Vosper’s eyes narrowed dangerously, and the young man squirmed under the emperor’s stare. “You dare… question my orders?”
“N-no, sire—please forgive me,” said Carelo. “I spoke out of place. I’ll have the archers ready for you by the next full moon.”
“Good,” said Vosper. “Prepare… my armies for battle. We will sssstrike… Mount Velik at the next full moon.”
All the generals stared, wide-eyed. The third commander, who had remained silent until now, finally spoke. “Mount Velik? We aren’t ready for a protracted war with the dwarves! We haven’t enough men!”
Vosper growled, deep in his throat, and floated over to the man. “Flajut… you have alwayssss…been my most trusted commander. And now you question me?”
The man trembled, his face reflecting a deep inner struggle. Flajut was the eldest of the three—a hardened veteran who had survived many battles. Seconds stretched into minutes, and still the old man did not respond.
“Answer me!” hissed the emperor.
Finally, it seemed that his internal battle was over. Flajut raised his chin, defiant. “I always thought that using necromancers was a mistake, and I told you so. They’re dangerous and unpredictable. But I respected your decision, because you were my emperor. But now—you’ve become one! You aren’t my king—you’re nothing but a corpse! An abomination! Kill me if you must, but I refuse to take orders from a filthy deadrat!”
Vosper paused and then responded without emotion. “Flajut… although it pains me to lose such a valuable military leader…. I cannot abide ssssuch disloyalty.”
Flajut clenched his teeth and remained standing. Unlike the others, he did not look away, and his gaze did not falter. The old man stared directly into Vosper’s eyes, meeting the dead emperor’s chilling glare.
Vosper reached out, brushing Flajut’s chest with his index finger. The touch was gentle, and nothing happened at first. But as the seconds passed, Flajut’s breathing became labored. Vosper smiled, savoring the life force as it drained from the old man’s body. Minutes later, Flajut collapsed to the floor, dead.
Ajit and Carelo looked on, their faces stricken. They said nothing.
Vosper looked up, his face flushed from the rush of power. “The two of you… are now in control of all my armies. Divide up Flajut’s duties… as you wish. You are both… dismissssed.” Then he waved them off. The two remaining commanders left the throne room, shaken, but alive.
Vosper turned to his necromancers, floating silently nearby. “Uldreiyn and Uevareth… monitor them both. I cannot risk… any ssssubversion… If you see anything suspicious, report back to me immediately.”
“As you command… my lord,” said the necromancers in unison. They left the throne room to follow the generals.
Vosper looked impassively upon the corpse of his former general. He felt nothing. No anger, no remorse; he felt no emotion at all. The emperor floated back to his window and stared out into the distance. The time for war was almost here.
At the entrance to the throne room, dozens of horrified servants looked on. The servants whispered among themselves. Flajut’s dead body lay crumpled like a blanket on the floor. It was an atrocity to leave a body unburied, laying in the open. But the emperor, now an immortal, cared little for human conventions.
The servants ran off, whispering the horror that they had witnessed. And the gossip spread like wildfire through the city.
Saving Sela
Tlias had been at the Elder Willow for several days when Brinsop finally arrived, carrying Islar and Sela. The dragon’s chin was streaked with blood-speckled foam, a testament to her grueling journey. Brinsop landed hard, her chest heaving. Crippled with exhaustion, she collapsed to the ground.
Islar was holding Sela’s body, which was only partially covered by the remnants of her charred tunic. Islar’s face was white from the strain and lack of sleep.
Sela’s condition was grave. The skin on her face and arms was blackened in several places, and her shoulder was grossly swollen.
Islar struggled to climb from the saddle, grunting as he dragged his body from the position he had held for days. He eventually gave up and fell, tumbling onto the grass. Sela fell on top of Islar, and neither moved. Elias rushed over, lifting Sela’s limp body off the exhausted young mage.
“Are you all right?” said Elias.
“I’m fine,” said Islar breathlessly. “Tend to Sela—I don’t even know if she’s still breathing.”
Elias checked Sela’s pulse and was relieved when he felt a faint heartbeat. “She’s alive—but just barely.” Elias carried her body to the center of the clearing and laid her on top of a clean blanket. Then he carefully began to remove her tattered clothing. In some areas, dried blood had hardened, making the clothing stick to her wounds.
Elias removed all the burnt clothing and set it aside. None of it was salvageable, not even her boots. Everything was caked with dried blood. Even worse, the clothes had a rancid licorice smell.
“Nydeired, can you burn these for me? They have the stench of necromancer on them.”
Gladly, said Nydeired, thankful for something to do. A splinter of fire erupted from the dragon’s lips, and the clothes burned instantly. Seconds later, only a pile of clean ash remained.
“Thanks,” said Elias.
Islar blushed and looked away, unused to seeing an unclothed female. Elias, on the other hand, had years of experience as an apprentice healer. He had been present at countless births, helping his grandmother bring new children into the world. He thanked the goddess again for his grandmother’s invaluable training.
First, he had to see how badly she was injured. To do that, he had to remove all the dirt and blood. Elias filled a bowl with clean water and washed Sela’s body carefully, trying not exacerbate her wounds. As he bathed her, he gently searched for broken bones.
Some of the injuries were obvious. Her right shoulder was dislocated; it was swollen to the size of a ripe melon. Her left eye was sealed shut, the socket crushed.
Her left cheekbone was shattered. Multiple ribs broken, wrist broken, skull fractured—but worst of all were the burns. In some places, the skin was so damaged that Elias was unsure if any living tissue remained underneath. He’d never seen burns this severe—on someone who was still alive, anyway.
Using his arms, Chua dragged himself over to Elias. “What do you think, son?” Chua asked. “Can you save her?”
“Honestly? I don’t know,” said Elias. “I’ll need your help.”
Take whatever strength you need from us, said Starclaw. Use Chua’s dragon stone. It will allow you to draw power from both of us.
Elias nodded and closed his eyes, resting his hands on Sela’s body. Her skin was clammy. “Curatio,” said Elias. The spell began to work, draining his energy. “Curatio,” he said again. Underneath his glowing palms, Elias felt Sela’s bones knitting back together. Her damaged skin fell away, shedding like the skin of a snake, revealing bright pink skin underneath. Elias knew that the scars would be awful in some places, but that couldn’t be helped.
He moved his hands over to her damaged left eye. The shattered optical bones knit back together, but Elias knew that the eye was lost. “I can’t save her sight in this eye—it has been damaged beyond repair.”
Elias began to sweat. It was just too much at once—he couldn’t maintain the spell. Even with considerable assistance from the others, he knew that his energy would soon falter. He felt himself weakening. He wasn’t sure if he had done enough.
Just then, Sela groaned: an excellent sign. Elias smiled—she would survive. He stopped the spell and slumped down. He would have to repair the rest of the injuries after his strength had returned.
Chua and Starclaw exhaled and sat back. They also needed to gather their strength after the healing.
“Elias, how do you feel?” said Chua.
“Drained, but happy,” said Elias. “I’ll dress her remaining wounds. I wish I had the energy to fix that terri
ble shoulder, but it will have to wait. The worst of her injuries are healed. She’ll survive.”
Brinsop, who had been waiting anxiously nearby, crawled over and nudged Elias with her snout. Thank you, Elias. I am in your debt. The relief in the dragon’s voice was palpable.
“Sela would have done the same for me.” Elias got up and went inside the Elder Willow. Moments later, he emerged with a fresh tunic.
Elias lifted Sela up gently and slipped the clean tunic over her head. It was a man’s size, but it would suffice for the time being. Sela remained unconscious, but her breathing and heart rate had stabilized.
“Islar, are you strong enough to help me carry her? I don’t want to leave her here. It’s warmer and safer for her underground.”
Islar nodded. Together, they carefully carried Sela into the chamber underneath the tree. They placed her on a bed of clean straw, and Elias covered her with a thin blanket.
“There, that’s better,” said Elias, smiling at his handiwork. Years ago, he didn’t fully appreciate his talent as a healer. Now he found it to be very rewarding. Out of all the training and spells he had learned over the past year, it was his work as a healer that satisfied him the most.
“She’ll be comfortable here,” said Elias.
Just then, Islar’s stomach growled, and he blushed. “Sorry,” he said, embarrassed.
Islar was approximately the same age as Elias, but the differences between them were vast. Islar was self-conscious and socially awkward. Elias patted him on the shoulder and asked, “Islar, are you hungry?”
Islar’s face brightened immediately. “Starving! I was afraid to ask.”
“Don’t be shy, we’re all friends here,” said Elias. “Follow me. There’s plenty of food; the tree sprites gather it for us. No meat, I’m afraid, but plenty of fruit, nuts, and vegetables. I’m a fairly proficient small-game hunter; I can probably catch us a rabbit or a duck, but we’ll have to cook it away from the grove. The sprites don’t like the smell of cooked animal flesh, and they’re dangerous when they’re displeased.”
“Anything is fine, really. I’m so hungry right now that I won’t be picky.”
Elias laughed. “I’ve been there, believe me.” They exited the tree and Elias showed Islar to the food: a collection of brightly colored bowls all filled with hearty wild foods. Islar grabbed handfuls of the nuts and berries, stuffing his mouth full. After eating his fill, he lay down on the soft grass and promptly went to sleep, snoring gently.
Elias returned to the clearing, and Brinsop approached him.
How is Sela? she said.
“Alive. But she’s going to be in a lot of pain when she wakes up. I could prepare a sedative to make her more comfortable, but I’m certain she’ll refuse it.”
You’re right, said Brinsop. Sela doesn’t like anything that alters her mind.
“She may awaken tonight. I may be strong enough to heal the rest of her injuries by this evening. Even so, she’ll need time to recover.”
I’ll excuse myself and join Sela below. I prefer to be by her side when she regains consciousness.
“I understand,” said Elias. Brinsop disappeared underground, squeezing herself into the narrow chamber.
Elias walked over and sat down next to his father. Chua and Starclaw sat quietly. Elias touched Chua’s shoulder gently. “I am here, Father.”
“I know,” said Chua. “I always feel your presence, and the presence of the stone.”
“That was the most difficult healing I’ve ever done,” said Elias. “I wasn’t certain that she would survive. Her condition is still serious, but I’m sure she’ll recover.”
“You have a powerful gift,” said Chua. “Your grandmother trained you well.”
“When I was younger, I never really appreciated the skill it took to be a healer. I thought that all spellcasters could do it.”
“No,” said Chua. “Skilled healers are rare, even among the most gifted of us. Healing spells themselves are often deceptively simple, but the ability to heal major injuries cannot be taught. It’s intuitive, as much as anything else.”
“I wonder why that is,” said Elias.
“It’s relatively easy to heal wounds on the surface. Any spellcaster can do that. Cuts and bruises are obvious. It’s the hidden injuries that are difficult—internal bleeding, shattered bones, poisons; these are all invisible to the naked eye. Most cannot heal beyond what they perceive. But you see beyond the surface. A true healer can sense the depth and breadth of a person’s injuries—this is why you can heal wounds that others cannot.”
It makes sense, Elias thought. “When I place my hands on someone, it’s almost as if their body becomes transparent. I can ‘see’ everything that’s wrong, at least in my mind.”
“It’s your true calling, Elias,” said Chua.
“I love being a healer. It’s exhausting, but very rewarding. But what I don’t understand is this—if being a healer is my true calling, then what about the prophesy? Everyone expects me to be a warrior. How am I supposed to defeat the emperor? I can’t imagine going to Morholt, much less facing Vosper in battle.”
“You must follow your destiny, Elias. Nothing more; nothing less. You are instrumental in this war, but no one knows exactly what role you shall play in the outcome.”
“You’re a living oracle,” said Elias. “Can’t you tell me what to do?”
“No, my son. Even I cannot know for sure if Vosper will prevail, or fail utterly. That is the way of things.”
Elias sighed. “Perhaps it’s better that I don’t know the answer. I might get too confident if I knew Vosper would be defeated, and I might give up entirely if I knew I didn’t have a chance.”
Chua smiled. “That’s a sensible attitude.”
Elias was about to respond when he felt a familiar itch on the back of his neck. Seconds later, he felt the echo of Tallin’s voice in his mind. A second consciousness, weaker, but still present, also joined the communication. It was Rali, listening in with his limited magical skills.
“Elias: Rali is leaving Mount Velik; he’s coming to the Elder Willow. He and Aor will arrive within the next few days by horseback. Did Sela survive?”
“Yes,” said Elias, struggling to maintain the spell in his weakened condition. “She is alive and resting.”
“Excellent,” said Tallin. He sensed Elias’ fatigue and ended the spell abruptly. “Talk to you shortly,” he said, and Elias felt Tallin’s consciousness drop away.
“Whew! That was tiring,” said Elias, rubbing his throbbing temples. Although Tallin spent some time practicing telepathic spells with Elias, he knew that it would never be easy for him. It just wasn’t one of his better skills.
“Telepathy is an innate gift, Elias, just like healing. The skill is difficult for humans.”
“Why is that?” asked Elias.
“The strength of the telepath is generally dependent on the spellcaster’s race. Elves are natural telepaths. They communicate easily with their minds—not just with other races, but with animals. Mageborn dwarves typically have good telepathic powers, as well. Strong human telepaths are rare. The most powerful human telepaths invariably have some elvish blood, and the same holds true for the dwarves, although they are loath to admit it.”
“When Thorin and I were traveling together, he talked about the dwarves and their prejudices. Tallin doesn’t really talk about it, but the dwarves treated him badly when he was growing up, just because he’s a half-ling. It seems really unfair, considering he risked his life so many times to defend them.”
“People are set in their ways,” said Chua. “Old bigotries die hard. The dwarves aren’t immortal, but they are a long-lived race, and change comes very slowly for them.”
“The elves seem even worse in some ways, but it’s difficult to tell. Three of them came to Parthos: Amandila, Fëanor, and Carnesîr. They were all dragon riders, like us.”
“What did you think of the elves, when you met them?”
Elias sh
rugged. “They’re beautiful and mysterious, but so manipulative. I have no idea why they even came to the desert.”
“Elves are unlike any of the other races. The elves are neither evil nor good. Instead, they are largely indifferent to the mortal races. They do dislike the orcs, however.”
“When I first met the elves, I couldn’t control myself. I was entranced.”
“Elves are creatures of magic, and normal mortals cannot resist their charms. If trained properly, mageborns can cast defensive wards to combat the effect of elvish glamour. Even so, their allure remains strong.”
“Are all elves able to use magic?”
“Yes. Unlike humans or dwarves, elves are born with magical abilities. Like us, their magical powers vary in intensity. Some are more gifted than others. They also have acute senses and can see and hear better than any mortal.”
“Tallin hates them,” said Elias.
“Perhaps ‘hate’ is too strong a word. I recall that Tallin has an unpleasant personal history with the elves, especially Carnesîr. Their mutual animosity started long before the Dragon Wars. I do not know the origin of their hostility. Carnesîr is unique, because he is rumored to be a spirit conjurer.”
“A spirit conjurer?” said Elias. “Spirits are real?”
“Oh, yes,” said Chua. “Very much so. How do you think a necromancer is created? The Necromancer’s Oath is one of the darkest spells in existence; a necromancer cannot be created unless a living spirit is ripped from the body of three willing victims.”
“That sounds horrible!” said Elias.
“It’s even worse than it sounds. The souls of the sacrificed enter the black heart of the necromancer, and there they remain—trapped for all eternity, or until the necromancer is destroyed.”
Elias shivered. “Who would willingly submit to such an awful fate?”
“Men will do almost anything when their loved ones are threatened. Vosper has ways of convincing people, and none of his methods are noble. The emperor will do anything to secure his position, even killing innocent people. No one is safe.”
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