Theurgy: Forsaken Oaths (Book Two)

Chapter 47 Cinder and Ash

Njal looked at the talisman that was taken by the knights from their prisoner. Ao many things ran through his mind. So many. The weight conveyed to him, the power was too much for him to bear. He wished not to dwell on the ramifications of it being in his hands, but the more he did the worst those consequences dawned upon them. They can't fight the Zethans. These negotiations will not lead anywhere, they must all realize this. The Zethans care not for their own, only for victory. The life of one man for the opportunity to snuff their volkf from land is more than worth it, Njal knows. Further conflict is inevitable. As much as the southerners may puff their chest and boast their strength. Numbers do not lie. Strength does not lie. It doesn't matter how long they may hold, weeks, or months. They will run out of supplies out here. They will be choked and starved. And it is when they will not have the strength to swing their swords that the Zethans will hit them with everything they have. He knows they will be relentless, peace is not a word in their language. It wasn't when they took Morenia from them, wasn't when they killed their mother, their father. He can't let them take Thyra away from him too.

She will hate him, he knows. She has grown fond of the southerners, a lot of them have over the course of this long summer with them. And why wouldn't they? They defended them, gave them aid, gave them food, respected their customs, and promised protection. And most importantly, they promised to restore the status that the Volkf of Morenia once had in these lands. But how can Southerners do that? Even if they did take the city, the other volkf will only see it as a puppet to the Empire. And are they not? They have become too reliant on the Empire and its protections. Their nobility weakens them, Njal thinks this as he slowly walks to the prison where Fell was held. Everywhere he went his fellow Marzans nodded to him in respect. He was their chief, after all. Though he was young they trusted him to have the interests of the volkf at heart. t was his responsibility and his alone.

"Njal?" he heard behind him. He quickly turned, nearly jumping out of his skin when he saw his sister. She had been worried ever since Edlund had left. Her fondness of him was endearing to most, she always was an uplifting spirit back when Njal's father was chief. A small part of him feared that she may never recover that spark. Edlund was there to comfort both of them and reminded them of their duties to uphold their father's legacy. Her eyes, filled with trust and the need for consolation, were worst than any judgment he could endure.

"Where are you off to?" Njal asked her.

"Just to my room for a nap," she said. "I just need someplace to lie down and think, I suppose. What about you?"

"Just . . . making rounds about the village, making sure our security is well maintained while the knight is gone."

"The soldiers can do that well enough," she said. "Leik and the other-"

"Right right," he said hurrying off. "Just want to get involved with something. I hate feeling useless."

"Of course," she said quietly. She knew something was wrong. She was always a perceptive person. But she trusted that whatever it was he was hiding was something he thought best. She'll confront him later about it.

He finally arrived at the prison. The cell holding Fell, dug into the ground, was guarded by Boreans. Of course, they immediately took notice of him, recognizing him from before. He nodded to them once, and at that signal, they both wandered off to give him the space to talk to Fell alone. He wasn't sure what he was thinking right now, what he thought was going to happen. But he needed something, leverage, insurance. He made sure that his personal guard was far away before finally approaching the cell that Fell was housed within. In the pit were two torches that no doubt hampered whatever ability Felll could muster if he is able to use the power of the wind. This was suggested by Njal's sister, and by the strained expression on Fell's face, they were effective. Boreans were naturally more susceptible o high temperatures. Even from this far away Njal adjusted uncomfortably. His face was drenched in crimson shadows, and he looked in even worst condition than just a few days prior, despite the medical treatment given to him. He sat huddled, his knees to his chest. But Njal saw something tense in his form. He wasn't suffering, he was in no despair. He seemed to just be enduring, biding his time. As soon as he approached the metal bars of the cell, his glaring stare turned upwards directly to him and smiled.