A War of Silver and Gold

by Minerva J. Kaelin

  She didn’t know why but she never felt disoriented after waking up, apart from a prompt headache everything else was normal. She blinked and raised her eyes from the floor. With a grunt Cassia stood from the bed, stripped of her clothes and crawled into the bath tub. She waved her hand, magic filling the tub with lavender scented bubbles.

  She soaked in the scented waters with a throaty groan, allowing her muscles to unclench from the tension. It was around six in the morning and she had enough time.

  She blanked her mind from thoughts and enjoyed the moment of complete silence. The chirping of the birds outside seemed to lull her back to sleep as she closed her eyes and leant back onto the porcelain wall of the bathtub.

  It seemed like hours had passed before she opened her eyes to the sounds of the room’s door opening. Cassia swore under her breath. If it was Griswold, she would hex him to death. She moved out of the tub as silently as she could and magically dried herself. She moved her fingers on her sides and black loose pants and a tight white shirt covered over her.

  She fumbled around the room and cursed when she remembered that she hadn’t brought her dagger with her. The door of the bathroom hung ajar as she moved to stand behind it. She rolled her eyes, she was exaggerating. For all she knew it must also have been Mersila who had made a habit of entering her room without knocking.

  Mersila had also got in once when Cassia had locked. She shook her head. She cleared her throat and opened the door swiftly.

  “Ael,” she gasped.

  He turned around and a smile covered his mouth as he saw her. She threw herself over him, arms wrapping around his neck in relief and contentedness. He chuckled loudly as his arms circled her waist. Relief flooded her; at least Ael was her... She really didn’t know what he was to her, friend, a possible lover, confidant.

  “The meeting is about to begin and-”

  She shushed him, placing her index finger over his lips. She still couldn’t decide for certain what he was to her, but as she stared into his brilliant blue eyes and he looked back inside her own blue-green gaze, a collision of shades and hues, a magical dance of blue and green. Ael’s eyes travelled down to the plump lips of the female before him. If she had been any less of a warrior she would have initiated some sort of affectionate gesture, but she never felt like a female, never acted like one. She preferred daggers and swords instead of fabrics and perfumes.

  Ael took the lead though, wrapping his arms around her as steadily as he could, his head hung low, lips hovering just above hers as the air pulsated with a crisp of tenderness and a hidden affection none of them would ever truly acknowledge.

  “It’s time, isn’t it?” She shook her head, untangled herself from Ael’s grasp and marched for the wardrobe. She must have slept for hours in the bathtub, no wonder her head spun.

  She rubbed her hands over her face in nervousness and cursed for the third time that morning. She slammed the wardrobe shut and mentally chanted a few spells. Through a faint amount of green lights, leather pants, a black tight shirt and a leather jacket appeared over her.

  She tapped her foot rhythmically; her black boots covered her feet as she walked towards the armour on the corner of the room and strapped the belt and the sword around her. She pulled the dagger into her boots and waved her hand to pull her hair in a braid about her head similar to Aine’s.

  She turned around and glanced at Ael wide eyed and anxious. It was not in her character to be late. “Let’s go, we can talk late over dinner.”

  She grabbed onto his hand and pulled him out of the room. She knew Beathan would pull them all in the city for dinner. She ignored the bargain she had with Griswold.

  + + +

  “That is something I would not consent with.” Argoth sharply said across the glass table as he hit his fist on it.

  “Calm down, Argoth,” Beathan replied, tapping his fingers furiously on the arm of his seat.

  “No, no.” Argoth shook his head. “It’s far too dangerous for you, Cassia to return in your City. Far too dangerous.”

  She eyed the empty seat across her. Griswold was not there, he hadn’t come to the meeting. Beathan had excused him for having internal problems in his lands, but Cassia knew better than trust that slimy snake of an elf. He had fought well with the sword, not something she had expected from an Adanei.

  If he hadn’t been a coward with the blade and her pride hadn’t forced her to throw the sword and spar with him, she would have won cleanly and with no doubts on the process. The vacant seat across her seemed hollow and out of place, she had gotten used to glaring at him and barking at each other every meeting. He reminded her of the King, enough to keep her head grounded and at place.

  She found herself wondering about the location of that poisonous elf. She blinked. She didn’t know where Kypriantha was, she hadn’t asked and no one seemed willing to allow her the liberty of knowledge. Her heart heaved in her chest. It was better if she didn’t know, lest she returned to the King.

  She bit the inside of her cheek drawing blood, her tongue coated on the metallic, crimson liquid. Maybe she had bitten her flesh too deep; she winced silently in her seat. She needed to return in her City, her people needed her, Ardan and Nadaon did. Above all, she wanted to return to her home, it was her heart’s deepest desire and it hurt her immensely to be away for too long.

  The thought of Argoth taking care of her lands was somehow relieving, she trusted him, a bit more than the rest of the Lords, but she couldn’t help her soul from seeking about her castle, the pathetic lot of priestesses, the lands, and the hideous forest. She longed to return in ways she never knew she would comprehend.

  After the caring words of the Lam Mother, her restraints had been severed and there was nothing holding her back, nothing. Not even the forsaken gods of the Adanei, not the sun with the blinding light, nor the moon with the terrifying glow. She could march up and leave and the world may be damned!

  Her morality, though scarce and butchered after all the atrocities she had committed, was unable to allow her such hideous things. She knew that she had to remain and fight, fight till she let her last breath. She had to see her land even for one last time before everything was thrown into bloodied battlefields and cries of pain, she had to.

  She shook her head as she calmly looked at an agitated Argoth. “I know it’s irrational, but I have to. For one last time.”

  He glared at her, his eyes filled with worry that unsettled her stomach. “The wall is not impenetrable and with someone of his power it’s just a fragment of magic.” Argoth shook his head and exhaled soundly. “I cannot guarantee your safety.”

  Cassia gave him a warm smile. “You don’t hate to.”

  “It’s impossible,” Beathan said as he raised his eyes from the glass table. “Griswold would have objected and for a decision to be taken all the Lords must on the same side.”

  “Griswold,” she sharply said and shook her head, reminding herself that she didn’t have to get her anger of Griswold out on Beathan. “He is a snake and he hates me. I believe he would have done anything to see me hanging from a tree.”

  Otho chuckled heavily. “She is right, Ethan.” He said and shook his head laughing. “Griswold has made his intentions clear from the beginning. He only wanted to take her in Kypriantha for his own personal twisted amusement.”

  Mithras rolled his eyes. “He is not that bad.”

  “Oh! He is,” she gritted her teeth. “He bloody is.”

  Beathan shifted in his seat. “Your personal problems must not interfere with the matters we are here to discuss.”

  She clenched her jaw. The Lord of Feremony was correct in his words. Personal hatred didn’t belong in Council between people of the same agenda, but still. The snake angered her more than anyone else had ever done before. She took in a deep breath and nodded carefully towards Ethan. He was right.

  Ethan turned his gaze towards Argoth. “How are the borders?”

  Argoth huffed angrily and shook his head. “As
saultive, little goats those Dark Elves are.” He exhaled a long breath. “Twisted in soul, they kill mindlessly and give little to no respect for the dead.”

  She sneered. “How did you think you almost lost the War? Dark Elves don’t care about dead things; they only like to suck the life out from the living.”

  “Well said.” Argoth shook his head again. “The forest is taking care of them; a lot of them, those who survive are killed...” He trailed, his eyes shifting back to something on the ground. “We caught Boghar.”

  A chill went down her spine. That name, her greatest rival for the King’s good graces. She hated that elf, she hated him with such a fierce passion. Boghar was a very strong warrior, another piece of scum like her rising from the dirt. He almost killed her back in the War... almost.

  He was an ugly thing; his face held scars from daggers and his body was mostly butchered from the King’s cronies floating in waves around the Citadel. Boghar was so hateful and unmerciful that made Cassia look like an innocent child that had never held a sword in its hand and had never taken a life.

  “Where do you have him?” She asked, breaking the uneasy silence. Everyone in the room knew who Boghar was and what he had committed to rising in the ranks of the King’s army.

  “Drugged in my dungeons,” Argoth replied, his gaze stony and unreadable.

  She nodded. “I hope he rots in there.”

  Handres sighed and shook his head. “We all do. Keep a close eye on him.”

  “He isn’t going anywhere for a long time. Argoth won’t let him come near your sister again.” Hianos said, placing a reassuring hand over Handres shoulder.

  She knew the story. Boghar had bragged about it for a long time after, how he had tortured and raped the young female during the war. She wanted to reach her sword and behead him, but her sick mind back then only forced her to ignore him.

  Boghar had taken the lady in the dungeons of the Bargudar Fortress, a place built by the King in the middle of the Adanei land, the land he had fought so viciously to conquer. Handres’ father had taken great delight on demolishing it after the War.

  Boghar stabbed the she-elf thirty-four times as he violated her in every way his ill mentality guided him. She was left there to rot, die from loss of blood and from loss of her dignity. Ardan’s mate who patrolled the lands there found the girl and returned her to her father. Ana was forever welcomed in Handres’ lands for saving the life of the precious daughter.

  Cassia had chosen to ignore that casualty, thinking the female already dead or mentally mad after her violation. Those times were dark, darker than the pits of the Underworld, darker than the night, Cassia had little hope back then and she had no freedom to reign over herself. She wasn’t going to waste whatever trust the King had in her for an unknown princeling.

  Guilt ate her from the inside, guilt drove her mad and by the end of the season she had enclosed herself in a temple and prayed for days on end. This was where she found little hope in Mother Nature, too. Where she learnt that the gods had forgotten her just as well as she had forgotten them.

  “Cassia,” Beathan said and she turned her eyes at him. “You found the Lam Mother, did she tell you anything that might help?”

  She couldn’t tell them, she couldn’t.

  My son...

  What if Aine’s words would anger then? What if they would misunderstand them and shun her away? They didn’t have to know, Aine’s words were far too personal for any of them to know. They were words made for her ears only and no one else’s; they concerned her and her son.

  She shook her head. “Nothing about the war or the future, she told me facts about my life.”

  Mordas shook his head. “The lams were never there to help; they crawled back in their pits and preferred to rot in there instead of fighting the same way we did.”

  “They were afraid.” Beathan simply replied.

  Otho chuckled heavily. “Afraid or not, we saved them and we saved every soul in our lands. It was the least they could do to provide us with information.”

  “Nasty things,” Argoth said. “Those blood sucking beings. I don’t know why you are still keeping them, Beathan.”

  “They are of great assistance with the trolls.”

  Cassia snorted loudly. “I saw it. They almost killed me, Beathan.”

  “No matter what you two say,” Ethan shook his head glaring towards the other side of the room in abandon. “They are going to help in the near future.”

  “I hope so.” She said and slacked back to her seat.

  Beathan nodded slowly, his dark locks falling over his forehead. He raised a pale hand and pulled them aside. “You called for a meeting, Cassia. Would you proceed on explaining the reason for doing so?”

  A thought crossed her mind, what if she had done a mistake by calling for all of them to present there. At least, Griswold wasn’t there, it was easier this way, easier to express herself and tell them of the true reason she was sent there. It was easier, wasn’t it?

  Cassia cleared her throat and crossed her arms over her chest. It wasn’t much, but it was her way of guarding herself against them. “There are things, I haven’t tell you, but I believe it is time.”

  “Things?” Otho shook his head. “What things?”

  Cassia swallowed that strange lump that had gathered in her throat. “I was sent here by the King to retrieve had he believes to be the Sword of Leondir.”

  A few gasped around the table, bitter bile rose in their tongues. The end, the end of everything good and pure was near, then. If the damned hands of that vile elf ever acquired the privilege of obtaining the Sword, then the gods had well and truly abandoned them. Cassia knew that she shouldn’t have trusted them, not with the knowledge of the Sword, not all of them at least. For her sake, some caustic god had stopped Griswold from attending.

  He would have laughed, dragged her out of the hall himself and he would have skinned her, gutted her and killed her. A heap of bones and discarded flesh, maybe she deserved every bit of hate and spite he would unleash over her. Maybe she did. Cassia was a she-elf with a variety of experiences in her life, from blood sorcery to the plainest thing, but Griswold Blackthorn was something she didn’t want to place her finger on.

  “He recently,” Cassia continued. “Required of me to bring him the Necklace of Adalon.”

  “Aine is the keeper of the Necklace.”

  Cassia turned to Beathan and nodded. “I know. She offered it, but she also offered me the idea of a better future.” She looked at the Lords on the long, glass table. “The Necklace is safe, but the Sword...” She trailed, shaking her head. “The sword, I am afraid, I do not know of its location. Nor does the Lady that was supposed to guard it.”

  “No,” Argoth exclaimed. “Is it possible that the King has it?”

  Cassia blanched, that possibility was something she didn’t want to think of, but she was certain that the sword was well guarded. “No, the lady spoke of a place with snow, the Citadel hardly ever has snow.”

  Handres shook his head. “You should have told us from the beginning. I don’t believe we can fight as one if we hold secrets of that matter.”

  Cassia knew that of course, she did, it was time to put the past behind and seek a better future, but her heart was so used on the miasma of the past that she could hardly scent the clear, brightness of what was to come.

  She nodded plainly, her hands falling childishly on her lap. “I understand and I am willing to sacrifice a lot.”

  Bitter laughter filled the room.

  Cassia’s head snapped to the side, glaring at the silver haired elf by the wide doors.

  Griswold clapped his large hands with the grace of his aeons of life. His hair as immaculate as ever, his robes just as so, his face a marble mask of darkness that one could lose himself in, trying to decipher his secrets.

  Cassia’s stomach fell, but she remained stoic and unmoving. Whatever fear he was trying to pass on to her subconscious, it didn’t’ work. She was traine
d to face men and elves and dwarves, and whatever species existed, like him. She was just as much trained to the way of nonchalant satisfaction as Griswold was. She would never yield to the likes of him. Never.

  Cassia clenched her jaw with inexplicable precision.

  Griswold’s laughter ceased to a normal series of chuckles and smiles that made her stomach twist and turn. He took a few tentative steps towards the table, but he stopped a few feet behind her seat, his one hand draped over the elegant handle of his sword, the other was clenched in a fist to his side, the only emotion he allowed himself to show.

  He tilted his head to the side and said, “It must have been so easy for someone like you to trick all of them into believing how good and pure you are.” He moved away, walking behind Beathan’s chair and to the other side of the table, at his seat across Cassia’s. In a few careful moves he seated himself on the chair and glared at her with the most malicious smile he could muster.

  Cassia’s spine straightened to the point of soreness, she rested her clawed hands onto the armrest and glared at him with an equally, mismatched hatred. “So good of you to finally join us, my Lord.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Oh, you should be grateful that I even considered gracing you with my presence.”

  “Of course,” she bowed her head to the side in a mocking manner. “Would you like me to kiss the ground you walk on, or maybe you would like me to kiss,” she smiled and batted her eyelids. “Your pompous arse, my delightful Lord?”

  “I bet you would like that.”

  She pursed her lips, shaking her head. “You bloody, motherfu-”

  A dagger, slicing through the air and planting itself a few inches beside Cassia’s ear, forced the female to cut her sentence.

  Cassia’s world stilled, but only for a moment, only for a little lapse in time, before that insistent muscle at the back of her throat began to thrum again with relinquished spite. She pulled her hand up, dragging the dagger out of the soft material.