The Arachnidan stumbled forth, and fell dead.
Kela straightened herself and breathed out deep. In front of her, the horrendous creature began to transform back into a man, a naked man with a cold, dead look of disbelief etched into his face.
“Halstead!”
Kela turned to face King Edulf, the sleeping figure on the bed. The King held a sword by his side.
Cono felled to his knees and bowed his head. “Your Grace.”
The brave warrior had scratches on his arms, legs and chest. Thankfully, Kela thought, no deep wounds.
The door swung opened. The King’s Wings bounded inside, dispensing around the room.
“The villain is dead,” King Edulf said. “Secure the palace.” He turned to Cono. “Rise. Tell to me how you arrived.”
All eyes turned upon Kela.
King Edulf frowned. To her dismay, she began to tremble uncontrollably. Her legs crumbled beneath her. Cono caught her before she hit the hard floor. Yet, she felt herself spinning.
In the distance, she heard King Edulf ask, “Can you stop her insufferable trembling?”
Kela heard nothing else, swallowed once more into blackness.
Silas
Sleep, Little One, Sleep
Silas flew onto the balcony and entered the chamber. At first, he was uncertain whether he had the right room. It seemed empty, but he continued walking through the front to the back door in the far corner. He opened the door and found who he sought.
King Edulf stood over by the window. His head turned on Silas’s entrance. “You have done as I have requested?”
“Twiten has been summoned,” Silas answered. “With the utmost secrecy, I assure you.”
“That is good. We do not have long to act.” King Edulf walked over to the bed, staring down at the young girl. “By Gad! I have no understanding of the Great One! I cannot believe that it is she!”
“You yourself saw her defeat a Sawamdai alongside Cono.” Silas’s voice was grave. “Few have ever accomplished such a task.”
“There is no more denying her power. She shielded Cono from the deadly venom of the Sawamdai, yet, allowed him to thrust his sword into the creature.”
“Do you think she has bonded with Cono?”
“Cono has the makings of a great Sordarin warrior.” King Edulf frowned, his face darkening. “But she is young…too young to bond. She has spoken consistently of a need to be near Falco. But talk with Cono. Find out what he feels when he fights beside the girl. It would be best if she bonded with a Calledwdele.”
A silence ensued.
Silas had long been a student of history and had studied Euchouns of the past extensively. He held doubts that even the great King Edulf could come between a Euchoun and her bonded warrior, if indeed Cono was bonded to the girl, but he understood the king’s worry.
In secret, Silas had gone to the Elders with the knowledge of the mysterious sign burnt into Cono’s arm by an old hag. The Elders had simply dismissed it. In their wisdom, the Elders judged that the tattoo wasn’t a true sign, but merely an attempt by the Fledgling to give himself a semblance of importance.
Despite the Elders response, Silas knew Cono would have never tried such a deception. Even now, Cono wore a band over the sign.
But was Cono chosen? If so, the question became for what. To bond with Kela?
Or was it more?
Is that what Grandfather is worried about? Is he worried that no matter the vow a Sordarin King’s wing takes, could Cono present a threat to the crown if he bonds with Kela?
Silas held faith with the Great One.
The scriptures stated clearly the Great One would send a powerful Euchoun to protect Scarladin if the need arose. House Calledwdele was Scarladin.
King Edulf had served his people well. In turn, it was Silas’s belief that Cono would be part of the protection if he was indeed bonded with Kela…and she was the prophesied Euchoun.
At the moment, though, the Euchoun bonding was the least of the issues that King Edulf faced.
“There is dark magic in Yucca,” King Edulf said. “Never have I felt so helpless. I lay in my bed able to see everything around me, but I could not move until the Swamdami was dead.”
“There is much to interpret, much to plan, Grandfather.” Silas agreed. His anger at Halstead fueled him. “My blood boils knowing it was Halstead that killed Axel. The deception runs deep.”
“That creature was not Halstead.” King Edulf shook his head. “I have known the man since his birth. No…it was dark magic. We need to determine when his actions became suspicious. Then, perhaps, we can decipher what happened to the man.”
Silas could feel apprehension stirring within him once more. What the king was suggesting was impossible…for an Arachnidan to become a trusted Sordarin?
“Inconceivable,” Silas said, his voice thick with doubt. “Though it is known that Arachnidans can morph into their true nature, there has never been an account that Arachnidans can become another.”
“Yet, it has happened.” King Edulf stroked his beard in deep thought. He stared down at Kela. “The girl spoke not only of betrayal of her father, but the fall of Nottesdone. She said that Witheleghe had fallen into the hands of Asmeodai…that his mate, Cyaika had already crossed before the portal had closed.”
“Dark magic in Scarladin,” Silas said in a careful tone. “If that was true, we could not trust any. How can that be? We would already be overrun.”
“Do not be so quick to dismiss the thought,” King Edulf warned. “Say the Arachnidan killed Halstead and took his human form, it would be of great concern.”
“It is the reason you wanted to confer with Betrand?”
Twiten, the last of the Overseers, came from the land long lost of Narteria. Overseers were bound to no realm, one of the reasons that their race had dwindled from the known earth.
“There is much to discuss.” King Edulf paused, considering his words. “Time is perilously short.”
King Edulf’s words resonated within Silas. He had known his grandfather had a mission for him. “What would you have me do?”
Silas followed his grandfather’s gaze down to Kela. She looked like a sleeping angel. Her dark hair fell around her shoulders. She slept still, so peaceful.
“Empathy is finished.” The king looked staunchly resolute. “I require your help to do what is necessary for the safety of our realm.”
WITHELEGE
Alric
Search for Hope
For three thousand years, the Ancient Witheleghe had been a realm of beauty and peace, lush with greenery and life of every sort. The elves and fairies of the old-north lands lived beyond the Salt Sea lived in the safe sanctuary of the Charmed Woods. To the west, the dwarfs flourished in the Maunga Mountains, existing happily amongst the glorious dragons, unicorns, and mermaids in the Puru Lake.
Troms, the capital, was a harbor city, situated on Meera Bay. Surrounded by the Blue Mountains, the grand city profited greatly from the fertile Kambera Valley. Food and water were plentiful and were shared within their boundaries.
The land shone with a beacon light, proclaiming a message of tolerance and amity. Its fortune was the envy of all who was not them. Envy and greed loomed among their neighbors, fostering into a hatred for the peace loving Withelegheans, especially by Arachnida, whose realm was filled with Silurian rock with igneous dikes and volcanic necks—a land of waste
The years had not been filled without its wars, but Withelegheans found themselves an unobtrusive, passive race. Withelegheans had become expert diplomats, negotiating peace or another to fight for them. When all failed to protect their tranquility, Witheleghe used its magic to hide the realm from the eyes of others.
Yet, the light that had shone so brightly, darkened, allowing deadly sins to take root.
Years of the darkness had sucked the life out of the once promised land. Whatever Witheleghe had been was long forgotten.
Eight long years…a lifetime…ago.
> Alric from House Sexton huddled in the rubble of what once had been the Tower of the King. Crumbled stones formed crevasses large enough to crawl through to the street. Gone was the residence of the royal family. The gilt and color of the staterooms destroyed when the fury of Asmeodai had descended on the unprepared city.
When Asmeodai broke through the magical barrier, he brought his dragons from the Tharon Desert. Quickly, the inherently aggressive dragons dispensed with the less vicious Witheleghean dragons. Then, the fire-breathing beasts unleashed their ferocity upon Troms. The city was left in ruins.
Unable to control the dragons after the destruction, Asmeodai had poisoned all of his herd, killing the irrepressible creatures. The devil left their bodies where they died. For years, the rot and stench filled the rubble of Troms.
The city was now infested with disease and death. The bright blue sky was replaced with an endless gray cover. Rains came every day, leaving the city dark and dank.
The inhabitants that remained lived in filth and poverty, surviving mainly upon rain water and the rodents. There was no grain from the Kambera Valley and the wells ran low. Even now, Alric watched as the gray cloud cover dripped rain. The streets began to fill with rag-worn peasants, tilting their heads backwards to catch the raindrops in their mouths.
Each month he came, there seemed to be fewer and fewer. The sight gnawed at his soul. He could not save them all. Even now, there were too many souls at Tuhinga o Mua, the Serenity of Suffering.
In the beginning, he had come every day to search for survivors…to search for his family and gather them under his cloak. He had saved many, not as many as he wanted. He had learned caution, a bitter lesson to have been taught.
Immediately after the massacre, there had been more like him willing to risk their lives to save others. Laird had been one of them. Laird had been older, more seasoned than Alric. He was a knight for King Darius, surviving only because he had been on a king’s mission to Narvik at the time of the attack.
There had been a rush to save all that they could. A mistake, for Asmeodai had sent spies to discover the resistance. Dirk from the House Dullam had been one such mole. House Dullam had been an ancient house, aligned with House Calledwdele for centuries.
Alric well imagined Dirk had been blackmailed to deceive those who trusted him.
It was Asmeodai’s way.
A worthless promise that House Dullam would be safe from a horrid death.
Laird had rescued Dirk along with twelves survivors. At which point, Dirk turned traitor. He pounced on Laird and captured him along with the others. The mole signaled for Asmeodai’s guards, which immediately took them all prisoners.
Asmeodai’s vengeance had been swift.
The call went out by Asmeodai’s Night Raiders. Asmeodai’s most terrifying soldiers rode through the four corners of Troms announcing the public execution.
Though advised not to go, Alric cloaked himself with his magic. He walked through the abandoned streets, over the crumbled stone of the city’s dwellings, and passed into the blackened debris before the drawn draw bridge of Kororia Castle.
An eerie dark haze filled that morning air. Smoke from a scorching fire. Stench of burning flesh. Cries of the hopeless. All were on fire when Alric arrived. Each men, women and child had been tied to a stake with the Night Raiders standing guard.
Heat rose around the condemned. Alric caught sight of Laird through blurred eyes.
Laird was not alone. Dirk and his family…his mother and sister…burnt alongside of him. Through his tears, Alric heard the Night Raiders utter words of Dirk’s fate—Dirk had not brought back all the resistance. He had not kept his end of the bargain set with Asmeodai. Thus, Dirk’s fate.
Alric cried for all the victims. Knowing it was a useless gesture, his anger got the better of him. He could not sit by and do nothing. He raised his arm to release the cloak…
She came then…beside him. With a wave of her hand, she uttered words, releasing their souls from their earthly bodies. A wave of her hand, she brought Alric back to what now was Tuhinga o Mua.
“What have you done?” Alric demanded. “They are dead…all dead.”
“I ended their suffering,” she said evenly. “And saved you from a foolish act that would have only added you to the dead.”
“To what end? Are we not only the living dead?” Alric asked miserably. “I have tried to be brave and save those who have survived the first onslaught. I have failed.”
“Not yet,” she said. “My name is Sae. I have come to share in your burden.”
Alric studied the woman. She was not what he first thought. He had never seen one before, but he was certain she was an elfin. She wore a scarf around her head so he could not tell the color of her hair, yet, underneath her veil, she had pointed ears. Her eyes sparkled like the stars in the sky.
“Why would you do so?”
“The Charmed Woods have been overrun by Arachnidans,” she spoke slowly. “Many of my own have died. I was chosen from all that was left to travel to the source of our misery. Asmeodai must be defeated or we are all doomed. I left my husband…my children to do so. We must not falter.”
“What good can we do? You saw the fate of those that resisted,” Alric said with a growing distrust.
“Resist we must,” she said. “Until the time the stars brighten in the cloudless sky. Until the cold breathe of the winds blow life into the earth once more. Until the light comes home. We will be prepared and be readied to fight for what is ours.”
“Riddles?” he questioned. “You give me riddles.”
“You know it is not riddles, but hope. Elohim…”
“Elohim has abandoned us,” Alric declared. “We have no God.”
“Quiet,” Sae commanded. “Elohim has not betrayed our people of Witheleghe, but it was us who betrayed our God. We were the ones to abandon our beliefs and worshiped false Gods. Greed and hatred burned in our hearts, allowing Asmeodai to overcome us.”
Her words silenced Alric. In his youth, he had had a deep and abiding faith in Elohim, but his faith had been untried. All before him was good. Rolling green hills, winding streams, wild life in abundance. He had grown up happy and content.
Arch of Garten was situated at the basin of Kambera Valley. Alric had grown up the third son of a minor house, whose magic was considered insignificant. Who had a need for the ability to cloak in a land of peace? Yet, Garten vassals lived without need.
Alric had three brothers. Each had the look of a Sexton. Not overly tall, most of the men stood under six feet. Alric was the same along with the Sexton deep blue eyes and wavy bronze hair. Alric had always been a better rider and swordsman than either of his older brothers, which served him well with his desire to become a knight.
Cinead, the eldest, was heir to his father. Arch of Garten would be his inheritance. Diarmid had chosen to become a priest, serving at the Temple of Elohim in Troms. Ewan, his younger brother, had only been five when Alric left to become a squire for Prince Halmir…the last time Alric had seen any of his family.
When the attack came, Alric’s duty held to Prince Halmir and his house. He had done as he was ordered, staying back at Vana Garden to warn Princess Eufamia. Asmeodai had come…though through Alric’s action, the portal had been closed.
Asmeodai could not extend his terror to the Siochanta Realm...but it also closed any help that could have come from the Siochanta Realm and Princess Eufamia.
Alric had to face the devastation of Asmeodai’s wrath. It was then he had discovered the magic held within him—his family’s magic. His ability to cloak from his enemies, even from the powerful Asmeodai.
The ability came with a price, one that cut him deep—the realization that his family was dead. The magic would not have been his, otherwise. Magic was embedded into the house it was given.
Comprehension sank deep within him as he watched the Night Raiders descended upon Vana Gardens. He was the head of House Sexton. His only hope for his family was tha
t Ewan had survived, but even that hope had faded as was any hope he held within him.
“I’m not going to argue with you, Elfin. I’m not in the mood.” Alric swung his arm around the dark cave she had brought him. “Tell me, does your faith tell you how we are to survive?”
“Yes,” she said straightway, muttering in elfish. I dúr becomes galad.
The dark became light. They stood in the middle of a grand cave. Two enormous natural windows with a small river running through it. She took his hand and walked him into the shelter.
The cavern divided. On one side, the river ran deep into the massive cavern, forming minute lakes. There were even small waterfalls. The other side was warm and dry, and had several chambers. In the middle was a huge, majestic cavern known as the Altar of Divinity.
Alric recognized the cave, Wahi Tapu. He had traveled once with his father and Diarmid to pay homage to Elohim. In ancient times, the cave served as a temple, where pilgrims came to pay homage to Elohim, but no more.
The trail to Wahi Tapu had been overgrown and hidden. The cave lay on the far side of the Blue Mountains. Few had gone to what once had been the origin of their people.
“This is where we will seek sanctuary,” Sae said. “It will now be known as Tuhinga o Mua. So no one can reveal where it lies if they are caught.”
Alric shook his head. “You are mad. Even if your magic can replenish this ground, Asmeodai will sense your magic.”
Sae smiled. “That is where you are needed, Alric of House Sexton. You thought the magic your house held was irrelevant. Your father cautioned you that the magic could be used for evil. Now, look and understand. The survival of your people depends upon you.”
She walked out of the cave to a desolate land. Dead logs lay where once had been a thick forest. Wind blew the dry soil over the barren land. The elf knelt down. With closed eyes, she drew in a deep breath. Laying her hands on the ground, she said, “Sui ha was, ha na-.”
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