“What did she say…if I might ask?”
Whill wondered if he should tell him everything. He smelled the sweet wine and swirled it for a moment, watching the glass. He raised it to the sunlight, noticing a few tannins floating in the ruby liquid. The wine tasted more bitter than sweet, and confirmed his suspicions that it was not aged long but had likely been made with what fruit was left unharmed from the year before.
“She said that she can grant me the power that I once possessed.”
“If…” said Zerafin, knowingly.
“Exactly. If I swear fealty to her.”
Zerafin pondered this while he sipped his wine.
“What I don’t understand,” said Whill, “is why she would ask me such a thing. Without my help, she would have never ascended to the heavens.”
“I have prayed for her guidance in the temple,” said Zerafin. “She has not answered.”
“You wonder why she has forsaken you, and yet speaks to me?”
Zerafin turned to his friend and smiled reassuringly.
“I hold no animosity toward you for this.”
“What would you do?”
A long sigh escaped Zerafin, and he finished his glass in one drink.
“I have used Orna Catorna my whole life. It has been hard to adjust to life without it after so many centuries. When the humans attack, I see fear in the eyes of my people. When once I could have turned away the pathetic army single-handedly, I must now hide behind my banner men and watch as centuries-old elves die. I think that if it was offered me, I would take it.” He met Whill’s eyes, searching. “You told her no?”
“I have not yet made up my mind.”
“What’s stopping you?”
“I’m not sure. I don’t trust her, for one.”
“You never have,” Zerafin reminded him. “Yet she was telling you the truth all along.”
“About the prophecy, yes. But there are things about her that don’t add up.”
“Like what?”
“Like why she allowed Eadon’s rise. Surely there was a time when she could have stopped him. She is ancient—much older than he. I think that she allowed his rise to power because she knew what it would lead to.”
“You think she planned it all?” Zerafin asked.
Whill couldn’t tell if he was angry or bewildered.
“It is possible.”
The elf king raised a brow to that and tipped back his glass. He said something, but Whill was suddenly deaf. His heart dropped and his mouth ran dry. Avriel was standing on a distant balcony looking out over the city. She turned her head toward him, and their eyes met.
Then she was gone.
Zerafin had turned to see what had taken his attention.
“You must want to see her. Do not waste pleasantries on me if that is what you desire.”
Whill focused on him with some effort.
“She doesn’t know who I am.”
“Kellallea could change that,” said Zerafin.
“Then why doesn’t she?” Whill was surprised by his own anger. “I apologize.”
“It is understandable. I’m afraid great responsibility is your burden, my friend. I forget sometimes that you are barely twenty years old. A heavy burden it must be to one so young. I myself did not mature much until my hundredth year.”
Whill appreciated his attempt at levity but found that it did nothing to alleviate his mood. “If she could help Avriel, why doesn’t she? If she could help Tarren, why doesn’t she? Why does she hang these things over my head and insist that I swear fealty to her? Don’t you find it all a bit suspicious?”
He could tell Zerafin hadn’t really given it much thought, too caught up in his want for a return of power.
“I do not assume to know the ways of the gods,” said Zerafin.
“She is not a god. She was born an elf, was she not? And what has she done for her people? I have seen no miracles. All she has done is to take our power for her own and left us to fend for ourselves in a world gone mad.”
A shadow crept over the elf’s face as he looked out over the city.
Whill continued. “You defend her at every turn, but what allegiance do you owe her? What has she done for you?”
“She has given us the gift of humility,” said Zerafin. He seemed tired. “Who are we to demand anything from the one who saved us from ourselves? I grow weary of war. I have known it for over five hundred years. It is time…” His eyes shifted to Whill for a moment.
Whill heard a finality in his voice. “Time for what?”
Zerafin let out a long breath and looked to the heavens. He then faced his friend with a smile in his eyes. “We are going home.”
Whill’s heart dropped.
“You’re leaving?”
“I believe that it is for the best,” said Zerafin.
Sorrow washed through Whill, and then fear, and fear led to anger.
“Have you heard of the stirrings in the north? They say that the dead walk the land! The dark elf Ainamaf still reigns as king of Shierdon. The dark elves have wrought disaster all across our land, and you would leave…now?”
Zerafin looked ashamed. His once proud shoulders sagged beneath the weight of his mantle.
“What can we do? Many of the elders are dying, my mother among them.”
“Ah, Zerafin, I’m sorry. I didn’t know,” said Whill.
“You have nothing to be sorry for, everyone dies.”
“True, but if I had done something different—”
“None of that,” said Zerafin, waving him off. “You have always been too hard on yourself. The weight of the world need no longer sit on your shoulders.”
Whill was grateful for the words, but they did nothing to lessen his guilt. He should have done something different, should have been strong enough to defeat Eadon on his own. He had held the greatest power given, and he had been too weak to wield it.
“I am sorry to hear it all the same,” said Whill. ““How is she holding up?”
“Mother is in good spirits. She is eager to meet my father once more, and she wishes to die in the homeland. That is partially my reason for making this journey. I would be with my mother when she passes.”
“Do you intend to return?”
“I will return for the others. An exodus like this will not be quick. We’ve not the ships to carry the thousands there at once.”
“And what of Avriel? Does she mean to leave as well?”
“Yes, she does.”
Whill gave a long sigh.
“You love her still,” Zerafin noted.
Whill nodded. “Though I know it is impossible, that it was doomed from the beginning…yes, I love her still.”
“I feel for you, my friend. I myself once loved a human woman. I nearly gave up my inheritance for her. But in the end, I was forced to let her go. You will see that it is for the greater good.”
“Do you regret it?”
Zerafin considered the question for a moment, his eyes wandering to the city below. “Sometimes.”
“Would you do it again? For the greater good, as you have said?”
“I do not know,” said Zerafin, shaking his head.
“I don’t want to spend my life wondering what could have been,” said Whill. “I’ve done my part. Eadon has been defeated. If she asked me to, I would give up my throne to be with her.”
“My Lords, Princess Avriel,” said a guard at the door.
Whill turned to see Avriel walking into the room. She wore a rune-embroidered golden dress split down the right side, with a high collar but no shoulders and gloves that went to her elbows. Her dark hair flowed over her bare shoulders like a cape, and resting on her brow was a headdress of golden flowers.
She stopped before them as they got to their feet. Her eyes moved over Whill quickly, meeting his gaze but for a moment. “King Warcrown. Your visit is a pleasant surprise.” She gave a small bow.
Whill wanted to touch her. Hold her. Kiss her. “Avriel…”
His voice became lost to him.
She shifted uncomfortably. “My mother would like to speak with you.”
He took her hand in his. “I’m so sorry to hear about the illness.”
Avriel stiffened slightly at the contact but did not pull away. She smiled at him. He could feel her body tremble.
“Thank you,” she said with a small bow and turned swiftly, breaking contact. “If you would follow me…”
With a nod to Zerafin, Whill followed her out of the chamber and down the long open-aired hallway. He tried to catch up, but she was walking quite briskly to stay close to the leading guard. He got the distinct feeling that she didn’t want to be alone with him.
Araveal was lying on a bed that was set beside the rail of her chamber’s balcony, staring out at the setting sun. She turned to him as he approached and a smile lit her sunken eyes.
“Ah, the chosen one has returned,” she said with a grin.
“Queen Araveal.” Whill took her hand and bowed to one knee. “I am so glad to see you again.”
Her grip was weak, but she pulled him close and hugged him. “How can we ever thank you for all you have done?”
He felt her tears on his neck. When she released him he found them to be tears of joy.
“I never meant for this to happen,” said Whill.
“Say no such words. We are mortal creatures. We may live to see a millennia, but eventually the earth claims us all. You are no more responsible for my death than you are my birth.”
One of the queen’s handmaidens brought a chair and set it behind Whill. He turned and found Avriel just slipping out the door. When he sat, he noticed how the queen had been watching him.
She was quick to smile. “She asks about you.”
The words were like a ray of light through storm clouds. He tried to hide his exuberance. “What does she say?”
“She is curious about you, about how you stole her heart.”
Whill couldn’t help but laugh. “I stole her heart, did I? I was doomed before her first word was spoken.”
Avriel turned from the door and gave Whill and her mother their privacy at last. She knew better than to spy, but she couldn’t help herself. The feeling that she had experienced upon seeing him again could not be mistaken. But what did it mean? He spoke of her so poetically. And looked at her like he knew her heart and soul.
This was the man she had given her life for…
She shook her head and straightened in her stride. Lingering on the possibilities was a waste of time. There was nothing she could do. Even if she did miraculously remember him, it would do nothing to change the circumstances. He was a human king, and she was an elven princess. If they had shared a love for a time, that time had passed.
Her people were leaving Elladrindellia, possibly forever. They would return to their homeland and rebuild. She needed to focus on what was important.
Chapter 21
The Avengers of the Taking
There was a dinner in Whill’s honor that night in the palace. Outside, the crowd of elves who had come to see him had grown into the thousands. He knew that he had to address them sooner or later, which was a daunting prospect. They would certainly ask him of the goddess, to which he had nothing to offer.
The crystal-walled banquet hall had once shimmered with inner power, and while it still reflected the burning torches, it had none of its former luster. Whill sat beside Zerafin at the large table with Avriel on the king’s right side. Many of the elders were in attendance, as well as Zerafin’s personal council. Tyron Greyson sat on Whill’s left, eyeing the room with subtle suspicion. Behind them, Whill’s personal guard stood at attention.
The elders had many questions of the final battle with Eadon, with their inquiries always coming back to Kellallea and her ascension. Many of them had been there to witness it themselves, but none had yet been visited by the goddess. When asked if she had appeared to him, Whill lied, not wanting to have to explain his reaction to her offer.
The elves had changed a lot in such a short time. When once they were proud and powerful, now they appeared much like humans, with a desperation and melancholy hiding behind their steely facade.
Outside, the crowd chanted his name ever louder. They had always treated Whill like a deity, and now their admiration was even more apparent. He was reminded that sooner or later he was going to have to address them
“You needn’t worry about making a long speech,” said Zerafin, once again seemingly reading his mind.
“There will be many questions. Already they plead for word of the goddess,” said Whill.
“The people are scared. Do what you can to alleviate their fears.”
Shortly after dinner, the king led Whill to his balcony along with Avriel and the elders. The crowd cheered happily, some falling to their knees and bowing before him. He held up his hand to silence them, but it only spurred their excitement. Zerafin stepped forward and, at great length, quieted the crowd.
“My good elves of Cerushia! Once, an ancient prophecy told of a man who would defeat the dark lord and bring peace to our people. I must admit that when I first met him, I had my doubts.” Zerafin turned to Whill and grinned. “He was an impatient young man with little grasp on his magical abilities. More than once he nearly killed himself using Orna Catorna. But as I watched him grow into his power, I began to dare hope that perhaps he was the one. He is a man built of solid moral fortitude, and has strength of mind and spirit rarely seen. Never have I met a braver soul. My good elves of Cerushia, I give to you, King Whillhelm Warcrown!”
The crowd gave a cheer and Whill took the podium and waved. As before, not everyone watching from below did so with admiration. Some of them stared up at him with anger in their eyes.
“Hello, my friends. It is with humble appreciation that I stand before you today. Not as a god, not even as a king, but as a simple man. When I was young I dreamed of grand adventures. I read about dragons and dwarves and elves in books given to me by my late mentor, Abram. I never imagined that one day I would be part of such an amazing tale. I feel blessed by your friendship, and I thank you for everything you have done.
“Magic has been taken from us. And though I went most of my life without the ability to perform Orna Catorna, the loss of it has affected me greatly. I cannot imagine what it must be like for you. Know that it was not my choice. In the end, when I attained both the blade of power taken and the blade of power given, Eadon tried to possess me. For it was his plan all along. In that final moment, when I felt myself slipping, I gave to Kellallea all the power that I possessed. I had it all, and I let it go. I was not strong enough, even with my great power, to stop the dark lord. I cannot say if what Kellallea did was for the best or not. All I can do is continue on into the unknown as I have always done, with the belief that good will overcome evil. I will continue to fight against those who wish to oppress others, and I will ever be your friend and ally. Thank you.”
He turned from the crowd as they erupted in cheers. Some asked him of Kellallea, others asked for his blessing, still others blamed him. Zerafin offered an approving nod, and Avriel smiled upon him. The elders parted as he and Zerafin, followed by Avriel, headed across the balcony to the archway.
A sudden commotion erupted in the palace, and two elves with bloodied blades rushed across the room toward Whill and the others. Whill’s guards standing on each side of the door moved to intercept them but were cut down quickly by the two skilled assassins.
“Protect the king!” someone yelled, and both human and elven guards crowded around Zerafin and Whill.
“Death to Kellallea and her human dog!” one of the attackers cried.
Two more elves dropped down to the balcony and Whill grabbed ahold of Avriel and pulled her behind him. He unsheathed his father’s sword and engaged the closest elf. The assassin was skilled, and the fighting was made even more difficult in the close quarters. He frantically parried the furious attacks as the other assassin came on with a dagger thrust to
his side. Tyrron Greyson leaped in front of the attack and engaged the elf as Whill’s other guards came to his aid. The elf cut down two of them before Whill was able to disarm him with Zerafin’s help.
“You took everything!” the furious elf screamed as more guards helped to restrain him.
Whill looked desperately to Avriel and found her being whisked away deeper into the palace by her guards. His own soldiers were trying to coax him inside as well. He shrugged them off and made his way through the chaos to Tyrron. The lord general was being helped up by two elves. He clutched his chest and grimaced with pain.
“How bad is it?” Whill asked.
Tyrron gritted his teeth and grinned. “I’ll live.”
“Hurry,” said Whill to the elves. “Get him somewhere safe.”
“My Lord,” said one of Zerafin’s guards, “you should come with us to the inner sanctum as well.”
“You are my guest here,” said Zerafin. “I will not see you harmed in my house. Please, go with them.”
Whill reluctantly allowed himself to be led off the balcony with Tyrron. Behind him the crowd was in an uproar.
Chapter 22
The Great Migration
The call went out across Drakkar Island, a collective roar that told Reshikk that more were arriving. He flew to the top of the volcano and searched the ocean to the west. Far off in the distance he spotted the large storm of dragons. This was the fifth clan to arrive in the last week, and more would be coming.
Reshikk gave an approving growl.
As the dragons drew near he counted seven in all, and soon spotted the alpha, a large male flying at the head of the storm. He would bow before Reshikk and offer up his females, or he would have to challenge him.
Many of the dragons had begun to gather at the spire jutting out from the southern side of the volcano. Reshikk waited until the dragons coming from the west were within a mile and let out a powerful roar that was echoed by every dragon nearby. He leaped and glided around the smoldering mouth, knowing that the new arrivals could see him quite clearly. They came to land just outside the ring of dragons around the spire, and he dove swiftly.
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