The Alterra Histories: The Fire King (3 page)

“Where is your weapon?” asked Aincor, eyeing the staff with contempt.

“This is all I will need,” replied Faelani, hefting the fine ironwood staff with ease. The steel banding made it heavy, but it would withstand quite a number of blows from Aincor’s broadsword.

Aincor rocked back on his heels, shaking his head. “You face the mightiest of all warriors with only a defensive weapon?” he asked. “Obviously you’re either dull-witted or you don’t mind insulting me. Well, come and get some of my steel, then. Your disregard and audacity are in need of it.”

Faelani smiled. “If I’m right, I won’t be sampling any of your steel. If I’m right, you will be the one in need of aid. All I need do is keep you at bay long enough to realize it.”

Aincor’s eyes narrowed. “And what sorcery will you work on me? There is none that will prevent your defeat.” Faelani could sense some hesitation in his voice, not from fear, but from simple incredulity.

“First,” she said, “I require that we be alone in this challenge. I asked for privacy, you agreed to it, and I insist upon it.” She glared at Wyrrin, who looked to the King for his instructions.

Aincor jerked his head toward the doorway, dismissing the healer while looking pointedly at Faelani. “She is no threat to me, but do not go far! Your skills may be needed.”

Unruffled, Faelani stood directly in front of Aincor, drew herself up tall, and recited the proper petition: “I wish to join the ranks of the Fire-heart. To do so, I must remain upright until the raven alights upon the southern wall. If His Majesty will accept my challenge, then release the raven. If he will not, then I will depart with my shame.”

Aincor then offered his usual response: “Lord Aincor accepts your challenge, yet you may still be departing in shame, for I sense you are unworthy to hold a position in my ranks. Prepare yourself, and the raven will fly.” He drew his long sword, the slow drag of metal in the scabbard an eerie, foreboding sound. Faelani’s grip tightened on her staff.

“Release the Raven!”

Aincor’s booming voice was clearly heard by the sentinels atop the north wall. They sent an arrow heavenward to indicate the bird was aloft. Watchers on the south wall would do the same when the raven arrived.

The first few moments of the conflict were unusual for Aincor; he behaved as though he really was concerned about hurting Faelani, though, in fact, he was simply testing her. He checked his sword more than once.

“Why do you hold back?” she asked. “This is most unlike you. It will not take long for the raven’s flight. You had better start fighting unless you want me in the ranks of your elite guard.” She swung her staff with graceful precision, connecting hard enough with Aincor’s helmet to make his ears ring.

Aincor, knowing he could put her on the ground at any time, responded with little enthusiasm until Faelani rushed at him with a cry. He met her challenge, forced at last to really engage her, for she whirled and thrust and swung her staff without mercy. His blade glittered in the ruddy light, flashing as it descended upon her, meeting the tough, steel- banded ironwood of her staff each time. He tried to trip her up, but she was too quick and too agile.

Faelani’s strength, however, was no match for Aincor’s, and she knew he would wear her down in moments. She backed toward the wall, luring him with her until she could go no farther. He couldn’t knock her from her feet—she was braced against the ancient stones, panting and weary. He would have to throw her to the ground or make her submit.

Aincor knew this only too well. He held his blade to Faelani’s throat, rumbling low in his chest like a great cat. “You are vanquished, Elf-woman. Submit to me now, or I shall throw you from your feet by force.”

Faelani was still winded, making speech difficult. She reached up with one slender, trembling arm, removed her helmet in one fluid motion, and tossed it aside. “Look into the eyes of your adversary, Fire-heart. What do you see?”

“I see a foolish person whom I have just bested in combat with very little effort,” growled Aincor. “What else is there to see?” He gripped her throat with his free hand. “Now, submit!”

“Look harder,” whispered Faelani. “You have not truly met my gaze. Are you afraid?”

“I have never been afraid,” he growled, looking deep into Faelani’s eyes just to prove his point. To his surprise, it was not as easy as he thought. His gaze kept darting left and right, looking through her or around her.

“Look at me, Fire-heart,” she said. “Muster your will and
look
at me.”

Aincor ground his teeth and stared hard at her at last. Surely there was nothing to be concerned about. Why was this so difficult?
Surely...surely...she is just a She-elf. Just another She-elf.

“Stop fighting,” Faelani whispered. “There is nothing you can do.”

What did she mean? Yes, she was beautiful, but...what did she mean? He felt a change come over him as he gazed into her calm, grey eyes. They were deep…deeper than the vast seas, warm and healing like the sun in spring. They filled him and made him whole. In that moment, Aincor knew the truth—this was his life-mate, the one for whom his heart was destined. She had known it already.

“But…but why?” he muttered, letting go of her throat.

“It was the only way I could get you to truly look at me,” she replied. “You look over people, or through them, or around them. But you do not look at them with an open heart. I knew you were the one…I have known it for some time now. But I also did not know how to make you realize it. Not until...
now
!” With those words, she swept her staff behind the bewildered Aincor’s knees, following up with a quick thrust to his breastplate, knocking him backward. As she did so, the arrow appeared from the southward wall.

“The raven has arrived, yet only one of us is still upright,” she said, smiling down at her astonished opponent. “And, if I am not mistaken, I am now eligible to take up ranks among your elite guard.”

Aincor got to his feet without taking the hand she offered him. “I could throw you into prison for deceiving me,” he said, his bewilderment still evident.

Faelani laughed. “So says the one who does not believe in honorable combat! I did not deceive you. I manipulated you, yes, but I did not do so lightly. I have never been a warrior, and you will be happy to know that I have no interest in joining your cadre of sword-happy combatants. No one need know of the outcome of this conflict. You may say that you defeated me, that I didn’t last beyond the first bite of your sword if you wish. I will not contradict you. Yet I sense that the warrior who stands before me is an honest one.”

“He is,” replied Aincor. “And his pride will survive this insult.” He shot a wry look at her. “So, you will not serve in my elite guard?”

“I’d rather not,” said Faelani with a warm, generous smile that melted Aincor’s heart. She was so beautiful, yet he had never realized it before. He could not stop staring at her, gazing at the silken mahogany of her hair, the tawny glow of her skin, and those eyes…he was lost in them forever. No Elf could deny the Perception, though Aincor had always thought to avoid it. Now his heart was given. He smiled back at Faelani, knowing that, even if her gentle heart desired it, she could not serve in his warrior-ranks. His heart was given forever, and she would be his Queen. The missing piece of his spirit that he had tried to fill with bravado and accomplishment had been found at last. He would never allow her to risk herself in battle.

~~

Elves will only beget children of their perceived life-mates, and Faelani bore to Aincor two sons: Asgar and Dardis. The eldest, Asgar, took after his father. Fearless before his enemies, strong and tall, he loved the thrill of battle. He mastered nearly every form of weaponry, especially the heavy two-handed sword his father favored. None could stand before Asgar for long.

Dardis, on the other hand, had no love for the sword. Gentle- natured like his mother, his passions were for learning and creating. Dardis was most at home in the Halls of Learning, but even more he wanted to invent things and explore the magical ways of the Asari. His impressive talents soon earned him a place as Léiras’ apprentice, though Aincor considered him a bit of a disappointment.

Aincor cared for both his sons, but he held a much greater understanding of Asgar. It was understood that Asgar would succeed Aincor as King, a fact which Dardis thankfully accepted. In truth, no one really understood Dardis, but no Elf has ever been more beloved by those who knew him. It was not the arrival of his sons that brought the greatest change upon Aincor, however, but the influence of Faelani herself. She alone could cool the fire of Aincor’s anger, and she alone could arouse compassion in him. He had always viewed mercy as a trait of the weak; Faelani convinced him that only the truly strong are merciful. She led him to see through the eyes of others, a skill which had always eluded him. Once he began to feel the pain of those around him, he became more considerate and less quick to judge. After a time, the people began to recognize that their King could be wise as well as strong. The Asari, who had never been able to break through the wall of Aincor’s stubbornness, smiled in approval.

There was, however, a price to be paid for this enlightenment. As soon as Aincor realized that Faelani had completed him, that she had filled the emptiness in his heart, he knew fear at last. He spent many years denying it, but an ever-present dread lay deep within him. Aincor was afraid of losing Faelani, of losing his sons…of being alone. Throughout much of his long life, he had only himself for company, ruling his kingdom not out of caring, but because of his own self- importance. He had justified this with the notion that no one was worthy of him, but he had secretly longed to end his isolation, though he had no idea of how to do so. His pride, both enormous and genuine, had never been his friend. Now he feared a return to the days of abject loneliness, days in which he had only himself to think about.

The only thing worse than being afraid was the threat of someone’s discovering it.

Part Two

The long days of midsummer were beginning to fade when Wrothgar, Lord of the Underworld, sent forth his emissaries to Tal- elathas. They told Aincor and the Council that Wrothgar was weary of the constant harassing of his followers by Aincor’s forces, and he wanted to make peace with the Lord of the Èolar. He invited Aincor, together with a force numbering no more than one hundred, to meet him upon a raised, flat formation of rock the Dwarves had named “Fior’s Anvil”. This great rock lay between Wrothgar’s northern fortress and Tal-elathas, surrounded by gentle plains that could not conceal an army. With proper scouting, neither side would be able to mount a surprise attack upon the other.

This invitation, the first of its kind, came as quite a surprise to most, and the Council of Scholars was quickly convened. The Council, led by the King, was comprised of the wisest and most learned minds in the realm. Because the Èolar valued knowledge above all else, the Council always presided over matters of great importance. The King, naturally, held the deciding vote.

Aincor was not at all surprised by Wrothgar’s offer to talk of peace “We have been battering Wrothgar’s legions for years untold,” he said. “The Dark forces are scattered and weak. Wrothgar is only wanting to make peace because he knows that we are about to overwhelm him. I have not allowed him a moment’s respite; any time his foul servants poke their heads above the ground, I have cut them down.”

Faelani’s brother, Vathan, sat beside her. “You had some help with that,” he muttered. Vathan still disliked Aincor’s arrogance, but could not help but respect him. For that, and for his sister’s sake, he followed Aincor’s commands.

The three Asari—Léiras, Baelta, and Kotos—stood by, ready to offer their opinions to the Council. Kotos, who was especially perceptive, shook his head, his handsome golden face veiled with doubt. “It is not like Wrothgar to humble himself thus,” he said. “I cannot believe he has come forth to make peace merely because he is weary of war. Always before he has retreated to his lair, building up his strength in secret. There is something else at work here.”

Aincor scowled. “Do you doubt the ferocity with which my warriors have quelled him? He may have realized that it is useless to resist us further, though I would trust no peace he would offer. If we do not agree to meet with him, he will think us weak and afraid.”

“One
should
be afraid of Lord Wrothgar,” said Faelani. “His powers are ancient and terrible. I fear him to the depths of my bones.”

“So must anyone with an ounce of sense,” put in Vathan, earning him a black look from Aincor.

“Have a care, Vathan, that your good sense does not bring you any closer to insulting me.”

Vathan bowed his head, spreading his hands in a gesture of contrition, but when he looked up again, his eyes told a different story. He drew a deep sigh as Faelani patted his arm.

“I’m afraid I must agree with Kotos,” said Léiras. “Yet there is no way to be certain of anyone’s real intent, let alone Lord Wrothgar’s. What answer shall we give? There is some merit to the King’s suggestion that we not appear weak or fearful, yet I worry that Wrothgar is setting a trap.”