Grieving
As soon as Galin got back to the Cowardly Owl, he rushed inside. Tables were overturned and the stools were thrown about. His eyes zeroed in on Jena sobbing over Keya’s body. He knelt down next to her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen.”
Jena looked up at him. Her eyes were red and puffy. “It’s not your fault.” Her face turned as dark as the lich they fought in the Infernal Grotto. “It’s that damned Dark Elf! I’ll kill him.” She leaped to her feet, grabbed a stool and hurled it across the room. She collapsed to the floor. “I couldn’t heal her.” She shook her head as tears flowed down her cheeks like a rushing river. “I…I tried…I tried over and over and over again, Galin. It didn’t work.”
He pulled her in close. “It’s all right, my love.” His heart faltered as he felt rage emanate from her body.
“Jena!” Brock yelled as he carried Ellis inside. “He’s hurt.”
“Not him too!” Jena rushed over to Ellis as Brock laid him down on the floor. She pulled out an incense ball from her spell component pouch as she knelt down next to him. “He’s lost a lot of blood.”
“Is it too late?” Brock asked.
Jena shook her head. “No, this is too easy.” She placed the incense into a small dragon-shaped silver incense bowl. The smoke had a slight green tint as it rose into the air. Jena placed her hand on Ellis’ wounded leg. She closed her eyes and put her hands together in prayer. “Min touch Helbred nom.” Jena’s body began to sway back and forth. “Min touch Helbred nom.”
Ellis’ leg began to twitch.
“Min touch Helbred nom.” A laceration ripped through Jena’s leg.
The wound on Ellis’ leg closed up. He smiled as he sat up.
Jena screamed. Blood poured from her leg, spilling out onto the floor.
“Jena!” Galin screamed as he reached for her.
Brock snatched him backwards. “Leave her be. This is normal, remember?”
Galin nodded.
Jena bit her lip. She sat on the floor and bowed her head. Her mouth moved as if whispering a plea to the goddess Odella herself. After a moment, her leg began to glow. The gushing blood slowed to a trickle, then it stopped altogether. Her gaping wound closed. She opened her eyes. “I’m okay, Galin.” She looked over at her mother. “I’ll need help burying her.”
Brock stood up. “I’ll help you.”
“Me too,” Galin said.
Brock picked up Keya and headed out the door.
A few hours later, Galin and Jena returned to their room. They were sitting on the bed next to one another, holding hands. He looked into her eyes. What if that was Jena and not her mother? Could they really wait until they took Iron Fist Keep? That could be years, or maybe never. No, she was right before. It was time that he did what he’d asked her to do nearly two years ago. “I was thinking about us—”
“You were right,” Jena said as she tore her eyes away. “We need to wait.”
Was this karma? Galin shook his head. “No, I don’t want to wait. You were right. If we wait too long, we’ll never get married. I asked you, remember?”
Jena nodded. “I know, but this changes things. I understand now; how you must have felt after your mother was murdered by…them.” Her face hardened. “Nothing is more important to me than getting that thing that killed my mother. I don’t want our marriage tainted with this…hatred.”
Galin swallowed as he saw his loving Jena turn into a vengeful monster. Was that his doing? He shook his head. “I want to get married now, before I lose you.”
Her eyes bore into him like a wild dog’s teeth tears at its prey. “No.”
His pleading eyes fell as her face became stern. “Don’t let it consume you, as it did me.”
“I won’t,” she said.
Galin looked away. What have I done?
A few miles east of Nia, along the base of the Wailing Mountains, a bright light appeared just above the ground and Tasar stepped out of it. As soon as he exited the portal, it disappeared. His steed was still tied off to a tree on the outskirts of his camp. The camp was in a clearing of nearly impassable underbrush. It was not a natural clearing, but one that he’d burnt into the soul of the countryside.
Tasar kicked the cold fire pit. “How did he survive? It’s simply not possible! No human could have done that.” He closed his eyes and took a breath. Could he really be the one? What if the Darkstrider’s were correct? They were fools, but occasionally they were right. He sat down next to the fire pit. Tasar waved his hand over the fire pit and a tiny fire started in the center.
He looked towards the town. Sure, when he took the job he didn’t believe that Galin was the prophesied boy king. What sane Dark Elf would? The prophecy claimed that a human boy king that can wield magic would unite the world against the Dark Elves and destroy them. Tasar snorted. The prophecy was written generations ago. But, what if he was the one? Others would follow him simply because the foolish Darkstriders fear him.
Tasar pulled out a water skin and took a sip. Maybe it was too late to avoid the effect that making him a martyr would cause. Perhaps? If he was thought of as a martyr, people would rally behind him; not all, but a good number. The real question was how many would rally behind a prophesied king that makes the Darkstriders quiver in their boots? Tasar frowned. Probably, a lot more. No more games.
How should he fight Galin, especially since his fire bolts bounced right off him? Every mage has defensive spells, why not Galin? Tasar didn’t see spell components in Galin’s hand or him even whispering an incantation, which was consistent with the prophecy. But, he still had to call up his power, right? Yeah, that had to be right. If he surprised him, then he could win. No different than if he was battling another mage.
Perhaps he could profit even more from this…encounter, maybe. The Darkstriders always paid handsomely for intelligence on uprisings. Imagine what they would pay to know about the uprising that the prophesied boy king was starting? Tasar’s lips stretched across his face. He would have to get a cart to carry all the crowns they would pay him and he’d still get paid by Artis the Black. No more holding back, no more. It was time for Galin to see Tasar’s real power.