,” she piped up, her cheeks flushed with adrenaline and fear. She controlled both emotions well despite her age, well short of High Elven maturity. It was nothing short of a sin that one of her youth should be forced to confront the horrors that she had to face, but this was war, and times were desperate. More than anybody else in the room, Elenwe was not one to complain, and she fled from her friends towards her duty with one last childish smile.

“What should…” Yuka’s exotic tones, wearied beyond belief by the incredible effort she had put into attempting to understand the esoteric mana crystals before her, were the next to attempt to fill the tense silence. They trailed away, however, when both Valkyr and Amarie jumped nervously at the overly loud sound, obviously both thinking the same thing. What should we do now…

What can we do now…

“Och, bother thes.”

Piles of parchment scattered like fallen leaves in a gale as Valkyr erupted into a flurry of action, stubby fingers viciously stabbing away at the control panels as if they were some artificial manifestation of her foes. Both Yuka and Amarie could only gape at her in surprise as the long-dormant systems began to respond to her commands, the faint ever-present hum in the chamber intensifying and quavering like a leashed beast.

“Th’ time fur half measures is lang gain. We need tae dae somethin’ an’ noo, doesnae matter if we dornt kin it fully. Better havin’ tried an’ failed than stuid abit quakin’ in uir bitts, nae havin’ tried at aw…”

Muttered Common, interspersed with not a few syllables of choice Dwarven curses, echoed hollowly as sorceress and Bard exchanged glances, clearly wondering whether they should be trying to stop their inventor comrade. The expression on Valkyr’s face, however, was so intensely focused that neither human nor Elf could bring themselves to do anything, and before they could make up their mind the background drone settled into a higher pitch.

Valkyr cocked her head, listening to the arcane machinery as if completely baffled by its intent. The room seemed to stand still once more without the coaxing flurry of her fingers upon the mana crystal; it was almost as if all present were waiting for something to happen, the ancient technology included.

“Nothing’s happenin’? Need tae dae somethin’ else? There’s naethin’ mair Ah can dae oan th’ controls, which means…”

Yuka’s heart skipped a beat. She could see where Valkyr’s thoughts were leading, what they needed to do in order to re-activate the ancient mechanisms…

“… need tae sacrifice somethin’ tae create somethin’ else… need a wee fire tae create a big one…”

“… need to infuse mana into the crystals to power them.”

Black eyes met brown as an understanding almost electric in nature passed between the two keen minds. For not the first time, Valkyr thanked the ancestor gods that she had befriended possibly the one human in Raiaera who could think along the same lines as her. For not the first time, Yuka counted her blessings and hoped just a little more, that perhaps she would be able to begin to atone for her past misdeeds.

“Amarie, come stain haur,” Valkyr indicated a spot next to the crystals, and the Bard obliged, still not quite able to shake the bemused expression from her face. Yuka unerringly took up position opposite, closing her eyes as she concentrated on the task at hand. The chamber in which she stood was a fair distance below ground, and as such the air in the room was completely still, but still her hair began to dance lightly as she began to gather arcane power from her surroundings.

It was difficult, with neither sky nor star in sight, to focus. But this was Raiaera, and the ground in which she stood was rich and fertile. Within moments the green glow of the gently humming mana crystals was offset, first by a tender blue from where Yuka stood, then by a bright white about Amarie.

As one, the two spellcasters opened their eyes, and their respective coloured auras drained swiftly into the arcane mechanism between them.

At first, it seemed as if nothing would happen

Then, with a bright flash of light, everything happened at once.

The background hum dominating their ears ascended into a powerful crescendo; the pale glow of the trio of crystals erupted into a steady brilliance that took their averted eyes valuable moments to get used to. The ground beneath their feet trembled in anticipation as the long-dormant mana network flowed with sudden power; it was as if the castle was a massive granite bear, awakening in the dawning of spring after the long dormancy of hibernation. Motes of dust cascaded down upon their heads from the rafters overhead, and for an instant Yuka feared that the entire structure was going to collapse… a fear that was alleviated a breath later when the worrisome shuddering abated, and in its wake came a poised expectation, a breathless suspension of power that hinted of greater things to come.

For all the elation that came with their success, however, it was impossible to tell at first glance whether or not their efforts had borne any fruit. The mana crystals seemed indeed to be active at long last, but what if in fact they were not? What if Lord Time had taken its toll upon the systems and eroded them beyond use? What if the mana crystals were not the key to avoiding certain extermination after all?

Yuka’s body could not quite free itself from the cold grip of apprehension, the thoughts of failure and the finality of its consequences that dominated her mind. Opposite, she could sense Amarie caught in the same trance, unable to move for fear that to do so would shatter what little hope they yet harboured. Only Valkyr remained unaffected by her emotions, calmly analysing the situation as only her resilient Dwarven mind could.

“Th’ crystals ur actife... th’ mana flaw doesnae shaw onie abnormalities... there's naethin’ wrang wi’ anythin’ doon haur...”

Tentatively, Yuka took one step towards the Dwarf, then another.

“... in which case...” she murmured, her brow contorted in thought. Once again her voice trailed away, unable to provide an explanation for the lack of reaction. Had they indeed failed?

“Amarie?”

The Bard was once again standing in a pool of her magic, murmuring a soft song beneath her breath. Neither Valkyr, who had first spotted the Elf's spell, nor Yuka, who spun on her heels a moment later in a graceful swirl of white robe to discern what had triggered the Dwarf's concern, could work out exactly what she was doing. But as her song grew louder and firmer and its beauty began to reach out into the shadows of her surroundings, they gradually became aware that it was attempting to trace the flow of the mana...

“Amarie! Stop!”

Yuka's warning came a fraction of a moment too late. The colour drained from Amarie's cheeks quicker than wine from an overturned goblet; even her famed flame-red hair seemed to wither and pale. It was as if the Bard herself was about to be swept away into the current of magic, carried from the material plane to become one with the elements. Only Yuka's quick thinking stabilised her presence once more; only the young woman's power gave Amarie the strength to terminate the connection between her mind and the arcane technology. For a moment her body contorted in mid-air, held against her will by tendrils of invisible power; then, at last, she slumped listlessly to the floor, completely drained of all strength.

“Ay coorse...” Valkyr gasped beneath her breath, having belatedly deduced the reasoning behind Amarie's actions. “Thes is only a body part ay th’ system… th’ heart, responsible fur pumpin’ it bluid an’ makin’ sure ‘at it flows regularly ben th’ body. It’s controlled frae somewhaur else… somewhaur correspondin’ tae th’ system’s brain…”

“Up...” the Bard whispered, her head resting with painful stillness upon Yuka's lap. The young Elf looked thoroughly drained, as if on verge of slipping away into blissful oblivion, but at least there was enough colour returning to her face so that she didn't quite look translucent. Weakly she tried to raise her hand to indicate; when that failed, she managed to point a finger in the correct direction. “Up... to... wards...”

“The Council Tower,” Yuka finished for her, and Amarie nodded faintly in agreement.

“Th’ Cooncil Tower...” Valkyr echoed... and a malevolently mischievous grin, quite inappropriate to the life-or-death situation they found themselves in, crept across her face.