Last Knight (The Champion Chronicles Book 2) (16 page)

He was pleasantly surprised that the Adversary had given him a new and special spell.  It was the first time since he had first made contact with him that he was given something useful.  All the other spells only came after considerable time and effort.  But the Adversary’s warning did not go unheeded.  This was his last chance, so he would not fail.

The idea of a couple of giants fighting for him was intriguing.  He was unsure how he would use them, as his Taran army would be more than enough to conquer the Karmons.  But two giants added to his army would make him impossible to defeat.

More importantly, though, would be what his spell book looked like after he gained the power to cast this spell.  His power would continue to grow and he would be exposed to more and more spells in the book.  And eventually, when he had the ark, his power would be far beyond anything he, or the Adversary could imagine.

He casually tossed the rug on top of the blood ring.  He was glad that the Adversary could no longer hear him or read his mind.  For if he did, his thoughts would betray him and his plans for the future.

***

An enormous chandelier hung from the ceiling of the vast chamber.  It held twelve glowing balls of blue-white light that were brighter than any torch could manage.  The light filled much of the chamber, but not all of it.  The corners remained in near complete darkness.  Great pillars, spaced exactly one hundred feet apart supported the ceiling that was hidden in shadow.  Each pillar was exactly ten feet in diameter, perfectly round and smooth from base to top.  In the exact center of the room sat a stone throne.  It had been carved in place when the rest of the chamber had been constructed.  It was a simple throne that was too large for one man, or one man-sized being.

              The being that sat there now was neither man nor a giant.  He was tall, but not extraordinarily tall.  His robe shimmered in the glow of the light, changing colors as time floated by.  His hair was cut very short, exposing long, pointed ears.  A thin crown of three branches twisted together sat atop his head.  His name was Illichian and he was king of his kind.

              The soft tap of footsteps filled the chamber.  The door was a good distance from the center of the chamber, so it took some time before another tall form appeared from the shadows.

King Illichian stood at the approach of the newcomer and greeted him.  “Good evening, Glaerion.”

Glaerion was clad in a long green tunic, belted at the waist by an ornate belt.  A plain hunting knife was sheathed in a simple leather scabbard that was shoved into the belt.  His hair was long and silvery and gleamed in the light of the chandelier.  A thin leather headband was tied around his head.

“My king,” Glaerion said.  “You have called and I have come.  How may I serve you?”

“I have felt, once again, a great flux in the web of magic.  A great power has been unleashed and I fear it is the Deceiver that is trying to force his influence upon the world.  I believe the realm of Man is under assault and we must assist them.”

Glaerion was silent for several moments.  What the king just told him was far from anything that he could have imagined.  “I do not understand.  It was our war with them that caused us to go into exile.  They cheered as the last of our great ships took sail and left.”  He took a step forward, the anger building inside.  “I remember.  I was there.  For five thousand years I have lived with the anger of having to leave our homeland, to let the barbaric realms of Man take what was ours.”

              King Illichian did not let Glaerion’s anger bother him.  “I was there, too, do not forget.  And it was I who made the decision to leave, to take our people into exile.  There was no benefit to the war with Man.  They are savage beasts and would have continued the fight until either they, or we, were completely gone.  And when we left, we took our magic with us.  Without our tutelage, their wizards could not survive and they did not.  In only one generation, all their wizards and magic users were gone.  But, without magic, Man has flourished.  Their kingdoms grew.  Empires were formed.  If Man were to embrace magic again, it would cause wars that would tear apart their nations.  Beasts of magic would be released upon the world and there would be chaos.  That is why we must intervene.  We cannot let Man have magic.  It will end the world as we know it.”

              A sneer spread across Glaerion’s face.  “Let their kingdoms be destroyed.  Let them kill each other.  I care not for any one of them.  My memory of the war is clear.  Each elven death is imprinted upon my mind.  I will not forgive and I will not forget!”

              “You may feel that your anger is justified, but the plans of the Creator are grander than you.  Or me.  Or elven kind.  The Creator has charged us to be caretakers of the web of magic and we must obey that which we have been commanded to oversee.  We must protect it.  With our lives, if we must.”

              “I will give my life for any creature of the earth, but not for man.  He is a vile cancer upon this earth.”

              “You will do as your king asks, will you not?”

              Glaerion stood stoically, his face showing not a hint of emotion.  But inside, he seethed with anger.  “If my king asks it of me, I will obey.  As I always have, I always will.”

              “You will depart for the realms of Man immediately,” King Illichian said.  “There is a ship waiting at the northern docks.  I have already informed the captain of your destination.  You will seek out the men who have taken to using magic and determine their threat.”

              “And then I eliminate the threat?” Glaerion asked.

              “Magic flows through you as it does all elves, but you are a warrior, not a wizard.  If the men who would use magic are powerful enough, then you will be outmatched.  It would be best for you to return back here to gather a company of wizards that would be able to defeat any threat posed by these men.”

              “You would have me retreat as a coward?” Glaerion snapped back angrily.  “I will slay any man that would use magic.  I will return with their heads.”

              “It has been many hundreds of generations since we have walked the land of Man and we know little of how they have progressed as a society.  This task will require prudence, not power.  If you cannot handle what I ask of you, then I will choose another.”

              Glaerion took a deep breath and bowed his head slightly.  “My apologies.  The anger in me is strong, but for this task, I will hold it at bay.  I will do as you ask.”

              “You will avoid contact with them as much as you can.  You will need to hide your appearance as well as your purpose.  We do not know who has been tapping into the web of magic, or why.  Once you have answered those questions, then you will return to report to the Collective.  We will make a decision on our next course of action.”

              “What if I discover who it is and I have a chance to end it?”

              “That is not a decision that you must make, it is for the Elven Collective to decide.”  The king help up a hand as Glaerion was about to argue.  “It is not up for debate.  This is too important of a decision to leave to one elf.  It must be done through the Collective, especially if we must go to war to stop these wizards.”             

              Glaerion remained silent for he knew it was futile to continue with his argument.

              “Prepare for your departure, then.” King Illichian said.  “And one last thing, I know your anger is deep.  It can feed the turmoil within you.  I trust you to this task because you have been a loyal servant to myself and all elven kind.  I need you to control your anger and go no farther than what I have asked of you.  You cannot let yourself be discovered or we will lose our advantage.  Secrecy is a must.  There is no shame in turning down this important task, but I cannot have your anger interfere with your actions.”

              “Of course, my lord,” Glaerion replied.  “I will control my anger and my emotions.  Forgive me for showing it now as it has been some time since I have let myself think about what had happened so many years ago.”

              “We all carry the burden of our history,” the king said.  “It is how we handle our present that will determine our future.  Now be gone, and safe travels.”

              With the dismissal, Glaerion retreated into the shadows of the dark cavern.

              King Illichian stepped down from his throne and walked slowly in the opposite direction from which Glaerion left.  He walked slowly because age was finally starting to catch up to him.  Elves were not immortal, they were just long-lived.  While man aged with the passing of each year, elves aged only with the passing of many decades.  In the old days, an old elf was rare, as the wars and battles with men and beasts claimed lives before old age could.  But since the exile, there was little death in his kingdom.  It allowed the old elves to live long, comfortable lives.  Eventually, time would catch up to them and they would pass on and the younger generation would take over.  He just hoped that his greatest fears were not coming to light and he would have many more generations to rule his people.

His eyes easily picked out the door hidden in the darkest of shadows.  It opened with a slight push and a gentle and warm nighttime breeze touch his skin.  He stepped out onto a balcony that overlooked a great chasm.  Far below, a river was cutting its way through the mountains.  His sharp ears easily picked out the rush of waves over stone.  It was a soothing sound that he took in with closed eyes.

              After some time, he opened his eyes and looked up to the clear northern skies.  The star was there, shinning brighter than any other star in the sky.  It was not coincidence that the coming of the star, the appearance of the Deceiver, and the return of magic to the realm of man were happening at the same time.  He did not believe in coincidence, only in the plans of the Creator.  He could only imagine what those plans might be. 

He wished that the Creator walked the earth, as happened in the ancient past.  In those times, the Creator spoke to His people and communed with them. But then He had left with just one promise that He would return one day.  And upon that return, the Age of Man would end, and a new age would begin.

There was no doubt that the star in the sky was a symbol of the promise of His return.  Which meant that the Age of Man would come to a close.  But there was no way for King Illichian to know if that meant that Man would no longer exist on the earth or if it was time for someone else to take over.  He hoped it meant that it would be time for the elves to return to their homeland and take back what they had lost.  For too many centuries, they had sacrificed and lived simple, isolated lives.  He did not want to get his hopes up, but the thought of returning to this homeland was more than a dream come true.

***

Glaerion left the mountain chamber of his king and walked quickly along a wide well-worn path towards the Village.  The path meandered through a small dense wooded area where some of his kind had built their homes.  But his home was farther away, in the center of a small grouping of cottages.  They called it the Village only because it did not have any other name.  This was not their homeland, so they did not want to give a name to it.

              Most of the buildings were small homes built from the trees of the jungle that was just to the south of them.  Only the smithy was built with stone walls.  It was a rather large building with a large furnace for the construction of various farming instruments and the occasional weapon.  But there was no reason to have many weapons, as there were no indigenous people anywhere nearby.  A tiger or black puma would occasionally wander to the edge of the forest, but they never offered much of a threat.

              The path came to an end at the edge of the Village, where the ground was trampled and worn from years of walking.  There were others about, but Glaerion ignored them and headed straight for his own cottage.

              He opened the door to his wife sitting on a rocking chair, a partially knitted sweater in her lap.  She had a smile on her face, which surprised him.

              “I have news,” Glaerion said.

              “And I, too!” she countered.  Hallendrielle had long, shimmering dark hair that came down to her back.  She had it parted into two thick strands that hung down on either side of her thin body.

              “There is to be a youngling!”

              Glaerion was about to share his own news first, but the news of his wife had caught him off guard.  “A youngling?” he repeated in a less than excited tone.

              “Are you not excited?  We have not had a birth in almost a hundred years.”

              “It has been Ninety-seven years,” Glaerion replied coolly.  “Until we return to our homeland, it should be a crime to bring a child into this world.”

              “It will be good to hear the cry of a young child, once again.  It has been too long.”

              Glaerion shook his head, trying to hold back his anger.  He had been a proponent of rules that would have made it a crime to bring a child into their community.  To raise a young elf outside of their homeland should be a sacrilege to their entire existence.  But enough others had disagreed with him so that it never became law.  But his point had been taken by most, and the birth of an elf become a very rare event.  With their long lives, it would have quickly become a logistical nightmare if they bred like Men did.  In theory, he understood why Men needed to procreate so often, as their lifespans were but a blink of an eye.  But he would have been okay with them just stopping all together and letting their race die out.