Luathara - Book Three of the Otherworld Trilogy (56 page)

Although he couldn’t decipher what it was the men said, the Magehn knew that they’d tracked him this far. 
How they found the courage to cross the mountains is beyond me
, he thought bitterly.  Then he realized it hadn’t been courage but fear.  Those loyal to the Crimson King may have feared the far western mountains, but they feared their king more.

The elf listened silently as the voices trailed off.  When he was certain they had moved on to search for him in some other location, he got back to his work, focusing on finishing while he still could:

Though the humans are now dragons, and those dragons are now scattered, there is reason yet to hope.  The Tyrant still suffers from the wounds inflicted upon him in that final battle with the last Tanaan prince and his people; he still struggles to regain his strength from the effort it took to transform them.  Yet no one knows when the Crimson King will regain his former might and attack the remaining provinces.  Most believe it is only a matter of time, and time is running short.

The last Tanaan prince is now lost.  Many claim he is long dead, for wouldn’t he have returned to his people and rallied them by now, even in their reptilian forms?  Yet I saw his transformation and witnessed his escape within the confusion of the aftermath of the great battle.  I believe with all of my heart, though I may not live out my immortal existence as I had once hoped, that a day will come when the Tyrant’s curse is lifted and the Tanaan humans will return to rule in Oescienne once again.

The elf halted his hand, staring down at the stark black marks he’d sketched upon the paper.  He was writing in his native language, the language of the Dhonoaran elves, descendents of the Aellheians.  He should have felt pride for their development of such a beautiful language, but instead he felt a bitter taste of disgust rise in his throat.  So much sorrow, so much pain, destruction and avaricious betrayal had come from his people that it brought him some shame, even though he knew it wasn’t his fault.

The Magehn drew a sharp breath as a sudden stab of pain ripped down his arm.  He had been about to continue his notation but instead he paused, his jaw clenched, willing the ache to pass.  As he waited in agony, he returned his thoughts to the ugly circumstances of his world.  Instead of thinking of his ancient elfin ancestors, however, he recalled his own loved ones harmed or corrupted by the Tyrant King.  He thought especially of the one whose trust he’d lost, someone who was still dear to him.  Soon he felt another pain, a pain that would never heal.  The ache in his shoulder and the ache in his heart mingled, combining to form one great pang of anguish.

The elf took a deep breath, suppressing the distracting memories that were now surfacing in his mind. 
I don’t have time to tell my own story.  I have time only for this . . .
He forced his screaming thoughts to the back of his mind and continued on with what he had started.  Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead, but he wrote on:

I have spent long years mourning my king and my people, but I could not hide from the terrors of this world forever.  I came out of my hiding no more than six months ago, and it took the blessed words of hope to make me finally face my fears.  I knew the Tyrant searched for me, that he seeks vengeance, even now.  He is aware that I hold the secrets of the Tanaan and believes that I know the location of their prince.  But I braved his wrath and went forth into the world despite the great danger, for I had received word of something amazing, something extraordinary.

Before I was tracked down and wounded by the Tyrant’s minions, I had been riding throughout all of Ethoes, spreading this great news, news of an answer to our plight.  The Oracles, those that still remain with us, spoke of a miracle promised by Ethoes herself, one that could mean the salvation of our world.

Pain beyond description flared through the elf’s fevered body.  He cried out in anguish as his pen dragged across the bottom of the white paper leaving a long, jagged black line.  This ache was worse than the ones before, and it struck fear into the Magehn’s heart.  His eyes watered and his vision became fuzzy as he wondered about the origin of the arrow that had caused this wound.  Perhaps it had been poisoned.  He felt lightheaded and sensed his mind being pulled in and out of consciousness.  Furiously, and with fresh determination, the last Magehn of the Tanaan king began writing as fast as he could, able to produce one more sentence before he knew no more:

I have done what I can to spread this new prophecy throughout the land, a prophecy about the return of a lasting peace, a prophecy about a lost prince, and a prophecy about a young, pure-blooded human girl born to save us all.