106. Two Shades of Honour
Chapter 106
Two Shades of Honour
27 th Day of the Blood Moon
Berona – Winter, Year 3081 After Doom
Salara walked through the ruins of Berona as dwarves cleared corpses and debris from the street. Ervian, Vandrien, and Cala all walked ahead of her, alongside the dwarven king, Hoffnar, and his guard. Vyrmír, Andrax, Nymaxes, and Barath?r soared above the city – the only survivors of their encounter with Eltoar and Helios at the Firnin Mountains. Four centuries they had waited in Lynalion, only to watch so many of their kin die in a matter of months.
Salara had not slept since, not truly. Every time she did, she watched Indivar be ripped to shreds. She saw Helios tear Baerys in half, blood spraying into the wind. Nothing could have prepared her for that day. There was no stopping Eltoar and Helios. They were a force created by the gods.
While the dragons had fought, Vandrien and the eastern forces had captured Elkenrim and Anaduin, and all lands east of the Kolmir Mountains now belonged to the elves of Numillíon, the banner of the golden stag standing proud. The armies cheered and celebrated, but Salara had no heart for it. Nothing within her felt a shred of victory.
Something brushed against Salara’s hand, and she looked down to see Ervian’s fingers sliding between hers. No words passed between them. Ervian knew the workings of Salara’s mind, the bleeding of her heart.
“It appears your plan worked perfectly,” Vandrien said to Hoffnar as she surveyed the sheer devastation around her. “Casualties on your side?”
“Minimal,” Hoffnar responded, pressing the tip of his boot into the breastplate of a dead Lorian. “The kerathlin and Depth Stalkers tenderised the meat, and we finished the scraps. Your aid in fine-tuning the frequency of the crystals was invaluable. And your mages helped to keep the Durakduran traitors at bay. I believe our peoples have a bright future together, Queen Vandrien.”
“As do I.”
Salara could tell by the tone in the queen’s voice that she was wary of King Hoffnar – a sentiment Salara shared. Any soul willing to force a nest of kerathlin into a city of innocents was one with deep-rooted darkness. Salara had not known the explicit details of the plan. If she had, she would have objected fiercely.
The act was dishonourable to the highest degree.
The queen had justified it all by claiming that it was Hoffnar’s hand that had done the deed and not hers. Vandrien had simply helped create the crystal amplifier that controlled the swarms.
But to Salara, distance from the act itself did not create distance from the dishonour. Their souls had been tarnished.
Vandrien and her Sunguard stopped before the ruins of the High Tower, her sister, Cala, beside her. “Now I will require you to complete your side of the bargain, King Hoffnar.”
“First,” Hoffnar said, brushing dust from his tabard, “we must rid ourselves of the menace beneath the mountains. Then we will move forwards to the next step.”
Vandrien’s eyes narrowed. “That is not what we agreed.”
“As circumstances change, so too must our priorities. Surely you understand that, honourable queen? If Kira and her rabble are left unchecked at our back door, everything we have achieved may come undone. Once my flanks are secure, I will be in a position to push forwards. My soldiers report that she has discovered a unique power… one thought long dead.”
“My scouts have told me of the monstrosities forged from rock.”
“Enlightened bersekeers,” the king said. “Not only will killing Kira secure our flanks, but if we can pry this power from her corpse… well, Queen Vandrien, this alliance of elves and dwarves will find no equal.”
When Hoffnar and Vandrien had parted ways and the elves had set back on the road for Anaduin, Salara took to the sky with Vyrmír. Andrax and Nymaxes flew on her left, while the crimson dragon, Barath?r, soared on her right.
And when the procession stopped to set up camp near the Firnin Mountains, the four dragons alighted on a high cliff thousands of feet above the level of the ground.
Salara slid from Vyrmír’s back and stood at the cliff edge, staring through the dragon’s eyes at the red and gold tents pitched below.
“Did you know? About the kerathlin?” Lomari, Andrax’s soulkin, asked, clasping his hands at his back. The elf had seen almost seven centuries, and still his dark skin was untouched by the markings of time, his hair black as coal. Lomari’s left eye was a mess of knotted flesh. He had carved it out himself after Andrax had lost his eye in the battle.
Salara shook her head.
Barath?r’s soulkin, Haviríl, let out a sigh on Salara’s other side. She rested her hand on her sword pommel. “What are we? All these years we have waited… for vengeance, for honour… and still he tears us apart. And now, we commit the same atrocities as those we hate?”
As Haviríl spoke, the words the man who rescued Boud had spoken in Salara’s chamber occupied every corner of her mind. “But your fate is not yet decided. It is in your own hands. What do you want to be? A hero or a monster?”
“What would you do?” Salara asked, looking to both Lomari and Haviríl, then to Taran, who remained silent.
“I would stop following blindly.” Lomari’s expression didn’t change as he stared out at the horizon. He knew the meaning of those words, knew the risk of speaking them.
“Be careful of your next words, Lomari.”
“Or what, Salara? You will strike me down? I’ve lived far too long to care about death. Death is an old friend. I will smile when I see them.” After a moment, he looked at Salara. “Alvira followed the council blindly when she allowed The Order to slowly rot – we all did. And Eltoar and the traitors followed Fane blindly when they butchered their own kin. I am tired of being blind. Blinded by honour, by fate, by vengeance. I wish to see. Do you not?”
Salara hesitated, then gave a slow nod. “I believe it is time we sit down with this new Draleid and see if a future can be found for our kind in which we don’t tear each other apart.”