Soul Fire

Soul Fire - Chapter 4

The Sword of Llanos - forged by the Dwarves, enchanted by the Elves, sheathed by the Palians, and wielded by the greatest hero of the Asillians. The Diamond of the Cellians was said to be clasped in its pommel and the light of the stars rumored to sleep in its blade. One hundred kings had ascended Asillia's throne while the sword had rested within its halls, if the legends were true. What could have convinced the King to bring forth the Sword of Llanos once more?

Beregran said no more. In one conversation, Dathion's entire world had collapsed then been remade. To leave the palace and safety of Asillia, the only home he had ever known. How long would his mission take? What waited for him in lands he had never seen?

Was Ellishan ready for this journey?

Their lunch continued in silence. Dathion swore that Beregan's gaze could read each of his private thoughts, so he offered none. He refused to meet the eyes of his father and cleared his mind, considering only the food before him. He embraced the salty smell of the meat, the sweetness of the fruit, and how the cool water quenched his thirst. These sensations helped to overwhelm his need to think - to consider what lay before him.

"May I leave, Father?"

"If you have finished, you are excused. You too, Ellishan."

Dathion dabbed his mouth with the corner of his cloth and rose to leave, his dessert untouched. His mother started to say something as he straightened his chair, but his father reached across to hold her hand and she remained silent. The distance from Dathion's seat to the doors was longer than he remembered. As always, Ellishan rose and joined him.

The walk back to their quarters took an eternity. Everything appeared different when viewed for perhaps the last time. How long might it take to visit each corner of the land? Four seasons, a dozen, or even a score? Would the same paintings drape from the walls on his eventual return? Would the servants be the same, or strangers? He tried to imagine how the people around him were likely to appear, if years older.

And what of the messages? They were secret enough to be inked on vellum, rather than passed from mouth to ear. His father had suggested that Dathion would visit members of an ancient alliance. If the request was simply to ask them for their aid, why not send a diplomat bearing the King's crest and seal? Would other races send the family of their rulers for such a request? A handful of Asillians had died, not hundreds. A troupe of Elves had come to the palace, but surely an Elven prince or princess were not among their number. Finally, the Sword of Llanos would go with him. 

This made the least sense of all.

Unless... would its power be needed to keep them safe? For the reigns of scores of kings the sword had slumbered. What danger could be so absolute that it was needed now? Dathion had wondered what might change while they were gone, but should he be so certain?

Would the boys even live to see their home again?

Dathion's thoughts became increasingly morose. A chill shivered across his skin, prickling his neck. Blood rushed to his head and flooded his thoughts, giving a sensation of floating. His stomach twisted; his lunch curdling with rising nausea. Meanwhile, his brother appeared untouched by emotion, dutifully by Dathion's side - like a lapdog.

Dathion chided himself, as he knew his mother would, for thinking of Ellishan in that way. Ellishan managed a warm smile for Dathion whenever the elder prince turned to him. Rather than being a burden, his presence staved off the encroaching loneliness. Dathion's decision to accept his father's charge had been made in haste. It had been such a small commitment during lunch, but now the enormity washed over him, choking and smothering him. He stopped walking. His brother waited for him, then placed a hand on Dathion's shoulder as it began to shake.