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

~ First Movement – Overture ~

***

Snowdrops floated like vagrant wanderers from the heavens overhead, aimlessly meandering upon the ash-strewn wasteland. Momentarily their combined efforts obscured the worst of the devastated Raiaeran city from sight, dampening the heavy stench of death and decay under the purity of their itinerant paths. The hour was nearly midnight, though the low-lying clouds secreted away the moon and stars as if they were precious jewels destined to languish forever at the back of a safe; the silence was almost absolute, only emphasised by the thick blanket of white that had cast itself over the ruins of what had once been Trenyce.

The last few days had been fresh and warm, heralding the arrival of the reborn spring. The snowfall seemed to symbolise that Lady Winter herself realised this, and had gathered her powers unto her for one last show of might before she finally relinquished her grip.

The majority of the occupants of the rubbled buildings paid the weather no heed, crystals of cold clarity that built up on rotten flesh and motionless shoulders. Those who commanded this undead army either blessed the snows for the twin advantages of concealment and time it bought them over their bitter High Elven foes, or cursed the wintry wet for the chilly stiffness it inflicted upon their brittle bones. Only one soul in the entirety of the city luxuriated in the beauty of the frozen petals, watching on in innocent delight as they concealed the morbid desolation of the undead stronghold.

It was not long before she stepped out into the stillness, her long flowing robes distinctly outlandish in their folded weave as they blended seamlessly into the snow-strewn cityscape. Her shoulder-length hair was a stark black against the whites and greys that surrounded her, the colour of the shadows that undulated at the very edge of her vision. Her light tread left crisp footprints as she slowly ventured towards the centre of the tree-lined clearing, revelling in the sensation of fresh snow beneath her feet and the faint signs of life that flowered in the hearts of the drab foliage.

Spring has called to them, and they respond, despite all that has happened… she murmured in her mind, upturning her delicate features so that she could taste the snowdrops on her alabaster skin. One landed neatly on her pale lips, melting away into a gentle smile. Winter serenades them with one last lullaby before they wake…

Her mind was focused in a pleasantly blank equilibrium, devoid of all the fear and worry and trouble that had plagued her over the past few days. She felt for all the world as if she too were one of the petals floating on the breath of wind, gliding through the darkness as if guided by the wings of destiny themselves.

In the centre of the clearing the young woman paused, inhaling deeply of the frigid air before slowly releasing her breath. A sustained blast of foggy steam escaped skywards; she watched it leave her behind, mingling amongst the falling snowflakes before disappearing from sight. For a long time she did not move, allowing herself to be overcome by the pervasive peace that cocooned her in this brief moment of eternity. It was all so… quiet.

So… tranquil…

Suddenly she stabbed the staff she held into the snow-lined earth. Bleached brown and exquisitely slender, it quivered there in the mud before finally settling into position like a makeshift flagpole, a lonely marker of human presence amongst the monochrome splendour of the winter-touched night.

Taking two steps away from the staff in the direction she had come, she once again stopped still, closing her luminous black eyes to her surroundings. Her thoughts whispered to her like predatory sirens seeking to banish her concentration, but with effort she managed to silence them and maintain the mirror-like calm of her soul. Once again her mind was poised as blank as any slate, savouring the now in breathless anticipation of the next moment.

Eyes still closed, she folded her knees beneath her and settled into the snow, ignoring the bite of the cold through the cotton fabric of her trousers. One slim hand reached out to rest on the hilt of the short kodachi she wore at her waist, trembling imperceptibly at the palpably murderous intensity emitted by the ornately decorated weapon. It was as if the finely forged steel was seeking to influence her with the very aura of its presence; an elegant, beautiful sword it may have been, but it was first and foremost a killing tool.

Long moments passed by as she seemed to hesitate, composing her thoughts in a succinct poem of the type favoured by the courtiers of her homeland. Around her the snow continued to pile, the shadows continued to loom, and the wind whispered in her ears as it blew soft flurries against her face.

Snow falls from spring skies,
Winter’s breath upon my face,
Night flees before me.

When she moved again, it was with the swiftness of a swallow in flight. Her blade seemed to literally leap from its saya, and her eyes flashed open with resolution and intent. Her initial stroke sliced open everything in its path… air, night, wind, snow, and even the very silence itself.

Rising to her feet in one fluid motion, Yuka Kanamai began to dance.

Her movements were lithe and graceful, brimming with purpose as the guided her slender form in a choreographed dance through the silent snow. Every stroke of the blade was measured to perfection, every shift of her body effortless and smooth. It was as if she were enacting a lonely ballet of silvery sword and swirling robe amongst the desolate ruins, her only audience the faintly whispering snowflakes and the ominously looming shadows that surrounded her on all sides.

The cold seeped in below her skirts, whisking about her leggings before darting away with whatever warmth it could carry. Yuka paid it no heed, however, preferring to concentrate on the intricacies of every precise motion, every weighted stance that punctuated her artistic movements. She was not so presumptuous as to believe that she was anything close to a master practitioner of the ancient tradition, and neither did she hold faith in the notion that the strokes would sharpen her skills with the sword in any real combat. But it did her mind and body no harm to put themselves through the elegant kata; her wounds – still recovering from the ruthless assault of the necromancer Ar’zhanekkar a week prior – welcomed the moderate exercise, her troubles and worries basked in the luxuriant zen of lightly-aching muscle and calm blank mind, and if it was anything that her latest experiences had taught her, it was that it was not a bad thing to become accustomed to the feel of her blade in her hand.

How she had managed to survive since the assault, she did not know, but it was as if the incident with Ar’zhanekkar had never happened. The necromancer’s overlord, Death Lord Maeril Thyrrian, had never once demanded an explanation; her own patron, the daemon Natosatael, had only looked on with a snide smirk playing about his raw lips. She had been allowed to recuperate in silence in her private quarters, occasionally patching up the worst of her wounds with her magic and allowing sleep and solitude to take care of the rest. Tonight was the first night in seven that she had felt well enough to venture outside, and the heavens had sought fit to greet her with a winter wonderland.

There’s definitely something afoot… she thought to herself, in that peculiarly formal manner that was a product of both her cultural heritage and her scholarly upbringing. Something that takes precedence over internal foibles such as that night… something that results in something as serious as this getting swept under the carpet as if it never happened.

Her mind harkened back to Thomas’s words earlier on that fateful evening, and the warning that he – or rather, his illusory visage in the poolside mirrors – had given her. They had been close friends from long before their time together at the renowned Toho Academy in the eastern isles of Nippon, and he had come to her aid on many occasions, not least when she had wished to escape from her fate as the daughter of an underworld syndicate. On that occasion, he had opened a portal to the daemon realm of Haidia and spirited her away. Only on very rare instances throughout their relationship had his warnings proved false… and the sober solemnity with which he had warned her of Maeril’s forthcoming plot – details of which even he had been unable to sniff out – once again sent chills down her spine.

What have I… she began, then caught herself just in time from giving voice to her weakness. As she did so, however, her legs gave way upon the slippery snow, and she slipped and fell awkwardly to the hard frigid ground. The jarring impact thundered up her backbone, eliciting a mental curse for her uncharacteristic clumsiness. Yuka Kanamai was not somebody who was used to tripping up.

Exhausted by her brief moments of exertion, she allowed herself to fall back into the snow. Her slight chest heaved with every breath as she fought to supply her oxygen-starved lungs with fresh air; the cold nipped at her once again through her thin layers of clothing, nibbling like some live animal at her exposed neckline until she shifted position ticklishly. Not so far to her left her peripheral vision caught sight of her staff, still pointed in purposeful poise towards the skies; her right hand, meanwhile, remained wrapped tightly about the hilt of her short sword.

She tried to cast thoughts of the war aside as she breathed deeply of the vigorous chill, concentrating on the white snowflakes drifting lightly down upon her face from the heavens overhead. But no matter how Yuka tried, her mind kept ignoring the faint specks of white in favour of the menacing mass of cloud behind them, and the shadows spawned by the night that surrounded her on all sides. It was so difficult to concentrate on the good things in life when all around her was darkness.

At least, I’m better now, the young woman allowed, knowing that she had been at her most helpless and most vulnerable over the past few days. There was little relief in the tone of her thoughts, however, for her recovery only hastened her need to find a definitive answer to another problem… that of what she would do next.

Her breathing settled to calm at last, but her heart still sounded like a drumbeat in her ears.

The low-lying breeze played havoc with wisps of her fine black hair as it passed her by. Her eyes were wide open and gleaming gently in the darkness, onyx pupils dilated to better take in the night. There was a tension to her neck and shoulders that caused her head to throb horribly; her muscles ached tenderly to the touch, spasming every now and again in pulsating agony. She knew that she would pay the next morning for her fleeting moments of exertion, for already she was having to beat back the heaving waves of nausea that threatened to swamp her chest.

Yuka did not question whether it had been worth it, only briefly acknowledging that it had been necessary. She had needed to know that her body could still obey her commands, that the wounds that she had received at the hands of Ar’zhanekkar had nearly healed. She could no longer bear to be cooped up in the cage of her room any longer; like a grounded bird, it was her instinct to test her figurative wings and take to the skies once again. For soon she would embark on an even more epic journey: a flight before the foul necromancy and intrigue that coruscated about her like some poisonous miasma.

No longer could she stand to associate with such unrepentantly evil and selfish company. No longer could she afford to languish like a solitary flower under the so-called protection of her daemonic patron. For all she cared now, Maeril’s schemes for domination of the Raiaeran heartlands and Natosatael’s ploy for gaining a lasting presence on the physical plane could both be cursed back to the depths of whatever abysmally dark realm had spawned them. No matter what they offered her – power, protection, or purpose – she would not have anything to do with them any longer.

She was sick and tired of being a pawn, caged and flaunted like some precious trophy.

Taking another deep breath of the chill air in an attempt to settle her anxiety, Yuka allowed her mind to focus on the near future, and the plan she had for her escape. It was deceptively simple, as most good plans were, and thus flexible in case of failure… and, if worst came to worst, she would be able to fight her way clear before they could bring any force to bear, and then trust to her legs and endurance to escape any pursuit.

No… that’s not the problem.

She was not concerned with the past, for she dared not consider the potential horrors that she knew remained yet in the depths of her mind. She did not preoccupy herself with the present, for she knew what had to be done, or the near future, for she knew what she would do. It was the distant future that roiled like a stormy sea in the back of her mind. She was troubled by the fact that she had no idea of where she would end up when the dust had settled. She couldn’t even picture herself in a month’s time.

In short, what concerned her most was not her escape, but what she would do after it. Raiaera was still, after all, a realm under siege. It would not be easy to travel through the war-torn countryside, infested as it was with rife disease and the shambling legions of undeath; even if she could somehow convince the High Elves that she was untainted by her months-long association with a Death Lord and his core retinue, there was no guarantee that she would be able to solicit their aid in slipping out of the country, or even in carving her own tiny niche in the world.

For not the first time, she revisited her options, dismissing them one by one in a practiced litany of weighty reasoning.

She dared not return to Nippon even if there was somehow a way; her family would swiftly learn of her presence and chain her once again to what they saw as her destiny… a pawn in the never-ending wars against other shadowy faceless organisations from Nippon, and even Cathay and beyond.

She could not retrace her steps to Thomas and his operation in Haidia from which he accumulated a veritable fortune in power and secrets… there were no skies or stars in the underdark, no freedom from the constantly oppressive gazes of her daemonic ‘sponsors’, and to return would be to throw away any progress in self-reliance she had made in the half-year since she had left. Yuka shuddered at the thought of caging herself once more, dependent upon Thomas or Natosatael for everything she wanted to do.

To ask for help from Ingwe would be bordering on the blasphemous; her scholarly friend from her schooldays in Nippon had more than enough to deal with in beating back the undead from Raiaera and salvaging what he could from the livelihoods of its peoples. Even if the whispers were true that he had travelled to the northern continent all the way from Nippon for her sake and for her sake alone, there was no way that she could impose on him like that.

Which left…

Nothing.

Belatedly she realised that the snow had stopped, and that the clouds above were shifting and spoiling in petulant reluctance under the influence of a fresh will. Her slender frame heaved once more as she took one last deep breath of the winter chill, filling her lungs with air that was almost as cold as the snow that had built up around her on all sides. By dawn, she knew that little would remain of the pure white, and that the wind would have veered to a warmer and more seasonal zephyr. If only her worries would melt away as easily, Yuka thought as she remained motionless and still upon her back. If only…

There’s no point in dwelling, she decided abruptly and at last. A final mighty exhalation escaped her lungs, chasing away a portion of the clouds that blocked her line of sight.

It was with wonder as she watched the heavens part before her, revealing a bright full moon in all its ghostly glory. And for the first time that night Yuka allowed herself to completely relax, basking in the luminescence upon the mattress of white snow.

~ Second Movement – Sonata ~

***

Whumpf!

The black-barbed bolt slammed into the stone by her head, far closer than she would have preferred. Shards of splintered shrapnel lacerated her pale cheeks like angry swipes of a monstrous claw; were it not for the fact that she had just thrown herself behind the moss-encrusted boulder, the viciously shaped shaft would likely have impaled her gruesomely. Yuka had little doubt about what one of the ballista-like contraptions could do to a human body, having witnessed them in action in the Battle of Nenaebreth a month or so previously.

Skeletons with crossbows are cheating, she muttered to herself, clenching her body like a tightly-held fist as another pair of bolts ricocheted from the rock. She could not vent her frustration aloud, because her breath was coming in mighty heaving gasps that threatened to split her slender chest asunder; the chase had been ongoing for over half a day, and even her legendary endurance and fleetness of foot was being tested to the limit. Another time, perhaps, the dark-haired, alabaster-skinned young woman might have admired the skilful magic that had crafted her foes; for now, she was simply content with sending it a silent curse. And how do they always seem to know where I am?

She had already applied what limited skill she had at concealment to try to evade her foes, but to no use. Every time she had tried a false trail, or a double back, or any other trick in her repertoire, they had homed in on her position with no hesitation, and she had barely made it away alive. Most of her belongings lay abandoned in Trenyce, and most of what she had brought with her lay scattered about the dead forest of Timbrethinil, in the thought that something had somehow been cursed. Now she was left with only the clothes on her back, the staff in her hands, the sword at her side, and a few small trinkets in her pockets… everything else she owned, even her wits, seemed lost to her.

With the exception, of course, of the portion of her mind that was concerned with her immediate survival.

Abruptly there was silence, the lack of stone-splitting impacts a telltale sign that the undead were advancing on her position. Yuka breathed in lightly as she braced herself for the next leg of her marathon escapade, chanting a practiced litany of power under her breath. Wisps of arcane power formed a faint halo about her head, manifestation of her mind’s will.

Slowly she counted to three.

“Renkuha!”

The wisps erupted blindly into action behind her at her shouted cry, the words channelling power into the physical plane with enough intensity to explode earth and splinter dead wood. Yuka did not stand around to observe their effect, instead taking advantage of the general havoc caused to put some distance again between her and her foes. A few stray bolts whistled through the air in her general vicinity, but none were well enough aimed to be a threat; for now, with the corrupted earth once again flying beneath her feet and the chill wind breathing frost upon her sweat-stained brow, she was safe by the breadth of a hair and the length of her stride.

Rank wind whispered in her face as she navigated the treacherously twisting roots that sought to entangle her feet, over the hidden pits of quicksand that waited to catch her unawares, and through the parasitic blood-sucking vines that had evolved through necromantic corruption to take full advantage of whatever scant prey fell into their clutches. Over her head, nightfall was building up in the form of westerly storm clouds, a change in weather that would hamper her progress but would favour the restless dead. She had to reach safety before the cold spring rains sapped the last of the strength from her limbs and the vitality from her mind. Her only advantage was that she could outrun for a while anything that was chasing her, thanks to her foresight in putting Maeril’s elite tracker corps out of action.

She kept as low as possible amongst the boulders that cluttered the landscape, weaving a nimble dancing path away from her pursuers. Every now and again an opportunistic arrow whistled past her ears or clattered from the scenery about her, or she sensed the imminent impact of a long-range spell just in time to deflect the worst of its effects. Settling into the marathon stride that would sustain her for the best part of the next half-hour, she began to confidently throw herself around blind corners and across dangerous gullies, trusting fully in her survival instincts as she sought to melt away into her surroundings. Desolate and barren as Timbrethinil Forest now was, it still retained a fraction of the life and diversity that had characterised it in times before the undead, and that allowed her to blend in to the scenery as she had been instructed by her tutors at the Academy in Nippon.

Her breathing steadied, a series of long shallow breaths that fought a war of their own to keep her straining muscles supplied with fresh oxygen. Her eyes fastened onto her path on the immediate horizon, feeding her instincts with the information needed to plot her future course. Her mind, on the other hand, was allowed to drift away from the monotony of her run, seeking solace in memories of a not so distant past.

Memories of not so long ago…

Two years ago, Nippon…

“There’s no way that’s going to work,” the young woman exclaimed sceptically, short dark hair framing her wide forehead as she raised one eyebrow in objection. The two men behind her – quietly handsome Yoshi and enigmatic charismatic Thomas – made sure that their agreement was clear in not so many words. “In fact, that’s suicide.”

“No, it isn’t!” the bespectacled boy opposite struggled to make his voice heard, wondering for not the first time why he had been chosen as group leader to try to impose authority over three of the brightest in his academic year. Even at the best of times he would have had trouble speaking out; with his ideas completely dismissed and his companions on the verge of open revolt, he was currently wishing that he could simply melt away into the forested shadows that surrounded them in the moonlit night. The slender forearm that once again traced his proposed route upon the vellum map held between them seemed scholarly and weak; his sensitive eyes sought sheltered sanctuary behind his oversized glasses as he took a deep breath and once again tried to argue the point.

“Our mission objective is to get one of us to the target point to deliver the message, no matter what. If we approach across the open ground here or through the forest here…” – his fingers indicated the appropriate areas on the chart, and Yuka nearly winced at the neatly chewed nails – “… the sensei will almost certainly catch us, and we’ll fail. If it was cloudy or a new moon, we might be able to scrape together an airborne raid of sorts, but to do that tonight would indeed be suicide. We have to swim the river here, scale the cliffs under cover of darkness, and then wait for dawn to catch the sentries at their most tired, if we want to succeed. Yoshi, Thomas, and I can create a diversion while you sneak by…”

“Except you’re forgetting that you can barely swim, barely climb, and you don’t have the stamina to keep up with the rest of us.” Yuka’s eyes flashed angrily as they reflected stray moonbeams from the starlit heavens, and Ingwe quailed beneath her wrath. “Not to mention that if we’re caught out of position, then we’ll all fail faster than…”

“As I said,” Ingwe interjected in turn, rallying his strength at the surprise in her face. It was not often that he was so firm with his words, and only then did Yuka recognise the resolve he wore, the determination that they should succeed at a task hitherto renowned as impossible and upon which all first year students were expected to break themselves. Ingwe was more than willing to sacrifice himself should he compromise their success… and it was that very thought which scared her the most. “If we move in predictably… I mean, if we don’t do the unexpected, then it’ll be expected, right?”

“Ingwe, have you perhaps thought that we’re not actually meant to succeed? Don’t you think that perhaps you’re trying too hard?”

“I don’t believe in no-win situations, I dislike giving up, and I don’t understand the meaning of trying too hard.” The sheepish, shy smile that Ingwe wore made him seem even more out of place, but his gently spoken words elicited the desired reaction. His companions were… stunned, for lack of a better word, presumably once again at his uncharacteristic forcefulness. “Besides, if we’re really meant to lose this, I’d much rather go down trying to win than just give up. Who knows… this could actually be a test of character rather than one of skill.”

For a brief moment, the silence hung heavy. Yuka was well aware of the fact that her mouth was gaping open in search of a reply, but she didn’t seem able to do anything about it.

“He… has you there,” Thomas finally pointed out, before Yoshi broke out into hearty guffaws, unable to hold in his mirth any longer. Ingwe blinked once as if surprised, then again wide-eyed in Yuka’s direction as if apologising for his indiscretion. She could barely muster a whimper in reply.

“We won’t stop for you if you fall behind,” the psy-mage warned his younger classmate, and Ingwe nodded once, firmly, in return.

“I don’t expect you to,” he whispered.

***

Somewhat surprisingly, the bold plan succeeded, and the four young people managed to succeed where no student had ever done before. They made it to the base of the cliffs with an hour of darkness to spare, in spite of Ingwe’s inexperienced gait and clumsy strokes. Somehow the scholarly young man was not left behind in the wilderness or swept away by the current. He even managed to overcome his acrophobia whilst scaling the cliffs, clinging for desperate life to the vertical rock face in the wake of his more intrepid companions.

Reaching the top of the cliff was only half the battle; once there, they had to evade capture by the sensei who were guarding the checkpoint, and safely navigate one of their party to the designated location. But even here, Ingwe’s plan worked. Although Thomas gave himself up quickly when threatened with injury and Yoshi managed to stumble into a trap of binding, Ingwe held off no less than three superior opponents for just about long enough for Yuka to reach her goal. For the first time since the inception of the Academy some two hundred years prior, the infamous survival examination had been overcome.

The lesson that Yuka had taken away from that experience had not been to trust Ingwe, for he was too prone to risk for her liking, but to always strive for the best even when prepared for the worst. Fate wasn’t something for her to abide to… it was something for her to reach out and grab with both hands. Only then could the course of destinies be altered.

It was a lesson that she would repeat over and over again during the course of her flight.

“Have you not caught her yet?” the necromancer Ar’zhanekkar wheezed angrily, eliciting a low growl from his lupine companion.

“Patience, necromancer,” his companion, a scarred wolf dangerously close to snapping, replied. Easily the size of a great Raiaeran stallion, his grey-lined muzzle drooped towards the ground, the remainder of his fur gleaming in shimmering velvet amongst the night.

Grim Jaw was the alpha of the pack of corrupted dire wolves that ran with the Death Lord Maeril Thyrrian, commander of Xem’zund’s northern legions. A proud and taciturn warrior who took no interest in the political bickering that corrupted Maeril’s retinue, the wolf held himself and his kind aloof from the rest of the undead armies, answering to none but the death knight himself. More pragmatic and perhaps more honourable than the majority of his bloodthirsty kin, he nonetheless saw his position under Xem’zund as an unavoidable one due to the callous dismissal with which the High Elves denigrated the dire wolves, and the ruthlessness with which the sylvan folk hunted them down. Caught between the mindless murderous tendencies of his charges and the iron gauntlet of discipline that Maeril imposed on all but the daemon Natosatael, he held his niche in the army through a mixture of paternal wisdom and ruthless professionalism.

The great wolf shouldered no shortage of dislike for the less martial elements of the armies, and bore especial hatred for Ar’zhanekkar, who he viewed as a slobbering, grovelling sycophant who was all too willing to step on toes and sacrifice those around him in favour of his own advancement. Ar’zhanekkar, in turn, thought of Grim Jaw as simply a relic of an ancient bygone age, an antique more useful as a decorative ornament than as an instrument of war. It was safe to say that there was no love lost between Maeril’s two lieutenants, although the Death Lord liked to foster such animosity amongst his higher echelons to keep them on their toes. In any case, despite their differences they had been ordered to cooperate in hunting down the deserter, and even Grim Jaw could not deny that Ar’zhanekkar’s magics – and the tracing rune the necromancer had implanted upon Yuka’s staff during their clash not a fortnight prior – were invaluable in helping them trace her.

“Lord Maeril will be greatly displeased by your inefficiency in this matter,” the necromancer sniffed, before coughing thick phlegm from the deep recesses of his filthy black hood. The front of his bulgingly obese robes was stained by years of lack of hygiene, and the gnarled staff he leant upon was coated in a thick layer of blood and grime. It was no coincidence that Grim Jaw’s eyes were firmly fastened on the horizon.

“It was your guards that were on duty that night,” the lupine commander pointed out through grit fangs, trying his best to keep his temper and not bare them. “And your pickets to the west that allowed her to slip through. My packs to the south were successful in driving her away from Galonan.”

“… and likely we would not be having this conversation if she hadn’t managed to poison half of your trackers!” Ar’zhanekkar’s retort was petty and petulant, but it stung Grim Jaw into another growl nonetheless. The silver hairs at the base of the alpha’s mane bristled in fury, and the necromancer’s jaw abruptly clamped shut.

The wolf was considering which of a dozen scathing replies to employ in order to bring the impudent spellcaster to his knees, when the sound of padded paws behind him caught his attention instead.

“Your orders?” a younger, brasher voice growled at him, one that belonged to the brazen youngster Ash Claw. Grim Jaw knew the type well: an impetuous youth desperate for the chance to prove himself and chomping at the bit to challenge his leadership. He’d seen off many such challengers in his years as an alpha, whether making them into productive members of the pack or breaking them and leaving their blooded corpses in the dust. He wondered how much longer it would be before Ash Claw too met the same fate… and which of the paths the pup would choose.

“With me,” the elder wolf commanded, heaving his aching body from the cool rock upon which he had been resting with one last glare in Ar’zhanekkar’s direction. “We search for the girl ourselves. With any luck, the necromancer here will not destroy everything in our absence.”

“… careful what you eat, mangy cur…” was the muttered reply, doubtless not intended to carry, but caught by Grim Jaw’s keen hearing nonetheless. The great wolf let the insult slide, but his mind dwelt on the words.

It was not so much guilt, as disgust at giving the necromancer the opportunity to snipe at him, and at allowing himself to be deceived by a young human woman of all things. Perhaps he was growing old, he mused, as he expertly led the troop of five wolves through the charred and desecrated remains of what had once been Timbrethinil Forest. Grim Jaw allowed his mind to wander back to the events of that night, the last time they had met…

Two days ago, Timbrethinil…

“What are you doing here?”

The young woman nearly jumped two metres in the air with a guilty start, swiftly hiding something behind her back… but not swiftly enough that Grim Jaw didn’t notice the movement. His eyes, scarred by battles he had fought long before the pup in front of him had even been born, narrowed in suspicion. What was she doing, prowling around the army’s meagre food stores?

“Turn around, girl, and keep your hands where I can see them.”

She did as she was told, slowly shuffling her feet to face him and raising her hands high in the air. The great wolf could now see that the object she held in her hand was a parcel of dried foodstuffs… exactly the type of item that would not be noticed should it go missing from the stores. A tentative sniff of the air revealed nothing untoward… no hints of rot or poison in the room. In retrospect, Grim Jaw would regret not doing a more thorough inspection, but he certainly hadn’t suspected Yuka of being able to import such a quality odourless sedative, and the risk of food poisoning had not been foremost on his mind, given that the vast majority of Maeril’s army required no sustenance.

“Now answer. What are you doing here?”

There was enough menace laced in his growl to make even the bravest of men quaver. The young woman, Natosatael’s pet, the one they called Yuka, barely thought for a moment before finding her tongue… or half of it, at least.

“I… I…”

“The daemon not feeding you well?” Grim Jaw interrupted her hesitant stammering, pausing his intimidating pacing to indicate the parcel in her hand with a toss of his head. Her stammering minded him of a cub caught red-handed in an act of truancy; he couldn’t begin to count the number of times he’d been required, as pack alpha, to mete out punishment to the younglings. On the other hand, he didn’t pretend to know the young woman well. He respected the power of her patron Natosatael, but was wary of the daemon’s underhanded scheming and mistrustful of the human who seemed to embody said intrigue. Her meek reply, and the submissive nod in response to his words, did little to enhance his regard for her. “That’s no excuse for stealing from the stores. Replace that parcel and get lost.”

Slowly, almost reluctantly, she did as she was told. Two steps out of the warehouse, however, she paused as if unable to give up her prize completely. Her floaty words wafted back towards Grim Jaw, interrupting him from his cautious prowl about the barrels and crates within the stores.

“Please… won’t you…”

“Enough!”

The wolf leapt from the timber structure in a blaze of furious fur and fang, planting his paws amidst the mud and baring his teeth in a practiced pose of controlled aggression. One powerful hind leg lashed out to kick the door shut behind him, and the entire building shuddered with enough violent finality as to force Yuka to take a step back. Grim Jaw didn’t necessarily take pleasure in the terrified expression upon her face, but he could not deny the small pleasure he felt at the knowledge that he still had the ability to induce fear in others.

The wind whispered through the naked branches in the wake of the firestorm, and the low-hanging grey of the clouds overhead scuttled past as if they wanted absolutely nothing to do with the confrontation. The silence, on the other hand, was absolute, almost deafening in its intensity. For a moment longer, Yuka’s feet remained rooted to the spot, sucked down by the wet earth and the fear. Then, as if they had finally rediscovered their ability to move, they erupted in a flurry of action that carried her as quickly as possible from the scene.

Grim Jaw followed suit a moment later, languidly pacing away into the moonless evening.

I could sure do with some of that dry fruit now…

The hunger pangs had gradually eaten away at the insides of her stomach, until the pain was almost an integral part of her body. She regretted the fact that the chieftain of the dire wolves had discovered her in the midst of her scrounging, although thankfully she’d managed to distract him from the sleeping poison she’d slipped amongst the cured hams that were his wolves’ winter rations. There was no way she could have made it as far as she had if his fleet-footed lupine trackers had been on her trail, and she had Thomas to thank for supplying her with the drug without question.

I wonder if he realised what I was going to do…

Her mind latched on to the thought as if it were a safety net, anything to distract her from the throbbing pain in her stomach and the heaving ache of her chest. She had been on the run for nearly two days now, unable to sleep for more than a few seconds at a time due to the relentless pursuit and the threat of capture. Her thirst had been quenched on the cold rain that had hindered her progress the day before, and on what passing sips she could manage from the streams she crossed in her flight… in reality, little more than rivulets of rank residue residing in the remains of dry riverbeds. The muscles in her legs fought through tension and cramp for every step they took, and yet her mind forced them onwards, ever onwards, towards whatever hopes of safety lay in the far distance.

And, for the first time in long hours, those hopes were being rekindled in her heart. The shadows of night were retreating before the deep purple halo upon the horizon behind her that heralded daybreak, and it was dawning upon the vast starless void overhead that a little illumination might likely go a long way. But better yet, she could now spy the jagged silhouette of a city upon the gentle curve of the Laure Linae… the haven of New Aurient that was her current destination. There the Elven garrison still held against Xem’zund and against the bitter encroachment of the dying winter… there, at last, she would be able to find some solace behind the safety of the stalwart stone walls.

Just one last spurt, she told herself, urging unwilling and fatigued limbs into another brisk trot. At first her breathing was ragged and her mind ready to faint at the cloud of pain that coursed through her body, but after a while she found her stride once more and slipped back into the semi-dormant state of consciousness that accompanied her runner’s high. Her slender legs seemed to almost devour the miles underfoot, as the young woman navigated expertly across the muddy marshy grassland that she had emerged into after leaving Timbrethinil Forest. Somewhere behind her she could still sense her pursuers, hard on her trail, but no longer immediately threatening. On the other hand, Yuka was never one for complacency… she was not safe until she reached the city, and even that was debatable.

Her pace slowed as she worked her way up a low hill, one of many that undulated about the rolling landscape. As she finally crested the rise, her presence was greeted by a bright trace of solar corona upon the horizon behind her. Within moments the trace had grown to a shimmer, and the shimmer to a sliver of brightness, and then before her entranced eyes the dawn of a new day flooded the ruined forest and blooded wastelands with new hope. The waters of the Laure Linae glistened in twinkling delight, and a warm moist breeze caught her fine dark hair and sent it rippling outwards in the direction of the Elven city. For a moment, Yuka found that she could not move from the spot, the caressing touch of the belated spring immobilising her as effectively as any icy chill.

“… Ingwe?” she asked of the zephyr, her words slipping confusedly from her lips as her mind swam in the cocoon of warmth and wind. There was something about the presence in the air that was almost familiar, an intangible something that reminded her of his gentle sensitivity and burning intelligence. The memories she had dredged up not so long ago once again suffused her mind, and she trembled in wonder as the sensation threatened to simply spirit her wearied soul away. Determination and resolve flooded the empty vessel of her body, until she acknowledged the nigh irrational whisper that was echoing in the confines of her mind… she could outrun her pursuit, she did have the strength of heart and limb necessary to guide her through her ordeal, she would eventually make it to safety, no matter what torments they threw at her.

What is this? Am I… hallucinating…? the sane part of her mind wondered, not noticing the forgotten pendant that was burning a hole in the back pocket of her leggings.

Before she could coalesce her thoughts into one, however, something happened. Movement in the not-so-distance jolted her from her exhausted reverie, back to the war-torn reality and the pulsating terror of her flight. Something was on her trail, far closer than she had expected and moving at an extremely swift pace. Her keen gaze fixated on a flash of matted silver fur, on a grizzled jaw line and a slate-grey eye marred by a vicious scar…

That wolf!

The warmth coursing through her body turned instantaneously to the chill of fear. The grasslands began to reverberate with lupine howls as her pursuers realised that they had been discovered… but Yuka did not given them the luxury of reaching her ears.

A fresh surge of adrenaline pumping through her veins, she spun on her heels and took off for the city in the distance.

Yuka was a good runner for a human, one of the fleetest of foot that Grim Jaw had ever seen. But she had only two legs to their four, and she had spent the best part of three days fearful and on the run, in stark contrast to he and his wolves, who were almost fresh as well as being used to duties such as this.

“Flank her on both sides. Don’t let her get away,” he growled, his orders terse and gravelly. His underlings acknowledged, their tongues lolling out as they panted for breath. It pleased the elder wolf no end that he could outlast younger, cockier pups while on the hunt.

Now and again, he caught glimpses of their quarry amongst the stark shadows ahead, the white of her robes offset by the flowing black of her hair. Her musk, however, marked her flight as clear as any path through the wilderness; it was light and exotic, but suffused with the pungent fragrance of fear. Had he the luxury of sympathy, he might have pitied her position, for Maeril’s orders did not discriminate whether she was dead or alive upon her capture…

Whumpf!

The anguished howls of one of the wolves he’d sent to flank the young woman echoed about the vicinity, followed closely by those of the other. Grim Jaw focused his attention on the landscape ahead, trying to discern details through the rapidly rising morning mists…

A flash of light, and the veteran alpha only just swerved away in time. The wolf that had been running along behind him crumpled as a mighty gust of wind ripped through their formation. Grim Jaw did not stay to watch as the lesser wolf rolled a full three-and-a-half times before settling in an immobile heap in the mud, whimpering pitifully with his forelegs lying at a decidedly awkward angle.

“Magic!” Ash Claw, the only unscathed member of the pack, panted from alongside him. Grim Jaw wanted to roll his eyes at the obvious, but dared not take his gaze from where he had seen her last, lest the mists about him disorient him completely. Heavy with moisture and magic, they obscured his vision and dampened his sense of smell, hampering him from his designated task. Still, the fact that she had turned to fight meant that something had happened to make her give up on the thought of flight; either she’d come up against difficult terrain, she’d injured herself, or she’d run out of stamina at long last. Grim Jaw did not know this part of Raiaera very well, but the fact that she had taken down three of his pack in a matter of seconds pointed to the first option. Which, in turn, meant…

“This way.” The elder wolf ordered, veering off to the right. Ash Claw nodded breathless acquiescence and followed his superior as they plunged headlong into the thickening mists, weaving skilfully through the sustained barrage of spells that were flung in their direction.

Grim Jaw’s intent was simple, tactical nous honed by long years of experience telling him that it was best to keep things uncomplicated. The magic that bombarded his advance told him that the human mage could track him through the mist, which was in turn probably of her conjuring. But he too could extrapolate her location from the trajectory of the spells, and the two wolves were equal to the assault, weaving expertly in and out of the explosive geysers of mud and dead branch. Unlike their fellows, they knew now to expect her magic, and were able to work together almost instinctively to avoid the worst of it. What was more, with the patience and cunning only a predatory wolf could possess, they were steadily working their way towards her position.

As I thought… the silver-furred wolf’s mind churned, dispassionately analysing the field of battle even as it was torn apart by the arsenal of magics at his opponent’s disposal. Your back’s against the wall, and you were forced to go on the offensive. Not bad for a human pup, but…

Even the dampening mist could not prevent his ears from picking up the joyful gurgle of water recently released from icy entrapment and as yet untainted by Xem’zund’s influence. And from this distance, this close to the river that had barred her path, even the dampening mist could not protect her from his finely tuned senses.

Grim Jaw changed direction with such abrupt swiftness that, for a brief moment, even his younger compatriot was left in the dust. Now the great wolf barrelled like a streak of grey-blue lightning straight towards his foe, a darker and slimmer bolt following in his wake. The mists ahead coalesced into five brightly luminescent balls of arcane energy that pulsed for an instant before lashing out towards them at blinding speeds…

… but the older wolf deftly ducked beneath them with a wise roll of his shoulders, and Ash Claw agilely leapt into the air as they passed harmlessly beneath him…

… and as both wolves dextrously regained their feet, the mists suddenly lifted, leaving them face to face with their quarry.

Fast! Yuka managed to gasp, drawing back her free hand in readiness for her next spell. The staff she held with her other was literally glowing with lingering arcane power, so fast and so furious had been her barrage upon the wolves. But the combined strain of her long days of flight and the sustained use of her powers was quickly causing her consciousness to ebb from her grasp. At the rate she was being forced to fight at, she would not last much longer.

Mud churned beneath hardened paws as both her foes scrabbled for footing. As they faltered she struck out with all her remaining might, beckoning the waters of the river behind her to lash at the wolves in liquidly twisting spears. However, the larger one – the one who had interrupted her in the storehouse back in Trenyce, she recognised – neatly ducked away, and the smaller one bounded over a metre straight up in the air. Before she could regroup for another spell, they’d launched themselves at her.

She was prepared. Faint sigils sparked into life upon her palm, and an arcane barrier sizzled into existence to repel her foes. But the wolves were one again more than her equal; almost instantaneously, they changed their plan of attack to match. The heavier, older one struck first, throwing his entire weight upon her shield and scrabbling away rabidly when it barely held. She had just about enough time to take a step back before it came crashing down, and through the void between them came the younger, fitter wolf, careening straight towards her and bowling her over with the sheer intensity of his assault.

Instinctively she kicked out strongly with both legs, and somehow managed to catch the dark-furred beast fully in the side of the torso. Air left its lungs in a deafening gush, and it flew through the early morning sunlight to land in an unhappy heap ten metres away. Both wolf and woman scrambled frantically back to their feet, Yuka losing hold of her staff in the process but somehow managing to draw her sword in time to ward off her larger foe.

“Back down, girl,” he growled at her in the angry monotone she remembered so well, pacing purposefully as his underling once again took up position to his side. “Nobody else has to get hurt.”

“Back off, wolf,” she whispered back, her eyes glaring fiercely through their fatigue. Why was he speaking to her now? Why would he bandy words with…

Behind me!

One of the wolves she thought she’d dealt with earlier, limping and bloodied but still able to move as stealthily as any shadow. She caught sight of it in time to focus her powers, and an arcane projectile knocked it back into the icy waters of the rushing rapids before it could pounce. But the movement had left her open, and the dire wolves were ever ready to take advantage.

The smaller beast snarled and bristled, but it was once again the larger one that acted. Quicker than thought it threw its massive bulk at her legs, and only barely could she get out of the way in time, losing her footing once again in the process as she teetered precariously on the very brink of the riverbank. Waters colder than the embrace of death itself gurgled ominously in her ear as she floundered for something solid.

Time slowed as her left hand closed around something smooth and slender and still vaguely lukewarm from the power it had recently channelled… her staff! Her sword arm flailed desperately in the air as she struggled to bring her magics to bear once more, knowing that with her martial skills she could not hope to defeat her opponents without them. But the stench of sweaty fur was far too close, the shadow of claw and fang dangerously near. Before she could muster her magic, the old wolf was upon her, viciously sharp teeth snapping in her face as his weight pinned her helplessly to the ground.

The spurt of bright red blood, rich and rank in the crisp cold air.

The dying glimmer of eyes once bright with hope and fervour.

Pale slender hands limp and lifeless, grizzled muzzle crippled and cold.

The satisfied slurp of the icy torrent as momentum carried forth the two figures locked in embrace, and within moments they were claimed by the distant horizon.

Ash Claw watched as they disappeared from sight. Only after he was sure they were gone did he turn away from the scene.

~ 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…

Quote:

---

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...

---

Quote:

---

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...

---

Quote:

---

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.

---

Quote:

---

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

---

Quote:

---

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?

---

Quote:

---

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.

---

Quote:

---

... 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?

---

Quote:

---

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.

---

Quote:

---

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...

---

Quote:

---

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...

---

Quote:

---

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...

---

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.

Yuka burst into the chamber with Valkyr only moments behind, breathing heavily from the exertion of the sheer number of steps she had just climbed. If she’d had the time to relax, she would have envied the Dwarf, who had barely broken a sweat despite half-carrying, half-dragging Amarie over her shoulder all the way from the depths of the castle. If her mind had not been addled by lack of sleep and food, she might have even found it strange that she herself – with no shortage of confidence in her endurance – had not managed to duplicate the feat.

As soon as she flung herself through the heavy oaken doors, however, her ears were assaulted by an intense cacophony of arguing voices: the entirety of the Winyaurient Council struggling to shout down the single Bladesinger who stood before them to warn them of their impending doom. Nimloth was quite literally roaring at the top of her lungs, mixing her words with enough curses to make a Dwarf proud, in an attempt to get the attention of the bickering elders. It soon became apparent that the councillors were fighting not only Nimloth but amongst themselves as well, as the debate raged on between those who favoured instant decisive action and those who were willing to risk their lives in order to ‘wait and see’.

I… don’t believe this…

Aghast at the chaos and completely taken aback, Yuka found herself unintentionally rooted to the spot. Were these or weren’t these the greatest warriors and councillors in the city, who had seen it through the countless perils it had faced throughout the war so far? What were they doing bickering over points of formality like small children? Surely they were not all so blinkered such as they could not detect the impending darkness that slowly but surely was pressing in upon even her own arcane senses?

“We…!”

The heavy doors swung open once again, this time admitting young Elenwe, followed closely by both Eldalote and Earane, into the chamber. The Sky Knight skidded to a complete halt just in time, almost bowling Yuka over in her eager haste. Surrounded by the loud bickering of her supposed betters, however, her expression quickly turned to the disgusted disdain that only a child could successfully manage.

“We managed to get everybody into the castle,” she repeated, this time in a quiet aside to Yuka and Valkyr. “Nobody believed us at first.”

“But Elenwe managed to convince the Sky Knights…”

“… and there’s no quicker way to get everybody’s attention than by flying overhead on a pegasus.”

The two younger Bards gave Elenwe proud beams; the young Elf positively blushed beneath their praise.

“In which case, ‘at leaves th’ Cooncil…” Valkyr surmised, unceremoniously dumping Amarie into the care of her sisters. The Dwarf exchanged glances with Yuka, unsure whether she had the right to take charge in this situation; the vagaries and intricacies of Elven politics were quite patently the least of her specialties. “Ah dunnae kinn, Yuka… whit dae we dae noo?”

“We ignore them,” Yuka decided in an instant, unable to leash her impatience any longer. Whether the Council agreed or not, there were lives at stake, and she had to act to the best of her judgement to save them. Freed from her hesitation, her eyes darted swiftly about her surroundings, ignoring the bickering elders and the regally robed guards attempting to subdue Nimloth in favour of attempting to spot the key to unleashing the power imbued in the mana crystals. Sliding over faceless marble walls and featureless frescoes, past slender pillars and beyond the intricately carved wooden barricade that separated the councillors from those that sought their audience, she finally settled upon an inconspicuous archway almost hidden in the shadows to the rear of the room, and the first of a spiralling set of stairs that her keen gaze could just about make out through the darkness.

“… don’t tell me…” she murmured, taking a step forwards in hope of a better look. Barely had she placed foot to ground, however, before she came up against the gate in the wooden barricade… and against its guardian, a tall Elf in ridiculously ornate armour tasked with preventing unwanted intrusion into the privacy of the councillors.

“None may enter without the express permission of the Council,” he intoned, barring her path with the haft of his halberd. The steely blue eyes that glared at her from within the depths of his high helm were cold and battle-hardened; the coolly delivered warning, laced with only a hint of the tension that tainted the attempts of his colleagues to restrain Nimloth, was backed by the presence of three more guards who eyed Yuka and her friends with wary hostility. “Do not force me to remove you from this room with force.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, the guard knew deep inside his stomach that they had been a mistake. Yuka had experienced just about enough of bureaucratic protocol, of the pomp and circumstance without any substance that seemed to permeate Winyaurient’s ruling class, to bandy pleasantries any longer.

“Try me,” she challenged, her eyes flashing in anger and daring. Before the guards could react, she darted between them and beyond, unerringly aiming her stride towards the beckoning archway as they floundered in her wake.

“Yuka! Watch out!”

With a burst of speed, the young woman avoided the clumsy lunge of the nearest guard and put some distance between herself and her pursuers. Something in the tone of Elenwe's voice told her that the young Sky Knight was not referring to the guards but to elsewhere...

Her jaw set in a thin line of grim determination, she sprinted at full pelt up the spiralling staircase, taking the steps dangerously two and three at a time. Below her, the commotion arose in a cacophonous din that threatened to drown out her hurried tread, guttural Dwarven curses followed by an exaggerated whoop of glee as Valkyr too managed to break through the council cordon. But Yuka's keen gaze was trained skyward, past the glass dome that crowned the topmost chamber of the majestic spire, and upon the growing speck in the sky of cloudless blue... the blotch of black brimstone that threatened to blot out their very existence like so many insignificant mites in the path of the sledgehammer.

Slender chest heaving, she emerged into the serenity of the chamber above, ignoring the thundering thud of Valkyr's heavy boots upon the marble staircase behind her. She concentrated instead on the veils of mystic power that cocooned the sparsely furnished room, lingering tantalisingly in the still air like some artificial aurora. At once, she knew why the secrets contained within had not been exposed to the world over the long aeons of its isolation; her mind was quickly assaulted by multiple waves of arcane willpower not her own, of such a strength that they would have easily overwhelmed those who had journeyed up here out of simple curiosity. Yuka had to steel herself to take even a single step forward, even though her thoughts were entirely focused on reaching the glowing crystalline pedestal that dominated the centre of the room.

Though in reality it was probably no longer than a handful of seconds, her journey seemed to take nothing short of an eternity, wading through the heavy atmosphere that resisted her every step by coalescing in her path. The beckoning whispers in her mind, an incessant multitude of voices that tempted and threatened, coerced and cajoled her away from her goal, were only moments away from driving her completely insane. By the time she had forced her way through, her limbs were trembling with exhaustion, a cold sweat had sprouted upon her brow, and she was completely exhausted by the sheer mental effort.

But now she was faced with a new problem.

What exactly do I do?

There were no clear controls upon the crystal, no obvious mechanism that she could manipulate upon the waist-high device to elicit a response. There was naught but a pair of hand-sized imprints upon the top surface, which glowed coolly when she instinctively slipped her hands into them, but had no other effect.

“Hu... rry...!”

Valky'rs voice from behind her only served to increase her agitation, and her frantic glance to her rear did little to settle the situation. The Dwarf had become entrapped in the same mystic veil that Yuka had fought through mere moments ago and was making no progress whatsoever; her eyes, on the other hand, were entrained in horror upon the skies above, and at the speck of onrushing rock that had engorged itself to a large blob, the flaming path of its descent clearly discernible behind it.

They did not have much time.

Up! Yuka willed, bluntly concentrating the final dregs of her willpower into the tips of her fingers. The flaming shadow above slowly crept across her face, portent of their impending doom that only increased the adrenaline pumping through her veins. To her despair, there was no response from the machinery, not even the vaguest of hints that her urging had any effect.

Up!! she cried again, and this time the crystal glowed very faintly beneath her outspread fingers. But even such a minimal response resulted in a sensation akin to her entire life being sucked from her body; clearly, manipulating such esoteric energies required mental and physical efforts of nigh-titanic scale. Yuka nearly passed out, so drained and faint did she feel, but the calamity hurtling towards her from overhead gave her beleaguered mind enough strength for one last try.

“Up!!” she screamed aloud, straining mightily against the boundaries of her body and mind as her voice echoed hollowly about the chamber. Desperation was written all over her contorted features; her back – and the backs of everybody else within the town – was pinned against the ground with nowhere to urn and only death awaiting them should she fall. White robes billowing from the forces in action, strands of her fine black hair whipping about her face in an unruly manner, it was all she could do to maintain her focus upon the task of evading the onrushing catastrophe.

Her body was lost in a column of bright light that erupted from the floor, the violent flow of energy cutting her off from her surroundings and from Valkyr's frantic bellow of rage. The force of the vertex caused her to close her eyes instinctively, the swirl of power assaulting her from all direction such that she didn't even have the chance to flinch. Floating in a timeless oblivion as apt to tear her apart as to save them all, her agitated mind cycled quickly from panic to desperation to enforced calm.

If we're really meant to do this, I'd much rather go down trying to win than just give up.

The words were Ingwe's but the voice that spoke them now was her own. Cocooned in the midst of the void, it would have been easy to simply give in and let go. After all, the chances of their hare-brained scheme actually succeeding were close to nothing, and her strength was ebbing faster than she could spare.

All these years, I've envied you... In the feverish haze behind her closed eyelids, she remembered the scene from her dream in which her three former classmates had slipped away from her sight, always so strong, always so far ahead of her. Now, by doing this... could I...?

Could she grow just that little bit closer?

“UP!!”

With a sickening, gut-wrenching crescendo of rumbles, the castle tore free of the ground, powered by the relentless hum of mana flowing from the set of crystals embedded deep within its core. Slowly, inexorably, it rose away from the tendrils of darkness that had encircled it for months on end, rising upwards into the high noon sky like some rocky artificial diamond. Still trailing a cascade of loose rock and earth as it gradually gained altitude, the castle spires had barely cleared the clouds when they crossed paths with the spellcast meteor, now irreversibly bound to its fated landing in the remains of the city below.

The rock impacted moments later, with enough percussive force to shatter a million eardrums. The collision sent a massive plume of earth and rubble erupting into the sky, as the ground quaked and shattered mightily below. The shockwave from the explosion buffeted the castle once, twice, and again, knocking everybody from their feet and sending unsecured furniture and ornaments flying. Briefly, the fear that they would all crash and burn swelled amongst the escapees like an uncontrollable tidal wave; then, with visible effort, the castle righted itself once more and settled serenely into position, a skyborne fortress floating in the clouds above the devastation that had been wrought by the massive crater below.

Only then did Yuka Kanamai slump unconscious against the control crystal, drained from her exertions and the effects of her previous wounds. But she did so with an angelic smile of satisfaction and relief engraved upon her features, in the knowledge that for perhaps the first time, she had managed to successfully and positively make a difference to the lives of others.

Legion of Light VI: Commentary where necessary, and as needed. I’ll be working on this for you. Just PM me if you have questions or concerns.

Continuity 7.5

:: The flashbacks, the memories, they were perfectly timed to allow for the reader to get a good idea of who Yuka was. However, I’d suggest a little more, maybe focus a little more on the present path than the past. The goal was clear enough, to escape, but beyond that it was a bit lost amidst the flashes of past memories and present weather.

Setting 8.5

:: Exquisite, to the point of bordering perfection. My only qualm is what I feel like I’m reiterating to death… there’s simply too much setting and not enough of everything else. I feel like it completely envelops your posts, the story, and the attention of the reader.

Pacing 5

:: You tend to write very long, elaborate, and overly flowery sentences. It cuts the pace to a degree because it makes the reader invest more time into following the flow of the sentences and finding where one thought leads to another amidst all the comma’s. I’d suggest trying to throw in some shorter sentences to serve as means of delivering emphasis to the aspects of the narrative that are most important. It will help slow the pace enough for the reader to follow, without completely killing the style of writing you prefer.

Dialogue 8

Action 6

:: The actions that you did were well formed, as if you know the character very well, but are hard to follow with how long the sentences are that I remarked about in the pacing. It’s hard to really get into the action of the character when the setting and narrative are so dominant in the writing, leaving the reader knowing more about the dynamics of a snowflake falling than what the character looking at it is doing.

Persona 6.5

:: [[Another time, perhaps, the dark-haired, alabaster-skinned young woman might have admired the skilful magic that had crafted her foes; for now, she was simply content with sending it a silent curse.]] From post 4 :: Why would you admire something that is trying to kill you and has nearly destroyed everything that Raiaera once was? I’m not really sure what it is that makes you want to admire that, maybe the magic that went into it and your appreciation for complex spells… maybe just because it’s a worth foe? Whatever the case, a little bit of reason behind it would have helped a lot with developing the character a little more.

Technique 8

Mechanics 7.5

Clarity 5.5

:: [[The snowfall seemed to symbolise that Lady Winter herself realised this, and had gathered her powers unto her for one last show of might before she finally relinquished her grip.]] Post 1 :: The way it is worded is confusing, despite making a little sense. I’d suggest taking things like this and reading it out loud to make sure that it makes as much sense out loud as does when you’re writing it.


Wild Card 7


Score: 69.5


Rewards:

Wings :: 3200 exp * 1.5 for it being in the FQ = 4800 exp | 1500 gold * 1.5 for FQ = 2250

Exp and GP added!

Wings levels to 4!