Chapter Seventeen
"Chail was a vast province,
spreading over many spans of land.
The Chailans were a happy people,
as the rulers were pleased, fair
and justice prevailed …"
—The Pasegean Scrolls
They were prepared for anything.
Alena turned to Jareth, her face flushed with excitement. "Do you really think we’ll win, and find Lokath?"
Grinning, he nodded. He was speechless, surprised that they had gotten as far as they had. Vela stood nearby, her body tense like a panther ready to spring. She noticed his stare and gave Jareth a nervous smile. He began to slide along towards her, but she warded him away.
He raised his eyebrows questioningly, but slid back to his previous position silently. A few moments later, a Chailan soldier marched past, his purple and red armour clanging loudly in the silence.
Nearly a hundred Syrianan soldiers crouched in the undergrowth surrounding the camp; Alena, Jareth and Vela directing them. The quiet Capurnan girl had proven quite knowledgable in the art of war, and had taught many of the soldiers new fighting techniques which would be useful against the Chailan mercenaries. After all, Vela had said, who knows a mercenary better than someone who used to be one?
A horn sounded from inside the camp, and a shuffling of feet towards tents was heard. Ah, Vela thought, still lazy enough to retire before 10 and leave only two guards on watch? How is it that we’re the first who’ve ever attempted to attack them before? A crowd of twenty farmers armed with torches and pitchforks could run them off!
Alena, who had crept closer to the girl, nudged Vela, then murmured, "Should we attack now?"
Vela shook her head, then showed the princess five fingers. Alena acknowledged her decision, then motioned for Vela to position her soldiers. The warrior snuck back to her area, and advised her men on their strategy.
Soon enough, the time was up, and the short, unusual night-jar call of Alena’s cut through the cool night air. Vela nodded to her troops, and the attack began.
One moment, silence. The next … turmoil.
Meanwhile, in Chail …
Excitement filled Chunia’s body. She’s finally here! Her mind was flooded with questions for the girl—but she could not give too much away. Still, this Tonukan could provide her kingdom with hope! "All I need is the princess, and Chail will rule the land."
She gripped the bronze handle which led to the dungeons, her hand trembling with anticipation. "Finally …" she murmured under her breath, then opened the door to the dungeons.
She stood, her eyes and body bound; the former with cloth and the latter with rope. Trickles of bloody tears stained her face, and her long, dark hair swirled around her blood-marked neck. The torturers stood at attention, awaiting any orders their queen might give them.
Chunia rushed down the stone stairs, her heart glad that Quadra was still in shock from the assassin incident. It had nearly been two sevendays, and Chunia was afraid that her general had been scarred for life. She lay in bed each day, muttering to herself for hours, then would open her eyes wide and scream until she fainted. Still, she was cumbersome, and Chunia would be rid of her shortly.
When she reached the woman standing in the room, she fell into a state of speechlessness. Apart from her stained cheeks, Syrah Alanu was one of the most beautiful women she had ever seen before. Her skin seemed flawless; her mouth like a perfect rosebud; her neck graceful as a swan. Chunia’s envious nature made her no longer want to protect this woman—she wanted any information she could get, then death to befall this example of so-called perfection.
"You!" she screeched at the woman, who jumped at the sound. "Are you Syrah Alanu?"
She showed signs of recognition, but did not answer the queen. Chunia questioned her again. "Your parents, Ubuna and Kesha, are leaders of the Alanu tribe, or am I mistaken?"
Syrah would not speak, but a scowl crossed her beautiful face. The queen sneered at her reaction. "Ah … you glare at the queen of all Arsinuae!"
"You are the queen of nothing, much less Arsinuae." Her voice was bitter and venomous, which shocked Chunia even more.
"So, you finally speak. And you call me queen of nothing?! It is obvious you are a child of little knowledge, so I will ask you but one question: Where is the Princess?"
Syrah spat, aiming for the direction of Chunia’s voice. She missed by a span, but the queen was angered. "Tighter!"
The men stepped forward, and, grasping both rope and cloth, looked back at their queen. "Rope," she said in a bored fashion. Syrah gasped as the rope tightened around her waist, and Chunia grinned at her pain. "You know, insulting me really won’t get you anywhere, Syrah. Why don’t you just answer my question?"
"Because I don’t know where she is … but, maybe if you tell me where Lokath Carrel ‘disappeared’ to, I might remember something about where she could be."
Chunia was angry. "Are you trying to blackmail me? I warn you, Sy—"
"It’s my way or no way. Where’s Lokath?"
"Lokath? Maybe that’s the one who informed me of you … I killed him. He was of no use to anyone, really. Couldn’t remember a thing but you." Chunia realised that if she broke Syrah, she could learn anything she wanted about any of the party—including the boy who she’d seen that fateful night in Syriana.
Syrah would have collapsed to the floor if her torturers had not held the rope and cloth in their hands. Chunia asked her again: "Where is the princess?"
Syrah spat the words in between sobs. "You’ll never find her … she’s too smart for you. She and Jareth’ll beat you all, and then they’ll kill you! They’ll avenge Lokath … even if I can’t."
Chunia felt a feeling of familiarity flood her senses. "Jareth?! Who’s Jareth?!"
Syrah didn’t answer. Chunia motioned for them to tighten the cloth. She squealed in pain, but remained loyal. "Never …" She began to lean forward, into the bonds around her, making them tighten on her front. Chunia screamed as the woman collapsed her lungs and face, suffocating herself. The torturers dropped their bonds to the ground, but it was too late.
Syrah Alanu was dead.
Meanwhile, in Alentio …
Chaos ensued.
All Jareth could see was blood. Blood of his own, blood of his enemy. Which was which? He knew not … he hung back, for his sword skills left much to be desired. After several moments, he noticed Alena was also nearby, only a few spans behind him. Two soldiers stood near her, oblivious to the fact that she was being threatened with death at that very moment.
A Chailan had spotted the insignia of the royal family of Arsinuae on the cloak she wore around her shoulders—Jareth had warned her against wearing it that night, trying to inform her of the danger, but she would never listen to anyone try to tell her what to do, just to give her the satisfaction that she was right, even when she knew she wasn’t.
As the man drew closer to her, a dagger at her throat, Jareth crept behind the mercenary, his sword—however unskilled the hand that wielded it—the best weapon against his foe. As soon as he felt safe, he began to run towards the assailant, swinging his heavy sword around like a battle-axe.
The attacker was startled, and turned to see who was running towards them. Then, Jareth was slicing into their arm with his sharpened blade. The Chailan screamed, and then Jareth realised it was not a man.
It was Catrin.
His eyes became hot, and angry tears began to flow from them. She would have killed Alena—beautiful Alena!—because of her hatred. He lifted his sword above his head, ready to push it down into her chest … but could not. Her violet eyes were so filled with childish fear that he could not bear them any longer. He stood, then pointed to her. "Leave."
Catrin stood, then reached out towards Jareth, pleading with him. "No. Do you have no comprehension of what you nearly did? What you have done? You have killed Lokath; maddened Syrah; and nearly murdered the sole ruler of all Arsinuae. Yet I cannot kill you; all I ask of you is to leave. Leave!"
Catrin turned away, then peered back at Jareth who now comforted the trembling Alena. Her body flushed with anger, and she thought: Alena, he may be your slave now, but one day Jareth Caverton will become my husband!
She left the battle, knowing that there would be no camp to return to, and began the long journey to Chail. Victory was celebrated as dawn came to Arsinuae; Vela, Jareth and Alena left saddened at the absence of Lokath, and wondering if they would ever find their friends again.
Chunia sat in her drawing room, awaiting her aunt’s weekly transmission. After several moments, her crystal sphere glowed bright red, and she pushed the small pewter dragon on the side of it to answer it.
Goonads’ face appeared from the globe, and Chunia set it back down on the table. "Good Evening, niece," she said, her voice sickly-sweet. "Are all Chailan matters in order?"
Chunia shook her head. "This ends here, aunt. I don’t want to rule Arsinuae anymore … I don’t even want to rule Chail anymore!"
Goonads was startled. "Whyever not?! We’re nearly there, child … did that girl provide any useful information?"
"She would rather kill herself than inform me of Alena’s whereabouts … and, no doubt you have heard of my defeat in Alentio."
A sneer crossed her aunt’s scarred face. "Oh, so you lose one battle and you give up?! Not after everything I—we’ve worked for! It’s not over until you’re dead, Chunia, and even then there’s hope … if the Pasegeans can do it, the Uthefultions can do it even better!"
A scared look crossed Chunia’s face. "Aunt … I could never …"
"You don’t have to. Leave everything up to me, child. Soon we’ll rule Syriana, and Keori shall help us get there!" Goonads severed the connection, and walked to her balcony.
Clyward’s body hung from the parapet, left there as a warning to the rest of Sonaro that each and every person who lived in the land should respect their ruler … not doublecross them. Ah, Clyward … you made a terrible mistake. And so did Chunia in trusting you—in trusting me! But, now I shall rule all! She knows what I did to her parents, but does she know of her brother?! I murdered Garvin and Lela, and gave that annoying Jarrad and exceptionally good home. And now, the house of Uthefulton shall rise! And Tuqsan shall fall!
Goonads walked to her bedroom, and took a stick of charcoal from her drawer. Bending down, she drew a seven-pointed star on the wooden floorboards, then stood again. Crossing to her dresser, she took the five candles there and placed them five of the points, then waved her hand over them to light them.
She then positioned herself between the two points which had no candles, and began to incant that which would give her power from death.
"Almighty Keori,
A promise I have kept,
A deal we have made,
A deed you must fulfil,
Let me become more than your slave,
Let me become your goddess."
As she spoke the words, two bejewelled swords appeared beside Goonads. They spun around until she spoke the word which ended all incantations, "Faruh", which meant, ‘Grant me that which is yours to give’.
The swords were thrust into the body of Goonads, and she gasped before falling forward, dead. Keori, however, decided that having Goonads as his goddess was not an appealing idea. As she died, he doomed her soul to oblivion and swept his hand over Sonaro.
Far away, in Chail, Chunia still sat as she had only a few moments before, expecting the wave of mana to overwhelm her senses. She felt Goonads’ death, and her pain at Keori’s refusal. When the last wave—the one in which she felt the death of thousands in Sonaro—had passed, she stood and hobbled to her bedroom, locking the door behind her.
Copyright 2000 M. Lees
