They arrived amid a heated debate, that was sure, and their odd arrival caused the council to fall silent, albeit momentarily. Derrick cowered behind the light elf as his eyes landed on the great wizard in the centre of the oblong table.
It was Malakai. But he wasn’t alone. Arigir and Gavon sat next to him along with another radiant creature like Julian, who could be no other than Issjia himself. Julian, noticing his hardened expression, asked if he was all right in the doorway, and Derrick tucked at the elf’s pointy ears and whispered that he was from Mahgrad.
The light elf cast a glance at the trio at the centre as Derrick said this and beamed, amused.
And as if this wasn’t enough, the elf bowed to the archmage especially, who simply nodded in return, more baffled than anything. Fortunately, Malakai hadn’t noticed him hiding behind the elf.
His heart raced, and he dropped his head, his mind spinning! The lengthy silence ended as abruptly as it started, with Julian taking his designated seat beside another elf. The elf in question was the only female present. She had the same features as Julian, but her complexion was dark and exotic, like the inmate back in the dungeon.
But right then, in the twinkling of an eye, all heads turned towards him. He was so surprised that he couldn’t help but grimace while staring at his wriggling feet. Malakai was going to notice him any second now!
“What’s that kid doing here?” A dwarf asked as he rubbed his bristling beard. His small, wide-set eyes wandered from him to Julian, who shifted his gaze to the archmage and seemed anything but startled.
Malakai, however, had yet to raise his eyes off the table and focus on the marble pillar Derrick was hiding behind. He was too immersed in more pressing matters than a mere child who shouldn’t be here.
Gavon recognised him in a flash and looked alert. He must have thought I was dead all this time, Derrick reasoned. His dark gaze, however, soon shifted focus and wandered about all around him. Was he looking for Artam?
“He’s not mine, Raimur, I’m afraid, although I’m sure you wish he was. This kid belongs to Mahgrad and was lost in the Great Forests of Secrets, so I brought him with me.”
That was when Malakai finally lifted his intelligent eyes and stared at him as if he knew he had been there all along. Derrick flinched and dropped his head again. The archmage’s stern gaze did not give away anything, though. It was persistent, yet unbothered. Whatever crossed the archmage’s head at the time remained a secret.
Derrick, unwittingly, gave up all attempts to hide and came forth. He was ready to take on anything – anything at all – and come up with a plausible explanation for how he ended up here. But the archmage didn’t break the silence to condemn him or ask him anything in particular. Malakai feigned ignorance and changed the subject to the events that summoned this council.
Although relieved, Derrick couldn’t help but wonder why the archmage pretended he wasn’t there when Gavon had lost focus completely and kept peeking at him without being able to stop like a pigeon with a broken neck.
“There’s no point in debating something beyond our control. The seal may be broken, but that doesn’t mean a thing as long as we, the allied kingdoms, put an end to it. The Queen lost once, she can be defeated again.”
“But things are different this time,” Raimur, the dwarf, said. “The Queen may dislike the humans, but she has no bad blood with the elves. She did something she had never done before.”
“She’s trying to turn us against one another; it’s all an act, and even if it wasn’t, that doesn’t change anything.”
“No,” Raimur insisted. “She wouldn’t lay a finger on the elves, especially not the ones in Freyskul for nothing. You know this better than anyone, Malakai.”
The archmage’s face hardened as he leaned forward. ”She bends the truth for her own gain, she always has and will stop at nothing, and it seems her devious ways have paid off…”
Raimur’s wide-set eyes wandered from seat to seat as he said the following in an ominous tone for all to hear: “There’s more to all of this than what we can see with the naked eye. My people have felt the earth quiver, the heavens cry, and the Seven Seas painted red with innocent blood for many moons.
"She’s brewing something evil, my friends, and unless we come to terms with this as soon as possible and reach a solution, the Queen will always be one step ahead of us.”
Everyone exchanged looks. The tension was as sharp as a sword and palpable. Malakai shifted his weight in his high seat and glanced at Arigir and Gavon, who both met his rigid gaze with darting eyes.
Issjia was about to say something right then, perhaps in the archmage’s defence, but was interrupted by the female elf beside Julian. She had kept her head low and her eyes fixed on the table the entire time and had shown no response or emotion until that very moment. Her stentorian voice was as commanding as Malakai’s, yet it lacked the same depth.
“Raimur tells the truth,” she said and continued as the tension reached another height. “We heard the screams in Freyskul for several days, too. They were coming from Hezakhal. The shrill screams stopped short four days after my father went missing in the dead of night. He was last seen with the prince, who, as you all are aware, turned up dead two miles from the Salkire, impaled and decapitated.”
“Hjarwa might still be alive.” Archmage Malakai tried to ease the tension. “The Queen has never attacked the elves before, she needs Freyskul or Reivenir to be on her side to win this bloody war, she would never—”
But Julian cut him short: “My brother is dead, great mage. He faced the same fate as Sirahael.”
Silence. Utter silence prevailed, and it was broken by none other than the ruler of Druasdûr. Issjia broke into a cry as everyone held their breaths. It was a cry only a grief-stricken father could make.
If you come across this story on Amazon, it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.
Derrick dropped his head as the image of the dark elf sprung to his mind, and although he didn’t even know the prisoner, his heart twinged with pain at the sight of the bereaved father.
“What- what does it mean—he’s dead? Julian, my son, look at me, he’s… Your brother is dead?”
The light elf, unable to speak from grief, nodded. His teary eyes were bloodshot, as were the female elf’s hollow eyes.
“How do you know this?” Malakai asked, now unable to hide his distorted emotions. It was as clear as day that Hjarwa’s death somehow made his stony heart waver. His complexion turned dark, yet he kept his cool and was at great pains to appear unfazed.
Julian raised his eyes. ”I was there, great mage, I was there when it happened.”
“You were there when it happened?” Raimur repeated. “What does that mean?”
“Sirahael found out about Waldor’s betrayal and reached out to me three days before the contest took place. He wanted to make a deal with the Queen and save the children, but I refused to go, knowing the Queen’s temper.
"I told him to turn a blind eye, but you all know how he is – he was determined to save those kids. I only learnt about Hjarwa’s involvement when Amelia reached out to me the day after the contest, and I met up with Sirahael the same day.
“We decided to break into Hezakhal the following night. But by the time I arrived in Lordôm, my brother had succumbed to his injuries, and the late prince was slain. There was death everywhere. I couldn’t bring my brother back with me, and that haunts me more than anything. I keep thinking… I keep thinking of what I could’ve done differently every night; if I had tried harder to convince Sirahael, would my brother still be alive today?”
“Why didn’t you send a word to Mahgrad when you first learnt of the prince’s plan?” Malakai asked, frantic. “We could’ve put a stop to all of this before it—”
“Sirahael made me promise not to say anything, my lord! He said the tree’s betrayal was only the beginning of something bigger and darker, and that he had to figure out what it was before it was too late!”
“Did he mention what he suspected?” the dwarf asked. “Anything at all?”
Julian shook his head. “He didn’t want me to know. But I’m sure my brother knew all along and kept it from not only his people but from the rest of the Elven kingdoms as well.”
Amelia let her brilliant eyes wander from her uncle to the disturbed archmage as she suddenly said, “I think… I think I know what they were hiding.”
“Amelia…?” Issjia said in a hushed tone as she fell into a prolonged silence that kept everyone on edge. “What is it, my child?”
Her voice was strained and cracked. “The birth of a dragon—I think that was what they were hiding from us.”
Malakai, for the first time since the council began, furrowed his brows and appeared increasingly confused. He dropped his wide eyes, which darted from side to side. He can’t believe what he’s hearing, Derrick thought, the archmage can’t wrap his head around what the female elf is saying.
Derrick let his eyes wander to the people gathered around the oblong table. He realised that the archmage was not the only one who looked out of place. But what significance did a dragon have? The only dragon alive was the Queen, wasn’t it? And she had not conceived a dragon ever since she was tethered to Hezakhal and lost a third of her powers.
Amelia continued. “I… I found a handwritten note sent to my father from Sirahael the day he went missing. It was a brief message, and at first glance, it seemed nonsensical to me. The words, the sentences, even the way it was written, were anything but readable. But I had seen it before. Then something bizarre happened – something that had never happened before.
“A sorcerer broke into Freyskul saying my father sent him. I had no reason to doubt him; someone from the outside let him in. I sensed he was a sorcerer right away. I could feel it at once. But there was something else I couldn’t. His kindred spirit. It was absent. It was as if something or someone hindered me from seeing his true self. That’s when I—”
“‘He, who shall be born a dragon, will see but not be seen, hear but not be heard, and feel yet not be felt.’” Everyone stared at the archmage as he said these arcane words and continued. “The Ninth Scripture, page 99, line 19: The Birth of a Dragon, written in Old Elvish.”
“No, there must be a mistake,” Raimur mumbled at his wits’ end. “Malakai, there has to be a mistake!”
The archmage didn’t reply at once. His intelligent gaze was fixated on the two wizards, who, out of sheer shock, covered their mouths and were in a bind.
Then, as if nothing could get worse than this piercing silence that lasted longer than it should, Julian rose to his feet like a bolt out of the blue and drew all attention to himself. Derrick flinched, and his eyes grew wider. Julian’s misty eyes met his own when he least expected them, then shifted to the exit.
“That dragon,” he stuttered. “I think I know where he is right now.”
Derrick blinked. Kiano…? No, no, there had to be a mistake! At the same time, he knew there wasn’t.
Without fully understanding why, he stormed out into the narrow hall. All he knew was that he had to find Kiano before anyone else got to him first. He sprinted beside himself through the winding hallways and didn’t stop until he leapt out of the grand castle and hurried over to the glistening gate, which was still shut tight.
His antsy eyes landed on the sorcerer, and before he could explain what was going on, the main entrance he just sped past flung open. He peeked over his shoulder and saw Julian and several Elvish guards follow right behind him. Distraught, he shouted at Kiano to run at the top of his lungs. Both he and Kiano must have lost their minds, for the sorcerer did indeed break into a run as soon as these words escaped his mouth.
Someone shoved him aside as the gate unlocked, and he fell sideways onto the wet grass. He stared up with quivering eyes and found Artam hovering above him, confused, yet hesitant to leave.
He waved at him to fly away. The auburn-haired guy, albeit reluctantly, flailed his wings and headed for the high bridge. Malakai showed up beside him as he heaved a sigh of relief. The archmage didn’t break into a run like the elves or the dwarfs. He was followed by Arigir and Gavon, who, too, remained in place.
“You know who the dragon is…”
He didn’t know what to say. Malakai pressed on.
“Traitors have no place in Mahgrad, kid, do you understand? Tell me everything you know about the dragon.”
He tried to find the right words. “He’s- he’s not a dragon, my lord, his name is Kiano, and—”
“How do you know him? This Kiano.”
“Are you…” His voice cracked. “Are you going to hurt him?”
“That’s none of your business, child!”
“But he’s not a bad person!” Derrick bore his eyes into the archmage, desperate beyond what words could relay. “He wouldn’t have saved me if he—”
“That’s up to us to decide what he is or isn’t,” Malakai said. “He’s a threat to Gartâr.”
He shook his head. ”No, no, he isn’t. I know him, great mage, you must believe me! Kiano, he’s… he’s not what you think he is.”
Malakai, in a fit of rage, pulled him up by the collar. Gavon came forth and tried to calm the archmage down, but Malakai was seeing red. Derrick choked; his face became distorted and flushed. His vision became blurry.
Even Gavon’s pleading voice seemed to fade away with every passing second. He writhed and coughed from where he tried to catch his breath as the archmage finally let go. His sight was blackening. He saw the archmage punch Gavon across the cheek and knock him to the ground with one swift move. His icy, guttural voice was enough to bring the dead back to life.
“Get this darned kid to talk or I’ll claim your head myself. Sirahael, the one you’ve brought up, you stupid fool, did not die for nothing! I’ll do to you what Hjarwa had to endure in his last breaths, do you understand? If you want to live, be wise, and choose which side you want to fight for before nightfall.”