Seseh's face wasn't like hers. The witch had made her that way on purpose. She wanted others to take note of her presence as you would a priceless painting.
Seseh was sculpted beautifully with perfect Suavity, right down to the fingers and the black hair. Carved high cheekbones, wide grin, Westerian ears, and eyebrows. Seseh had an arrogant slanted chin and squared jawline.
She was the perfect artistic representation of architectural design. She noted her beautiful, elongated neck as she looked at her reflection. Seseh's nape was aristocratic and elegant. She held a defeated expression on her marbled features. Mesmerizing blue eyes stared back which were the only feature not sculpted by the Nymph. Although she worshiped the being inside her, she longed for a way out. She felt trapped.
As trapped as Aracnia, the Spiderling children, and Ezekiel.
Ezekiel entered the queen's bath chambers, a vial of his latest concoction in his hand.
"Add it in, Ezekiel," she said with a mocking smile.
"It will only strengthen my mixture and help you maintain your shape," Ezekiel replied and made his way to the bath. "You know it will not cure your... ailment," he poured, watching her languish in the warm bath of his own concoction.
Up close, Ezekiel estimated that she was a few years younger than himself. She wore three rings.
Nothing else.
Seseh watched her image mingle with the ripples of the large brown bath below her stomach.
She lay in the large, extravagant chamber. Her form tightened as a small portion of her seeped onto the marble floor. She didn't want to be there. The evil in her did.
Ezekiel maintained a neutral expression as he kept pouring the mixture into the bath. He watched it fizz and sizzle against her skin. The queen heaved a satisfied sigh as her flesh began to harden and firm with fast resolve. Her eyes flickered open and Ezekiel saw the blue glow.
Once the liquid had done its job, she let out a small laugh. "I am not looking for a cure, dear Ezekiel. If I'm cured, my thrall, Seseh will lose me."
Although you couldn't see it, Seseh wept. The thralls form was forced to look up at him in a flirtatious manner.
"I will not succumb to your temptations." The queen lifted her hand from the water and extended a finger to him. "Come closer, my little Spiderling. Let me show you pleasures you cannot imagine."
Ezekiel took a step forward but shook his head. "I will not betray my Aracnia for your dark desires."
The queen's face twisted in anger. "You think you have a choice? Your family is in my dungeon waiting for me to do what I want with them." Ezekiel felt a rage building up at the mention of his family.
As she rose from the bath, Ezekiel's gaze instinctively darted away from her naked form.
"Queen Seseh was a lady," Ezekiel heard himself say. It was too late to take it back. She stood dripping with her back to him so that her long black hair was visible for a moment. She forced the thrall to toss her locks over her shoulder onto her front. Doing so revealed the deep-reaching arch of her back and bold, round hindquarters. He felt more uncomfortable than attracted by her beauty. He had seen her many times, but always in furs or royal purple robes. He had never seen how beautiful she was. Her legs were long and well-muscled.
She was gorgeous like a sculpture. Seseh was beautiful and he had noticed the architecture. The Nymph's work did its job and people took note. Tall and curved, fit and elegant. Everything about her exuded distinctive features more exquisite than any bas-relief. The problem was that he knew the truth beyond anything sensual.
He knew her true form was a heaping mound of clay whose very presence screamed "NOTICE ME". That scream attracted his attention more than anything she could show him.
He loved his wife. Missed his wife. If helping the false Seseh they once called friend revealed Aracnia's whereabouts. If getting closer to her meant he'd free them. If creating more of his mud solution meant he wouldn't have to anymore, he would do it. But he would not betray his mind, his love, or his body.
"Yes." She said. "Queen Seseh was a lady."
He tilted his head and averted his eyes as she turned to greet him full frontal.
"your mix made me whole and I feel I must repay you," she said with a coy smile.
She flipped her hair back behind her.
Inside, Seseh was begging with desperate pleas to cover herself. It was not that she disliked her figure. She hated that the Nimph of the North forced her to prance around unadorned. She wanted to run away, wanted to hide behind one of the many pillars that lined the bath. This was not her. Ezekiel was right, she was a lady and for her, a lady had to be modest.
She grabbed his chin and forced his gaze to travel with a slow stride up her body to her hypnotizing blue eyes.
He tried to deny those blazing blue eyes. They seemed to hold him. He was unable to move.
"Don't you want to see your fine craftsmanship?" Yes, she was a vision of beauty. Yet that beauty had been tainted.
"I'm not interested in your games," Ezekiel replied with firm determination. "But if you want to repay me, then free us from our bonds and let us go."
The queen's face contorted in anger as she began to melt again. "You insolent little spicer!" she snarled and grabbed him by the collar. "You defy my charms, Spiderling."
Ezekiel remained calm, "I do!"
Even as he felt his own heart racing with fear, he knew he had to play her deadly game with careful ire. He had to if he wanted to see his wife and family free again. He wanted to overtake her, bite her, and beat her down in his spider form but he didn't know the extent of her powers.
He couldn't help but notice how her skin melted and dripped in a waxen form onto the floor whenever enraged.
The thrall sensed his discomfort. Her skin tightened once again. She spoke in a hedonistic tone: "Do not be afraid, my dear Ezekiel. I am only trying to use your mix to make myself beautiful for you."
Ezekiel felt nauseated that she'd be so carnal. He felt he might not even make it out alive. "I don't see how a melting corpse would ever be attractive," he countered.
She laughed through her thrall, "Why must it bother you? I am not melting now. You're a man. Don't you desire me?"
Ezekiel approached with confidence and replied, "I have promised nothing but to help. I know the truth about you. My wife is Aracnia and I love her."
The spirit in Seseh was starting to find his resistance attractive. More of a challenge to break.
"Oh Ezekiel dear," she sighed. Her eyes seemed to beam. They widened and held Ezekiel even more in his place. A raven fluttered in through an open window lattice.
"Ezekiel. My beautiful Ezekiel. Listen."
CAW, CAW!
"Listen to the fowl. Particularly the raven. I am a part of their flock as are you."
She pushed her body against him, forcing Ezekiel to feel her breath.
"Ravens have a diverse diet." Her hand glided around his waist. He felt her nimble fingers caress his back. The bird flew from the window to her shoulder. "They feed on reptiles. Frogs sometimes. Oh, and they feed on bugs." She paused. "...and spiders."
Ezekiel saw an opportunity to save his family. He knew exactly what to say. "No elixir I create will ever make you the true queen. You will remain ugly. Nobody will be able to stand looking at you anymore." He had to anger her.
She became vexed at his rejection once again.
"Eddipus refused me. He refused me and I almost had him! Do you know what I would have done if I caught up? I would have run him into the lands and down through the firmament into the pernicious flames of Abbadoth. Don't refuse me."
She was so close now that he felt every part of her. Every curve, every soft tissue.
She could not appeal to his heart, could not entice him. She was close enough now and In a moment of defiance, he shook off the trance, pushing her away.
She lost her footing and fell back, straight into the large bath, the bird flying away to safety. As she sunk beneath the surface of the muck, she kicked and screamed like a toddler throwing a tantrum. Ezekiel's true form emerged, spider legs sprouting from his back and carrying his limp Westerian body away from the scene and out the door.
She kicked, splashing the mixture Ezekiel had made all over the room. Finally, she managed to pull herself out of the muddy pool. She slipped, Her hair, breasts, and all her beauty caked in brown muck. She cried out and felt her skin tighten and shift. Part of her breast fell a-skew, the side of her cheek melted and her eyes liquefied. All at once, everything tightened again with a painful rush.
"I HATE THOSE SPIDERLINGS!" She screamed. "I will kill you, Ezekiel. You had your chance."
CAW, CAW!
"Stop laughing!" She screamed, throwing a clod at the raven who turned and flew out the window, away from the projectile. The brown liquid hit the wall.
Then she looked around the room. "It's everywhere! My beautiful bath ruined!" She fell to the floor in a struggle to stand and whaled. Her voice echoed to the ceiling.
"The man is of no real use to me, Seseh. Don't do what others do. Don't defy me. Furthermore, I will assure that you're punished if you deny my whims, and I won't use this mixture. I'll allow you to melt into the finest cups of silver Cardamon has."
Four Cardamon guardsmen rushed in and stopped in shock.
"Don't just look at me, you fools! Didn't you see Ezekiel rush out the door? Find those spider brats and that man-flesh of an arachnid. Bring me their bloody heads on a silver platter!"
They turned to leave but not before hearing her witch-like scream. No, it was a scream mixed with laughter. It was Seseh's beautiful laughter.
Vanice heard that laughter too and it only served to fuel her anger more.
****
Aracnia was tired.
She hadn't slept. The Apollyon Westerians stood behind her in the Hallow. The guardsmen had conceived they were invincible.
Outside, Aracnia sat perched upon the ledge of a rock. She was in thought, her spidery form outstretched. Seseh wasn't there to tell her she couldn't. It was daylight, but they waded away from Hilltop in the darkness.
Their task was clear: set up a blockade and invade Hilltop.
As she and her troops looked towards Hilltop Village, she thought of her family. She knew the queen was using them as bargaining tools for her loyalty. Each victory could bring them one step closer to their freedom.
She would lead the guardsmen to overtake the elven village of Hilltop- A quest that filled her heart with dread. As she pondered her orders, Aracnia's thoughts wandered to her husband.
She hoped that her daughters, imprisoned in the dungeons of Cardamon Castle, were well.
"Orders, Aracnia," said her general guardsman.
"We must wait until nightfall. We will take them out before they realize the blockade is in place." She hissed with anger.
The Queen had promised to release her family if Aracnia led the troops into Hilltop, but at what cost? The Spiderling knew she would have to spill blood to fulfill her duties. She already had by dispatching Seseh's assassins. You don't trifle with the elven warrior clan of the Red. The elve's hardened soldiers were as battle-hardened as the guardsmen that stood behind her.
The group was silent while still waiting for the signal.
She scurried down from the rocks as the soldiers came towards her. Their armour clanked in the silence of the cave entrance. The sun had set and with a heavy heart, she led them out of the cavern.
Dark as it was in Southern Mountain Range, the journey would be long and treacherous. Many obstacles lay in the way. Aracnia's keen senses would help them navigate the unfamiliar terrain. Every step brought her closer to dread and guilt.
She kept her thoughts hidden lest her men lose hope.
Blocking their way was a giant creature with a mane of black fur. A long, pointed tail swung. Dark markings framed its eyes, and it sniffed the air. The beast reared up on its hind legs and assumed a fighting stance.
Aracnia and the men backed away, looking for a way around it. Her eyes wandered to the giant's forelegs. They were Behemoth-like. If she could get the guardsmen to take out one of the legs, they might have a chance.
Aracnia readied her dripping fangs, her Spiderling spider legs extended.
"Westerians, go for its limbs! Take the hind legs!"
Aracnia ran towards the beast as the troops drew their swords. She leapt onto its foreleg and clung to him. Her sharpened fangs dug into the thick, trunk-like skin as she wrapped her body around it.
She held tight as the beast shook its leg. Her fangs only dug deeper. The soldiers lunged at the monster's front limbs and slashed with their swords. The beast roared and clawed, trying to brush them off. The swords slashed into its hide. Aracnia unlatched her fangs and moved with the grace of a dancer. She leapt and spun. Aracnia ejected a thin thread which she stuck to a part of the beast everytime she landed.
Then she made her way to the beast's thick neck and clung her eight legs to it. She bit again.
Aracnia disengaged and spun in the air. She somersaulted as she expelled another strand of thread and stuck it to the beast's neck.
A soldier threw a dagger. It flew and hit the creature in its left eye. It thrashed and continued to attack, bellowing and shaking its head.
It was clear that the beast was not used to having enemies in its home.
It was time to strike the killing blow.
The soldier who had thrown the dagger raised his sword and tossed it to Aracnia. She grabbed the weapon in her hand and landed on the monster's shoulder. She was sure her webbing had the thing secured tight. It stumbled and fell.
Aracnia raised the blade and plunged it into the side of the monster's neck.
It bucked and flailed. Aracnia drew the sword and jumped to the ground.
She handed the guardsman back his weapon. At last, they had defeated the beast and could move on. She had one last thought.
"Forgive me, monster." She bowed her head. They walked past the dead being and marched toward Hilltop.
****
After hours of traveling, they reached a clearing overlooking Hilltop. The village spread before them like a beautiful tapestry - but Aracnia knew unspeakable horrors lurked beneath castle Cardamon for her family. Admiring an area for too long wouldn't be an option.
She called for a scout to move forward. He crept in silence. When he returned, he informed her of two towers with two lone elven guards keeping watch and no one else.
'That's it?' thought Aracnia and her guilty conscience grew. She gave the order and with a silent jerk, stretched an arm forward.
The calm of the battle was wonderous for Westerians. Nerves shot, and fear shivered into the abyss. Everything was clear to them like a precious stater whenever they were on the field.
As they charged Hilltop, swords drawn and shields raised, Aracnia felt her heart beat fast. This was it - time for battle.
The two elves blew their trumpets and muscular elven warriors came from all sides. Groups of beautifully dressed priestesses came, exuding fierce magic. Masters, mages, and battle mages bristled with power.
They proceeded on the battlefield with alpha cunning. Dismemberment and destruction were had on both sides. An elve fell into one of Aracnia's legs. She felt the force of the impact all the way up her arm as the tip pierced through his belly. She shook the elve off and threw his corpse to the ground. The lifeless body slid away from her.
Aracnia saw an elven warrior wearing a headdress. He swung a blade above his head. The force of the blow broke a Westerian blade, shattering the guardsman's hilt. The fight was fierce. Westerians and elves alike traded blows. Many Westerian warriors had fallen.
The sound of clashing swords and shouts echoed through the valley.
Aracnia kept shooting out her Spiderling legs like a mighty leviathan, with no other thought than the thought of her family. She led the kingdom of Cardamon head-on with every part of her spider-frame. All her frustration, all her sorrow, all her conflict was spent on the elven warriors, maidens, archers, and kinsmen.
She saw one draw an arrow with white feathers. Aracnia watched it swoop, quills blowing in the breeze. She shot a leg out and knocked it away with ease. He shot at her again and she turned. Aracnia stomped with vehement determination toward him, knocking away the second arrow. Her spider-frame bore her fleshy form limp below as she charged and gained a strong pace. She thrust the points of her front legs forward into the blond archer. The horses caught up to the Westerian guardsmen that stood huge before them. Claymores reached and dissevered Westerians limb from limb. The noise of hooves and the rattle of chain-mail were overwhelming. Elvishmen shouted victory as they charged into battle.
"We are losing ground!" yelled her general.
"Not for long," she replied. "Follow me!"
She ran towards the front lines and jumped over fallen soldiers. She dodged elven swords and horses. With the speed of her unleashed spider legs, she mowed through their opponents.
But as the battle raged, her thoughts drifted back to her family. She was absent-minded for a moment as she continued to run with fantastic speed.
Aracnia hurled forward as she felt a thump on her abdomen. Someone had leapt onto her. It was an elven warrior of the Red. He had pushed himself upright so that he was riding her spider-frame as if on a horse. He made his way to her front and held his sword between his teeth. Once he made it to her neck, he grabbed his sword and laid the weapon across her Westerian-like throat. She stopped.
"Behold! I have your spider creature! Lay down your weapons and back away or I will kill it!" he cried.
All the guardsmen placed their weapons down with slow caution. The tension rose as each waited for the other to make the next move.
She gave no warning, unhinged her jaws, spun around in one swift movement, and bit the elve. All eight spider legs clasped him and she bit again and again. Aracnia let him fall and regained control of the battle.
Aracnia saw the feet of the elven warriors digging into Fonde's soil. She heard the overwhelming roar of swords in the deep tirades of the hardened ranks. She felt the rain throughout the night-tide as thunderous tremors intensified the fight. The battle had shifted in the elves's favor and she saw a break in their line.
In all the chaos, Aracnia caught sight of a flash of blonde hair - an elven child not even highborn. He was fighting, unlike anything she'd seen. His shimmering hair blew back. He slashed with sword in hand. The impact of a Westerian arrow threw him back with a jolt. His face contorted in pain and Aracnia saw her children through him.
Her thoughts returned to her daughters. She ran and scooped him up as Westerian and elve alike stabbed left and right. The steel points tore into flesh and bone. She only saw the boy, only saw her children.
Half the guardsmen had fallen to the ground at her feet as she cradled the boy. She noted a pouldron made of the jawbone of an elvish ass adorning his shoulder.
She stepped over the fallen bodies and gave the order to retreat.
They ran past the dead, who were spraying a fine mist of blood warm and bright red against them. As they ran, they heard the cries of victory from Hilltop. A Westerian wrenched a sword free from one of the fallen dead, and another gush of blood rained upon their faces.
They ran through the shrubbery, up the path, and back through Southern Mountain Range.
"Head back to their sacred Hallow!" She screeched.
****
Into the Hallow.
They ran through Southern Mountain Range and made it to the cave. Aracnia couldn't help but wonder if it was all worth it. She felt conflicted again.
Would freeing a family member be enough to ease her guilt? Or would she be forever haunted by the atrocities committed in the name of freedom?
'Had I made the right choice?' She thought, hoping that sacrificing so much on both sides would be worth it. But then she remembered the faces of her family. Their spider-spines bound and led away. Shut up in a cell in the resounding dungeon - to her, it seemed worth her own life in comparison.
Despite any doubts or fears, good or bad, she wanted her family back. She had to have them back and her love for her precious family would carry her.
Then there was the boy.
In the dim Hallow, Aracnia sat opposite the elve. He sneered at her, feeling the pain of the arrow stuck in his arm.
Aracnia motioned for a guardsman to fix his arm. A man walked over, and broke the wood of the arrow, sliding it out with ease. He wrapped his arm and trekked away from the boy.
She spoke in a soft voice.
"What a pity you had to come with us."
"Why did you take me with you? Why did you come at all?"
Aracnia leaned closer.
"We wouldn't have if your people hadn't poisoned the sacred tree--"
"Poisoned? We did no such thing!" countered the boy, his voice low and steady with conviction.
Aracnia's full black eyes glinted and widened in the darkness.
"You deny it?" She swallowed hard. It had to all be a trick. This mess couldn't have been all for naught.
"The tree is dying, slow and sure." The boy shook his head. "A witch from the North did it long ago. Our bravest hero, Eddipus seeks the cure from Crenith to save her. He will procure it."
All eyes were on him now. The guardsmen exchanged wary glances as they listened to what the boy had said.
"You remind me of my dear Miranda," Aracnia gave a warm smile. "Headstrong and stern. What's your name, boy?"
"Samson. I am a squire of Lord Elijah Adohi of the forest. A man you lew in that battle!"
He had shaken their worldview.
'Could their queen be toying with them?' ran through their minds.
"We shall not attack the village again," Aracnia declared haughtily, "I have an important appointment with the Queen that must be kept." she paused. "...and I'm sorry."
With that, she turned on her heel and led the Westerians back to Cardamon.
Samson trudged to Hilltop alone, knowing he had shattered all their preconceptions. For it was written in the ancient tombs: 'The hanging sage fruit from the first and the last of enchanted trees would heal the sick and help the injured. As long as the tree remained healthy, the Elves would live in harmonious peace with Man.'
But it was also said 'And lo! The wicked shall be confounded by those who speak truth.'
Yes, they had been confounded that night, and war was stopped before it had started. It, after all was only a battle. Yet, true incursion was about to start.
The wind howled.
Samson entered the village and soon came upon a small hut. He became intrigued by the two women he saw through a window lattice. It looked as if they were tidying up the hut and lighting a fire in the hearth. One was a beautiful elven woman. She wore a white robe. He recognized her as Hilda. The other stranger caught Samson's attention. She was tall with pale skin and Westerian ears. He reached for the handle and twisted it.
****
Hilda and the stranger shuddered at the sound of chaos beyond Lisa's hut. Adeve backed away from the door, her ears attuned to the cacophony of steel meeting steel outside.
Yet Hilda was a valiant priestess born of elven courage. Her heart yearned to engage in the fray. Before her hand could clasp the door handle, silence settled over them like a shroud. They heard a soft, blowing wind coming from the other side of the door. Without taking their eyes off the entryway, Hilda's breathing slowed.
She readied her hands. A force of light poured from her palms. Everything had calmed. All was still as the grave. They settled and sighed. Hilda powered down her protective power...
She and the stranger became Stunned as a youth opened the door and rushed into the hut. Upon his shoulder, he bore a makeshift jawbone pauldron; his loins were clad in the rough skin of a native elven cur. Hilda recognized him as Samson, the squire of Lord Elijah Adohi of the forest.
He was breathing heavy. His muscles quivered and heaved with exertion. Finally seated, his nerves calmed as he felt Hilda's velvety soft touch on his bare shoulder.
"Calm and be at peace." She spoke.
She sent a force of calming energy through him and he found his words.
"Hilltop was attacked by Westerian warriors hailing from Cardamon." There followed a pause as sweat trickled down his brow, slipping down over his taut chest and abdomen.
He began again, "It was naught but a misunderstanding. They believed our people were responsible for poisoning Adeve. I explained it was the North witch Valaria's conjuring to blame." At last, he was calm, his hands clammy but still strong. "Once I told them, they all looked confused and left in anger back to Cardamon."
Hilda listened as he spoke about the battle.
He had a fascinating and handsome face with smooth skin.
"Who's she?" He asked.
Hilda introduced the woman as maellem, elven for mute.
Samson was a ball of youthful energy and innocence. As the shadows stretched to herald dawn approaching, Hilda sat by Samson's side. Trepidation for Eddipus filled her heart. Yet, she found comfort in memories awakened by the sight of Samson's youthful countenance. She admired his beauty in the flickering candlelight.
She worried, but the words of hope Eddipus would again return to her embrace - the whisper in her mind from Dante planted the thought of her beloved. He was crossing Crenith, and very much still alive. Despite the terror welling inside of her. Despite anything else, Hilda found solace in looking at Samson and was reminded again that Eddipus was alright.
It was a night she would not forget. When morning came, Hilda had a plan. She vowed to raise a memorial in honour of Tullious and Vinan. But for the moment, she was content to gaze at the flickering wisps of firelight dancing in Lisa's hearth. Her newfound reflection of Eddipus in Samson made her smile.
Yes, Eddipus would return. Even if that meant he would come back a different man, he was hers.
****
Eddipus, a wiseman, and Val, a hooded archer, entered a fortress now a forgotten and placid tomb. They were on a mission to find a cure for Eddipus's people back home. A cure to save the dying tree, Adeve.
As they entered the empty hall, a smell of decay overwhelmed their senses. A hint of dust stung their eyes.
They pulled torches from the walls, casting a bright light into the cold space. Eddipus and Val took a step forward and gazed upon a sea of draugen.
"We're not alone," Val whispered.
"We have seen worse, Val."
Val pulled out an arrow and let it loose into the air. It hit one of the dead causing it to fall forward. Eddipus drew his sword and brought her cold metal onto one of the creatures.
Val stood behind him and unleashed arrow after arrow.
The draugens focused on them, groaning and shuffling towards them. Eddipus slashed, stabbed, and kicked at the undead as he mauled them down. Val fired a volley of arrows and hit seven targets. Together they finished off the draugen who had filled the room.
Val spotted a door at the end of the corridor. They hurried to it.
The two continued to move forward, their weapons still drawn. They passed the door, which had been broken open.
They ventured deep into the bowels of the castle. The place had become decrepit with the passage of time. As they descended further, they came across charred, rancid remains of former inhabitants. The souls gathered and bayed for blood. Eddipus drew his sword and assumed a defensive stance. Val cocked an arrow and prepared to fire, for every step brought them closer to their goal.
The two worked in tandem. The spirits awoke from their slumber and came at them, only to fall by the swish of the blade or a fired arrow.
Eddipus struck and parried, and Val provided support with his bow. They plunged deeper into the darkness of the winding corridors, ever wary of the wan undead. The Draugen, eerie beasts of the night, faced them head-on.
The interior of the fortress was immense and made of solid stone. Val could feel death emanating from within the castle's deep recesses. He sensed it in the rock walls and vaults where bodies had slept.
They opened and stepped through huge oaken doors. They found themselves in an enormous chamber filled with menacing creatures. The walls had abstruse writing from days of old under a thick layer of cobwebs. The air smelled acrid like death and abased horror. The elve cleaved through enemies with his sword. The archer rained a hail of arrows.
Teylavere was sharp. They fought as one, moving across the room.
Eddipus and Val continued their steady advance. Adverse growls mingled with the sound of clashing steel. The soldiers of the dead army moved like ants, pervasive from one corridor to the next. They flooded the room from all sides, trying to strike down the two men.
They maneuvered their way through the mosh of madness. Eddipus thoughts were acute as he slashed and stabbed through the army of darkness, some too feeble to fight. The two were like the well-oiled gears of a clock, they never ceased moving, never faltering.
Eddipus grabbed a fat soldier who lunged at him, licking its lips. Val jumped and slammed an arrow as hard as he could into the creature's throat. This surprised the creature and Eddipus took the opportunity. He held tight to the fleshy worm of death and swung his blade down. It's skeletal face cracked, splitting the draugen's head open, it crashed to the ground. Like a parting red sea of violence, Eddipus slashed his sword until the fight became frenzied. The leader of the army howled a fearsome, echoing sound that resounded through the vast room. Eddipus looked up and discovered the source of the noise. An evil-eyed behemoth glared at him. It jumped down from an upper balcony and pushed Val to the ground.
The abomination emitted a terrible gurgling scream that tore through the air. Val was still alive but aghast, feeling a contrite sinking in his chest and stomach. It jumped off Val and reared up at Eddipus. It kicked its forelegs at the elve who countered with several blows from his claymore. It screeched with alarum while Teylavere danced with the bestial creature. Finally, he landed a powerful blow that staggered the behemoth. Its limbs became severed by the force of the impact.
A few more anomalous Draugen joined in, some with spears, some with swords. Val drew his bow again and shot one in the head. His heart beat fast. Eddipus brought Teylavere down on another and turned the thing to dust.
The way was clear. The remaining draugen had its head removed from him as Eddipus delivered the final blow. It fell into a crumbling heap of bones.
Further ahead were two large doors. Big enough for a king. Eddipus looked at the doorway with narrowed eyes and then glanced at Val.
"Lets leave this dreadful place," he said with an affirm voice.
Eddipus bent down and grabbed Val by the upper arm and pulled him to his feet. The two walked forward until they were close to the huge doors. To the left and right of them were large levers sticking from apertures in the walls. Val reached for one aquiline lever while Eddipus grabbed the other and nodded. They pulled with a simultaneous jerk. A deafening groan emanated from inside the walls. The floor trembled. The stone doors began to separate from the rest of the stone and slid back, revealing a large antechamber in contrast to the desolate room they were leaving behind.
It was a huge royal hall. The room was adorned with a giant stonework coffin of gold sitting on a platform. Candle chandeliers hung high from a ceiling made of a tremendous amount of grey crystal. Ornate tapestries covered every wall, depicting the royal crest of Barrisha, 'a bat'.
Behind the golden coffin, up a steep staircase, was the largest and most ornate throne either of them had ever seen.
'A giant. It had to be a giant.' Val thought as he took it all in. He couldn't fathom the immensity and still despised it all immensely.
"This is it," Eddipus muttered. "There's no turning back now." He gave him a hardy pat on the shoulder. The two walked in as the doors shut tight behind them.
****
Tallik and Lisa both rode Tana.
Lisa still possessed the wild looks Nyxith gave her. They set off again toward Cardamon through the Westerian forest. The journey had been long and they had faced adversity together. Yet, Tallik had something creeping over him he did not want - love.
Not only had fatigue hit him like a sack of solid gold bricks, Tallik's mind and heart were in a state of unrest. He had come to terms with his scorn for elves and what he thought they did to destroy the peace between them and his people. Never had he believed that he could fall in love with one. He found the very thought audacious.
Lisa was unlike any elve he had seen. She captivated him. Tallik had sworn an oath of hatred towards the elves and didn't want to change course. Yet, here he was, helping Lisa, and was wary to fall in love with her.
He couldn't understand it. He had the hardened heart of an assassin, how was it leading him astray? He was angry at the change in his heart. Despite that anger, Tallik found it hard to deny the growing bond. His hatred of elves had intensified, but at the moment all he saw was the bright energy of Lisa overshadowing his hate.
For a moment he recognized the beauty of their surroundings, although his vision was still a blur. Tallik would have dismissed it in the past. In his heart of hearts, he believed in his debt to her.
"Are you alright, Lisa?"
As they passed a quiet area by a moonlit stream, they rode further into uncertain darkness. Each subsequent gallop left behind remnants of Tallik's former hatred and anger little by little. The Westerian forest began to give way to new landscapes of purple poppies. They were getting closer to their destination.
"I'm fine." Lisa assured Tallik as she kept her gaze forward between Tana's ears.
"I have to worry. I don't even know how we'll get in to see my queen."
The memory of what lay in wait at that dreaded castle was a fog. The very thought of returning to a place he once called home but now scarce knew corrupted his courage and made him feel feeble. He'd even forgotten why he feared returning.
Nyxith felt full of zeal, sapping Lisa's energy. No matter how much pain, change, or reproach she sent through every vain, Lisa would not be discouraged.
Tallik could almost smell Cardamon, his home. If he could smell at all. He tried breathing it in through his nose but nothing came.
Tana raced through the dense purple flowers and dried leaves that wafted across the hillside without respite.
Lisa noticed her horse startle and squeal as a shadow rushed past them. Tana charged off the path, hindering their journey, and caught up with a shimmering black creature smaller than itself. It raced around trees and through brush without breaking its stride and pondered at what the flying beast could be.
Lisa thought Tana would collapse but no; he moved at a jarring gallop that threw her off in a welter as she felt the brunt of the ground.
Tallik moved forward, seeing stars, and grabbed the horse by the mane. He hugged his back with his legs but they became weak. He gave Tana a slight squeeze.
"Woah." he said in his ear.
The stately steed felt discomfort and slowed his gallop. With each hoof-beat, Tallik felt vexed and frail. His heart slowed and he fancied a ringing in his ears. His headache worsened.
He reached to rub his head only to feel the warmth and stickiness of blood running from his ears. It ran from his nose and Tallik's eyes retracted into his skull.
He lost consciousness and slumped forward onto Tana.
Tana shifted his weight to help Tallik's limp body keep balance and realized he had lost Lisa.
He saw the flying creature was an ungainly raven and wondered at it with curiosity. He had never seen such a beast and heard birds like that residing in the North.
He turned, eyes still on the carrion. He watched as it flew away to a swath of dark fowl abound in the sky. Tana came to a stop near Lisa lying on the grass. He nuzzled her face.
'I'm sorry, Lisa.' Tana neighed and waited with patient loyalty.
"It's alright, boy. It's alright. You were only spooked and distracted. I understand." She patted his nose.
Lisa ruefully stood. She helped Tallik up and climbed to sit on the horse. She looked at his pale countenance and sensed that Tallik's injury had worsened. There was not much more she could do. They had one more night to rest. Lisa felt nothing but dismay.