“You misunderstand, grandfather. I am not trying to say you cannot state your opinion of Mac Lir. However, it can not be denied that he is our creation father and his emissary deserves to be heard—must be heard, if our people are to survive.”
L’Garn’s voice had a strained and rough edge to it that Feenix had never heard. It was an odd mixture of respect, fear and anger all held in tight control. By the set of his rigid stance and the emotions racing across his face, she could see the prince battling with himself; an inner war he was unsure he could win. She wished she could help him in some way.
“I am your king!” The old elf took one step down the stairs. “My word is law. I will not listen to Mac Lir’s lies!” The advisors standing by the throne grasped their lances firmly in an attack mode. “I will not be disobeyed. Mac Lir’s time has passed, and he will never be worshiped in Cragimore again! Mac Lir is dead to the Night Elves. I will not receive an emissary from a dead god!”
Upon hearing the king’s words, the robed elves below the throne’s dais began to shift uneasily and murmur amongst themselves. Feenix couldn’t hear what they were saying, but she recognized the look of someone who is uncomfortable when she saw it. It seemed to her that not all the king’s advisors liked the idea of Mac Lir’s death.
“What harm can come of listening to Mac Lir’s emissary…” L’Garn tried to reason. He was cut off without mercy by Zimpher’s sneering voice.
“Harm indeed!”
The king had advanced farther down the stairs to stand on the middle step. The red-hooded specters stood one step behind him, their lances at the ready. Power and energy streaked from the throne and swirled around the head of the king.
Feenix could feel her skin crawl and the hair bound in her braid moved. She knew it without a doubt.
“I will not allow your whore to fill my advisors’ ears with lies. Begone from my sight,” he said, motioning with his hand towards the door. “I will give you this one opportunity to leave without another word before I order the guards to kill you both!”
“Your majesty,” one of the robed elves stepped forward to stand between L’Garn and the irate king. “This is your grandson, majesty. I beg of you to consider the words you are saying.”
“Stay out of this, K’Lerin,” the king commanded, casting a look of loathing towards the elf. “What transpires between this Outbreed and me is no concern of yours. You are no longer my chief advisor, and I have not asked for your advice. If you value your life, stand aside.”
“This is the royal prince,” K’Lerin said without moving. Feenix admired a man with courage. “He is the heir to the throne of Meedrion. He deserves to be heard, at least.”
“It was an evil day for the Night Elves when this...” Zimpher’s vocabulary seemed to fail him for a moment. “...when my daughter gave birth to this monstrosity! To my everlasting shame, this,” he motioned to L’Garn, “is the last of the line of Meedrion, tainted as his blood is. I cannot change the laws of our people in order to keep him from taking my place when I die. I wish, by the Jewels, that I could—but he must outlive me in order to sit upon Meedrion’s throne.”
The threat hung in the air, pulsing with the force of the thrumming cavern. Feenix watched as a terrible pain flashed in L’Garn’s eyes. So this was the source of his self-hatred, she realized. By Mac Lir’s ears, the king should be horsewhipped.
She put her hand on the prince’s shoulder, trying to convey her support and understanding, but L’Garn jerked away from her touch and pushed K’Lerin from his path.
“Your hatred of me, grandfather,” he said with a sneer, “should have nothing to do with our people. Mac Lir has sent us a warning, and by the Jewels, the Night Elves have a right to hear it!”
“They have only the rights I allow them to have,” Zimpher bellowed as he stepped off the last level of the dais. “I am the king! My word is law!”
“You would put yourself above the god?”
L’Garn did not back down as the raging king advanced on him. His two hooded advisors stood menacingly behind him.
The force of the throne thrummed and hummed in Feenix’s head and she had trouble focusing on the two combatants.
“I put myself above a dead god, yes!” Spittle flew from the king’s mouth.
Feenix was close enough to see the yellow, dry skin of Zimpher’s face, and the red-rimmed eyes. The elf looked near death himself.
“Your highness...majesty,” K’Lerin spoke softly, obviously trying to defuse the tense moment. “Can we not discuss this calmly and with restraint? If Mac Lir has sent his emissary in the guise of this human, with a warning to us, should we not listen to her?”
The other robed elves nodded their agreement, but the two advisors standing behind Zimpher did not follow suit. The one on the king’s right spoke quietly to Zimpher, but the voice carried in the cavern.
“It would not be wise.”
Feenix shivered. There was no musical quality in the tones. This was not the voice of a silvan being. It was raw and grating, reminding her of a dull sword being sharpened on a dry whetstone. She peered closely to try to penetrate the shadows of the hood, but the darkness within was like a void into nothing.
The robed elfin advisors again began to murmur and look uneasy. The hooded two slowly turned their gazes on the uneasy elves, and the murmurs of the king’s two eerie companions subsided. Without a word, the will of the king’s advisors had been subdued.
However, K’Lerin was made of sterner stuff, it appeared.
“Are you going to let this outsider speak for you, your majesty?”
Feenix was impressed with the elf’s courage.
“Yes, grandfather. When did the king’s Council start to include outsiders? Who are these advisors with you?”
“You dare to question your king? Be careful, L’Garn. You tread the delicate line of treason!”
“No one has spoken treason here. It is our duty to listen to the god. This is a reasonable request, and one that should not be open to debate.” L’Garn cast the two tall advisors a dark look before he continued. “I believe these two advisors of yours are giving you bad council. They care not for the welfare of the Night Elves.”
Feenix had not thought it possible, but the energy surrounding the king and his two councilors rose to such a tremendous pitch, she was sure someone would be struck down with a powerful blast of force. That someone would likely be L’Garn, she thought, if he didn’t keep his mouth shut!
Mac Lir, you miserable god! Help me get this job done, if it’s so important to you!
“Listen, king,” she said, stepping forward and looking the old elf in the eyes. “Mac Lir has a vital message to give you. He thought it was so important, he sent me to deliver it. I’ve gone through seven worlds of pain and misery to get to this point, and by all the hairs on Mac Lir’s head, I’m going to give you his message!”
Unconsciously, she slammed her fists on her hips and pushed her chin out in a defiant and belligerent way. “What happens to your miserable hide afterwards, king, doesn’t concern me. Now shut your mouth and listen!”
The entire chamber froze as the occupants looked at her in shock and surprise. The old king’s eyes seemed to grow so large with fury that they were in danger of exploding. The air shimmered and glowed with a red haze before her eyes. The energy hovered over them all, spurting sparks of angry lightening bolts from the throne.
“Silence, human,” an alien voice grated.
One of the hooded advisors stepped forward with his arm extended, lance pointed at Feenix’s heart. A bolt of yellow energy erupted from the point of his lance to stream past the king on a course for Feenix.
Before she had an opportunity to react, L’Garn raised his arm and moved to intercept the force.
“No!” Feenix yelled, grabbing the half-elf’s other arm as the killing bolt hit the prince instead of its intended victim.
“You fool,” she cried, expecting the force to blast him into pieces, or at the very leas
t, char him to a cinder.
Instead, the bolt of lightning splashed like liquid fire against an unseen wall then bounced back, engulfing the hooded councilor in its killing force. The luckless advisor dropped like a millstone. The hood, thrown from its head, revealed the creature within.
“What in the Seven Cella Worlds is that?” Feenix felt like her breakfast decided to escape from her stomach without warning.
The creature lying before them, cloak and hood smoking from the lightening bolt, looked like it was related to a lizard gone berserk. Fangs protruded over the top lips, which were pulled back in a grimace of agony. The skin was covered with tiny scales the color of a toad’s underbelly. Little horns grew from its forehead and around the eyes, along the cheekbones. The eyes were black-rimmed and golden. Holes on the side of its head were the only indication of ears.
“Arch-demon.”
In surprise, Feenix turned to look at the speaker.
“Eagnad! By Mac Lir’s beard, what are you doing here?”
Before the little troll could answer, Zimpher pulled a sharp, wickedly-curved sword from beneath his cloak, and sliced open K’Lern’s chest. The elfin advisor never had a chance to defend himself.
“You murderous scum,” Feenix yelled, pulling her own sword and attacking the insane king before he could kill his own grandson. From the corner of her eye she saw all the elves arming themselves with their swords, but they appeared to be undecided who they should attack.
The other lance-wielding advisor, its hood also thrown back to reveal its demon ancestry, lunged at L’Garn, but Feenix, engaged in deflecting Zimpher’s thrusts, could do no more than yell a warning.
“Pretty Feenix careful,” shouted Eagnad to her, as he hopped from one foot to the other in agitation and excitement.
Wonderful, she thought. She had a cheering section; just what she needed.
The king lunged and slashed at her with strength surprising in one so old. The phenomenon of his features blurring before her eyes happened again. A creature of terrible and horrendous appearance peered out from Zimpher’s eyes. For a moment, her concentration was broken.
A scream echoed around the cavern, causing her blood to freeze in her veins. Her fingers numbed with fear as the demon attacking L’Garn howled a heart stopping command.
Instantly, small demons of every horrible description swarmed down the steps of the dais to attack Feenix, L’Garn and the elfin advisors. They were outnumbered at least three to one.
“Where is your Mac Lir now, human?” Zimpher goaded her in a voice deep and gravelly, all trace of silvan softness gone as the creature possessing Zimpher’s body took total command of it.
Aye, Mac Lir, Feenix wondered silently as she battled to stay alive. Where are you now? We could use some help here!
But the Night Elves were doing a good job of eliminating the demons. Only one elf lay on the floor, but many demons lay bloody and unmoving. A tiny voice in her head noted that L’Garn’s warriors were more skilled than Rendolin’s. She tucked the knowledge away for future reference.
The king’s mighty attack was beginning to wear on her. She stepped back to try to gain her breath, but Zimpher pressed the attack with all the vigor of a young man. The strength in his arms was nearly overwhelming. If she didn’t get some help soon, she was going to go under from the sheer force of his onslaught.
She had to out-think him. It was the only way she could overcome the being that controlled the Night Elf king.
Feenix leaped to the side just as the king’s wicked sword slashed at her leg. Using the move she had surprised L’Garn with during their sword battle, she whipped around and slashed the king’s side. He screamed in fury.
In a blurred frenzy of lightning-quick thrusts and parries, Zimpher slashed Feenix’s right arm. The fingers of her hand at once began to go numb.
“Die, human!”
The king lunged for a killing blow, but she danced out of his reach and transferred her sword into her left hand.
“Not yet, scum!”
With renewed vigor, she advanced and took the attack to the old elf, her feet slapping on the hard stone floor. If she only had a chair or a table or something to use for a limited defense. But the chamber was woefully empty of anything useful.
She needed some leverage...some advantage…
L’Garn was still occupied with the demon and its lance. He had succeeded in chopping the weapon in half, but the creature still held it, using it as a staff. The prince had a split lip, and the side of his face was swollen.
Mac Lir, this isn’t funny! You’d better send us some help or your little peace mission is going to be over before it even begins!
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw L’Garn slice a wicked arc through the demon’s neck. Black blood spurted all over the prince as he ducked the demon’s own reflexive swipe.
Suddenly, her full attention focused once again on the king as he turned and raced up the stairs to the throne.
“Guards!” he yelled. “To me, to me!”
With a loud crash, the cavern doors burst open and elfin warriors rushed into the chamber.
“Seize them,” the king ordered.
Feenix, L’Garn and the surviving royal advisors were quickly surrounded and disarmed. Feenix surrendered her sword only after wounding two guards. It took five of them to disarm her.
L’Garn handed over his sword without a fight.
“Grandfather,” he shouted above the din of dropped weapons and muttered commands. “Mac Lir warned that our people were in danger from Tuawtha! Has the Demon God possessed you completely? Is that why you have his minions in Cragimore as your advisors?”
Every Night Elf stopped to listen to the king’s reply.
“Fools! Tuawtha is a god worthy of the Night Elves’ respect! Unlike that pitiful Mac Lir, Tuawtha is strong and powerful! He will give us everything we could ever wish for—victory over all our enemies; the total destruction of our rivals, the Sea and Wood Elves—all he asks in exchange is our worship!”
“Wrong!” L’Garn shouted. The guards surrounding him had let him go at Zimpher’s words, and the prince now stepped on the bottom step of the black stairs. “All the demon god asks is our total destruction!”
Feenix moved to stand beside L’Garn. She could sense all the elves in the cavern holding their breath, waiting for the king’s response.
The energy force pulsating within the cavern took on a painful drone. All of the Night Elves, with their overly sensitive hearing, dropped to their knees, covering their ears with their hands. L’Garn grimaced and also covered his ears, but the sound did not force him to buckle under its onslaught. Feenix’s ears hurt, but she could stand it, by Mac Lir’s toes.
“You know nothing, Outbreed,” the king screamed above the thrumming energy. “Tuawtha will protect us and reward us. He has promised me. We shall do his bidding and be crowned in his glory!”
If there was any part of Zimpher remaining in the body of the elf, he was insane. Feenix knew it as surely as she knew she loved L’Garn. If Mac Lir’s plan of peace was to be successful, it was as clear as daylight to her that Zimpher had to be removed, and the prince had to take the throne.
L’Garn took another step up the stairs. Only three steps separated the prince and the king.
“Grandfather, listen please.”
Feenix heard the pleading in his words and her heart wept for him. The king was too far gone for L’Garn’s soft words to penetrate his evil heart.
“I am no relative to you, monstrosity!” Spittle foamed around the mouth of the king and his eyes looked as if they would explode at any moment. The proud Crown of Meedrion tilted dangerously on the bald head, before it toppled unnoticed to the stone dais. The clank it must have made was completely absorbed by the near deafening drone of the pent energy, which seemed to Feenix to be straining the limits of its control.
“Zimpher, for the good of our people, you have to forsake the demon god and embrace Mac Lir!”
&nb
sp; The warrior woman watched L’Garn take an agonizingly slow step to the fourth tier. Blood trickled from his left ear.
She turned to see all the Night Elves in the cavern had collapsed and lay as if dead. She prayed they were merely unconscious. It was just L’Garn, Zimpher and she left standing in the chamber.
“Come no closer, Outbreed!”
She returned her gaze to the scene playing out before her on the dais.
L’Garn wobbled a bit, but stood firm on the fourth step. Zimpher stood before the throne on the fifth tier of the dais, his left hand held out, palm towards his grandson. The air swirled and crackled around him, the charged energy anxious to be released. The old elf’s palm glowed a greenish hue as the energy surged from the air into his hand.
“Grandfather, hear me! Let the demon go!”
The prince lifted his foot to take the last step to his grandfather, his arms held out before him as if he would clasp the old body to him in a loving embrace.
“Mac Lir, help him!”
Feenix was not aware that she spoke the words out loud. She picked up a discarded sword and rushed up the stairs to the throne.
With a blinding flash, a massive bolt of energy shot from the king’s hand and hit L’Garn full in the chest. It picked him up and tossed him over her head and down the stairs, as if he were a leaf in the wind. The prince’s foot grazed her cheek, and she lost her balance.
She had only time to notice that L’Garn lay like a broken rag doll, before a smaller bolt of force was thrown at her. She jumped and ducked to the side of the stairs, just in time for it to sail over her shoulder and strike the black stone floor without harm.
Gathering her courage and her rage at the thought of L’Garn’s death, Feenix jumped onto the steps and charged the king before he had time to redirect another bolt of energy.
“You filthy demon scum,” she yelled into the old elf’s face, just as she buried the length of her sword inside his belly. Blood spurted over her hand and forearm, hot and slick.
The king’s eyes grew even wider, although she didn’t know how that could be. Pushing the hilt of the sword down to try to inflict as much damage as possible, she pulled it out and stabbed him again.
THE CHOOSING Page 31