“Autogemsics?”
“Close, Aulogemscis. I’m an aulogemscire.”
“Difficult,” Sulis replied.
Even for a parsimonious girl like the young naiad, the answer was short, but that was to be expected, given that it was spoken in Pharynx.
Since being freed of her piloting duties thanks to captain Beyla’s crew, she had been eager to study the language of the depths – the suggestion had in fact been crucial in convincing her to allow her crawler to be mated to that of the captain and moved in her absence. With assurances that the modules she claimed as her own would be detached again later of course.
“You learn very quickly,” Ivaldi assured her, winning a smile from the otherworldly woman.
It was far from empty praise – at her side the giant Gastores was looking back and forth in clear bewilderment, his cyclopean eye blinking with dismay.
Ivaldi couldn’t tell what he was asking, as the aulogemscire was himself only just starting to learn Cycloan, but Sulis was quick to explain the matter.
“This… aulogemscis?” The ogre asked, gesturing around at the hold of the crawler in which they sat.
“Precisely!”
Gastores tilted his head, lost again.
“I mean yes. That’s right. This crawler was made with aulogemscis. Although I guess we shouldn’t get into past tense statements yet, should we?”
His co-teacher looked uncertain, despite her mastery of both tongues. Safkhet claimed not to know exactly how she came to her extraordinary linguistic prowess after all.
“Let’s just stick with vocabulary for now,” she suggested after a moment. “It’s too confusing with how you change the word order based on whether you’re talking about the past, present or future.”
“Adding extra words seems more confusing to me though,” Ivaldi mused.
Given that they were speaking to one another in Pharynx, the other students had lost track of what was being said some time ago, so they returned to the lesson, such as it was.
After another hour it came time to change over, and the Pharyes who had been guiding their new students in Pharynx became pupils of the Cycloan tongue of the surfacers instead.
It was intensive work, both teaching and being taught, however all present were agreed that their uneasy truce would depend on good communication – unhampered by overdependence on the assistance of one overburdened human girl, who couldn’t be in two places at once no matter how fast she could move.
When that lesson in turn ended it was time for a rest. There was only so much useful work – or thinking – that a Pharyes could do in a wheel, and the surfacers seemed much alike in that. There was still ample opportunity to practice however, as the two sides mingled freely in the cargo bays of the crawler.
Ivaldi soon found himself engrossed in conversation with Sulis in particular, in Pharynx rather than Cycloan, since the naiad had significantly outpaced him in learning one another’s tongues.
“But how did you discover that magic could work on our machinery? I mean, don’t your people use, sort of, pre-written spells? Surely you didn’t have a spell to… hijack Pharyes crawlers.”
Sulis laughed, apparently gleaning the gist of the question.
“Magic to control water works on… this.”
As she spoke she gestured towards one of the hydraulic reservoirs bulging from the wall, part of the leg assembly for their compartment.
“Then… you must have altered the flow of the fluids within the gemstone cores… bypassing the systems to prevent meddling via the proper controls…. That’s amazing! I… never imagined that our aulogemscis could be compatible with your somatic magic like this!”
Sulis looked lost, but seeing her confusion Safkhet came over to assist them. The girl had been circulating around, resolving the various communication difficulties and talking to her friends, despite how exhausted she must surely have been. Ivaldi suspected it was anxiety about what fresh troubles might flare up in her absence, without clear communication, which was keeping her on her feet, but he was glad of her presence at that moment.
“Thank you,” Sulis said simply, after listening to the Cycloan.
“But really, there’s amazing potential here you know, uh, Lady Sulis.… I have some ideas that I’d really like to investigate, if you could assist me that is? I believe we could accomplish some remarkable new developments if we could find a way to properly mate our two approaches!”
“I’d like that,” the girl said. “I want to learn more about your gemstone machines.”
“Oh, by all means,” Ivaldi said, beaming at their shared excitement. “Perhaps you’d care to come up to the workshop a few compartments down, and see the Skidbladnir we’re repairing? I can give you a private tour, just you and me, and teach you all about aulogemscis!”
“Yes-” she started to say, after hearing the translation, only to stop as she saw another person stand and walk over.
It was the young ogre Gastores, with a grim look on his monocular face. It became a glare as his eye met those of Ivaldi, and the small Pharyes froze, wondering what he could possibly have down to earn the ire of one of the leaders of the surfacers.
Gastores said nothing to him however, instead murmuring something under his breath to Sulis, and taking her by the hand.
“Nice talking to you, Ivaldi,” the naiad said, in impressive Pharynx, as she walked off with the ogre. “I’ll have that tour later.”
“What happened?” Ivaldi asked quietly, watching the two go.
“I think you tried to ask Gastores’ girlfriend on a date,” Safkhet replied, grinning down at him.
“A date? But we were just talking about aulogemscis and magic, there was nothing romantic about it, I mean, that is, I wouldn’t even be interested in… dating a… naiad….”
He trailed off, as he realized that his sentiment might not be one Safkhet shared – the human certainly looked less than impressed – and at least to Gastores the species difference was clearly no deal-breaker.
“I-I’m sorry,” he said quietly, blushing and adjusting his cuffs. “I didn’t mean to judge, our… societies are just very different…. We can’t even have meals together in the cargo bays, because of all the….”
“The flesh, yeah,” Safkhet said softly.
In her hands she still held Echo, despite there being multiple pockets on her new clothes, and countless secure cargo containers in which her friend could have been temporarily stowed. Her fingers were stroking the beautiful surface of the entity longingly, and her eyes were frequently pulled into the living depths, where even now trails of essence glimmered in minute intricacy.
“I know that there’s a lot to get used to, and a lot we don’t agree on. We just need to be patient and understanding with each other. Like you were when you brought me a meal and talked to me like a person, instead of a terrifying bloodthirsty monster.”
“I do try to keep that thought in mind,” Ivaldi replied, nodding. “But you know, you were pretty terrifying even then, Lady Safkhet. Just… being around you with so much mana pouring out, it feels like there’s a huge weight on my body, sinking me into deep water….”
She looked almost guilty at that.
“Sorry, I’m not very good at controlling my essence yet. But I’m very glad you overcame your fear, for everyone’s sake.”
“It was thanks to seeing how much you cared for them… Echo that is… despite how different they are to you… or to we Pharyes for that matter. I suppose you might say that I realized we aren’t so different, under the vagaries of our cultures and backgrounds.”
Safkhet smiled down at him, looking almost proud.
“I’m glad we feel the same way. But please, just call me Saf. All my friends do, and you’re one of them now.”
Ivaldi felt oddly conscious of the tightness of his collar and the seams of his silken shirt as the human spoke. He had never known what to do with himself in such moments of genuine emotion.
“Th-thank you, S-Saf,” he muttered.
There might not be a romantic undertone the way there was with Reginn, but still he was all too aware of exactly what he was doing with his hands as he pressed the slick palms to his knees.
“Are you, well, sure about that though? I-I mean we were sort of… enemies a few wheels ago. And our governments might still be after all this….”
“I’m not some government, I’m just me, and I wanna be friends with you. You seem really brave and kind and clever.”
“Oh….”
She frowned. “Is that a bad thing?”
“What? Oh, no! It’s not bad! I just… well I’m not used to being called brave or kind, you know?”
“But you admit you’re clever?” Saf asked, grinning.
“W-well I am the chief aulogemscire for the entire kingdom… so I sort of have to be pretty clever, you know? It’s a lot of hard work though… I have to read about all the latest theories and projects, and coordinate with other spyrja on everything to do with aulogemscis. There are also my other council duties, explaining technical matters and giving expert advice, as well as special projects like the shielding the Skidbladnirs needed for surface operations…. Sometimes there just aren’t enough hours in a wheel for it all. I’d be lost without Hylli and my deputies.”
“Well do you think you can find the time in your busy ‘wheel’ to hang out sometimes as friends?”
“Of course! I-I’d like that! As long as hanging isn’t painful….”
Safkhet just laughed.
Hopefully that meant that it wasn’t, but in her case it was hard to be certain of anything which might to a pharyes seem only common sense.
It was a surreal thought that already in his mind the girl had gone from an existential threat to his people, to a friendly and well-meaning oddity.
The same was already happening with others from the surface too. Sulis had endeared herself to many with her multitudinous skills, matched only by her proliferation of appendages. Even the hard to please captain Beyla admired her. Berenike had also quickly won the respect of the military officers aboard the crawler, even if the nobles Uldmar had brought might disdain her simple and direct manner. As for Gastores, the ogre had astonished everyone and won the respect of Lord Uldmar himself.
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“Ivaldi?”
Speaking after a short quiet, there was an anxious tone in Safkhet’s voice which drew the Ivaldi’s full attention.
“You hear a lot of reports sitting on this council, right?”
“Why yes, most certainly I do. We have to know everything that’s happening in the kingdom if we’re to advise the King properly. Or advise the Justicar I suppose.”
“So you would have heard reports about the battle at Grand Chasm, right? About what I did there?”
He nodded slowly.
She gave him a pained look, as if wishing he would just read her mind, but Ivaldi could only stare at the larger woman in confusion.
“Ivaldi… did I…. Did I kill anyone?”
“You don’t remember?” he asked blankly.
“I’d hardly ask you if I did! Please, just tell me okay? I need to know….”
“S-sorry! I mean no! Uh, that is, you didn’t… kill anyone in the battle. At least, according to the reports you were… more focused on destroying our Skidbladnir than on hurting the Varangians themselves.”
There was an accusatory tone in his voice that surprised even Ivaldi. It was no wonder perhaps – each Skidbladnir was precious, and any ancestral models among those ruined were likely to be lost forever. Luckily Safkhet seemed too relieved to notice.
“Oh… thank god,” she said with a heavy sigh, putting her large hand on his shoulder. “I really couldn’t tell with everything going on. I was a bit… shaken by the injuries I took, and I lost my composure a little. Okay, a lot. I’m just glad I didn’t… kill anybody.”
Thinking over what she’d said, Ivaldi realized that he couldn’t recall seeing her actually strike any of the formorians with her gargantuan flame bursts in the fight earlier that wheel either.
“It seems like you were really worried about that? I mean even before now… when we were strangers and enemies and… all that sort of thing,” Ivaldi said slowly.
“Of course. Wouldn’t you be?”
He recalled a certain conversation with Reginn and Ingeborg back in their favorite alehouse, and smiled.
“I suppose I would be… but I thought that made me weird.”
“There’s nothing weird about caring about strangers. Even if they’re enemies now, they’re still people, with their own lives and their own worth. I mean… think about how important your life and your experiences are to you…. Even if they didn’t matter to or affect anyone else, wouldn’t it still be important to preserve something so precious to one person?”
He was quiet for a time, his mind filled with the ramifications of that bold assertion.
To Lord Uldmar or Lady Idavoll her words might have been taken as weakness, even stupidity, but having spent time enough with Safkhet to grow accustomed to the sensation of pressure her essence exerted on all about her, and to start really listening to her thoughts and ideas, Ivaldi felt it was something else.
Beneath the frightful aura of power and past the merciless brutality she showed her enemies the odd young woman was an entirely friendly, helpful and caring sort of person, who valued people above all else, and defined the term in a very broad sense.
That was surely why she had refrained from aiming for the lives of her foes at Grand Chasm or Vitrgraf – even when fighting for her own – and why she had driven the formorians away, rather than destroying them.
Safkhet gave a dainty yawn, quite incongruous with the image he had of her as a warrior, yet somehow quite fitting the innocent and sweet-hearted young girl he was growing to know.
She followed it by a longer, louder one that she threw her whole body into, her toes curling and her arms stretching.
“I’m beat. Today was absolutely ridiculous, and things were even more absurd before that.”
“Are you alright? Shall I fetch one of your healers?”
“Oh, no, I’m not hurt, I’m saying I’m tired. I think I’m just sort of… crashing from all the adrenaline. I… haven’t been able to sleep somewhere safe… among friends… in a long time now….”
“I’m sorry that we can’t give you or your friends proper rooms….”
“It’s alright, just having some blankets and somewhere safe and clean to lie down is already amazing. I’m so… so weary all of a sudden. Time to say goodnight I think, Ivaldi.”
“Good… night?” he repeated, befuddled.
Safkhet looked briefly puzzled herself, but understanding soon dawned on her face.
“Oh… I suppose living underground it’s always night for you... or never night? But on the surface it’s hard to sleep with the sun up, so we say goodnight to, well, wish one another a good night of sleep.”
Ivaldi nodded his assent to that – the scalding energies of that radiant disk had been one of the first hurdles his people had needed to overcome in order to venture up from the safety of the deep, so it was easy to imagine that sleep would be an impossibility while assailed by that pervasive and overwhelming power.
The human girl’s shoulders were sagging visibly as they talked. Little wonder given all she’d gone though, yet her curiosity won out over her exhaustion.
“If it’s always dark, when do your people rest?” Safkhet asked. “Or do you not sleep at all? I’ve not actually seen any beds around….”
“Oh no, we do sleep,” Ivaldi affirmed, smiling. “I have a bed in my cabin, it’s just a little small for you in there, Saf. We, uh, talked about trying to arrange beds for all your people here in the cargo holds, but we don’t have enough material – the harpies and ogres are so gigantic after all….”
Saf laughed. “You’re telling me. You should meet the Stormqueen, she makes me feel absolutely tiny.”
“I-I think I’d prefer not to actually, if that’s alright….”
“Oh don’t worry,” Safkhet said, “she’s amazing, the most powerful and magnificent woman I’ve ever met, but she’s got a kind heart – and she’s almost as friendly as I am!”
That was, Ivaldi decided, an entirely uncomforting assurance.
After bidding the girl a very good ‘night’ he left her to curl up alongside the Valkyrie captain, Berenike.
Safkhet would be leaving them in less than a wheel, going to once again risk her life in playing her part in the coming raid. Perhaps that was why she clung to the older woman’s side almost like a child, afraid that her warmth and security might be snatched away again at any moment.
~~~
“Everyone awake! The enemy are back!”
“Pharyes attacking from the south tunnel!” called another voice.
“Marshal, they need you!”
Arawn was alert in seconds as the alarm was raised.
As a young trainee she had been able to go from the depths of slumber to the heat of battle in mere moments, and over the past three nights she had been regaining that ability. She was still young after all, even if she no longer had the boundless vitality of a fledgling.
She wished she did as she snatched up her spear and flew towards the flashes and cries of war.
Awaking to the sounds of battle and a call to arms had become routine since the Pharyes had first lured her Valkyries into their Underworld encirclement, but the attacks had intensified with each passing day since her sister had joined them.
Their enemies had to know the Stormqueen was with them, and they were determined to take her… or worse to slay her.
Arawn gripped her spear tighter as she hurtled towards a seething sea of golems, Triskelion islands spitting a hailstorm of metal bolts and clouds of fire.
Mana flowed through her arms and into her spear, warrior and weapon moving as one. The shaft became flexible, the motion sharper and faster, and with the deft motion born of many thousands of hours’ training Arawn spun the spearhead like a shield before her.
Essence trailed from the rotating blade and haft, forming a thick vortex. The projectiles broke like twigs against the reinforced mass, and the lashes of flame were swept up in the turbulent cyclone.
In a moment she was past the storm and her weapon swept out with all its accumulated energy, channeling the gathered blaze into her slash.
Like a scythe reaping grass her molten strike mowed the machines of the enemy with a great wave of slicing pressure, spreading out well past the tip of the spear, wreathed in the fires of her enemies.
Those machines at the front were split in an instant, while those far enough behind were wracked by the blunting shockwave and engulfed in the spreading heat.
In an instant the enemy had lost half a dozen Triskelions and scores of footsoldiers.
Yet there were many more.
There were always more.
The survivors at her sides struck with their own spears and renewed jets of flame, but shields and spells came to her aid as her Valkyries flew to support their general.
They were about to be overwhelmed when jagged forks of lightning flashed down the magma-tube, recalling to the stone the ancient inferno which once carved it out as the surfaces blazed into molten lava once more, metal soldiers becoming mere smears of slag atop it.
The Stormqueen and the Princess General together would never be beaten by mere golems.
Once more, as they had so many times before, they sent the creations of the Pharyes scuttling and lumbering away with mechanical clumsiness.
It was another victory without losses, and for that Arawn was deeply grateful, but once again the Skidbladnir were absent.
“Careful! That hurt you moron!” Evia snapped angrily, as Tanys worked to close the gash in her arm.
“If you prefer we can amputate the arm,” Tanys replied, her own patience similarly short, “if not then stop moving.”
Apparently the two Valkyrie women had forgotten the presence of their Marshal, and the proximity of their Queen, but so had many others, over the course of the endless attacks – harassment designed to deny them any chance to rest or relax from the tension of battle.
“Fine, get on with the healing. How can there still be more golems anyway?!” Evia asked with a groan. “We must have destroyed a thousand by now, and still they’re sending sacrificial attacks just to stop us sleeping! They think we’re going to wear out before those puny machines do? Nonsense!”
Others voiced their agreement, and similar dissatisfaction.
Gathered together for a late night meeting – or what they believed to be night at least – the Valkyries were tense, despite their win. None of them had slept more than a few hours at a time, the constant attacks a clear and highly effective tactic to weaken the harpies by denying them any rest or chance to mentally relax.
Meanwhile, each ‘day’ the Valkyries tried to fight and navigate their way up and through the Pharyes encirclement, and with each expedition they met changed tunnels, collapsed passages and ambushes wherever the caverns opened into suitable battlefields. And ever the enemy forces were too numerous to break through directly.
“They’re just flightless burrowers,” one woman sneered, “what else can they do?”
“Flightless indeed,” laughed one of the highborn, “they daren’t face us with these Skidbladnir they take such pride in. They should only supply us further captives if they did….”
“Enough,” Arawn commanded.
The gathering fell into line, the squadron leaders silencing any flight leaders still speaking out of turn.
“There’s no point arguing about all this again. For now get what rest you can. I will discuss the situation with my sister….”
With that the meeting was dissolved, and Arawn took wing.
Crossing the mid-size cavern which was their current campsite, she reached the huddle of tiny, frail Pharyes captives, guarded by a flight of her most vigilant women.
The prisoners were unlikely to prove any threat however – the Pharyes had no magic or might of their own. They couldn’t even escape the shallow pits into which the Valkyries had corralled them. All that they were was their technology, their creations.
It galled the Marshal that she had been bested by those works of fabrication and engineering, but she had to respect their skills and resolve as operators of their strange weapons.
“Have they told you anything more?” Arawn asked of the woman in charge of the captives.
A lesser noble, her once black feathers were mottled with grey by her age, but her features were still elegant despite the deep lines that marked out her many years.
“Nothing of worth, Princess. It will take weeks at this rate. Perhaps even months – their language is too different.”
Arawn gave an unhappy nod. It was the answer she had expected, but she had allowed herself to hope for more from the old interrogator.
“Keep trying, but be prepared to move them at short notice.”
The older woman and the ladies of her personal flight bowed her head to their towering general as Arawn took wing again.
It was frustrating, especially when they still knew so little of their foes, but Achelois had already done miraculous work.
The Varangians they had taken knew only a few words of Cycloan, just enough for the most rudimentary communication, however the seasoned Valkyrie had interrogated them all the same. She might not compare to Aellope in power or scope, but the old crone could command wind, water and thunder with a subtlety only the Witch Laureate herself could match, and while the effacing librarian was the greatest sorceress of her generation, Achelois could say the same of herself. She also had an additional century of experience.
But even had she spent a hundred years refining her magic to the peak of possibility, Shukra would never have applied her spells with such deft and merciless brutality. Achelois could induce searing pain with her touch of lightning, and read the movement of energy within her victim through the throes of their agony, forcing them to speak, to betray themselves in their suffering, and prying from them their deepest secrets.
Even the barrier of tongues could be broken down with time, as Achelois drew upon the limits of wind and water to decipher intent without language, learning the patterns of a mind and teasing out the meaning from within their turbulent emotions.
Yet even under torture none of the Varangians would speak a word in answer to their captor’s questions, beyond one; ‘death’.
Arawn wished she could believe that her Valkyries would be so resolute.
But their resolve had been betrayed all the same.
It had been a great windfall to capture a squad of combat engineers during one of their early actions underground, and they had proven far more cooperative – a single taste of pain was enough to get most talking. Though it would take time for Achelois to interpret meaning and extract all they knew, she had at least gleaned basic information about their enemy.
Put that together with what they had learned though battle, and the examination of destroyed enemy vehicles, and they had at least a working understanding of their foes and their capabilities.
It would have to suffice.
Alighting at the entrance to the Stormqueen’s cave, she nodded to the bowing guards. She had posted a flight of her best to guard her sister, but she regretted that she could provide no better, more fitting chambers than a wet, slimy cave for her Queen’s rest.
Entering, she saw Aellope at the far end of the large chamber, straightening her feathers with her tailtip.
It gladdened her to see that the lost quills were already re-growing – the Empress of the Cycloan Bones couldn’t suffer the indignity of bald patches after all – but she could tell that Ael had been crying again.
Over the slain Safkhet or over their own strife, she couldn’t know. Perhaps it was better not to.
“Sister,” Aellope said softly, showing her a gentle, cautious smile.
The expression was unlike her, and Arawn felt a needle of guilt. She had been distant with her Queen since the day of her arrival, and the intense, emotional reunion… and fight.
“Sister,” Arawn answered quietly.
“Are you still… confused?”
“You gave me… a lot to… make sense of,” Arawn said slowly. “Even now I know not what I should think.... Could we truly have worked our whole lives towards the wrong ends, furthering a broken Empire… even oppressing our own people?”
Aellope stepped towards her, and their hands found one another.
“I know this is painful, Arawn. The truth was difficult for me to accept as well.”
Usually so deep and powerful, the Queen’s voice was barely more than a whisper.
“But our time runs short. We cannot remain here, in the Underworld. The enemy grows stronger with each day, while we only tire more.”
“You sound just like my flight-leaders,” Arawn remarked with a sour laugh. “But… they are right. You are right, sister.”
“Then you’ve made your decision?”
The hope on her elder sibling’s face was beautiful to see, and Arawn found herself smiling despite her misgivings.
“I have…. I trust you sister. I believe in you, and I know you want what is best for the people. Even if… even if that means the end for our order… or for the Empire.”
Aellope felt the tears welling up from her eyes once more as her sister spoke, and she squeezed the other woman’s fingers tight in hers.
After such dreadful turmoil, so much loss and uncertainty and fear, having her little sister with her meant everything.
“Thank you,” she murmured, her wings pulling the thicker-set woman into an embrace.
She kissed her sister’s neck as their tails entwined, and she felt Arawn’s lips on her cheek in return, making her grin to remember the childish kisses the small girl had once planted all over her face each night before bed.
“I won’t let you down, little sister,” she said as they held one another. “We shall make mother proud to behold the world we build together.”
Releasing one another Ael stroked a hand down Arawn’s cheek. They were both smiling through their tears. Both were resolved to do what was right.
Together they would be unstoppable.
“Now…,” The Stormqueen said, reluctantly returning to the matter at hand. “How to do we proceed, my Marshal?”
Arawn’s face fell once more as she reflected on what they now had to do.
“The enemy reinforcements have continued to arrive, while our warriors only grow wearier. They dare not commit to a full assault yet, but that time is sure to come. I believe we must act now, while we still have our strength.”
“What would you have us do?”
Arawn was silent for a time, a rare, long hesitation staying her tongue.
Her sister met her eyes, and Arawn seemed to find her resolve.
“I… believe that retaking Southtown is no longer… strategically valuable. Instead we should focus on breaking through the encirclement to the north, where the enemy lines are weakest, and fight our way back to the surface. We can use the captives if needs must, to ensure our safe escape.”
“They are to be hostages?” Aellope spoke the distasteful word with a skeptical disdain.
“Should circumstances necessitate, yes. There is too much at stake to allow for us to preserve our honor, or protect the lives of our captives at any cost.”
Aellope nodded slowly. They had already had a similar discussion about the use of Achelois’ magical interrogation, and though neither had liked it, the needs of their people came before those of the Pharyes invaders.
“However… these ‘Varangians’ are hardened, fanatical warriors, sworn to live and die for their monarch. Would the enemy not sacrifice them to prevent our flight?”
“Perhaps,” Arawn admitted, “but not yet. Not now, while they are overwhelming us. The Pharyes still believe that they are superior in this war - they will not kill their own so easily. Such resorts will come when they grow desperate.”
“We can truly made good our escape then?” Ael asked, her wings lifting along with her spirits.
It was strange to Arawn to see her proud and haughty Empress so relieved by the thought of a successful retreat, but that itself made her proud – to see how her elder sister had grown, even now in their time of crisis.
“I believe that with… hostages… we can break out, and escape back to the Empire, yes.”
“And yet,” the Stormqueen murmured, “can we be certain we will find the Empire intact upon our return?”
Arawn gave her older sister a resolute smile, gripping her hands tighter.
“Their great efforts to trap and contain us here are proof of that – they fear allowing us to return to the surface and turn the winds of their onslaught back.”
“So you say, however with our escape these forces will also be released – they are certain to pursue us, and to launch renewed assaults upon our lands and people. Are we any more able to overwhelm them on the surface, than beneath it?”
“Of course! Despite their metal bows and lightning they fear facing us in the skies, and they are right to be afraid… especially with the Stormqueen to lead us. But… there is more than that…. Once we return we can rally the roosts and call upon all the peoples of the Empire to unite, and to fight together against the invaders. As… as equals….”
Aellope’s wings encircled her as her words faltered, and the two locked eyes.
The uncertainty lingering in Arawn’s heart melted away as she saw the joy on her sisters’ face. Different from the regal hauteur of a Queen, what she saw now was the pride of her dearest sister, acting in good conscience to do what she truly believed to be right for all.
Only time could tell if she was correct, but Arawn was done with doubting her. They would find out together, if the people might yet be saved.