Chapter 13

Dead

Amber awoke to a pounding in her head unlike any she’d ever felt. It felt like a hungry rat was roaming free in his skull, and it had begun to burrow in her brain. The pain stunted her for a moment, memories and thoughts repressed as she fought back the wave of agony.

Only after a few moments did a new pain overwhelm the previous, this time just at her throat. It felt like someone was stabbing it with a hundred needles, and she opened her mouth to wail. But what came out was nothing short of an exhausted croak. Grabbing at her throat, she was met with the feeling of wet bandaging.

Pulling her hand away, she saw the blood painting her fingers, and blinked. Amber wanted to try and scream again but the pain of it kept her lips sealed. Instead she blinked again, wetting her eyes before looking around the room. Sure enough, she was in the infirmary. And the memories of what got her there began to flood back. Her hands slapped the sides of the bed, squeezing the sheets as tears immediately began to flood her vision. She couldn't stop the violent, quiet sob that followed.

It stung her throat, and even her eyes as her cheeks wettened. Heaving in great staggered breaths, the young girl struggled to keep herself from using her throat muscles. But still they constricted, and pain flowed through her like a cold winter's river. Clenching her teeth, Amber finally collected herself. The tears still fell, but she at least had gained control of her throat.

"Oh, dear, please lay back down!" A voice urged. Amber had scarcely noticed that she was sitting upright, her back stiffened from the pain. An exhausted exhale escaped her lips as the voice revealed itself to be a young lady, such as herself. One of the nurses, from the looks of her apron. Her hair was short and black, her eyes even blacker, yet somehow still comforting. The nurse rushed to her side where she placed a hand both on her back and her chest, lowering her back down gently. Amber allowed it to happen, nodding in acceptance. Everything was still fuzzy, and she was still half convinced she was dreaming.

"I apologize, I was hoping I'd be in the room when you awoke. I'm sure this is awfully frightening and confusing." The nurse sat down on a stool next to her bed, her lips arched downward into a frown, but only slightly. She wore the typical attire of a nurse, with the braided wooden necklace to prove it. It was a fine showing of craftsmanship, and somehow had become an icon for the nurses of Tavernkeep. With the Battlenurses of the Oak wearing ones with engravings of the battles they had attended. Though with so little war in the last few decades, most of those necklaces were now bare. Hers, on the other hand, had a single carving in the center. It was the symbol for Primrubble. The nurse had fought in the Green War.

"Please, don't try to speak. It will only make things worse for yourself." The sadness seemed to deepen in the nurse's face, and Amber could tell she was searching her eyes for something. Unfortunately, she was only going to find shock and despair. Amber slowly nodded her head before looking forward. The nurse then offered her a drink of water, which she eagerly accepted. It felt odd going down her throat, as if she half-expected it to leak out of her.

"Do you remember what happened a few days ago? What got you here? Just nod or shake your head, please." The nurse asked, tilting her head slightly to the side to try and catch her gaze. Amber's eyes lit at hearing it had been several days, and for a moment she was stunned once again. But eventually she answered with a subtle nod. Because she indeed had remembered. More than she'd ever wanted to. She remembered the warm feeling of Tolo's blood dripping onto her head, like an egg had been cracked over it. A joke that had been played on her as a child. Something so innocent now given a horrifying new meaning. It made her wonder who had washed her while she was unconscious. Who had wiped away the blood of both her and Tolo. Had it been Arethor? What had happened to him? A new spark awoke in her eyes, and she quickly gestured for something to write with.

The nurse jumped to live with a yip, and scrambled over to a table that had paper and a pencil waiting for her. Scribbling away, she only wrote one word with a sizable question mark beside it: Arethor?

The elf stood looking in the mirror. Shirtless, bandages wrapped around what looked like every inch of his torso and waist. He hadn't even noticed it at the time, but he'd been struck by two arrows. Of course, he held no ill will toward those who'd struck him, as he knew leaping out in front of the volley was by no means a smart decision. But to him, it was the only decision worth making. In fact, he felt like it hadn't even been his to make. The Endless had guided him there. And yet, it still ended with him bloodied and defeated. Weak and miserable. Tired and in pain.

The only image he saw when he closed his eyes, was the placid look of Tolo as her life drained. Her last efforts on the planet were to protect his sister. And thanks to her, she was alive. And as eternally grateful as he was, he only had wished it wasn't at the cost of her own life. There was no saving Tolo. There was no sword he could've swung that would've brought her back. Even if he had killed Kimer right where he stood. The hole still would've been in her head.

Tightening his fingers into fist, he raised it up to smash the mirror but stopped as he caught his own eyes. It wasn't anger he saw, but rather fear. A deep, unrelenting, selfish fear. What was he going to do now? Without her?

"Arethor!" The familiar voice of Nurse Jynna called. Wiping away a tear that had formed, Arethor stepped out of the bathroom, his heart already quickening as he anticipated what it might be. "She's awake! Come!" Jynna gestured with the wave of her hand at the doorway. Quickly the elf followed the nurse into the next room, where his sister had been the past few days. The doctors had worried she'd slipped into a coma, but it seemed she'd won that battle at least.

Rushing to her side, Arethor reached out just as his sister had, and the two embraced. An odd warmth spread through him, one he'd seldom remembered feeling. Only it made him remember. The lack of all things, disturbed by the weight of some unexplainable mass. An absence of his very self, the hole that runs so deep, filled so quickly by one tremor. Love. Beyond obligation, expectations and necessity. Just a part of oneself found in all selves. He was holding a thing, a person, he loved, as for one broken moment he felt he could truly be invincible for her if that's what it meant to keep her safe. For one broken moment, Arethor forgot every lie he'd ever caught her in, or any curse she ever threw his way. None of it mattered. What mattered was she was breathing, and would live to see a day he would happily give up if only to let her keep hers. Every nasty look, rude gesture, or petty insult, let it be nothing but a rumor left unchecked.

He knew he was loving because for all those moments he remembered being harsh to her, he'd wished he could cut his own tongue off so it had never been said. For both Tolo and Amber. Only in two very different ways. For Tolo he wished he'd grown a tongue sooner.

"Amber, thank Hyvale…I saw your eyes grow distant and I just…" He stopped as something seemed to wedge its way into his throat, clogging him of words. He bit down on his tongue, but tears still came. And as much as his sister wanted to tell him she was okay, that the pain was more mental than physical, she could only smile.

"I'm so sorry, Arethor, but Amber's vocal cords were severed beyond repair. It was a miracle our Conduits could heal her as much as they had, but she won't be able to speak again. There are some things even magic can't bind back together." Nurse Jynna frowned, though her posture remained formal. Arethor looked to the nurse with worry, before drifting back to Amber. He expected to see surprise on her face too, but saw instead an odd sense of content.

She knew from the first moment she'd tried to speak that she had more than a sore throat. And oddly enough, she wasn't nearly as concerned about it as she'd thought she'd be. Perhaps, she didn't have anything else to say to the world anyways. Or rather, only things that would best go unsaid, and unheard.

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"That's…that's okay, right? We can figure this out." Arethor seems to nod to himself more than anyone, his eyes suddenly growing more frantic. Amber knew the look, though she hadn't seen it since her brother was very little. When they were kids they would play out in the woods together as most kids did, and like most kids, they often found themselves in trouble. Whenever Arethor had been overwhelmed, or scared, his eyes would move faster than his brain could process, and the young boy would simply scream. She doubted he was going to scream now, but regardless, reached up and grabbed him by the shoulders. No words needed to be exchanged, only a long hard stare that brought Arethor to a standstill. Slowly, the elf nodded to his sister, and rested her hands on her lap.

"I know an excellent hand lanquist. I can get them working with her right away, if you'd like." Jynna said with a smile. She had made the process of waking back up much easier for Arethor. Her nice, warm and inviting nature made Arethor feel safe despite the overwhelming pain both physically and mentally. Words couldn't describe the feeling Arethor was met with when his eyes first opened. At first Jynna thought he'd need to be retrained, but after a moment of thrashing the elf quickly devolved into a fit of tears. It was at that point that the nurse realized he needed only to be comforted.

"That would be great. Right?" Arethor looked to his sister again, who simply nodded her head numbly. She had tried to push past the dreariness, but it was clear that she'd been given something to ease the pain, and it was starting to take hold of her.

"Perfect. I'll go fetch her, will you be okay alone with her? Just call out if you need help, there's plenty of staff here." She said with that warm smile, both Arethor and Amber nodded in unison.

"What good is an Eye that doesn't see, Mirrald?" Orieth posed the question, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. A terrible headache had befallen the king since hearing of the events at the gates. He had been busy attending private matters at the time, and left the situation in the good hands of Heathgrim. But it had seemed their captain had failed them again.

"I can promise you that no Eye in all of Jorrik could have been sharp enough to have foreseen this. It was by all means a suicide…" The words got caught in Mirralds throat, the wrong words. The king scoffed.

"If it was a suicide, then how did every single one of our Oakmen miss? Not one of them landed a blow? And then, Gods, Arethor throws himself off the wall like some maiden in dismay? What a disgrace! The ground is painted in arrows, and somehow they only managed to strike one of our own people?" Orieth's anger was understandable if not with the context of what Kimer was. This was by no means a normal man. Not something that could easily be dealt with by steel or sharpened sticks.

"Magics, your majesty. This was their leader, who undeniably is a skilled Solar Conduit."

"Deadspeaker. Call it what it is, Mirrald. Filth. A spot of ink on a beautiful white canvas. A finch in a murder of crows." Orieth sighed as he sat down on the plump red chair in his private quarters. There were extra guards stationed outside both the balcony and door. They had even checked Mirrald for weapons, as ludacris as it was. He was going to be sure to remember that guard's name.

Biting down on a scowl, the Eye turned to his king and lowered his head.

"Correct, your majesty. But I feel their ambitions are being greatly overestimated. These are nothing but a few disjointed and disgruntled Deadspeakers. Accompanied by easily manipulated, soft-boiled fools. I believe if we make the rush now, we can exterminate these terrorists posthaste." Mirrald kept his posture firm, his eyes helplessly flickering as they did when he was nervous. He wasn't nervous of what the king would do to him so much as the better half of Tavernkeep itself. He knew Orieth wasn't prone to making the best military decisions, and yet, despite the failure evident in his face, would refuse any suggestions given by Mirrald. He was the Eye, not the Mouth like Jymtor was.

The king, though, had a decidedly thoughtful look about him. For once, a feeling of hope grew in Mirrald.

"You know how much I despise being told what to do with my army…and yet you make a good observation. They aren't expecting us to know where they are. They still think we are going to muddle around in the forest cluelessly. That does give us a certain advantage." Orieth rubbed his stubble, and began to pace around the warm hearth.

"Precisely, your majesty. Heathgrim had wished to use the relic for a false trade, or ambush. But it seems their leader will make that impossible now."

"Bah. A foolish plan anyways. We have their camp, now we finish the easy part." Orieth shrugged, prodding at some of the charred remains with a fire poker. The hearth spit up ash and smoke angrily.

"I have a suggestion, if I may." Mirrald bit his inner lip, confident he may receive a flaming coal to the face from just the proposition of a suggestion alone. But the king seemed to be in an eerily more content mood as of the last few minutes, and nodded with pursed lips.

"Arethor Celstrum should spearhead the engagement." Mirrald spat out, the words almost failing as they came out. Orieth ceased poking at the fire, and looked up at Mirrald through his bushy eyebrows. A curious look formed, urging him to explain. "Our project isn't ready yet, but Arethor is primed and ready to fight. I mean, I need not mention his actions during the incident. His wounds were more easily remedied by the Conduits than his sister, and he should recover within a few days. His skills are undeniable and now he has more motivation than ever to tear them apart. It would be like releasing a starved fox into a chicken coop and sealing them in."

"And we act as the seal?" The king interjected, his brows now raised. Mirrald hadn't thought of the specifics, but the concept formed in his mind rather quickly. He was no battle strategist, but what was plain was plain.

"Not many places to go in the forest, nor walls to hide behind. Heathgrim says the camp is inside a depression, a bowl of sorts that could easily be taken advantage of. We could line the top with archers, then send fire down into the bottom. As we watch them try to scramble up the bowl, the bowmen will pick them off. Swordsmen could be issued as needed, and Arethor can handle that Kimer figure. He may have failed last time, but I doubt he will be so hasty with his actions if given another opportunity." Mirrald explained, all the while gesturing with his hands. It was a habit of his, and yet the king seemed to appreciate it rather than mock him. It no doubt added flare to most anything he said, mundane or not.

The king looked impressed with his Eyes furiosity.

"I don't recall you ever being so bloodthirsty, Mirrald." Orieth noted pointedly, yet he remained somehow nonjudgmental. Still it brought a redness to the Eyes face, who cleared his throat.

"In all honesty, my king, I fear the worst." Mirrald started.

"So you fear we are underestimating them, instead?"

"No, your majesty. Not of them, but what they represent. A coming of something. A great stirring. The Ruiner in our possession revealed some…disturbing information in light of the fake relic. It reinforces some of the beliefs your uncle had, when he was king." The Eye looked around the room nervously. It wouldn't be the first time that Jymtor had been standing in the room without having him notice.

"The punishment." The king prompted, his eyes narrowing, the firepick going loose in his fingers.

"Correct. The question has been posed if the Collective should reconjoin on Grandtora Island." The words had a particular chill as they left his lips, of which made Orieth shiver as they met his ears. The Collective. His uncle had been the Counselor who represented all of Hyvak. A daunting task, one that nauseated him just at the thought. Not necessarily because of the responsibilities, but the implications of their meeting if so. They had only been created twenty years ago amidst the end of the Green War, and no one would think they would convene again so soon.

"That's unprecedented, and surely unnecessary." Orieth tried to shake the ill feeling away, stepping back from the hearth and throwing the fire poker down with a clatter against the clay tile floor.

"I give no opinion on the matter, my king. I only present you with the option to choose a Counselor if not yourself. Your decision will be respected regardless. But they will look to Tavernkeep as a representative for Hyvak, as much as it may anger Torchill." A grin grew on Mirralds face at the concept of annoying Torchill. The Three Generals had been nicknamed The Three Children because of their temperament. And more so, their damaged pride.

The king battered his eyes uncomfortably as he found his seat again.

"I can't…" He stuttered, then stopped to rethink his words. "We must not get ahead of ourselves." The king was firm now, nodding to himself. Mirrald wished to disagree, but kept his mouth shut and in the form of a light smile. "You are dismissed. We shall prepare the Oak in the morning." And with the wave of his hand, Mirrald was free. He bowed in respect, then saw himself out.

As he traveled through the halls, his foot thumping against red clay, the Eye wondered what he would do next. If it were up to him, he'd offer himself up to be the Counselor of Hyvak. Not out of a position for power, or ego, but simply because he needed everyone to hear what he had to say: the truth.