A War of Silver and Gold

by Minerva J. Kaelin

Out of the Nine Lords, Griswold was the most petrifying and most terrifying, feral in his silence and deadly with his eyes of grey clouds after the rain.

  A silent force of the gods.

  + + +

  “How do I know I am not going to send my army into a trap?” Otho stood from his chair, his hands pressing hard against the table. His glance held so much suspicion and hate, as did her own.

  She shook her head; it was turning into a never ending circle with this one. “Showing off your rage will do you no good, Lord Otho.”

  His eyes sparked with the flames of spite. “Do you know what we do with your kind in Helig?” His fists pounded onto the glass table.

  She crossed her legs underneath the table. Cassia exhaled as she let her back fall onto the throne she sat on. She brought her hands before her, interlacing her fingers as her elbows rested against the armrests.

  She threw Otho a sinister smile and willed her magic to form fangs, small but sharp fangs.

  “Respect never harmed anyone, Lord Otho.” Her smile grew into whorls of magic. “I could,” she stretched up from the table, the never yielding smile plastered all over her face. She tapped her silver nails onto the glass and tilted her head, her eyes never leaving Otho, she assessed his every move.

  She carved runes on the glass before her with her silver nails, runes that she knew the King would never detect across the Wall. She willed a small part of magic onto the mark on the glass as she tapped her index finger’s talon on the table and let her eyes linger on the Lord across her.

  Griswold...

  She paid him little attention and turned her eyes back to Otho. He choked. His hands reaching up to his throat as if he was trying to pull her ghostly hands away. He deserved it, every bit of torture. She remembered him during the War; he had tried to preach her battalions, burn her troops alive. He deserved every bit of torture for his unjustified warfare.

  His eyes seemed to drain of colour, his skin turned paler, losing its normal tan. She was a monster. She let him there, struggling for a few moments, delighting on his pain and discomfort. Her deluded judgment assured her that he deserved every bit of that exquisite pain. The tugging, the pressure of those phantom bindings around his neck, he let his one hand fall against the table, trying to remain upright.

  Let him go...

  A bolt, a lightning bolt shot through her. The voice was foreign, a mere whisper, as if someone, someone so distant forced her to mend and lower her magic over Otho. She felt sweat travelling down her spine, coating the white shirt underneath her armour, and down her forearms.

  She smoothed her hand over the runes making them disappear and Otho’ struggling stopped. He forced his lungs to take in strong amounts of air. Cassia fell back to her chair, sensing the eyes of the rest of the Lords lingering over her, Otho’ wincing forgotten at the sounds in the back of the room.

  She took in a deep breath and glanced back at the flushed Lord. “You see, Otho if I wanted to annihilate all of you I could have done so without the help of the King.” She shook her head. “I don’t need an army to scatter through your defences and bring death in swift wings upon you all.” She cleared her throat. “I am not here to threaten you or drive you to one of the King’s traps. I came here –under the cover of being the King’s spy- to assist you in defeating him. I know that it seems like I have no motive in doing so, but I do. I do.”

  She stood from her chair, Ardan and Nadaon seemed prepared to draw their swords if asked of them. She twisted upon her feet and moved away from the table and towards the silver door of the council room. Ardan and Nadaon’s feet fell in a trail behind her.

  She would have been damned to let those charlatans fool her. If they didn’t want her help, her loyalty and her knowledge of warfare, then the King would be much delighted to have her allegiance returned to him.

  She passed through the threshold of the chamber fully aware that her next move would be to run back into the Citadel and point out to the King each one of the Lords, their weaknesses, her observations of their characters and the strength of their army.

  The King would have pleaded to-

  “Return back here, Lady Cassia.”

  That strange voice she hadn’t heard before forced her feet to surrender to the command as she twisted around. The Lord of Kypriantha stood in all his might, skin shining underneath the silvery light of the onyx, grey eyes glancing with a ferocity she hadn’t seen anywhere but inside her own eyes. His hand trailed over the handle of his own blade, threatening her, silently and without showing it to anyone else.

  She crooked an eyebrow as the sinister smile took over her face, her hand over her sword, defying him with a threat of her own. “I’d love to, but you see, Lord Griswold your friends don’t need assistance,” she felt his eyes blazing like hot flames, licking on her skin and turning her into a torch of fire, fire Griswold seemed too delighted to ignite. “In defeating an army of hundreds of thousands trained soldiers, generals using strategies that I invented and weapons you’ve never dreamed of.”

  Griswold was unaffected at her speech while the rest of the Lords winced. He kept his hand over his sword. “Return back to your seat.”

  “Your cronies think otherwise.” She let her hand fall from the sword as she crawled inside each one of the Lords’ minds, peeking inside their heads. “Otho wants my head as a trophy for his study. Timus nurtures neutral feelings. Mithras and Mordas want to listen more to what I have to say. Hianos is certain that I am prepared to give information about the King. Argoth believes I am genuine. Beathan,” she smiled, a chuckle escaped her and shook her head. “Beathan thinks we could very much be soul mates and...” She trailed as the smile fell from her lips.

  I couldn’t sense him.

  She couldn’t sense Griswold; his mind was too shielded, maybe as shielded as her own. His thoughts were locked from the other side and there was no way for her, in a flaring attempt to impress them, to get past that lock.

  “Your mind is well guarded, Lord Griswold. I can’t get past your mental shields.”

  Griswold nodded, he looked thankful that she couldn’t reach to the other side of his mind. Thankful for some reason she couldn’t possibly fathom.

  “Now, Cassia be kind enough to return to your seat.”

  She didn’t like him. She didn’t. Not even one bit.

  He was too much like her. He was far too similar.

  His powers seemed to rival hers, nudging around her green, silvery core of magic. If she hadn’t known his origin to be Adanei, she would have mistaken him for a Dark Elf. The way he held himself, reeking of arrogance and certainty.

  She returned to her seat as he sat back on his own. The meeting continued, but she could feel Griswold eyes leering over her.

  She averted her glance from the Lord’s across her. Beathan sat smirking. “I think the Lady can’t return back to the war camp.”

  She threw Beathan a glance that could burn down every little hope he had of keeping her here, and asked, “And pray where should I stay, Lord Beathan?”

  “It would be a delight,” Mithras said as he rested back against the chair. “To shelter you in Desety.”

  She nodded.

  “Feremony is by far the safest place for you, Cassia.”

  If glances could kill, then Beathan should have been dead by now.

  “Don’t even think about it, Beathan.” Otho sharply replied. “So you could place your dirty hands over her and have her wincing at your bed.”

  She shook her head. “I could kill him first before he could as much as even touch me.”

  “You are always welcome at Yrveny.” Argoth managed a smile.

  Mordas was the one that forced Argoth’s smile off his lips. “Yrveny is too close to the borders. The King is not stupid, you might have earned Cassia’s lands, but Yrveny is dangerous for her.”

  “And you think,” Argoth threw a spiteful glance towards the Lord of Desety. “You think that your little flinching village would hold the King out?” />
  Mithras and Mordas stood from their chairs, hands bracing against the glass table, eyes spitting fire against Argoth. The Dragon Born twins were pieces of one soul cast in two bodies; they moved and talked in unison most of the time. A feral force of Nature.

  “Maybe we should persuade Tefery to gut you in your sleep.”

  Argoth rolled his eyes. “Keep my mate out of this.”

  Beathan leant closer to Cassia and whispered. “Tefery is their sister and Argoth’s mate. It’s a long, tenuous story. Relax and watch the show, last time Griswold had to drag Argoth by the hair away from the twins.”

  Beathan pulled away and seemed to relax in his seat. She averted her eyes from the intimidating Lord across her and gazed towards the lot of crying, shouting and wincing Adanei at the side.

  Argoth had moved away from his seat and was predatorily approaching the twins. Otho stood by Argoth’s side. The Lords picked sides in this small, ridiculous war between them. Hianos stood by Argoth too, his hand bracing against his sword. Timus went to stand by the twins as did Handres.

  Griswold remained seated, rolling his eyes and fisting his hands on the table in utter annoyance and distaste. They were getting on his nerves, unlike Beathan who seemed more relaxed than before.

  Argoth snarled at Mithras. “If you dare touch my mate-”

  “What will you do?” Mithras asked, his eyes widening, his voice was sharp, sharp enough to slit through flesh and bones.

  “I’ll feed you to your dragon mother, ungrateful pig.”

  “You fail to remember that your mate is our sister.” Mordas cried to Argoth.

  Argoth turned to the Lords gathered around him. “Maybe we should show these swines out with our swords.”

  “If you want to have a taste of my blade, Lord of Ninnies then you should have asked from the beginning.”

  They were a handful. All of them, not even in her wildest Cassia would have thought the mighty Lords of the Adanei were overly spoiled elflings. She rolled her eyes. If they were like this in battlefield, the King could break them too easily.

  He could shatter them from within; he would sever their foundations and shake their ties so hard they would cascade down to the Underworld with such ease.

  Argoth and Handres pulled their sword, readying themselves to fight with each other. Cassia would have let them fight; she would have let them stab each other to death. She would have let them bleed out on the onyx floor.

  She didn’t though because she needed them. Aethos needed them. So typical of the gods, the fate of the world depended upon the hands of an insolent pack of elflings. She stood from her seat and drew her sword. Cassia braced her feet to the floor. The Lords thrust their swords forward.

  Her blade clattered with theirs. Their eyes turned towards her, inspecting her. Every move, from the twitching of her brow to the swinging of her blade.

  She could feel Griswold icy glance turning warmer against her back. She cleared her throat and with two swift moves their swords clashed against the floor, the clattering silver echoed through the dark chamber attracting the eyes of the guards who stood their ground by the pillars and by the door.

  The Lords’ glances were heavily pawning on her, willing her to submit and let them alone to fight with each other. She remained there, surveying them from head to toe and reminding them that she was no coward and that their glances could do nothing, but humiliate themselves further.

  “United we stand, divided we fall.” She allowed the intensity of her glance to lure their brains. “It is your choice who will prevail on these lands,” she passed between them, threatening them with her sword outstretched towards them. “The King or Peace.”

  The room fell into silence, threatening silence, suffocating silence. She saw on the faces of the Lords something washing away, giving up, like the dying embers of a flame. A series of monumental groans and curses flashed through the room as the males bent down, grabbed their swords and sheathed them.

  It was a scene she hadn’t faced before. They all nodded in unison, they all looked at her with clear, blazing eyes that spoke of a cause higher than themselves and their simpleton ideas.

  She pulled her wits together and found herself respecting them for that reason. She respected them because they were willing to forget their hate and spite between them and fight together, united for something that spoke of greatness.

  Clapping dragger her out of her thoughts.

  Her mismatched eyes darted to Griswold who now stood and approached.

  That elf got on her nerves more than Beathan did.

  Holding her chin high and her face twisting into a nonchalant mask, she pulled her sword back to the sheath hanging from her waist.

  “Such a wonderful show of your leading abilities.” He clapped again. “A natural born leader, indeed.”

  She set her jaw as she pursed her lips. She didn’t bite back an answer. She didn’t give him the honour to mock her more.

  “I believe you are just as traitorous as your mother had been.”

  Her cat shaped eyes dragged over his flesh leaving mental marks and scars. Her hand itched to get to her dagger. It was so close, so close and she was so much faster and better than him in every way. She was a child of the War. She was the Lady of Darkness. She was the King’s General.

  In my veins flowed the blood of gods, of the firstborns...

  Griswold was nothing before her power. His magic was only a fragment of hers.

  She could kill him right there, avenging for her mother.

  My mother...

  He dared speak of her, he dared accuse her mother.

  Hate and spite flowed so thick in her blood. Her mother’s blood.

  Sweat went down her spine again. Not from fear or agony, but from rage.

  Hot rage.

  Delectable and beautiful rage.

  The King had hated her mother with such ferocity because of her humanity; he hated his son too for this, and for secretly siding with the Adanei.

  She shielded her mind some more, let her hand fall from her sword. Letting her anger overpower her would have done little good to make her look virtuous.

  She cleared her throat. “If my mother hadn’t loved my father then he would have never sold you information. If she hadn’t lured my father, the King would have shredded you to pieces, all of you and you would have never had the chance to fight equally in the War two centuries after.” She knew the calmness in her voice alerted him somehow and unnerved him with some strange way she didn’t have enough time to unravel. She tipped her chin higher. “Your very existence should be thankful of that traitorous whore slept with the Prince.”

  Beathan had stood from his seat and was talking with Nadaon and Ardan. Cassia’s eyes flickered to them for a moment and returned back to the Lord of Kypriantha.

  Griswold nodded and smiled, not in spite, but in regret and understanding. He confused her. She didn’t like him.

  He turned around and bowed his head. “Then you must believe that we are going to trust your word and help us with the King’s armies.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him, not trusting him one bit. “That was what I had in mind to do, but you came here insulting me and ignoring me completely for the past two hours.”

  He looked at Cassia for a moment, and the last thing she needed was to know what went on in his mind. A faint smile played over his cold facade as he lowered his eyes firmly on her, a pressure over her spirit.

  “I will take you to Kypriantha,” he said and took three steps closer as she took four steps away from him. He stopped and glanced at her feigning apology for his harsh words.

  “I will stay here in Feremony.” Her words cut sharp in his mind.

  He shook his head. “Kypriantha is the safest place and untouchable by the King’s forces.”

  “I am going nowhere near you, Lord Griswold.”

  “Feremony,” he raised his hands motioning around them. “This Feremony is nothing, but a fragment of what it once was, the King can st
ep himself in here and no one would bother.”

  She straightened her spine and glanced at him the most terrifying glance she could manage. “Then I will strengthen their wards and organise their guards.”

  The glance Griswold shot her way could chill the blood inside the veins of a dragon, but she was no dragon. She stood her ground and fought for her beliefs with everything she had.

  “Then,” Beathan said and moved forward, coming to stand beside Griswold. “You will all stay for the night.”

  It wasn’t a question, but a remark. She merely nodded and glanced towards Beathan. He smiled apologetically, asking for forgiveness for his fellow Lords’ behaviour.

  It soothed her mind somehow. She nodded at him. “I hope bonds of trust will flourish between us.”

  He bowed his head. “It is what all of us want, but many wouldn’t like to admit.” His eyes trailed to the silver haired Lord at the side.

  “I am certain that most would learn to trust my words, Lord Beathan. Send out scouts, spies if you need reassurance for my words. The King keeps his monsters in the South in a place called Birilla, north-western of the Harbour of Wrath. Prove my words wrong if you can.”

  24

  Astrid didn’t spare a lot of energy thinking about Arslan’s words that night. They were as useless as the rest of him. Gwynn had whined all night about how irresponsible and uncaring of the consequences Astrid was.

  If Astrid had it any other way, she would have given them a piece of her mind.

  She didn’t need them. She never needed a pack of elflings gathering around her to cringe and piss their pants every time she walked in a room. They were necessary though if she wanted to keep a low profile.

  She slammed her feet onto the carpet and sighed heavily. It was practically useless. She had been trying to put together the pieces of a scattered rebellion for years. Years, hundreds of them.

  A cold wind swept through the room, the flames burning the white candles flickered for a moment. Astrid glared from underneath her hood at the candle before her on the desk, looking the flame with narrowed eyes.