The Azimar Archives Book One- The Book of Death

Nevina

Another few hours or so had passed since Nevina had last given Areanath her Gift. During that time, they had opened the last cask of Vyrisian wine, and now even it was nearly empty. Their time was nearly up, and they both knew it. Nevina fell back into a chair, wineglass in hand, tired. "You think this will work, when the time comes?" She draped her bare legs over the arm, feet dangling. She held a page of his notes in her other hand, studying it. She could understand some of it, but most of the writing looked like little more than nonsense to her.

Areanath sighed, refilling his glass once more and taking a small sip. "It has to work. Or the world as it is now will be done for before long." He carefully tugged the page of notes from her hand and set it back onto the nearby desk before taking the seat opposite hers. "I've checked and re-checked everything. It should work. It has to work."

"As soon as he lands the killing blow?"

Areanath nodded. "As soon as I die. Whether he does it himself or someone else does it. When I die..." he paused, swallowing hard. Nevina clasped her hand around his, giving it a light squeeze. Areanath took a deep breath, forcing a sardonic smile. "When I die, the spell will be activated."

"And I'll be able to tell?" Would I want to know?

Areanath's brow furrowed. "Perhaps. You've been woven into everything, you might be able to feel when it... Activates." Areanath choked on the last word.

Nevina nodded her head. "I understand." She took a large sip of the wine, draining her glass. "Why are you doing this? What do you think your brother will try to do after taking the throne?"

Areanath frowned, swirling the remaining wine around in his glass. "You know about the Great War."

"Of course." She shrugged, standing to fill her glass. "Mankind's first chance to show the older races that we can be just as great and terrible as them?" She snorted. "The centuries since then have given us time to grow and prosper in peace."

"Yes, but the war itself left scars on all the races. Some of those scars are still fresh. A small wound could cause a tide of blood. A new war could be started, even."

Nevina turned to face Areanath, eyes widening. "Mothlenor wants to start the Great War all over again? Is that even possible?"

Areanath shook his head. "I don't think he wants to start it all over again. I think he plans to cause just enough trouble to set all of the races on edge. Some of the older races can remember the Great War from their own lifetimes. They won't want to jump into another ordeal like that. But the men..." Areanath sighed. "It's not war he wants, it's genocide."

Nevina shuddered, sinking back into her chair. "Great Ones preserve us," she whispered. "Then there really is no other option for you?"

"There is no other option."

Nevina nodded slowly. No wonder Areanath was going to such desperate lengths. "Why do it now? Why not let someone else take your place in the Last Hunt, and continue your life as you have, and keep this spell inactive?"

Areanath smirked, staring into his wineglass. "You forget how old I am, Nevina. I will die eventually, as is the natural order of things. And my brother will take the throne then, and it will all be the same anyway."

"You aren't that old, Areanath,"

Areanath only shrugged. "Kings tend to have shorter lives than other men, I've noticed. Better to die protecting my people than from old age or disease. And Mothlenor might realize, given decades to watch me, that I have some arcane skill." His eyes met hers, tired and sad. "And what would he do then, I wonder?"