The Elf King (3 page)

Lon patted his old friend
on the back and sat down next to him. Oan was merely doing his job,
he knew. And up to this point, he had kept the King from an all-out
assault against the Elves. Wilt should be pleased, Lon thought. If
his own son came up missing, he too would expect swift
justice.

The King paid their
bickering no response. The hour was late and the meeting was just
repeating the few previous. He sat close to the long table with his
big hands clasped together out in front of him next to several maps
drawn of the Lyyn Forest and the surrounding areas. He took a
moment to look into the eyes of those seated around him, staring
briefly, as if to measure where they stood, as if he didn’t know
already. For the most part, these men were his friends and
handpicked to their positions, loyal to him in every way. Wilt Oan
had been with him since he took over the throne so many years ago,
and couldn’t imagine continuing without him. Wilt’s was the only
face Andelline passed. He knew all too well what would be found in
Oan’s eyes. And this was the one time where they would not
agree.

Sighing, Turyn Andelline
unclasped his hands and prepared to stand. “I thank you all, but
this night is old and tomorrow will be long.”

Kloe Datris, Head of the
Red Knights—the King’s personal protectors, moved from out of the
shadows behind the king, knowing his departure was
coming.

Wilt interjected calmly.
“My Lord, I do wish you to—”

The King stood to his feet.
His face was weary, worn. He nodded slowly to his council. “Enough.
I have heard all that I can stand. Sleep what little you are
offered.”

The King turned from the
table and walked for the door, Kloe Datris a shadow at his heels,
his crimson cloak trailing. A grumbling of mixed emotions arose
from those left in the room as they stood and said farewell for the
night. Wilt Oan sat with a sour look then pounded his fists into
the table.

“
Wilt,” Lon began softly,
do not take this personally.”

Wilt said nothing. He rose
hastily and exited the room, snorting past Ern Dwull.

Lon leaned over the table
and began rolling up the territory maps. He was lean and tall,
physically fit, and dressed in camouflage hunting garb. He wore his
brown hair short, with a thin blade of hair lining his upper lip.
Folding a map into his small pouch, he looked across the table to
Ern Dwull, who was busy doing the same.

“
I have two hundred men
sleeping with their families tonight, maybe for the last time.”
Lon’s voice was passive, almost soothing in the late
hours.

Ern met his gaze frankly.
“They took the Prince. The price for that should be death. It must
be.” Ern’s voice was hard and cold. He quickly placed his maps into
a long cylinder tube and stormed out of the room.

Lon watched him go, and
then prepared to leave as well. “Goodnight to you as well, Ern.”
The corner of his mouth tugged up slightly as he left the room
empty.

T
raveling the brightly lit halls, King Andelline moved
purposefully. A Red Knight stood at either side, with Kloe Datris
trailing. Turyn wished to retire for the night without further
delay. He had wasted away more of the night than he wished, hoping
only to review the maps with his council and prepare for the day
ahead. But Wilt Oan’s voice sparked several quarrels that didn’t
settle and left the King exhausted of conversations on the matter.
Fact was, it didn’t matter what voice was against him, his son was
taken and war was forthcoming.

The hall came to an end and
turned to the left. After seeing the hall was empty, the King
walked into the corner, pressed his fingers against a stone block,
and a section of the wall opened with a stairwell behind. He
ascended the secret passageway without being seen, leaving the Red
Knights without, but knowing that Kloe would follow in the shadows.
The old King moved slowly up the stone steps to a landing, and
followed the narrow hall lit with torchlight. The events that had
transpired over the past few weeks had left him exhausted, aching
his mind and body. His troubles, it seemed, were only getting worse
with each passing day.

After the disappearance of
his only son, Queen Sienna’s mood had turned viscously foul. She
neither eat nor sleep, and spent most of her time either sending
hunting parties out or waiting for them to return. It was actually
one of her scouts that had brought the news of Pal Rae’s
whereabouts, a man whose body was then suspiciously found filled
with arrows only hours later. This also was blamed on the Forest
Elves. And it was Sienna who kept pressing the issue to attack the
Elves, secretly sending out her own band of men in the night to
return the prince: hired thieves and cutthroats at best. None of
which brought their son home, but more less were sent to destroy as
many elves as they could, the King thought.

And where are you this
night, my Queen?

Sienna had left before the
sun set, stating that she had some work to finish. Turyn didn’t
question; she wouldn’t tell him anyway. They had drifted apart
during the past few weeks. It was seldom they were in the same room
for more than an hour. And the Queen had taken to resting alone in
the highest tower. The King didn’t feel as though she wanted to be
alone, so much as she wanted to be away from him. It was rare that
she even made eye contact, and any involvement other than in
passing was nonexistent. Even though she never came right out and
said it, she was letting him know that he was to blame for Pal
Rae’s fate.

Feeling himself sink
further into the pit he was in, King Andelline knew if the Prince
did not return alive, he would lose his wife as well.

The King stopped walking,
staring blankly at a stone slab cut into the wall—the secret
entrance into his son’s room. He traced one hand over the seam
before softly patting the cool slab. There was no need to enter.
The Prince’s room would be empty, as it had been for weeks now. The
King rubbed his aged hands into his white beard, pushing his loose
skin back, sighing in dismay.

“
I would give my life for
yours, my son. Come home to me.”

His head lowered further,
and Turyn continued to his room. If he had a tear left, he would
have shed it. But he was all cried out. The worst thoughts of his
son’s disappearance had already taken root, and Turyn was beginning
to accept that Pal Rae might never come back.

As he moved from the door,
he decided that he would not pass near his son’s room
anymore.

Turyn kept to his secret
passages for the most part these days, wishing to be left
undisturbed. His personal guards stayed with him, whether he could
see them or not. But unless summoned, he didn’t care to see
anyone.

“
I know you’re hurting,” a
voice cut through the silence, bringing the King to a dead halt. A
lone figure detached itself from the wall just ahead, walking
closer. The King waited.

“
But rushing into war will
not solve anything.” The figure came close to the King before
stopping. His white beard seemed to shine in the
torchlight.

“
What do you know of my
troubles, Oan? Are you a king with no prince?”

Wilt’s face tightened. “How
long have you come to me and how many times have I failed you? Yet,
you dismiss me as if nothing I say has any ground.”

The King stiffened. “Have
I? Was it not you who insisted in this peace talk? What more would
you have me do, Oan?”

“
Look elsewhere. I have met
with the Forest Elves and I do not believe that they have your son.
Listen to reason, my Lord.”

Turyn Andelline was too
tired for another confrontation. “Wilt, I have been informed
otherwise, as you already know. I will meet with Estrial, and if he
is wiser than he’s been, my son will be joining us
home!”

“
Don’t be a fool!” Wilt’s
eyes were flush with anger. He stepped closer to the King. “They
will destroy you. Estrial has sent for a sorcerer to accompany him
tomorrow. If you—”

“
Enough!” Turyn seemed to
tower over Oan. “We have been friends for countless years and I
have heard your pleas. If Lord Estrial does not bring forth the
whereabouts of my son then all of my kingdom shall fall upon
him!”

Sadness crept into Wilt’s
eyes. He waited a moment before saying, “Then shall fall your
kingdom.”

“
You would fare better
advising Lord Estrial if you wish to keep peace. Now go to your
home, kiss your son’s head goodnight, and be grateful he’s alive.”
The King stared into Wilt’s eyes with a burning sorrow. “Breathe in
his scent deep, for when he’s gone, it will haunt you like a shroud
of death. You will catch a small piece of it in the air and your
stomach will churn and ache in ways you didn’t think possible! As
his face will haunt your sleep, his memories will flee from you!
Endless scenarios of what is happening to him, of what has happened
to him, will run your thoughts tirelessly! You will wait the nights
in his empty room for his return, when he is not coming
home!”

Turyn Andelline grabbed Oan
by his collar and brought him in close, his heavy breathing filling
Wilt’s lungs. His voice was raspy and low, filled with anger and
something far more dangerous. “Do you know what it feels like for
your spirit to die before your body?”

Wilt Oan trembled in his
boots, feeling a look burn into his eyes that he had never seen
before. Before he could manage a response, the King released his
grasp and swiftly walked away. Wilt slumped against the cool stone
wall still trembling. Moments later a shadow passed by. Wilt jumped
in response, turning in time to see a scarlet robe disappearing in
the shadows.

A few turns and a few
hundred footfalls later, King Andelline came to the end of the
corridor. Pressing his hand against a secret lever along the stone
wall, a door swung silently in. Without pausing, he stepped through
into his bed chamber. Once in, the door closed quietly behind, the
lock configuring back into place.

The room was large with two
wood-framed windows and wall-length curtains. A terrace lay beyond
the windows, overlooking the courtyard several hundred feet below.
Portraits decorated each wall, and a few large candles burned at a
small sitting table near the door. Before undressing, Turyn walked
over to an open window and stared out into the night, allowing the
cool air to embrace him. From high above the courtyard, he stared
without seeing. His mind set on his son, and of what dawn could
bring.

His mind drifted in and out
of old memories, of people he knew and places he’d been, of things
he accomplished and the ache of his losses. He sighed deeply. He
would gladly give up all his glories and victories, if it were to
bring his son home.

Staring into the night, he
said softly, “I am too old to be fighting wars. This is not how it
should be.”

He made his way to his bed
and disrobed, slipping under the sheets and adjusting his head to
the pillow. Sienna’s scent was in the room, he noticed. Gone before
he had time to tell her how much he did love her, and that he would
do anything to make things right again. He wondered if she would
return to speak to him. Probably not, he yawned, deciding that it
didn’t matter. Dawn would break before long and he desired what
little sleep he could steal. As he closed his eyes, he thought he
heard the door shut, but paid it no mind. Sienna had returned, he
thought wearily. But she would let him sleep. And so Turyn
Andelline, with all the troubles waging war in his mind, allowed
himself to be swept away.

King Andelline was still
half awake when the blade cut into his back, piercing his sternum.
The dagger was through his chest again before he could open is
eyes. An iron grasp clasped his mouth shut, muffling his screams.
His mighty chest heaved once, then fell flat.

I
t
was several
hours past dawn when a knock came to the door, followed by the
entrance of the chef pushing a breakfast cart. He pushed the cart
to the table and prepared the King’s first meal when he noticed a
red pool on the floor around the bed. Looking to the motionless
body, the chef cried his loudest as he noticed the Elven weapon
still buried deep into the back of the King.

“
Help! The King’s been
slain!”