“You were working to become a master gnenja before the Taking, or so I am told,” said Zerafin, coming around to the front slowly.
The prisoner’s eyes tracked him.
“Who are you?” Zerafin asked.
“I am Valorron Arken, son of Arken Thyr. I am an Avenger of the Taking.”
The name of the elf’s father was a familiar one. Zerafin had known Arken Thyr for a time.
“Your father died recently, did he not?”
The corner of Valorron’s top lip twitched in a snarl. “He was murdered by Kellallea in the Taking. As was your mother.”
Zerafin felt his emotions flare but was careful to not show it. “My mother yet lives.”
“For a time. She and the other elders are dying.”
“Not all of them.”
“No, but most. The false goddess has seen to that.”
“And you will stop this somehow?”
Valorron’s eyes flashed. “I will avenge the wrong that has been done to my people!”
“Killing the king of Uthen-Arden will do nothing to reverse what Kellallea did.”
“He is a false prophet, she is a false goddess,” Valorron hissed.
Zerafin walked around him once more, gauging how nervous the elf was. The pulse in his neck was steady but not rushed, his breathing calm.
“You said, ‘Avenger of the Taking’. What is that?”
“You know what it is. Our numbers grow daily. Our eyes are everywhere. Soon we will depose you and set right the wrongs that have been done to us. This monarchy, the elder council—you have failed in your duties. You lead our people astray with your blasphemous worship of the ancient whore. She is not a goddess, you must know this in your heart.” Valorron’s eyes pleaded for understanding. “She has taken everything from us, yet the mindless masses pray to her like hungry dogs waiting for scraps.”
“Orna Catorna would have destroyed us all,” said Zerafin.
“She has destroyed us!” Valorron screamed.
“And you would save your people by starting a civil war?” said Zerafin.
“I will do whatever it takes.”
Zerafin stared him down, sensing that the elf would never budge, never break.
“You are to be executed tomorrow.”
“Do it now, coward. Make me a martyr. If you cannot, then lay down your blade so that I might slit my own neck. It matters not. I will come back in the next life with a face you do not know, and I will have my revenge!”
Zerafin turned from the elf and left. Outside the cell he found one of his generals, Thryn De’Bregeth waiting for him outside the iron door.
“Give me until tomorrow and I will gain the information that you seek,” said Thryn.
“The elves of the sun do not torture,” Zerafin reminded him.
“With respect, my lord, we have gained no useful information about this group. They tried to kill King Warcrown, and this one just directly threatened your life. This is not the time for righteousness.”
“And what if we find out who belongs to this group? What are we to do then? Round them all up, execute them all? No. People have the right to believe what they want.”
“Even if they believe you should be deposed?” said Thryn.
“He is not to be tortured. I will not prove them right by trying to weed them out.”
“Very well, my king. Might I suggest that the execution be public? We need to let the people know that this will not be tolerated.”
“I was testing him with the threat of execution,” said Zerafin.
“Testing him? You do not plan on going through with it?”
“For now we will keep him confined, learn what we might about this group.”
“Sire…”
“I have spoken,” said Zerafin with finality.
“Very well, my lord.”
Chapter 30
Unspoken Words
Whill knocked on the door and peeked in his head. Tyrron was sitting up in his bed and speaking low to a giggling elf maiden who was bathing him with a cloth.
“If this is a bad time…” Whill began.
“Of course not. Myrra was just finishing up,” said Tyrron with a laugh.
The elf healer quickly covered the general’s lap with a towel before bowing in Whill’s direction and gathering up her things.
When she had hastily left, Whill pulled up a chair next to Tyrron’s bed and offered him a wry grin.
“What?” Tyrron said with a smirk.
Whill couldn’t help but chuckle. “I take it the wound isn’t that bad.”
Tyrron glanced down to his side. “It was bad enough. Bastard got me good. Luckily he missed the major organs. Was mostly a glancing slash, but it opened me up pretty good.”
“You saved my life. Thank you,” said Whill.
“You’re welcome, sire.”
“I owe you a great debt.”
Tyrron let out a huff and waved him off. “Nonsense, I was doing my duty. There’s no debt to speak of.”
“I insist.”
“Please, sire. Serving you is reward enough. I know all too well what it was like before you defeated Eadon. You may think that your country is in shambles, but it is free, at least. I’ve no doubt you’ll bring prosperity to the kingdom once more. These things take time, is all.”
Whill left it at that. “Will you be able to sail with that wound?”
“What, this? Bah, I’ve had worse and kept on working. I’m not going to let this stop me. We can leave on your word,” said Tyrron.
“Tomorrow morning, then. I’ve stayed here too long as it is.”
“Very well, sire.”
Whill patted the man on the shoulder and rose. “Rest up, Greyson. We’ve a long journey before us.”
“Yes, sire.”
Zerafin, Avriel and Whill dined in private that night. They sat at a small table set on the balcony overlooking the Thousand Falls. The meal was a simple one, vegetables mostly, along with fish, bread, and wine.
The king hadn’t yet been informed of the pregnancy, and Avriel was noticeably nervous about telling him. She ate her food in small bites, hardly making conversation, watching Whill and Zerafin as they talked. Her brother glanced at her now and again, no doubt noticing her strange mood but saying nothing of it.
Whill wondered if she was waiting for him to bring it up instead. He wasn’t sure how Zerafin would react, and found that the longer she took to spit it out, the more nervous he was becoming. Zerafin was talking of the faction of elves who despised Kellallea, and what that meant for the planned exodus.
“I fear that this group will become like the dark elves. If we—”
“I’m with child,” Avriel blurted out.
The silence was absolute.
Zerafin looked to Whill and back to her again, his brow slowly drooping.
“Aren’t you going to say anything?” Avriel huffed.
Zerafin blinked. “Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure,” said Avriel.
Zerafin ran his hand down his face and sagged under the burden of knowledge. “This is…this is…unprecedented, it’s…”
“Quite complicated,” Avriel put in.
“Does Mother know?”
“Yes,” said Avriel.
“What does she say?”
Avriel raised her hands in an impatient gesture. “What do you say?”
“I’m trying to get over the shock of it being possible. A half-elf, half-human child… This changes many things.” He looked to them each for elaboration. “What will you do? What will the people say?”
“I don’t care what anyone says,” said Whill.
Avriel smiled at him.
“That may be all well and good, my friend, but a half-elven heir to a human kingdom? It will never be allowed,” said Zerafin.
“And what of a half-human member of the elven royal family?”
“It will be the same with my people as well as yours. You know that he, or she, could never rule
, here or there. People, elves, they might not all be very tolerant of the idea. You must think of the danger this child will be in its entire life. When the Old Ardenians catch wind of this news, they might target the babe. There are still dark elves in Agora, though far less powerful than they once were, but alive all the same. They will seek vengeance. And now there are the Avengers of the Taking to deal with.”
Avriel’s smile faded more with every word, and Whill, too, felt a dread creep into him then. It was nothing like he had ever felt. He could handle the idea of danger to himself, but to imagine someone wanting to hurt his unborn child filled him with cold rage and incredible foreboding.
“I will not hide him away from the world like a thing of shame,” said Whill in a low tone.
That seemed to lighten Avriel’s dark thoughts.
“You may not have a choice,” said Zerafin. “Will one of you raise it, or both? Will it grow up among humans, or elves? Do you plan on being wed?”
“We haven’t discussed these things,” said Avriel, becoming agitated once more.
“Well, you should.”
“We have six months to work it out,” said Avriel.
“I would have given up my throne for Avriel alone,” said Whill. “Now that there is a child invo—”
“You cannot stand down at such an important time. You are the only thing holding Agora together,” Zerafin protested.
“I’ve done my part. I am no king, anyway. Is it not enough to save a country? Must I nurse it to health as well?”
“Zerafin is right,” said Avriel. “You cannot give up your father’s throne after you worked so hard to get it back.”
“Compared to you, it means nothing to me.”
“Do not say such things,” said Avriel.
“Why do such words frighten you? If we must go somewhere where our child can be safe, then I will gladly do it.”
“And where would we go? Hide in the wilderness of Agora? The wastelands of Drindellia?”
Whill shrugged. “The world is a big place, there are islands, and surely lands beyond the eastern sea.”
She was shaking her head before he had finished. “I cannot abandon my people.”
“I will not abandon my child,” said Whill.
They stared at each other stubbornly until Zerafin finally placed a hand on each of theirs.
“We will find a way, but not like this. You two are going to have enough obstacles in your path, you needn’t make yourselves one of them.”
Whill let out a pensive breath and Avriel’s eyes pooled with tears. She got up abruptly. “I must retire. Goodnight.”
She turned to leave and Whill caught her hand as she walked by. “Avriel…I’m sorry.”
“So am I.”
Whill watched her go, wanting to run to her, to make her understand.
“This is a heavy burden for her to bear. Give her time,” said Zerafin.
Whill turned to him, searching his eyes. “You say that I am the only thing holding Agora together. But what of you, what of the elves’ responsibility to my people?”
“Your people?” said Zerafin.
Whill rose from the table, afraid of what he might say. His mind was spinning, and he fought to control his temper. He hadn’t felt this at odds with himself in a long time.
“I am tired of hearing myself spoken of so. Especially from you, Zerafin.”
The elven king rose from his chair and opened his arms wide. “What have I done to bring about your animosity, my friend? I speak only with my heart and mind.”
“You lecture me on my responsibilities with one breath, and then speak of leaving these lands with the next. I am the only thing keeping Agora together, you say, yet you do not acknowledge your own responsibility.” Whill was pacing now, unable to meet Zerafin’s eyes, but unable to stop as well. His true feelings had been bottled since he had heard Zerafin’s plan, and now it was as if someone had shaken the bottle and popped the cork.
“It was I who rallied the elves to the cause. It was I who defeated Eadon and his hordes. It was I who gave the greatest power in the universe to Kellallea. I have done my part!”
Whill finally faced Zerafin, who stood straight and alert, eyes wide in the face of Whill’s berating.
“You have been with me since the beginning, Zerafin. I love you like a brother. And as I would to a brother, I tell you this. If you leave Agora now you are a coward.”
“Given the circumstances,” said Zerafin calmly. “I will forgive your harsh words.”
“I seek no such forgiveness. When I needed you to be, you were hard on me. Now I’m returning the favor.”
The next morning, Whill and his fleet set out with the rising sun. Zerafin and the elders were there to see him off, along with a host of elves crowding the beach for a look at him. A long line of armored guards held them back. Zerafin was worried about another attempt on Whill’s life, and guided him personally to the waiting ship with a boat of his own and several guards surrounding them.
They spoke not a word the entire time, and when Whill reached his ship, the two only exchanged a handshake and common well wishes. Whill did not regret his words, rather, it felt good to get things off his chest. He was confident that Zerafin would do the right thing.
Whill had sent for Avriel when he awoke, hoping to speak some more over breakfast, but her handmaiden had returned saying that she wasn’t feeling well, but that she looked forward to seeing him when he returned from the north.
He searched the crowd as the boat carried him and Tyrron out to his ship, but Avriel was not among them. A pang of sorrow burned in his throat but he choked it down, knowing that he would soon return. He had missed her so much over the last few months, and now, knowing that she carried his child and that she was willing to give their relationship a chance, he wanted nothing more than to stay.
When he came aboard, the crew gave a cheer. They had sat in the harbor for the last three days, anxious to sail to battle in the north.
“The course is set for Elgar Harbor, sire,” said the captain.
“Very well, set sail,” said Whill.
As the Uthen-Arden armada headed out along the coast, a quick glimmer caught Whill’s eye from high on a rocky outcropping of weathered stone. A wave hit, sending ocean spray over the area. When it passed, he saw Avriel standing upon the stone. She lifted a hand in farewell, and Whill raised his high and waved in return.
He wanted to dive into the water, swim to shore and take her in his arms and never let go. To the hells with Agora and the constant warring. He had seen enough of it in the past year to last a lifetime. Hadn’t he done enough? Didn’t he deserve happiness?
The ship caught the wind and lurched forward swiftly, leaving Avriel fading in the distance, every moment taking Whill farther from his unborn child.
Zerafin had warned them of the dangers that they would face, but he hadn’t mentioned one possibility—Kellallea. If she was so hell-bent on gaining Whill’s loyalty, she might try to use the child as she had been using Avriel and Tarren. On the other hand, if he bowed before her, she would be able to ensure the safety of his child. He could once again wield great power, and rule all of Agora with Avriel as his queen.
He set his sights on the north, promising himself that he would deal with the usurpers swiftly. There was no time for a long drawn-out affair. Whill needed to bring peace to the kingdom, and fast. His child would be born in only six months, and he didn’t want to be away to war when it happened.
Chapter 31
Bad Tidings
“Focus on the log; imagine it just like it’s a stone,” said Roakore, standing behind his son.
Helzendar had been trying to move the log for more than an hour, but Roakore knew his heart wasn’t in it. He didn’t believe that he could do it, and it seemed no amount of convincing would sway him.
The young dwarf held out his hand, his face strained with genuine effort, but the piece of wood atop the pile didn’t so much as wobble.
“
Bah, I can’t do it,” he said with a huff of frustration.
“Sure you can, lad,” said Roakore coming to stand behind him and guide his hand in the direction of the pile. “It’s easy once you figure out it’s the same as moving stone. Here, like this—”
“I’m done tryin’ for now.” Helzendar shrugged away from him and went to the window. Roakore could see the confusion and frustration in his son’s eyes. His claims were blasphemous. They went against the teachings of Ky’Dren.
“Fine, fine, take a break, but I’m tellin’ ye, the powers be inside ye. Just need to let it happen, is all.”
Roakore considered telling one of his other sons. Ky’Arken was a powerful stone mover and seemed like one of the more open-minded of his boys, but he was stationed far away in southern Ro’Sar. Roakore cursed himself that his children were so young, each one of them under twenty years. Perhaps an older, more powerful dwarf might be able to do what he had done.
There was also the theory that any of the dwarves could move stone, and anything else, like Roakore could. He had been experimenting on Philo using techniques his father had used to help Roakore realize his own power. But his friend was a stubborn one, and they had gotten nowhere.
“Me king,” said a guard from the doorway, “General Hammerfell has arrived.”
Roakore nodded to him and addressed Helzendar. “Keep at it, lad, you’ll get it eventually.”
“Yes, me king.”
Roakore took the southern stair to his audience chamber and was announced by the leading guard. “I give to you Roakore, son of—”
“Yeah, yeah, he be knowin’ who I be. Get out, and shut the doors behind ye!”
General Orrin Hammerfell slammed his fist to his chest and bowed low. “Me king.”
Roakore offered a less enthusiastic gesture and poured himself a glass of wine. “Orrin, how goes it?”
“Me king, there be disturbin’ news from the west.”
Roakore gave a sigh and decided on whiskey instead. “There be disturbin’ news from every direction these days. Want a drink?”
“I’d be honored.”
“Go on, then, have a seat, have a seat.” Roakore placed the glass before his general and sat at the head of the long table. He knocked glasses with the dwarf. “Here’s to bad news.”
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