9. Whispers
Chapter Nine
Whispers
Eltoar stood with his hands clasped behind his back, looking down into the yard below where the apprentices trained with the sword. Twenty of them moved through the forms of the fellensír, sharp steel in their grips, sweat slicking their bodies.
Chora Sarn walked amongst them, examining their movements silently while Atara Anthalin stood at the front of the group, moving as effortlessly as water.
“You’re early,” Alvira called from behind him.
“You’re late,” he answered, turning to see her descending the stone steps into the yard.
She wore a long black dress, split down both sides, a circlet of gold atop her head, the metal wound into the symbol of The Order at her front.
His throat grew dry as she approached, the hairs on his arms standing on end.
Alvira pulled him into a warm embrace. “It’s good to see you.”
“You’ve barely been gone a moon, Alvira.”
“And I’ve spent that entire time with Councillors Matharius and Arnassus, sitting around while they brokered deals.”
“Mmmm.”
“Let’s not sour already, Eltoar,” Alvira said, looking down into the yard. “We’ve been over this a thousand times. The council are a garden that must be tended. Allow me to do the tending, and you can focus your attention elsewhere.”
As she spoke, Alvira turned her gaze to Salara, who was shifting from Patient Wind into Striking Dragon with effortless grace.
“She looks strong,” Alvira said. “One day perhaps she will be as skilled as you in the blade.”
Eltoar smiled, folding his arms. “I would find nothing but pride in that.”
He tilted his head, watching Salara’s every move, and out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Alvira watching him. He caught her doing that from time to time. “Which one is the young man you and Chora never quiet about?”
“Aeson Virandr.” Alvira inclined her head to the corner of the group where a tall, skinny young man with black hair shifted from form to form with effortless grace.
What was more, when Eltoar looked closely, he saw the boy’s eyes were closed.
He’d been watching Salara so intently he’d not even noticed.
“He moves well.” Eltoar followed Aeson’s movements as the group shifted into sparring pairs and shook his head when young Aeson once again closed his eyes, levelling his wooden blade at his partner. “Arrogant.”
“Oh, listen does the wind when the sky calls the water blue.” Alvira bowed at the waist as she spoke, speaking in the most dramatic tone she could apparently muster.
“Amusing.” Despite his best efforts, a smile slipped through Eltoar’s facade as he watched Alvira’s lips peel into a broad grin.
She caught his gaze and held it, those blue eyes holding the sun’s light.
“Look,” she said, pulling her gaze from his and gesturing to her left.
Eltoar scanned the yard. “What?”
“Higher. The perch to the left of the pantheon.”
Eltoar looked up and over towards the tower Alvira spoke of. There sat a dragon with scales as blue as the Veloran Ocean at night, flecked with spots of white and black and a hundred shades of blues. The creature looked as though they had been carved from the night sky.
“Lyara,” Alvira said. “They have a bond as close as I’ve seen. She is never far and watches over him like a mother.”
“He is seeing through her eyes.” Eltoar shifted his gaze from Lyara to Aeson.
The boy was young to be able to move so fluidly while seeing through the eyes of his soulkin.
For most, it was a disorienting sensation even for many years after first forming the bond, even more so in the young.
Their minds less capable of fully utilising the bond.
“How many summers has he seen? Sixteen?”
“Fifteen. Bonded only one year.”
“Look at you,” he said, laughing. “You call Lyara a mother hen and yet you stand here clucking.”
“Careful, First Sword. I am still your Archon.”
“Cluck.” Eltoar flapped his arms like wings. “Cluck.”
“What has you in such a bright mood? Usually I’m the one telling others that a storm isn’t brewing behind your eyes in every moment, but that your face unfortunately just takes that shape.”
He grunted at her, flapping his arms once more and allowing the smile to linger a bit longer on his lips. And at that precise moment, he remembered what he had not yet told Alvira.
“Alvira… while you were gone…”
She looked at him curiously, her brow furrowing in worry the way it always did, that damn circlet getting in the way.
“Farda’s brother.”
“Torlan? What of him? He…” He saw the look in her eyes, the realisation. “What happened?”
“Bandits on the road from Caelduin to Anthír. Both him and his wife, Sahira. They didn’t live.”
“The girls?”
“Alive.”
“Thank the gods.” She clasped her hands together and pressed her fingers to her lips.
“The gods did little.”
She frowned at him, giving him a look that said ‘not today’.
“He has taken the girls in as his own,” Eltoar said.
“I will go to him.” Alvira leaned against the stone parapet that fronted the plateau upon which they stood. “You will drink with us later?”
“Not this night, unfortunately. I have a previous engagement.” Eltoar stared down into the yard, watching Salara intently as she was paired with Aeson Virandr. He watched in part to see the outcome and in part to avoid Alvira’s eye.
He did not wish for an argument, but he knew it would arrive nonetheless.
“Previous engagement?”
“Yes. Arranged prior to this moment.”
“I understand the meaning of the words, Eltoar.”
“Very well,” he said. “My task here is already complete then.”
“You go to Fane again.” Eltoar didn’t have to look to know Alvira’s nostrils were flared, her arms crossed, her teeth grinding.
“What of it, Alvira?”
“You know what, Eltoar. The man is poison.”
“He questions what others do not. It is a healthy practice.” Eltoar pressed his tongue to the top of his mouth after he spoke. He and Alvira had argued more of late, and Fane was often at the centre of it. “All things could do with being questioned a little more.”
“Questioned?” Alvira turned fully to him now, her voice rising enough that two of the Praetorians on guard cast their gazes upon them.
“He spreads lies and deceit. He speaks out against the council, against The Order… against me.” she stared into Eltoar’s eyes, unblinking.
“Only two moons past, Tarast told me of word spread that I was unfit to be Archon. That I was too weak to stand against the council. That I am the reason so many died when the Karvosi made landfall. Do you agree, Eltoar? Is that what you think of me?”
“Of course not.” Eltoar shook his head in disbelief. “Alvira, you are my Archon. I am your First Sword. I would follow you into the fires of the void. I would burn this world to keep you safe. Please, do not bring it back to this. I don’t want to argue.”
“Then why do you taunt me so by continuing to entertain him when you know what he is, what he says?”
“He questions things, Alvira, but he does not spread treason. Where did Tarast hear this? From Fane’s own lips?”
Alvira hesitated. “One of the mages.”
“And where did the mage hear it? It just becomes whispers, Alvira. There are many who would find endless joy in watching Fane fall. Did you hear how many Bloodmarked he tore apart at the Burning River? How he pulled Prince Athír from the jaws of death?”
“Do you hear yourself? Are his claws buried so deep within you?”
“Take care of your words, Alvira, as I take care of mine.”
Alvira narrowed her gaze. “Speak your mind.”
Eltoar bit at his lip and shook his head, turning his gaze down to where Aeson Virandr held a wooden practice sword to Salara’s throat as she lay on the ground. The young man grasped her hand and hauled her to her feet.
“Speak, Eltoar. I will not have you walking the streets of Ilnaen with ill in your heart.”
He pursed his lips, feeling Helios rumble in the back of his mind.
The pair waged a war back and forth, the dragon urging on, Eltoar trying to calm the flames.
Eltoar tapped his fingers on the balcony’s stone parapet and turned to face Alvira once more.
He looked upon the golden circlet on her head. “From whose hand was that gift given?”
“What gift?” Alvira followed Eltoar’s gaze and touched the golden circlet. “This? What of it? It was a gift from Eric Ubbein. A token of his gratitude.”
“And what need have you of golden trinkets, Alvira?”
“You sip wine with a man who spreads whispers of discontent amongst the blood of what we have built yet condemn me for a circlet?” Alvira looked at Eltoar as though he had lost his mind.
“Are you truly so blind that you can’t see the truth of what is around you?
It’s not just a circlet Alvira, it’s everything that comes with it.
These gifts bear silver chains. Do you not see?
The council wear silks to every audience, precious gems on every finger.
They have had the dome of the council chamber recast in gold. Their own lands have grown tenfold.”
“You see shadows where there are none, Eltoar, and yet you walk in the dark.”
Miles away, Helios lifted his head, a rumble of defiance in his throat, his bubbling rage seeping into Eltoar.
“Do not twist my mind, Alvira. What I say is true. After Vastillion, almost a century ago, did I speak these words?” Eltoar opened his arms wide.
“I held no love for Loik Hass, but he did not garb himself as a king, nor did he swell his own lands on the backs of others. You do not look deeper because you do not wish to see. You see the light in others, Alvira, but little else. That twist of gold upon your head is not a gift, it is a tether.” He stepped closer, resting his hands on Alvira’s shoulders.
“All I want is to protect you, as is my duty.” He looked into those eyes that pierced him so.
“As is my desire. I must search the shadows that you cannot see. I must beware the knife in the dark. I must look at the things you pretend do not exist.” He leaned closer and lowered his voice.
“If you do nothing else, will you not trust me? Have I not earned that from you?”
Alvira looked at him, her expression softening. What Eltoar saw in her eyes that moment was not anger, or pain, or frustration, but sadness. “How am I to trust you, Eltoar, when you so clearly do not trust me.”
Before Eltoar could answer, footsteps sounded to his left, and both Salara and Aeson Virandr approached, slicked in sweat, marred in a plethora of cuts and bruises.
Eltoar pulled his hands from Alvira’s shoulders as the two apprentices pressed their closed fists to their chests and bowed.
“Archon. First Sword.”
Alvira inclined her head. “You both fought well.”
Aeson dropped to one knee, clenching his fist to his chest so tight that his knuckles turned white. “You honour us, Archon.”
Salara followed his lead, repeating his words.
“Rise,” Alvira said, stepping closer to the pair. “You – both of you – are the future.” She stared wordlessly at Aeson and Salara for a few breaths before placing a hand on each of their shoulders. “I ask of you something.”
“Anything,” Aeson said without hesitation, again Salara following.
Alvira looked back at Eltoar, her stare meeting his. “Protect each other. Fight for those around you, always. You are Draleid now. That means something.”
The two apprentices bowed their heads and thanked her.
“I’m afraid I must take my leave,” she said, glancing between the two of them and then to Eltoar. “There is much that must be seen to.”
Alvira turned and grasped Eltoar’s forearm, pulling him close – closer than he had expected, her head pressing against the side of his.
“I trust you,” she whispered, moving her right arm to grasp the back of his head.
“I trust you, Eltoar. Despite our words, despite everything. I trust you more than anyone else in this world. Please, I beg of you, have faith in me.”
A hand unseen closed itself around Eltoar’s heart, and he squeezed Alvira a little tighter. “I do. I always have.”
Reluctantly, Eltoar pulled away and watched as Alvira took her leave, forming curses at his own idiocy for allowing his anger to spill over onto Alvira.
This was not what he wanted. All he desired was for her to see, to open her eyes to what was happening around her.
It wasn’t too late, but they needed to be stronger.
As he stood there, Salara walked to the parapet and looked down into the yard where Aeson had returned to stand beside Atara Anthalin.
The pair continued to move through the forms as the yard emptied, and Aeson’s soulkin descended from her perch, curling up in the yard’s easternmost corner, watching on in earnest.
Eltoar clasped his hands behind his back.
His gaze was fixed on the two figures moving back and forth, their swords sweeping, but his mind floated in the aether of the past, of every choice he’d ever made, every word spoken, that had led him to that moment.
There were so many things he’d change, so many choices.
“Master?” Salara’s voice drifted through the haze in his mind.
“Hmm?” Eltoar raised an eyebrow, part of him still wandering the past.
“Have you ever fought Draleid Anthalin in single combat?”
“I’ve not had the pleasure.”
“That is something I’d pay all my coin to see.”
“You don’t have any coin, Salara.”
The young elf gave him a flat stare, then turned back to Aeson and Atara below.
“Atara Anthalin is perhaps the greatest blade in all Epheria. There isn’t a doubt in my mind that her sword would rest against my throat.”
“But you are the First Sword?”
“Indeed.” Below, Atara moved in front of Aeson, lifting his blade and tucking his elbow in with the flat of her steel. He rested a hand on Salara’s shoulder. “I must take my leave. Join Atara and young Aeson in their forms.”
Salara looked back at him with incredulity. “But I was going to fly with Vyrmír. I’m tired, Master.”
Eltoar smiled at that, not turning his gaze from the pair below.
“Have Vyrmír join you, as Lyara does. It will do him well to see through your eyes.” Eltoar turned his gaze to his apprentice.
“Greatness is defined by what we do while others rest, Salara. It is forged in the moments that would break us. I believe in you. I believe that you can be a Draleid whose name echoes in time. But only if you are willing to sacrifice in your pursuit of that greatness. You will rarely be called to act when you are well rested.”
Salara looked back at him like a deer caught in the sights of a dragon.
“Apologies,” Eltoar said, shaking his head.
“My mind is in a pensive place, young apprentice. When your body screams at you to stop, when your muscles ache and your bones tire, when your mind tells you that you have nothing left to give – that is when it is most important that you charge forwards with every fibre of your being. As Draleid, we must always strive to be stronger. It is never enough to simply be. Now go, I will see you for supper and a warm bath for your muscles.”