Illara Chronicles: Swordplay

Enya

Sometimes, victory comes at a cost. The acquisition of power, runs in the wake of sacrifice. Valiant knights die like everyone else, Kelith knew this, but as he struggled through the Greenwood under the weight of Weldrens lifeless corpse, the idea of arriving home to palm fronds and hopeful music like they always did in his books seemed...dishonorable. Where does one find the strength to go on? Where does one find the strength to go back?

Burns marred Aelandras arm, her collar, the side of her face, and made the glory of battle feel far away. She told him that she was fine, but Kelith recalled her made up for the royal gala, and imagined her pain went deeper than her blistered skin. She assured him that her father would be proud, for a battle scar solidifies a warriors identity. Still, pain welled up in her eyes, even if the tears never fell. Kelith could feel that in them all, sorrow, dammed up in their eyes. Not one of them let a tear slip. Not yet. Kelith wished that they would.

The bottom of his vision blurred as he watched Taldren walk. His step was lighter, without the siphon, unburdened. He was free, but he kept his head low, his eyes on the tangle of roots and yellowing leaves in the low light of the late evening. "Can I take him?" He said. "He tired to save me."

Kelith could see "He's too heavy" in the wrinkle of Kendreths nose, but he said nothing, just helped lay the body across Taldrens shoulders. Taldrens struggle slowed them, but none dared try to lessen his load.

Kendreth moved with his arms around himself, his hand clutching his necklace. Light shone through his fingers. "What can I say to her?" Kendreths voice walked on the edge of cracking.

The question sat on Keliths chest like wet sand, and made the journey that he'd believed so strongly in feel, futile. It had been a mistake to come here. To leave home. He hoped that Kendreth didn't mean to have an answer, but his blue eyes flicked up expectantly, shimmering and glassy with some specific pain...regret, or maybe guilt. 

Kelith searched the recesses of his mind. He delved deep into his own heart, ripping through book after story book, wisdoms and soothe sayings that had been passed down to him. He sifted his memories for anything at all, and what he found didn't feel like much.

He put his hand on Kendreths far shoulder and squeezed.

//

Hadlynn shed the first tears, as she wept horribly into Kendreths chest. He kept a hand in her golden hair, and on the small of her back as sobs shook her. Kelith felt sick, explaining what happened, to Nihar. She seemed troubled, like everyone else, but what seemed to concern her most was that they'd lost the siphon. Her dark eyebrows scrunched at that part. She fiddled with a pointed ear and kept her purple eyes on Taldren, gathering and stacking wood, while Kelith spoke. "...they spared him, and went through a gate to what looked like Havenhelm. The throne room." As he finished the speech he recalled the accounts of heroism he'd been told in the tap room of the Laughing Lion. Never once had the stories been like this.

"How has he handled being separated from the dread siphon?" Nihar put a hand on her chin and a finger across her lips.

"Taldren? He hasn't said much. I think he feels...Weldren was trying to save him when he..." They both watched Taldren shove Aelandra away, he stuck a finger at her and cursed her for trying to help. She held up her hands, one arm was heavily bandaged. Alone, Taldren wrestled the large armored body onto the pyre he'd built. He worked a piece of flint at the base, sparks lit the hard lines of his face repeatedly, until the fire took hold.

Taldren stepped back, exausted and crestfallen. He hung his head, and began his quiet weeping, running a dirty sleeve over his face again and again. Aelandra pulled him into her with her good arm and he didn't resist. Even in this dark hour, that made Kelith smile. He'd never read about how loss can tighten a bond. Death for all of its bitterness, can brighten what life is left over.