The Elf King (61 page)

Chapter 34

T
he lone figure rode its horse beyond its limits, pushing it
harder than normally possible, sprinting swiftly across the open
plains towards the towering gates of Cillitran in the hours before
midnight. The sky was dark and cloudless overhead, speckled with
stars over the Caltar Mountains. As it reached the outer gates,
guards wasted no time allowing the rider to enter, a mix of
surprise and wonder on their faces as the rider raced past without
a word. The city was quiet and empty. The Andelline home loomed in
the distance, dark and just as desolate as the shops lining the
streets.

As the rider reached the
palace grounds, it withdrew its hands from deep within the horse’s
neck, withdrawing its magic, hoping off of the animal as it slumped
dead to the ground. Its life was taken hours ago, along with the
rest of Sienna’s escorts, but its body was put to use by the
spirit’s magic. Its mission was nearing completion now. The tasks
it had set to do were all concluded. Save for one.

Find the sword. Kill the
rest of them.

As it entered into the
castle, it could sense something powerful right away. Its smell was
as evident as footprints in the snow.
The
sword! It’s mine!

“
Captain?” an old man’s
voice asked from down a hall. “Is everything alright?”

“
Come,”
it whispered to the man, watching the other walk slowly across the
hall to him
. I’m tired of your
wretched smell. I hate to see you living still. Come and let me
touch you. I’m so tired of this game. The war has started. The end
is near. It doesn’t matter anymore if you know of me. You cannot
stop me. I will find the sword and kill you all.

“
Captain?” the old man’s
voice was filled with uncertainty now.

“
Closer.”

The spirit watched the old
man’s eyes shift from being happy to see him, to being curious, to
now being scared. The spirit laughed out loud, cruel and wicked,
startling the other so that he turned away and ran. Too slow.
Within a second, Lon’s body was tearing apart the old man as if it
were a maddened animal.

First you, then the
rest!

Leaving the lifeless mess
where it lay, the spirit walked the hall in search for the one
thing it needed; the one thing it hungered. It had been sent to
retrieve the sword so long ago. First it had attempted to do so by
entering the Prince and using him to wake the Issilix Delsoue. But
it found that the magic in the Prince’s blood denied it entrance.
So it killed him. It removed all the heirs, and so the power within
the sword could not be used against it. It could claim the Issilix
Delsoue for itself. It would take it back to the lair and there it
would rejoin itself as part of the whole and devour the magic held
in secret. Then it would be invincible.

“
The time is now,” it
hissed.

Further down the hall, a
door opened and closed. Someone was alerted by the old man’s death,
his squeals sent rushing through the otherwise quiet corridor. A
tall man wrapped in a red cloak walked towards the spirit. Already
he began his questions.
As if any answers
would keep you alive.
Boiling anger
surfaced again, as it called the man over to it. It could barely
contain its eagerness, waiting patiently though as the man came
closer with more questions and more demands.

Closer. Closer so that I
can feel your warm blood as I tear out your throat.

“
Captain Ruell?” There was
a hint of recognition behind his confused eyes. But all that
changed once the other smiled back.

In an instant it was over.
Red robes lay in tatters across a dying body bleeding from a dozen
wounds. The spirit screamed in glee.

With blood-stained hands,
Lon’s body stalked down the hall.

“
W
hat was that?” asked Wilt,
his eyes sparkling with concern.

The Head of the Red Knights
had heard it, too. Screams. Too many to be coincidental. Too deep
to be overlooked. Someplace in the castle, something terrible was
happening. “Stay here, old man. I’ll take a look.”

“
No way,”
Oan’s head shook. “That’s
it
. It’s searching for the sword,
Datris. You know it as well as I.”

Kloe Datris thought as much
himself. “I will gather the other Knights, Oan”

Wilt Oan jumped from his
chair across the table from Datris, leaving his plate of half-eaten
food and his desire for rest aside. “I am coming with
you.”

Kloe Datris stared into the
determined eyes of the old man. He would not waste time trying to
convince him of staying where it was safe. Wilt had been a part of
this mess from the beginning, and Kloe knew he could not contain
the old man even if he left him in the main kitchen. Oan deserved
to go, he thought. He deserved to see it to the end.

“
Take my sword, Oan.” Kloe
Datris reached beneath his long red coat and withdrew a long sword,
handing it to Wilt. Then he reached across his other side and slid
one free for himself. “Be quiet. Be alert, old man.”

“
Let’s finish this, old
friend.”

Kloe Datris nodded. He led
Oan out of the main kitchen’s dining room. They would gather the
other Red Knights and carefully make their way through the castle’s
secret tunnels down to a hidden cellar beneath the storage
basement. There they would find the spirit-demon searching for the
sword. There they would destroy it.

As they left the kitchen
and entered the hallway, they were met by two Red Knights, rushing
towards them frantically, their eyes full of fear, their faces
pale.

“
We have to show you
something,” they cried together. Without waiting for any response,
the two Red Knights turned and raced back down the hall.

Wilt Oan could feel the
excitement flush through him. It was a mix of fear and worry, of
wonder and adrenaline, as he rushed behind the three Red Knights
through the hall. Turning several times, through a handful of
hallways, he trailed with only his speculations to fill his
questions.

They turned another
direction then, racing quickly down the hall, a large group of
people gathered ahead. Moving through the group of people, they
came to a body lying on the floor. A puddle of blood surrounded
him, his outfit torn to shreds. The people separated to allow more
of the gruesome scene to be noticed. Several bodies lay in tatters,
unrecognizable.

“
Dead!” A man yelled in
panic. “They’re all dead!”

“
What happened?” voices in
the hall spilled together as one. “Who could kill all these
people?”

But before Kloe Datris
could even begin to think of an answer, an old woman rushed into
the group screaming that the rest of the kitchen help had been
murdered. Kloe turned to Oan, seeing in his eyes the fear that the
rest of them shared. Kloe Datris gave orders for removal of the
bodies, giving his Red Knights caution about what it was that was
killing people, then snuck back out with Wilt Oan. They had to stop
it, he thought. They had to be there when it found the sword. They
had to kill it. Or they would all be dead.

T
he spirit stalked through the torch-lit corridor beneath the
castle feeling the magic somewhere ahead of it urging it forward.
It could smell the magic. It could almost taste it in the air, as
it sent out its tongue in failing attempts. It was close. The Flame
of Blood was within grasp.

Squirming against Lon’s
dead skin as it walked, it almost left the host for good and
continued on as its normal form.
It would
be good for be free of this disguise. This putrid rot. Their bodies
disgust me.

But the thoughts came and
went just as fast, and the spirit remained in Lon’s claimed form.
Its thoughts were a swirling mess, with none of them taking any
root outside of the sword.
Issilix
Delsoue. Issilix Delsoue. Find it.
The
words buzzed continuously. They pulsated like pumping blood through
a heart; they had a purpose of life. It was the sole reason it had
been torn from the
Mrenx Ku
to begin with. The reason of its
existence.
Find the sword.

Descending down a spiral
staircase to a cellar filled with small storage chambers, the
spirit began moving at a rapid pace. It was here. Its presence was
unmistakable. Torches hung in brackets against the walls, burning
brightly, lighting the otherwise black room. Lon’s body raced the
length of the cellar. Its eyes wide, its smile wolfish. Yet it
reached the far wall and found nothing.

Screaming in rage, it
turned around and carefully backtracked. Boxes and barrels lined
the walls to either side of it, but no sword. It began hissing,
tearing apart the storage bins, recklessly searching everywhere. As
the minutes wore by, its anger increased until it was steadily
screaming. Everything in the cellar was torn apart, shredded,
destroyed. Still it found nothing.

“
My how you have changed,
my love.” A frail and scratchy voice stated.

Lon’s body turned sharp,
its eyes wide with boiling rage, its teeth ready to rip apart
everyone. It crawled out of the mess surrounding it to stand in the
open. It saw no one. But a presence was undeniable. “Who’s
there?”

“
Am I truly forgettable,
Dren? Or has all that power blinded you severely?”

“
Show yourself.”

Suddenly a form
materialized out of thin air, standing close to it. It was a girl,
pale skin, black eyes and even darker hair, hidden beneath a
ragged, soiled cloak. Breedoria’s dainty hands held a sword in a
teasing fashion.

“
Surprised? You didn’t
really think that you could just leave me there, locked away
forever. Or did you?”

“
Who are you?” asked the
spirit intriguingly.

Her smile was wondrously
cold. “I’ve grown strong since you left me. Much stronger now than
even you.”

Lon’s smile was nothing
friendly as well. “Is that so?”

“
It is. I know what you
fools created. Giving up yourselves to form one. I know why you did
it. But I am not the fool that Estrial, Lord of all fools, is. I
know even more than you.” She stared into the curious eyes facing
her, not at all threatened by the creature that wished nothing more
than to bleed her empty. “I know that you think this sword, this
precious junk metal will ensure your longevity. But you are wrong,
my love.”

Breedoria waved the sword
around, watching the other’s eyes follow it closely, as though it
was a starving wolf watching its meal being prepared. It would
strike at her, she knew. She wished. But not yet. Not until it knew
that she was in control, that she was stronger, and that it was
going to die.

“
You are still the fool,
Dren. You see, with all of your game-playing for more power, losing
yourself almost completely, you have forgotten that the Dark Elves
hold all power. It is ours, all of it. Life. Death. The power to
create both.”

“
Show me,” it whispered
desperately.

“
Changing yourself only
allowed you to be vulnerable to us, my love.” Breedoria continued
as if she heard none of its responses.

“
Show me!”

Breedoria kept the same
distance, walking now in a circle around him. Her eyes never
leaving the dark pools glaring back at her. “You still want it
though, don’t you? You still think this junk blade can save you?
This precious sword you sought, and I found. You are still blind.
Still weak after all this time.”

“
I will destroy you,” it
snarled like a beast.

“
Me?” Breedoria laughed.
“You have it all backwards.”

“
You stink with magic,
girl. Use it. I want to taste you.”

Breedoria’s laugh was cold
and mocking. “I have something for you to taste, my love. You see,
I do not fear you. Or what you have become, Dren.”

“
You
should.” Lon’s body stepped forward.
Tear her apart!

Breedoria stopped walking
and smiled. “I loved you once, Dren. But that was a long time ago.
And I did not come all this way to share dead feelings.”

“
Come to me,” it whispered
again.

“
Oh, I’ve come to you,
Dren. To kill you and take what is rightfully mine.” Her smile
disappeared, replaced by a look so evil that it made the spirit
pause in wonder, wanting her magic even more. “I will have it now,
Dren. My love.”

“
Dren is dead. I exist
now.”

Breedoria shook her head.
“Only I exist.”

Lon’s body was a blur. It
lunged for her lithe form with such quickness that Breedoria barely
escaped, calling her own magic and disappearing. The spirit
controlling Lon went frantic then, swiping angrily through the air
everywhere. She reappeared a few yards away, her hands glowing with
a black hue, almost smoke-like. As Lon turned its stance, then
sprinted for her, Breedoria’s hands sent a cloud of darkness into
the air, smothering Lon, holding him helpless. Breedoria walked
slowly over to it.