4. The Price of Grief #3
“We are Draleid,” Eltoar said, feeling Helios rising within his soul, feeling the dragon’s fury blazing like the sun.
He did all he could to soothe it, for this was not the time nor the place, but grief was an old friend of rage and it held open the door.
He looked to Farda and Alvira, shifting his gaze for the first time.
“And I would rather suffer the consequence of disobedience than allow the innocent to suffer the consequence of our inaction. I was in command. The choice was mine, and I made it. Criticise my actions when you hold the lives of thousands in your palm, not while you sit in white stone halls beneath statues of the gods. You talk of these choices in black and white as though they are simple.” He looked at Loik Hass.
“You asked for candour over pleasantries. You talk as though the lives of the innocent mean nothing. We saved Vastillion from burning, saved it from the slaughter of the Antiloch army. We did what you had no capacity to do. Does that mean nothing?”
Eltoar could taste the mistake of every word in the silence that followed. He had taken the bait.
Loik drew in a long, intentionally-loud breath, then looked to Thalumas, who stood just behind Eltoar. “Is this what the Draleid think of The Order?”
When Thalumas didn’t answer, Loik stepped from the slightly raised dais, the candlelight casting a shadow in his wake.
His footsteps echoed as he approached Eltoar.
As he walked, he gestured to the symbol of The Order beneath Eltoar’s feet.
“This symbol, this is what we stand for. This is us. We are one. But today at Vastillion, you thought only of your own oaths when you chose to intervene as you did. You thought of the Draleid and of your honour. But you did not think of the consequences on The Order as a whole. Do you know why we commanded you to wait? Did you ask yourself why?”
Eltoar stared back at Loik. There was no answer to that question that wasn’t a trap.
“The battle was almost over,” Loik said.
“Vastillion had all but surrendered. How many lives did you save? A few hundred? What of those crushed beneath Doaxes or burned in his fury when you executed his Draleid? And don’t worry, we’ll get to that soon.
We ordered you to wait because overwhelming numbers could have subdued the traitors with enough of them left alive to find answers.
We could have held them accountable, paraded them, given the people something tangible.
Instead they will now whisper of The Order, that there is dissent still within us.
That those thirteen were not alone. That we do not have the strength to keep our own in check.
And that we only intervened to ensure the traitors’ silence.
” He paused for a moment, allowing his words to sink in.
“And do you know what, Eltoar? I would believe it myself. Because it all makes sense. What were you thinking?”
Loik snapped his head around to focus on Alvira. “You captured Panakír alive, did you not Draleid Serris?”
The muscles in her jaw twitched, but she nodded. “I did.”
“And did you learn anything in that time? Did she speak of her betrayal?”
Eltoar clenched his jaw, doing all he could to keep his expression neutral. Alvira couldn’t lie, at least not well.
He could see the reluctance in her nod, but still she nodded. The nod slowly turned into a shake of her head. “She spoke in riddles as though she’d lost her grasp on the world.”
“What did she say?” Mokhari asked, still standing on the dais over Loik’s shoulder, the statue of The Mother behind her. The Jotnar folded her arms, a single eyebrow raised.
“She said… That this was the only way to…”
“The only way to what?” Loik asked, moving closer to Alvira.
“To stop the world from burning.” Alvira gathered herself, looking from Loik to Eltoar and back. “Nothing she said made sense. It was all ramblings.”
Loik’s gaze lingered on Alvira. It was clear that the man knew if he pressed her he would pull more answers from her.
But instead, he simply pursed his lips. “Well, I suppose we’ll never know, will we?
It is difficult to speak sense with a hand wrapped about your throat, wouldn’t you say, Eltoar?
” The man shifted his stare to Eltoar. “What? Is that not true? Did you not capture Panakír alive? Ready for questioning? And decide instead to execute her in plain view of thousands? Or have I been misinformed?”
“It is not that simple,” Alvira said, cutting through the tension.
“Is it not? Eltoar Daethana, did you or did you not execute Panakír while she was disarmed and had surrendered?”
“Yes.” Eltoar hissed the word.
Shocked gasps and murmurs broke out amongst the council members.
It was all mockery. They had known the answer to his question before he had spoken it.
And for his part there had been no sense in obscuring the truth.
Enough people had witnessed his actions, and he would not force Alvira to lie for him.
He would not shy away from what he had done.
When the murmurs died down, the Councillor Mokhari spoke. “Why? You are not known as a rash warrior, Eltoar Daethana, son of Loh?ran Daethana. This action would seem out of character for a warrior of your esteem.”
“Panakír betrayed us, and her betrayal cost the life of my apprentice and his soulkin. Maquil and Carasín died fighting their treachery. I was within my rights…” Eltoar paused for a moment, his mind flashing back to that moment, shifting between Maquil’s broken body and the despondent look in Panakír’s eyes…
“I’m sorry, Eltoar,” he heard her whisper in his mind.
Eltoar felt Alvira pulling at him in her memories, heard her screaming at him to stop while he burned the Spark from Panakír’s veins.
Miles away, Helios roared, so visceral and raw that the sound travelled and echoed through the council chamber. The gasps that left the council members’ throats this time were genuine.
Eltoar lifted his gaze and looked around the chamber at the council members, watching each and every one of them. “I allowed my grief to govern my choices. I am not proud of it. And I will face the consequences.”
It looked as though Loik was about to answer Eltoar’s words when another voice sounded.
“You claim that it was Panakír’s betrayal that cost your apprentice’s life.
” Eltoar could hear the venom in Vanlin Iklas’ voice, knew what was coming.
Maquil was an elf of Lunithír, as was Eltoar.
“But some would say that it was your decision to engage the traitors while drastically outnumbered that led to Maquil’s death. Your choices, your actions.”
Eltoar clenched his jaw, bit back the anger that rose within him.
“You cannot be serious?” Alvira said, stepping towards the centre of the group.
Eltoar felt some of the councillors open themselves to the Spark.
Alvira glared at them, shaking her head.
They would have been as useless against her as glass against a hammer.
“Did you want us to simply stand there and watch people burn? What is our purpose if not to defend the innocent? What is—”
“Thirteen of your kin, sworn to be the guardians of this continent, betrayed their vows, casting them aside as though it were nothing,” Loik snapped, temper boiling over.
“They laid waste to one of the most affluent cities in all Epheria. Why? We don’t know because you and your wing ignored commands from your own Archon and instead engaged the traitors above the city, endangering everyone left alive. ”
“Let us all calm our tempers,” Farda said, his hands still clasped behind his back. Beside him Thalumas and Vahar remained silent, watching. “Loik, members of the council. Speak plain. It has been a long day, and we have lost someone dear.”
Loik drew a slow breath and raised a hand in the air, his fingers curling into a fist that he pressed to his lips.
“As you wish. Today the people of Vastillion have seen the devastation the Draleid can reap when they turn their backs on the people they swear to protect. Today they looked up to the sky, to their guardians, and stood by in terror as dragonfire poured over their city. Today they learned to fear dragons. And that would be cause enough for concern on any day. But they also witnessed Eltoar Daethana – one of the most renowned of your kind – descend into the fray and brutally execute an unarmed prisoner in front of thousands. They watched him kill Panakír with his bare hands, the only survivor who could have given us an inkling as to why this all happened.”
Behind Loik, Mokhari continued. “When word spreads of this day, they will say that there is a rot within the Draleid, that not only did the Draleid betray us and burn the city of Vastillion, but that The Order sent Eltoar Daethana to personally execute the only survivor, to silence her.”
“You know that is not true.” Alvira stared up at Mokhari, her hand bunched into a fist at her waist.
“Do we?” Vanlin called down from her perch, The Sailor looming over her. “For all we know, Eltoar is a part of this betrayal, and he silenced Panakír to keep his own secret. You must burn that naivety from your veins, Draleid Serris. For this world is not as simple as you would wish it to be.
“Even if it is not the truth,” Loik said, “words need not be true for them to spread. This day has done great damage to The Order’s reputation and to that of Eltoar Daethana… wherever his allegiance lies.”
“You have crossed a line.” Thalumas’s voice boomed through the chamber, threads of Air and Spirit weaving through it. “Take great care with your words, Councillor.”