The Beggar Prince, page 29
part #1 of Unbroken Bond Series
At last, they reached the door. Stopping just behind it, both waited with bated breath for their chance to slip past. Once or twice, Anieszirel tried to do just that when there appeared a gap between the line of battle-mages, only for her to almost come face to shin with yet another battle-mage.
Then, the line stopped. Nervously, Davian looked behind them, but Anieszirel paid the mages little mind, so intent was she on the door before her. As voices drifted towards them, the second door swung open as another battle-mage stepped out, the first door left open behind him. Seeing her chance, Anieszirel grabbed Davian, and snuck behind the battle-mage standing before the first door before sticking to the walls as soon as they entered the room.
As she entered however, Anieszirel finally realised why there were so many battle-mages had stepped forth. This was their resting quarters. As this realisation dawned on her, she turned to place a heartfelt glare upon little Davian, who cowered and wilted beneath it.
“You said it would take us straight to the annexe rooms,” she whispered.
“I'm sorry.”
“Where are we, Davian?”
Davian began to speak, but then began gesturing at something behind Anieszirel. Turning, Anieszirel saw a battle-mage coming towards them. Grabbing Davian once more, she hurried them over to a nearby corner.
“Well?” she demanded once they were safe.
“Well,” Davian began, pointing to the twin doors at the far end of the room. “those doors should lead to some stairs. The annexe rooms are at the bottom of the stairs,”
Anieszirel looked from Davian to the twin doors and back again.
“Those doors.”
“Yes.”
“The ones on the other side of the room.”
“Yes.”
“A room filled with people looking to stick me in a void sphere.”
“Yes…”
“Are you out of your mind?”
“Yes–I mean, no, no!”
“Urgh!” she exclaimed as she turned to scan her surrounds.
“I'm sorry,” Davian said softly. Spinning, she glared at him, a sharp retort on her lips, but as her eyes beheld the dejection in his, her rage dissipated. Sighing, she ruffled his hair instead as she turned to survey their surrounds once more. Staring in silence, she watched the battle-mages intently, until at last, confident that she knew a way past them all, she turned to Davian.
“Now, I need you to follow me closely. You must move precisely when I move, and stop precisely when I stop. The illusion upon us is not an illusion complete, so we cannot so much as touch any of them. Do you understand?”
Davian nodded.
“Good.” She turned her gaze forward. “Good.” Taking a deep breath, she began crawling forward.
With their hearts in their mouths, the pair made their way towards their destination. With the many beds and furnishings in the room, their pace was hampered greatly, and with so many battle-mages ambling through the few narrow pathways available, many a time the pair were forced to rapidly retreat, or even follow a long and painful detour to avoid being cornered by a battle-mage or two. It was a slow journey, one every bit as nerve-wracking as it was painstaking. But Davian did as Anieszirel had bid him, halting the moment she halted, and moving the moment she did, until at last, they reached the twin doors.
“Go on,” Davian whispered. “open them.”
Frowning, Anieszirel turned to stare at him. “And how would you explain these doors opening of their own accord?”
“I…” Davian began, but fell silent. Shaking her head, Anieszirel looked at the doors. She needed a ruse, any ruse. But she could think of none. Biting her lower lip, she looked about the room.
“There must be something…” she muttered as her mind raced.
“We can't stay here,” Davian whispered as he stared at the battle-mages nearby.
“I'm aware of that!” she snapped.
“He's scared, Ani.”
Anieszirel looked at Davian. “Sorry.”
Mutely, Davian nodded, but as he looked away from her, his eyes lit up as he pointed, smiling. Frowning, Anieszirel turned to that which he pointed, and as she beheld it, she too smiled.
“Quick, this way,” she whispered as she scrambled to a safe distance from the doors. As one, both stared at the battle-mage who approached with a tray of food. As one, both watched as the battle-mage opened one of the doors before carrying on, balancing the tray carefully as she did so.
“Go!” Anieszirel exclaimed, scrambling towards the door as it swung back into place. Both squeezed past just in time, and as the door slammed shut, both stared euphorically at each other.
“This way,” Davian whispered, a huge grin on his face as he headed down the passage.
“Wait,” Anieszirel called out to him as she hurried to him. “Best I go first, there is a battle-mage down there afterall.”
“Oh, right.”
Cautiously, Anieszirel made her way down the passage, Davian hurrying behind her. Before long, they reached the stairs.
“Are you sure you don't want something more?” It was the battle-mage. “We're not your enemy. We just want Anieszirel, we have no wish to harm you.”
Before long, they reached the bottom of the stairs. The battle-mage was standing before the middle of the three annexe rooms, its door ajar. Turning, Anieszirel gestured to Davian to follow.
“I know it's a horrible thing we shall do to your young friend, but it is not something we relish. And I know it doesn't seem like it now, but you will heal, you will move on.”
With the greatest of care, both made their way past the battle-mage.
“Marsha!” Tip exclaimed as Marshalla came to view behind the opened door. But she had her back to the battle-mage, and to them.
“Very well, I shall return later for the tray. And I am sorry for this.”
“Saying sorry so many times won't magically make it true,” Marshalla growled.
“But if I say often enough, perhaps you will believe it.”
Marshalla held her peace. With a sad sigh, the battle-mage closed Marshalla's prison door and, whispering a word of arcane, turned and headed back the way she came. Huddled in the dark, Anieszirel waited until she heard the twin doors close before stepping out and undoing her cloaking spell. Walking over to the door, Davian close behind, she reached out and, placing a hand upon its handle, whispered the same word the battle-mage had whispered, before swinging the door open. Marshalla had her back to them, but the tray was no longer to be seen.
“I see you decided to take the tray, then,” Anieszirel said, her voice unnervingly similar to the battle-mage's.
“You come to gloat now?”
“No, but perhaps you will give an old friend the pleasure of seeing your face again?” she replied with a smile.
“Go on, Tip, go to her.” Anieszirel thought to Tip as she allowed him take control once more.
“Hello, Marsha.”
With a gasp, Marshalla spun round, her eyes going wide with surprise.
“Tip!” she exclaimed as her eyes fell upon the grinning little boy. “Davian! Dear gods, you came! How in the world did you get here?”
“Surprise!” Tip exclaimed, grinning widely as he threw his arms wide. Laughing, he turned to look over at Davian, who was chuckling behind him. But as he turned, something caught his eye, and as he focused upon it, his face turned from one of pure jovialty to one of sheer terror. Then, in that one split moment, a thunderous crack filled the air as a lighting bolt of superior arcane brilliance struck Tip squarely in the chest, flinging him hard against the far wall.
“Tip!” Marshalla cried as she rushed to the edge of the room.
“No!” Davian whispered as he moved to run to his friend.
“Stay where you are!” a voice bellowed. “Do not move! Do not think for one moment that you being Thuridan's son will save you from my wrath. Do. Not. Move!”
Quivering with rage, Davian look up at the battle-mage who had unleashed the spell at Tip. It was the elder mage from earlier, and he was not alone.
“You see?” the mage said, casting a sideways glance at the battle-mage behind him. “I told you those etheric residuals couldn't possibly be from any elven spell. Now, do you believe me?”
“That I do,” his companion said. “But do you truly think killing the boy was a sound tactic with Thuridan's son being so close to him?”
“I…”
“We shall discuss your battle tactics later,” the leading battle-mage continued before turning to the others about him. “All eyes on the boy. I do not see any signs of Anieszirel leaving his body, so he yet lives. But should he so much as twitch, end him.”
As one, the others rose their arms at Tip, pulsing auras surrounding their hands.
“If you end him, Anieszirel will be free to possess me,” Davian warned.
The lead battle-mage nodded sombrely at Davian. “Which is why I now advise you to hurry over to us, and do so now. You will not get another chance.”
Davian tarried where he stood. “She might posses you instead.”
“Yes, but we are trained to resist her, and have each sworn to give our lives and our existence to her capture. We will contain her till the void sphere is brought forth. Now, to us young man.”
But Davian remained where he stood.
“As you wish,” the lead battle-mage said before abruptly turning.
“You,” the leading battle-mage continued, looking over at the battle-mage nearest him.
“Go upstairs, give word to the others that I need two more teams down here, and the rest to seal the entrance until further notice.”
Nodding, he moved to do as he bid, but just then, Tip groaned.
“Careful, he stirs!” one of the other battle-mages cried. As one, all eyes turned to the little elf as Tip pulled himself to his feet, his hand using the wall behind him for support.
“You would strike down a little boy with no hesitation or warning,” Anieszirel said through gritted teeth.
“Stay where you are, creature!” the lead battle-mage barked. “We will destroy you if we have to!”
“Oh, I fear you are going to have to,” Slowly, she straightened, her eyes narrowing into slits as she snarled at the battle-mages.
“Ready yourselves!” the lead battle-mage roared.
“Davian, please join Marsha in the room,” Anieszirel said in a deceptively calm tone.
“There's a ward–” Marshalla began.
“Not anymore. Davian, now please.”
“Release!” the lead battle-mage bellowed.
With a scream, Davian dove to the ground as all seven of the battle-mages unleashed their most lethal spells at Anieszirel. But none found their mark, each spell reflecting harmlessly off the shielding Anieszirel had erected about her, all save a lightning bolt, which slammed against the cold stone floor inches from Davian's head, erupting with such a roar as to startle the little elf, forcing him to scramble screaming into Marshalla's room.
“Go! Now!” the lead battle-mage barked at the battle-mage beside him. Nodding, the younger high elf turned to do as he was bid. Anieszirel watched him as he turned. She watched him as he raced towards the steps. She watched as the others prepared another onslaught, and as she watched, she took one step forward, then a second, and by the third, she whispered a single word of arcane. As she exhaled the word, time itself slowed to a crawl. As she exhaled, she watched as Davian's desperate scramble slowed to a profoundly lethargic crawl. As she exhaled, she watched as the magic between the battle-mages' fingers sizzled, fizzled and danced. As she exhaled, she watched the retreating battle-mage's pace slow to a deeply lazy amble.
With an evil smile, the chronodragon then turned her focus to within, closing her eyes as she did so. And as she breathed deep, she supped of the power within, drinking deep of its splendour, gorging of it until it filled her with unbridled arcane brilliance. Then, when she'd supped enough, she opened her eyes.
“Now, you die,” she snarled, before racing toward her prey, and with a single vault, leapt over those who had struck her before landing in a roll. As she came out of the roll, Anieszirel sprung to her feet, slamming both her knees into the back of the retreating battle-mage before clasping his shoulders with her hands, using her weight and her momentum to topple him, and as he landed face-first, the force of the blow to his head forced a darkness upon him. Smirking, Anieszirel placed a hand on the back of his head just as time began returning to as it was.
Turning, Anieszirel breathed at the remaining mages, her breath painting a mesmerising pattern in the air as it encased the mages, only to dissipate just as a thunderous roar filled the passage, the stonework where she once stood reduced to smouldering rubble.
“What?” the lead battle-mage said when he realised Anieszirel was no longer there.
“Looking for me?”
Startled, they all turned, and as they laid eyes on her resting upon their companion, their surprise turned to fear. As they stared at her, though, they watched as a familiar flicker surrounded the hand she had placed upon the young battle-mage's head.
“No!” the lead battle-mage exclaimed, reaching out to her, but his words were for naught, for Anieszirel then unleashed her spell into her captive's head, the lightning bolt searing a hole straight through him before blowing the step beneath his head asunder.
“You monster!” he cried as the remaining mages stared at her in horror. Rising, Anieszirel walked towards them, rage and menace emanating from her in pulsing waves. It was then that the battle-mages all realised, their spells of protection and defence, they were all gone, and it was then that their horror turned to panic. As their panic grew, they scrambled to form a wall between Anieszirel and their leader as they recast their protections. In response, Anieszirel whispered another word of arcane, one that, rather than slow time, sped time about her.
“Hold–” the lead battle-mage began, but before he could complete his words, Anieszirel lunged through the still-forming wall and at him, slamming her head into his gut with such ferocity as to slam him hard against the wall behind him. The impact reverberated about all within as the lead battle-mage crumpled to the floor.
“Get–” began another battle-mage, but before she could complete her words, Anieszirel barrelled into her, slamming an elbow into her gut, throwing her off her feet and flinging her through the wooden door behind her. Before the others could react however, Anieszirel leapt briefly into the air before burying her left heel deep into the chest of the mage that had attacked Tip, the sound of breaking bones sweet music to her ears as he flew backwards from the others.
But she was far from finished, and as she landed, Anieszirel dropped into a crouch before sweeping the last three off their feet, and, as they sailed into the air, she rose briefly before dropping into a crouch once more, this time slamming her right palm onto the stone floor, releasing from it earthen magic of such dark designs as to call forth from the stone floor three stone spikes upon which all three mages were impaled by the skull.
Slowly, she rose, her eyes fixed upon the battle-mage cowering at the far end of the passage. She walked towards him, her ire burning bright and fierce.
“Mercy,” he mumbled as he clutched his chest in pain.
“Mercy?” she asked, undoing her spell as she walked. “Did you show Tip any mercy? Or me? Hrm?”
“Please,” he begged, wincing as he spoke. “I was only–” but his voice died in his throat as loud voices drifted toward them. More mages coming down the stairs. Anieszirel looked from the stairs behind her to the now smirking mage.
“No matter what you do to me, creature, you will not leave here.”
Anieszirel stared at the smirking face of the battle-mage before her, and as she stared, as she listened to the clamouring behind her, her blood began to boil.
“She's over here!” the mage bellowed with all the strength he could muster. Roaring with rage, Anieszirel darted over to him, and clasping his tunic in her hand, she pulled him towards her. Staring at the stairs, she took a step, a second, and a third before leaping up into the air, mage in hand, her eyes firmly fixed on the base of the stairs. As she hovered in the air, she rose her hand, complete with flailing mage. As she hovered there in the air, she called forth arcane power in its rawest form into her hand. As she hovered there in the air, she filled her hand with the power she would need to save herself and her friends, and when she'd called forth enough power, she lunged at the stairs just as the first mage appeared, slamming her hand, complete with flailing mage, onto its base. The explosion that ensued flung the mage on the stairs back upwards before shattering the stairs themselves, every single one of them, a shattering that brought the entire alcove within which the stairs were crumbling down.
As the rumble subsided, Anieszirel rose. She looked at the mage that was in her hand. There was precious little left of him. She looked up at the pile of rubble where the stairs once were.
“Did they have to die, Ani?”
“They tried to kill you, Tip. They tried to hurt Davian.”
“But did they have to die?”
“Only way to stop them,”
“Wish they didn't have to die.”
Not knowing what to say, she turned and headed towards the middle room. As she passed the first room, a pained groan drifted to her ears. Turning, she saw one of the battle-mages huddled in the darkness. Snarling, she stormed forward.
“Please, please!”
Ignoring her pleas, Anieszirel grabbed her tunic, pulling her to her knees.
“Aah!” she exclaimed as she cradled her right arm.
“She doesn't have to die, Ani, she won't hurt us. Please.”
Anieszirel glared at the woman before pulling her close, so close she could hear the battle-mage's beating heart.
“Thank Tip.”
“Who?”
“Tip!” Anieszirel barked, shaking her roughly as she spoke, an act that elicited a very loud yelp.
“Thank him! He just saved your life!”
“Thank you, Tip!” the battle-mage exclaimed. “Thank you, Thank you!”
