Legend Warrior

by Liara Woo

  "I know."

  "We can see the dragon king on the way back!" Katie tried desperately.

  "By that time Joran could be dead!" Halthren exclaimed. There were tears in his eyes. "Along with every other elf in Kylaras."

  Katie froze, startled by the sudden anguish in his tone. She felt her throat suddenly dry, and tears stung her own eyes as the dreadful possibility occurred to her. Joran… Relenthus… dead…

  Halthren gazed into her eyes. "I'm sorry, Katie. But I can't face being the last of my kind. Even if Nashgor is defeated…if I am the last elf alive I would rather take my own life than continue on, unchanged. I will not be the last elf in the universe with the rest of my kind in the sky…dead." He hugged her tightly for several moments. Katie closed her eyes and embraced him as well, feeling the comfort of his firm body pressed to hers. Then he turned, let go of her, and ran as fast as he could back through the tunnels with his staff clicking against the ground, and Katie knew that nothing she could say or do could stop him. She watched until his faint glow vanished into the darkness, and then she reentered Loriina's treasure room, sinking to her knees and looking at her elf pendant. Her mind was surprisingly blank for several moments. Then she realized exactly what she had to do.

  "I'm going after you, Halthren," she murmured, taking a heavy bronze sword from the piles of treasure. "I would never let you face this monstrous jungle alone."

  Challenge

  Challenge

  Nelaara and her warriors arrived in Velana at dawn the next day. The first words out of her mouth were, "Is Halthren alright?"

  Joran nodded. "Yes, except for a broken arm and a sprained ankle."

  "Good," Nelaara sighed. Then her face turned solemn. "If you're going to call Nashgor to single combat, I will be there to support you."

  "Thank you," Joran replied. I think. Ever since Katie, Halthren, and Loriina had left, he'd had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. Is this going to be my last stand? he wondered with every waking moment. A voice inside of his head, firm and hopeful, told him, No. I will live. Nashgor will die. Good will conquer evil. Katie is still here, and she's getting the Sword of Light right now. We have hope.

  But the thought of his impending doom, more often than not, was enough to silence the optimism in his mind.

  Lord Bloodthorne stood on his right and Nelaara on his left, leaning on a windowsill in the manor at Velana as the elves in the courtyard prepared for battle. "I have faith in you, my prince," he murmured. "You shall win, just as your father did against Vechthain the Tyrant. The dragon was terrorizing the world, picking off elves, griffins, and even dwarfs, and your father sought him out and vanquished him."

  "But this different," Joran said softly, closing his eyes. "This isn't a rampaging dragon. Either we put an end to evil forever, or Darkness puts an end to us. Good and evil cannot coexist."

  Nelaara nodded solemnly. "That's exactly right."

  Joran raised his eyelids, looking down at the warriors below him, training hard, distributing armor and weapons, and saddling horses. Everyone was doing their part, so he had to do his. "Who should I send to deliver the summons to Nashgor?" he asked himself. Perhaps Relenthus. He's tough; he can take care of himself.

  Bloodthorne had opened his mouth to reply when there was a small cough from behind them. They turned to see Reiltin standing there, looking worried. "Pardon me, sirs, but messengers from Kratchene are entering the city."

  Horror sent a chill through Joran's heart. "Take me to them," he commanded, and Reiltin led him out of the mansion and the courtyard. Just outside of the city gates were ten demons, unarmed and looking nervous. Joran felt a sudden, unexpected fury swoop into his heart. "What is your purpose here?" he asked angrily.

  One of the demons bared his blackened teeth in a terrible sneer. The yellow eyes glinted maliciously. "We bring a message to the prince of the elves."

  "I am the prince," Joran responded. "What is this message?"

  "His Great and Much Exalted Excellency, King Nashgor of the demonic race, has challenged you to single combat in two weeks. If he wins, we will give the elves a day to ready themselves for our invasion. If you win, we will attack instantly. If you refuse to attack, or if you wish to change these arrangements, Kratchene will be emptied upon your nation right now."

  "Give me five minutes to discuss this," Joran demanded, trying to quell the horror welling in his soul. How did they find out what we were going to do?

  "Three minutes," the demon growled.

  "Four."

  "Three and a half. Any less, any more, and the deal is to be invalidated, and the demon forces will attack at once."

  "Fine," Joran replied through clenched teeth. He, Lord Bloodthorne, Reiltin, and Nelaara gathered in a tight huddle several yards away from the demons. "How would Nashgor have gotten the same idea as me?" Joran asked in a low voice. "And what benefit would he see in challenging me?"

  Nelaara was the first to answer. "His benefit is being able to create his own terms for the battle. He must have known ahead of time that we would challenge him."

  "How?" Reiltin hissed.

  "We have his spy to thank for that," Bloodthorne muttered, a scowl on his face. "And I think I know who it is."

  "Who?" Joran asked eagerly.

  "Not now," Bloodthorne responded, shaking his head. "We cannot discuss such things right now."

  Nelaara nodded in agreement. "Yes. We'll speak of this after the demons are gone."

  "So shall I accept this challenge?" Joran asked, bringing them back on topic.

  The four of them exchanged uneasy looks. "This may be our only chance to defeat the demon king," Reiltin said.

  "Not necessarily," Bloodthorne countered. "He could be slain in an all-out battle as well. But this is certainly our one chance to defeat him without having to worry about other demons interfering."

  Nelaara nodded. "If you're alright with it, Joran, I think you should accept. When you win we will be ready to fight at your side."

  Joran smiled grimly. Her confidence made him feel braver.

  "Time's up," the demon snarled. Joran straightened, forcing his face to appear impassive and cold.

  "I accept Nashgor's challenge."

  The demon sneered. "You will be at the border at dawn in two weeks."

  Joran's brow furrowed and his blue green eyes blazed. "I have the authority in this land. You shall not command me here." This time his voice was so firm and severe that the demon actually backed away. Joran, despite being shorter, glowered down at the demon. He was no longer the uncertain figure of a child but an imposing individual, stern, commanding, and powerful. "Leave," he commanded.

  "How do we know you'll come?" the demon growled.

  Joran's eyes could have burned through iron. "I give you my word. Now get out of my land."

  The demons turned and left. Joran watched them depart, and he stood tall and rigid. When he turned around, Reiltin was looking at him with amazement. "You have changed," he said softly.

  Bloodthorne nodded respect. "You have found your place. Your father would be proud."

  Joran felt his heart sink down to his toes. "I hope he is," he murmured, looking up and into the pale blue sky. He wished it was night, so that he could see the stars. With a pang of regret he realized that he didn't even know which star was his father.

  Bloodthorne clapped him on the shoulder. "Come with me. I've put the pieces together and I think I've figured it out. Nelaara, Reiltin, follow me."

  He led them back to the top floor of the mansion, which was otherwise entirely deserted. Bloodthorne drew Light from within his soul and divided it into several small balls, sending them into the basket-shaped brackets lining the walls to lighten the dark hallway. It was a cloudy day, so not much light had seeped in through the windows.

  "So what is this all about?" Reiltin asked. "I mean—I know it's about the spy, but…would you care to expound?"

  Bloodthorne nodded. "You all remember—well, not you, Nelaara—when Aspeni
el brought healing potion to Halthren after he returned with Loriina, Katie, Relenthus, and you, my prince. You told me this, Reiltin: Aspeniel claimed that the potion would not heal his broken arm and toes or his sprained ankle. I did a bit of reading on this. The potion she claimed to have used was supposed to heal everything except for wounds inflicted by Nashgor or one of his manikins."

  "But the broken arm was caused by unicorns," Joran remembered. "Why didn't it heal?"

  "I did some investigating and found out that the potion had been tampered with. It had been intentionally weakened so that broken bones could not be healed."

  Reiltin looked intrigued. "The potion healed every bruise and every cut, but like Aspeniel had predicted, it didn't heal his toes or his arm. Everything on his flesh was taken care of, but nothing that had to do with bones was—just like you said."

  Bloodthorne nodded. "Exactly. The potion has three stages. In its most powerful form, it can heal anything that wasn't caused directly by Nashgor or one of his two shadow-manikins. In its second stage, it cannot heal broken bones but it can take care of anything else. This state is reached by diluting the potion with water. The third stage, also created with water, just heals bruises."

  "So someone diluted the potion," Joran said, a hint of anger in his voice. "Who was it, though?"

  "It was someone who doesn't like Halthren and who has continuous interaction with potions," Nelaara inferred. "And it would have to be someone who knew how to reduce that particular potion."

  "Aspeniel is the only one allowed in the healing wing," Firdin said. "But…she's just a little girl."

  Nelaara grimaced. "Naiads and dryads may appear to be eight years of age, but they can be more than thousands of years old. And most of them have a mischievous streak."

  Bloodthorne nodded. "But that's not really enough evidence yet. Come over to this window."

  The group approached the nearby window and peered out. In the courtyard, elves were still training hard. The horses had been stabled and were being fed by young stable hands. A few shiny black ravens circled in the sky.

  "Watch the crow with a red rose tied on its foot," Bloodthorne whispered. The crow he'd pointed out dived down to the courtyard and continued circling. A few minutes later it flew closer to a small trapdoor in the ground where no one was practicing. Seconds later, the trapdoor eased open. Joran didn't see exactly who had opened it, but he was certain he'd caught a glimpse of a pale blue-green hand and wrist.

  "Aspeniel," he murmured, his heart sinking with disappointment.

  "Keep watching," Bloodthorne growled. "I've been noticing this for several days now. The crow with the rose tied to its foot has been here every morning."

  In a few minutes the crow flew back out of the trapdoor. There was a rolled up scroll of animal hide clutched in its claws as it soared away to the south…towards Kratchene.

  "So Aspeniel is the spy," Joran whispered. "She did a great job. I never could have guessed."

  Reiltin sighed. "I think it's sad. She's been so helpful for us. I can hardly believe she would turn Dark."

  Nelaara patted his shoulder sympathetically. "She's part naiad and part dryad. Trees change with every season. Aspeniel's heart and mind can change easily. I'm certain that we can help her regain the truth."

  Joran bowed his head. "Thank you for sharing this with us, Bloodthorne. Reiltin, please tell her that we've found her out and try to help her realize what she's done wrong. Take her to the room Katie stayed in. I'm certain it'll be more comfortable for her than a prison cell."

  Bloodthorne nodded. "I will. Thank you."

  * * *

  That evening, as Joran stared into the vast expanse of stars in the heavens, ignoring the bitter chill of the crisp autumn night, he couldn't help but feel bitterness well up inside of him. Aspeniel had told the demons that he was in Velana, thus making Halthren's imprisonment in Vernisgard pointless. She'd then informed the Shape-Shifter that Katie, Loriina, and the others had set out for the unicorn realm, and finally she'd told Nashgor the demon king to challenge Joran to single combat as soon as possible.

  Joran felt alone without Halthren there to encourage him. More than ever he missed his father, who'd always stood by him and helped him, especially when Halthren was away. He stood on the flat roof of Bloodthorne's mansion, tears filling his eyes. "It's been months since you died," he shouted at the stars. "Halthren saw his parents instantly! Why can't you show yourself? Don't you care about me?"

  "More than you know," a gentle voice answered. Startled, Joran spun around to see his father shining before him. Overwhelming love and relief rushed through Joran's soul and he rushed to embrace him, relieved that the semitransparent figure was mostly solid.

  "I miss you so much," Joran murmured, tears falling swiftly down his face. "Why did you never show yourself?"

  "I was afraid," King Treemoon answered. "Afraid that you would be angry with me for leaving you to take care of this terrible mess."

  "I'm not angry, father," Joran whispered. "Only… frightened."

  "So am I," Treemoon responded gravely. "I'm afraid that I will soon be joined in the sky by all the elves in the world."

  "Father," Joran began softly. "That won't happen. I will not let it happen as long as I live. But how am I to fix this mess of the world? How do I defeat the demon king?"

  "Just as you would any other demon," his father answered with a small smile. "Weak spots are in the mouth, under the chin, the eyes and ears, the armpits, joints, and any space between the scales. Remember that as you always have, my son."

  "Thank you," Joran replied, and he felt the cold fear clinging to his heart begin to melt away.

  "I'm more than proud of you, Joran," Treemoon said. "You're twice the elf that I was. Bravery, courage, hope…you have it all. Keep it with you always—especially the hope. No matter how terrible things may seem, there is always a little ray of hope if you look hard enough."

  "I will look," Joran promised, feeling like a young child again. "I love you."

  Treemoon smiled, and he was already fading away. "I love you, Joran." And then he was gone. Joran's fear returned. I wish Halthren were here now, he thought again. He remembered how, when he was younger, he'd been afraid of thunderstorms. Halthren had embraced him while the thunder roared outside, telling him stories until the storm passed. Somehow he makes everything better.

  A chilling thought occurred to him then: Unless he's dead.

  Separation

  Separation

  The jungle was dark and gloomy. Rain hammered down on the canopy of tree leaves above her head, dripping slowly down to the forest floor beneath. Katie was terrified every moment. Strange, otherworldly squawks, ghostly howls, and furious shrieks punctuated every moment of silence. Shivers of terror ran up and down her spine; she was convinced that each tremor was a large, furry green spider trying to eat her. "F-Halthren?" she called out in a voice high-pitched with fear. A few moments later she repeated her cry. There was no response.

  She climbed over a large green log that looked a bit like alligator juniper. Why is everything here green? she wondered, trying to distract herself from the terror that threatened to consume her.

  The log moved. It moved. Katie's blood ran cold and she froze in her steps. Slowly, hardly daring to look, she ran her eyes along the length of the log. It was actually a tail, connected to a colossal green dragon the size of a small mountain with skin like an alligator's. The dragon had huge, leathery wings folded at its side, and four massive legs like tree trunks stood firmly on the mossy, leaf-covered ground. The hind feet were short and stumpy, but the forepaws were long with fingerlike talons. The claws were at least as long as Katie's torso. And the neck…the neck was long and thin, and at the end of it was a huge head crowned with jagged horns. Long teeth protruded from the closed jaws, and the beady yellow eyes were looking straight at her.

  It was a dragon. The largest dragon Katie could have imagined. "Halthren," she whimpered in terror, frozen where she stood. "HA
LTHREN!"

  The dragon opened its mouth and growled, the forked tongue flicking out among the spear-like teeth. "Well," it thundered. "I've got myself a snack."

  "No! Wait!" Katie exclaimed desperately, thinking as fast as she could, raising her Stone. "I'm—I'm a dragon! See?!"

  The dragon lowered its massive snout to her and sniffed. The hot breath was enough to almost knock her backwards, and the stench was unbelievably awful—like rotten eggs and sour milk and blood all rolled into one. "You smell like a dragon. But you also smell like an elf. And you smell like something else as well… something I can't quite define. But you're no dragon."