Chapter 14

As several explosions followed one another, the shaking of the walls became almost rhythmical and the moaning of the collapsing structure louder. There was a low groaning exhalation as the walls cracked and plaster and chandeliers came down.

Turi quickly crouched under the oaken table, which was the only thing shielding her from the pieces of ceiling that were clattering down around her with destructive force. The table was reverberating with every impact, and the breaking of sliding vases and objects around her was barely audible because of the overwhelming noise. 

What was this?!

Turi felt paralysed by fear, mind and body tensed up as she hid under the table. Picture frames were coming down and she could hear screams and breaking glass from further down the hall as well as in different directions around her. 

Amarth faeg! - evil faith! She had to get out of here!

Turi's fear suddenly propelled her to the nearest window, panes of glass hanging in shards. Without thinking she threw herself out onto the nearest tree, her fingers clutching at any branches she could reach on her steep drop down. She landed on the dusty grass, knees bent. Besides a stiff neck she seemed ok. Turi ran for cover.

She joined a number of dazed elves on a patch of lawn nearby. They were coughing, some bleeding. All in shock. For now, at least, they were safe. But Turi didn't know, couldn't phantom what had just happened.

The palace was still now, but its entire west wing was laid to ruin. Still panting, one image flashed in front of Turi's mind. 

Thranduil. 

She jerked up and sprinted back towards the main entrance, which was mercifully situated away from the collapsed sections.

Already elves were helping the wounded and bleeding out of the palace, hardly noticing Turi as she sprinted past them. Her body trembling, Turi set her jaw as she had to climb over mounds of rubble or go around places where the walls had buckled under the strain.

She turned the corner towards the back end of the palace where the sun deck was situated. It was still there, coated in white dust and knocked over chairs. But no trace of the king or his feathered pest.

Turi was panting, resting her hands on her knees as she tried to catch her breath and think clearly. Then she heard it.

Unmistakably, Thranduil's voice could be heard somewhere down in the garden, dishing out orders to coordinate the initial search and rescue operation. She was somewhere between laughing and crying, shock now catching up with her.

Carefully letting herself down into the summer garden below, Turi landed among the roses. Her Thranduil was safe, thank the stars. 

But what was that nagging feeling in the back of her mind? The attack missed its target. The king got away. 

So why did she feel like something was amiss?