Discordant Note: Crescendo | TBATE

Chapter 216: Exchange of Prisoners

Thank you to my beta reader and editor, GlassThreads!

Olfred Warend

The Grand Mountains deserved their name. The greatest of them surged miles into the sky like outstretched fingers seeking to touch the clouds, caressing the soft underbelly of the atmosphere.

But today, they cast a shadow nearly as long as they were tall.

I stood on a large platform of raised earth along the border of Darv, the west-blowing winds whipping sand at me like a million biting flies. My magic kept me safe from the sting of the irritable weather, my mana barrier and innate sense for earth mana warding of the hornet swarm of pebbles that sought to weather me to dust.

This was a rather mild Darvish wind. As close as we were to the Grand Mountains, most of the strength of the weather–the strength that forced the dwarves to build their homes in the deep caverns and expansive rock of the earth–was weakened by distance and time.

But even if the hate of Darvish air couldn't break through my magic, I still felt a simmering dread. Perhaps the Grand Mountains' shadow may have chilled my bones, but the claw of ice around my soul was from an entirely different source.

Scythe Seris Vritra lounged comfortably behind me, a separate pillar supporting the monster as she crossed her legs. The way her aura quietly suffused the air made the hairs on my arms stand on end.

I grit my teeth, forcing the witch from my mind. I had more pressing concerns. Even if my every action was monitored by this monster, that didn't change the objective.

Not long ago, I'd used some of my old contacts to send a message to the Triunion Council demanding parlay. They'd accepted, of course. They couldn't afford not to; not after the recent capture of Burim and Toren's clash with Lance Arthur.

I was dressed to impress. My attire, while rugged, was of the Darvish military style, accentuating the width of my body. The symbol of the rebellion–a cracked geode that bled sand–stood prominently on my shoulders.

I'd taken command of the rebellion in the wake of my freedom, recognizing that only I could spare my father from the grip of the Triunion. Despite the aftermath and the boggling circumstances of the event, I would never be able to fully repay Toren Daen for granting me freedom.

And it all came down to this.

I sensed as the representatives of the Council neared well before I could see them. The ambient mana warped and twisted as another massive pillar of earth slowly rose into the sky, familiar figures staring out from the center.

Commander Virion was at the forefront, of course. It was only his iron leadership that kept the Dicathians from fracturing into a million pieces and bickering among themselves. The old elf bore a determined expression in the wizened lines of his face, his martial robes neat and tidy in a way that told me he was prepared for war.

Not far behind the commander, Blaine Glayder stood tall. The middle-aged former king was a large man, even by the standards of mages, and he might have appeared impressive if not for the angry exhaustion that seemed to radiate from his very pores. His eyes still flashed with fire as they saw me, though, quietly accusing. Assuming.

Lance Varay stood ramrod straight at Councilman Glayder's left, the picture of icy poise as she maintained protocol. The buffeting winds that reached her visibly crystallized and condensed, slowed and stopped by her aura alone.

She only spared me a single, apathetic glance before focusing solely on the Scythe behind me, already dismissing me as a threat.

Bairon Wykes' eyes mocked me, belittled me. In his face I saw disdain and arrogance that only made my mana core churn faster. The human Lance had always been a stain on what it meant to be loyal.