The Elven Queen

Chapter 2

Arienne sat in her tower alone - not alone, there were incorporeal spirits hovering around - her eyes closed. The room wasn't lighted. Iniel was downstairs.

Why City of the Night had these ridiculous balls in honor of Katla, Arienne had no idea at all. It was stupid. And ridiculous. She thought that creating a new spell in honor of the goddess might be more worthwhile. but then, spells weren't created; they were born.

"Arriennne! I'm done!" Iniel called from the lower level. Arienne didn't answer; instead, she snapped her finger and called to a spirit hovering around her: "Fetch me a mirror."

A silver mirror, decorated with intricate, flowing carvings, floated in front of her. It landed a few feet in front of the chair she was sitting in with a heavy thud. The ghost hovered around the mirror, waiting for more instructions.

"No more, Ramera." Arienne said with a curt nod. "You may go."

The ghost melted into the thin air.

Arienne stood up. Her long gown hung about, unnatural to her delicate flesh. The skin was used to black velvet, not cream silk. Her neck was used to high collar with a hood, not a low cut and gold elven chain. Her usual magical charms were long and heavy, and the pendant never landed around her neck, but more around her abdomen. Her arms were used to heavy long sleeves with many pockets, not this floating material which trained much of the length of itself behind her. Nor were her hands used to this voluminous flimsy material, or the delicate silver bracelet around her wrist. She usually wore bracelets, but they were thick and sturdy, more for use than show. Her feet were used to boots, not sandals. Her head was used to hoods, not silver and golden headbands. She felt out of place, like a small child displaced from the home she had known all her life.

Her face was painted the ritual silver and gold - gold around her temples, starting from the tips of her eyes, in a series of arabesques that gracefully swirled and disappeared into the headband, and silver on her eyelids and her lips. This was how the Goddess, Katla, the guardian of the Nimbus, the Lady of Magic, was supposed to look as the Mistress of Magic, one of her chief avatars.

Gracefully circling her hand over her head, she whispered the magical syllable and instantly teleported to where Iniel was: the little alcove downstairs. Teleporting was normal to her now - like everyone else, she had first vomited at the impact, but she was used to it now.

"Arienne?" Iniel called. Arienne, who had not moved from the teleporting position, did not look back at her knight. She stared at her feet, her black hair coming into her view - the cascading tumble of black making a contrast on the creamy white. It was stark. And ugly. She hated it.

She had no idea who Iniel was cast as: she sometimes asked, but he always evaded the question. However, that was not what was on her mind right now. Few days before, Arienne was walking down the street, a trip back from monthly inspection of the School (a ghastly duty which Arienne hated), she had seen Iniel standing with another woman, whispering and kissing, in a strong embrace. She had never seen that woman before - of course, she did not allow anyone except Iniel, who resided in the Tower with her, to be in the tower regularly, nor did she have any friends apart from the Council Circle - but what was this hollow pain in her heart? Arienne furiously denied even the thought of loving Iniel. She was better than that - more powerful, unbound by weak human emotions.

"Arienne!" Iniel called again. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing you need to be concerned of." Arienne replied testily. Iniel shrugged to himself. He was used to this by now. She turned her head, her hair whipping through the air. The silver chains dangling from the headband whipped along.

Stretching her arms, thrusting her palms forward, thumbs and wrists attached, she turned to a wall. She whispered the incantation, and at the end a portal appeared - molten silver, with black swirling in it. By this time, Iniel had finished getting ready, or so Arienne had presumed. He came to her, touching her shoulder tentatively as she finished the spell.

Her concentration disrupted, Arienne turned, livid with anger, her eyes burning blue, her breaths becoming faster, her facial muscles becoming tenser. "Why have you disturbed me?" she asked softly, but the tone of the voice was lethal.

"I was. wondering what you were doing, Ahdra." He said quietly. Arienne wondered the use of the word, Ahdra, by Iniel. In Sylvanarian, where she was from, it meant "beloved". but in Irithirim, where Iniel was from, it meant "the one who is protected". While they were both from elven realms, the languages they used were vaguely different. She discarded the idea that he was using it in the term of beloved immediately.

"I was opening a portal for you, Iniel." Arienne said gently. She was better than to have petty anger at Iniel. Either way, Ahdra was a term of endearment, and Arienne decided not to think about it anymore. There was no point asking him. He would just smile, c**k his head, and look into her eyes and say, "You know very well what I mean, Ahdra."

She observed Iniel critically. He was dressed in deep green. The copper lock in his hair - that single copper lock, amidst the swirl of gold - floated languidly in front of his face. The rest of his hair waved down his back. His eyes were green. His elven face - beautiful even by elven standard, unlike hers - was filled with joy and delight. Probably at the thought of meeting that wench again, Arienne thought acidly, then was surprised at the jealousy coiling its head in her heart. Was she that undisciplined? She tried to find a flaw in how he looked and found none in him. This annoyed her. But then, Iniel was just a Knight of Magic, his duty to protect his Necromancer and prevent misuse of magic. What he did with his heart was not her business.

Female necromancers were few in the world - there were only three, and one of them left the City, rather than staying and holding power in the Council. The other two - Arienne and Thragriel Henneye, both had Knights of Magic as their protector - wizards and sorcerers were never fighters. Thragriel, a human sorceress, the one who had magic running in her veins, had married her Knight, a lanky half-elf paladin by the name of Methvaun Thaul - and Arienne, an elven wizardess, the one who had studied the art and dedicated her life to the mystery of the Arcane, had an elf, Iniel Anercil. The women were despised and feared by most men; hated because they usually had attained power beyond them, and feared because they had power beyond them. They were never popular in any civilization.

"I made a portal for you, Iniel," Arienne repeated quietly, but her quietness was not because of calmness. "So you can come later with your partner. I have to go early. You know that."

"Why do I need this?" Iniel furrowed his fine eyebrows. Arienne stared.

"I thought you had a partner."

"I do. I think," Iniel answered serenely. Arienne raised an eyebrow.

"Are you going with Thragriel?!" She demanded. Thragriel and she were good friends, but she doubted that the friendship would last if Iniel went with the sorceress.

"Of course not. She has Methvaun." Iniel said incredulously.

"Then you need this portal to get out. No one but me can leave this tower freely, Iniel. You know that." Her voice was tense.

"Yes, I know."

Arienne stared at him again. What was he talking about?

"Explain yourself." She ordered. "You aren't going early, you don't need a portal, you are attending the ball, and you have a partner. How in the holy name of our Mistress does this work?!"

"Didn't I tell you?" Iniel asked.

"Tell me what?!"

"I'm your partner."

Arienne sat down in a nearby chair, rolling her eyes and burying her face in her hands.

"Am I a dunce or what?!" She asked herself out loud, shaking her head. "I should have realized you were always taking me as a joke."

"What are you talking about!?" Iniel said, his voice now tense.

"Alright." Arienne stood up. Although she was tall, she barely grazed Iniel's chin. "I saw you few days ago hugging and kissing with a girl on the street. You thought it'd be really funny if I just got tricked by you and went there alone and was ashamed in front of the public, didn't you? Why don't you take her?"

"What are you talking about!?" Iniel asked, frantic. What did he do? Then it dawned on him - the girl from the robe shop, Iroora, had fixed his daily robe without charge, and he had thanked her with endearment gestures, which involved kissing her on the cheek. Alright, he had more going on, but she wouldn't know. Arienne must have seen them while walking back to her tower, and mistook the kiss. Although Arienne could have teleported, she often walked throughout the city, looking for new spell components and charms.

"I didn't do that as a gesture of a lover!" Iniel protested.

"Oh really." Arienne's skepticism was biting.

"I mean in earnest!"

"I am not your last resort, and I will never be!" Arienne shouted, her temper rising. She still doubted him; Iniel could see that in her elven eyes. She pointed a finger - Iniel backed slightly. "Don't play with me, Iniel Anercil. I can fry you into a fish stick."

"I know, Arienne." That slow tone.

Why am I doing this? Arienne thought with remorse. I'm jealous. I'm jealous of that girl, who is probably a normal girl without an ounce of magic. She hated herself for being jealous. Her temper was raised a notch because of that.

"Why. why do you do this!?" Arienne demanded, still pointing an accusatory finger. "Not only are you playing with me, you're playing with that girl too." Arienne was now furious. It was rare that she got angry, but when she did, she would be angry for quite a while. Iniel sighed. Will the day come when I can tell her that I love her? He wondered. It was Arienne who had showed him, a forlorn orphan, that the way to glory was not won by blood but by power. It was she, a young princess on her way to City of the Night in a grand carriage, who had brought him, a ragged child, robbed of all his belongings and hurt, to the City of the Night with her. She had paid for his training, for his shelter and for his food. Over the years, Iniel had learned to look beyond her hard shell and see her soft flesh; outwards, Arienne looked detached, cold and invincible, but Iniel had come to comprehend that inside the hard shell, Arienne bled, wept, laughed, worried, and felt the same way just as anyone else.

Iniel, however, doubted that Arienne would ever accept his feelings. There was one thing Arienne had loved and will always love - magic. And power for herself. She paid attention to nothing else.

Now Arienne was infuriated - Iniel could see that, by the way her eyes flashed, how her mouth was drawn into a thin line, how her face twitched, how she was livid. Iniel was now on alert. Arienne was true; she could indeed fry him into a crisp with one word. He did not want to be a fry - yet.

"Arienne! Calm down!" Iniel yelled over her lethal voice. "Arienne!"

Arienne turned an angry eye at him, then collapsed onto the sofa behind her, sobbing. Arienne, despite her wisdom and her intelligence, still was a something to protect for Iniel, a little immature, a little pampered, and very weak.

"Oh. Arienne, you, despite your cleverness, is still quite a fool sometimes." Iniel sat beside her and caressed her black hair. Long before, when they were both children in the City of the Night, Arienne had often come to him, who was older than her, crying her eyes out about the day. Still now she was the same, crying in his arms. Iniel relaxed. No matter what, Arienne was still Arienne, whether she was one of the eight necromancers in the world or a small child still studying to be initiated. She clutched at his robe like a small child frightened of the dark, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Arienne, that was a friendly gesture. She did something for me. I repaid her with gestures of endearment. It wasn't a kiss of a lover." Iniel explained patiently. She continued sobbing. Then, all of a sudden, she disappeared.

"Damn." Iniel whispered. Arienne often became spontaneous after a heavy emotional wave. He should have known. He sighed, and clambered into the portal.

The walk down to the Temple was not pleasant. Arienne was nowhere to be seen. Iniel walked down the shop-lined streets looking for her, but she was nowhere. Sighing, Iniel moved, still with elven grace, his hand always on the dagger concealed up his sleeve. Danger was never to be ignored.

It was quite a long walk to the Temple; through the forest, across the farms, and into the city core. Many women's eyes moved as he passed along - he could feel their gaze. Iroora was among them. Iniel ignored it.

He reached the Temple, and as soon as he passed through the main gates he caught a glimpse of black and silver - Arienne's tiara and her hair. He ran after her through the corridor, and caught her bare arm right before she disappeared into a room. Iniel started - he had never touched her except her hands before. It was warm, unlike what he had imagined.

"What?!" Arienne turned towards him. "What do you want?!"

"My Goddess, you have only graced your humble servant with a glimpse of your sight. Grant me more."

"Shut up, you traitor." Arienne snarled.

"You are the Goddess. for tonight. You are the Mistress of Magic." The Paladin pointed out.

"So? And you are?" Arienne retaliated.

"Don't you see it, my dear Arienne, my Ahdra?"

"No." the elfmaiden shook her head, then took it in - the ceremonial painting on his face, the copper and gold, in same pattern as hers - this must be.

"Serian, Lord of Knowledge." Arienne said finally, more as talking to herself than to her knight. "And Our Lady's consort." Realizing what she had just said, she stopped and looked up accusingly.

"Yes, my Ahdra." Iniel smiled. "I am your consort for tonight." He enjoyed watching Arienne's annoyance. Just as he had thought, Arienne's eyes narrowed. Nonetheless, she took his arm gingerly, as if he was about to slap her.

The ball had already started, but everything - dancing, music, probably even time itself - was supposed to stop as The Wizard and the Mistress entered. And it did. It was the holy ceremony, to be taking place before the fun of the Celebration. Those two were always picked from the ruling council - the Wizard, the youngest male, and the Mistress, the youngest female. Although Arienne was an elf and her life had spanned longer than those of humans', she was still young by her elven standards - while Thragriel was around 35, Arienne was only about 20 in human age. And thus Arienne was the Mistress, and she knew, by the rumor, that Mistar, the youngest wizard on the Council and an elf, was to be the Wizard.

If Mistar had a consort of his own, she would have entered with him - but he didn't, and since the customary Wizard did not have a consort, he entered on his own, his midnight blue robe billowing, the robe embroidered with silver, with thick purple linings. His cowl was up, the midnight blue with purple linings and silver runes running around it. His silver hair was down, and he carried a staff - the staff that was holy for all the wizards, the staff which the Lady had used when she had raised this city to nurture her followers.

The main door of the hall was much different from the one of the Shrine. The wizards and knights who had been cast as part of the Goddess' avatars consecrated themselves by the Shrine, rubbing in the Lady's oil, blessed by the Clerics of Katla, delivered all the way from the Citadel of Dawn, where the most clerics lived, just like City, where the wizards dwelled. For the Holy Night, the night of the Celebration in honor of the Goddess, the avatars had wrapped garlands of rose petals, rosemary and lavender, sacred herbs of the Lady, which were often used as spell components as well, around their loins - their faces were painted, the Mistress's in silver and gold, her consort in copper, silver and gold, and the Wizard's in midnight blue and silver - for it was told that Lady always had silver around her, as it was the metal of the night, the metal of magic. The doors entering the Hall, which the celebration was held every year, was made of silver and black onyx, with silver hinges, locks and door bars and Onyx around the frame and the door itself. It was tall, its height disappearing into the darkness - why it was so big, nobody knew, except for the theory that Katla had made it so. It was certainly not a work of a dwarf, a man, a dragon, or an elf - and nobody had better story.

Arienne herself was hooded also, not in a heavy hood but a veil of a shy maiden, creamy white with silver and golden arabesques embroidered. It trailed about her, covering her hair and showing little of her face. Iniel was the only one who was not hooded - in fact, he wore nothing on his head, and his copper lock shined in the bonfire set up in the middle of the Hall. People separated to make way for the Avatars - and in the center was the bonfire, rising up into the darkness. The Hall was so tall that nobody could see the roof - it disappeared into the darkness, not to be seen. The only light was from the fire in the center of the hall, crackling, sending off the smell of lavender and rosemary, which were tossed in as bundles.

Arienne walked beside Iniel, her face down, veil falling down to shadow her face, not touching her consort. She didn't need to - she knew he was there. The three walked down the man-made aisle, solemnly, slowly. The drums had ceased, as well as the harp, the lute, and the flute.

The procession stopped. Mistar had stopped in front of the bonfire.

He levitated above the fire and thrust the tip of the white crystal staff into the center pole of the bonfire, which was also made of black onyx - the pole was always there, regardless of the season, and every year the bonfire was made around it for the celebration. He then levitated back down onto the cold onyx floor, his hood still up. Iniel slowly merged into the background - it was Mistar and Arienne's stage now. Since the door was to the south, Arienne moved swiftly, when everyone's attention was paid to Mistar, to the North.

Mistar and Arienne stood at the end of the bonfire, facing each other, the Mistress in the North and the Wizard in the South. They dimmed the fire to a low with a word in unison, their clear elven voices ringing through the silence. Then they started to chant the Song, the Song that was repeated over and over throughout time and had lost its meaning, but was still whispered through the Night.

The tones rose and lowered, the voices became louder and then softer. It was not a chant but a song, with its melody echoing through. Arienne and Mistar moved their arms in graceful unison, as if they were casting a spell.

And then, in a sharp tone, they shouted,

"Serian!"

Silence.

"Serian!"

Silence.

"Serian!"

At that moment Iniel stepped over, a long sleeve draped around his now bare arm. His robe sleeve was rolled up, and the sleeve, made from a black cloth which the eldest woman on the council, this time Thragriel, had woven, had replaced it. He also raised his arm, and the three now shouted:

"Arrfarlan nildar vandet Katla!"

Three beats sounded. A heavy tone of a single drum.

Mistar removed his hood, he held it in his left hand; Arienne had removed her veil and was holding it in her right. Iniel had removed his sleeve and was now holding it in his right hand also.

Another beat of a drum sounded, this time its voice lower and deeper.

Then another, this one high pitched, sharp, its crisp sound cutting through the air. At that beat, the three avatars tossed their cloths into the air, the swirl of blue, black and white. They landed squarely on the bonfire.

The fire leapt up into the air, making pillar of fire, its tips disappearing into the darkness.

The drum sounded again, and every motion stopped again. When Arienne saw that her cloth and Iniel's had burned into ashes, she clapped her hands twice, raising her arms above her head into the air, and retreated into the crowd backwards, still facing the bonfire. Iniel had retreated also, facing the bonfire and walking backwards.

Silence reigned after the echo of her clap, and then the drum sounded again. This time, Mistar clapped his hands once, in a same manner as Arienne did, and retreated, walking backwards.

The ceremony had ended. The fun was about to begin.

Meats were brought in, roasted over the bonfire, while caskets of wine and barrels of ale was opened. The food was always plenty, and the spirits served the food, while they enjoyed themselves. This was their night too, the spirits of those who had dedicated their lives to the Goddess. How they had their fun, nobody knew, but that didn't matter. Bread was broken, new loaves passed around, along with fruits and fish. Tonight everybody relaxed, forgetting their worries and their tasks ahead.

Arienne helped herself to the fragrant bread and grapes, while someone had piled roasted lamb onto her plate. She took a glass from the wine table and poured herself a cup, then retreated to the remote corner outside. She did not know why but the ceremony itself, which she had performed every year since her ascent to the Council as she was always the youngest, had mostly exhausted her of her energy. She sat away from the fire, enjoying the breeze from the sea, when Iniel found her.

She turned from her food as Iniel seated himself, his hand holding a plate also. She moved her glass of wine away from him to the other side, and made a space for him to sit down.

"Are you feeling better now, my Ahdra?" He asked gently.

"I guess." She replied with a sigh. "I don't know. Every year, the ceremony exhausts me. As if the ceremony sucks my energy out, to sustain the Lady." She sipped her wine and smiled. "What I just said sounds blasphemous. but it seems like so." She ripped the bread and tossed it to the seagulls.

"You're different tonight." Iniel observed. "There's a serenity that you've never possessed before."

"I'm remembering my homeland." She said morosely. "I haven't gone back for so long. maybe it was my choice to leave, maybe not. I look at the moon shining on the sea, and realize that maybe my sister is seeing the same moon right now." she smiled sadly. "Even I become homesick sometimes."

"I think that's natural."

"No." She shrugged it off. "See it?" she said suddenly, pointing at the horizon.

"No." Iniel looked at her. What was she seeing?

"There are ships coming. and. oh, Lady!" Her eyes widened, but they were blank as smoky blue glass beads. "I don't believe it."

"Arienne?!" Iniel was now getting worried. What was she seeing? Was she light-headed from the smoke, the incense, and the wine? Was she under a spell?

"Dragons! Why are they here!? They aren't real! They're myths!" Arienne screamed, trying to stand up. Her mouth was shaking slightly, as were her hands. Unfortunately, she was sitting on a wall. She tried to stand up on air, and fell.

Iniel saw her fall in slow motion, as if she was falling through jelly rather than cold sea breeze. Inside, commotion erupted as someone screamed, "Oh my God! Lady Arienne's falling!" Wizards dashed out, casting spells to impede her fall.

"Seelan yur!" Wizards shouted. Nothing was allowed to go bad tonight - not even accidents were supposed to happen. Arienne landed on the fine sand without much further ado, her eyes closed as she was asleep. Her breaths were slow, and her heartbeats were faster than normal.

"Arienne!" Iniel jumped off and landed by her on his feet. He carried her in his arms when people started to rush outside and gather around him. He ran through the crowd, dodging robes and hoods. Curious eyes were everywhere.

Iniel ran, Arienne in his arms, all the way back to her tower. The gates opened quietly, the dragon head acknowledging his mistress instantly. He ran through the gate, and saw the pool of molten silver and black. He dived through the portal opening without a thought.

"It was a sending."

Thragriel, Iniel, and Methvaun were sitting around in the sorceress's tower a week later the festival. Arienne was now under care of her friend - she was still unconscious, and her health was erratic as ever. Iniel had carried Arienne out through the portal that she had made on the night of the Festival.

"So it's not a hallucination?"

Thragriel smiled. It was obvious that the elven knight was truly worried of his custody. And she guessed, with mirth, that it was for more reasons than normal.

"Well, Iniel knows Arienne the best, but he tells me that Arienne is not the kind to have random hallucinations." Thragriel stirred her tea.

"Are you sure?" Methvaun asked.

"No." Thragriel shrugged. "But it's more than likely that it was a sending."

"Alright. From who?"

"That's the question; and why." Thragriel sighed. "What did she say again, Iniel? What do you think she saw?"

"Well, I wouldn't know exactly, but." Iniel hesitated.

"That's fine."

"Well, we were talking about her homeland, then all of a sudden she pointed at the horizon and asked me if I saw 'it', whatever 'it' was. Then she went frantic, started to yell that ships and dragons were coming."

"Dragons?" Methvaun interjected. Iniel nodded.

"Yes, dragons."

"Odd." Thragriel commented, then jerked her chin. "Go on."

"Then she said that it couldn't be dragons, they were mythical creatures. Then she tried to stand up, but we were sitting on the inner wall. and she fell."

"That's it?" Thragriel inquired, raising her eyebrows.

"I think so." Iniel closed his eyes, doing a quick rerun of what had happened on that night. He nodded again, opening his eyes. "Yes. That's it."

"I think it's a sending." Thragriel said firmly. "Normally, those kinds are what were written in prophecies. But Arienne wasn't casting divination spells, was she?"

Iniel shook his head no.

"Well then, I'd say it's a message from someone. Maybe it's false, maybe not. But you might want to urge Arienne to check the Library to see if there are any prophecies made that's similar. You know."

Thragriel stopped, realizing that she had lost all attention. Methvaun and Iniel were both staring at the doorway. Thragriel turned to see what was going on, and gasped.

A ghostly silhouette in silvery white flashed by the doorway, hurrying down the stairs. Iniel stood up in a flash, grabbing his sword from his belt. He spurred out the doorway down the stairs, chasing the silhouette. Methvaun followed, his sword gleaming in the light. Only Thragriel maintained calm, walking out the tearoom leisurely, her black robe swirling as she strode.

She walked down the stairs to see three struggling. Thragriel raised her arms to cast a spell, but Methvaun turned and motioned no. Thragriel lowered her arms, mesmerized and utterly confused at the struggle. Then she heard in high-pitched elven:

"Hilendien ingir narril!"

Thragriel did not understand a word of elven, but heard Iniel reply, "Elairon nernarril, Arienne!"

Thragriel motioned Methvaun to move out of the way. He hopped out of the path, and Thragriel saw two elves locked in a deadly dance, Arienne with a sharp dagger in her hand, Iniel keeping the deadly blade at bay. Arienne was thrashing; her pale face was haggard, and red had blossomed on her wrists and her shoulder, where she had cut herself for some reason. Thragriel's eyes narrowed. She knew that Arienne was dexterous enough not to cut herself with a dagger. Did she do it on purpose? Why?

"Stop. hindering me, you elven bastard!" Arienne screamed, but her frail wrists were held down by Iniel. Thragriel registered a hurt in Iniel's expression, but he merely grunted and held her down even more. Thragriel looked at them and thought, they truly love each other. well, at least Iniel does. What Arienne thinks, who knows?

Iniel had finally got Arienne to the floor and make her let go of the blade. During the course Iniel had got cut, and blood had blossomed on his robe - white and austere, as knights wore around the town when they were not in immediate danger. Arienne's white gown was now striped in blood - her knight's and her own.

"Arienne. itaresto!" Iniel shouted, pinning her down under his body. "Itaresto! Arienne!"

Arienne struggled, then relaxed, her eyes closed. Iniel crumpled over her. Thragriel and Methvaun peered over.

"What happened? Is she alright?" Methvaun asked in a hushed voice. Iniel crawled up to his feet.

"She's unconscious." Iniel breathed. "She's not even breathing!"

"What?!" Thragriel rushed over. She touched her neck. "Her pulse is slowing. Get her to bed. Quickly!"

Iniel carried her up the stairs, skipping two steps per stride. He ran into Arienne's room and laid her down gently onto the bed as to not disturb her. Thragriel pulled up the duvet.

"Get out." Thragriel ordered Iniel. He did not move.

"Out!" Thragriel nudged him. "She'll be fine. Go!"

Iniel walked out of the room slowly.

Thragriel looked down upon the elf. She was starting to breathe again, a slow, uneven tone of inhaling and exhaling. Thragriel opened a jar by Arienne's bed table and took out a fistful of herbs - lavender and chamomile, the healing herbs. She scattered it around on Arienne's bed, making a circle. With that done, she took a silver rod, and carefully not to disturb the leaves, she wrote an intricate rune upon the wall directly by Arienne's head.

It was a laborious work, as the rune had to be exactly correct, and the rune itself was intricate. Thragriel worked the silver rod like a pencil to mark the rune.

When she was done - Thragriel returned the rod into her sleeve, and chanted the song as to finish off the ritual. The song itself had lost its words, worn down over the ages into a low hum like bees buzzing. Then she turned to leave when she saw a glimpse of lavender hovering in the air.

Thragriel turned to see it properly, and for once in her life she did not believe her eyes. She had seen many wonders - demons hauled from the bowels of hell, spells tearing oceans asunder, but she had never seen this, nor had she read about it.

It was the symbol of Lady hovering in the air, in shimmering lavender hue. Two hands, one on top and the other on bottom, with an orb in the middle, as if the orb was attached to a thread like a huge bead and the thread ends were attached to fingers of the hands. Inside the orb was the book - the ever-changing book of the Lady, with all the spells ever to be created scribed in a flowing script. The symbol itself seemed holographic, and it spun on the axis slowly above the elf's head.

"What the." Thragriel muttered, and reached out timidly with her hands. As soon as her hand neared the symbol, it evaporated into a purple mist and dissipated. At the moment, Arienne opened her eyes again.

"Arienne?" Thragriel asked, half in fear and half in awe. "Arienne, are you alright?"

"I think so." She struggled on the bed, but managed to get off and stand up. She had thinned visibly, and the long white gown hung around her shoulders. Her face was pale and a little gaunt, but her eyes were lively again.

"Are you alright?" Thragriel asked again. Arienne nodded slowly and asked, "Where is my robe?"

"By the bed." Thragriel pointed. Arienne tottered over and unfolded the robe, then put one arm through the sleeve, then the other into the other sleeve. She pulled the front closed, then held the waist with the velvet belt. She then turned to the sorceress. "Where is everyone? Where's Iniel?"

"They're downstairs. Don't you remember anything that happened today?"

"No." Arienne shook her head forlornly.

"Oh dear. Well, come downstairs." Thragriel urged. "Everyone's waiting for you, Arienne."

"Who is 'everyone'?" Arienne asked feebly.

"Well, Iniel and Methvaun for starters." Thragriel smiled. "And the rest of the Council, especially Mistar, probably. They're on their way."

"Mistar? Why?" Arienne asked curiously. There was a faint ghost of a smile upon her face.

"I have no idea."

"Oh." She glided, weakly but with elven grace, toward the door. The door was open; she went through the doorway and climbed down the stairs.

The parlor was immediately after the stairs, where Iniel and Methvaun were talking. They stopped their talk and looked up to see Arienne standing on the stairs.

"Arienne!" Iniel exclaimed, standing up. "Are you alright, my Ahdra?"

"I think so. I'm not lightheaded, although I still feel weak." Arienne smiled again. She turned toward Thragriel. "Thank you, my friend." She sat down in a chair and sighed.

"What's wrong?" Methvaun asked.

"I think I figured out everything about this. I just need to make sure." Arienne replied absentmindedly. Thragriel sat down beside Methvaun and looked at the wizardess.

"Well?" The sorceress asked.

"When I was. unconscious, as you might say - I saw a dream." She paused. "In my dream, there were two humanoids - one shrouded in black, the other in white. The black one was filled with angst, the white in love. I could feel it. The turned towards each other, and they battled - both had staffs. The white one held a beautiful staff, white crystal, emitting white light, topped in a shape like a flower blooming; and the black staff was probably made of black onyx or some other black stone - it emitted. a black vapor, I should say, and it was topped with four sickle blades growing out from the tip. Behind the figures were two figures each - I think two of them, one on each side, was the Lady, she was wearing the robe I was wearing during the Festival; and the other two were probably Serian, because he was wearing Iniel's clothes."

"That's it?" Methvaun asked. Arienne nodded.

"Who were the. figures in your dream? Were they female or male? Elf?" Iniel asked.

"That's the glitch. I don't know." Arienne sighed. "They just had a head, two arms, a torso, and two legs. They were like - clay models. I don't know if they were wearing robes or gowns."

"That's odd. You said that figures like Katla and Serian were standing behind them?" Thragriel confirmed.

"That's right. One Katla and one Serian behind the white, another Katla and another Serian behind the dark one."

"What do you think this means?"

"I think it is the part of the fulfillment of the saying 'war will start when light and darkness battle'." I thought I read something about it in the Library - maybe it was my library. I don't remember. I'll search for it tomorrow." Arienne shrugged. Thragriel bawled.

"You must be joking! Looking through the Library and your library?! That must be over two million books!"

"That's right." Arienne looked undaunted. "It won't be that long."

"What are you talking about?! Two million books!"

"Oh, come on, Thragriel." Arienne rolled her eyes. "It's not like I'm going to look through it randomly. It's going to be in divination section."

"But still."

"Don't worry. I'll be fine," was all Arienne had said.

A bell rang just then, a soft tingle echoing throughout the room. Thragriel stared into the space and nodded. "They're here, Arienne."

"Who?" She asked curiously.

"The Council, of course. They were worried about you."

"Ah. Of course." She smiled a ghost of a grin. Thragriel shook her hands, as though as she held a rod in her hands and was twisting it. The creak of the doors echoed from downstairs, and people's voices rose into the air. Not soon after, people streamed in.

"Arienne, are you alright?" Mistar asked first. Several of the elders nodded.

"I am." She replied absently, her gaze unfocused. Then she started, focused, and turned her gaze upon the young Necromancer. "Thank you for your concern about my welfare," she said, her voice distant. "I believe I'm fine now."

"Are you sure?" Mistar was persistent. "I can help you if you want any assistance in your Tower, Arienne."

"No, no." She shook her head. "You must tend your own Tower, Mistar."

"But."

"I can manage the Tower, Mistar; I am not that ill. Besides, Iniel can always help me." She smiled again.

"Alright," he said finally, but his eyes said otherwise. Arienne ignored it.