Ruined King (Night Elves Trilogy Book 2)

by C. N. Crawford

  “I need you to open this.” He pushed a small, folded piece of parchment across the table.

  “What is it?”

  “It’s your lot.”

  I didn’t touch the paper. Was this his plan? Unleash Galin, Sword of the Gods on his enemies?

  “For the Winnowing,” said the king. “All elves have been given lots so we may choose those who will represent us. We’ve got the Night Elves exactly where we want them. Your sister struck the terms, as she has a talent for negotiation. The winning tribe will lead all the elves. When we triumph, I will become king of all elves, and the Night Elves will be dealt with once and for all.”

  Dread snaked up my spine as I thought of Ali. “The Night Elves agreed to this plan?” Was that why she wasn’t in my vision? Because she would die?

  “They are desperate to be free of their caverns. There’s not much food down there. It was easy to convince them a Winnowing was in their best interests when they’re watching their children die.” Gorm laughed. “I think they believe they may actually win. Can you imagine that?”

  I looked at the paper on the table, but still, I didn’t touch it. “Why lots?”

  “It was their idea. The Night Elves were concerned that we’d only send our best men. They demanded the choosing be randomized for all.”

  Revna grinned. “But what they don’t know is all High Elves are required to enlist in the military. We are going to absolutely crush them.”

  I picked up the folded parchment. I knew Gorm had rigged it, that he wanted me there as his secret weapon. But now, I knew I needed to be there. I needed to protect Ali if she was chosen.

  Standing, I ripped it open.

  No surprises there. I dropped the parchment on Gorm’s plate, then turned to leave.

  “What did you get?” Revna’s voice tinkled.

  “I’m sure you already knew,” I growled over my shoulder.

  She began to laugh. “Galin, brother, of course you’re in the fight. Did you actually think you wouldn’t be involved? You’re the best fighter we have!” As I walked out, Revna called after me, “And won’t it be fun to watch your tunnel-runt die?”

  She was wrong.

  I would personally slaughter every one of the High Elves before I let anyone lay a finger on Ali.

  Chapter 7

  Ali

  When the lots were counted, only five of us had the mark. The warden sent the rest of the prisoners back into the mine, and a pair of guards lugged Hulga off to the infirmary.

  Then, they took off our shackles for good.

  With the warden and two guards in the lead, we were marched up the long, winding tunnel. No one spoke; I heard only the shuffling of our feet over the rough stone.

  We stopped when we reached an opening in the mine. A bit of brighter light glowed on the other side. Freedom.

  As I crossed through the opening, my breath caught at the view. We were on an upper slope of rubble surrounding the main cavern. Granite spread out beneath us. In the distance, buildings rose from the stone.

  After living in tunnels no wider than my wingspan, the enormity of the main cavern was overwhelming, with stalactites and stalagmites so large they would dwarf Boston’s skyscrapers and a ceiling so high it disappeared into a murky gloom. The faraway city lights glittered like thousands of stars.

  I’d made it. I was free.

  Even hungry as I was, euphoria roared in my chest, and I shouted, “Woooooo!”

  I listened to my voice echo, and the other marked prisoners joined me.

  “Woooooo! Woooooo! Woooooo!” We howled together like a pack of wolves, the excitement of freedom overwhelming any sense of decorum.

  “Quiet,” growled the warden, but we ignored him, shouting into the darkness, celebrating our escape.

  Maybe we were headed to battle, but this was more than we could ever have hoped for. An opportunity to breathe air free of rock dust, the possibility of redemption, the dream of revenge and triumph. The five of us danced and shouted until the warden ordered his guards to beat us if we didn’t shut up.

  When we were silent, the warden pointed to the distant tower of the Shadow Lords. “We’re to go to Sindri,” he said as he started down the sloping, dark hill toward the city.

  We followed. On the way down the slope, we marched past slag heaps and dilapidated colliery structures. My fellow convicts kept their mouths shut until we crossed onto a narrow road.

  A tall elf fell into step beside me. “What were you in for?” he asked quietly.

  He probably already knew. “Treason. How about you?”

  He winked. “Been here a week but it feels like years. Theft, smuggling, a little bit of this and that—”

  “Quiet,” said the warden before the elf could continue.

  I rolled my eyes. There was no reason for him to threaten us. We were warriors now, not prisoners. “What are you going to do? Kill us?”

  The warden fixed me with his gaze. “I will if you run.”

  I looked at my fellow convicts. They were dirty and thin. “We won’t run. Anything is better than the mines.”

  The warden pursed his lips and stared at us for a long moment, then turned his back and kept walking.

  “Is it true you met him?” The tall elf asked me, eyes gleaming. It took me a moment to work out who he meant.

  “Galin? Yeah. Unfortunately.”

  Another elf cut in, “So, what are the High Elves like?”

  I couldn’t say they were beautiful, with golden hair, that they towered over us. Instead, I said, “Uptight. Most of them speak like they’ve got flutes up their asses.”

  The elf sucked in a short breath, and his eyebrows shot up. “You’re kidding.”

  “King Gorm demands your fealty,” I said in my best High Elf impression.

  “Are you serious? That’s how they talk?”

  “She’s right,” said the tall elf. “They sound like utter knobs.”

  I grinned at him then held out my hand. “I’m Ali, by the way.”

  “Bo,” he replied. “So, how’d you end up in the mines?”

  With a sigh, I launched into the story of how I’d literally been to Hel and back. After spending my days alone shoveling rock, it felt great to talk. And by the time I’d finished telling them how I’d descended the Well of Wyrd, we’d reached the fluvial plains. Here, we walked past fields of mushrooms: cremini, portobello, matsutake, and black trumpets. But my stomach clenched with horror as I realized something was very wrong with them. They reeked of something foul, and they were growing withered and green. Diseased. No wonder the Shadow Lords had agreed to the Winnowing. The entire city would die if we didn’t do something.

  Walking through the fields, my mind slid back to happier times. Normally, every Night Elf worked in the mushroom farms, even if they had other jobs. The fungi were our main source of food, and it was a community effort to care for them. I’d spent my youth in fields just like these. Spreading spores, checking the mycelium mats, and harvesting mushrooms. I remembered when, as children, my brother Barthol and I would find a puffball mushroom and kick it around like a soccer ball until a foreman told us to stop. I wondered how Barthol was doing now. Was he starving, too?

  It felt eerie here, desolate. Normally, there were groups of Night Elves tending the mushrooms. Picking off slugs, collecting spores, doing all the things necessary to keep the life-giving fungi healthy. Now, it was completely deserted.

  And worse, as we walked on, we passed the old cemetery, the stones jutting from the ground at odd angles. Now, it was full of fresh, new graves. Row upon row of them, many of them small—children’s graves.

  Tears stung my eyes. This was the result of our imprisonment here, being trapped by the High Elves. By Galin.

  After an hour we came to the first town, though it wasn't much, a small collection of stone buildings. As we approached, excitement welled in my chest. This would be the first time I had seen my fellow countrymen in weeks. But as we followed the road into the village, w
e found it empty. Deserted. There were no elves to greet us.

  “Where is everyone?” said Bo.

  “I have no idea,” I replied, trying to hide the worry in my voice.

  An hour later, we reached Myrk, the largest city in the Shadow Caverns. The hunger was cutting through my stomach so sharply now, I felt half insane.

  It seemed like a world of death around me. Normally Myrk was a bustling metropolis of bright storefronts and shouting street vendors. There’d be farmers carting mushrooms, weavers carrying bundles of shimmering spider silk, jewelers in little booths selling gemstones.

  Instead it was nearly empty, and a putrid stench filled the air. The few elves we saw moved furtively, slipping into the shadows as we approached.

  “Warden,” I said loudly, “Where is everyone?”

  The warden slowed. “I’m not sure.”

  “Ali?”

  I jumped as someone shouted my name. Then, warmth lit me up.

  Dressed in his cave bear coat, my brother charged from across the street, grinning like a maniac.

  “Barthol!” I cried.

  Barthol put his hands on my shoulders, shaking me with excitement. “I can’t believe it’s you! I’ve been out of my mind with worry. I was going to try to break you out of the mines.”

  “That would have been stupid. How did you know I’d be here? What’s going on with the city? Where is everyone?” I couldn’t quite believe I was seeing my brother, but I was certain I was smiling as broadly as he was.

  Barthol looked around a little nervously. “Everyone knows you got a marked lot. They say the ‘traitor-assassin’ will fight in the Winnowing—” He cleared his throat. “That’s what everyone calls you now.”

  “Oh, I know. But I’ve stopped caring what they think. Because I plan to kill Galin as soon as I can,” I added. “I will be the North Star, just like Mom said.”

  He grabbed my arm. “You can’t kill him, Ali. He’s dangerous.”

  “So am I.” I shook my head and, feeling the warden’s eyes on me, quickly changed the subject. “What’s going on in the city? Why is no one out and about?”

  Barthol’s smile faded, his expression becoming solemn. “Mushroom blight, and now a plague. People are dying left and right.”

  I felt my stomach drop. A plague was what had killed my parents. In the Shadow Caverns plagues were lethal, traveling effortlessly through the dank cave air. And with no food? We had to break free of the caverns at all costs.

  I shook my head. “You shouldn’t have come to see me.”

  Barthol’s eyes glistened with tears. “Ali, I had to. You’re my only family. You’re going to fight in a Winnowing, this might be the last time I see you.”

  I realized I couldn’t fault him, as I knew with certainty I would have done the same.

  “I’ll be fine,” I said squeezing one of his massive shoulders. “I’ve trained for years to fight in this sort of thing—”

  “Keep moving!” the warden cut in.

  “Ali,” Barthol said hurriedly. “The Winnowing—promise me you’ll be careful, right? Try to stay out of the fray.”

  “Of course I will.” Not a chance. I sensed the warden approaching. “Look, I have to go—”

  Barthol had already wrapped me in another hug. I could smell his cave bear coat, but he felt too thin underneath it.

  He released me, and the warden grabbed me from behind. “Get in line, now!” His voice was like a gunshot.

  Snarling, I moved along to join the other prisoners.

  “Ali, wait!” shouted Barthol, running after me. “Take this.” He pressed something into my hands. “You’ll love it, I promise. I have complete faith in you.”

  Only after I’d caught up with the prisoners did I dare open my fingers. I grinned as I recognized the plastic and snarl of white wires. I was holding an antique MP3 player just like the one Galin had given me in the realm of the Vanir. My heart twisted at the memory. It had felt like we were a team, like we were working together. Maybe when he got his soul back, he’d changed.

  I slipped the headphones on and pressed play. The most glorious music filled my ears, and a gasp escaped me. The melody was simple but incredibly transfixing, with a childlike purity that just made me want to smile.

  Bopping my head, I hummed along to the tune. Whoever had decided to write a song about baby sharks was an absolute genius.

  Chapter 8

  Galin

  For the hundredth time, I paced the length of my room, from the door to the desk and back again. It was late. I should be asleep, but instead I racked my brain, trying to think of a solution. I wanted to leave, to get to Ali. I had to know that she was okay, well fed. The idea of her starving made me feel insane, like I wanted to burn down the entire Citadel. A fiery rage was growing in me.

  I needed to hear her voice again.

  After that, the way forward was obvious. I would find her and take her on the run. I would steal a moth and fly us to the bottom of the Well of Wyrd. Then, we would make our way to another realm. Someplace they’d never find us.

  The only thing holding me back was the helm. It pressed low on my brow, heavy and metallic. Its very presence felt suffocating.

  Still, every spell had a counter spell. There had to be a way to remove it.

  I went to my desk and flipped through my grimoires. I found hexes that would freeze an elf’s blood solid, dozens of spells to ensure good harvests—but apart from the unbinding spell I’d already tried, there was nothing that might plausibly remove the helm from my head.

  In frustration, I gave a low growl.

  I started to reach for the helm itself. I could power through the pain and tear it off this time, I was sure. But as my hands neared my forehead, the metal began to vibrate. Heat formed behind my eyes. Any closer and I’d be convulsing on the floor.

  Still, that gave me an idea.

  There was one thing I hadn’t tried. With a little finesse, it might work.

  I waved at the runes on my doorframe, magically locking it. Then, I pulled off my shirt and traced kaun. The rune glowed on my chest, and instantly, flames erupted from the tips of my fingers. I held my hands before me, fire flickering along my palms, around my wrists. The heat warmed my face.

  I’d remove the blasted circlet the hard way.

  I raised my hands towards my head, and the helm began to hum, buzzing with malevolent magic. I gritted my teeth. The pain would be excruciating, but I had to try. Once I melted the metal, its power would fade, and I would be free. Then I could save Ali, become the king I was fated to be.

  I moved my blazing fingers closer to the helm.

  Without warning, a jolt of magic staggered me, like a giant hand was squeezing my skull. My body vibrated from the pain, muscles tensing all over.

  The air smelled of ozone; I tasted gasoline on my tongue. But worst of all was the voice that tolled in my mind—Gorm’s voice intoning the words of the oath I’d made to him.

  I pledge my life, my ambitions….

  Oaths could be made, but they could also be broken. This was a crime against the gods, but they were dead now. And Ali’s life meant more to me than an oath.

  I began chanting kaun over and over. Magic poured out of me, and my hands blazed like the sun. The trick was to melt the helm without touching it.

  A second blast of magic hit me between the eyes, dead center of my frontal cortex. My room disappeared in a flash of searing agony. Waves of pain contracted my muscles.

  Wavering figures stood over me, shimmering like desert mirages. Gorm and Revna. My sister was reaching for me, trying to stroke my chest. “You are bound to me forever,” she whispered.

  I pressed my hands against the crown.

  I will be free.

  Pain engulfed me, vibrating down my limbs, contracting each one of my muscles as my body burned. I was sure I was swimming under the surface of the sun. Agony ripped my consciousness apart, until the only clear thought in my mind was Ali.

  Then, the pain fade
d, and I opened my eyes.

  I lay on the stone floor of my room. The rune on my chest had turned black, smoking. I drew in several deep, gasping breaths. Slowly, my vision sharpened.

  I lifted one of my hands. Smoke rose from my fingertips.

  Had it worked? I staggered to my feet and stepped in front of my mirror.

  My collarbone was charred, my hair singed, but on my head—shining, metallic, and completely intact—remained the Helm of Awe.

  Except … it felt just a little weaker now. I hadn’t pulled it off, and it still controlled me. But I was certain I’d damaged its power.

  And if there was one thing every sorcerer knew, it was that every spell had a weakness. A fatal flaw.

  More than ever, I was certain I would find a way to rid myself of the helm. It was my destiny.

  Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

  Someone knocked on my door. At this hour, it had to be a guard with a request from my father. Then, a second thought occurred to me—could the helm have warned him that I’d managed to damage it?

  I pulled on a shirt, covering the smoking rune on my chest before going to the door. When I cracked it open, a petite, cloaked figure slipped past me, into my room.

  “You can’t come in here—” I began. Then the figure turned, and I gasped.

  It wasn’t possible. And yet it was. That delicate jawline, the soft lips, the silver hair peeking out from under the hood, the bright silver eyes. My heart slammed against my ribs.

  Ali had come to me.

  “How did you—”

  “Shhh,” She lifted a finger to her lips. Then, she rushed for me.

  I wrapped my arms around her small body, one hand on her lower back, the other pressing her head to my chest. I felt like my heart might explode with relief. She was soft, warm, and smelled of jasmine and dark chocolate. She looked healthy enough, not starving as I’d feared.