Vendetta's Rise (The Dragon Realms Saga: Book 1)

Chapter 44

Marcus sat on the river bank, a fishing rod resting in his hands. A long blade of grass was fixed between his teeth. He turned to watch as his son sat beside him with heavy bags beneath his eyes. Marcus moved to shield him from the glare from the morning sun.

"Not used to waking up at dawn anymore?" Marcus chuckled, passing him a mug of coffee.

"What makes you think the fish aren't still sleeping?" Wiccer said, taking a sip from the mug and frowning from the lack of cream and sugar.

"Believe it or not, it was your mother that got me into fishing. Your great grandfather taught her the secret of fishing at daybreak. She fished every morning. Even when she got sick, she still fished," Marcus grew silent, remembering Vivian.

Wiccer let a moment pass between them, taking in the silence, before speaking again. "I was too young at the time, but how did you deal with losing her?"

"I never did. Avren took care of me. He became the man of the house while I wallowed in depression and self pity. I had to shut out all the love I had for your mother to move on. I don't...I don't take death very well." Marcus let out a sigh, "I know you see me as this great commander and strong figure, but when your mother died, when the baneblood sickness wilted her body to a shell, I just couldn't handle it."

"Father..."

Marcus choked, closing his eyes tightly, "When Avren fell, I shut you out. I reverted to the same weak-minded man I once was. Wiccer, in many ways you're a stronger man than I am."

Wiccer paused, but tried to lighten the tension that hung in the air. "I've decided to take your offer. I want to join Long Whisper's ranks. Avren wanted me to not be blinded by hatred. He wanted me to be a stronger leader." Wiccer nodded to his own words, "I want to be that leader."

Marcus grinned as a low laugh escaped him. "Well, for your first duty, why don't you brew me another cup of coffee."

Wiccer laughed, taking the mug and walking across the field back to the cabin.

Marcus turned back to his fishing line. From the corner of his eye, he saw a large object floating downstream. At first he could not make out what it was. A villager's laundry gone rogue? Perhaps a river-trader's boat had lost some small cargo? As it drew closer his eyes widened. It was a body. Lifeless and bobbing with the ebb and flow of the river. Marcus tossed his fishing rod aside and leapt into the water. He pulled the battered body to the shore. "Wiccer, hurry! Come back!"

Wiccer ran to his father's side as Marcus felt for any signs of life.

"Wiccer, fetch the medical supplies, this elf is still alive! Wiccer?"

Wiccer stood utterly frozen as he looked down upon the broken body of the elf that had caused him so much misery and strife.

"Wiccer?!" Marcus yelled, hoping to snap Wiccer out of the trance he was in. "Son?"

"Let him die," Wiccer said, with no hint of emotion or pity.