Miterra's Victory

[ZonieCatz]

Well I hope this expanded version satisfies...

(and thanks 4 the vote )

[ZonieCatz]

Miterra’s Victory
^^^ Click link to return to first post ^^^

Part III
The Present

Spoiler

“Elysa, wait a minute!”

The voice of a friend stopped the young tour guide, as she made her way through a staff hallway to an exit. She glanced back and then grinned wickedly. Her short-legged friend’s progress was swift but ungraceful along the carpeted floor.

“Hey, Jahonna! What’s taking you so long?”

“Shut up, you elven wench.” Her friend scowled up at her from beneath untidy, caramel-colored curls.

Elysa neatly dodged the kick Jahonna aimed at her ankle, but she did slow down her pace. “So, how’d you get off early from Maintenance today? It’s not your ten-year already, is it?”

The stout woman shook her head. “No, thank goodness. It’s my younger sister’s First Ceremony. She reached the age of consent this winter.” The ebony-haired tour guide nodded silently. Jahonna would stay by her sibling’s side to help the young woman feel safe as she began the ritual, and to comfort her when the memories receded.

Without a sibling of her own, Elysa planned to participate in a supporting role today, helping wherever she saw a need. She was glad it would be another eight years before it was her turn to share again in the memories. The images still burned in her mind, as clear as the day she’d undergone the ritual herself. If she closed her eyes, she could still hear the cries of ravens, echoing over a bloody battlefield.

Part IV
1200 years ago - The Prince's Message

Spoiler

Eager scavenger birds, their wings the color of soot, circled the blood-soaked meadow, unable to land among the thrashing limbs and convulsing bodies. Acrid smoke from burning flesh billowed into the air. The survivors gasped for air, and the ash of fallen comrades filled their lungs.

It was the culmination of a flawless military campaign, marred only by this annoying holdout on the far edge of the southern continent.

When the armies had first arrived, their technicians had efficiently constructed a mobile fortress, which for months had slowly progressed across the planet’s surface. From the point of initial contact, the fortress had finally come to this location, almost within sight of the entrenched defenses of the recalcitrant natives. It was from a balcony in this stronghold that the Commander of the invaders now inspected the battle’s results.

His botanists were in place at the farthest compass points of the land, making an example of this uncooperative little kingdom and the unfortunate planet that housed it. Their deadly science had already begun its work. Pestilence was slowly destroying every tree, every crop, every scrap of vegetation that dared take root in this world’s ill-fated soil.

The invading prince cast his eye westward, over the devastated plain and beyond the woods at its far edge, towards the castle of the Sorceress Sarvadya. The flaxen-haired man thinned his lips into a tight smile. The witch’s refusal to join him, or to at least bow before him, had been a thorn in his side for far too long now. By dawn, however, her resistance would be over.

“Elf,” he called softly. Immediately a pale, thin figure stepped within arm’s reach, bowing deeply. The creature’s stooped shoulders and dropped head gave lie to the proud elf ancestry proclaimed by its tapered ears. Once an ambassador of the elven kingdom, he now found himself a slave. He would have felt bewildered, had he still possessed a mind of his own.

“Your wish?” inquired the debased elf meekly.

“The message…” murmured the prince, whose hard, silver eyes were still fixed on the death-saturated landscape.

“The message is ready to deliver at your command, my lord.”

The conqueror’s smile widened a fraction. “Do it now,” he ordered, in the same, quiet monotone. Obediently, the elf backed away to carry out his pre-arranged instructions. Any distaste he might once have felt for the task at hand had long since been scoured away, under tortuous conditions.

Left to himself, the prince allowed his stance to relax slightly, his chin lowering in thought. He visualized the message he'd ordered delivered. A single word, it had been painstakingly engraved with his own hand. Letter by letter, it took shape across the traumatized bodies of nine young men and women blossoming into adulthood.

S U R R E N D E R.

The living message would soon be on its way out of the fortress' gates below. He leaned forward, resting his tanned, muscular forearms on the iron railing, gazing into the lengthening shadows of late afternoon. A slight rustling of fabric, paired with a shuffled footstep, reminded him that he was not alone.

"Never fear," he spoke calmly. "I have no intention of leaning over too far and plunging to my death."

Of course, he was not literally alone, nor had he been for years. Two male bodyguards, specially cloned per his express instructions, remained constantly at his side. Mute, muscular, and trained in all deadly forms of hand-to-hand combat, their silent presence was something he took utterly for granted.

It was not that he trusted them. No, he had no faith personally in the team of warriors who tirelessly rotated shifts to protect him night and day. Rather, he had faith in his own methods. Originally bred by one of his predecessors, the bodyguard unit had become a pet project of his. Their training and development had merited nearly the same priority as the proven-effective, life-prolonging medicines and chemical formulae with which he still tinkered on occasion.

The life he gave these men was the only existence they knew. All their needs and desires had been provided for. The prince was the one who rewarded their successes. He opened the banquet hall doors to their monthly feasts; he gave them a life that was comfortable enough to satisfy, but not so soft as to weaken them. It was he, who smilingly introduced the varied group of lovely, terrified, and newly-mute females - and a few males - which assembled annually before them at each new year. From these specimens of beauty, talent, and endurance, each bodyguard chose an annual companion, to replace the one that had been used up. And it was the prince, too, who skillfully wielded the instruments of punishment, in the unlikely event of a failure.

These brutes were loyal to him and to him alone. They owed him everything. To them, he was father, mother, brother, companion, teacher, provider, and even protector. He was their god; all he demanded from them was to obey utterly, and to be his hands and arms, his feet and legs, where his own would not suffice. Rarely called upon to act, they deterred resistance by their very presence.

And occasionally, some little act of his would worry them unnecessarily, such as leaning too far over a railing.

"Really, now," the prince scolded, with something near affection. "This is hardly my first time on a balcony." Images of the past flitted before his mind's eye - striding proudly out to greet his new subjects for the first time ... leading his reluctant first wife out to display her beauty ... triumphantly holding up his infant heir (motherless within hours of his birth). He'd riled up the people against reformers, blamed foreigners for his country's troubles, and given the first speech of planetary unity, all from balconies. He, along with his latest wife and his son, had bidden farewell to their home world from a spacecraft's window - a bit like a balcony, he pondered nostalgically. That had been the spacecraft that would extend their population - and his rule - to other, unsullied planets, whose resources were still abundant and easy to extract.

This blue and green gem in the sky had falsely promised to be an easy conquest. Indeed, at first, the takeover had been almost boringly simple. The prince, hoping to show off their military might as his son watched and learned, had secretly been disappointed with how quickly they had plowed through the domains of both goblins and of elves. Of course, he’d had the advantage of superior technology, and the element of surprise had been on his side. Still, he had actually welcomed the initial signs of resistance from the dwarves and the humans, as guerilla-style attacks destroyed several energy cannons and troop carriers.

When one of his personal guards was killed, however, the prince took it as a personal affront. Strategy sessions suddenly became more urgent. He began demanding more detailed reports. Interrogations, previously a bit of a hobby for him, were now a personal challenge. After a few entertaining sessions, it became clear that the resistance could be traced to one kingdom, one castle, one ruler - the Sorceress.

He began sending demands. The messengers, rendered incapable of giving away secrets in case of torture, carried detailed, written instructions on the terms of surrender. When the first messenger was spotted returning, apparently unharmed, the prince was astonished. Suspecting a trap, he had ordered the man to be destroyed before reaching the fortress. Only later, did they find a scorched bit of paper, politely but firmly declining his offer to share power. The next couriers returned as well, and he found himself puzzled, then annoyed at the waste - since his precautions had left them unable to communicate, the messengers were useless to him.

Finally, however, he thought he understood. During one of his interrogations, he had learned that the Sorceress seemed upset by the effective way he had incapacitated the messengers. Since she had not tried to obtain any information from them, he supposed that she must be queasy about his methods. Apparently, she not only had a soft spot for her own vassals, but she had the audacity to pity his own subjects as well.

Rather than sparing the next messenger's tongue and fingers, however, the prince added some gratuitous disfiguration. He was surprised again, when this time the woman failed to return at all. A written reply was discovered one morning, affixed to an arrow embedded in a wooden cart. The missive's unlikely claim, that the woman had been allowed to stay in the enemy's territory of her own free will, was corroborated by eyewitnesses. She had been walking about freely, and apparently treated kindly by the villagers.

The tyrant could make neither head nor tail of this. The woman could not have turned traitor, for she could tell nothing. Nor could she wield a weapon, cook food, clean, work in the fields, or do other chores. Given the marks the prince had left on her, he doubted she would even serve to give a man pleasure. What value could she have to the Sorceress? to the villagers? He puzzled over the question for a time, finally abandoning it as fruitless. From that point on, however, there had been no more messengers.

Now, however, he would send one last demand. Sarvadya's own people, captured during this last battle, would be the message, and he would send that pointy-eared elf to accompany them. He didn't even need to silence the elf. It was thoroughly broken, and any information it might divulge could no longer help the defenders anyways. Perhaps it would come back to him, with some useful reconnaissance.

Surely they must be at the gate by now, he thought, and then the little group came into view. Across the courtyard, the elf was leading a horse. Behind the horse was a rickety, enclosed wagon. The prince peered intently at the vehicle from his vantage point, but could see nothing inside the dark, gaping windows. As the covered cart bumped along, no cries of protest reached his ears. He tilted his head in anticipation as the uneven wheels jolted the wagon roughly on the path, but he heard not a single whimper.

Frustrated, he pushed away from the rail. He turned on his heel and headed back towards the building. Creating the message had been quite satisfying, he reminded himself. His mind lingered over the memory like a lover's caress. He only wished he could be there to witness its delivery. It should arrive just before nightfall, perfectly timed to imprint the horror on everyone's mind right before they tried to sleep. The chaotic aftermath in the defenders' psyches would have predictable effects. Distrust, fear, panic... all these would weaken their resolve to resist. More to the point, the Sorceress would realize her folly in opposing him, and she would finally give in.

He hoped that she would properly appreciate the ingenious way he'd kept the letters of the message from being scrambled on the journey. They would be in the correct order as they emerged from the recesses of the wagon, enabling immediate comprehension.

As the prince stepped into the shadow behind the fortress wall, his teeth flashed in a cruel, self-satisfied grin.

CnC Appreciated


Link back to my story thread

[thurnwenthil]

that is great.
nice story chapter

[ZonieCatz]

UPDATE

Miterra’s Victory
^^^ Click link to return to first post ^^^

Part V
1200 years ago – The Ambassador

Spoiler

The sun's last rays stretched across the sky, edging purple clouds with gold.

A small group of people had gathered at the river’s edge, near the end of a narrow, wooden bridge. Two inexperienced foot soldiers accompanied the town’s aging doctor and a couple of sturdily-built midwives, who were deemed more useful at home than in battle. They all circled around several horses and their riders, waiting stoically. The stone castle and its moat lay far behind them. From the river crossing, a rocky road led eastward, towards the location of the devastating battle where the last defending army had been massacred.

A few survivors had escaped on horseback to tell the tale. The last one had reported a rumor that several prisoners of war were now on their way home, and from what the sorceress knew of the prince, the impending reunion of the released prisoners with their loved ones would not be a happy one. She had assembled this little group to meet the returned prisoners quietly, to honor them, to provide healing - or a quick, merciful end - or to fight, if need be.

In the village to either side of the eastbound road, the grieving townspeople wondered which lucky family would be receiving their missing husbands, wives, daughters, brothers. They had seen for themselves the evidence of the prince's brutality, however, and their hopes were tinged with anguish. Their preoccupation with the unknown led them into distraction. More than one soup pot that night was boiled without the customary turnips or potatoes. Mothers put squalling babes to bed in soiled diapers. Daughters repeatedly scrubbed the same pair of leggings over and over again, in buckets of water with no soap. Sons too young to go into battle played swords with kitchen knives, while grandmothers set bowls out for the evening meal, then returned them to the cupboard, without ever serving any food.

The horse under the sorceress stamped its hooves impatiently and shook out its mane. She leaned forward, a brown hood hiding her face and hair from view, and patted the creature's neck, murmuring words of reassurance. She felt impatient, too. At last, one of the footsoldiers called for their attention, and the little group craned their necks and stared into the distance until the covered cart became visible, accompanied by a lone pedestrian.

Suddenly silent, they waited until the cart reached the bridge. The beast hesitated to pull it over, and its chaperone seemed unable or unwilling to intervene. Several soldiers sprang into action, moving to the vehicle and guiding it across. For a moment, everyone stood still, unwilling to come closer to the truth of the Tyrant Prince's latest horror.

Then the Sorceress herself strode to the canvas flap serving as the door of the cart, and flung back the fabric. Her face contorted, but then a look of stern compassion covered her features. She reached into the dark interior and began to assist someone out. In a flash, two men were at her side to help ... just in time, too.

She faltered, then commanded sharply, “Slowly! Gently...” A second person began to emerge from the cart, apparently attached, if she could believe her eyes, to the first, by a metal link welded through their left and right hands. A third person came forth in the same manner, then another and another, until at last 9 young men and women stood, shivering from exhaustion and hunger, but holding themselves up, both out of pride and out of compassion for their neighbors, who were so painfully linked one to another. The younger soldier rushed behind the cart and was ill.

Then the observers gasped, for in the light of the setting sun, they saw the letters, spelling “Surrender,” carved cruelly into each young person's torso. Almost as suddenly, however, a confused pause ensued, as it became clear that there was additional writing on the first young man's chest, above the “S”. It appeared that someone had drawn in blood the words “Do Not”. The Sorceress raised her hand to silence the chattering speculation, glancing sharply at the silent figure who had accompanied the returning captives. She looked at the young people before her.

“Can you speak?” she asked softly. They nodded wearily. One of the taller women explained in halting phrases, how they themselves had decided to alter the message the Prince had forced them to carry. The woman at the end of the chain, with her free hand, had used her own blood – and the blood of some of the others - to trace the additional words onto her comrade's skin.

“Because,” another young man spoke up, “we didn't want him to have the last word.”
“And who was he to decide what our bodies should say,” another voice added in tired indignation.
“We don't want you to surrender on our account,” protested another.

Tears filled the Sorceress's eyes, but she controlled her voice as she gravely thanked the returning wounded for their sacrifices, both voluntary and forced. She praised their stamina, their devotion, and their determination not to be used as tools by the enemy. She made sure to send them first to the physicians, while sending cautiously worded reassurances to their families. The blacksmith arrived promptly at her request, and was sent to work with the doctors to determine the best way to remove the metal links embedded in the returned captives' hands.

“And now for you.” She turned to confront the silent figure who had shadowed them all the way to the castle, unnoticed except by her. “I have a feeling that you, too, have somehow managed to keep your voice,” she remarked mildly. The stooped creature froze, then lifted dark, despairing eyes.

“Yes,” the slender form responded. “I can talk. But I can no longer call my voice my own.”

“Do you wish to return to your master, then?” the Sorceress inquired, wondering what to make of this pitiful creature.

A flash of terror crossed its face, and its tapered ears twitched violently. It must be an elf, she decided, although a sorrier elf she had not seen on this world. “I would rather not,” the elf responded quietly. The Sorceress nodded and gestured for a guard to accompany him. For now, she had weightier issues to consider than an elf who might be a spy. She shuddered at the memory of the mutilation she'd seen that evening, and retreated to her personal chambers to consider her next actions.

===

The sorceress sat at a small decorative table before a large, oval mirror. Her hair, unbound, fell over her shoulders, a few random strands framing her face. She felt certain that she knew what the tyrant prince would demand. He wanted complete dominance, so would require total submission. Male or female, his vanquished foe would be forced to suffer the same humiliating fate. The prince would believe this would ensure that his new, reluctant subjects witnessed his utter power over them, and would not rebel.

A sorceress of her talents, of course, had ways of preventing any man from subjugating her against her will. She pulled her hair back from her face and peered into the ice-blue depths of the eyes that gazed back at her. Could she make the prince believe she relinquished her will? Could she force herself to go through with it? That was the key, of course: she had to let go of her own will in order to save her people.

If only it were that easy, she thought, sitting back. Out of spite, perhaps, the prince had already initiated a chain reaction that was denuding her planet of all vegetation. Before long the entire world would be uninhabitable, whether she gave in to him or not. She could only imagine that he thought their fate would serve as a lesson to future worlds that might oppose him. She might be able to save this village, even her kingdom in the short term, but in the end, the entire planet would be a wasteland.

Did he think that she was ignorant of the situation? She shook her head in annoyance, her cascading silver hair shimmering in the lamplight. Just because she used Magic did not mean that Technology was beyond her comprehension. What eluded her now was a way to save her people - this whole world's population - both in the short term as well as in the long term.

A rapping at the door roused her from her thoughts. "My Lady," a guard informed her skeptically, "the Tyrant's messenger requests an audience with you."

"Send him in, please," she responded.

The downtrodden elf entered hesitantly and stopped just inside the door, dropping into a low bow. She eyed him surreptitiously while rearranging the thick folds of her gown. Obviously, the prince had broken his spirit, so much so that the monster hadn't bothered to silence him like the others before. She wondered that the elf had the initiative to seek her out at all.

Something had flared in his eyes, however, when he'd witnessed the small rebellion of the group of young men and women sent by his master. Perhaps their determination to fight on, despite having no apparent reason for hope, had awakened his long-subjugated will? She would see what he had to say... if he ever spoke at all!

"You wished to see me?" she prodded.

"Your ... your m-majesty ..." the pitiable creature began. "I - I know I have no right to - to come to you ..." His trembling voice faded into silence.

The Sorceress took in his thin hands, clasping and unclasping the edges of the cloak hanging from his shivering frame, and his bowed posture, no doubt a position he was accustomed to assuming when dealing with his Master. Or was it his former master? she wondered.

Abruptly she stood and moved away from him, to the large window. In the daylight, she could look from here over half the castle grounds, a good deal of the village, and the lands beyond out until the mountains. Now the view consisted of a few bobbing torches and fields of starlight, disappearing into blackness at the mountains' ridgelines.

"Come stand beside me," she ordered, and the elf quickly obeyed the sound of command in her voice. Belatedly, she realized that this was no way to find out where his allegiances lay.

"Please," she continued in a softer tone, "look past the darkness to what you know is there. This is our land, our home. These may be my people here, but -" she gestured out towards the mountains’ shadows - "your people, if you still call them such, are not so far away. You know better than I what his plans are ..." She paused, glancing at the elf's pinched expression, his hooded eyes blacker than the night sky. For a moment, she thought his chin lifted, but then his head dropped in defeat.

"What I know doesn't matter," the elf admitted tonelessly. "There's nothing we can do now." The sorceress nearly stamped her feet in a rare display of immature impatience.

"Don't tell me that! I'm well aware of what he's done to the plants - and what will happen to the planet without them!" The elf flinched, and his surprised gaze jumped to her fierce expression. "Yes, I know about that," she reaffirmed more calmly. "And I know I have to give in to him, in order to save the village now -"

"He won't keep his word," the elf interrupted unexpectedly.

"That had occurred to me," she responded with dry humor. "I can create a spell that will temporarily protect the castle even from his technological abilities. But what I need is a way to save the planet... we need to save the vegetation somehow, or this is a dead world."

She allowed the silence to stretch for a moment. "I have searched my memories and have found spells that almost work for us. But I am missing something."

"The elves ... Aren't they ... Didn't they once ... ?" She floundered, uncharacteristically at a loss for words. If this poor creature could not help her, she feared all might be lost. Surely, she could find another way even if this hope failed, but ....

"The practice of Magic ... is not unknown among ... my people." The words fell slowly, like flowing sap, from the elf's barely-moving lips. He lifted his eyes to meet her intent gaze. "I used to have - no, I still have - that knowledge." The sorceress held her breath. "There is a magic - a forbidden one - for extracting and transferring the life force of two willing donors..."

"Can we use it?" the sorceress demanded eagerly, grabbing the elf's arm.

Startled, he dropped his eyes and stepped back, shaking his head negatively and waving his hands diffidently. "N-No, I don't... That is, probably not..."

The woman released her grip on him and thrust her hands into her hair, yanking the long strands in frustration. "In the name of -! Why did you come here, then? Why did you ask to see me? You knew, didn't you, that there was a possibility for hope, right? Don't back out now, don't offer me hope and then take it away - That's just..." her eyes narrowed in suspicion, "That's just what that tyrant prince would do! Did he put you up to this? Did he? Aaargh! I shouldn't be surprised!" She turned away in frustration, angry that she'd been manipulated after all.

The other cringed as if he'd been slapped, then fell to his knees, pleading. "No, no ... Please don't - don't compare me to him!"

"Oh, just get up already," she growled.

"Really, please believe me... I want to help. I just don't know if ..." The elf hesitated, then drew a scroll from under his cloak. "Here, look. See what I mean?"

The sorceress looked over the ancient writings and nodded thoughtfully. Here was the magic she needed, costly though it may be. Now if she and this elf could weave their spells together in time, their world might yet survive.

CnC Appreciated


Link back to my story thread

[thurnwenthil]

yay.

nice chapter

[ZonieCatz]

Dang, girl, you read so fast! o.O

Thanks...

[thurnwenthil]

if it is intresting i read fast

come to think i still need to read the stories for the contests
only read 2 of the short version
and midway the third but i want to read fair and finish them which is hard at times

[ZonieCatz]

8/20 - Update!!

Miterra’s Victory
^^^ Click link to return to first post ^^^

Part VI
1200 years ago – Surrender

Spoiler

Part VI (1200 years ago - Surrender)

===

Dawn was just breaking over the distant hills, when the Sorceress dismounted her horse. She had chanted her most powerful incantations over the castle before leaving. From windows and doorways, the remnant of the kingdom had watched somberly: weary farmers; the very young, the very old, and those physically unable to fight; her surviving advisors; and a few youthful, untrained soldiers. They all knew that this was the last protection she could offer. Her gaze had lingered briefly on her own high window, catching a glimpse of her collaborator, before he drew back into the shadows. She could only hope that his assistance had been sincere, although the spell he'd offered had tingled with the promise of true magic.

Sending the horse back in the direction of home, she now turned toward her final destination, the tyrant prince's fortress. The point at which earlier missives had demanded that she proceed on foot, now required her to cross the smoking, stinking swamp that had once been a meadow of wildflowers. She picked her way forward, among charred remains from the previous day's battle.

No guards were visible, and Sarvadya took advantage of the temporary solitude to steel herself once more for what was surely to come. In order for the elven magic to work, she must in fact hope – contrary to her own personal preference - that the prince would, in every conceivable way, live up to his domineering, prideful reputation.

"When it's over," the elf had assured her with doleful certainty, "he'll let you run, just to give you one last hope before crushing you." Based on his explanations, she realized that there would be no escape. All she would need, however, was a bit of time to say the concluding words of the incantation they had prepared.

She was almost at the fortress now, and she fumbled inside the long sleeves of her hooded robe. To her dismay, her fingers were trembling as they retrieved a small, glass vial containing the potion she had mixed only hours ago. She took a deep, steadying breath, then downed the emerald-hued liquid. A bitter aftertaste coated her tongue. Grimacing at the flavor, she froze when a rough voice hailed her loudly.

"Hah, Sorceress! Got a bad taste in your mouth already? Too bad; the party hasn't even started yet!" Raucous laughter filled her ears. Too soon, the time had arrived. She tried to slow her breathing, to calm the pounding of her heart.

Something clattered to the hardened earth in front of her.

"Take the cloak off, and put these on," another, more authoritative voice commanded. Stifling a shiver, she let the heavy robe slide from her shoulders, revealing the plain, ankle-length gown she wore beneath. She bent to pick up the heavy chain which had been tossed down to her, and immediately, loud whistles and crude catcalls filled the air.

Her stomach twisted, making her wonder if the cause was her fear, or if it was the potion, taking effect far, far too soon. What if this were all for nothing? What if the elf had tricked her? They might have gotten the spell wrong, or measured the ingredients incorrectly … a thousand terrors leapt up and seized her heart, stopping her breath. For a moment, Sarvadya wavered, and she glanced over her shoulder, searching for an escape.

Her eyes swept over the landscape – and found the blackened earth of her people’s last stand, irrigated by drying streams of their blood. Their faces rose before her: men and women she’d known … friends, who had given their all. She remembered those people in the castle, trusting her. She saw again the nine prisoners standing together, defying the Prince even in the face of defeat, torture, and humiliation. This was their last hope. This was, after all, what she had come here to do. To surrender. Her resolve hardened, even as her hands shook, and she slipped her wrists into the loose manacles.

For an instant, the Sorceress wondered how these slack bindings were supposed to hold her - and then, without warning, they tightened. She gasped and then shuddered, as she felt all of her magical power drain away unexpectedly. She stumbled, finding herself suddenly weaker and more vulnerable than she'd ever been. Trying not to panic, she recalled that the elf had warned of this possibility. The prince had extracted much information from his captives; at least some of that information was bound to be magical in nature. It was not too far-fetched to think he would have unearthed a way to suppress magical abilities.

There would be no pretending to give in, she realized abruptly. She no longer had any choice in the matter. The unfamiliar sensation of utter helplessness permeated her soul, and she was grateful that the heavy shackles prevented her from obeying the sudden, cowardly impulse to betray everyone and run for her life.

There was no turning back now. She would have to survive the next few hours and hope that the elf's analysis of the prince - and the magic of the elf's ancestors - proved true.

Suddenly, half a dozen armored guards poured out from their hiding places, surrounding her. They jostled her roughly, but didn't actually lay a hand on her - that privilege was apparently reserved for someone else. She tried not to fall, as they herded her through the dark, gaping door into the enemy's stronghold.

CnC Appreciated


Link back to my story thread

[thurnwenthil]

nice chapter zonie

[ZonieCatz]

Thanks Thurn!

Too much angst? not believable? any questions like "But why..." or "But how..." ??

I don't get much feeling from her. Got more emotion out of Devon ... <.<

This story doesn't ask to be expanded on, like some others do.... LOL.
Still, would like to know ways 2 make it better.