Truth: Makilien Trilogy - Book 1

by Molly Evangeline

  “Elohim often uses the smallest and weakest people to do His greatest works, to show with Him, you can do anything. Consider that.”

  “All right,” Makilien said quietly.

  For a long time they did not speak, but they didn’t need to. Just being near Meniah seemed to relieve the fears and uncertainties that had kept Makilien up. She also had a lot to think about. She couldn’t imagine Elohim wanting to use her in any way at all, let alone a great one. Makilien wanted to believe Meniah, but something held her back and would not let go.

  She wondered about questioning Meniah more on this, but something about his mood kept her silent. Ever since Captain Rollan’s outburst earlier, Makilien had sensed something was wrong. Something terrible and greatly disturbing, but she had no knowledge of what it could be and was too afraid to ask.

  These thoughts were interrupted by a low rumbling of thunder. Heavy raindrops began splashing around them, and she and Meniah moved back into the palace. Inside, Meniah turned to her.

  “You should get some rest. You will need it for the fight.”

  Makilien nodded. “Good night.”

  “Good night, Makilien,” Meniah replied with a calming and reassuring smile.

  Makilien returned to her bedroom and finally changed into her nightclothes. Although sleep did not come immediately, her mind was calmer.

  * * *

  At first, Makilien thought it was a dream, the faint sound of raised voices that drifted on the edge of her consciousness, but they grew clearer as sleep wore away. Realizing it was not a dream, she sat up straight and listened. Sure enough, she caught the sounds of voices and commotion. Her heart thumped hard in her chest. Had Zirtan’s army arrived?

  Makilien jumped out of bed and ran to her balcony window. It was gray and foggy outside, but she could see a large number of soldiers gathered in the courtyard below. Something was happening.

  Makilien dressed as quickly as she could and didn’t bother braiding her hair. Resisting the urge to run, she hurried downstairs and into the throne room. She was just in time to hear Nirgon tell Lord Darand, “They must have used the eastern gate otherwise the sentries would have seen them.”

  The sharp, angry tone of his voice told Makilien something dreadful had taken place while she slept. Looking around and seeing Vonawyn, Makilien hurried to her side.

  “What happened?”

  Vonawyn looked at her. No cheeriness lit her hazel eyes this morning. “Captain Rollan and five-hundred men rode out during the night to meet Zirtan’s army.”

  Makilien’s mouth dropped open. “Against General Nirgon’s orders?”

  Vonawyn nodded gravely.

  “Do you know what’s happened to them?”

  “Not yet. The dragons flew out to find them only a short time ago. We won’t know until they return.”

  Uneasiness churned in Makilien’s stomach. If Meniah was right, and this was some trick of Zirtan, it would be devastating for Eldor to lose so many men before the battle had even begun.

  Everyone was on edge as they waited, particularly Nirgon. Makilien couldn’t imagine what Rollan had been thinking, going against his general’s orders at such a critical time.

  They had not been waiting for nearly as long as Makilien had expected before they received word the dragons had returned. Everyone raced outside, but as soon as Makilien saw the dragons, she knew they did not bear good news.

  “Zirtan’s force is camped about three leagues from here,” Carmine announced. “It appears Captain Rollan and his men did engage them and lost about fifty men. The rest are being held captive.”

  Shoulders slumped at this horrible news.

  “Has Zirtan’s entire force re-gathered?” Darand asked.

  “Yes. Those who fell back must have advanced during the night.”

  “So the thousand who went ahead were sent as bait to lure out our men?”

  “It would seem so. My lord, we also spotted three riders on their way to the city. They may intend to negotiate for the soldiers. It would seem they’d have no other reason to have kept them alive.”

  “How soon will they arrive?”

  “Soon, my lord. They were only a couple of miles from here.”

  Darand glanced at those gathered and ordered one of his men, “Saddle my horse. I will meet them at the gate.”

  Darand and the rest of the men walked toward the stable. Makilien turned to Vonawyn.

  “Do you want to go? We can both ride Antiro.”

  Vonawyn nodded eagerly, and they hurried after the men. At the stable, Makilien bridled Antiro, but did not bother to saddle him. After she led him outside, she brought him to a bench where she and Vonawyn mounted.

  In just a few minutes, everyone rode to the main city gate. When they arrived, one of the sentries called down, “My lord, three riders are approaching the city.”

  “Open the gate,” Darand instructed.

  Slowly, the massive iron gate creaked open, and they could see the riders coming. Their pure black clothing and armor matched their black horses. One of the men held a blood-red banner. Drawing closer, Makilien was able to make out the design in the middle of the banner—a black, arrow-headed snake entwined around a jagged-edged sword.

  Before they could get too close, Darand, Darian, and Nirgon rode out to meet them. Makilien and Vonawyn slid down from Antiro and inched closer to the gate to hear better. The dark riders came to a halt fifteen feet away from Lord Darand. The rider in the middle was the most fearsome man Makilien had ever seen. His black hair and beard matched the rest of his attire as did his eyes, though the blackness there was not from color. They reflected the deep darkness of his heart.

  “What business do you have here, servants of Zirtan,” Darand asked coldly.

  “I am Zendon,” the leader spoke in a deep voice that was altogether evil, “general of His Majesty, Lord Zirtan.”

  He paused for a dramatic moment, and goose bumps rose on Makilien’s arms.

  “As I’m sure your lizards have informed you,” Zendon continued viciously, “we have close to five-hundred of your men held captive. They are alive right now. I am willing to keep it that way and offer their lives in trade.”

  “We do not bargain with the forces of evil,” Darand challenged.

  Zendon shrugged unconcernedly. “Then your men will all die.”

  Darand’s saddle creaked as he shifted. He had no choice. “What do you wish to trade them for?”

  Zendon let another dramatic moment pass before making his request. “Meniah.”

  Eyes widened and tension filled the air. Was he serious?

  “I will give you your men, including their weapons and horses, if you give us Meniah,” Zendon reiterated.

  “But that’s absurd!”

  “Those are my terms. I need not remind you of what will happen if you do not accept them. You have only until noon to make your decision.”

  Before Darand could breathe another word, Zendon and his men spun their horses around and galloped off, but Makilien’s eyes were glued to the king. Her heart filled with heavy dread. She tried to tell herself Darand would never agree to Zendon’s terms—he couldn’t—but when Makilien glanced at Meniah, his resigned expression gave her little hope.

  The men outside turned their horses. Agony was written on their faces as they came through the gate. It was an impossible situation.

  No one spoke until they had returned to the palace. Even then, they were at a loss.

  “Is there anything we can do to get Rollan and the men released without giving in to Zendon’s demands?” Darand asked Nirgon desperately.

  “I don’t . . . think there is,” Nirgon responded, his voice halting and uncertain. “But without those soldiers . . .”

  A long, dreadful silence overcame them. It ended when Meniah announced, “I will go.” He shook his head before anyone could protest. “You must have those men to defeat him, and you can’t sacrifice five-hundred men for one.”

  When no one immediately opp
osed the decision, Makilien spoke in desperation, “There has to be some other way we can rescue them.”

  Nirgon shook his head, completely extinguishing her failing hopes. “I’m afraid rescue is not an option. Zendon would kill the men before we could ever get close enough. The only way we could attempt it would be at night under the cover of darkness, but we do not have that long.”

  “We can’t give in.” Makilien’s voice started out strong, but failed at the end as she began to tremble.

  Meniah stepped over to her and laid his hands on her shoulders. “It’s a sacrifice that has to be made, Makilien.”

  “But . . . they will kill you!” Tears overflowed Makilien’s eyes and spilled down her cheeks. “You told Captain Rollan it could be a trap. He wouldn’t listen to you, and he didn’t respect you. He insulted you! The men who followed him must have felt the same way. Must you give your life for them?”

  Calmly, Meniah answered, “Yes.”

  But Makilien could not accept that. “Isn’t there anything else you can do?” she murmured, pleading.

  “No, this must be done.”

  Overcome with grief, Makilien’s tears came in torrents. She did not understand. “We need you,” she cried. Tears choked her, and she could not speak further. I need you.

  Makilien’s grief was shared by all, and for hours they made a determined effort to find some other way, but it could not be done. Meniah was right. It was the only way. Finally, he brought an end to their efforts.

  “It is getting close to noon. I must go.”

  “Do you think we can truly trust him to release our men?” Nirgon asked, sounding doubtful.

  But Meniah was not concerned. “He is confident in his numbers. Releasing them will not concern him.”

  Solemnly, the whole group left the palace. Trying to be brave like her friends, Makilien forced back her tears, but she didn’t know how long she could keep it up. Outside, Meniah’s horse was saddled and brought to him.

  No one knew what to say in the moments before his departure. Goodbye was too painful. Not knowing what else to do, Makilien stepped forward and hugged him tightly. Meniah wrapped his arms around her in a loving embrace. Makilien had never felt so deeply loved by anyone—not her family, not even Halandor—and the thought of losing Meniah right before the battle felt as if they’d already been defeated. Mournful tears leaked through Makilien’s closed eyelids.

  When they finally parted, Makilien looked up at Meniah through teary eyes wanting to plead with him not to go. Gently touching her shoulder, Meniah said, “Don’t forget what I told you.”

  Makilien wanted to speak, to promise him she wouldn’t forget, but she could only manage a weak nod as she bit her lip.

  Tears glistened in the eyes of every person present as Meniah mounted his horse and rode in silence out of the courtyard. Once he was out of sight, Makilien’s shoulders drooped at the immense sorrow filling her heart. How could they do this without him?

  * * *

  With blank stares and aimless pacing, they waited, still gathered in the courtyard. More than an hour had passed since Meniah left. Captain Rollan and the four-hundred fifty men Meniah had given himself up for had returned only a short time ago. In addressing them, Nirgon had been painfully clear in that if they had not been needed to fight, each one of them would have been discharged from Eldor’s army and sent away from the city. To their credit, they appeared remorseful and utterly miserable. After Nirgon’s intense lecture, he’d sent them to the barracks with orders to be prepared to fight at a moment’s notice.

  Now they waited only for the dragons to return and give them a report on the activity of Zirtan’s men.

  Makilien shivered from her place at the palace steps as a damp breeze blew across the back of her neck. She pulled her cloak up higher and glanced at the dark clouds roiling overhead. They blocked out so much sunlight it was as if dusk were upon them already. At midday, Makilien didn’t know if she had ever seen clouds so dark and menacing, but she hoped they would pass over without dropping rain to add to their misery.

  Suddenly, jagged fingers of lightening stabbed through the clouds, lighting everything for a moment with an eerie glow. It was followed by a shattering clap of thunder that vibrated in the stones Makilien was sitting on. Everyone retreated to the safety of the palace doorway and looked out at the fearful weather. As she watched, Makilien was overwhelmed by an intense feeling of loss and a hopelessness, which could not be explained. She swallowed hard against the lump in her throat and hugged her arms around herself.

  What is happening?

  In a few minutes, the darkest of the clouds, which had produced the lightning and thunder, passed over leaving only normal gray rain clouds. Cautiously, everyone walked back outside, wondering at the strange phenomenon.

  Soon after, the rush of air caused by dragon wings sounded overhead. They gathered in the middle of the courtyard as the three dragons appeared over the wall. Landing amidst the group, the dragons’ wings drooped low. With his deep, usually strong voice breaking, Carmine gave them the awful news.

  “Meniah . . . is gone . . . they’ve killed him.”

  Makilien was overcome with such sorrow it nearly sent her to her knees. Burying her face in her hands, she sobbed uncontrollably. Everyone, including the dragons, shed tears. Indiya gave a low, mournful cry and Emaril nuzzled her cheek as their large teardrops splashed on the cobblestone.

  The man they’d all trusted and looked to for guidance and reassurance was gone. Now, when they needed him most. But more than that, the peace and love Makilien had found in his presence was gone too, leaving her heart cold and empty as never before. Meniah had given her hope and courage, but now that hope had utterly deserted her, and fear was devouring every ounce of courage she possessed.

  Carmine allowed them to grieve for only a few moments before he said, “My lord, Zirtan’s troops were breaking camp and preparing to move. They could be here in as little as an hour.”

  Darand nodded. He and everyone else knew they must put aside their grief, but Makilien didn’t know if she had the strength. She forced her tears to stop, but that was all she could manage. The sorrow only intensified.

  “We must be ready to meet them,” the king said, his voice determined, but rough. To Nirgon, he ordered, “Get the men into position.”

  The general gave him a nod. “Yes, my lord.” He rushed away to the barracks.

  Darand turned to those remaining—Makilien and her friends. “We must arm ourselves.” Seeing the sorrow in the eyes of each one of them, he said, “Meniah died to give us a chance at victory. We will not waste it.”

  This energized everyone but Makilien. Her heart and mind were so distressed, she could hardly think straight. When everyone turned and entered the palace, she followed aimlessly with no clear thought as to what she should do to prepare. The men rushed off toward the palace armory, but Vonawyn made it her duty to aid Makilien.

  “I will help you prepare,” she said. Her face was drawn, yet resolved. Makilien longed for her strength.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  The War Begins

  Makilien swallowed hard, her throat constricting in an attempt to hold back tears. The chain-mail, which had felt so light the last time she had tried it on, now felt like a hundred pound weight draped over her shoulders. Vonawyn tightened the laces of her vambraces, but she only stared straight ahead, still in shock over what had happened. When Vonawyn was finished, she led Makilien to a chair and told her to sit down. Makilien followed numbly.

  “I will braid your hair so it won’t get in your way,” Vonawyn said, her voice sounding hollow and faraway.

  The Elf expertly braided Makilien’s long hair into a secure Elven braid and helped her up again. Pausing, she looked Makilien in the eyes and saw the turmoil raging. With tears in her own eyes, she asked, “Are you going to be all right?”

  “I . . .” Makilien’s voice broke, but she continued hoarsely, “Can I be alone for a few minutes?”


  Vonawyn nodded. “Of course.”

  She left the room, quietly closing the door. She too would find a place to be alone. A place to pray, not only for the struggle they were about to face, but for the struggle she knew went on inside her friend.

  A moment after Vonawyn left, Makilien stepped in front of the full length mirror. Would her family have recognized her? Her appearance was so different in full battle gear, her chain-mail glinting in the light of a nearby candle, and her sword resting on her hip.

  Seeing herself this way made Makilien ask one question—was she crazy? The army marching toward them had just killed Meniah and fifty other men—soldiers. How could she, a weak farm girl who had fought only a handful of goblins, survive an all-out war?

  Suddenly, the casualties they’d already suffered made it all seem real—too real. For weeks they had prepared, but now it was here and that terrified her. Overpowering fear gripped Makilien’s heart like a pair of icy hands. Her legs started to shake, and she sank down at the foot of the bed, dissolving into tears.

  “I can’t do this,” she sobbed.

  The fear and panic that encased her was stifling. Visions of goblins, Shaikes, and the guards from Reylaun closing in around her overran her mind, and she was left to face them alone. Completely and utterly alone.

  “I can’t,” she cried again, violent sobs racking her body.

  She couldn’t face them. She was too afraid. All she wanted was to hide somewhere until it was all over. The urge to run to Halandor and tell him she was wrong, that she couldn’t do this, was overwhelming and with each passing moment it grew until it was almost unbearable. She had to give up.

  But what good would it really do? They were all doomed, all of them. They couldn’t face Zirtan. It was impossible. Foolish hope. They would all be killed or imprisoned. So why not fight? Maybe dying in battle would be best. But the thought of death brought a whole new level of intense fear. The darkness and loneliness that had plagued her for weeks descended on her heart with such force it was almost physically painful.