Wielder's Fate (22 page)

“Excuse me,” Traven said to the beautiful elven maiden as he stepped to the side.

She smiled back and stepped past him into the gallery.  Traven glanced between her and Darian.  The young wielder gave him a knowing smile and left the room.  Darian barely noticed.  His attention was focused on the only elf besides his family that he had both longed and feared to see.

Giselle was ten years younger than him and her beauty had continued to blossom in his absence.  She wore a simple dress of a modest and unassuming cut, but it did nothing to hide her attractiveness.  Her shining violet eyes stood out starkly against her ivory skin and light blonde hair.  Darian stood staring back at her in silence, not even aware of when he had risen to his feet.

“Giselle,” he said as he made a slight bow.  “To what do I owe this honor?”

“What do you mean by that?  I heard you had arrived home early and could not wait until tomorrow to see you,” she responded.  A tear gleamed in her eye.  “I have already waited sixteen years.  Why do you not rush to my side and embrace me?  Have your feelings for me changed that drastically?”

Darian stood frozen.  He felt as if his heart were being torn in two.  He wanted nothing more than to scoop her up in his arms and never let go, but he knew it was now impossible.  She had been his betrothed.  When he had left for Faldor’s Keep, Giselle had promised to wed him the week he returned.  Sadly, fate had led him down a different path.  His feelings for her remained the same, but he feared to let them show.

“You can see the markings covering my honor tattoo,” he said, avoiding her question.  “I am but a servant to the human wielder who just left this room.  It is for him to decide how I feel and what I do.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Giselle said as her eyes flashed with a mixture of hurt and rage.  “You may be his servant, but he does not control your emotions.”

Darian tried to stay composed but a single tear escaped his eye and betrayed him.  As the tear slid slowly down his cheek, Giselle rushed towards him and embraced him tightly.  He could resist no longer and threw his arms around her as well.  He held her tightly, agonizing over his thoughts of what might have been.  He had loved her for as long as he could remember.  She was the only one he had missed more than his own family during his service at Faldor’s Keep.  They had been promised to one another.  They were meant for one another.  He breathed in the sweet scent of her hair one last time.  Then, fighting against every fiber of his being, he softly pushed her away from him.

“You understand as well as I that our past plans are no longer viable,” he said, doing his best to keep his voice steady.

She stared back into his eyes intently.  There was no false compulsion there.  The need for it had vanished decades earlier when he had given his heart to her.  He met her gaze, wishing he could somehow still have her in his life.

 “Do you still love me?” Giselle asked as tears streamed down her face.

He bit his tongue, refusing to confess the love that still burned in his chest.  He had enjoyed a lengthy embrace that could have lasted the entire night and still would have been too short.  That was more than he had expected.

“Admit that you still love me,” she pleaded.

He saw no point in expressing his feelings, but he could not resist her pleas.  He would answer her honestly.  He supposed if he could give her nothing else, at least he could do that.

“I do,” he said quietly.

Her tears stopped and she raised her head high.  Her eyes shone as they had when she had first entered the gallery.  A small smile graced her lips.

“Consider it done,” she said as she turned and rushed from the room.

The room seemed darker and the silence felt oppressive in her absence.  Her final comment confused him, but he hoped it meant she would be okay.  He hoped his last profession of love would somehow satisfy her and allow her to move on.  At least his response had seemed to somewhat please her.  Darian closed his eyes and firmly imprinted the sight of her shining eyes and delicate smile in his mind.  He would be forced to live the rest of his life without her, but he could at least carry her memory with him.

18

Traven woke up long before the sun rose.  He tried to fall back to sleep but couldn’t.  He had just had the same disturbing dream and was too anxious to sleep any more.  He carefully got out of the hammock and managed to land on his feet.  He grabbed his sword and made his way down to the courtyard to practice.

All was quiet in the predawn darkness.  As he went through his forms, he began to relax.  He didn’t know why his dreams still upset him so much.  He had been blasted by the red bolt of lightning numerous times.  Mount Morian and the armband of endurance were now easily recognizable, and the princess was still always at his side.

His visions remained unchanged, and he was acting upon them, doing what he needed to.  There was no reason for him to worry.  Perhaps it was just the urgency he felt.  Before going to sleep, he had screed the city of Candus.  It was still standing but was on the brink of falling.  A large portion of the eastern section of the town looked like it had been burned and ransacked.  The Kalian Army was in position at the eastern wall, but it appeared they had been pushed back into the city numerous times during the battle the night before.  Traven had located Blaize and was relieved to find his friend alive and well.

There was a chance the army would be able to hold on for a few more days, but Traven doubted they could do much more than forestall the eventual destruction of the city.  While the Kalian Army’s numbers were dwindling, the galdak horde appeared as large as ever.  He hoped he could somehow reach Candus in time to help, but he didn’t know if the city could last long enough.

It already appeared that the Kalians were preparing to abandon Candus.  He had screed Kalista and found her packed and ready to leave.  It was a relief to find her safe, and he was glad to see that she would soon be out of the city.  He had then scanned the rest of the city and concluded that a large scale exodus would most likely be taking place in the morning.  As the faint light of dawn began creeping across the sky, he wondered if the citizens of Candus were already bidding farewell to their home.

“You are up early,” Darian said, interrupting his thoughts.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“Me neither,” the elf replied.

Darian pulled out his sword and began practicing his forms as well.  Traven continued through his own sword work with his devoted servant at his side.  When he was finished, he walked over to where Darian and his sister had watched from the previous night and leaned back against the wall.  Darian appeared to be going through his forms more rigorously than he normally would.  Traven wondered what had happened the night before after he had retired to sleep.

When the stunning elf maiden had appeared the previous night, Darian had jumped immediately to his feet and turned pale.  When Traven had left them, both elves had been staring intently at one another as if no one else in the world mattered.  He was anxious to ask Darian who the maiden was but waited patiently until the elf finished his forms.

“So who was it that paid you a visit last night?” he asked.  “You seemed surprised to see her.”

“She is an old friend,” Darian answered.

“What did you talk about?”

“I would rather not discuss it,” the elf responded.

Traven was about to press him on the subject but refrained from asking any more questions when he recognized the elf’s somber mood.  Whatever had happened, it had apparently left his companion saddened.  He decided it was best to change the subject.

“Do you have any suggestions for me before we leave to meet the elf king?” he asked.

“I would suggest you take a bath and change into clean clothes,” Darian replied.

“Other than that?” he asked with a smile.

“Yes,” the elf said.  “When we arrive, you will be presented to the king.  You will bow to the earth before him and wait for him to tell you to rise.  You will then be free to speak with him.  Be courteous, and perhaps he will entertain your request.”

“Do you really think he will let me have the armband?” Traven asked as they headed inside.

“No,” Darian replied.  “But I have been mistaken about things in the past.  Until the king says no, there is hope.”

Traven left Darian and returned to his room.  He cleaned himself up and put on a fresh pair of his black and silver clothes.  He carefully combed his hair, buckled on his sword, and straightened his shirt.  He then went down to eat breakfast with Darian and his family.

They ate in silence, as they had the night before.  Celeste kept looking at him, but Traven made a conscious effort to avoid looking directly into her eyes.  Of all days, today he needed to have his head clear.  When the meal was finished, Darielle rose at the head of the table.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

“Yes,” Traven replied.

“Then we should leave,” Darielle continued.  “It is always best to be early for one’s appointment with the king.”

“Good luck,” Celeste said with a smile as she intently stared at Traven.

He couldn’t help but gaze back into her eyes.  Luckily, he felt none of the compulsion he had felt previously.  Instead, he noticed a strange burning in them.  He nodded his gratitude and followed Darielle out of the room.  He felt Darian’s comforting presence directly behind him.

The three of them left the house and crossed the courtyard to the giant tree with the door set in it.  They were soon through the tree and outside.  Traven was surprised to see a significant number of elves streaming down the paths towards the center of the haven.  He had supposed it was early enough that there wouldn’t be many elves out and about.

“It looks as though we will have quite an audience,” Darielle said as he turned and closed the door.

“What do you mean by that?” Traven asked.

“The elf king rarely meets with anyone in private,” Darian explained.  “Our meeting will be public.  Any elf that wants to witness your meeting with the king has the right to gather and listen.  It seems many elves are anxious to know why a human wielder is meeting with their king.”

Traven’s nervousness increased with the thought of making his request before hundreds of elves.  He wished Darian had said something about this earlier, but he supposed it wouldn’t have changed anything.

“Our kings wish to be open and honest with their subjects,” Darielle said, “especially in matters that could affect the entire haven.  Come.  Let us not be the last to arrive.”

Traven was about to follow when a cloaked figure detached itself from the crowd of elves streaming by and fell at his feet.  He instinctively created a shield around himself but let it drop as he realized there appeared to be no danger.  Two delicate hands appeared from the voluminous sleeves and pulled back the deep hood.

Traven stared with surprise into the striking violet eyes of the elven maiden he had seen the night before as he had left the gallery.  Behind him, he heard both Darian and his father quit breathing.  They, it seemed, were even more stunned than he.  The elven maiden’s perfect ivory skin was now marred by a dark black slash, tattooed over her left eye.  It was the first time he had seen any elven woman with an honor tattoo, and he was certain it hadn’t been there the night before.  The tattoo was intricately decorated with silver patterns similar to those on Darian’s tattoo.  Her bright eyes weren’t burning, but they held a firm determination.  She took a deep breath and repeated the same words that Traven had been shocked to hear from Darian back at Faldor’s Keep.

“Master Wielder Traven,” she began in a firm voice.  “I devote my life to you.  I will live, fight, and die for you.  I am yours to command.”

He looked down at her delicate features and pleading eyes with concern.  Why was she doing this?  She didn’t even know him.  He didn’t know if he could bear to enslave such an angelic personage as she.  Then he remembered the alternative.  If he didn’t accept her devotion, she would be left disgraced and despised by all other elves.  As much as he didn’t want her to be chained to him, he couldn’t bear leaving her disgraced.

“I accept your devotion,” he said solemnly, fully understanding this time what the oath meant.

The elven maiden’s eyes brightened with hope and gratitude as tears welled up in them.  Traven offered her his hand and helped her to her feet.  She smiled back at him thankfully.  He realized he didn’t even know her name.

“What is your name?” he asked kindly.

“Giselle.”

He turned from her and found Darian still in a state of shock.  The elf was pale, and his mouth was open.  Darielle was shaking his head back and forth and had a slight smile on his face.  Traven wasn’t sure why Giselle had chosen to take the oath of devotion but guessed it had something to do with Darian.  He was anxious to learn her motives but knew they needed to hurry to meet with the elf king.  He would save his questions for later.

“Please lead on,” he said to Darielle.  “We don’t want to be late.”

“No, we do not,” Darielle replied.

Traven snapped his fingers in front of Darian’s face to revive the stunned elf and began following Darielle down the path towards the palace.  He didn’t need to turn around to know that Darian and Giselle had fallen into step next to one another behind him.  He tried to dismiss what had just happened and focus on what he would say to the elf king, but he found it hard to do.  Another elf had just devoted her life to his service.  He had never expected to have a single servant, and now he had two.

His musings disappeared at the sight that rose up before him.  Darian had called it the mother tree.  The name somehow characterized the grand sight perfectly.  Out of the midst of the trees rose one even larger and grander than all the rest.  The elves flowed towards it excitedly, but Traven had to pause and stare in order to completely take the sight in.  The entire Royal Palace at Calyn could have fit within the trunk of the behemoth tree before him.  It rose up into the heavens many times taller than the tallest of the Royal Palace’s towers.