Tearha: The Number 139

Chapter Thirty-Two: Apparition Dragoon

"For too long we have been shunned and buried within the dark of the world," Haeswahl Nunderberg shouted from her stage beside the aeronium pond. Her coating having been taken off revealed a pale whiteness underneath that was more aglow than most elves. "It is time we reclaim the world that is rightfully ours to rule. It is time to we return the world of the light back to the hands of the shadows!"

The Kalen-Ta'Rae, the Gate of Dark Light, a stone archway that acted as the coater for the shadowed skin of dark elves stood still beside her. Twice her height and width, the centre of it was a thin layer of translucent purple hue that danced forebodingly, backed by the absorptive darkness of the aeronium pond behind.

Thousands upon thousands of dark elves had gathered around the aeronium pond and spilling into the streets and alleyways. Some sat with their feet dangling off seats from rooftops as they listened to Haeswahl's speech from afar. The last few of the dark elves still covered by their black aeronium skin stood in a line of dozens before the Gate of Dark Light. One by one, they knelt before the gate, giving a silent prayer for the success of battle and a hopeful passing on of skills and ideologies back into the pond. With their hopes given, they passed through the gate, shedding their skin of darkness.

Haeswahl drew her sword and punched it into the air, an act that was reciprocated by the crowd with a roar of a huff. "We are the dark elves. The superior race of Tearha! Our ancestors feared us, hid us under the earth. But no more! We will retake what is rightfully ours!"

The last elf in line for the gate stood unmoving, an act which caught Haeswahl's attention, bringing her speech to a grinding halt.

The mysterious elf asked, "Is that the propaganda you have fed them? A tale of superiority?"

The commander, in a confident stride, slowly walked off the stage. The crowd had grown silent as Haeswahl made her way behind the stranger. "I know that voice."

With a fluid hand, Nadier pulled off his hood and down his scarf, turning to face the commander of the dark elves. The strongest Spellblade of their generation after his brother, Haeswahl Nunderberg was a military genius that had studied and rehearsed the scenarios for wars for hundreds of years in anticipation of her moment of glory. And he was about to do something incredibly stupid to her.

He asked, "Where is ma Ha'Lof, Nintarin?"

"She has not been your Ha'Lof for a long time now, Wanderer." Haeswahl paced before him, a glowing look in her calculating eyes. He knew she was weighing the option of directly attacking him. "Nintarin has been remitted to her chambers. She will remain there until the war is over or she acquiesce to support us."

"I see..." Nadier muttered, slightly disappointed that he would not have the chance to rescue the seer. He took a deep breath before returning his attention to Haeswahl. He told her directly, "I challenge you for the council seat of commander."

A wave of murmurs spread through the crowd and Haeswahl cocked an eyebrow in question. "You are not a Spellblade," she noted.

"Commanders are not selected because they are Spellblades," he lied. "Commanders are selected by strength. The strongest of us becomes commanders. It just so happens that the strongest have always been Spellblades."

"Is that a fact?" Haeswahl asked.

"Does it sound disputable?" he replied.

She stopped to contemplate, her eyes scanning his for signs of waver. A hushed mutter in the crowd drew questions for authority. Finally, she said, "I should have killed you without an utterance of words." She turned and started walking towards the crowd, who parted away in a circle, creating a makeshift arena.