The Alterra Histories: The Fire King (2 page)

Léiras, Baelta, and Kotos convened a council, inviting the wisest and most experienced Elves of Tal-elathas to attend. But Caladon, who was not invited due to his youth, did not understand why everyone else believed it necessary to spend time debating. He took his sword, spear, and bow, stealing away from the city during daylight, when the dragon was certain to be holed up in its dark lair.

No one is certain of what transpired in that horrible, foul-smelling place, but when the Council finally agreed to take action, their war-party found Caladon already waiting outside the beast’s lair. Burned, beaten, and bleeding, he stood tall before them. “It is unnecessary for you to proceed any further,” he gasped, struggling to remain on his feet. “The dragon will trouble you no more.” With those words, he collapsed as one dead. The astonished war-party bore him back to Tal-elathas with all speed and laid him at the feet of the Council.

Baelta ran to his side, lifting him in his arms. “He is dying,” he said to the horrified assembly. But Léiras, who watched Caladon closely, disagreed. Though he was unconscious, his eyes were closed, and he could not speak, a very slight smile tugged at Caladon’s lips.

“He won’t die,” said Léiras in wonder. “See that smile? He won’t allow himself to die. And from what I know of him, I don’t doubt his ability.”

It took months for Caladon to heal from his injuries, but by then his reputation was unimpeachable. He was given the name “Aincor”, meaning “Fire-heart”, which suited him well. He continued to study and learn until he could hold his own among any of the elder scholars. He wore the scars of the dragon-fire with pride, knowing that no Elf had ever defeated a dragon single-handed. He gathered a group of followers, all of whom were accomplished warriors, for they respected his utter fearlessness. When danger threatened the Realm, they often acted independently of Council, venturing forth to defeat all enemies.

Aincor, who had no family crest, took the dragon as his insignia, crafting his own beautiful armor of scarlet and gold with a helmet resembling a dragon’s head. His cadre of warriors grew as his fame spread. Young men of Tuathas, Elves of Tal-sithian and Eádros, all journeyed to Tal-elathas hoping to be deemed worthy, but it was rare that Aincor accepted anyone who was not of the Èolar. In order to be admitted, a supplicant had to remain upright in combat with Aincor for the length of time required for a raven to fly from the northern to the southern wall of Tal-elathas. The raven, who knew it would be rewarded on the south wall, usually flew directly there, but it was still far too long a time for most.

Aincor fought with utter ferocity and disregard for the conventions of battle. He would strike from behind, distract his opponent, or feign injury. He would approach with a smile, bowing his head slightly in respect, and then demolish his hapless challenger as he bowed in return. It was unwise to take one’s eyes from Aincor. He had learned these things from an intense study of battle tactics, reading all of the histories set down in the ever-growing library. To these he added his own observations of natural events, such as the struggle between a spider and a wasp ensnared in its web. Fascinated, Aincor sat motionless for over an hour as the deadly confrontation unfolded, ending in the death of the wasp. The spider had simply worn down its larger, stronger, well-armed opponent with little nips and jabs.

When it was said that he fought without honor, he merely laughed. “Victory is the only honor,” he said. “Honorable combat is only effective if both parties agree to it. I have yet to encounter any servant of Lord Wrothgar who will participate in my people’s delusion of honor.” Wrothgar’s minions, no matter how fearsome, could not withstand an attack by the Fire-heart’s warriors.

~~

Wrothgar’s most terrible and formidable servants, the Bödvari, wrapped their dark forms in cloaks of terror, breaking through the most stalwart line of Elven warriors simply by extending their fiery hands. During one fateful battle Aincor faced them, fought them, and defeated them without hesitating, slaying one and driving the others back into darkness. Upon the loss of their most dreaded commanders, the rest of the Black Legion fell into disorganized and ignominious retreat. For this astonishing accomplishment, Aincor ascended to the rank of Commander of the Èolarin army.

Aincor’s victory confirmed a long-held suspicion: he was, apparently, incapable of fear. Léiras had thought so for many years—it was the only possible explanation for some of the Fire-heart’s behavior. To be without fear might seem a noble and impressive gift, but in reality it is a curse. Those who cannot experience fear cannot make sound decisions, for in their minds they have nothing to risk. Léiras was, therefore, especially dismayed when Aincor’s followers proclaimed him their King.

The Èolar had not appointed a single ruler before; they had left the governing of their affairs to the Asari and to their Council of Scholars. But Aincor had shown himself to be exceptional beyond any who had come before him. He had demonstrated his invulnerability by facing down the Bödvari.

“Who else among us is worthy to be King?” cried Aincor’s captains. “He has defeated the black demons—those who carry before them an aura of terror and hopelessness that few can penetrate, let alone vanquish! Aincor has faced the fire—he has acted while others would sit in debate. We need a King who will act quickly in defense of his people.” This was a difficult argument to overcome, and, after much debate and discussion, the people proclaimed Aincor to be the first King of Tal-elathas.

It is easy to understand the devotion of Aincor’s followers. An Elf who could approach a Bödvar near enough to engage it in combat was either driven by insurmountable grief, in the throes of a white-hot rage, or was named “Aincor”. Not only did he face them, he actually slew one before it could recover its wits and escape. Aincor’s cowardly opponents could neither fathom nor withstand his utter lack of terror. The survivors fled into the darkness as the vanquished disappeared in a cloud of flames and black vapor.

When Lord Wrothgar heard of this unnaturally fearless Elf—one who could defeat his most fearsome commanders—he was sorely dismayed. If the Fire-heart refused to fear his Bödvari, perhaps the Elves would take strength from it and be able to defeat them as well. If the Bödvari fell, would the rest of Wrothgar’s army be far behind? The Elves had declared this “Fire-heart” to be their king. What if he decided to try to eliminate Wrothgar and his dark forces from the world?

Wrothgar had pondered this in silence for quite some time, brooding in his ice-covered lair, when a plan came to him. Arrogance, like fire, is an unreliable weapon—it can just as easily turn upon its bearer. Wrothgar would secretly build up his forces, engaging only in minor skirmishes to keep up appearances. Eventually, he would even appear to extend the hand of peace to Aincor, who would, of course, view such overtures as a sign of weakness. Then he would lure Aincor into a situation from which he could not escape. From there, it would be easy to defeat the Fire-heart’s army and overwhelm Tal-elathas. Once Tal- elathas had fallen, the rest of the Elven-realms would follow.

Wrothgar, the Black Sorcerer, chuckled in the dark. The very thing that had allowed this upstart to prevail over his Bödvari would finally lay him low. Wrothgar had seen this quite clearly, and he would not be denied. For now, he could afford to wait until the time was right.

Part One

The business of the day was just beginning, and Aincor was looking forward to dealing with his affairs of state, when a familiar figure was ushered in to stand before him. Aincor knew him at once—it was Vathan, one of his elite guards and courtiers. On this occasion he wore neither mail nor armor, which was unusual.

“My lord, I would beg an audience,” said Vathan, a dark-haired Èolarin Elf who would have been comely were it not for his battle- scarred face. He turned to regard the others waiting in the King’s chambers. “I’m afraid this is a delicate matter. Is there a way that we may speak privately?”

This request fostered a rippling of restive movement and muttered protest from within the assembly—a request for private audience was unusual, and seldom granted.

Aincor looked deep into the eyes of his battle-captain, searching them for any sign of deceit. Vathan had been a staunch defender of Tal- elathas since long before Aincor had ruled it. Aincor knew that Vathan did not particularly like him, but he had always served faithfully and well. “What matters are so delicate that they may not be heard by the King’s court?” he asked in a voice too low to be overheard.

Vathan bowed his head again. “If the King will only trust me, the need for privacy will be made clear…privately,” he said.

Aincor smiled, though his dark blue eyes held little humor in them. “Very well.” He rose to his feet, extending his hands toward the others in the chamber. “You are dismissed for now. Please await my summons in the outer hall, for I will soon recall you.” After they had gone, Aincor turned back to Vathan. “Now, what is this matter of great importance which can only be raised in private?”

Vathan shifted from one foot to the other. The King did not care to have his time wasted, and Vathan, who was usually very articulate, was obviously having some difficulty in expressing himself. “There is one who would gain admission to your elite guard,” he said at last, “and therefore challenges you to single combat, according to your own decree.”

Aincor scowled. This was not worthy of a private audience; he often received such requests. “And why should this concern me?” he said. “You are not known for foolishness, Vathan, and so I must assume this ‘private’ challenge is unusual.”

“It is,” muttered Vathan.

“And why has the challenger not come before me himself?”

“Because she is my sister, Faelani,” said Vathan. “She will not face you until you agree to the test of combat. Only then will she look upon you.”

Aincor was puzzled. “It is not unheard of for a She-elf to challenge me, though none have succeeded,” he said. “Why will Faelani not face me? Is there some shame of which I am unaware?”

Vathan’s eyes glinted in the fire-light. “There is no shame anywhere in my family,” he said. “Faelani asks me to tell you that she would not wish to take unfair advantage of you, nor would she risk testing your courage beyond its limit. That’s why she will not meet you except in combat.” Seeing the black look forming on Aincor’s face, he added, “These are her words, not mine.”

Aincor’s lip curled slightly, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he replied. “And when does Faelani wish for my no-doubt-inglorious humiliation to take place? Since she would save me from abandoning my courage, I will assume she would prefer to meet me at once. After all, the dread of facing her might be too much for me to bear. Tell her I will meet her at dawn’s light tomorrow, and that I’ll try to hold on to my nerve until then.” He cocked one eyebrow at Vathan. “Is there anything else?”

“Only this,” muttered Vathan, looking down at his rather large feet. “Faelani advises you not to tell anyone else of…of what she calls your upcoming defeat. She insists on meeting you in the small courtyard behind the Philosophers’ Hall. Will you agree?”

“My upcoming defeat?” said Aincor, bemused.“Does she understand how rare it is that an opponent passes my test? She must have some plan out of the ordinary, surely.” He looked to Vathan for enlightenment, but gained none.

“I have no idea what’s in her mind. I only hope she isn’t deluded enough to believe that she can prevail in a test of arms. Not against you.”

Aincor nodded. “My curiosity is piqued. Of course, I will tell no one, but she had best be ready at dawn’s light—once our test has begun, she may find the raven flies far too slowly for her liking. Now, bring in the others, will you? Unless there’s something else?”

“No, my lord.” Vathan bowed again before turning to leave. Then, he turned back. “I know she is outmatched. I also know that she has far exceeded the boundaries of audacity. Still, will you try not to hurt or humiliate her? This foolish challenge is the last thing I would have expected…she is normally quite a gentle soul. Her heart is as vast and deep as any I have known. Please…will you stay your blade?”

Aincor frowned and shook his handsome head. “A challenge, once made and accepted, must be played out,” he said. “Admission to my elite guard is not gained easily. If Faelani wishes to reconsider, that is her right. It is rare for a challenger to suffer grievous harm, and I expect your concern is unfounded, as I should be able to sweep her from her feet quickly and easily. If she is humiliated, she will have brought it upon herself. I will speak no more of this, Vathan. Tell your sister to prepare herself—this problem is of her own making.”

“The problem, my lord, is that your response is exactly what she wishes to hear,” said Vathan with a rueful sigh. He disliked Aincor’s arrogance, though he had grown accustomed to it. The thought of that arrogance armed with a broadsword and attacking his little sister was unsettling indeed.

~~

Aincor appeared, fully armored, in the small courtyard at dawn, even as he had promised. His challenger was not yet in evidence. He brought along his customary second, a healer named Wyrrin who could minister to either combatant in the unlikely event of real injury. Well-equipped to withstand any attack with his two-handed broadsword, Aincor knew he had nothing to fear from Faelani. He waited until the morning sunlight made its appearance over the city walls, scowling with impatience. Finally, as he was about to turn and leave, his willowy adversary emerged from within a small alcove. Her armor glinted in the rosy light; the reddened eastern sky promised rain by mid-morning. She approached him with nothing more than a steel-banded wooden staff in her hands.