Kingdoms in Chaos (10 page)

The fleet reached Cerushia on the morning of the fourth day at sea and were greeted by a crowd of cheering elves. Whill hadn’t thought much about what his appearance would mean to them. He was revered by many as a god among men—Kellallea’s champion.

As he was taxied to the shore by a rowboat, he watched the crowd of excited elves grow. Horsemen flying bright banners embroidered with a glorious sun came riding over the far ridge. He saw Zerafin among them. The king of the elves rode to the shore and dismounted as Whill’s boat landed. Whill jumped out and met his friend’s beaming smile. Zerafin’s soldiers ushered the crowd to the sides to make room for the two as they met on the beach and embraced like brothers.

“Whillhelm Warcrown, it is good to see you,” said Zerafin.

“It is good to be back,” Whill said with a smile.

The crowd called him the savior, the champion of Kellallea. The chant for Whill made it hard for him and Zerafin to hear each other, but the elven king laughed and smiled, raising their arms high to rouse the crowd further.

“You’ve come at a good time, Whill. It has been a hard winter for my people, and your presence does much to lift their spirits. Come, let us go somewhere we might have some peace.”

Whill and Greyson were offered horses and followed Zerafin and his soldiers up the beach and to the road leading to Cerushia. Whill’s guards hurried to keep up behind them, eying the strange elves and the strange land with a mix of apprehension and amazement. Many of them had never met an elf, let alone been on their land.

Whill’s excitement died when he saw the destruction that had been wrought. Cerushia was a disaster. Much of the city had been destroyed, and what remained held none of its former glory. The elves had been through a lot, indeed. He noted how not all of them celebrated his arrival. Some stood motionless among the energetic crowds, staring at him. He had heard of these elves, the ones who did not believe Kellallea to be a goddess, but rather despised her and Whill alike for the taking of power. He understood how they felt; in his own way, he hated her too—and himself for what he had done. It gnawed at him night and day. The Watcher and many of the elders were dying, and it was all because of his choices. Good or bad, there was nobody to blame but him.

“Never mind them,” said Zerafin, seemingly reading his mind like the old days. “They have no one to be angry with but themselves. What Kellallea did was the right thing to do, I think. Though it pains us to live without it, magic might have killed us all.”

Whill had so much to say, but held his tongue until they were finally alone in Zerafin’s chambers in the salvaged palace. He didn’t see Avriel anywhere but was reluctant to ask for her. On one hand he wanted nothing more than to see her again. On the other, he was afraid that she would look at him like a stranger.

When finally the doors closed shut, he turned to Zerafin. “Kellallea has appeared before me.”

The elf’s smile disappeared and he motioned to the balcony. “Right to the point, I see. Would you like a drink?”

“I have missed the elven red,” said Whill. He took a seat at the table on the balcony and Zerafin joined him shortly, handing him a glass.

“What did she say…if I might ask?”

Whill wondered if he should tell him everything. He smelled the sweet wine and swirled it for a moment, watching the glass. He raised it to the sunlight, noticing a few tannins floating in the ruby liquid. The wine tasted more bitter than sweet, and confirmed his suspicions that it was not aged long but had likely been made with what fruit was left unharmed from the year before.

“She said that she can grant me the power that I once possessed.”

“If…” said Zerafin, knowingly.

“Exactly.
If
I swear fealty to her.”

Zerafin pondered this while he sipped his wine.

“What I don’t understand,” said Whill, “is why she would ask
me
such a thing. Without my help, she would have never ascended to the heavens.”

“I have prayed for her guidance in the temple,” said Zerafin. “She has not answered.”

“You wonder why she has forsaken you, and yet speaks to me?”

Zerafin turned to his friend and smiled reassuringly.

“I hold no animosity toward you for this.”

“What would you do?”

A long sigh escaped Zerafin, and he finished his glass in one drink.

“I have used Orna Catorna my whole life. It has been hard to adjust to life without it after so many centuries. When the humans attack, I see fear in the eyes of my people. When once I could have turned away the pathetic army single-handedly, I must now hide behind my banner men and watch as centuries-old elves die. I think that if it was offered me, I would take it.” He met Whill’s eyes, searching. “You told her no?”

“I have not yet made up my mind.”

“What’s stopping you?”

“I’m not sure. I don’t trust her, for one.”

“You never have,” Zerafin reminded him. “Yet she was telling you the truth all along.”

“About the prophecy, yes. But there are things about her that don’t add up.”

“Like what?”

“Like why she allowed Eadon’s rise. Surely there was a time when she could have stopped him. She is ancient—much older than he. I think that she allowed his rise to power because she knew what it would lead to.”

“You think she planned it all?” Zerafin asked.

Whill couldn’t tell if he was angry or bewildered.

“It is possible.”

The elf king raised a brow to that and tipped back his glass. He said something, but Whill was suddenly deaf. His heart dropped and his mouth ran dry. Avriel was standing on a distant balcony looking out over the city. She turned her head toward him, and their eyes met.

Then she was gone.

Zerafin had turned to see what had taken his attention.

“You must want to see her. Do not waste pleasantries on me if that is what you desire.”

Whill focused on him with some effort.

“She doesn’t know who I am.”

“Kellallea could change that,” said Zerafin.

“Then why doesn’t she?” Whill was surprised by his own anger. “I apologize.”

“It is understandable. I’m afraid great responsibility is your burden, my friend. I forget sometimes that you are barely twenty years old. A heavy burden it must be to one so young. I myself did not mature much until my hundredth year.”

Whill appreciated his attempt at levity but found that it did nothing to alleviate his mood. “If she could help Avriel, why doesn’t she? If she could help Tarren, why doesn’t she? Why does she hang these things over my head and insist that I swear fealty to her? Don’t you find it all a bit suspicious?”

He could tell Zerafin hadn’t really given it much thought, too caught up in his want for a return of power.

“I do not assume to know the ways of the gods,” said Zerafin.

“She is not a god. She was born an elf, was she not? And what has she done for her people? I have seen no miracles. All she has done is to take our power for her own and left us to fend for ourselves in a world gone mad.”

A shadow crept over the elf’s face as he looked out over the city.

Whill continued. “You defend her at every turn, but what allegiance do you owe her? What has she done for you?”

“She has given us the gift of humility,” said Zerafin. He seemed tired. “Who are we to demand anything from the one who saved us from ourselves? I grow weary of war. I have known it for over five hundred years. It is time…” His eyes shifted to Whill for a moment.

Whill heard a finality in his voice. “Time for what?”

Zerafin let out a long breath and looked to the heavens. He then faced his friend with a smile in his eyes. “We are going home.”

Whill’s heart dropped.

“You’re leaving?”

“I believe that it is for the best,” said Zerafin.

Sorrow washed through Whill, and then fear, and fear led to anger.

“Have you heard of the stirrings in the north? They say that the dead walk the land! The dark elf Ainamaf still reigns as king of Shierdon. The dark elves have wrought disaster all across our land, and you would leave…now?”

Zerafin looked ashamed. His once proud shoulders sagged beneath the weight of his mantle.

“What can we do? Many of the elders are dying, my mother among them.”

“Ah, Zerafin, I’m sorry. I didn’t know,” said Whill.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, everyone dies.”

“True, but if I had done something different—”

“None of that,” said Zerafin, waving him off. “You have always been too hard on yourself. The weight of the world need no longer sit on your shoulders.”

Whill was grateful for the words, but they did nothing to lessen his guilt. He should have done something different, should have been strong enough to defeat Eadon on his own. He had held the greatest power given, and he had been too weak to wield it.

“I am sorry to hear it all the same,” said Whill. ““How is she holding up?”

“Mother is in good spirits. She is eager to meet my father once more, and she wishes to die in the homeland. That is partially my reason for making this journey. I would be with my mother when she passes.”

“Do you intend to return?”

“I will return for the others. An exodus like this will not be quick. We’ve not the ships to carry the thousands there at once.”

“And what of Avriel? Does she mean to leave as well?”

“Yes, she does.”

Whill gave a long sigh.

“You love her still,” Zerafin noted.

Whill nodded. “Though I know it is impossible, that it was doomed from the beginning…yes, I love her still.”

“I feel for you, my friend. I myself once loved a human woman. I nearly gave up my inheritance for her. But in the end, I was forced to let her go. You will see that it is for the greater good.”

“Do you regret it?”

Zerafin considered the question for a moment, his eyes wandering to the city below. “Sometimes.”

“Would you do it again? For the greater good, as you have said?”

“I do not know,” said Zerafin, shaking his head.

“I don’t want to spend my life wondering what could have been,” said Whill. “I’ve done my part. Eadon has been defeated. If she asked me to, I would give up my throne to be with her.”

“My Lords, Princess Avriel,” said a guard at the door.

Whill turned to see Avriel walking into the room. She wore a rune-embroidered golden dress split down the right side, with a high collar but no shoulders and gloves that went to her elbows. Her dark hair flowed over her bare shoulders like a cape, and resting on her brow was a headdress of golden flowers.

She stopped before them as they got to their feet. Her eyes moved over Whill quickly, meeting his gaze but for a moment. “King Warcrown. Your visit is a pleasant surprise.” She gave a small bow.

Whill wanted to touch her. Hold her. Kiss her. “Avriel…” His voice became lost to him.

She shifted uncomfortably. “My mother would like to speak with you.”

He took her hand in his. “I’m so sorry to hear about the illness.”

Avriel stiffened slightly at the contact but did not pull away. She smiled at him. He could feel her body tremble.

“Thank you,” she said with a small bow and turned swiftly, breaking contact. “If you would follow me…”

With a nod to Zerafin, Whill followed her out of the chamber and down the long open-aired hallway. He tried to catch up, but she was walking quite briskly to stay close to the leading guard. He got the distinct feeling that she didn’t want to be alone with him.

Araveal was lying on a bed that was set beside the rail of her chamber’s balcony, staring out at the setting sun. She turned to him as he approached and a smile lit her sunken eyes.

“Ah, the chosen one has returned,” she said with a grin.

“Queen Araveal.” Whill took her hand and bowed to one knee. “I am so glad to see you again.”

Her grip was weak, but she pulled him close and hugged him. “How can we ever thank you for all you have done?”

He felt her tears on his neck. When she released him he found them to be tears of joy.

“I never meant for this to happen,” said Whill.

“Say no such words. We are mortal creatures. We may live to see a millennia, but eventually the earth claims us all. You are no more responsible for my death than you are my birth.”

One of the queen’s handmaidens brought a chair and set it behind Whill. He turned and found Avriel just slipping out the door. When he sat, he noticed how the queen had been watching him.

She was quick to smile. “She asks about you.”

The words were like a ray of light through storm clouds. He tried to hide his exuberance. “What does she say?”

“She is curious about you, about how you stole her heart.”

Whill couldn’t help but laugh. “I
stole
her
heart, did I? I was doomed before her first word was spoken.”