Zerafin put a hand to the air, gesturing for Whill to relax. “We have been looking for the sword, of course, since we learned of your existence.”
“But what ever happened to the blade? Who took it?”
Avriel looked in Roakore’s direction, and said in a lowered tone, “The dragons.”
Whill gave out a frustrated laugh and put up a gesturing hand to the stars. “Of course. Dragons!”
Avriel only nodded, not amused. “When the war of Drindellia began, Eadon destroyed the Temple of Adromida and took the sword as his own. Though he could not wield it, he kept it for himself. He knew that if his enemies had it, they might find a way to use it against him. We elves had a strong friendship with the dragons for thousands of years before Eadon came to power. They viewed Eadon’s creation of the Draggard as a great insult.”
Zerafin took up the telling. “Avriel was born after the wars had begun, but I remember when it all started. I was 120 years old. Our father begged the dragons for help, but most refused. Less than twenty decided to form an alliance with us. That was near the beginning of the War of Drindellia, and though the dragons aided us greatly in the many battles, the Dark elves were too powerful. We were defeated, and all but one of the dragons who aided us were killed.”
Avriel interjected. “That dragon, the red dragon Zhola, with the help of a host of elves, managed to steal Adromida from Eadon. The elves were killed, but Zhola returned the sword to our father. Our father told him to leave, to take the blade somewhere safe, somewhere far away. And so he did, and was never seen again.”
There was a pause in the story as Whill looked at the ground, his mind racing. Abram sat likewise, puffing his pipe. Avriel went on.
“We have spoken to a few of the dragons, though they are hard to find these days. As you know, they have been mostly driven from Agora by dwarves and men. The Agora dragons live now on Drakkar Island, but few dare venture there, not even we elves.”
“The dragons of Drakkar do not know of the old alliances of dragons and elves,” Zerafin added. “They are wild and unfriendly, to say the least. Those elves who have tried to find out anything about Zhola have either died trying or found out nothing useful.”
Whill still felt hopeful. “But if there is anything to learn of Zhola, it is to be learned on Drakkar Island, is it not?”
Avriel was hesitant. “Correct.”
“Then that is where Addakon will be looking, and that is where I must look.”
Zerafin laughed. “You will go to Drakkar Island alone, and what? Simply walk into the dragon’s lair and ask about Zhola?”
“Actually, yes. What choice do I have? I will wait until I am stronger. of course, when I have learned the ways of the elves. But it is something that must be done.”
“It sounds foolhardy, but he is right.” Abram grinned at Whill. “And I will be there next to him.”
“As will I,” said Rhunis as he walked over to the small gathering. “Who better to have with you on Drakkar Island than Rhunis the Dragonslayer?”
“What are ye all talkin’ ’bout?” Roakore called from the fireside. “Quit yer yappin’ and come get dinner while it’s hot.”
They did as the gruff dwarf told them and ate beside the fire. Fresh-cooked venison, cheese, and bread-not such a bad meal for the road, and it was only made better by Rhunis’s wine. They ate and they talked and they laughed. To Roakore’s relief, Tarren had switched to pestering the elves with his million questions. Whill watched as the beautiful Avriel animatedly told Tarren a tale of the elves. He tried not to stare but found it hard indeed. A few times Zerafin caught him, though he said nothing and showed no sign of his approval nor lack thereof.
Tarren went on to beg the elf maiden for a song, and she happily agreed. All other conversation died as Avriel sat up. To Whill she was like an angel, so beautiful did she look in the firelight. As she began her song, he heard an angel’s voice to match.
The dreaded day dawned, birthing a blood-red sun
Upon the beaches of Alshtuir stood our king
He stood proud with his men, those who would die
The finest of weapons the strongest of armor
The greatest of heroes shone in the sun
Our boats sailed away that most dreaded of days
Tears of a queen fell into the sea
Tears of a king fell into the sand
Over the hill the fell beasts they came
The elves of darkness stepped onto the sand
As the ocean took us to safety unknown
The battle began with the cry of our king
Over the waters it echoes, still to this day
To remind us what was given, so that we may live
No one spoke. Rhunis, Abram, and Whill stared at Avriel with wonder. Roakore looked at the fire, trying to hide the moisture in his eyes. Zerafin smiled and placed a hand on her shoulder. Avriel smiled at them all and wiped a tear from her eye.
“I apologize-that was not the happiest of songs, I know, but it is my favorite.”
Whill smiled back. “No, no, it was beautiful. I have never heard a voice with so much…feeling.”
Avriel wiped her eyes once again and stood. “I think I will find some rest.” She laughed as she looked at Tarren. “It seems as though the boy already has.”
Everyone laughed as they too looked at Tarren. He was sitting cross-legged with his head to the side, having fallen asleep sitting up. Avriel gently laid him down and covered him.
Zerafin stood. “We have a long road ahead. You should all get some rest. I will take first watch.”
They all shared good-nights and fell asleep one by one, Whill last of all. He lay staring up at the stars for some time, considering all he had learned. He laughed to himself at the memory of being overwhelmed at finding out he was a rightful king. Compared to hearing a five-thousand-year-old elven prophecy about himself, that had been nothing. The stars danced and his mind raced, but eventually he found sleep.
Whill raced up the beach. The dragons had seen him and they came-by the dozens they came. They flew low, their wings dipping in the ocean with every beat. Only a short distance away he saw an elf sitting cross-legged, chanting quietly with his sword lifted to the heavens. Though Whill did not recognize the elf, he knew him to be Adimorda, and the blade he held to be Adromida. Whill raced toward him but seemed to get no closer-rather he was sinking, sinking quickly in the sand beneath his feet. Adimorda continued his chant, oblivious of Whill’s peril. To Whill’s horror he saw behind Adimorda his own father, sword held high, wearing a look of pure hatred, ready to strike down the elf. Then Whill realized it was not his father but Addakon. Whill screamed to Adimorda, the dragons neared, Addakon struck, and Whill sank.
Whill’s screaming woke him and the rest of the camp. Zerafin kneeled by his side looking down at him, an unmistakable look of worry on his face. He extended a hand and addressed the others. “It’s alright, go back to sleep. He was having a bad dream.”
Abram came to his side. “What was it, Whill?”
Whill shook his head and laughed, embarrassed. “It was nothing, really. Just a dream, like Zerafin said.”
“Given the dreams you have had of late, I would not take any lightly if I were you.”
Worry was etched into Zerafin’s handsome brow. “My sister was able to reach you in your dreams. Do you think maybe Addakon or Eadon-”
Whill cut him off. “No, no.” He shook his head. Could his dreams have been influenced by his enemies? Given recent events, he decided he really had no way of knowing. Nothing he heard would ever seem strange again. In the new world he had been thrust into, anything seemed possible.
“It is my turn to keep watch, Zerafin,” Abram said. “Get some rest, my friend.”
Zerafin nodded in Abram’s direction, never taking his eyes off Whill. Finally his serious look was replaced by a friendly smile. “Very well, then, but I shall like to hear of the dream later.”
He took his leave as Abram and Whill w
alked a few yards out of camp. They walked the perimeter in silence at first, Abram seeming to sense that Whill needed a moment to get his wits about him. There was little wind on the edge of the road to Kell-Torey, and the spring night was unusually warm. This came as a welcome change to the cold winter that had recently passed. Crickets chirped all around them, and every now and then the strange song of bats filled the air. Whill had only slept for a few hours, but he was not tired; rather he found that his head was quite clear.
Abram ended the silence with a pat on Whill’s shoulder. “Have you forgotten that tomorrow is your twentieth birthday?”
Whill laughed. “With all that has transpired, I had forgotten completely.”
“Actually it is your birthday already-so says the moon.” Abram looked past the heavens to a place lost to the years. “I cannot believe it has been twenty years.”
Whill stopped and turned to Abram. “I had never realized, nor have I properly thanked you, for all you have done for me. I cannot imagine a life with you not at my side. So now, twenty years after the beginning of it all-thank you, Abram. Thank you for everything.”
Whill hugged him hard, and gave him a firm pat on the back, which Abram returned. Abram then pushed off and held Whill at arm’s length. “You have surpassed my greatest expectations in every regard, Whill. It truly has been not a sacrifice, but an honor.”
Whill smiled, but then his smile faded, his eyes moving to the woods. Abram understood the look instantly. “What is it?”
Whill surveyed the surrounding forest. “Listen-the crickets. They have stopped.”
“So they have.”
They quickly but quietly returned to camp, where they found Rhunis and Roakore awake and alert. Rhunis gestured them to come quietly. “Zerafin woke us a moment ago. He and Avriel have ventured into the brush.”
Roakore looked annoyed. “So what is it, eh? What’s the excitement about?”
Whill surveyed the woods once again, a chill running down his spine all the while. “The crickets have stopped singing to each other.”
Roakore huffed. “It’s about time, those little monsters kept me up half the night.”
“SHH!” the others exclaimed.
“Draggard are about,” Whill said. “Don’t ask me how I know, I just do. Ready your axe.”
Roakore nodded, but rather than his axe he took in his hands his stone bird and began to chant quietly.
Rhunis gave the chanting dwarf a queer look. “What is he doing?”
“What we we all should be doing-preparing,” said Abram, as he slowly unsheathed his blade.
Just then a scream ripped through the air, a scream of death, made by a Draggard. Great flashes of light erupted from within the forest, one, two, three bursts of light. Then Zerafin and Avriel came dashing out of the woods.
“Prepare for battle!” yelled Zerafin. He and Avriel each reached down and picked up four large stones. The siblings said something as they waved a hand over the stones. To Whill’s amazement, the stones began to glow bright white. Zerafin and Avriel then cast the stones in every direction, greatly illuminating the night around them.
Only then did Whill realize that Tarren was still asleep, snoring even. He gently shook the boy. but to no avail. He shook harder. “Tarren, wake up!”
“Do not bother,” said Avriel as she threw a few more stones into the woods. “I have made it so he will sleep soundly. The boy does not need to see this.”
Whill nodded, grateful for Avriel’s thoughtfulness.
Zerafin looked back at the others. “They have surrounded us.”
“Twenty, maybe thirty of them,” added Avriel.
Zerafin surveyed the night sky. “And at least a dozen Draquon. Ready your bows, and guard the boy.” He strung an arrow of his own.
Roakore seemed not to hear any of it as he stood, eyes closed, chanting still.
So they waited, Abram, Whill, Rhunis, and Roakore with their backs to the fire, Tarren lying next to it. Zerafin was on one side of the low-burning fire, Avriel on the other, both ten feet from the others, facing the illuminated woods.
They needed not wait long. Seeing no point in stealth with the night suddenly so bright, The Draggard attacked all at once from the shadows from all directions, and from the sky. Just as quickly the elves stretched out their arms at the attackers. An unseen energy hit the Draggard, more than twenty of them. The beasts were lifted five feet into the air and thrown back into the shadows.
Whill could only watch in awe. Roakore saw also, and saw that it was time. With one last loud exclamation of his chanted words, he raised his hand and the stone bird whirled to life. Up, up into the air it flew, and with a thud it connected with a flying Draquon. The beast fell to the ground ten feet from the fire, its head crushed.
Whill and Abram sprang into action, firing shots into the night sky as the ominous shadows flew overhead.
“Duck down!” shouted Avriel, and all four warriors obliged. A split second later a Draquon’s tail whipped overhead. Avriel shot quickly. Before her warning had begun to echo through the forest, the Draquon fell, an arrow straight through its forehead.
From his crouch Whill noticed that the Draggard that had been thrown backwards had regrouped. They were now in a throwing stance, and more than twenty spears were at the ready. “Watch out!” he shouted, even as the Draggard threw their many spears in unison.
The spears came whirling in at the group. Whill lifted his sword, ready to deflect the onslaught, but there were too many. They came from all directions, pointed tips gleaming. As one, the elves raised a single hand.
The spears came in swiftly, then just as swiftly changed course and flew into the night sky. More than half a dozen Draquon fell from above, spears protruding from many wounds. The spear-wielding Draggard hissed and growled and charged again. Once again the elves sent a shockwave of energy to throw them back.
Whill felt helpless as he watched the elves unleash their devastating power. He and the other four stood at the ready. Roakore’s stone bird whirled by and took another Draquon from the heavens. The elves took the opportunity to focus on the Draquon as well. They raised their arms, chanting in Elvish, and as one the remaining nine Draquon fell from the sky and slammed to the ground. One unfortunate beast landed directly in the fire. Embers and burning wood flew in all directions. Rhunis’s cloak caught fire, as did Tarren’s blanket. Rhunis tore off his cloak and stomped on the blanket as Whill and Abram slashed and stabbed at the Draquon.
Roakore settled his sights on the two closest winged beasts, who were dazed but not down. The stone bird pounded mercilessly back and forth as he guided it from one Draquon’s head to the other until they moved no more. The elves engaged the others with their devastating swords as the Draggard regrouped and charged at the warriors.
Whill again was left to watch in awe as the elves took down the beasts with graceful precision. The Draggard were no match for their power. They fell one after another as the siblings cut through blade and armor, bone and flesh. Roakore let his stone bird fall and breathed in gasps as he took up his axe.
“They’ll not have all the fun!” he huffed, and charged into the fray. Rhunis was right behind him, screaming the Eldalon war charge with a gleam in his eye. Whill and Abram, reluctant to leave Tarren, watched as the others made short work of the remaining Draggard.
With the last killing stroke came again the darkening of the night. Whill thought that with the threat gone, the elves had extinguished the lighted stones. He soon realized that was not the case.
“Be ready!” said Avriel in a hushed tone.
Whill was chilled once again, not because the light had gone, not because there might be more Draggard about, but because there was a hint of fear in Avriel’s voice. The six formed a tight circle around the fire and around Tarren.
“What is it?” asked Rhunis.
Zerafin closed his eyes for a moment. “A Dark elf, a powerful Dark elf,” added Avriel.
“Bah! Bring ’em on!” sai
d Roakore, as he put his stone bird in motion. “I see him hiding.”
“Roakore, don’t!” warned Avriel, but too late. Roakore released his weapon and it disappeared into the night. Just as quickly as it left it returned, hitting Roakore square in the chest and sending him flying over the fire, landing hard fifteen feet away. He did not move.
“Damn!” exclaimed Zerafin. “All of you, hold!”
From the woods where Roakore had sent his stone bird, a figure emerged. He came boldly from the shadows and into the light, twenty feet from the group. He was indeed a Dark elf, with long, black, flowing hair tucked behind his long pointed ears, which were adorned with many earrings. He wore no armor, which unsettled Whill more than a little. Instead he wore a flowing black robe with the hood drawn back, revealing a shining black dragonscale tunic underneath. His face was as fair as any elf’s but for the intricate tattooed designs on it.
Zerafin stepped forward and spoke in Elvish. “Go now and tell your master that you and your band of monsters have failed here tonight, or you will not see the dawn.”
The Dark elf did not move. Instead he laughed, a wicked, guttural laugh. “Ah, yes-the noble Zerafin. Much like your father you are, but a little less brave. As I remember, you left him to die and went sailing away with the other elf children. How valiant do your words seem now.”
Avriel stood beside her brother. “You do understand that your words cannot unsettle us.”
The Dark elf took a step forward. “And the princess of the fallen Elves of the Sun, Avriel. It is such a treat to see you again. I shall enjoy every moment I spend with you henceforth, my love, do not doubt. But for now I have your coward brother to deal with!”
A flash of red light emanated from his hand and traveled toward the siblings. They raised their hands in return, and from them the same light met the attack. The Dark elf laughed once again, never letting up on the attack.
“I see you need the help of your sister to meet my challenge! How fitting. This only shows once again the greater power that is to be found within darkness.”
The elves seemed to be at a stalemate, but the siblings looked slightly taxed in holding the Dark elf’s attack at bay, while he showed not a sign of effort.
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