Blade of Erogrund

It was a long while before even Thessi retired from Ennor’s bedside. Soon after the guard was changed as the lights burned low in the vast hall. The chandeliers dimmed until only shadows coiled from their silver branches, at which time candles were brought and arranged around the bed.

Mira could not say how long it had been since she had come to the bedside. Somehow the idea of leaving felt wrong to her despite the others doing just so. Thain had been followed not long after by many of those that had waited around the King. Thessi and her fellow healers had lingered for quite some time after that, but when the weight of night began to draw on their minds they too departed solemnly until only Saracyir and she remained.

They exchanged no words for what Mira imagined to be hours. Saracyir’s head was held bowed beneath her drapery of fair hair and her eyes were kept closed or narrowed very closely. No one ventured to interrupt the scene. As time passed Mira longed that someone would if even to interrupt the voices that clamored inside her.

Her eyes could not be broken from Ennor’s sickly face, but that did not stop the loud voices in her heart from roaring at her. Guilt hurled insults at her hands that lingered on his wounds but refused to heal them. Shame ridiculed her for her weakness at refusing to even try. Fear burned inside her that perhaps letting such a King die was worse than using the power she had so resolutely locked beneath. And greatest of all was the Power that gnawed away ferociously, calling encouragement to each of these voices and challenging her to call on it one more time.

It had not been so bad before, the Voice reminded her. She had lit the leaf for Godric and healed the man in the infirmary from his abscesses. Yet every time the thought of lifting a finger to use the power, thoughts of her reading flashed through her mind. Scripts of the dripping sanity of the Orshi as they had used their power. Scripts of the power betraying them to great harm. Scripts of their relentless tormenting. It was then that she had promised she would never use it. But now....

Desperate to break the agonizing silence, she finally spoke in a soft voice scarcely above a whisper.

“You must care very greatly for him to be staying here.”

Saracyir made no indication that she heard for several minutes. Just as Mira was about to say something, the elf shrugged so subtly that it may have been ignored as a trick of the flickering candles if she had not spoken. “I care for many in this kingdom.”

The answer seemed simple enough but was coupled with heartfelt sincerity. “What do you mean?”

“She means that with her length of years few lives are truly worth caring for as each is only here so it may pass. Life itself, on the other hand, is worth caring about because through it alone can a kingdom remain though its subjects fade. Neither can the king serve for a millennia nor the watchman keep his gate for a century. They are but pieces in the story, only as strong as the iron added to the chain.”

The vaguely familiar voice spoke from left of where the king lie, presumably beside the columns of stone though the shadows swathed him in mystique. Nevertheless, the words succeeded in stirring Saracyir who lifted her head and slowly opened her eyes, not venturing to turn toward the voice but addressing it clearly.

“Theronin, why do you insist on keeping such pearls of wisdom beneath the ire of your pride? If each word spoken by your lips flowed with truth as fair as this we could perhaps have prevented much of this pain.”

The voice was silent for a breath before seeking to respond. “If you insinuate that I played a part in the brutality that transpired here, I fear you are gravely mistaken.”

“Am I?” the elf inquired with a tone foreign to Mira. It was skeptical in all but the most peripheral sense where it expressed the most heartfelt desire to give him the benefit of the doubt.

“You are. You may recall I drew no blade against the man that lies before you -”

“Nor in defense of him,” the elf unmistakably challenged.

Footsteps struck the cold stone floor, calling in echoes throughout the hall as Theronin stepped into the light. His appearance betrayed his lack of participation in the fighting that had fallen on the city; his tunic was unmarked or soiled, his hair still trimmed and tied, and small depressions in his cheek traced where his half-mask had been worn from the ball. Strangely these only aided in the haunting gauntness of his features. Shadows filled the height of his face and eyes in glaring contrast to the light of the candles that flickered in his unwavering eyes.

His eyes watched Ennor closely as a falcon watches its pray. Upon his face was a singular expression of neither wholly regret nor wholly disappointment but a peculiar mixture of the two that were both tainted in an illusive third emotion that Mira could not determine.

But in her heart she felt a seethe of emotion that bared no mask. Anger screamed at the man, bringing a flush to her cheeks that would no doubt have been painfully obvious if not hidden by the half-light. It was all she could do to bite her tongue and keep her fists from flying against him of their own accord.

“Nor in defense of him,” Theronin repeated heavily. “But now I see how juvenile I had become. My bitterness was far beyond any acceptable means and I blinded myself to Caeros’s thirst for power. I pray you will forgive me.”

“Perhaps,” Saracyir responded calmly, finally turning her eyes to the young lord, “if you make clear as to what you are apologizing for.”

“That I had ever lifted a word or finger against the man that now lies before us. Ennor is a fine man who I should be honored to call king. My jealousy spurred my arrogance to the point that both consumed me and for this I offer a heartfelt apology.”

“And of how you treated my friend? And myself? Do you offer no apology for that?” Mira’s words burst from her lips in biting accusations, but Theronin received them with the same calm countenance.

“I am unclear as to what you are referring. If you speak of how I behaved toward his training, this I will offer little apology as none is due. I may have spoken out of turn on several occasions, though this is the extent of any wrongdoing I have done. As for the scuffle outside of the Council Chamber, I admit my anger got the better of me and I should have not acted as I did.”

“Your words sound fair to my ears,” Saracyir murmured. “Yet no one need tell me that the word of Men is weak. Your apology is appreciated and welcomed, but only time can prove whether it is sincere enough to deserve forgiveness.”

“Then my task here is done,” the young man said, bowing his head. Reaching into his belt he withdrew a short dagger, only roughly a hand long, and placed it before the woman and the girl who watched him closely. “Take this, I ask, as a symbol of my regret. Many wrongs I have done and I would greatly wish to begin undoing them.” Saracyir nodded her acceptance of the gift and Theronin turned to go.

Before he had gone three paces he stopped and turned back to Mira. “Before I go, miss, it came to my ears that you were searching for one Aeis and, naturally, your companion Godric?” The girl gave no affirmation or protest, so he continued. “I regret to say that the former fell in the Upper Halls during the fighting. He was stabbed through the chest.”

In those few words Mira felt the heat of anger drain from her face. The cold of loneliness ebbed into its place, numbing her heart in a sudden yet creeping manner that only such news can make. A vision of the strong, young, laughing Aeis that had danced and laughed with her broken with a blade through him was almost more than she could bear. All the harshness of her tone was emptied until she could only respond, “Thank you.”

Theronin offered a sad smile. “You are more than welcome, miss. As for your other companion, word comes from the guard that he has fled the city. I can neither affirm nor contest this report as I did not see it with my own eyes, but my sources say that he has since escaped despite the patrol being indefinitely postponed.”

If any combination of utterances could have further frozen the glimmering of encouragement that dwelt in the young girl’s heart, these were found and voiced by the young lord. Each word fell as a hammer blow shatters a twisted fragment until Mira’s heart felt as broken as the scrap metal.

“You mean he left me?” Her voice rasped like an ax-head against a wetstone.

“Yes.”