The Elf King (47 page)

The Head of the Red Knights
thought about it for a few minutes as he stared at the mass of
volumes circling them. “We need to think like the king
would.”

Wilt turned to face him.
His eyes revealing his words for him.

“
If you were king, and you
held this sword of immense power, where would you keep
it?”

“
Out of reach. Out of
sight, perhaps.”

“
Perhaps.”

Wilt could see that Kloe
was thinking something through. “What are you
suggesting?”

“
Nothing, yet.”

Oan shook his head. “The
histories reveal the threat against the sword. It’s in black ink.
You’ve read it yourself.
‘As more attempts
came for the sword, it was removed from all eyes.’
They’ve put it someplace where no one would find
it, Datris. We need to read more—”

“
No, you said it yourself,
old man. There were so many attempts that they would not risk
writing its location down. I think the secret died with the
king.”

“
Well we cannot search this
castle and its hidden chambers blindly!” Wilt pounded a fist into
the table. The stress was getting to him. He took a deep breath and
exhaled slowly. “I need some water.”

Kloe Datris stood. “And
some fresh air.”

Wilt Oan stood and kept his
head facing the floor as he walked out of the secret library, the
Red Knight at his heels, saying nothing. The enormity of their
situation was overwhelming them and they were doing what they could
to keep their frustrations from controlling their thoughts. They
walked quietly out through the dim corridor to the King and Queen’s
bedroom and entered through the secret door, passing two Red
Knights who were posted there. No words were exchanged between
them. If someone had come their way, the Red Knights would have
said so immediately. And Kloe had nothing to report, so words were
not necessary.

Wilt Oan walked into the
royal room and hung the torch in a wall bracket, his head sank low,
his hands balled into fists. He walked to a small table and chairs
and seated himself. “Would you care to have some water brought, Red
Knight?”

Kloe Datris smiled at Oan’s
request. “I’ll return with some lunch, old friend.” He turned and
walked for the door, listening to Oan mumble something unpleasant
under his breath, but left the matter alone.

Wilt Oan sat at the table
so mad he could not think straight. The stress was overpowering. He
was tired, mind and body both aching for rest he could not offer.
He slammed his fists into the table and exhaled with a groan. He
could not let his frustrations get to him. He was needed. He knew
he had to settle down and clear his thoughts, to relax long enough
to brainstorm. Wilt slowly inhaled and closed his eyes. He began to
realize how foul the room smelled. He stood and turned every
direction, wondering where the source of the distaste was coming
from. But it was everywhere. It was like a living presence in the
room. It gave the royal decor an unwashed appeal. It made Oan
sick.

Cursing the demon for what
it had done, Wilt began to realize what he was looking at in the
room. He stopped his train of thought, and began a new one. Spread
across the walls, swords and shields were hung in decoration and
pride. Outfits worn in battles were hung as well. There were at
least a dozen sets. Some older than twice his age. Wilt Oan gasped
out loud.

“
Is red ale fine?” Datris
asked, carrying a tray of fresh fruits, bread and meats, and a
container with red wine.

Oan nearly jumped at his
voice. He was so lost in thought that he did not hear the other
enter. He smiled brightly. “Yes, of course. Sit. Sit with me and
talk, old friend.”

They walked to the table,
sat and began to eat. Kloe watched Oan’s smile, saw the glint of
something hopeful in his eyes. “What is it, Oan? Why has your mood
suddenly changed?”

“
I’ve taken your advice.”
Oan’s smile was broad. “I am thinking like a king.”

Datris shook his head, took
another bite of bread, and replied, “How so?”

Wilt spoke quickly. “Books
would not help us. They would not have written its location
anywhere. And tunnels would only misguide us. The sword would not
be hidden in a location where it would be found!”

Datris saw no reason for
the excitement. “I am tired. Get to the point, Oan.”

“
Think like a king, Datris.
Think for a moment.” Wilt filled up his glass of ale and drank it
down before continuing. “Everyone would have suspected as we had.
We could have spent the rest of our days searching the tunnels. The
king would have known this as well. He might have even seen this
firsthand! No, they would not have dared to hide it.”

Wilt could barely contain
his excitement. “Something hidden can be found, Datris. But
something on display would be overlooked.” He pointed to the walls.
“Look around!”

Kloe Datris turned his head
and saw the swords Oan was pointing to. “Surely, they would not
have put a sword of such importance...”

“
Exactly! That’s what
everyone would have said!” Wilt’s face turned angry for a moment.
“The demon probably spent all of its time in the tunnels, searching
for it. It could have been here for months without anyone
knowing.”

Kloe took a moment to put
the pieces together, and began to understand what the old man was
saying. “Hide it in plain sight?”

Wilt’s eyes were filled
with childlike happiness. “We are onto something, old friend. The
sword is here! And we shall find it!”

Kloe Datris almost smiled
in return. “So, where do we find it? Where would they place
it?”

“
Where everyone would see
it.” The thoughts were just coming to Wilt Oan as he spoke his
words. “They would see it daily. So often, that they would not even
notice it.”

They were quiet for a
second, each thinking the possibilities. Then together their eyes
lit with realization. They both exclaimed, “The courtyard
statue!”

With newfound energy, they
raced out of the room, out of the castle, across the courtyard to
the series of bushes taller than themselves surrounding a pool of
smooth white rocks. In the center of the rock bed stood a statue.
It was a sword rising from the midst of a bed of burning ashes.
Though vividly colorful, the display was merely stone. Datris and
Oan thought exactly that as they stopped next to the centerpiece.
They slowly walked around it, both feeling exhilarated.

“
Issilix Delsoue.” Wilt
whispered excitedly. “And all this time, it’s been out here, under
our noses.”

Kloe Datris moved onto the
rock bed carefully. The sword and statue piece rested upon a large
square block of smooth stone, leaving the sword at chest level. He
paused as he reached the sword, still trying to conceive how
something made of stone could be what they were looking for. Then
he reached for it. Placing one firm hand around the pommel, he
tried to remove it. But it was fixed in place. He frowned then,
listening to Wilt behind him urging him to try harder. Datris began
again with both hands, tugging and pulling with all his might. But
failed.

“
It will not budge.” Kloe
Datris sighed heavily, then walked back to stand next to Oan. They
both frowned.

“
This is the sword,
Datris.” Oan knew the sinking feeling his friend was having. “There
must be a way.”

Kloe Datris frowned. “The
way is not ours, my friend.”

Wilt Oan groaned to
himself. Maybe it was someplace else after all.

T
he
sun was still a few hours from
sinking below the horizon when Shadox and Tane rode their tired
horses up to Cillitran’s gates and entered the city. Little was
said by either as they made their way past the empty shops and
deserted saloons, slowly riding across the brick street heading for
the palace grounds. The Andelline castle towered everything in
sight, towers and parapets seemingly huge from this distance.
Massive flags flapped in the gentle breeze, hung at roof peaks and
tower points. Tane was in awe. It was still hard for him to believe
that all of this was happening. The palace was the largest single
structure he had ever witnessed. Now it was his home.

“
Where is everyone?” Tane
asked softly, looking around for any sign of life.

Shadox remained looking
forward. “The war is starting. The men of Cillitran have gone to
fight.”

Tane turned his head back
to his surroundings. Cillitran was so different than Skadar Port,
he saw at once. The shops here had been well managed and kept.
Strife was not plaguing business, as it had across the Lower Krune.
Besides the general lack of people, he did not believe that he
would have seen the drunkards and thieves lurking about. Even in
desertion, Skadar Port would have appeared to be in ruins.
Cillitran was nowhere near its depression. As king, he silently
vowed it never would be.

Tane took a deep breath.
He was full of nervous energy and just wanted to settle in.
Fighting the
Takers
would do that, he thought. Swinging his sword would take his
mind off the home-coming and the world thereafter. The war was
something he thought he could do. Being king however, made him
nervous.

As the street ended and the
shops were no more, they were met by a vast park with lush green
grass and wild flowerbeds, tall trees and bushes hemmed neatly,
with paved walkways leading across the acreage to the castle.
Shadox continued on without pause, turning slightly off to their
right, not heading directly towards the palace. Tane thought it
odd, but said nothing. He was not entirely ready to confront
everything that came with entering the palace.

They rode their horses
across the park to the small pond and the decorated water geyser at
its center. They left the horses to drink untethered and walked on
foot into a series of hedgerows that dwarfed them both. The unison,
the symmetry, the formation: it was all royal. It would have looked
nice out one of the tower windows, Tane decided. It was not long
before the walled-bushes came to an end in a circular clearing. At
its center, surrounded by the towering hedgerows, was a bed of
rocks and a sword statue. Shadox brought Tane to a halt. They both
stood silently, staring in admiration.

“
Forged in another age
altogether,” Shadox spoke. “A historic event made for all to
remember. Sadly enough, there are few alive who recall it
all.”

He walked to stand next to
the statue. His lips were moving slightly, speaking so softly that
Tane neither heard nor understood what he was doing. Shadox stood
back then and motioned for Tane to join him. “You stand in the
grasp of Issilix Delsoue, Tane.”

Tane was in awe. He was so
unprepared for the other’s statement, that his jaw sagged open and
for a second he quit breathing. He stood looking up at the fabled
broadsword trying to grasp the reality. He knew they came to
Cillitran to claim the sword and throne, but still some part of him
did not expect it to happen. He was not ready.

“
Shadox, I...” Tane slowly
walked through the stones, stopping just within arm’s length from
the sword. “This is stone.”

“
You are King now. The
sword is yours. Your blood. Your heritage. Your future. It belongs
to no other.” Shadox smiled, motioning again for Tane to
act.

Tane hesitated. Doubt
formed his lips, uncertainty filled his eyes. “But this is a
statue.”

“
Is it?” Shadox’s smile
disappeared. He spoke with a slight irritation. “Hold the sword.
Only an heir to the throne would be able to remove it. You want
your proof, and here it is.”

Tane hesitated again. But
looking to the sorcerer for assurance would only prolong the
inevitable. Shadox would urge him to continue until he was gripping
the handle. And so, shoving aside all his doubts and convictions,
all at once, Tane leaned in and reached for the sword.

“
Stop!” Kloe Datris shouted
from the other side of the rock bed, emerging from the bushes with
a worried Wilt Oan.

Tane stopped before his
hand could reach the sword. Shadox spun to face those opposing
them. “Do not interfere.”