“Kill her!” shrieked the king. You must!”
An arrow offered from Lokus ravaged King Thorien’s throat. Clenching to both, the king gurgled as he fought for breath through his own choking blood. As King Thorien closed his eyes and ceased his struggles, Lokus resumed his pleas to Kaysa in hopes that she would come to her senses before it was too late.
Kaysa paid him no mind, holding her balance as she pushed upward. Only three stairs remained before she reached the throne, yet the difficultly of clearing those steps increased by the moment. She kept her focus upon her task and the magic swelling in her hands, the magic that the soil and Tharador cried out for. She was moments from destiny, moments from completing her task.
The next arrow struck her back, staggering Kaysa once more. Her hands caught her this time, touching on the top step and placing the throne in reach. Kaysa drew quick breaths through the agony, refusing death and torment. Faintly she could hear the pleas of Lokus, yet also she could hear his arrow strain at the preparation of another attack. With great effort, Kaysa cleared the steps, placing her bloody hands upon the throne of the Ageless King.
Another arrow penetrated her back then, invading more than flesh. Kaysa gasped at the pain and revelation as she was cast to the floor beside the throne. Death was whispering to her now as she fought to keep her eyes from closing. Her moments now were fleeting as all strength threatened to leave her entirely. Despite her defiance, Kaysa’s eyes closed as her limbs slackened upon the floor.
Lokus dropped his bow then, knowing he had offered a killing strike. Falling to his knees, the elf openly wept, realizing fully the aloneness that was now his to claim. His emotions swelled, rushing between thoughts of his father and that of his friend. Their deaths merely fueled the stoking fires of confusion and anger that wracked Lokus in those moments.
With his hands over his eyes, Lokus did not see first as Kaysa stirred. The dwindling magic of her hands resurged, offering new light and strength to the fallen elf. Kaysa let the magic course through her briefly, offering her the power to rise once more. Now upon her knees, Kaysa’s focus returned as Lokus took notice from below.
“Kaysa!” screamed Lokus, surprise and realization hitting him fully. He then rushed toward his friend, torn between the joy of her living and the drive to stop her at all costs.
Kaysa reached out with her right hand toward Lokus, allowing a bolt of green mystic energy to cast from her hand. The magic struck Lokus as he approached, knocking the elf from his feet. As Lokus recovered, Kaysa stood, staggering past the throne to her destination. Clenching her fists, Kaysa allowed her powers to lift the door upon the ground, opening the way to the sacred soil resting below.
“Kaysa!” screamed Lokus. The elf scrambled across the ground to reclaim his bow, readying another arrow to fire.
Kaysa could not hear him though, could not feel as the new arrow pierced her lower back and spine. She dropped to her knees, yet her fists still swelled with magic and light, as her gaze never left the soil. Before her was the last of holy soils of Tharador. Behind her was the last of her life trying to kill her. This was the moment. This was her destiny.
This was the end.
Kaysa practically burst as she let the magic of the seed swell within her. In that dying moment, she was invincible. Even the next arrow offered by Lokus could not touch her. All that remained was Kaysa, the undeniable magic, and the one purpose left to her. Screaming in defiance one last time, screaming to the heavens for her friends and the life that would be stolen from her, Kaysa opened her hands and plunged them into the soil.
The soil’s reaction to this was instantaneous. Hues of green magic burst from the ground, covering all things in its brilliance. The magic swelled and raged, filling the remnants of Tharador and the innards of the town of Thorindale. Soon the magical swelled past the walls of the town and engulfed the armies battling outside.
Moments later, with the magic still enveloping Thorindale, the grounds beneath it soon shook with growing fury. The remaining soldiers from both armies ceased their hostilities and retreated from the town and the enchantment upon it. The dead walls of Tharador groaned as the fever of magic only grew stronger. Soon scores of villagers joined the armies as they fled their home in droves.
The magical chaos ensued as those outside watched on. The green hues of magic rushed the walls that once were Tharador before swirling and swelling. The town shook violently then as the walls grew with new life, rising with sureness against death. Screams could be heard over the rising groan of ancient wood being revitalized. Much of the town crumbled and toppled as Tharador rose from its own ashes.
The soldiers and villagers stood in awe at the spectacle. Before their eyes, Thorindale was fully ravaged as Tharador was reborn. The swell of magic continued skyward, with every moment restoring more of the tree of life. With the tree now reaching toward the heavens, those that bore witness saw branches return to the tree, then leaves as vibrance and vitality returned fully for the first time in an age.
With the Tharador restored, the world trees magic joined with the swirling green hues that had restored it. Soon Tharador glowed as well, casting forth primal magic power through its limbs. This magic surged across the land, scouring over the death and desolation. Soon life grew and flourished in all places the light touched.
From the battlefield, a bloodied Vienda felt the strength as it healed her wounds. Yet she almost missed this from the ever-growing culmination of vegetation blanketing the world. She saw luscious green grass and flowers painting a rainbow of color in her eyes. The soldiers following her cheered and openly wept at the glory. Those that were wounded found their wounds abated and death’s hand stilled by the lifegiving power of Tharador.
Soon though, nothing could be seen as the light of Tharador conquered all darkness. All was bathed in the magic as life was breathed fully into Kel’Thara at last and the world was reborn. A last great burst of magic rocked the world to its very core as those bearing witness fell to the onslaught. Stillness returned as tranquility cast its spell on the senses of all the elves present. Recovering, countless eyes fell again upon what once was Thorindale.
And all that could now be seen was Tharador, the great tree of life.
“She did it,” whispered Vienda as she held up her fists and raised her voice. “She did it!”
A rush of resounding cheer filled the fields around Tharador. Vienda fell to her knees amidst cheer and congratulations. The warrior from Quenthell shed tears of joy and tears of remembrance for those that had been lost. Vienda cried for them all now, and the price that was paid to save their world.
And with what tears that were left, Vienda cried for young Kaysa and the price that she had paid.
****************
With slow caution and disbelief, Marro opened his eyes. The mercenary had accepted death with only one regret, yet that death was somehow denied now. Marro ran his hands over his body, now feeling no pain as he raised himself up to search about. The arrows that had felled him lay nearby. Around him, the rubble of the stronghold rang loudly with the unsettled dust and debris floating in the air. It was then that Marro realized the gravity of such a turn of events.
“Kaysa,” he breathed, before reclaiming his wits and feet, rushing into the king’s throne room.
Procuring his sword, Marro rushed into the throne room, forced to deftly maneuver through broken pillars and the remnants of the skylight. The room had been ravaged by combat, fire, and claw marks of a giant beast. Looking to the broken skylight above, Marro was amazed at what he saw. The natural light was obscured, for in the place of the sky now was the bark and innards of Tharador. The world tree was restored. Marro realized instantly that Kaysa had succeeded.
And then the gravity of that notion struck him fully.
“Kaysa!” Marro called out as he began to search the room.
Marro’s eyes adjust to the dimmed lighting of the throne room. There was no sign of life or death, no bodies to go with the violen
ce that had ensued. This kept the mercenary wary and at the ready. He called Kaysa again, yet the only response to it where the echoes of his own voice. Marro grew disheartened, yet he continued to scour the entirety of the throne room.
It was then that Marro noticed a faint light pulsing from beyond the throne. He gave no thought as he rushed ahead and up the stairs. Peeling past the throne, Marro found the sacred soil now bursting with flowers and life that the mercenary had never seen in his life before. He lost his breath to such beauty, yet the awe was stilled when he saw a young, gentle hand within the flowers.
As he saw the hand, Marro dropped his blade. His limbs grew heavy at the stillness he saw, and were reluctant to reach out, fearing that all he would find was cold and death. Softly, Marro treaded into the sacred soil, kneeling next to the hand and the body that possessed it. As he took Kaysa’s hand in both of his, the coldness broke his heart. Reaching forward, he brushed aside the blue flowers to reveal a gentle face finally at peace.
“Kaysa,” he whispered.
It was then that Marro lowered his head, holding to the hand of his charge, the young elf he promised to never abandon. Like Tharador, new life breathed through the hardened mercenary as he softly wept over his friend. He took her hand in both of his and held it gently, honoring silently the sacrifice offered and the courage that it entailed. The world was alive because of her. He was alive because of her.
Kaysa.
Chaotic Wind.
15 New Beginnings
The days that followed the victory at Tharador where the longest and shortest days Marro had ever known. There had been great celebration as the word of Kaysa’s heroism spanned Kel’Thara. And each messenger had returned with the same favorable news, that the regenerative effects of the Tree of Life spanned the entire land. The air was sweet. The land was alive. Everyone had celebrated the new life that awaited them, and mourned the deaths of those who fell getting there.
With King Thorien slain and his forces routed, Derahn had accepted the surrender of the survivors, welcoming them all to a new start. Those that agreed remained and those that did not departed peacefully in exile. Derahn had brought more of his people to the tree as they proclaimed the remnants of Thorindale would be the ashes they built a new capital upon, and they would call it Kayloriah. And with this new proclamation came a vow and a promise that the treachery wrought by the Ageless King would never come to pass again.
With their victory, elves from all reaches flocked to Tharador, anxious to see the source of their newfound life. The world was rich with abundance once more, and creatures not seen in ages were seen again. Kel’Thara was again a world of vastness and plenty, and the its people faced hope and possibility for the first time in an age. Many would come to know Kayloriah as their new home, while others traveled to new adventures or restored their own homes.
Placing his pack upon Rufus, Marro prepared to depart Tharador. He stood now at the gates of what once was Thorindale, ready at last to move on. He did not wish to revel long, yet vowed to return when the remnants of Thorindale were erased completely. Currently, the memories he held of such a place were too painful.
And for now, he had his own vows and tasks to complete.
Grunting, Rufus turned to smell the cart he was charged with pulling. Laying inside it was Kaysa, covered with the finest burial shroud and adorned with fresh flowers and tributes. The mourning of Kel’Thara’s savior had been long, a life celebrated with the victory she had claimed for all. Marro scowled at his mount, playfully pushing his snout away.
“Leave her be, Rufus. She’s endured enough for one lifetime,” said Marro as he took the reins of his mount. “Let’s go.”
Marro led Rufus and the cart out of the fallen city of Thorindale. Now free of it, Marro’s heart swelled as he saw the assembly gathered to respect the fallen, their hero Kaysa. Strangers and friends alike lowered their heads as they flanked the cart. Some placed flowers upon Kaysa as they passed while others shook Marro’s hand and offered well wishes. Marro remained silent through the tribute and singing, for Kaysa deserved it and more.
At last, Marro reached the end of the assembly where allies waited for him. There at the end was a royal guard of Dynpri with Derahn, and at his side was Vienda. The Quenthell warrior had become the new commander of Tharador’s defenses, a title she would bear proudly. As Marro stopped Rufus, Derahn and Vienda nodded their respect and appreciation.
“Are you sure you will not stay, Marro? You have certainly earned the right,” said Derahn as he looked upon the cart. “We would offer Kaysa the grandest of burials, so that all may come and pay their respect.”
“And you would do well here, under my command of course,” said Vienda with a wry grin.
Marro smiled, shaking his head. “No. I made a promise,” he said, pointing at Kaysa and the urn that rested with her. “I am going to take Onzlyn home. That is where his ashes and spirit wish to be. And Kaysa would want to be back in Quenthell, with her people and with Khey.”
Vienda stepped forward to stand before the mercenary. “I never thought I would say this, but I couldn’t agree with you more,” she said before extending her hand. “Thank you, Marro. You held firm even when we didn’t believe in you. I shall never question your measure again. Just know that you will always have a place amongst us, and an ally in me.”
Marro shook Vienda’s hand. “I thank you. You are a true warrior, Vienda. Your devotion is profound and I understand now why Khey loved you as he did.” To this, Vienda nodded with a small smile before returning to Derahn’s side.
“She speaks true,” stated Derahn. “Your place here is always assured. It is our hope that you return again.”
“One day maybe,” said Marro as he glanced back at Tharador and what once was Thorindale. “The memories here for me are no good. One day this place will be unrecognizable from how I remembered. Maybe then I’ll find my way back.”
“Where will you go when your task is finished?” asked Vienda.
“I am not sure, and in honestly, I am quite excited about the prospect,” said Marro with a chuckle. “It’s a new world out there and I’d rather like to see as much of it as I can.”
Derahn offered one curt nod as he motioned to the gathered crowd. “I know I speak for all present when I say we wish you well on your journeys. Stay safe and return to us one day. Until then, I bid you well, Marro.” Derahn then motioned for his Dynpri to part so that Marro could pass.
Marro turned and placed himself in the saddle upon Rufus. He held up his hand as he goaded his mount forward. “Farewell, friends. I may not know the span, but I wager that I’ll see you again one day.”
With this, Marro passed them, pulling the cart with Rufus away from Tharador and onward to an unknown fate. Those in his wake held up hands in silent tribute, the reverence still heavy on their hearts and minds. Vienda offered a single tear, silently vowing to visit Talcoros, Khey, and Kaysa in Quenthell one day. Many hovered to watch the departure of Marro and the fallen he carried, well until they were out of sight.
With the great Tharador still easily visible in the distance, Marro upped Rufus’s pace to a trot. The open fields and roads called to him with new purpose. New adventures awaited. Promises needed kept. But for the first time in long spans, Marro faced the future with growing hope and purpose.
Marro scanned the countryside, satisfied that no one else was near the carriage. He then looked over his shoulder with a wry grin. “I think we are in the clear, young one,” he said proudly.
Suddenly the burial shroud rose as a relieved voice burst from it. “At last!” it said.
Marro chuckled to himself as Kaysa freed herself from the shroud. The young elf sighed her relief as she stretched her limbs. Discarding the ceremonial robes given for her funeral, Kaysa revealed plain tunic and trousers underneath and a great relief to be in simple clothes once more. Kaysa then leaped from the carriage and on to the back of Rufus. The mount grunted, yet offered no protest.
“
Well I do believe that much like myself, Rufus has officially decided to tolerate you,” said Marro.
Kaysa pushed at Marro’s back. “It is I who must endure the both of you, let us not forget that.”
“If I do, I am certain there will be reminders,” said Marro before looking over his shoulder. “Feel better?”
Kaysa nodded. “I do. Are you still certain we did the right thing?” she asked.
“I am,” said Marro. “You are still a child, Kaysa, and you deserve to reclaim your childhood. Had we remained, you would not know peace again. You would have been expected to lead and perform miracles, and you have done enough for this world.”
“What about Vienda?” she asked.
Marro shrugged. “We’ll tell her when it is time. She’ll be furious for a span, but she will understand. We’ll simply make sure we have disarmed her before administering the news.”
“I see wisdom in your words,” said Kaysa with soft laugher. It warmed Marro to hear such a sound. “What do you think happened, Marro? Why do you think I survived?”
Marro thought upon the question before responding. “I believe Tharador felt the goodness in you. You were spared because you remain a part of the tree, and that goodness permeated the world and Tharador. I believe that to be true. That or we simply got very, very lucky. Or the tree felt I still owed penance, and this is how I pay off my debts.”
Kaysa placed a finger on Marro’s shoulder, allowing it to glimmer with magic light. “Careful your words, mercenary, for I still remain a seed of Tharador somehow.”
“As I said before…penance,” said Marro.
The two friends shared laughter as Rufus grunted beneath them. Kaysa patted his side as she considered her next words. “Where do we go now, Marro?”
Marro was quick to respond. “We have a few stops to make, but I don’t believe we have a destination,” he said.
“An uncharted future,” mused Kaysa.
The Last of Kel'Thara Page 25