Final Draft: 121999; 2:18A Central
She woke up snarling and fighting, her mind still in the throes of the battle.
Izacon howled for Xena as she instinctively pushed away one of the City of Light's healers who was standing too close. The healer was thrown back against the wall, eviscerated by the claws of Izacon's feet. The human-size green Tartaran died without comment and quickly.
But the sight of blood and death spattering the room, and herself, inflamed the crimson Tartaran. Izacon, who was still reeling with the images of losing her friend, and her lover, turned her mad gaze to the others present in the room. She looked for Xena among the sparse group within the oddly sizable room.
At first the Tartaran's expression turned sorrowful. That lasted only heartbeats. Then Izacon, with her wings beginning to unfurl to their true and full length, roared until the walls shook.
The strong bonds the leading healers had cautiously placed upon the wild Tartaran gave way, as if they were only string, with a vicious sound of metal grinding and popping. Izacon, who had traveled the full 9 levels and back again without hope of ever seeing her lover, took on a new form. Screaming, panicked guards made their frantic way to the door, which was locked from the outside. The frightening sounds of their death could be heard well past the thick walls of the windowless healer's room.
A few moments later all was utterly still and silent.
Then, began a noisy tearing and battering against the heavily barred metal door. It almost broke from the first strike and buckled at the pessure being put upon it. Thick trails of blood leaked past the weakening barrier.
Melosa, with wisdom gained from years of queenly experience, evacuated herself and her tribe, from the building. Everyone fled. Except for a daggite who quietly made its way into the building during the chaos.
****
Xena kept her eyes closed for the time being, evaluating her situation with careful practiced ease. Whoever held her captive was not flying, though she couldn't tell exactly where she was. None of the smells were familiar.
She was bound, but not painfully so. Feeling remained in her arms and legs. She quietly tested her bindings and they loosened. She suspected this lack of caution was based on the belief that she remained dead.
And she truly felt like she ought to have been, given the headache that threatened the lack of content in her stomach. The ride's bouncy gait wasn't helping much and she had to swallow back her nausea more than once.
She was just sick enough that it took her awhile to realize that she wasn't being carried sideways by an animal. Or rather, not the ordinary kind four footed kind.
Not that anything in Tartarus was ordinary, the warrior thought grimly.
Still, she gathered her wits enough to know that her problems had taken on sizable proportions.
Especially when she finally squinted her eyes partially open and realized she was in the palm of something's hand.
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