Daughter of the Wind

21. Assault on Narandir

Twentieth of Harvest

Belkai stayed in the middle of the elven formation as they marched through the strange city. She ignored the looks she received from its inhabitants, focusing instead on what Mishtar had seemingly created. She felt like she understood everything now. He hadn't destroyed the elves, only their ancient homes. He had done what humans always did by instinct – consolidated and built a single city. The population must have only been a fraction of what used to be a thriving race. Had they lost their culture as well? Did they know who they were apart from Mishtar's rule? Regardless of their clan, elves were a proud race. They would not take kindly to such subjugation. Would they follow one who promised freedom?

They reached the central building with its red script and the elves stood ramrod straight, with only Belkai standing before the solid door. It had no latch, apparently opening from the inside. To her surprise, Belkai could feel life emanating from the tower. Mishtar had learned something from the elves, it seemed. He may have lost their connection with nature, but he still built with living things. Their beauty was corrupted, not lost.

With a creak, the door slowly swung inwards. Yola stepped through and Belkai followed close behind. A Svaletan swung the door shut then took his place behind Belkai. Yola led Belkai down a series of corridors until they came to what must have been the throne room. A single chair made of thick green vines sat on a raised golden platform. Seated on the throne was a young Svaletan man, at least thirty years old. He wore only a cotton wrap, and his shirtless torso rippled with muscle. Yola and the Svaletan came before him and dropped to their knees and lowered their heads. Belkai stayed standing, refusing to show him his due honour in her defiance.

"You are the Recluse," she said softly.

"So they call me." He crossed his arms and smiled grimly. "I was once called Mishtar. 'Dawn of Hope', in the ancient tongue. But that was a long time ago."

"Too long, for one your age," Belkai said. "So the stories are true."

Mishtar nodded. "Yes, I found a power in Narandir. But I was not the first."

"The elves?"

Mishtar smiled and waved for the two guards to rise, and they both moved to stand against the wall behind Belkai. He refocused on his captive and said, "They were given stewardship over Narandir and its secrets. But not for themselves. They are sworn to follow the Lord of Narandir."

"Which, of course, is you," Belkai said drily. She could feel his anger – few, if any, had spoken to him this way for many years.

When he regained his composure, he didn't answer, but asked his own question. "How did you find me?"

"Your trail was easy to find," Belkai said with a shrug. "It didn't take much to follow."

Mishtar shook his head. "You don't fool me...Brilhardem." He nodded at the flicker of surprise he saw on her face. "Every animal, every plant, in this Forest answers to me. I have the power to create and destroy, to begin and end. I know everything that passes through Narandir's boundaries. You do not fool me."

"Perhaps not." Belkai nodded. "But if you know what I am, then you would know that I have been sent to know why you have begun to show your power."

"I do not believe the Silent Order sent you," Mishtar said quietly. "At least, not on their own."

He rose to his feet, and Belkai caught a glimpse of yellow lightning arcing between his fingers before she felt herself pulled into the air as if by an invisible hand. She couldn't move a muscle as Mishtar took her by the chin and twisted her head around. He snarled when he saw the scar on her neck.