I, Eowithrawien Inwe-Mithrandir

Dim light of the silvery moon illuminated the pale face of a striking woman. Tall, slim and undeniably beautiful, her angelic face belied her more demonic nature.

She was Eowithrawien Inwe-Mithrandir. The first fledgling ever turned from her human roots. A cold, ruthless, calculated killer of undeniable strength. Icy cobalt blue eyes looked at the deep dark sky above her. Standing on a misty plane of grassland, the mists seemed to move with a will of their own, swirling itself around her fingers and gently lifting her arms slightly against the wind. She released a small involuntary smile. Soon all this would be gone. And there was nothing she could do about it.

A shadow over fell her eyes and she glared belligerently at the sky. If she had the power to foresee the future, she would have used her gift now to stop what was happening to her lands. She curled her fists in frustration. The winds seemed to howl in protest over something, and she turned her back to the black night above her. Something could be done. If she looked hard enough, surely, there was a way to save her people.

Or maybe not. For the second the legendary Vampyr queen turned her back to the sky, the wind rushed her almost off her feet. Forcing her to turn back. She struggled, using all her nocturnal strength, but as though the wind had taken she shape of a person, a vice like grip held her wrists locked in place, refusing to let her move.

“What is the meaning of this!?!?!” She hissed through clenched teeth, baring her elongated canines to her invisible foe. She struggled wildly, the folds of her ice blue gown rising to around her ankles. Decorum demanded that she stay still, so to keep her modesty, but her anger outweighed her need for her modesty, so she continued to struggle until a voice spoke inside her head.

“Patience, Vampyr, you shall come to no harm, as long as you do as I tell you…”

The fierce Vampyr queen was afraid for the first time in her immortal life.

“I am not afraid of you,” She felt the need to say the words, even though they were a lie,

“Multi famam, conscientiam pauci verentur” The voice spoke quietly, mocking her own.

“Mea mihi conscientia pluris est quam omium sermo” She almost screamed the words at the invisible being.

She was fast losing patience, and she didn’t like the effect that the confrontation was having on her. It was quickly making her lose patience, and she doubted anyone liked her when she was losing patience. She became…something else entirely.

“Be calm, lady, you shall have all you desire, if you only listen…” The sounds echoed in her mind. All you desire, if you only listen…

She had nothing else to lose. She stopped struggling and listened.

II, Athaliah Azazeal

“Archers to the back! Defenders, to your posts at the front! Do not let them through!” A striking woman ran across the front of a magnificent army, shouting words of encouragement. Clad in her own armour, war paint staining her face, she held her own weapons high above her head. A deadly silence reigned as she did so, and neither force spoke.

The scream of a bird high overhead spurred the greater force into action. The male commander of the better-equipped force spurred his horse forward, with a signal for his army to hold their positions.

The greater army let out smirks and laughs. The woman on the opposition lowered her weapons slightly, and signalled for a horse of her own. At once, a small boy of around twelve ran through the ranks and handed her the reigns of a fine black stallion.

Athaliah Azazeal paused for a moment. She was not frightened of her foe. She knelt before the small boy, and wiped a tear that fell from his eyes.

“No fear, child. We will win this war yet. Nathalion will fall, if not on this day, then some other.” She stood again, and took the reigns from the child, and called to one of her generals.

“Danai, take the child back to the city. He should not be here on this day. Hurry. I will need my best warriors before the day is over,” Her voice sounded firm, but she flashed a quick smile at them both.

Athaliah Azazeal was ready. She yanked the horses’ harness and went to meet her adversary.

III, Nathalion Elornen

You can win this war, it is your destiny…

Funny. He had heard those words repeated a lot over the years. First from his mother, at a very early age. Then from his Sorceress, Ashera. It was his time, he had waited long enough. Nathalion Elornen’s time was coming, and he would enjoy it. Oh, by the gods, he deserved it.

His attention was momentarily occupied by the warrior queen coming in his direction. He had seen so many over the years that it became hard to differentiate one from another. They were normally hard, bitter women, horrifically scarred, with tales of their bravery reverberating through their cities. It was pathetic.

But this woman looked different. She pulled her horse up sharply, and dismounted as he had done, and stormed over to his direction. Even the way she dressed set her apart from the warrior queens whose lands he had taken. She was younger, with no visible scars, and an abundance of ebony curls that reached to her back.

Perhaps she would like his fortress. She would end up there of course, as had all of her predecessors, only, maybe, just maybe if she was lucky, she wouldn’t end up in the kitchens like so many others. Warrior queens were all the same. All talk of honour, and not being afraid of death, and then cowering like the women they were when he defeated their armies over and over again. It was somewhat tedious.

Perhaps he would keep her for himself. His men had had enough of warrior queens anyway. She was certainly beautiful enough. He ran a hand through his sandy coloured hair, and pushed himself lazily from his horse. He walked slowly over to her, and did not speak. He would let her make the negotiations. See if her brain rivalled her looks.

Nathalion Elornen smiled to himself. This would prove to be interesting.

IV, Nefertarí Andlim

Deep hazel eyes stared over the planes of Mirkolas with a heavy heart. It was inconceivable, the gall of one man had the western realm cowering in fear before him. Well, damned if Mirkolas would fall to one mans greed. It just wasn’t going to happen. Completely out of the question. Idly, her fingers traced the elaborate design of the pendant that hung from her neck. She watched as a female deer, a doe, ran across her line of view. The simplicity of the animals lives compared to her own was astonishing. Her life, the lives of her people, their very race, was threatened.

Nefertarí Andlim turned from the window, and walked quickly to her throne room. She was meet by Asher, her army general and most loyal confidant before she entered.

“My lady Andlim,” He addressed her formally, as their customs demanded, but Nefertarí dispersed of such formalities with a wave of her bejewelled hand.

“My name is not Lady Andlim, and I would prefer you to remember that, my friend.” She admonished playfully. Asher gave a sigh of impatience, and only then, did Nefertarí notice the look of horror on his face.

“What is it?” She demanded, the regal Princess in place once more.

“I don’t know quite how to tell you this…” Asher began twisting his fingers, a habit he only reverted to when under great duress.

“It would be better if you say it very fast,” She told him, placing a concerned hand on his forearm.

“Nefertarí, Athaliah Azazeal, of Anorfilad, suffered a defeat today against Elornen. Her army is now less than half of what is was this morning,” He spoke quickly, watching the reaction of his ruler with anxiety. Nefertarí hand rose to cover her mouth and an expression of complete disbelief crossed her face.

Asher spoke again, before she could say anything. “It’s worse. Our tower in the east sends us news, bad news.”

Nefertarí spoke much more harshly than she intended. “How can it possibly get any worse, Asher? Anorfilad commanded the finest army in the western world. How do we have any chance of survival? How can it be any worse?” She demanded, her face turning a shade of pink.

Asher gave a dry laugh that made her jump. “It could be so much worse. The clan of the Vampyr, from Balwithdite, they’re heading this way. And Eowithrawien doesn’t look too friendly.”

An Authors Note

Latin Translations for Eowithrawien, I found these on the internet, so please overlook any inconsistancies

Multi famam, conscientiam pauci verentur - Many fear their reputation, few their conscience Mea mihi conscientia pluris est quam omium sermo - My conscience is more to me than what the world says

This is my first original story, so please don’t be too harsh if you review me. Feel free to speak your mind, I do, but remember, to please not flame me. I detest being flamed. Any comments, queries, or story suggestions, and I will try to incorporate them!

Athaliah Azazeal