Empress of Clouds - Chapter 17

                     

Chapter 17

           

              

            They could not have ridden for more than a half an hour before Dowbreth stopped his dark steed.  As the giant faerie reined in the horse, Tolian could hear the strange, malevolent voice almost shouting from the bag.  She was certain she was not imagining it.  A string of foul curses and epithets colored the mysterious cries.  “Fool.  The druid-bitch still follows.  It’s the damned sword.  She’s using the sword.”

            Dowbreth looked at the bag for a moment and considered the words coming from it.  Did a look of doubt briefly flash across his face?  She could not be sure.  He brought his gaze to Tolian and narrowed his eyes.  In a quick motion, he shoved her off the horse and sent her tumbling to the frozen ground.

            Tolian was caught completely by surprise.  She hit the ground hard and was instantly winded by the fall.  Stunned and confused.  Then Dowbreth was on top of her, straddling her prostrate form.  He hit her hard in the face with the back of his hand.  The princess cried out weakly.  “Quiet, wench,” the faerie said.

            She lay there staring up at him.  She was as afraid as she had ever been.  She could read the threat in his eyes, and knew her own eyes shone with fear and a soft, but urgent plea.  There was only the two of them and the moment.  The awful string of curses and unintelligible ravings had ceased coming from the bag.  It was quiet.

            With great violence, the Elven warlord jerked Tolian’s gown up above her waist.  She was frozen in terror.  He spread apart her legs and crawled over her, bringing his face right next to hers.  He whispered coarsely, “Do you want me to do this, Princess?”

            She shook her head.  She was shaking and trembling.

            “Then you must do something for me,” said Dowbreth.  “That sounds fair now, doesn’t it, O Beautiful One?”  The villain paused.  “You must stop your girlfriend from following you,” he commanded.  “At once.”

            Tolian had no idea what the faerie was talking about.  How could she stop Brythia from following them?  Confusion now joined fear manifesting in her body language.

            “You see,” explained Dowbreth, “your girlfriend is using the Moonsword to track us.  But, the sword will obey your command.  And you must tell it to stop.  Do you understand?”

            “I’ve lost my powers, remember?” she said.

            “Not quite,” Dowbreth corrected her.  “Your power is being blocked; its outward expression is being absorbed, but you still control you inner powers, child.  You can still control your sword.  And you must, do so now, or....” He let his lust-filled stare complete his sentence. 

            It had never been clear to her exactly how she was able to do any of the preternatural things she could.  Usually she tapped into her “powers” without thinking;[KR]Never use virtually to describe an action.        she nevers       she never had to concentrate on them.  The sword.  Her connection to it had always been unconscious, instinctual.  She had no idea how to begin to tell the sword not to follow them.  “I don’t know how,” she said, fear dripping from every word.

            Dowbreth looked down at her with scorn, “That’s too bad, princess...”  He leaned back a little and began to unfasten his belt.

            “Please no,” she pleaded.  “I’m sorry.  Please just give me a minute.  I’ll try to do it.”  She hated herself for begging, but her fear was complete.  She was afraid for herself, but also for Brythia.  What if her beloved did track them and confront Dowbreth?  Tolian knew that the druidess would be no match for the Warlord of the Sidhe.  He would kill her and continue on his way.  No, there was no hope of rescue anyway. 

            Dowbreth completed the unfastening of his belt buckle, but still he hung a little away from her.  “Do it now.”

            She closed her eyes and attempted to steady her frantic breathing [KR]You can’t summon composure.      and [KR]      compose herself.  She pictured the weapon in her mind’s eye.  The long blade, the purple sheen, and the hilt, which fit her hands so perfectly.  The image came easily to her mind.  Her sword.  Yes, there it is, she thought.  That it was a living thing of its own right, she did not doubt.  There were times when she could sense its emotions clearly.

            She formed a mental command and visualized herself imparting it to the Moonsword, “Do not follow me; don’t help Brythia track me.”  She felt love radiating from the sword and was warmed by its happy glow.  Then she heard Dowbreth shout at her, “Now.”

            She was shaken.  Fear swirled inside her, yet the sword seemed to be holding their connection fast.  As her fear grew, it seemed the sword’s presence in her mind strengthened.  In terror she shouted, “Stop, you must not follow me.  Do not follow me.”

            She felt the lunar blade’s confusion and its own reflective fear.  The clear impression that the mystical weapon was not happy about her command came to her.  She heard herself screaming her final order, “Do as I say.”

            The vision of the Moonsword faded, and her own harsh words echoed in her ears.  She opened her eyes.  Dowbreth still hovered over her, too close.  His red eyes burned scornfully down upon her.

            “Is it done?” he asked.

            Tolian lowered her eyes.  “Yes,” she replied.  She hated the meekness in her voice.

            The faerie nodded as a crooked smile played on his pale and scarred face.  He reached over and pulled her gown back down below her waist.

            “Good girl,” he said.  “If you keep obeying my orders, our relationship will go well.”

            There was such power and authority in his tone, such superiority.

            “Come,” he said lifting her up off the ground, “We must continue on our way.”

           

            They rode on as night ceded its place to morning.  They traveled now over paved roads again, traversing forests and fields.  Tolian was surprised to see a farmer driving a cart full of winter cabbages on the roadway, though she was certain that she was not as surprised as he was.  Her eyes caught his—saw his shock as the faerie steed raced past him.  Could he see the despair in her eyes?

            The snow began falling shortly after that.  The first few flakes slipped from the sky as a gentle flurry, but the pace quickened to a steady snowfall.  The landscape became a white blur to Tolian in her position in front of the faerie on the dark warhorse. For the first time in her life she was helpless, carried beyond her will towards some unspeakable doom.  A great numbness took hold of her.  She had her fear, but that was all; it was clear that there was no hope for her.  No one could help her, let alone find her.   [KR]No, your readers will hate this. Better to have Tolian ask if this is what it means to be a woman.

      Is this what it really means to be a woman? Are we weak and powerless?  Are we to be preyed upon and victimized without recourse, a plaything for the strong?  She shivered, as much from fear as from the cold.  No, I can’t accept this.  We are so much more, she thought, but her fear threatened to overtake her.  She fought hard against it.

            After a while, some part of her brain reminded her that she was a warrior, that as such she had known fear many times in the past.  She had fought her first battle as a young boy, no older than thirteen.  He was terrified out of his mind.  His father taught him the warrior’s mantra before the fighting and he held it firmly in his mind, “Fear is for my enemy.  Fear is defeat, and the forerunner of defeat.  I will hold no fear.”  The warrior’s mantra.

            She tried it now, gradually bringing it around her mind: Fear is for my enemy.  Fear is defeat, and the forerunner of defeat.  I will hold no fear.  Fear is for my enemy.  Fear is defeat, and the forerunner of defeat.  I will hold no fear.  Fear is for my enemy.  Fear is defeat, and the forerunner of defeat.  I will hold no fear.

            She moved her lips in a secret whisper with the mantra.  It was helping.  Slowly, her panic diminished.  The slightest trace of hope grew in her heart.  She would not be this weak and helpless thing.  She would wait and watch.  She would study her enemy and his mysterious speaking bag.  She would be patient, resolute, and calm.  She would find a way.  Use your perceived weakness against him, she thought.  He thinks he has me beaten.  Perhaps, I can determine how he has robbed me of the use of my powers, and restore them.  Above all, she told herself, I will not give up.  I will kill this villain and return to my Brythia’s side.  Somehow.

            The snow [KR]Surge means to rise and fall in a pattern, so the snow can’t do what you’ve written here.      fell, a force of heaven.  Even the dark faerie stallion was having trouble making progress through the fierce snowstorm.  With a curse, Dowbreth reined in his horse and slowly guided it to the protection of a copse of tall but bent evergreens just off the road.  He dismounted and lifted Tolian off the saddle and set her standing next to him.  He methodically tied the rope from her bound wrists to a branch about ten feet in the air, leaving her, once again, with enough slack to move a few feet away from the tree, but little more.

            “Wait here,” he barked, as he turned his attention to unfastening the strange, but now quiet, sack from his saddle.  “I will just be a moment.”

            Then taking the bag, he disappeared into the heavy snow.

            Tolian looked around her.  The snow was really coming down now, placing a coating of white over the entire landscape.  The tree branches were laden with almost five inches of snow, bowing them under the frosty weight.  Despite this, however, the canopy made by the snow-covered pines protected both her and Dowbreth’s horse well from the precipitation.  Still, it was cold; even with the heavy cloak wrapped around her, her ears hurt, as did her feet, which were afforded almost no protection by her delicate slippers.

            She looked up at the rope, her leash, as it were.  Instantly, an idea entered her head.  Yes, it would be bad if it didn’t work, probably very bad.  She drew back a little as the fear played about the edges of her mind.  Thoughts of Dowbreth touching her.

            She had little time to decide.  It was now or never.  She looked quickly around her and set a suspicious glance at the faerie horse.  Yes, she had to try.  It could well be her only chance.  Perhaps, she thought, Brythia has conjured up this storm to give me just such an opportunity.  Her fear came back with a rush.  A quick look up at the branch again, and she grabbed the rope and began to pull herself up.

            She whispered the warrior’s mantra as she did so.  “Fear is for my enemy.  Fear is defeat, and the forerunner of defeat.  I will hold no fear.  Fear is my enemy.  Fear is defeat, and the forerunner of defeat.  I will hold no fear.”

            It was tough going, arduously pulling herself up the tree trunk, and using her legs to help her.  She struggled, again cursing her weakness, but using her frustration to fuel her efforts all the more.

            Hurry, girl, she told herself.  Hurry.

            At last, she had reached the branch, and with great difficulty she managed to pull herself up to it.  Once there, she fought her way over to a branch on the other side of the tree, about four feet higher, the whole process made exceedingly challenging by her securely tied wrists.  She wrenched herself into a crouched position, perched quite perilously on the narrow branch.  She slowed her heavy breathing and attempted to calm herself.

            Fear is for my enemy.  Fear is defeat, or the forerunner of defeat.  I will hold no fear.

            She waited, peeking around the tree.  She peered as best she could through the snow.  Visibility was poor.  She would have to keep her vigilance up.  Timing was going to be everything.

            She kept the mantra going through her head, but she no longer allowed herself to vocalize it, lest she give her position away.  She was not as well protected from the snow as she had been, and she could feel the flakes quickly accumulating on her head and shoulders.  Her hands were bitterly cold.  She looked again warily at the horse.  It seemed unconcerned.  Tolian had not freed herself from her bindings so it made no alarm.  She hoped it would have no time to give Dowbreth a clue to her whereabouts until it was too late.

            Come on.  Come on, she urged in her thoughts.

            Doubts came again and she fought them back.  “I will hold no fear...”

            Suddenly the faerie’s massive figure emerged from the blinding snow.  At first, his countenance showed no surprise that he did not see her at once as his great steed hid most of the site from vision.  Then Tolian saw his eyes grow wide, and then narrow.  Now he was close enough.  Now, it was time.

            She made a loop in the rope and jumped down at the giant.

            “Fear is defeat, and the forerunner of defeat....”

            She just managed to get the loop of rope around his neck as she slapped down into his back.  She pulled with everything she was worth.

            Clearly, the faerie was not expecting any such attack, and he was ill prepared for one.  At first, she thought it might just work, as she watched him gag and drop his bag on the snow-covered ground.  Tolian put all of her concentration into pulling the rope as hard as she possibly could.  “Die, you bastard, die,” she shouted.

            Once, however, Dowbreth realized exactly what was happening, the situation quickly changed.  With an easy shrug, Tolian went flying off the faerie’s back, and hit the ground hard, despite landing in a small snow bank.  The air rushed out of her lungs, and the rope jerked her wrists so painfully she was sure one was instantly broken.  And there was Dowbreth leaning over her.

            “Will you never learn, girl?” He growled.  He pulled her up by the rope and punched her in the eye.  The pain was excruciating.  He dropped her back down into the snow, and stroked his own neck.

            “I see that I cannot secure your cooperation without using my leverage.  Very well.”