Elaina J. Davidson's Blog, page 349
May 2, 2016
April 30, 2016
The King's Challenge #286 and #287
TKC 286 and 287
Shuttles surround the flyer as we near the Ilfin command ship. We are not summarily shot at and that is probably Commander Gennerin’s doing. We find ourselves accompanied to the main landing bay. Barely have we touched down before a host of Ilfin soldiers surrounds the vessel, weapons cocked.
“We have been commanded to wait,” the pilot mutters from up front.
We wait.
The soldiers do not move.
The space we are in is massive. It is a hangar for smaller aircraft and beyond the soldiers crews scurry as they work on other vessels. Massive tanks and rows of tools along with curled pipes and many gantries prove this is both landing bay and maintenance.
It feels forever, but not long after another shuttle hurtles in. Watching through a small oval, I see the ramp descend immediately and Gennerin strides down shouting and gesticulating. Instantly weapons lower everywhere and the soldiers retreat two paces. Gennerin approaches our flyer.
“We are to open,” the pilot states.
“Then open,” Damin snaps. He stands and pulls Leffandir roughly to him.
The side panel lifts and two men race forward with a set of metal stairs, attaching it to the edge.
“Pilot, remain aboard until you are retrieved. No one will harm you,” I murmur. The man does not respond, but he heard me. I step to the exit.
Commander Gennerin is there. He bows. “My Lady, I offer my congratulations. The Spire fell.”
Smiling, I accept the hand he extends. “Well done to you also, Commander.”
Placing my hand upon his arm, Gennerin turns with me as if we are in a ballroom. The man’s courtly etiquette is a surprise; clearly he has paid frequent visits to the palace.
“Leffandir?” he murmurs.
“Still with us,” I grin.
“It seems we just won this war,” he states, a twinkle in his eyes.
“Indeed,” I laugh. “Announce it.”
As Damin brings the Glonu Empress down, Gennerin raises his free hand. “We have won! I give you Empress Leffandir!”
At first there is only silence and then a roar of sound reverberates. Soldiers shout and release their holds on their weapons to applaud.
Gennerin steps forward with me on his arm. “Ilfin, may I also present to you the Lady Inirir Makar!”
Silence ensues, instantly. Hardened men kneel and bow their heads. Every soldier and every crewman. Seeing it, I realise this kind of homage was why I left Makaran. Never have I been comfortable with it. Now, however, I need to use it. I need every soldier on my side, on Enris’ side, no matter which command Fenn Moravin gives his army. This must become our army, not his.
I step forward both arms extended, palms up.
The blue light is first.
Heads jerk up to stare fixedly.
Turning my palms into a cupping gesture, I summon the orb. Merely the smallest part was employed for the Spire; the actual orb remains with me. The eerie emerald sphere hovers in the air cradled in my blue light.
I look up and smile, offering also the light from my two eyes. “The Makar are strong, my Ilfin, as strong as ever.”
I cannot accurately explain what happens next, for there are no words. My hair stands on end, for men rise in awed silence and bow deeply. Thereafter a hum commences, a baritone chant without words, and it resonates from every throat.
Tears flow over my cheeks. Beside me Gennerin clears his throat.
Laughing then, I toss the orb upward. “I love you, my Ilfin!”
The green sphere hurtles in the space above, dancing. When it descends to return to me it leaves a glowing pattern in the air. The triskelion. The Ilfin symbol.
The roar of sound then threatens to pull every rivet from its mooring.
“We love you, Lady Iniri!”
Shuttles surround the flyer as we near the Ilfin command ship. We are not summarily shot at and that is probably Commander Gennerin’s doing. We find ourselves accompanied to the main landing bay. Barely have we touched down before a host of Ilfin soldiers surrounds the vessel, weapons cocked.
“We have been commanded to wait,” the pilot mutters from up front.
We wait.
The soldiers do not move.
The space we are in is massive. It is a hangar for smaller aircraft and beyond the soldiers crews scurry as they work on other vessels. Massive tanks and rows of tools along with curled pipes and many gantries prove this is both landing bay and maintenance.
It feels forever, but not long after another shuttle hurtles in. Watching through a small oval, I see the ramp descend immediately and Gennerin strides down shouting and gesticulating. Instantly weapons lower everywhere and the soldiers retreat two paces. Gennerin approaches our flyer.
“We are to open,” the pilot states.
“Then open,” Damin snaps. He stands and pulls Leffandir roughly to him.
The side panel lifts and two men race forward with a set of metal stairs, attaching it to the edge.
“Pilot, remain aboard until you are retrieved. No one will harm you,” I murmur. The man does not respond, but he heard me. I step to the exit.
Commander Gennerin is there. He bows. “My Lady, I offer my congratulations. The Spire fell.”
Smiling, I accept the hand he extends. “Well done to you also, Commander.”
Placing my hand upon his arm, Gennerin turns with me as if we are in a ballroom. The man’s courtly etiquette is a surprise; clearly he has paid frequent visits to the palace.
“Leffandir?” he murmurs.
“Still with us,” I grin.
“It seems we just won this war,” he states, a twinkle in his eyes.
“Indeed,” I laugh. “Announce it.”
As Damin brings the Glonu Empress down, Gennerin raises his free hand. “We have won! I give you Empress Leffandir!”
At first there is only silence and then a roar of sound reverberates. Soldiers shout and release their holds on their weapons to applaud.
Gennerin steps forward with me on his arm. “Ilfin, may I also present to you the Lady Inirir Makar!”
Silence ensues, instantly. Hardened men kneel and bow their heads. Every soldier and every crewman. Seeing it, I realise this kind of homage was why I left Makaran. Never have I been comfortable with it. Now, however, I need to use it. I need every soldier on my side, on Enris’ side, no matter which command Fenn Moravin gives his army. This must become our army, not his.
I step forward both arms extended, palms up.
The blue light is first.
Heads jerk up to stare fixedly.
Turning my palms into a cupping gesture, I summon the orb. Merely the smallest part was employed for the Spire; the actual orb remains with me. The eerie emerald sphere hovers in the air cradled in my blue light.
I look up and smile, offering also the light from my two eyes. “The Makar are strong, my Ilfin, as strong as ever.”
I cannot accurately explain what happens next, for there are no words. My hair stands on end, for men rise in awed silence and bow deeply. Thereafter a hum commences, a baritone chant without words, and it resonates from every throat.
Tears flow over my cheeks. Beside me Gennerin clears his throat.
Laughing then, I toss the orb upward. “I love you, my Ilfin!”
The green sphere hurtles in the space above, dancing. When it descends to return to me it leaves a glowing pattern in the air. The triskelion. The Ilfin symbol.
The roar of sound then threatens to pull every rivet from its mooring.
“We love you, Lady Iniri!”
April 26, 2016
April 25, 2016
The King's Challenge #285
TKC 285
As the swift vessel races through atmosphere, I grip Leffandir by the neck and hiss into her face, “We are going where we will find Enris. Tell the pilot to obey my commands.”
The woman blinks and then gives the smallest nod.
I release her.
“Captain, we are under the command of Lady Makar,” Leffandir states in a firm voice.
The man jerks back to stare at me and then at Leffandir. He may never have seen his Empress before, but he knows her intrinsically. The recognition is inbred. “Empress?”
“Do as I say,” she snaps.
Swallowing, he faces forward. A flyer is for single combat and thus he is alone; he proceeds to punch codes and then asks, “Where are we going?”
“The Ilfin command carrier.”
Again he glances over his shoulder, paling, and then his shoulders stiffen and he continues his input. “Strap in.” He does not again move other than to fly the vessel.
We take seats. There are only four, tightly fit into a small space. While this craft is for single combat, it is also employed to ferry others to destinations in a hurry. Sometimes that can be a mission expert or it may be a dignitary needing to be somewhere without delay.
Damin is beside me, while Leffandir sits as frozen in the seat before me. I stare at her golden hair. She isn’t much of an Empress now in her earthly guise; she is dirty and appears without purpose. However, this is the Glonu ruler and one must never underestimate her.
Suddenly she looks back at me. “I believe I must thank your dog for returning to me my real form.”
“For Enris?”
A swift smile erupts. “Indeed.” She faces forward again.
Damin murmurs, “That will be an interesting meeting.”
Indeed.
“The Ilfin are evacuating the planet,” the pilot states then, his tone expressionless.
I smile. Gennerin followed orders. It is time for the endgame.
As the swift vessel races through atmosphere, I grip Leffandir by the neck and hiss into her face, “We are going where we will find Enris. Tell the pilot to obey my commands.”
The woman blinks and then gives the smallest nod.
I release her.
“Captain, we are under the command of Lady Makar,” Leffandir states in a firm voice.
The man jerks back to stare at me and then at Leffandir. He may never have seen his Empress before, but he knows her intrinsically. The recognition is inbred. “Empress?”
“Do as I say,” she snaps.
Swallowing, he faces forward. A flyer is for single combat and thus he is alone; he proceeds to punch codes and then asks, “Where are we going?”
“The Ilfin command carrier.”
Again he glances over his shoulder, paling, and then his shoulders stiffen and he continues his input. “Strap in.” He does not again move other than to fly the vessel.
We take seats. There are only four, tightly fit into a small space. While this craft is for single combat, it is also employed to ferry others to destinations in a hurry. Sometimes that can be a mission expert or it may be a dignitary needing to be somewhere without delay.
Damin is beside me, while Leffandir sits as frozen in the seat before me. I stare at her golden hair. She isn’t much of an Empress now in her earthly guise; she is dirty and appears without purpose. However, this is the Glonu ruler and one must never underestimate her.
Suddenly she looks back at me. “I believe I must thank your dog for returning to me my real form.”
“For Enris?”
A swift smile erupts. “Indeed.” She faces forward again.
Damin murmurs, “That will be an interesting meeting.”
Indeed.
“The Ilfin are evacuating the planet,” the pilot states then, his tone expressionless.
I smile. Gennerin followed orders. It is time for the endgame.
April 24, 2016
The King's Challenge #283 and #284
TKC 283 and 284
We enter the antechamber together. Strangely, the lanterns that lit for me when I entered the space as Lyra are still burning. One may reason that the Glonu are in situ and therefore the lanterns remain aglow, and yet this space feels as abandoned in this present as it did then.
I am now the guide. I lead Damin to the winding stairway and he brings Leffandir with him. She does not protest, but I have the feeling she will have delayed longer had it not been for my knowledge. Why, I can only guess at.
We climb, my leg muscles protesting as much as they did in the first climb.
Never have I known Damin to be this silent. It scares me.
By the time we stand before the doors that lead into the control room I estimate close to an hour has passed. The charges set below will go off soon. We need to act now or we tumble with rock and stone into eternal dust also.
The interior space is as lit, every tiny light blinking on every console. The expression on Leffandir’s face tells me she is astonished. Through the forward windows, where once I watched the fireball in the heavens, the night is revealed as awash in sparkles. Glonu lasers, but who the soldiers shoot it is, again, a guessing game. The world outside has now retreated from its usual sense of importance.
As Iniri Makar, I am aware of what this place is. It is a technological command centre, much as one expects on a spaceship, and thus I stride forward and slap my palm upon a protruding green button. It alters to yellow.
“The flyer is summoned,” I murmur, and head for another set of doors left of the main entrance. It leads to a platform outside.
Punching in a code, I step into buffeting wind. Damin hauls the Empress out and stands behind her to hold her in place. If she attempts to flee, he will shove her over the edge. She knows it, for she does not move, although her eyes skitter everywhere.
“What is your intention?” Damin asks of me, echoing Gennerin earlier.
“This ends now, Damin,” I tell him.
The almighty screech of a flyer on approach ends our words. As wind gusts around us, the vessel manoeuvres into position, bringing the ingress in line with the edge of the platform. A small ramp slaps down.
“Go!” I shout at Damin, already turning back for the control room.
I do not know if he heeds or not, for I move swiftly to the oval cylinder set in the central island. It is empty and it is also so clean I am aware only sorcery keeps it that way. It is a sterile receptacle for magical devices. A Glonu invention to safely hold captured Ilfin objects.
As the first explosion of many to follow rocks the foundations of the Spire, I flex my fingers. The green orb appears instantly and bursts into brilliance; I toss it into the receptacle, where it transforms into the brightest white and grows alarmingly in circumference. By the stars. Swiftly I swivel for the platform.
I run.
Damin’s blue eyes are huge as I sprint across the small space. He has understood and he holds his arm outstretched to me, holding it steady despite the gusts assailing us.
A fireball races up the shuddering tower … and a fireball engulfs the control room from within.
At the last moment I grip Damin’s hand and am barely hauled to safety when the flyer jerks sideways and hurtles into the night.
We enter the antechamber together. Strangely, the lanterns that lit for me when I entered the space as Lyra are still burning. One may reason that the Glonu are in situ and therefore the lanterns remain aglow, and yet this space feels as abandoned in this present as it did then.
I am now the guide. I lead Damin to the winding stairway and he brings Leffandir with him. She does not protest, but I have the feeling she will have delayed longer had it not been for my knowledge. Why, I can only guess at.
We climb, my leg muscles protesting as much as they did in the first climb.
Never have I known Damin to be this silent. It scares me.
By the time we stand before the doors that lead into the control room I estimate close to an hour has passed. The charges set below will go off soon. We need to act now or we tumble with rock and stone into eternal dust also.
The interior space is as lit, every tiny light blinking on every console. The expression on Leffandir’s face tells me she is astonished. Through the forward windows, where once I watched the fireball in the heavens, the night is revealed as awash in sparkles. Glonu lasers, but who the soldiers shoot it is, again, a guessing game. The world outside has now retreated from its usual sense of importance.
As Iniri Makar, I am aware of what this place is. It is a technological command centre, much as one expects on a spaceship, and thus I stride forward and slap my palm upon a protruding green button. It alters to yellow.
“The flyer is summoned,” I murmur, and head for another set of doors left of the main entrance. It leads to a platform outside.
Punching in a code, I step into buffeting wind. Damin hauls the Empress out and stands behind her to hold her in place. If she attempts to flee, he will shove her over the edge. She knows it, for she does not move, although her eyes skitter everywhere.
“What is your intention?” Damin asks of me, echoing Gennerin earlier.
“This ends now, Damin,” I tell him.
The almighty screech of a flyer on approach ends our words. As wind gusts around us, the vessel manoeuvres into position, bringing the ingress in line with the edge of the platform. A small ramp slaps down.
“Go!” I shout at Damin, already turning back for the control room.
I do not know if he heeds or not, for I move swiftly to the oval cylinder set in the central island. It is empty and it is also so clean I am aware only sorcery keeps it that way. It is a sterile receptacle for magical devices. A Glonu invention to safely hold captured Ilfin objects.
As the first explosion of many to follow rocks the foundations of the Spire, I flex my fingers. The green orb appears instantly and bursts into brilliance; I toss it into the receptacle, where it transforms into the brightest white and grows alarmingly in circumference. By the stars. Swiftly I swivel for the platform.
I run.
Damin’s blue eyes are huge as I sprint across the small space. He has understood and he holds his arm outstretched to me, holding it steady despite the gusts assailing us.
A fireball races up the shuddering tower … and a fireball engulfs the control room from within.
At the last moment I grip Damin’s hand and am barely hauled to safety when the flyer jerks sideways and hurtles into the night.
