Chapter 45
She swam in a pool of silver
water. The waters, cool and refreshing,
surrounded her naked body. Peace. A feeling of well-being charged her. Beneath those waters she had no memory of
anything. There was only the water and
the simplicity of existence. Whenever she
would break the surface, and looked up at the cloudy-blue orb that hung in the
starry sky, disturbing thoughts swirled in her mind. Faces that rung a distant chord in her
memory, but she could not place, scenes of great horror and wickedness that
brought no trace of disturbance across her serene face. They were someone else’s memories, not hers.
She was the Goddess of the Moon. Her long brown hair sparkled in the
earthlight. She breathed deeply of the
pure lunar air, feeling alive and pure.
Then she remembered. She stared
at the World, thoughtfully. She had to
return at once. Brythia needed her.
The invigorating sensations of the
silver water were replaced by a heavy cold darkness. At once, she realized that she was under the
rubble of the Palace. Whatever injuries
she had suffered were already healed, but still she was trapped beneath
hundreds of tons of stone and debris.
She knew that they were digging her out.
She had sent word via Queen Ymrisiva, of her precise location. Still, Tolian had no choice but to wait for
them to dig her out.
For two weeks she fretted beneath the
rock, buried alive. She was hungry,
tired, and menstruating. She could not
even move a muscle, so surrounded by debris was she, that with even her super
strength she could not budge the oppressive weight. Always the same thought ran incessantly
through her mind, is Brythia all right?
Has that monster killed her or hurt her.
Hurry, she thought. Hurry. Get me out of here so I can save her.
At last, Tolian felt enough of the
massive load sufficiently reduced for her to climb out of the pile of rubble. So great was the destruction that it took
Tolian another day to finally pull herself out into the January sunshine. She blinked and squinted. Someone was reached down to her, offering a
hand. She grasped it and pulled herself
up.
“Thank you.”
“You’re quite welcome.” It was Findelbres.
Tolian was astounded. The faerie was alive.
“But how? I saw you fall to your death.”
“That,” responded the elf
sarcastically, “was nothing. It takes
more than dragonfire and a nasty fall to kill one of the Good Folk, my friend.”
“Apparently.”
“Come, we should see your father
immediately.”
“I don’t have time to see my
father. Quickly, Findelbres, you must
tell me what has happened.”
Findelbres stammered. “B-b-b-but.
Wait, I can see there’s no arguing with you. Well, after you killed the Demon on the
battlefield, it was a complete rout.
Your men devastated the faltering enemy forces. My people slew the of rest the dragons, save
one. The one the other incarnation of
the Demon used to escape with Brythia.”
Tolian took this information in with
out emotion. “What sort of intelligence
do we have of the Demon’s whereabouts now?”
“He’s completed his conquest of the
Northern Kingdoms. Refugees have been
pouring south over the last week. We believe that he’s heading south with his
main army, now the largest fighting force ever assembled. My king and your king are discussing battle
plans now. Messengers have been sent to
the other kingdoms. The Gerdoans are
even sending their entire host of griffin-riders to help fend off the Demon’s
forces.”
“It doesn’t matter,” said
Tolian. “It won’t make any difference,
anyway. This is between the Demon and me
now. Tell them to make whatever plans
they wish, but one way or another, this war is ending tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow,” repeated Findelbres
incredulously. “Your Majesty must be
joking.”
She stared into the faerie’s etherial
eyes, “Do I look like I’m joking?”
Copyright 2002, 2015 Diana Hignutt
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