“Will you fight?” Merlin asked her. “The Phoenix has grown stronger in her absence. I don’t know if I can fight her alone; not this time.”
“I have not lived this long by being a fool myself,” Melissa responded calmly. “My grandmother Mim was a dimwitted creature that followed you on one of your crusades. What happened to her? Did she survive, or did you get her killed, like you always do to those you surround yourself with? You survive while the rest perish, is that not your curse? Besides, for what other purpose have I trained this spy of yours other than to aid you on your quest?”
Merlin’s face was grim, the witch’s words echoing with truth. Was this just a fool’s errand? Was their only destiny a meeting with the reaper?
“I will tell you this. She has called upon her magic once more and out of darkness created her own Four Horsemen. They already ride upon the lands, sowing their evil purpose and driving her hordes madly before them. You will need more than this paltry group of adventurers if you wish to drive them back. I don’t even think uniting all the races under one banner will be enough. I foresee darkness and suffering in the days ahead; very little light.”
“There’s always hope,” Merlin returned, as if trying to will it into being.
“You are a fool,” Melissa retorted, trying to end the conversation with the sound of dismissal. “I believe you know your way out, take your pet necromancer with you.”
“Not so fast, there is one other item we must discuss,” Merlin demanded, refusing to get up from his chair.
Melissa glared at each of them, her face filling with discontent. “Speak it and be gone.”
II
The unending quest in a person’s life is the search for pure contentment. But no matter what you do, whenever you got close to it, it’d get shattered. Constantly stripped away, you grieve and pursue the pieces; the sacrifices sometimes extremely hard to bear. The King of Forlorn had thought he almost had it. He had spent his life fighting for a peace that the enemy was determined to destroy. He wanted his people to have long and peaceful lives; to unite the lands under one banner.
It had almost been within his grasp.
Peace had slipped through his fingers and when he stepped forward into the grasslands before his castle, he knew his people would soon be marching to war. “Revan,” he summoned his High Magister, who quickly stepped to his side.
“Sire?” the elf asked, anguish on the elder man’s face.
“Call the High Council to session. We are at war,” the king spoke with a heavy heart. To think so much had been caused by his own recklessness. If he had not pushed Bella so hard, she wouldn’t have seen the need to act out. Fear wracked his soul over the fate of his little girl and he swore vengeance on those that had taken her. Revan hadn’t budged, still looking at the ground before them. “Now.”
“Yes, Sire,” Revan muttered, beginning to turn. “We will find her.”
“I hope so, but I fear that all we will find is bloodshed and pain,” he remarked with sorrow. The magister contemplated his king’s words, then went to pursue the order he’d be given. Before him were signs of a struggle and vile green blood soaked the grass around it. Rope was strewn about carelessly, as if it were meant to be found. It had been a trap—they had taken his daughter.
Revan had assured him that none of the blood found was elven in nature. So, was the blood her daughter’s doing or were they fighting amongst themselves; as those horrific creatures were known to do? There were tracks heading west through the woods, but they had a terrifying head start. He would obviously pursue them, but if they were mounted he’d doubt he’d reach them before they got to their destination.
The king turned and looked upon his home. His once peaceful land was going to be thrown into the frenzy of war once more. Not since the Cleansing had the army marched from their secluded forest; the horrors of the civil war souring their taste for further conflict. He glanced at the storm raging to the west and knew he’d soon be riding straight for it. He could feel the sweat on his body respond to the breeze, his elven ears stretching to hear if any of the returning scouts had found anything further. He shook his head in despair, they were long gone.
Cursing, he turned to meet with the Elven High Council; they would deny him no longer.
He strode through the castle, watching his men muster for war. Orders had been issued and now the machines were turning. Everywhere he looked, the peaceful calm of his people was gone; replaced with the determination to either get their princess back or seek retribution for her death. It warmed his cold heart to see them respond so readily and with an eagerness that matched his own.
His elven fortress was the largest in all the Kingdoms and stretched far into the eastern forest. A cliff protected its rear and he looked up to see men scrambling upon its heights. Hammers rang as blacksmiths hurried to furnish the men with more weapons for fresh recruits; recently enlisted for the struggle ahead. He could hear swords clashing in the tournament grounds to his right and knew that the Knights of the Realm stood ready for his call to arms.
His wife was waiting on the palace steps; giant oaks providing shade from the morning light. She was dressed in black, her eyes swollen from tears. “Is it true?” she asked as he approached, and it pained him to nod his head. “Don’t let them bully you. You do whatever it takes to march out there and get her back. No matter what, you find a way to bring her back to me.” She embraced him, the tightness of her grip emphasizing her words.
Not wanting to let sentimentality deter him from his purpose, he restricted the warmth of his embrace and let her break free without further contact. “I swear upon my sword, my Lady, it will be done,” he replied formally.
His shoulders were back, his body regal as he continued through the palace doors, leaving his queen to mourn quietly on the steps alone. He could not get wrapped up in that at the moment, he had to stay focused and see this through.
Throwing the doors wide, he walked briskly into the council chambers and came to rest behind his accustomed seat. Smaller than the hall his roundtable occupied, the room had a similar one at its center, with a large tree engraved upon it. To reinforce the image were four trees, one on each corner, the flooring structured to allow their continued growth unrestricted. The roof was open to the sky, magically protected against the elements; a reminder that the Gods watched over every decision they made. Torches were lit as the morning light was not yet strong enough to illuminate the room. He looked upon those seated; ready to wage the first battle of the war.
Haymdal was his largest hurdle. The elder elf had served under his father and had been speaking for the elven people for centuries. He was a reserved man; the accumulated years having made him slow to act; an opponent of change. His silver long hair reflected stature; his gray eyes commanding respect.
Caleb sat on the man’s left, recently elected, and a student of the elder man’s work. He stood by the old man in every decision he’d made and would only speak out if told to by the aged politician. A puppet, his vote never differed from Haymdal’s and as he ran a hand through his oily red hair, he nervously twitched as the king’s gaze fell upon him.
To Haymdal’s right was Agarhir, an appointed cleric who spoke on the clergy’s behalf. His short gray hair and beard were neatly trimmed; gold necklaces adorning his body in a reckless sign of wealth. He was not reserved in handing out his opinions and tended to beat down people that disagreed with him. Not a pious man, Erik had often wondered what the Gods thought of their appointed voice.
Aenelras was picking at something in his ear and he wondered if the representative of Earhen had yet to finish puberty. Earhen was an elven kingdom to the east and though a part of Forlorn’s government, had very little to do with the governing of the Elven Nation. The youthful face was narrow, ears short, and his beady eyes dodged across the room; taking the temperature of the other assembled council members.
Completing the opposing half circle was Larahredhel, the only female council member and spea
ker for the Seers of Ognar. They often looked to her for guidance and word of the Seers’ visions. Her long blond hair was pulled back, her soft green eyes collected and calm. She was dressed in white robes and her stature commanded respect.
On either side of Erik sat his generals, who looked eagerly upon him to start issuing their orders. General Jade was on his immediate left, the grizzled veteran’s face showing that he comprehended the gravity of this morning’s meeting, his mind already turning towards preparations needed to mobilize the army. His gray hair was cut short, his face adorned with deep lines; a scar on his neck a reminder of the elf’s heroism.
To the general’s left was his third in command, Uriens. Though young, the elf sat proudly in his chair, braided black hair glistening in the torch light; black eyes sweeping those around him. He was saying something to Gualguanus, the commander of the infantry, and the brown-haired elf nodded in response to the whispered conversation. Agravaine, the commander of his auxiliary, was trying to butt into the conversation, but couldn’t seem to find the right place to cut in.
Pendoran, representative of the Knights of the Realm was standing by his side. His polished silver armor gleamed, and his armored hands gripped the back of his chair greedily. His own black hair was cut short; brown eyes penetrating.
Kaius, the newly appointed commander of the cavalry was seated on Pendoran’s right, and he kept fidgeting, as if not sure if he should stand or sit when confronted by his king’s fierce gaze. The elf’s brown short hair and green eyes complimented his pointed face and he was eager to venture into combat for the first time.
Revan sat at his appointed seat as the High Magister and speaker of the Druids, and everyone knew where his loyalties lay. The elf’s staff was leaning against his chair, his blue hair freshly brushed, cold calculating eyes taking stock of the moods of the others. He would stay silent and only throw in support if needed; otherwise, he was a silent vote to be counted on.
Broman, the master at arms, pounded on the table from his seat on the right, and the room instantly quieted. Broman was the oldest elf amongst them and had seen more in his life than many of them altogether. He was the speaker of the law and would be the final say in legal issues. He now turned towards his king and motioned that the floor was his.
“Had this council not voted against me a couple of days ago, my daughter, your future queen, would still be here with us today,” he began, refusing to sit. Regardless of the shape of the table, he wanted to tower above them, to make them feel the wrath burning in his heart.
Haymdal sneered, “that did not prevent you from marching a whole platoon of your Knights south, though, did it?” the diplomat cut in; Caleb nodding emphatically at his side.
“This council does not command the Knights of the Realm, they answer to the king alone,” Pendoran spoke up, having finally taken his seat.
“Well, if you are the king’s puppet, then why are you even here?” Haymdal fired back.
Pendoran shuffled in his seat, his armor creaking as the elf tried to control his anger. “To do as you should, to support your sovereign when he needs us the most,” the knight snarled. “And don’t speak to me of puppets when your lackey nods too consistently by your side. You’d think he was one of those bobble head dolls in the museum.”
“I—I’m not—,” Caleb stuttered.
“Do shut up til called upon,” Haymdal muttered, embarrassed by the elf’s stuttering.
He slammed his fist on the table, rocking the glasses of wine placed upon it. “The debate is over; we are at war.”
“The debate is far from over,” his opponent interjected. “What evidence do you possess that proves that this is nothing more than one of your child’s games? My advisors say nothing but rope and a bit of blood was found.”
“Goblin blood,” Gualguanus corrected, leaning forward. “An attack on the king’s daughter is an attack on the king himself. Will you prove yourself a coward and cower in your corner while she is murdered or tortured for the Phoenix’s pleasure?”
“Who said anything about the Phoenix?” Agarhir broke in. “The witch has been dead for a millennium; what proof is there that she has returned? The Gods have not given signs that your assumptions are anything other than illusions and fears.”
The white robed seer spoke up, “then they are blind. We have seen the hordes in our pools; we have witnessed the evil unleashed. None but the Phoenix has ever commanded them, and her armies are on the move.”
“Visions in pools can be manipulated,” Aenelras threw in. “Have you seen the Phoenix herself?”
“Would you care to try?” Larahredhel asked the elf calmly and it visibly shook Aenelras’s composure. “I didn’t think so. The seers tell me that this is just the beginning. Soon the whole world will be at war and our survival is not assured.”
“What is it that you ask of us, my Lord?” General Jade offered after a brief silence.
“I’m taking the Fifth Legion and a contingent of knights in pursuit of my daughter’s captors. The longer we argue, the further they get,” he told his lead commander.
“Despite the council’s vote?” Haymdal broke in. “Tell me, to what purpose did you summon us if your course has already been decided?”
He eyed the elder elf as he spoke, “you are a representative of the people; maybe you should walk amongst them and find out what they think before you try and vote against me. I am Erik Pendragon, King of Forlorn, leader of the Elven Nation, and I’m declaring war on the Phoenix and her hordes of darkness. I never wanted this. I have fought long and hard for peace, and I am the last one that would throw it all away over nothing. But I will not back down when the safety and security of my people is threatened. They have come into my home, taken my daughter, and by the Gods I tell you there will be a reckoning! As a father yourself, I ask that you put aside your reservations and stand by my side. If it was one of your own, I would stand by yours.”
His generals began pounding the table and the politicians across from him looked wearily at each other. He felt proud that the commanders of his army supported him so readily and knew that he would need them by his side if they were going to successfully win the war.
To his surprise, Larahredhel nodded her approval and though Agarhir fidgeted, he reluctantly did as well. He had the majority vote and Haymdal knew it. Regardless of his play on the elder man’s love for his family, he knew that he had only intensified the rivalry between them.
This would not be soon forgotten.
Haymdal rose slowly to his feet as both elves glared at each other from across the table. “Judging by the looks on my colleagues faces, I am forced to agree with you, my King; we are at war. I wish you luck on your journey and the speedy recovery of our future queen.” The elder man’s face said otherwise, but he knew when he was beaten. Angrily, he turned and strode through the doors opposite; Caleb quick upon his heels as they disappeared from sight.
“Anything from the Seers on my daughter’s disappearance?” he asked the departing Larahredhel.
She turned and bowed her head, “none yet, but I will see if there’s any news, my King.” Agarhir followed her out, Aenelras more than happy to accompany them now that he was left alone with the King’s military commanders.
Revan smiled, “he won’t soon forget this.”
“To Hades with what that man cares about!” Uriens cut in. “Everyone knows he’d rather be sitting on the throne. If it weren’t for the goblin blood, I’d have suspected he was behind the princess’s disappearance.”
“Sire, what of the cavalry?” Kaius ventured. “Most of my units are assembled and ready to ride.” The boy was biting at the bit to take the field.
“The unit assigned to the Fifth Legion will suffice,” he told his eager general. “The army must be formed up and trained. General Jade, see to the defenses of the castle and to the army’s readiness. There’s no telling when the hordes will get here, and I don’t want to be caught with our pants down.”
“Alread
y underway,” his commander assured him. “Regardless of the outcome of this council, the army stands ready for your commands.”
That was comforting, but politically dangerous. While he was king and could force the issue, it would create a rift in the political climate that he could not afford; not right now. He had a war to fight and could not be defending two fronts. An internal power struggle would only leave them weak and open to attack. “Pendoran, rouse the knights, we have some goblin vermin to run down,” he told his armored companion. He then turned and threw open the doors open once more, leaving his commanders to carry out his orders.
Striding briskly down the corridor, he headed towards his chambers to adorn his armor and begin his march west. They’d have to hurry; if they had taken his daughter into the Deadlands, then she’d be lost to him. Growling, he burst into his room and went to the stand holding his platemail. Woe to any creature that put a finger on his daughter; they’d see the end of his sword or he’d die in the attempt.
Chapter 15
Battle amongst the Clouds
I
Their flight up the mountain had stretched through the entirety of the night. They had paused several times to rest, as their shoulders had begun to feel like they were being pulled out of their sockets, yet they seemed no closer to the clifftop above. Trek had been flying upward, talons finding purchase with every strike, and her nerves were shot from watching him make impossible grips out of nothing.
“Slow down, Trek,” she spoke to the mammoth beast.
“Can’t,” he panted.
Infuriated, she clung tighter, feeling her sister’s fingers digging into the raw skin around her neck. They were all exhausted and soon one of them would slip.
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