As Aaron spoke, some of the elders nodded. Others remained troublingly expressionless. When he mentioned the assassination attempt on Zenethar, a number of the elves exchanged shocked or angry looks. And a commotion erupted when he told of the battle with Azazel—a commotion so loud that Illisandre’s grandfather had to yell loudly for the other council members to calm down.
Finally, the ancient elf nodded.
“Thank you, Aaron Riverton, for your honesty. It’s a testament to your character that we didn’t have to point out that several of us have the power to know if we are being deceived. That you didn’t even once stretch the truth speaks very highly of your parents, and of you.” He sighed. “Sadly, your story confirms something we’ve long feared—that the time for the return of the First Protector is upon us.”
He paused before continuing. “I know that you and your brother are the humans in our visions that will help unite the three nations against the demon horde beyond the barrier. You are still young, so I suspect that you have much to learn yet. I have but one question, child. Are you willing to undertake this learning?”
“I’m not sure what you’re asking of me,” Aaron said. “I ‘m already training with the protector-general.”
The old elf smiled. “As you should. But I would suggest you train as well with our sword masters, as well as with our masters of the bow. I will make the arrangements. I would also like to meet with your family, your ogre friend, and the protector-general. In the meantime, is there anything you would ask of us?”
Aaron pondered the question for a moment. “Do elves have wizards, as well?”
The old elf shook his head. “We elves are unusual. Our nation invests a little magical skill in everyone. This usually manifests itself as a deep understanding of our surroundings, which gives us unsurpassed tracking capabilities and excellent skills with weaponry. Some of us possess the ability to detect certain moods or shifts in personality, such as the ability to sense deception, as I mentioned. As a result, our nation is one of only middling magical talent. Save, of course, for one among us. Our queen.”
The elf sighed. “I knew Ellisandrea when she was young. She was a fair and just ruler then. She trained the First Protector in magic skills until he’d surpassed even her own. Alas, she is lost to our nation, and a new wizard elf will not rise to take her place until she dies, or is returned to us.”
“I don’t understand,” Aaron said. “What do you mean she’s lost?”
Some of the council members began to mumble and shake their heads. Illisandre’s grandfather hushed them.
“What you ask is a simple question with a highly complicated answer. My fellow elders will be angry with me, but I will share with you one of our deepest secrets and darkest shames.”
He looked up at the ceiling as if recalling an old memory.
“As I explained, Ellisandrea was a wonderful ruler when she was young. She was also gifted with a strong ability for prophecy. She was haunted by visions. It was she who first foresaw the coming of the demon horde. She also saw two things that would alter her fate forever. The first was the uncovering of what the dwarves called the ‘Seed of Trimoria.’ Pursuing the seed was, in my humble opinion, her greatest mistake. Second, she saw the First Protector, and determined that she must train him in the art of wizardry.”
“Why was the pursuit of the seed her greatest mistake?” Aaron asked.
“The seed is a flawed creation. The more someone uses it, the more it influences that user. Our queen foresaw that the First Protector would have use for the seed in the coming battle, so she arranged for him to wield it. But after he used it to seal the valley from the outside world, the seed nearly destroyed him. The First Protector eventually had it locked away so that it would not be accessible.
“Unfortunately, by then the seed’s influence had touched our queen. Over the years, she became obsessed with it, and her search for it was seemingly without end. She’d been warped and wounded by the seed, and even though she no longer possessed it, her nature turned vicious and cruel. She removed herself from Eluanethra, spending all her time near the place where she believed the seed had been locked away from this world. She even built a home there. None of us have seen our queen in hundreds of years.”
“Then how do you know she’s still alive?” Aaron asked.
The old elf smiled. “We would know. Our nation has only one queen at a time. If the queen had died, the power instilled in her would have transferred to the next queen. This has not happened.”
He removed a whistle from his pocket and blew. Again Aaron heard nothing, but a moment later, Illisandre appeared.
“Illisandre will accompany you and your betrothed home. He’ll make arrangements with your father for future interactions between us.”
“We aren’t really betrothed yet,” Aaron said.
The elder laughed. “Not yet, young one, but that will change quite soon. Now go ahead and rejoin your lady. And know that you and your family will, from this day forward, be counted as elf-friends.”
Sloane was waiting for them on the outskirts of town. When she saw Aaron approaching, she ran into his arms.
“Oh, Aaron, I saw so many things. We really need to come back and explore.” She held up her basket. “Some of the women showed me the different fruits and vegetables they cultivate here. They gave me some samples, which Mom is going to love.”
Aaron laughed. “I’m glad you had fun. And yes, we’ll be coming back. Probably frequently, if you like. Illisandre’s grandfather predicts that we’ll be betrothed soon, by the way.”
Sloane smiled from ear to ear. “I hope that’s true. You still haven’t talked to our fathers about it.”
“I know.” Aaron had been putting that conversation off.
“How did the conversation with the elders go?”
“It went very well,” Aaron said. “It looks like I might be training with the elves. Not only swords, but bows.”
“Really? Elves are supposed to be legendary swordsmen, and no one is better with a bow.”
“My younger brother notwithstanding,” Illisandre said with a chuckle. “But come on, both of you. I don’t want to be the cause of your mothers being mad at us.”
The Truth Revealed
“Silas, my friend,” Dad said, “it has been a pleasure meeting you. I look forward to seeing you again.”
Silas smiled and clasped arms with Dad. “I promise dat ye will see me again, Lord Wizard Jared. Soon, I suspect dat you will be hearing from more dwarves and elves than you will know what to do with.” He looked up at Throll. “You better prepare your alehouses. We dwarves have a healthy appetite for good ale.”
Throll laughed. “I know exactly where to take you. The Bloated Buzzard is a wonderful pub, and the food is not so terrible, either. I’ll warn them to reinforce their stock accordingly.”
The two groups then parted, the dwarves heading through the caves into the heart of the mountain range and the three men following the short path through the cave that veered into the woods.
It was clear when they’d arrived at the portion of the forest that was supposedly haunted. The horses balked and refused to take another step, no matter Throll’s attempts to march them forward.
Angrily, he dismounted and tied his horse to a branch. “I think we walk from here.”
“Maybe the horses have the right idea,” Ryan mumbled. The woods did feel creepy.
“So what’s our strategy?” Dad asked as they walked forward. “There’s a path, but look at those mists. It would be easy to get lost in there.”
“We follow the map,” Throll said confidently. “The worst that can happen is that we wind up nowhere useful. In that event, we just backtrack to where we started.”
Ryan handed Throll the map. “Maybe you should lead the way.” He was feeling nervous about the whole thing.
“As you wish.”
Before moving forward, the ranger snapped a branch from a tree. As he walked, he held it low, drawing a
clear line in the soil. A clever idea. He’s marking our path.
They followed the map for about an hour, during which time they saw almost nothing but mist. It seemed to thicken behind them, almost as if it were pushing them toward their goal. Only when they neared the end of the path detailed on the map did it start to clear, gradually, and then all at once.
They were standing at the edge of a large clearing in the woods. At its center was a large wooden home that would have seemed nice, had the windows not been caked with the grime of ages. Even though the home was clearly old, it seemed to be well-constructed and intact. Yet there was something about it that felt wrong. It seemed to exude an active sense of malice. It was as if the house exhaled hatred and death, and it blew it as a stinking breath directly toward them.
“Do you feel that?” Ryan asked, trying not to sound as frightened as he felt.
“Yes,” Dad said. “Pay attention, son. And be ready to fight if provoked. There’s something bad up ahead.”
Throll led them toward the building, but instead of approaching the front door, he circled around to the back. And as they rounded the corner of the house, Ryan stopped in his tracks at what he saw.
Sprawled on the ground before them was Azazel.
Ryan’s felt a chill as he saw what looked like something crawling just under the surface of the wizard’s skin. It was then that he noticed a dark aura hovering over him, almost like a swarm of gnats.
The wizard’s chest was moving up and down, but it looked like his breathing was labored, and he wheezed.
At the sight of Throll, he raised his hand as if to cast a spell upon them, but the dark aura around him collapsed into his chest.
Azazel writhed in obvious pain as the black aura leaked from his nostrils and engulfed him in an undulating black cloud that smelled strongly of sulfur. Slowly, the cloud lifted the wizard into the air. As he rose, the cloud began crackling, giving off sparks, and forming a mass that resembled a maelstrom of fire and lightning. From it rose a cacophony of moans and otherworldly screams that began to grow louder.
They all took a step back as the cloud pulsed with evil.
Just beneath the din, Ryan heard all manner of human and inhuman screams. The fire and lightning cracked loudly before dissipating all at once, giving way to a vision that appeared just above Azazel. When he looked upon it, Ryan found himself thrust into the reality the vision depicted.
Along a misty trail in the forest, a very young Azazel walks. From his expression, it’s evident that he seeks something. Or perhaps someone.
As he wanders through the trees, the mist begins to clear. Azazel follows the path—and comes across a woman of incomparable beauty. Her hair is platinum blonde, her lips luscious, her smile arrestingly pouty. Her ears mark her as an elf. She wears a crown and holds an orb nearly identical to the one the First Protector carried when he banished the demons. But instead of glowing with an intense white heat, this orb has taken on streaks of inky black.
The beautiful elf is focused on the orb as Azazel approaches. When she notes the young wizard’s presence, she gives him a wicked and predatory smile. She motions with her hands over the orb, sending forth from its surface a stream of black mist. The mist envelops Azazel, and he breathes the darkness in.
The vision fragmented, and the black aura that surrounded the window into Azazel’s memory sparked and shook, threatening to tear itself apart. It finished with flashes of the deaths of thousands of infants, followed by the deaths of many Protectors from over the years. Then, in the blink of an eye, it dissipated as if it had never existed at all.
A painful scream of anguish ripped through the clearing as the dark cloud dissipated, leaving behind the smoldering body of Azazel. The wizard now looked quite dead as his body rapidly decomposed in front of Ryan’s eyes, but that same sense of evil remained hanging in the air.
“Where is that feeling coming from if not from Azazel?” Ryan asked.
A breeze blew through the clearing, scattering the ashes of the tragic figure that had terrorized Trimoria for over five centuries.
Dad pointed toward a distant edge of the clearing, near the back of the home. “I feel something coming from there…”
They followed the feeling to the edge of the clearing, where a simple stone altar stood. It reminded Ryan of what he’d seen from places like Stonehenge. It was a simple stone slab construction, but even though the altar seemed simple, there was something about it that made his hair stand on end.
Dad took the lead, advancing on the altar with caution. As he neared, a form began to take shape on the other side of the stone. It gradually assumed the shape of a beautiful woman. Ryan gasped as the woman strode through the altar and headed straight for them.
“She isn’t real,” Throll said. “She walked through the stone.”
The woman’s enchanting eyes passed from man to man before eventually settling on Ryan. “I foresaw your coming, boy,” she said with a lilting accent. “Azazel was weak. I need someone stronger if I hope to achieve my aim. I sense that strength in you, boy. Together, you and I could rule this world. We merely need to eliminate the remaining wizards and destroy the First Protector.”
It occurred to Ryan that, though she looked slightly different now, this was the same elven queen who’d so easily seduced Azazel in the vision—the woman responsible for so many infant deaths, the woman responsible for the attempts on his friends’ lives. Though his mind resisted, he felt the effect of her words; her presence was seduction personified. She was beautiful by any measure. Waves of desire, victory, euphoria, and greed washed over him. For a moment, he felt ready to cave to the temptation.
But he resisted, and the moment quickly passed.
Ryan grinned. “Ellisandrea, you don’t seem to understand. I hate everything you stand for. I intend to undo whatever you’ve wrought, even if it means having to destroy you.”
The elf queen’s expression changed as she realized her compulsion had failed. With a horrible roar, she sent debilitating waves of despair and pain at all three of them. Ryan felt himself torn up as if from within. His father doubled over in pain. Throll collapsed to the ground.
Desperation rising within him, Ryan struggled to reach into his pocket. When he felt the piece of metal grace his fingers, he concentrated all his power into routing her attack into the piece of the candleholder he’d found in Azazel’s tower. His mind felt numb as he wielded his power. It was a great struggle to maintain his concentration long enough to produce a connection. But then something snapped. The waves of despair and pain rolled back and the magic vanished, rerouted into the metal he now held in the palm of his hand.
The trio stood again, defiantly staring down the queen. The apparition winced. Then she reared back and unleashed another attack, this one far stronger than the first. Ryan felt the massive push of energy going into the metal, which sparked incessantly. Still the attack kept coming. Even as the candleholder resisted, Ryan saw that the elf queen was starting to fade. Instead of an opaque apparition, she was now nearly transparent. In this way, Ryan could see through her for the first time. And there, lying just at the base of the altar, he spotted what he thought looked like a shimmering orb pulsing with power. He struggled to step forward, hoping to get his hands on whatever it was that fueled her energy.
The waves of despair continued, sparks flying from the metal in Ryan’s hand. Then, with a final ear-splitting shriek, the pulses abruptly stopped, and the apparition of the elf queen vanished. The reverberations of the fading shriek echoed in the clearing.
Whatever it was that Ryan had seen, vanished along with the ghostly image of the elf queen.
“I’ve never known such pain,” Throll said, his voice shaky and weak. “I was shown visions of Gwen’s death, of Sloane being ripped apart limb from limb, of Zenethar cooking on a spit. Any friends I’ve ever known were set in a pit of flames. It was worse than any physical torture I can imagine. I’ll be forever haunted by those images.”
Silen
tly, Dad strode to the altar. It was a simple stone construction, absent any markings or symbols. “I don’t feel anything anymore. I think we ended her.”
Ryan approached the altar to stand beside his father. He stooped down at the base of the altar, reaching out in search of the source he’d seen before Ellisandrea disappeared. With his fingertips, he reached for the object that lay somewhere before him, but even though he sensed it, he couldn’t make contact with it. Somewhere directly in front of him was a tremendous and intelligent power emanating from whatever it was he’d glimpsed. And yet the power seemed as if it had been somehow locked or muted. A trap closed shut.
With a frown, he stood and turned to the others. “I have a theory. But first let’s check the building for information. I don’t think the elf queen is dead. I think she’s there beneath the altar. I just can’t see her. It’s almost as if she’s locked inside a box or something, and can only exert influence slowly or indirectly. Maybe she’s used all of her strength trying to destroy us, and needs time to regenerate.”
“Very well then,” Throll said with a weary nod. “Let’s see what we can learn.” He walked to the building, cautiously opened the door, and peered inside. Reaching in, he retrieved a pair of unlit lamps and some flint. Then, having lit the lamps, he waved for Ryan and his father to follow.
The inside of the building was choked with dust and cobwebs. It was clear that nobody had been inside for decades, maybe even centuries. Just ahead, beneath a veneer of grime, was a beautifully appointed living area that might once have been the envy of anyone who chanced upon it. Rich tapestries hung from the walls, and though they were caked with filth, they illustrated colorful scenes of life in the elven homeland. The paintings among them had been destroyed by dry rot.
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