Page 44 of Of Empires and Dust
The young man inclined his head, giving a mocking bow as he did.
“But you are a herald… How could you be one of our god’s Chosen?” Garramon thought back to the last time he had seen Azrim. The herald had taken Artim Valdock as a host and had been part of the force marching to the Darkwood.
“You humans always define things so rigidly. It is one of many weaknesses. I am a Vitharnmír – yourChosen. But unlike many of my kin, I find this realm more… amusing. And so I elected to exist here in a diminished form. At least now,” he said, spreading his arms and looking down over the suit of silver plate, “I am not so weak. I have, as you humans say, ‘a score to settle’.”
Chapter 12
Full Circle
6thDay of the Blood Moon
Elkenrim – Winter, Year 3081 After Doom
Claps of thunderrolled across the sky, flashes of lightning striking down over the mountains of Mar Dorul in the distance while Eltoar stood at the top of the hill overlooking Elkenrim.
A vivid hue of pink painted the skies above the city, the Blood Moon hidden behind a dense black cloud. Hundreds of lanterns marked the two walls that enclosed the inner sections of the city, and hundreds more spread through the homes and buildings that sprawled outwards. But those flickering flames paled in comparison to the ocean of lights that stretched across the landscape to the east and south.
Over the weeks, almost fifty thousand soldiers had amassed in Elkenrim’s surrounding areas, pulled from the west. Another twenty thousand held back at Merchant’s Reach, and fifty more at Catagan. Eltoar would have preferred all one hundred andtwenty thousand be garrisoned at Elkenrim, but feeding that many mouths in one place was all but impossible, particularly amid the raging chaos that had consumed the continent. The Uraks had burned the fields and granaries south of Greenhills, and with the western cities razed by the elves, food was in short supply.
In truth, the empire was in tatters. Shipments from the South had stopped, merchants and traders dared not travel the roads, and without the iron from Dead Rock’s Hold, the armies would soon be fighting with sticks.
Worse, the elves knew precisely what was happening. After burning Steeple and Holm, they had halted their forward momentum, hiding in that wall of fog.
It was precisely what Eltoar himself would have done. The longer the Lorian armies were forced to remain encamped, the thinner the supplies would run, the deeper the fear would set. If it was left to a waiting game, the empire would crumble and wither while the elves walked over the ashes. The only saving grace was that elves were not known for their patience. They would not sit on their hands while honour and glory awaited them. It was not in their blood.
Eltoar drew a long breath of cold air into his lungs, looking up towards the Blood Moon that was now partially exposed through a gap in the cloud cover. Four hundred years had passed since he’d seen that moon, since the night he’d sacrificed everything.
The sound of soft footsteps drew Eltoar’s attention. Voranur approached, his blue and black robes flapping behind him. He inclined his head. “Eltoar.”
“Brother.” Eltoar looked to Voranur, but the elf strode past him and stopped only to stare out over the horizon. “Sleep evades you?”
“I evadeit,” he said, clasping his hands behind his back.
“May I ask a question of the heart, old friend?” With Lyina and Pellenor – Heraya embrace him – Eltoar had grown accustomed to the human ways, but with Voranur he held to elven tradition.
Voranur nodded, the muscles in his neck tensing.
Eltoar took his place beside Voranur, both looking out over Elkenrim, the sea of lanterns, and the distant horizon. “How are you and Seleraine dealing with the loss of Jormun and Ilkya? Of Hrothmundar and Eríthan?”
“Not well.” A fleeting smile touched Voranur’s lips, as though he were trying to muster some semblance of joy, only to watch it melt away. “We had flown together for so long, to me they seemed as immutable as time itself. Their absence…”
“Is like missing a piece of yourself.”
Voranur nodded, turning his head just enough for Eltoar to see the light of the Blood Moon in his eyes. “I want to rip them apart, Eltoar.”
Eltoar didn’t have to ask to know Voranur spoke of Calen Bryer and Tivar. “Voranur?—”
“I want to tear them limb from limb.” He took a step closer. “Come with me. With Helios and Karakes beside Seleraine, we can set the whole Darkwood alight. We can burn them all.”
“If we leave, brother, the elves swallow this place whole. There are two hundred thousand souls within Elkenrim?—”
“Let them die!” Voranur shouted, veins bulging in his neck. A roar erupted in the sky, Seleraine mirroring her soulkin’s fury. The dragon burst from a bank of clouds overhead, blue scales glittering purple in the light of the moon. A heartbeat, and Helios emerged behind Seleraine, blotting out the moon’s light. The two dragons circled as Voranur’s chest heaved.
Voranur gestured down at the city below the hill. “Who are they? I don’t know them, don’t know their names or their faces, don’t know their hearts. Look at us, Eltoar. We are elves,” hegrabbed at the tapered point of his left ear. “If we were not Draleid, these people would have slaughtered us centuries ago.”
“But weareDraleid, Voranur.” Eltoar grasped the collar of Voranur’s tunic, wrapping his fingers in the cotton. “And we made a vow to protect the people down there. To protect the people who need us.”
“You sound like the council.” Voranur sneered at Eltoar, lightning flashing in the sky behind him. “Like Alvira.”
