"This is still madness, Kaysa. Just give me the word. We'll do whatever it takes so that your fate is your own," offered Lokus.
Kaysa sighed, looking at her friend with warmth in her eyes. "Lokus, if I am to die, then I choose to do so trying to make this a better world. I don't have to be okay with it, and I am not, but I when I see our friends again beyond this world, I want to say I tried. And that is what I am going to do."
"You are a brave soul, Kaysa of Quenthell," said Marro as he approached the bed. "Had the world held more of those that had courage like you, perhaps we never would have endured the Ageless King."
"Regardless, all that we can wager on is the present," said Kaysa as she pulled herself from the bed. "And Delegas currently seeks our presence."
At this, Onzlyn grinned. "I truly cannot wait for you to see this," he said.
Kaysa took uncertain steps as she tested her strength. Satisfied, she responded to Onzlyn. "What do you mean, Onzlyn?"
"In just a few moments you will surely see," he replied before strolling to the door and opening it.
With some reluctance, Kaysa ventured forward and out of the door, not knowing what to expect. The others swiftly followed her, with only Onzlyn privy to what was going on. The Dynpri lead the group out of the infirmary and back to the underground streets of Faeth. As Kaysa cleared the infirmary, she immediately halted as her breath stilled.
There before Kaysa stood the leader of Faeth, flanked by other elder elves. Each watched her curiously as she tried to regain her composure. Behind these elves stood what appeared to be the near sum of Faeth's inhabitants as they watched Kaysa and whispered among themselves. Soft lights from where eyes had once been shown brightly in near unison, offering Kaysa and her friends a spectacle none had witnessed before.
“Welcome back, Kaysa of Quenthell,” stated Derahn. The leader of Faeth examined her as he then looked at Delegas. “Is it true? Has the seed been awakened?”
Delegas nodded sagely, a mix of pride and resignation. “It is quite true, Derahn. The seed is awake, and it is stronger than we could have hoped for.”
Marro stepped forward, fists clenched. “She has not stopped being Kaysa because of this circumstance,” he stated impatiently.
Derahn nodded to the mercenary. “You are quite correct. If the seed is truly awakened, then she is infinitely more now.”
Lokus came to stand next to Kaysa, taking one of her hands and squeezing. “Do not be overwhelmed, friend. We are still with you,” he said.
“Thank you, Lokus. I feel I need you all now more than ever before,” she replied.
Derahn approached Kaysa, coming to stand before her. Kaysa faced his scrutiny as Faeth’s leader examined her thoroughly. She squeezed to Lokus’s hand, swallowing hard as Derahn circled her. Finishing his circle, Derahn stopped again and motioned for someone to approach.
“I sense magic, and at a strength I’ve not felt in some time, but I require more proof to be certain,” said Derahn. Faeth’s leader waited as a wounded elf was helped over to stand near Kaysa. “This courier was wounded by forces from Thorindale. If you are in fact the seed of Tharador, then healing his wounds should be of no consequence. We would all like to see a demonstration of your capabilities.”
Kaysa gazed up at Derahn apologetically. “I am afraid all I can offer you is disappointment, Derahn of Faeth. I know not how to fulfill your request.”
“But you do,” offered Delegas with a casual wave of his hand. “The seed is a part of you now, and with it, its abilities. You need to do nothing more than embrace this notion.”
Kaysa turned to the Elder’s son impatiently. “You make it sound so very simple, Delegas, but I must ask you. Has such a fate ever befallen you before?”
Delegas’s face cracked enough to offer a semblance of a grin. “I do not believe it has, young Kaysa. My apologies.”
Marro came to kneel near Kaysa. “I think what our anxious friend is trying to say, Kaysa, is just breathe and let the matter flow within you. You may hold this power now, but it remains your choice as to what you choose to do with it. I am certain that is what keeps such a strength in check, your belief and how you choose to challenge it.”
Kaysa nodded, reaching out to the magic around her, and within her. “Very well, Marro,” she replied before turning back toward the wounded courier. “Let us see what happens.”
The wounded courier stood supported before Kaysa, looking at her with a face contorted with pain and marred by blood. The bandages around his abdomen were losing ground to the red slowly coloring them. The elf fought to remain conscious as he drew quick, shallow breaths. With cautious uncertainty, Kaysa extended her hand and touched the wounded courier, willing him to be healed from the wounds that threatened to steal his life.
And nothing happened.
Lowering her head, Kaysa allowed her shoulders to sag in defeat. "I told you that you were mistaken about me," she offered wispily.
She then felt the firm hand of Marro rest upon her shoulder. "You only fail now because you lack the belief. You are burdened by your uncertainty. Kaysa of Quenthell, I do not wish you to be thrown to the wolves of fate, but I will never allow you to doubt your own strength. I have witnessed what you can do, with and without the seed. Hold the same conviction you possessed when you faced the Huntsman. I assure you that the rest will come quite naturally."
"Do you truly believe that, Marro?" she asked.
"With all that remains in this darkened heart, yes," said Marro. "Simply return yourself to the thoughts you held in those moments."
"Very well," said Kaysa as she lost herself to thoughts.
The moments from before were not difficult to conjure. Kaysa could see them now with perfect clarity and instantly the feelings wrought from those moments returned. She wanted to stand against the looming death and failure that were pressing upon her. But most of all, in those moments she wanted to make a difference. She wanted to save Marro. And holding to these feelings, Kaysa closed her eyes and let such feelings engulf her.
And quite suddenly, her hands shimmered once more with tremendous light.
A chorus of murmurs and gasps burst from the crowd as pure light glistened from Kaysa. The magical light swirled and embraced her, shedding hues of green and gold. Kaysa reached out again, touching the courier firmly upon his side. The courier yelped as he fell to his knees, those supporting him backed away as magic coursed within him. Soon those around him witnessed as the scrapes upon his arms and face withered and became nothing.
As the light dissipated, the courier looked up curiously at Kaysa before touching his side. Standing easily, the man removed his bloodied bandages, holding up his tunic in disbelief. Turning, the courier bared the flesh of his stomach to those watching, revealing only healthy skin. The elf was clearly healed and reveled in the feeling.
Turning, the elf courier dropped to his knees before Kaysa, taking one of her hands and bowing his head. "You hold my undying gratitude, Kaysa of Quenthell! I deeply and humbly thank you!"
Soon, others either knelt to Kaysa or erupted in resounding cheer and confidence. This energy rose into a fevered pitch, and Kaysa found herself overwhelmed by the display. The raw energy washed over the streets of Faeth, finding an infectious growth that carried into and throughout the town.
"It is true then," said Derahn as he regarded the elders that flanked his sides. "You have witnessed it firsthand. The time for hiding, the time for scraping by must come to an end. The seed has awakened, and we must see it to Tharador. The tree must be reborn, and with it, Kel'Thara."
The elves that flanked Derahn exchanged glances and talked softly of Kaysa. At last, the five of them nodded their affirmations. Kaysa knew not of the decision they had struck, only that it somehow involved her. Satisfied with their agreement, Derahn stepped forward, holding his hands up to silence his people.
"People of Faeth, hear me now!" Derahn's voice filled the streets as silence loomed heavily to his words. "The last seed of Tharador has
awakened. The vessel of that seeds stands before us now. Kaysa of Quenthell bears now the hope for all of Kel'Thara!"
Confusion furrowed Kaysa's brow as she searched about for answers in the face of her comrades. "I do not understand. What's going on?" she asked.
"A decision has been made," replied Marro as he looked into the eyes of Derahn and each of the elders present with him. "You have become the catalyst."
"For what?"
"For war."
Derahn then approached Kaysa, bowing as he loomed near. "Kaysa of Quenthell, you are the seed of Tharador and the last of Kel'Thara. Will you join us in reclaiming this world? The last bastions of Thorien's opposition stand with you. With your strength, we have yet a chance to stop the Ageless King and restore life to the land."
"I am but one," said Kaysa softly.
"But you are one of us all now," said Derahn with confidence. "I turned my back on Talcoros, for I did not dare to believe. Like many, I decided long ago that this world was doomed and all that remained of hope was to endure as long as we were able. But because of you, I have witnessed something I never thought to see in this lifetime. You hold the key, Kaysa. You are the key in fact. And with that key we can unlock a better world, for all elfkind."
Kaysa turned, seeking council in the faces of friends, those she could lay her trust in. Only Marro met her gaze adamantly, nodding to her as he spoke. "I cannot make this decision for you, Kaysa. Nor can the others. It is for you to make, but I'll stand with you regardless of the choice."
Kaysa's eyes refused to relinquish their exchange as she thought on the matter. A great weight had been thrust upon her, and with it a harrowing choice. She knew what was right yet she was afraid. This fear was not of death, but rather of failure. For if she faltered, it was no longer only her fate that was sealed.
At last, she shifted again to face the leader of Faeth. "Very well, Derahn. Let us see what we can accomplish...for Kel'Thara."
A slow, restrained smile rose on the leader's lips as he allowed his voice to thunder through the streets of his town. "The seed has spoken! We take the fight to Thorindale! For Kel'Thara!"
"For Kel'Thara!" replied the vast majority in a tremendous unison.
The chant continued, rising with each utterance. Soon the inhabitants of Faeth were worked into a feverish pitch. Soon the streets erupted in great celebration. Kaysa watched for as long as she could before turning and returning to within the infirmary. The young elf wished to be free of the well-wishers, knowing that the decision had assuredly sealed her fate along with many of theirs.
"You have always been braver than me," said Lokus. Kaysa's life-long friend had followed her silently. Outside, Marro and Onzlyn protected the door, giving Kaysa her desired privacy.
Kaysa gave him a smile, hoping it was more courageous than she actually felt. "Perhaps I simply pretended more proficiently than you," she challenged.
Lokus shook his head. "No. It is not that. You are truly courageous. It is why Talcoros picked you," he said before lowering his head. "I didn't understand at first, and I was angry at his decision. But now I fathom it to my core. I could never have awakened the seed with my heart. But you did. I just wish that the consequence of such an awakening wasn’t losing you."
Tears again threatened to drain from Kaysa's eyes as she held out her arms. "Fool," she whispered. "You've not lost me yet."
The two friends embraced, weeping in each other's arms as the crowd outside surged with more vitality. Inside the infirmary, there was stillness with only the sobs of two young friends to counter the echoing cheers outside and the silence that darkened their spirits. Kaysa found herself clutching to Lokus even more tightly, reminded that she may never have the chance to hold him again. Each of them held to the other, afraid to let go of the moment, afraid to break the spell that held them together for those instants.
For after such moments, all that awaited was war and death.
13 The drums of war
Torn by swelling feelings, Field Marshal Vakk found himself back in the Fortress of Ages, making his way to his king. The pursuit of the seed and the fugitives from Quenthell had proved fruitless and exhausting. And while Vakk wanted to feel relief at returning to Thorindale, he knew all too well that his life now hovered on the choice and temperament of his king. The elf knew Thorien was waiting for him, and that his report was unsatisfactory, yet Vakk also knew he held information that just may yet prove to be his salvation.
This time, there was no ceremony or protocol waiting for Vakk, no servant to announce his presence. The field marshal strolled fearlessly into the throne room, wishing to offer no semblance or hint of weakness. Yet as soon as the gaze of King Thorien struck him, Vakk froze. Unable to break the sensation, Vakk knelt and lowered his head in reverence.
“My king, I have returned,” stated Vakk, comforted by the ritual of formality.
“So it seems,” mused Thorien as he watched Vakk with his ancient eyes. As Vakk stood to join him, the Ageless One held up a hand to stop him. “No. Stay where you kneel,” he ordered before standing himself to approach the field marshal.
Vakk felt a chill rush his innards as he watched Thorien stand. Every movement was careful, slow deliverance and ancient grace. Upon standing, the king procured his broadsword, a blade forged from ages past and crafted to be the weapon of a king. Thorien held the mighty weapon easily in one hand as he descended the stairs that led to his throne. Now level with Vakk, King Thorien rushed forward with a speed Vakk could scarcely see, stopping abruptly before the field marshal with his blade now resting under Vakk’s chin.
“And I also see that you have failed to procure for me the last seed of Tharador,” observed the king as he used the tip of his blade to raise Vakk’s gaze. “I trusted you and only you for this mission. It shames me to see that I was wrong in my estimate of you.”
“The fugitives have proven clever,” stammered Vakk as he tried to hold on to the steel draining from his spine. “They have proven this in not only eluding us, but besting the Huntsman and his creatures. They have also shown wisdom in placing Marro under their employ. His skills have proven invaluable in their continued resistance.”
Vakk could feel the tip of the king’s blade press just enough to pierce his flesh, just enough that rivulets of blood ran down its length. “Marro,” growled King Thorien as he practically spat the name. “Another sin on your soul, that you let such a traitor live this long. You hinder your defense more than you bolster it.”
“Perhaps,” said Vakk, speaking slowly in an attempt to keep from further blood being shed from his being. “But you will see that this slight will reap benefits before it is over. And in all honesty, it does not matter, your grace. In my attempt to acquire the seed, I have at least succeeded in speeding up its process. And I do bare favorable news.”
“Which is?” asked the king curiously.
Vakk swallowed, grateful for the lessening of pressure upon his neck. “The last seed of Tharador, it has been successfully awakened. What power wrought from it shall now be at least tenfold."
King Thorien lowered the sword then, turning from Vakk as he placed himself in silent thought. After some length he turned his head slightly. “Are you certain of this?” he asked.
Vakk nodded, still revealing his reverence to his king as he spoke. “I would stake my life on that certainty,” said Vakk.
Vakk watched as the king’s head shook slightly. “Your life is already placed on the table, I would be careful of your wagers with it,” said the king.
“My apologies, your majesty,” said Vakk in earnest. “I simply mean that I am quite certain.”
Vakk observed the hand resting on the sword grip feverishly as the king responded. “And so the awakened seed is in the hands of our enemies. Why is this splendid news to you, Vakk?”
Vakk smiled despite himself, feeling his own confidence returned. “Because, your grace, to use it they must venture here. Our enemies not only have awakened the seed for us, but even now
they prepare to bring it to your doorstep. All that we must do to have the seed is simply wait.”
To this, the king admitted. “This certainly does alter the fates.”
Vakk stood slowly, nodding to the king’s words. “It works completely in your favor, my lord. In one swoop, we can crush the rebellions against you once and for all. And you can be the savior of this land and bring life to all stretches of Kel’Thara. It will be glorious, my liege,” he said.
Soft chuckling rumbled from King Thorien then. Warm in its sound, Vakk’s apprehensions dissipated at the sound of it. Yet before he could react, Thorien spun again, slashing with his sword. Vakk yelped as a gash upon his cheek spat forth his blood. Covering it with his hand, Vakk fell to one knee again.
Discarding his sword, King Thorien took Vakk’s face into his hands, caressing the cheek not bloodied. “You still do not see, do you? A pity, really. This world has been judged. We are in the midst of its cleansing. The only salvation it shall witness is by my hand. It is my purpose, my duty in fact, to see this through the end. The seed belongs to me, not this selfish, greedy world who did nothing but devour its offerings. War and hatred have stolen everything from me. But I will live long enough to take it all back and see a new world, better and brighter than this one will ever be. So you see, the seed is my charge, and with it a rebirth through fire, the one that Kel’Thara deserves. And that is the way. And that is my will. See that you do not challenge it again with your assumptions, Vakk.”
“Yes, my lord,” breathed Vakk.
King Thorien returned to his throne slowly before sitting and regarding Vakk once more. “You have preparations to make, Vakk. Thorindale is to be challenged. And we will be more than enough to answer its call. I want any that amass against us crushed completely. There are to be no survivors, so that their deaths will be a reminder to future generations that would be foolish enough to challenge inevitability. Bring me the seed. I would have it or your heart in its place.”
The Last of Kel'Thara Page 19
