by Lana Axe
With a laugh, Ulda said, “No longer. I have poisoned the river and killed him.”
Prin stared at his master in silence. How could such a feat be accomplished? Were the gods not immortal?
Ulda crossed his arms. “No doubt you wish me to explain,” he said. “It took years to develop the correct method. In truth, it came to me in a vision.”
This intrigued Prin, who asked, “What was the vision, Master?”
“I spent a great deal of time reading the journals of an elf who desperately desired to become a god. That was his first mistake.” He grinned at his servant. “Such a thing is not possible. One is what one is born to be. What he should have craved was to have power over the gods. That is where true power lies.”
Prin felt a shiver go up his spine. It would seem his master was far more powerful than even he had realized.
“As far as I know, no other has accomplished what I have,” Ulda continued. “I found nothing in any text on the subject. The method of possessing true power is my own invention.”
Prin wrinkled his brow. “The vision, Master?” Ulda had trailed off, leaving his servant to wonder. Steering him back was the only way to get an answer to his question. How could Ulda possibly kill a god?
Ulda exited his laboratory, slowly making his way along the narrow stone corridor, his servant following close behind. Clicking his tongue a few times, Ulda chose his words carefully. “The elf I mentioned before was a fool. He challenged a god; he failed.” Chuckling, he added, “The idiot actually thought he had succeeded. At any rate, the gods would not be taken prisoner by him or anyone else. They had special plans for this elf, though he couldn’t see it.”
Prin still didn’t understand, but he continued to follow his master, hoping that he would explain the story. The pair headed down the tower’s spiral staircase until they reached the bottom floor. Flinging open the door, Ulda stepped out into the light of the setting sun.
Turning to face his servant, he asked, “Have you ever experienced divine inspiration?”
“No, Master,” Prin admitted.
“A pity,” Ulda replied, turning away. He continued along the path leading to the rear of his tower. It was a short walk away from the tower where hundreds of metal cages stood in rows. Most of Ulda’s animal hybrids dwelt there. Pausing halfway to the pens, Ulda said, “One night I fell asleep after a full day of studying the subject of gods and their power. Upon waking, I noticed the orb had taken on a pale yellow glow. When I looked inside, the answer was there, waiting for me.” Spinning around, he marched to the pens, his boots crunching on the gravel below.
Prin was still at a loss. Dare he ask his next question? He couldn’t resist. “What did you see?”
Ulda only laughed and laid a hand on his servant’s shoulder. “You wouldn’t understand,” he said, still laughing. “Only a master wizard could fathom it, and even then, only the best among them could perform such magic.”
Apparently Prin wouldn’t be getting a full answer, but his curiosity still burned inside him. Should he ever have need, such a secret would be worth its weight in gold. Maybe two or three times its weight. Ulda wouldn’t live forever, and Prin, who was far younger than his master, would eventually need a new employer. Either that or the money to ensure he would continue to enjoy the life of comfort he had become accustomed to.
“And to perform the magic from such a great distance,” Ulda went on. “I am truly a wonder.” Holding his head high with pride, he sucked in the scent of his own creations. Looking at the creatures, he commented, “Such beauty.”
Prin had no argument with the statement. Inside the cages were a variety of elves and humans who had been hybridized with animals of Ulda’s choosing. The master sorcerer did indeed have a flare for creating beautiful creatures. Humans were combined with wolves from the forests, creating a blue-furred hybrid that walked on two legs and possessed massive claws. Tigers and elves had been combined to form a black-striped quadruped with orange fur that glistened in the sunlight. The more-powerful elven sorcerers had been spliced with the increasingly rare wyvern, creating a massive dragonlike creature with the strength of a dragon and the cunning of a sorcerer. These were Ulda’s favorites.
Strolling over to a caged wyvern with glistening purple scales, Ulda casually grabbed a mackerel from a bucket nearby. Offering the fish to the reptile, it gobbled it up in a single bite as Ulda stroked the underside of its chin. “Such regal beauty,” he repeated as the creature visibly enjoyed the attention it was receiving. All of Ulda’s creations loved him, despite their manner of creation. The very life essence of the humans and elves had been drained, as well as that of the creature. Combining their life forces in his laboratory, and adding a few choice ingredients, Ulda was able to craft these marvelous servants by hand.
Previously he had taught his apprentices how to perform his craft as well. It would, theoretically, free him to tend to other tasks if his students could raise his army. Unfortunately those apprentices hadn’t survived their encounter with River thirty years ago. But Ulda preferred to look upon it as a blessing. With the apprentices gone, there was no one to duplicate his experiments. Any sorcerers who came after would have to formulate their own theories on how it was done. Ulda wrote nothing down, preferring to keep everything locked away in his mind. He would never be imitated—not now, not ever.
When Ulda had finished admiring his creations, he turned away and stared out over the sea. “Soon I will receive a visit from an old friend,” he stated. “Only this time, he won’t be much of an opponent.”
“You believe River will come here?” Prin asked. The mysterious elemental of the Vale wasn’t known to travel often. Prin was made aware of only certain aspects of his master’s plan, and he wondered how he would tempt his old rival out of hiding.
With a wicked smile, Ulda replied, “Oh yes, he will come. I have injured him in the worst possible way. I have murdered his god.” Placing a hand to his ear, he said, “You can almost hear their voices crying out for vengeance.”
Prin looked all around and strained to listen, but he heard nothing. “Hear who, Master?”
“Why, the water elementals, of course,” he replied. “They’ll all be suffering by now.” Ulda’s magic had reached deep inside the Vale, penetrating the forces meant to protect it. With River away, the dark magic went undetected, and the Spirit’s agony went unnoticed by all who dwelt in the Vale. No other had the ability to stop his magic, not even the girl who had glimpsed his face in the water. What was done was done, and no living man, elf, or any other creature would undo it. The Spirit was dead, murdered by Ulda’s own hand.
“That’s why you had me send the gift,” Prin said, realizing what had occurred. “You knew that River would leave the Vale to help the Na’zoran king.”
“Of course I knew that,” Ulda said, somewhat insulted. “Really, it took you this long to figure out something so simple?” Shaking his head, he remembered that he had not employed Prin for his brains. He was a loyal servant, as loyal as they come. With a clear insight into the man’s thoughts, Ulda knew Prin would never betray him. Doing so would mean instant death. Ulda was in complete control of Prin’s essence, though the servant was not aware of it.
“Without River, the Vale will be easy to invade,” Prin remarked.
“Indeed it will,” Ulda replied, still staring out over the water. He wondered what it must feel like for the thousands of elementals in the ocean. Did they mourn? Did it cause them physical pain? The urge to collect and study them was strong, but he fought it back. This was no time for distractions. He must prepare his army for its first task.
As the sun moved lower in the sky, Ulda made his way to the docks. Normally, he would have sent Prin to check on the shipwright’s progress, but his own presence was far more intimidating. Approaching one of the workers, he asked, “Where is the master ship builder?”
Trembling, the man replied, “There, my lord.” He pointed to a man standing a short distance away.
“Fetch him, you dolt!” Prin commanded.
The man took off in a run to speak with the master builder. Both men returned promptly and bowed before Ulda.
“Report,” Ulda demanded.
“The ships will be ready in a few days’ time, my lord,” the master shipwright stated. He stood proud, his head high and chest out. An air of confidence exuded from him, even in the face of his harshest critic.
“Very well,” Ulda said. “I must be able to dispatch my soldiers at a moment’s notice.”
The builder bowed low and backed away.
Without another word, Ulda began the slow march back to his tower with Prin at his side.
“Will you lead the invasion of the Vale personally?” Prin asked, curious as to his master’s future plans. It would be glorious to witness the sorcerer in action.
“Sadly, no,” Ulda replied. “There is far too much work to be done here. I am on the verge of a breakthrough—one that will guarantee my success. I cannot spare the time.”
Prin nodded. He was well aware that his master had been conducting clandestine experiments, and no servants were allowed in his presence while he was working on them. It was a thing unheard of for a great man to wait upon himself, nonetheless, Ulda insisted on fetching his own supplies and performing his research completely alone.
Stepping inside his tower once more, Ulda sighed. There was so much to be done. Tomorrow he would choose which minions would comprise the invasion force. He would also need to test his sorcerers to see who among them held the greatest power. While in the Vale, he needed them to collect the souls of as many Westerling Elves as possible. Ulda himself had not had the opportunity to test his method on them, and they were exceedingly strong. So far he had easily trapped the souls of humans, Enlightened Elves, and Woodland Elves. Beasts of nature were easy, but elves were not. He was confident his method would work on the Westerling Elves, but only the most capable sorcerers would be able to subdue them. It wasn’t simply a matter of physical strength. There was mental strength and magical defenses to contend with. Westerling Elves descended from the most ancient line of elves in Nōl’Deron. Capturing their essences would be difficult.
If only Ulda had the time to go personally. How he would love to get his hands on those elves. Too long they had remained hidden in their forest, locked away from the world. They were smug and self-righteous—believing themselves to be the purest race of elves. He would love to show them this was not the case. Unfortunately, his work prohibited it. He must stay behind if he was to finish his experiments in time. The hour of his triumph was near, and he craved it with all his being.
“I require solitude,” he said, looking at Prin.
Without a word, the servant left the sorcerer’s side. Ulda ascended the stairs once more, following the silent corridor to his laboratory. Countless hours he had spent there, perfecting his craft. His finest achievement was on the horizon, save for a few hours more. With this new ability incorporated among his army, none could defeat it. Glory would be his.
Stretching out in his chair, Ulda stared from a distance at the orb on his table. With a smirk, he wondered if he should take a look at River in Na’zora to see if he had figured out what was going on. Soon River would weaken. Without the Spirit, River’s powers would begin to fade, and Ulda would be ready to invade. Keeping an eye on the Vale would be a simple task now, one that would require little effort on his part. There was no more magic to protect it from prying eyes.
Closing his eyes, Ulda leaned his head back and pictured the Blue River as it must look now. Full of venom, crafted by his own hands, the water would appear putrid. The chaos this must be causing in the Vale, especially in River’s absence, would be something to behold. He was simply too tired to expend the energy to watch.
Dozing, he imagined his ships loaded for war. Creatures of beauty would climb aboard, ready to do Ulda’s bidding. From there they would sail north around the Wrathful Mountains and make their way to the far western shore. A few days’ march through the Wildlands would bring them to the Vale, where no Spirit dwelt to protect the elves hidden inside. They would fall easily to his soldiers, and his sorcerers would deliver him a mighty prize. Hundreds of souls, powerful ones, ripe for the taking. They would serve him for all time. Perhaps a few of them could be brought home alive, allowing Ulda to practice on them personally. Smiling to himself, he settled into a deep sleep.
Chapter 8
Despite the efforts of the elves and every physicker and mage in the kingdom, King Aelryk drew his last breath. Lisalla had not left his side since he last spoke, telling her how much he loved her and how grateful he was for the time they had spent together. She wept bitter tears, unable to accept that the love of her life was gone. Her heart was crushed, and she knew she would never recover. Following him in death could not come soon enough.
Cradling the grieving queen in her arms, Lenora did her best to soothe her. “His soul is free now,” she said softly. “You will meet again.”
Lisalla pressed her face against Lenora’s shoulder and wept. After nearly an hour, Lenora gently placed a hand against Lisalla’s cheek, spreading white magic throughout her body. Lisalla drifted to sleep, resting her weary mind. After helping the queen to her bed and seeing that she was comfortable, Lenora finally took a moment to check on her own life mate.
River and Isandra waited in the sitting area, neither of them saying much. River’s mind raced with worry, wondering what might be happening in the Vale in his absence. He had a nagging feeling that something terrible had already occurred.
Isandra assured him that Rogin was more than capable of protecting their homeland, but it did little to ease his concerns. Isandra, however, was steadfast. Soon they would return home, and all would be well. The Vale was protected both by magic and steel.
Lenora entered the sitting room, a weary smile upon her lips. Sitting next to her life mate, she rested her head on his shoulder.
“How are you holding up?” he asked.
“Better than the queen,” she replied with a sigh. “I have helped her to rest, but there is no remedy, magical or otherwise, to take away the pain of such loss.”
“Her grief will subside in time,” Isandra stated. “It’s good that she’s resting. She’ll be expected at the king’s funeral at dawn.”
“So soon?” Lenora asked.
“Rykon insisted upon it,” River replied. “He says his father has lingered long enough, and it is time he was laid to rest.”
“No doubt he is busying himself with the arrangements,” Lenora said. “Some of us grieve through tears, others occupy their minds to keep the tears away.”
“It’s just as well,” Isandra stated. “He is a king now. He will be far too busy to mourn long. The kingdom depends on him.”
Lenora squeezed her life mate’s arm and looked up at him. “What would I do without you?” she asked.
River said nothing but smiled softly and patted her hand. There would come a day when the two of them would part. He had foreseen it. This information he kept to himself, knowing that’s how Lenora would want it. Some prophecies were best left unsaid, some people best left in the dark. River had learned to accept his gift of foresight, though it often showed him things he had no desire to see. In all life, there are moments of light and dark.
After a few moments of silence, Isandra said, “We should rest as well.”
“Agreed,” River said. “I’d like to leave immediately following the funeral.”
“I’ll see that the horses are made ready,” Isandra said, standing. Leaving her parents to themselves, she marched out of the room.
“Is there some urgency?” Lenora asked, her face concerned.
“I cannot say,” River replied, shaking his head. “It’s only a feeling, but I’m anxious to return home.”
The pair stood
and headed down the long marble corridor to their bedroom. River’s words troubled Lenora, and she found herself feeling anxious as well. Perhaps it was only the distance from the river that was troubling him. At least she hoped that was the case. Sleep would not find her easily this night.
* * * * *
As the sun cast its first soft rays of morning light, the mourners gathered into the palace courtyard. King Aelryk lay upon an intricately chiseled marble slab, dressed in his finest attire. His armor glinted in the pale sunlight, and the edges of his velvet cloak danced gently on the breeze. The king’s face was serene in death, appearing as if he only rested before rising once again to lead his people. His eyes were closed, never again to look out over the sea.
All was silent save for the gentle sobs of Na’zora’s loving citizens. Aelryk had done all he could to improve the situation of the poor in his kingdom, and no person under his care ever went without food or shelter. He was a king truly loved by his people, and now he was gone. Now they would look to Rykon for guidance.
Queen Lisalla sat at her husband’s right hand, her face veiled in black lace. In place of tears, she now felt physical pain throughout her body. There could be no comfort for her. Once her husband was interred, she would have the workers begin constructing her own tomb at his side. In time she would join him in death, and she longed for its eternal embrace. This world no longer held joy.
Rykon approached his mother quietly, kneeling as he reached her side. “Mother, I know your heart is broken,” he said. “But Na’zora still has need of a Queen Mother. The people love you, and you can give them so much.”
Lisalla barely acknowledged his presence. She turned her face toward him, but stared blankly as if she saw nothing.
Rykon gathered his courage, and did what he had hoped not to do. “As your king, I order you not to give in to despair,” he said, his tone severe. “You will travel throughout the kingdom, ensuring that each child who dwells within this land has enough to eat. With your help, our kingdom will thrive.”
