Whill of Agora

words but within his mind.

You have learned well the ways of Orna Catorna. You have shown an aptitude for not only that which you have learned, but that which you have yet to learn. This, I must say, is unheard of within the world of my people. My brother suspects that this alone is the reason for my love for you, and he alone should know me so well. But I do not know and do not care for the reasons I have read in not only elven scripts, but also that of human and dwarf. I should not tarry with the reasoning, for when it comes to love it seems there is none. At least, none that apply to logical thought.

Whill listened intently, exuberantly, exhilarated by this sudden admission of Avriel’s love. But he also simply listened.

You must understand, Whill, that the feelings I have for you, and those which I know you hold for me, are dangerous ones. I have been warned so; history teaches about such matters. We have a pressing duty before us, one that eclipses what we feel and want and need. We have a duty to do what we can for this cause, first and foremost, and to the death. We must not be hasty in our pursuit of love, but mindful and steady in the pursuit of the cause we serve.

A smile crept onto her face, and a single tear hung but did not drop from her eye. Blessed will be the day when we can rightfully declare our love aloud. Until that day, when the Draggard no longer leave their stain upon our shores, and the curses of the Dark elves are but a distant memory, we shall remain silent in our hearts’ desire, and strong in our resolve.

Then until that day, Whill told her, know what I feel now. That since the first time I saw you in that feverish dream, since the first hint of your scent left my mind, since the first sounds of your beautiful voice filled my ears, I have loved you.

Avriel smiled in such a girlish way that Whill for a moment doubted her centuries of life.

And I you, Whill. And I you.

Avriel held her head high and looked to the heavens. Whatever mental bond there had been was broken.

“It is for those reasons, my duty included, that I present you with this. I know you will object, but it must be done for the good of the cause. This I foresee.”

Avriel then untied her blouse and let it fall upon her arms. Her naked breasts heaved with her every breath and shone in the sunlight. Whill watched in dumbfounded awe as the skin above her right breast heaved and finally broke as a radiant red gem floated from the wound. This, he knew to his sudden horror, was her inner gem. The gem floated between them as Avriel’s wound healed and she retied her blouse. A bubble of water floated from the nearby garden stream and encapsulated the gem, washing it of Avriel’s blood. The gem then pulsed with a radiance that had before been hidden, even in its previous beauty. Before Whill could protest, Avriel spoke.

“This gem was presented to me by my seventh-great-grandmother, who was a member of Elladrindellia’s Elder Council, before the fall. She and my other grandmothers had been storing their energy in it for twenty years since my birth. Such a gift is bestowed upon all elf children upon their coming of age. And I now present it to you.”

Whill began to protest once again but was silenced by Avriel’s mind voice. If you love me, if what you feel is true, then do not argue this with me. It would be seen as the greatest insult.

He nodded his reluctant agreement. Then she produced a dagger. “Choose the placement,” she said.

Whill pondered the situation for a moment, and realizing he would not win the fight, obliged. He tore his shirt to expose his chest and pointed above his heart.

Aviel raised the dagger to his skin. Deep the blade went, but it was followed by a constant blue light that swallowed any pain Whill might have felt. The gem floated to the wound and found its new home within Whill’s chest.

“The same enchantments I once put on it will hide it from your enemies,” she explained. “I only ask that you use its power in only the most dire of situations, and be wary of its power.”

“I promise.”

From high above, Zerafin turned from the window.

Avriel, my dear sister, what have you done?

Whill was surprised to enter his room and find Tarren and Abram there, Tarren in his cadet uniform, which was clean and pressed, blue and purple.

“Well!” said Whill. “You look as ready as I imagine any new recruit has ever been.”

Tarren beamed. “I am, sir.”

“I do not doubt that you will make a fine soldier when your time comes. Though I hope you will never be needed in the war we face this day.” Tarren’s shoulders drooped and he scowled. “Do not misunderstand me, son. I only hope that this terrible business is done by the time you become a man ready for combat.”

Tarren puffed out his chest. “I am ready now!”

Whill knelt to Tarren’s level. “Tarren, do not hasten into battle with revenge in your heart, for it has been shown through the ages that this is surely the way to one’s own defeat. Be ready, be prepared, train hard, but do so with the intention of protecting the innocent, not exacting your own vengeance. Those who did you wrong are dead, by my and Abram’s blade. That business is done.”

Tarren managed a half-smile. “Yes, sir.”

Tarren had gone to his first day of training, a brutal and dangerous affair within the Eldalon Army, Whill knew. But he was glad of it nonetheless.

“I have informed the king that I wish Tarren to be schooled intensively throughout his years in the academy. His thirst for knowledge will go beyond the sword, I do not doubt, as will his compulsion to right the wrongs of this world.”

“Hmph. I wish him good luck in that endeavor.” Abram lit his pipe and looked out onto the sunset upon the horizon. “I wonder, Whill, did your own words spark any familiarity within you this day?”

“What words?”

“Your words to Tarren.”

Whill sat upon a heavily cushioned chair. “Ah, that. Well, Abram, my father’s killer remains at large at the moment and being that he is the one who must be slain to ensure victory, it seems that I am left with a most monumental situation. For that which my sense of vengeance deems necessary is that which the cause requires also.”

Abram chuckled at Whill’s cleverness. “Yes, my friend.” Smoke from his pipe encircled his body, causing a strange effect of light in the sunset. “You know well the difference between the compulsion of emotions and of duty. I beg you forget them not in this matter, and, I must say, in that of Avriel.”

“I shall not soon forget, sir,” Whill said.

Roakore burst into his soldiers’ training room, sweat dripping from his brow, a wild look in his eye. At his entrance the shout went out: “The king returns! Roakore has returned!”

The proclamation echoed throughout the hall of over two thousand fighting soldiers and all came to a sudden halt. Roakore gasped and put his hand upon the nearest dwarf for support as he caught his breath. Only a moment passed before he spoke.

“Me friends, me sons, me brothers, me great warriors, the time has come. I come from Eldalon with the word o’ King Mathus. We and the humans, and even the elves, shall fall upon the shores o’ Isladon. There we shall liberate the people and fight the Draggard scourge. We’ll be takin back the mountains o’ our fathers. We shall finally be knowin redemption!”

The hall erupted into a frenzy of cheers that seemed to test the very structural integrity of the mountain itself. Roakore raised his arms for silence.

“Yer training is done. Go home, love yer wives, spend time with yer children, do what ye will. Fer the next time ye raise yer weapons in combat, it’ll be against the hell-born Draggard bastards. We leave for battle within the week!”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX