Finally the elves ceased fueling the blaze, watching carefully and waiting to observe the effect of their fiery attack. Another block of pikemen assembled inside the gate, though they had witnessed the failure of the same weapons in the field. The Llewyrr had no other tactic with which to try and stand against the beast. The flames died further, and only the blackened outline of the Elf-Eater's shell was visible to the watchers on the wall.
Then, in a shocking blur of activity, the great form raised itself from the ground to stand firmly on its three legs. The foreleg knelt low, and the dome tilted until its apex was angled toward the top of the steel gates. In the next moment, the Elf-Eater hurled itself into the portals with a thunderous charge, sending echoes reverberating up and down the valley of Synnoria.
Splinters of steel exploded through the air, knifing into many of the pikemen who stood in their steady formation. The great slabs of silvered metal broke from their hinges to fall among the warriors, crushing dozens. Even the white stone walls of the gate towers splintered and cracked, and the tall pillars swayed for a moment as if they, too, would join the gates in ruin on the ground.
The crushing blow knocked Myra to the side and she lay inside the gate, half-stunned, as the monster loomed above her, then rolled past. She tried to force her muscles to move, but they wouldn't respond to the commands of her mind. Instead, she lay motionless, expecting at any moment to feel the grasp of a clutching tendril, the quick snap of movement that would send her into that dolorous maw. She saw the crystal spire of a guard tower swaying over her head, and for a despairing moment, she prayed that the structure would fall, crushing out her awareness and sparing her the knowledge of her gruesome fate.
But the towers held. Myra saw the monster move through the wreckage of the gates, gobbling up those elves who lay in its path, but then the beast paid the city entrance no more mind, for the path into Chrysalis lay open. The Elf-Eater barged forward, barreling into the scattered pikemen and sending them tumbling like tenpins. Here the thing paused for a few minutes to gruesomely feed, snatching up the slain and wounded elves from the crowded street, snaring by the ankles many who tried to flee. These it dragged slowly, inexorably toward its gaping mouth, almost as if tantalized by the hysterical terror of the doomed elves.
Though the white stone wall surrounded the elven city, Chrysalis was not a place designed for defense. For millennia, the elven valley had stood inviolate, and this bred a long tradition of peace and an almost dazed confidence that the future would remain as untroubled as had the past.
Thus the city's avenues were wide and smoothly paved with the same white granite that had formed the causeways and so much of Chrysalis. Sweeping, open gardens beckoned an attacker, with no enclosing walls or narrow streets to restrict access.
Trees, especially birch and aspen, whose pale trunks complemented the stone so well, had been bred so that they remained green all year around, though Synnoria was subjected to the same snowy winters that affected the rest of Gwynneth. Now these trees waved gently in the breeze, their branches quaking like silver in mockery of the horror that stalked among them.
The Argen-Tellirynd, the Palace of the Ages, gleamed at the end of the wide street. That triangular edifice towered over its own transparent wall, inlaid with panels of glass and silver and diamond and even more exotic gems, sparkling like a gleaming work of jewelry. Even amid the splendor of the white, gold, and green houses and inns, the palace was a thing from another world, an enchanted place.
The Elf-Eater started down the avenue in long, rolling strides. A few elves tried to fight, with pikes and spears and even swords. None of the attacks managed to slow the beast, and few of these courageous attackers escaped with their lives. The creature moved easily between the rows of white tree trunks, coming inexorably closer to the Argen-Tellirynd.
Myra struggled with the numbness that claimed her, and slowly she forced herself to a sitting position. Her head throbbed, and every muscle in her body ached, but she ignored these minor complaints. As long as she lived, she would fight!
Staggering to her feet, she tried to ignore the wreckage of the gates, the carnage among the defenders that surrounded her. Several elves were caught beneath the heavy gates, and their groans tore at her heart. Yet the knight forced their pain from her mind, and instead, stumbled down the avenue after the lumbering Elf-Eater.
Her mind stopped spinning, and Myra forced herself into a trot. She jogged into a side street and quickly reached the small barracks and stable that the sisters maintained within the city proper. Here she found five of her comrades, armed and ready to mount. Myra quickly seized a lance and a sixth horse.
They formed a pathetically small line as they lowered their silver-tipped lances and urged their mounts into a gallop. The white horses leaped forward at the command to charge, and in moments, the riders thundered down the street, straight toward the looming Elf-Eater, their lances angled upward. The monstrous mouth gaped before them, though even that cavernous maw couldn't swallow a horse and rider, let alone a band of them.
Then, at the last instant, the Elf-Eater tucked its shell all the way to the ground. The heavy weapons slammed into the bony surface, and the long shafts splintered. The galloping horses crashed into the monster with stunning force. All of the horses and riders went down as assuredly as if they had ridden full tilt into a brick wall.
Myra flew from her saddle as her lance broke in her hands. She crashed into the monster's shell, hearing bones snap in her shoulder and arm. Involuntarily she cried out in pain as she dropped to the paved street, groaning and helpless in the very shadow of the beast.
One of the sister knights died instantly from a broken neck, but the fate of the others was just as certain-and infinitely more horrible. Haze filled Myra's mind with fiery agony. She remembered the gate, when the monster had left her on the ground in search of other prey. This time, she knew, she would not be so lucky.
Stunned and immobile, the surviving knights watched helplessly or struggled feebly as the beast picked them up, one by one, and gulped them into the drooling pit of its mouth. Myra cried out in rage as she watched her comrades perish-but then a sturdy tentacle grasped her waist. She punched at it, trying in vain to draw her sword-but in the next moment, she followed the other brave sisters into the mindlessly devouring mouth.
That task completed, the Elf-Eater raised itself above the scene of its gory repast, ignoring the injured horses that kicked and whinnied at its feet. Before the monster, glittering in the sunlight like a magnet of beauty, stood the Argen-Tellirynd, the Palace of the Ages.
Deirdre read for what seemed like a long time. Gradually, however, she found that her mind couldn't concentrate on the words. Instead, she found herself looking at the table, at the silvered glass propped there.
At first, she had purposely turned the mirror to the side, so that she couldn't see her face when she looked up from her reading. But after two hours, she grew restless. Rising to pace, she looked into the glass as she passed. Finally she turned it to face the chair and returned to her tome. She found it strangely comforting to look up and see the image of herself, the great leather-bound volume covering her lap.
She wanted to see the monster again, but the mere thought of projecting the image in the mirror caused her temples to throb and her eyes to burn. The princess knew that she needed rest before she again used the device for scrying, but she felt no desire to sleep.
In fact, her memory had served her welclass="underline" She found the passage, in Khelben Arunsun's Walking the Dark Places, that she had recalled earlier. It bore a striking resemblance, in some respects, to the situation in Synnoria.