The Elf King (25 page)

Important enough to be kept
locked away in a hidden vault.

Wilt Oan closed the heavy
book and looked around the small room.
So
much information!
He sat with a great awe
and wondered how many others even knew the room existed. Not many,
he thought. He smiled proudly, rising from the table to place the
book back to its origin when the war horn sounded from the
courtyard. Its horrendously deep bellow blew out suddenly and Wilt
Oan jumped. He knew the horn, knew what it meant, and thought that
he would have to find another time to read the books. The Queen had
begun the march for the Lyyn Forest. The war was
starting.

He moved to the door and
cautiously opened it. No one. He stepped into the corridor and
looked around. The horn blasted out again, followed by a thunderous
cheer from the men heading into battle. There was no time to delay
the war now, he knew. All he could do was find Kloe Datris and rid
themselves of the Queen’s imposter.

Gathering his composure,
the old man sprinted away in hopes of being able to
succeed.

A
nkar
Rie moved cautiously through
the secret tunnel like an animal tracking a dangerous prey when the
war horn sounded. He didn’t slow, he understood what was happening,
and that none of it was in any relation to what he needed to do
now. His fingertips were glowing with blue light, as his senses
kept his magic ready for an attack. He could smell the scent of
something ahead of him, something powerful, something smart, and
something waiting. Anyone else would be walking into a trap, he
thought. But he was ready. Whatever it was, it was close. And it
knew he was coming.

He rounded a corner and
walked a few yards when the smell of death hit him. He tracked it
down and discovered a room full of bodies. He carefully entered the
room. Bodies lay with expressions so terrible that Ankar had to
look away. He felt traces of the other’s magic in the room as well.
It had been there recently. Its tracks were everywhere, especially
over the bodies spread across the floor. The magic was strong in
the air; whatever it was had just recently left.

Ankar’s head tilted
slightly with curiosity.
Or was it still
here?

The body barreled into
Ankar Rie so fast that his magic had not time to protect him.
Instantly his body was flung to the other side of the room,
slamming hard enough into the brick wall that it spider-webbed with
cracks. Before the sorcerer could rise, he shielded himself with
magic and his hands flared with blue heat, shooting back behind
him. He turned quickly, but no one was there.

Ankar could feel another
presence in the room. He stayed against the wall, his eyes
searching the room for a trace of magic, his body calm, his mind
focused. As his head was still looking off to his right, another
attack came from his left near the door. But Ankar was ready this
time. Faster than the eye could follow, he dropped to his knees, as
a table shattered against the wall above his head. He sent fire
spewing towards the doorway where a shadow stood withering. Ankar
watched his blue shards miss their mark as the figure
disappeared.

He stood to his feet
quickly, staring into the empty doorway. Nothing moved. For several
long moments Ankar remained motionless, his eyes focused sharp, his
ears listening intently for anything. But his senses failed him,
and the only thing he thought of then was that it was getting
away.

Ankar Rie moved cautiously
to the doorway, inching his way out into the passage, finding
nothing when he looked in both directions. His senses were telling
him that he should turn right, and with barely any hesitation, he
did so. Running down the narrow passage, his magic’s intuition
helped him track the scent of magic like an animal. Several turns
with long corridors, down a set of steep, winding stairs, finally
to an exit door. He stopped there, expecting a confrontation once
he opened the door. He prepared himself, then moved the
door.

Ankar pushed the brick door
open until he found himself outside at the base of the castle where
it was quiet and hidden in shadow. The Caltar Mountains were to his
right and a shallow hillside leading down to a small groove of
trees lay ahead of him. He saw no one. He stared down the hill into
the trees, looking for anyone, looking for the slightest brush stem
to move. Nothing.

He knelt down and placed
his hands upon the cool grass, allowing his magic to trace the
footprints. Almost as clear as the sky above him, he could see
traces of magic in the grass heading down the hill. Ankar Rie raced
away in pursuit, his fingers tingling with anticipation.

A series of tall bushes
surrounded the pocket of trees, and as Ankar Rie approached them he
heard something rustling the branches. Someone was walking towards
him. He stepped back a few yards, arms stretched forth, fingers
slightly bent and glowing blue. He wouldn’t think twice; he
wouldn’t give it a chance.

Suddenly a scrawny man
stumbled out, looking disoriented and scared. Ankar lowered his
arms as the man began rambling on about something. His words were
slurred and far too quick for Ankar to decipher.

“
Sh. Hold on. Take a
breath.” Ankar tried to calm the man down, not wanting to frighten
him further. He wondered how long the man had been in the bushes to
accumulate such a smell.

“
In there,” the man yelped,
pointing into the bushes. His eyes were wide and his breathing was
faster than his broken sentences. “In...there. It goes...must
get...help.”

“
Go to safety.” Ankar
pointed to the castle. “Get going, while you can.”

“
Thank you, kind
sir.”

The man rushed past with a
smile, obviously shaken up. Ankar steadied himself, drawing his
offense to his fingertips again, then moved in
cautiously.

The man was nearing the
castle walls when he looked back to see Ankar disappear within the
foliage. Seconds later, his body dropped lifelessly to the ground,
and the spirit of the
Mrenx Ku
fled like a shadow back into the
castle.

W
ilt
Oan’s sweat was racing down his
wrinkled face into his white beard as he hurried through the tunnel
on his way to find his friend. He was scared knowing that he wasn’t
alone in the passages, and what would find him would also kill him.
He had to remain cautious, but could not afford to act slowly. The
war march was starting, and he knew very little could be done to
stop it with him in the secret passages.

As he thought of being in
the secret passages, he began to think of finding the secret
library. Though he didn’t read every book, he understood there were
many secrets kept in those pages. Every family had its secrets, he
thought. The Andelline’s should be no different.

His train of thoughts then
led him to the family itself and what secrets they would keep. He
was discovering many as of late. One of which in particular didn’t
leave his mind: the Queen was dead. And as he began to think of her
death, he drifted off to her son’s and her husband’s deaths. The
entire royal family was now deceased. With his brain firing
thoughts and speculations faster than the old man could reason and
rule out, he began putting an idea together that was making
sense.

It started with the
Queen’s death. She was the last one. It made no sense at first, but
the more he thought about it, the more it did.
The Queen was needed. Who else would not be a suspect in the
King’s death? It had to be her. But why? Why would she...?
But even before he had the question out, he was
reasoning out the answer
. It was the
demon. It needed her to do it. Why? Because it... It was the
Andelline bloodline! The demon would be destroyed if it came in
contact with the blood!

He remembered skimming
over something about the bloodline in the Heritage book. It had to
do with a power that was now living inside the King’s blood. But it
only now made sense.
The demon could not
assume the King’s body, nor the Prince’s, and so it had to use the
Queen! And once the King was dead, and the Elves were to blame, the
demon had no further use for her
.

Wilt Oan could feel his
heart beating against his ribs with adrenaline as his skin crawled
in excitement. He was right. He had to be. Wilt Oan slowed his feet
to a stop, realizing he had just stumbled upon one of the keys to
unlock the biggest secret of all. He bolted back towards the
library then. It would be in the books, he knew. There he would
find the necessary confirmation.

The old man tore through
the dimly lit corridor like a young man, reaching the secret door
quickly, rushing into the library and searching through the massive
Heritage book as if it was going to save his life. Page after page,
the old man searched, his eyes racing from one line to the next.
Finally, after nearly an hour of searching, Wilt Oan found what he
was looking for. Before him, written centuries ago, was the proof.
He was right. The Andelline blood was the key.

He closed the book
instantly and rushed away into the corridor, sprinting for the
nearest exit out. His heart pounded, his skin chilled with bumps,
the whole of his body climaxed with astonishment. He would have to
take Kloe Datris down to the library to show him, to prove to him
the secret. The Red Knight would have to read for himself to
believe him.

Wilt Oan’s pace quickened
as he rounded a corner and saw the light at the end of the tunnel.
He reached the door and slowly pulled it back, carefully seeing
into the castle’s hallway. There were a few people walking away
from him and no one coming. He stepped out of the tunnel with
relief and excitement. He could barely contain himself.

Find Kloe Datris and tell
him what he discovered. Tell him of the Queen first, then the whole
story. Make him understand. The rest would have to be discussed.
Wilt Oan felt good. He was uncovering his friends’ deaths. The
truth would be told.

He turned a corner and was
met by a small group of men. He didn’t make eye contact, he didn’t
even slow his approach. Another level and he would be near the
Queen’s room where he could send word to Kloe Datris. He was close
now. He need not draw any further attention to himself.

A strong hand grabbed his
shoulder and spun him around. Four men stood with angry faces, eyes
gleaming of surprise, but not any that would do him
good.

“
Where do you think you’re
going, old man?” a voice snickered.

“
I have business with the
Queen,” he spit back hastily.

But the men were circling
him now. “As do we. Thanks to you.”

Before Wilt Oan, peace
keeper to the Races for decades, could figure out what the other
was talking about, he felt a blunt object strike him in the head.
As his head dizzied, he fell into the arms of two men. He could
barely make out them speaking of some reward that they would now be
collecting from the Queen. Wilt tried to speak, tried to warn them
that the Queen wasn’t who they thought she was, tried to tell them
to stay away from her completely, but his eyes were drifting into a
swirling blackness.

As the old man passed out,
the four men dragged his body away.