Yarr turned calm, sympathetic eyes to Makhatar. He pitied her most of all. Her life was the smaller one. Truly. She was the thing to be studied and pitied. The wealth of the Hundred Worlds was hers, and yet she was so self-loathing and jaded she could not find joy in any of it. She felt the weight of the worlds every day and had lived less in her centuries of freedom than he had lived in a hundred years in captivity; she was the slave and not he. He could let go of this life and find freedom. She would never be free, not in this life or in the next.
Yarr was about to shake his fists in the air, but sank to his knees instead for he felt them then. The soft presence and the mighty one; both demanding his attention.
“You just don’t know when to die properly, do you, Alv?” The sharp voice in his mind was unmistakable; it was Makhatar’s.
“Be strong,” Yarr said as he swept up the sword from the dirt. He turned his eyes to Dierá among the hawkers and gravers, answering her soft call to him as he did so. “The Merciless One knows you and will welcome you.”
Yarr turned calm, sympathetic eyes to Makhatar. Martin spoke her judgment and the mob agreed. “Death for the Jurin.”
“Take as you can,” Yarr shouted in Cikathian. “Mercy is what I will deliver.” He made a spectacle of sweeping his sword, delivering it to the dirt beside a fallen Monsjurin, lunging at a fallen Fhurtroll. He leapt into the air, landed on top of the fallen Empyrjurin.
As he stalked across the gargant’s chest, he saw his mother open his arms to him. He smiled, saw Dierá look to those he had pointed out, and then he struck, plunging in the blade, delivering the blow to the heart between armor and ribs.
The deed done. He fell down to his backside, smiling still. Blood flowed from the wound delivered by his own hand and frothed from his own mouth. The twin suns gave the last of their light as he took in the last of his breaths, and he went to the darkness unafraid, knowing there was yet light and hope.
He had dared to dream a dream of Élvemere. It was the one true thing he could believe in. He was humbled and blessed that something so precious had been given to his care. “Please, please, please, forgive me,” he said in Alvish. “I dared dream, and when Élvemere could not live otherwise, I gave what left I had.”
Yarr no longer saw the waking world. Instead, his second self saw the flat, open grasslands of his beloved homeland where Windrunner’s son waited for him. He climbed onto the young stallion’s back and raced with the winds across the sweeping plains to the great forest. Soon he was standing outside his father’s pavilion of rich blue silks and yellow satins.
“Join us,” said his father, calling out from within the pavilion.
“Yes, please. Hurry now,” his mother said.
Yarr put haste to his step. “Pritish,” he said in greeting as he entered.
“Salus, salut,” his father replied.
“Sit,” his mother said. She poured a steaming cup of blue elder juice and set it before him. “Drink this, find peace. There is hope. Without doubt, you are the Light of Élvemere.” She looked to her husband. “Our walk now?”
Yarr’s father nodded, took her hand, and she in turn took Yarr’s. The three left the pavilion and began walking. Windrunner and his kin followed.
Yarr had been drifting for so long, but now he was home. He could breathe again. All his troubles and fears dissolved. He believed; all was possible. He could dare to lose himself completely now, and did.
“Goodbye,” he said to Dierá. Her face and lips before his mind’s eye were the answers at the end of the light. She was faithful and strong. She would cast him gently to the night and help him forgive the cruelty of this day. “Don’t worry. Time will heal all. Everything will come around and one day Élvemere will live. No matter what, it was worth the cost.”
But these words were not Yarr’s, they were Dierá’s, and he realized he had returned to the waking world. He lived, breathed, and Dierá cradled him in her arms. “Forgive me,” she said, the hungry white power of life still flowing from her mouth to his, “I could not bear to live without you.”
The mob was in an uproar. Rioting began. Drakón and titans were being escorted away to safety by S’h’dith warriors. The magi were frantically erecting perimeters of magic to hold back the crowds. Trykaths were pouring into the stadium from every side tunnel. The skies over the stadium were alive with flyers and buzzers of many sorts.
Dhon, Jdost, and G’rkyr lived. They were circling protectively, holding back the Gnogs and Trykaths. Makhatar was furious, screaming as she rode a wave of power in a crescendo from the stands to the stadium floor. The king, the titan, and the fat prince were at her side.
“You?” Makhatar screamed. “How dare you!”
Dierá answered, “I am Athania Dierá Steorra of the Élvemere and I dare all.”
Makhatar clawed at Dierá. The titan and the Drakón prince interceded before she could land her blows. “These will best serve in life, not death,” the titan said. “Retribution in service,” the prince said. “Subscribe them in the war against the Jurin armies.”
Makhatar pulled back, thought better of it, and came back round with her claws. Only the king’s words stopped her from striking. “No,” he said plainly and firmly.
The prince spoke into the king’s ear. “Surely they’ve proven themselves. Let them bring death to our enemies.”
The king waived the prince back, waved back Makhatar’s blind outrage. “Bind them as need be. Life service in the corps. No one will broach disapproval in this.”
And so, Yarr’s new life in service to the corps began.
ELF QUEEN’S QUEST
RUIN MIST CHRONICLES: DARK PATH 1
After the Great War that divided the peoples, the kingdoms of men plunged into a Dark Age that lasted five hundred years. To heal the lands and restore the light, the great kings decreed that magic and all that is magical, be it creature, man or device, shall be cleansed to dust. Creatures born of magic were hunted to extinction. Any who dared call magic to their hands were butchered in the streets and afterward their kin were cast out of the known lands or hunted in the blood sport. The cleansing raged for so long that no human could recall a time without it and it is in this time that the Dark One, the one called Sathar, returned from the dark beyond.
The one hope of the peoples of Ruin Mist was Queen Mother, the elf queen of old. She saw a way out of everlasting darkness, a path that required the union of the divided peoples. Yet the Elves of the West did not share her vision. They thought her mad and answered her call for help with a call to arms. Now for the first time in recorded history the armies of the West are marching toward the sacred city of the East and an unholy war where elf must fight elf is inevitable. To turn back the tides of one war and prepare for another, Queen Mother must send her most trusted warriors on a perilous journey across the Great Sea, but what the elves will find if they can reach the far shores cannot be known for certain.
Prologue
Seth glanced at the piles of scrolls and tomes spread across the desk. No matter what Queen Mother had told him, there was no way he could remain unaffected by such writings. The fact that she wouldn't listen to his protests only served to agitate him.
Focus, he told himself, setting one of the leather-bound tomes before him while trying to convince himself that he wanted to read it. After a long pause, he opened it. The book was entitled, War of the Races, Chronicles I.
Seth read the first page and no more. He pushed the book away. He couldn't continue to study the perversity of Man. His thoughts were cluttered with all that had happened yesterday.
He focused his thoughts on the breeze blowing outside the protected fields of Sanctuary. The wind ran dry and hot over the parched earth. A simple projecting of his will and he was racing with the swells, dancing in the swirls and accompanying a river of currents into the heavens. There was moisture in the clouds. This was good.
Peace swept over Seth. The will of the land found him. He looked down from the heavens and rac
ed toward the jagged wall of mountains in the distance. Everything was calm and the troubled thoughts were nearly forgotten.
Seth laughed as he reached the mountains for the breeze turned suddenly cool, his voice echoing over the land before it died in his throat as the breeze became icy. Pain followed; white-hot it swept through Seth's mind and then as if he had reached the edge of the earth, the breeze stopped and all the air was gone.
Suddenly, Seth found himself back at his desk, his eyes wide and the book before him. It took what seemed an eternity for him to recover his wits and for the pain to recede from his mind.
As the pain faded so did the memory of its presence. Soon all Seth could remember was the book before him, which he started reading after a momentary self-protest.
Without announcement a figure clad in red burst into the room. Seth looked up from his studies only long enough to see it was Galan. He glanced up once more to see her disrobe and prepare for a bath, then his thoughts returned to the book.
You study too much. You need to relax… whispered Galan's soft voice in his mind, You should join me. The bath is soothing.
Seth looked up again to see Galan standing naked before him. I wish I could.
Is it true then what I've heard? Galan sent strong emotions with the words, longing and curiosity.
For the first time as he looked at her, Seth saw Galan as different, beautiful. The silver of her skin danced within the rays of sunshine streaming into the room, and all the while he watched the lavender of her eyes and the gentle swaying of her body called to him. Suddenly uneasy and not understanding why, he stared down at his books. Their strange ideas pollute my mind even now.
Galan replied, Then it is true.
Seth sent her acknowledgement, but did not look up.
Galan's thoughts raced. What do you find most odd about them?
Seth smiled. Only Galan would ask what he found most odd about humankind. I find them most odd. Everything about them is odd.
Why is that? Galan scratched at her breast and Seth was again drawn to her eyes. Why has Queen Mother told you to study their ways? It has been five hundred years since the Race War, why now?
Seth sought to change the subject. Will you stand my watch again this day?
Galan answered not with words, but with feelings. She sent him thoughts of impatience.
Seth got up, walked around to the front of the desk. An hour away from my studies will do more good than harm.
Galan smiled, a smile that was short-lived as the voice of Queen Mother pervaded her thoughts. The will of Queen Mother could reach across the land. She called to Seth.
Seth guardedly walked beside Queen Mother, his mind carefully searched while his eyes scanned every shadow the two passed. As First of the Red, her safety was his responsibility. He was against remaining in Sanctuary, but Queen Mother wouldn't speak of leaving.
For reasons that escaped him, she wanted to use Sanctuary's High Hall. Its crystalline walls were specially attuned to reflect the feelings of a particular host despite even the best efforts of a mental block or mind shield. This was a feat Queen Mother could have easily performed herself though she said she wished to conserve her will power. For what, she hadn't said.
Seth sent his thoughts into her mind as they walked. Queen Mother, is it true?
Her thoughts were silent for a moment and then she replied. Even now he joins forces with King Mark of West Reach and still others flock to his banner. It is as we most feared.
Will there be war? Seth asked.
Queen Mother regarded Seth. I will miss you in my thoughts.
The words caught Seth by surprise. He didn't understand. The link between protector and queen was unbreakable. He was the watch warden of her body and of her mind. He felt her pain. He knew her anguish, her every anxiety. This was the link. My Queen, I don't understand.
Queen Mother paused momentarily and gazed into his eyes. In time, you will. Even traditions that stem from ages past cannot remain forever. Soon it will be time to guard my own thoughts and my own being just as the first queen had to do.
Seth was confused and the troubled emotions he cast along with his words showed it. But my queen, you mustn't. You must direct your will to protect land and people.
Queen Mother quickly returned, Centuries ago we abandoned our ancestral homes. We fled to this barren land out of fear. We have lived in fear of repeating the past and only succeeded in repeating it. Still, the day may come when all Elves will smell the green life of our ancestral forests again.
Seth was about to reply when she silenced him.
Say no more. We are at High Hall, she bade.
With a simple projection of thoughts, the two passed through the outer antechambers and entered High Hall. Seth remained at Queen Mother's side. He was pleased to see Brother Ry'al seated behind Brother Samyuehl, First of the Blue Order.
Greetings, sent Seth to Ry'al, guiding the thought solely to Ry'al's mind. Seth had not seen Ry'al since the two had been together under Samyuehl's tutelage, a time during which Seth had learned a great deal.
Just as Queen Mother took her place and sent her own greetings to the foremost six, each dressed in the appropriately colored robes of his or her order—Yellow, Brown, Blue, Black, White and Gray—Seth momentarily contemplated the hundred and one seasons of tutelage under Samyuehl's watchful eye. Being of the Red Order meant that he had to endure the seven teachings as a member of each order—and he had, thanks to Samyuehl.
As all was in order, Seth took his place two paces behind Queen Mother. He noted that she attuned High Hall's crystalline walls to her own mood, which at first was both pensive and somber. Reflecting this, the walls shone mostly in shades of black and gray.
Queen Mother's expression became grim and determined as she levitated into the air above the gray satin-pillowed couch that dominated the center of the immense hall. The gray of the couch again reflected the somberness of her mood.
For a few moments before he settled behind the shields in his mind, Seth knew and felt Queen Mother's thoughts. She was reminding herself that she had been annoyed this morning and had been annoyed many times over many previous days, but not now. Now she needed to keep her mind clear and her thoughts focused. She needed to keep her emotions centered and directed.
She chose her words carefully now and directed her thoughts outward. Greetings to wise council. Thank you for a speedy assembly.
Those thoughts were the last Seth heard before he entered the quiet solitude of his mind. His duty was to be present and not to listen in unless directed to. Instead, he would follow her feelings to know her mood, and if she needed him her feelings would reflect this.
He had many other things to concern himself with besides squabbles amongst High Council or the First Brothers. Again, he feared for Queen Mother's safety and wondered what would come of his fears.
Time passed.
Within the folds of his mind, Seth was only aware of the world beyond High Hall and of Queen Mother's mood, which was growing more somber. His will guardedly watched the winds. Far off in the fields beyond Sanctuary he heard the scurrying of a mouse. Then for a single instant, it was as if a breeze had entered his mind. It was a presence in his thoughts.
Seth opened his eyes and turned to Queen Mother. She regarded him for a moment and then dismissed him with a nodding of her head. Seth stood his ground, the indignity he felt at the dismissal showing briefly on his face. Then he exited High Hall, speaking not a word.
Call Brother Galan to my chambers, Queen Mother whispered after him. Return to your studies.
Following the unspoken whisper, Brother Liyan entered the room. The gray of his robe was a symbol of office, unlike the white of Queen Mother's robe that was a symbol of her whims and mood. Brother Liyan nodded to Galan who stood watch just inside the chamber. Her dark lavender eyes regarded him for a moment and she felt a chill run the length of his spine, and then she softly re-entered Queen Mother's thoughts, doing what she wasn't supposed to do b
ut felt compelled to do.
The hue of the walls slowly adjusted to reflect agitation. At first they dulled and darkened to a metallic bronze and then settled on a murky brown. Taking note of the falling and deepening of the cubicle's glow, the wonderful silver of Brother Liyan's eyes turned dark as the coal that stoked the great furnaces of Sanctuary.
My queen, Brother Liyan said as he stepped into the room. He kneeled appropriately, and awaited her response to make further comment.
Once more Queen Mother responded only with feelings: displeasure and annoyance.
Brother Liyan looked up into Queen Mother's eyes and uneasily rose from his knees. My queen, a thousand pardons for the interruption, but this matter is urgent. You did not address it directly during the assembly, but I gather that Brother Seth prepares for the journey?
Queen Mother responded quickly, Yes, that is so.
Brother Liyan's response was returned just as quickly. Why Brother Seth, First of the Red? His strength is needed here, especially now.
Queen Mother held her position, her long white robe cascading to the clean, cold floor. It must be.
Brother Liyan continued his protest. You yourself said the chosen wouldn't survive the ordeal. Brother Seth must not go. Who would protect in his stead?
Queen Mother replied in thought. Only those of the assembly know the fate of the chosen. It is my wish that the Red are the ones.
Brother Liyan paled visibly. My queen, the Red are your protectors.
Shielding their thoughts, Queen Mother slammed the cubicle's door. Black walls mirrored her increasingly somber mood, for these were the very thoughts she had sought to cleanse away through meditation.
Precisely, was her response and Brother Liyan's eyes went wide.
My queen, Brother Liyan began, then his thoughts scattered to the winds as Queen Mother's will fell upon him.
Queen Mother stopped levitating and stood beside Liyan, staring into his eyes. If I as Queen Mother, the heart and soul of my people, cannot pay the dearest of prices for the ridding of the greatest ailment, then I and all fail the greatest of tests.
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