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Prologue
King Rhenier Trennandaile stood in the highest tower of Castle Faerlyte, scanning the city below from his lofty perch in his private observatory. With his keen green eyes, he spied every movement in the city, from the blacksmiths adding final, deadly sharp edges to swords, to the troops ordering themselves into rows, to weeping wives and children giving their husbands and fathers one last loving embrace and a wish of luck. He could see everything except that which he needed to see the most, that which lurked in the forest and countryside beyond the city walls, and threatened to attack at any moment.
They were waiting for a signal, he knew, ay which they would besiege Faerlyte. The whole forest beside seemed to be waiting, watching. Rhenier could see neither the usual movement of the birds through the treetops nor the familiar breeze that was always rustling the leaves. Everything was still beyond the beautiful capital city of Faerlyte, contrasting immensely with the bustle of the city, which was bordering on panic.
The country of Faerlyte had not been threatened by any outside forces in nearly half a century, so they had good reason to panic. Most of the soldiers knew of battle only in theory. And not in personal experience. Those who had fought before had been part of the troops King Rhenier had sent to help aid the countries of Elena and Frenalay in their newly won war against the Mountain People of Calahara.
King Rhenier placed his first three fingers at his temple. Just thinking of that campaign gave him a headache. It had lasted for the first seven years of his reign. Not two months after his father’s resign from the throne, the Mountain People had launched their attack on Elena and Frenalay, first raiding the small villages on the border, then moving to the larger settlements closer to the countries’ centers.
They had terrorized the citizens of those countries until nearly every town had its own volunteer militia, and no door was without at least one padlock. Those towns that did not take these precautions usually ended up in flames, and sometimes the same fate befell the better armored towns, because the Mountain People possessed strange and elusive magic that none of the surrounding countries had been able to fathom.
King Rhenier had heard detailed reports of the attacks and the effects of the strange magic from some of his scouts and messengers. They had described the phantom-like people who arrived as black shadows in the night, wielding broad swords and battle axes, seemingly made of black steel that did not glint in the moonlight. They had crept up on bare feet wrapped in rags, muttering evil incantations in a harsh language that would cause men posted as lookouts to fall unconscious, cause women and children to fall into a trance and be led quietly away, cause houses to burst into blue and purple flames and be devoured in a matter of minutes.
The terrified people of Elena and Frenalay had thought at first that the Mountain People were surely bands of wraiths taking their vengeance out on the two countries, but eventually some of these mysterious people had been caught, and had been discovered to be just that: people; people with skin more pale than the moon and hair as black and shiny as a raven’s wing. They were very slight in figure and had thin faces consisting of fine boned features.
Most astonishing of all, however, were their eyes, which were a clear pale blue that seemed to seep into a person’s very soul. Their whole selves cracked with auras of an evil form of magic that seemed to originate from their eyes. Despite these oddities, they were still people, and the fact that they had magic made them no less human. In fact many people of Havenia had magic, such as the people of Faerlyte, Elena, Frenalay, and many other surrounding countries. The only people that had completely outlawed the use of magic were Lumanesse and the neighboring Grenish, who proudly raised their crops and livestock and performed other trades without the use of magic. Aside from the people of these countries, nearly every soul in Havenia possessed at least a tiny bit of magic, therefore the hate of magic was not the reason why the other countries loathed the Mountain People. They despised them, instead, for their barbaric ways and for the way they had twisted their magic to make it into something repulsive and evil.
Maybe, thought King Rhenier, magic was the reason after all. Not the possession of magic but the clash of good magic against the evil. Perhaps that was the reason for the war. Anyhow, the good magic triumphed, as it always will. Rhenier brushed his wavy blonde hair out of his face, and scratched at his short, fair beard, trying in vain to lighten his mind. “Good magic will triumph over evil,” he muttered to himself, still stroking his beard, “and we will be ready.” King Rhenier wanted to think that they would be ready to fight, but a large detail of the upcoming battle was eating away at the corners of his mind. They wouldn’t be fighting humans, as most of the troops were used to. Their enemy wasn’t of human form, and they certainly did not think in the manner of people.
They were the Golem, a race entirely apart from any of those in Havenia. They were the very essence of evil, with minds that would dull the Mountain Peoples’ minds in comparison with their maliciousness. They were also the very picture of evil in form. They stood at least six feet tall; they had sharp cloven hooves, harder and blacker than obsidian, and long, whip like tails with burst of orange flame on the tips. Their skin was as rough as alligator hide and slimier than a creek bottom, and had sharp black claws on the ends of their fingers. Their faces consisted of cat-like eyes the color of fire, and had high, slitted nostrils that quivered at the scent of blood. They had thin, curling lips over which hung black, needle sharp fangs. Their ears were twisted and webbed, and slimy tendrils of hair hung from their heads and over knarled, gray horns.
The Golem were beings with powerful magic, and they were able to shift their bodies into other forms of the same mass, though they usually retained their natural form, especially during battle. They could instill fear into the bravest of hearts and leave those with little courage frozen were they stood, ready to be picked off like flies.
King Rhenier was relieved to know that the Golem force would be small, a few hundred at the most. A female Golem could only bare one offspring every fifty years, so it stood to reason that their force would be small. If the Faerlytian troops fought wisely, they could end this battle in a few days, because their force was at least twenty times the size of the Golems number.
Rhenier was confident that his troops would fight wisely. After all, the lead commander of the Faerlytian troops was his own brother, Duke Grierden Trennandaile, who had the best head for battle in all of Faerlyte. King Rhenier’s second in command would lead them to victory, along with his third in command, Commander Latameir Alturrin, to whom he owed his life.
Latameir had been victorious in several Golem skirmishes, when the Golem had first noticeably started to venture from their homesteads of Trinta’ Mar. King Rhenier had been present in one of the scouting parties sent to scope pot their new situation. He, Latimeir, and ten of the best Faerlytian Fighters had made up the party. They had been attacked in the forest by a band of four Golem. This had been his first encounter with the Golem, and he had been scared out of his wits.
He hadn’t expected the Golem to be able to speak with them, but speak they did. They tallest of the Golem, nearly seven feet tall, had stepped forward. “So,” he hissed in an eerie, other worldly voice, “you must be King Rhenier, ruler of this pathetic country.” He spat out the words as if they tasted vile in his slimy mouth. “Your puny, weak human troops will be no match for us when we attack in full force. This is what Gothedar wishes to tell you.”
“Who is this-this Gothedar?” Rhenier asked, keeping a hand on his hilt.
“Lord Gothedar rules us from his throne in the realm of Trinta’ Mar,” hissed the Golem. “He wishes you to know that we shall steal the most powerful weapon in all of Havenia, the thing that brings you much joy. And also, when we attack in full force, it will be wise for you to surrender as soon as possible, or you will regret your decision until the moment that your last, dying breath rattles from your lungs.” The Golem’s eyes had glinted from orange to a fiery red as he ran his tongue over sharp black teeth.
Rhenier’s grip on his sword had tightened. “Why would this Gothedar forewarn me that he was going to steal something? Wouldn’t he want to do it by stealth?”
The Golem’s smile widened, revealing that his teeth were longer than they initially appeared. “He tells you part of his plan because it has been foreseen in an ancient Golem prophecy, and it does not matter whether you know it or not, because you are not able to stop what is going to happen. This event will come to pass. It is inevitable. This is all he wishes you to know for the time being. If Lord Gothedar wishes you to know more in the future, then you will know more, even if you do not wish to. Now,” he hissed, motioning his fellow Golem forward, “you shall have a taste of Golem battle. Attack!”
The Golem drew a wickedly sharp scimitar from his scabbard, two of the other Golem knocked arrows in their bows, and the remaining one held his tail in his hand, like a flaming whip. With a distinct ring of steel, Rhenier and his men drew their weapons, and charged into the Golem, swinging their swords in slashing blows.
King Rhenier made contact with one of the smaller golem’s side, and he could feel steel slicing through ribs. The golem let out an unearthly shriek that sent chills down the mens’ spines, and then, as it staggered, it whipped its tail in a fiery arc, singeing Rhenier’s hand. He winced in pain as fire bit into his forearm and then charged at the golem in a fury as it lay in the leaves, holding its bleeding side. Rhenier held his sword high, and then heaved it down in a shining arc, cleaving off the golem’s head. The fire on its tail extinguished in a burst of acrid smoke that stung Rhenier’s eyes.
As he turned to see how his men were faring, an intense pain blossomed in his left shoulder. He fingered his shoulder with a hand and felt an arrow shaft protruding from his shirt. Trying to ignore the pain, he launched himself into the fray, unheeding of his blood-soaked shirt and the intense pain of the burn on his forearm.
For the next few minutes, the ring of steel and the cries of golem and men reined the forest, and then everything was silent. All of the golem were dead, save the leader of the band. He was on his knees, looking up at the blade of Latameir’s sword. Blood soaked the ground around the golem, running from his severed tail and numerous gashes. As Latameir went for the final thrust, time itself seemed to stand still. The golem’s head turned to meet Rhenier’s gaze. The golem’s eyes were a shade of black that seemed to draw Rhenier into their darkness.
He felt as if he were traveling a great distance, over dark lands and fallow grounds. He saw the twisted spires of a dark castle, rising up to grasp at the stormy red sky. Rhenier was drawn into the castle and was met with a pair of red eyes. Looking into those eyes was like looking into the center of an ancient volcano, ready to erupt. Then a voice, sibilant, yet deep and resounding, ripped through him like black lightning. “I have warned you,” the voice said. “Heed my warning in the days to come, or those shall be your last.”
The real world had then returned to Rhenier like a seismic shockwave, and he saw Latameir’s sword complete his journey through the golem’s throat. He could have sworn that the golem had flashed him a wicked grin as he fell transfixed on the sword, but he had been consumed by blackness before he could be sure. Rhenier had woken up two days later, surrounded by healers in his private bedchamber in the royal quarters of the castle. He had found out that Latameir had carried him the long distance back to the castle with his strength and his magic. Rhenier also found out that he had lost six of his best men that day, all of whom had fallen to the swords, arrows, and fire of the golem.
From that day on, he had considered Faerlyte at war with the golem lands of Trinta’ Mar. King Rhenier turned from his window in the observatory. He realized what had been eating away at his mind, the thing that had been resting heavily over him like an iron mantle. He could still see the red eyes of Gothedar in the darkness of his stronghold in Trinta’ Mar. He could still hear the eerie voice of the golem lord. “Heed my warning in the days to come, or those shall be your last.”
Rhenier had been sitting in his chair in his observatory for over an hour, staring at the tapestry over the mantelpiece while waiting for news of the battle from either Grierden or Latameir. The finely woven showed an image of the Trennandaile Coat of Arms. A three branched tree stood on a dark blue field, with six stars under the branches and an image of the sun above the treetop. The Coat of Arms was outlined in a band of green and gold, the colors of the royal family.
The colors swam before Rhenier’s eyes, then he suddenly snapped out of his gaze. Such waiting was making his exceedingly ancy, and he soon found himself pacing about the room. Another fifteen minutes passed and there was still no sign of either of his commanders. He had given them specific orders to report back as soon as possible, no exceptions. Maybe they had sent a messenger and he had been waylaid in the attempt to relay the message? Or worse….Rhenier shook himself, and then ran his fingers through his hair.
Another ten minutes passed and Rhenier was prepared to go to the frontlines himself when there came a soft knock upon the door. “Come in,” boomed Rhenier. Another knock came and again he invited them to come in. Then a small voice could be heard. “Can’t reach,” it said plaintively.
King Rhenier’s tension relaxed some at the sound of the voice and he crossed the room to open the door. On the other side stood two small girls, barely over the age of three. One of them had a thick curly mane of dark chestnut hair and striking green eyes that matched Rhenier’s eyes exactly. The other had silky, short sandy-blonde hair, clear blue eyes, and a light sprinkling of freckles. Both had rosy cheeks and wore a grim from ear to ear. The former was his own daughter, Varahnielle, and the latter was Latameir’s only daughter, Grace. Rhenier patted them affectionately on their heads, having for the moment forgot about the hectic ordeal going on beyond the castle gates.
He wagged a finger at the pair. “Now, I thought I told you two to stay in your bedroom,” he said, his face the picture of sternness. “Do you know what happens to little girls who disobey kings?”
Grace’s brow wrinkled in fright. “We’re not gonna’ be throwed in the dungeon, are we?” she whispered in a frightful voice
“The dungeon!” Varahnielle gasped. “Not tha dungeon, please!” she pleaded with her father, her small hands clasped before her.
Rhenier smiled and ruffled their hair. “Of course I won’t throw you in the dungeon. It’s no place for little girls. Now,” he said, “what brings you all the way up here to the observatory?”
The girls’ smiles instantly returned. “We brought presents, Daddy,” said Varahnielle. The two girls simultaneously pulled bits of cloth from their pockets and held them up for Rhenier to see. He bent down to bet a closer look. “Why these are beautiful, girls!” He took the presents and held them up to admire them.
“Nurse Bella taught us how ta ‘broider,” piped up Grace.
“She taught you very well,” Rhenier replied. “Very well indeed.”
Suddenly, the sound of fast footfalls could be heard coming from the hallway. King Rhenier’s heart leapt up into his throat. Had one of his commanders finally arrived? When he saw who it was, his heart settled back into his chest. A petite woman in a nursemaid uniform bustled into the room, her long blonde hair flying out of its formerly tidy bun. As soon as she caught sight of the king, she dropped to a knee then performed a curtsy on the way up. “Your Highness, I’m dreadfully sorry. The girls escaped from their room while I was putting away the nettles and thread. I do hope they haven’t disturbed you.”
King Rhenier smiled, “Of course not, Bella.” He indicated the haphazardly embroidered cloths in his hand. “They were just showing me the lovely presents they’ve made me. You’ve done an excellent job of teaching them.”
The corners of Bella’s mouth turned up in a smile. “Thank you, Your Highness. Now, if you don’t mind, of course, I’ll lead these two back to their room so you van have some piece and quiet to go about your business. Speaking of which, if I may ask, Sire, have you heard of any news from outside the castle walls?”
King Rhenier shook his head. “No, that’s what has been worrying me. I should have gotten a report over an hour ago.” He tightened his sword belt. “I plan to go to the frontline myself to see exactly what the dilemma is. I hope to goodness the golem haven’t gotten the upper hand. They’re not the normal sort of enemy. Anything could have happened.” Rhenier hated to admit his words, and the stiffening limbs of Bella made it evident that she, too, did not want to hear such news. She took the two girls by the hand and ushered them out of the room and turned in the doorway. “Good luck, Your Highness. And do take care.” She gave a quick curtsy and left down the hallway. Rhenier smiled slightly as he heard Bella giving the girls a light scolding at their objections to returning to their room, and closed the door. He was left to don his armor in silence.
Rhenier hailed the guards up on the battlements. One of the more senior guards stepped forward, his longbow relaxing as he saw who it was at the gates. “Your Highness,” he shouted down, “what urgency brings you to the gates?” For a moment, Rhenier’s hearing focused on the din of battle beyond the gates, and then he turned his attention back to the guard, “I’ve had no word from my commanders for nigh on two hours! How goes the battle?”
The guard’s head turned to look over the wall, than back again. “Our numbers are fair, but there are already more casualties than I’d like to say. The golem are driven back to the forest edge, m’Lord.” King Rhenier turned to his Fighters and held a quick conference, then faced the guard once more. “Open the gates!” he ordered.
The guards immediately began laboring at the huge wheels that attached chains to the wooden gates on the inside. The gates swung open with a rumbling creak. Rhenier surveyed the scene outside of the gates. A large number of soldiers stood guard on either side of the main gates, prepared to keep enemies from entering at any cost. From his vantage point Rhenier could see the very edge of the fray. The golem had indeed been backed to the far side of the clearing that stretched around the city, but he could still see the flash of steel and golem fire and hear the twanging hum of freshly released arrows
Rhenier and the six Fighters trotted forward, making sure to keep a safe distance away from the golem arrows. The Faerlytian Fighters moved into formation to circle around Rhenier, keeping him protected from all sides. They trotted the diameter of the city, and the main bulk of the battle came into view. The trail of battle could be seen due to the scattering of men and golem lying wounded or dead on the ground. Rhenier painfully wrenched his eyes from the scene of agony and tried frantically to search the ranks for his commanders from a distance, but it was impossible to discern each figure in green and yellow livery from the next.
After searching in vain for countless moments, Rhenier began to turn his gaze away when something caught his eye. His heart jumped rapidly into his throat and sank just as quickly back down into his stomach. He broke from his protective circle of Fighters at a canter and weaved his way through bodies and debris to a figure kneeling not a hundred yards away from him.
Rhenier dismounted fluidly and ran to the figure, stopping when he was about ten feet away. The tall, lanky man kneeling before him was facing the other way, but Rhenier knew who it was as soon as he saw the short, sandy-blonde hair on the man’s helmetless head, and the long, thin saber sheathed at his side.
Rhenier took a step forward, “Latameir.”
The man turned his head slightly to the side, not looking to see who it was, but listening. ‘Rhenier is that you?” he asked, barely audible.
“Yes, it’s me. Latameir, thank goodness you’re alive! When I didn’t get a report…And what of Greirden? How does he fare?” Latameir replied, just as quietly as before. “He fares well. He has the golem at bay, like the fine commander he is.”
Rhenier took another step forward. “But, Latameir, why are you not joining the fray? My bravest commander, not fighting…” He stopped himself in mid-sentence, having for the first time realized why exactly Latameir was kneeling there. The body of a soldier was lain out before him; transfixed in the left arm was a slender golem arrow. “Latameir, what is the matter?” he asked.
“Wounded,” replied Latameir.
“But it’s just a trivial arrow wound, nothing the healers can’t fix. He’ll be fine in a day or two. If you’re worried for his life, I say you should be worried for the lives of the many more you could be saving if you were helping to drive back the golem.”
Latameir shook his head sadly and turned so his eyes met Rhenier’s. Rhenier was shocked to see that the commander’s eyes were reddened and tear streaks wound their trails down his face. “You don’t understand,” Latameir said softly, and then removed the polished helmet from the unconscious soldier’s head. A single, strawberry-blonde braid tumbled from beneath it, and the soldier’s face was revealed for the first time. It was not a man, but Latameir’s wife, Helena Alturrin.
King Rhenier advanced a few paces. “Oh, Latameir…When did you discover her?”
“Not a few minutes before you arrived. She was-”
But this was all the information Rhenier needed. He turned to one of his Fighters. “Westall!” One of the Fighters to his left hastily dismounted and approached, bowing as he did.
“Yes, Sire?”
“You have successfully teleported before, have you not?”
“Yes, I have, Sire,” Westall replied immediately, willing to help in any way necessary.
“Excellent, I need you to transport Mrs. Alturrin to the Healers’ Hall in the castle at once.” Westall bowed, then stepped toward Helena. He gently picked her limp body up with the aid of Latameir. He tightly closed his eyes, concentrating very deeply on his destination, muttered the spell under his breath, and, faster than the blink of an eye, Westall and Helena disappeared.
King Rhenier glanced at his friend, hoping to see a trace of relief, but Latameir’s face remained traced in grief, as if he had already lost his wife. “She’ll be fine,” Rhenier encouraged. “We’ll get her bandaged up and with a couple of days of rest, she’ll be completely well and ready to get back to what she loves to do.”
Latameir shook his head in spite of the King’s words, “No, she was wounded with a poison tipped arrow. Judging by how quickly it acted upon her, I believe it to be Hyravenom.”
Rhenier then knew why his commander feared the worst for his wife. From what he knew, Hyravenom was extracted solely from a Hyradron, a serpent found and bread only in Trinta’ Mar. Though he had not personally experienced the effects of Hyravenom, he had heard terrible stories and recollections from Greirden, who had friends who had fallen to the poison.
He told him that the poison was unlike any other. It had sinister effects on unfortunate humans or animals it managed to infect. So sinister, that only something found in Trinta’ Mar could cause it. The effects were inexpressible paint to every joint, bone, and muscle, dangerously high fevers, which, in turn, often induced hallucinations. There were numerous other horrible symptoms that Rhenier didn’t even want to think of. He knew that anti-venom had no effect on Hyravenom in any way, and sometimes, even the most powerful tonics, potions, and elixirs could not dull the pain of the sufferer. Sadly enough, there was no known antidote for it, and Rhenier couldn’t recall a single person who had survived after being infected. The poison left the person lingering at the very edge of life and death, until the spirit finally gave up or the body became too tired.
King Rhenier knew that if Helena was to survive, she would have an extremely long road ahead of her. He dared not speak a word of it to Latameir, though, who presently was looking in the direction of the castle with worry, wondering if his wife was safely within its walls yet. Rhenier mimicked his eyes and glanced at the castle towers, the only visible part of the castle they could see from that direction. “Have faith, Latameir,” he said finally. “Westall has undoubtedly gotten Helena to the Healers’ Halls at the fastest pace he could muster, and I have complete trust in Healer Brander. If we have acted quickly enough, she might be able to cleanse her blood of it.”
“I do hope so,” sighed Latameir. “Will you send word it her condition if it changes in any way?”
“Of course,” Rhenier responded, “But if you would like to come back to the castle for a few hours…”
Latameir shook his head even before Rhenier had finished his suggestion. “No, I won’t hear any of it, and neither would Helena. I’m needed here.”
“I understand,” Rhenier replied, “but if Helena takes a turn for the worst, I want you to be there for her, regardless of whether the battle is over or not. I cannot stand aside and watch your wife fall ill while you are absent because of my command.” Latameir nodded. “Now,” Rhenier said, “what of my report was supposed to receive?”
Healer Brander, a very experienced woman of her profession, had been giving her fullest efforts toward healing Helena. She was busy day and night fixing the strongest of potions and elixirs. She had never treated a Hyravenom patient before, only heard of possible remedies, and she inwardly feared that her medicines weren’t strong enough. On the fifth day, however, Healer Brander’s efforts were rewarded when Helena regained consciousness, though only for a few minutes, enough time for Latameir and Grace to visit her. It was a short lived victory, but it gave the inhabitants of the castle a bit more hope that Helena’s condition would improve.
Rhenier’s attention returned to the room he was sitting in as an abrupt knock sounded from the other side of the door. Expecting it to be one of his soldiers with a report, he immediately invited the person inside, but the figures that entered were far from the mere foot soldiers he had anticipated; they were Greirden and Latameir.
“What is it?” Rhenier asked, rising from his seat, with a newfound alertness in his voice. He knew his best commanders would only leave the battlefield in the midst of fighting for the direst of emergencies. Either the battle had been won or something had gone horribly wrong.
“They’ve vanished,” Greirden stated simply.
“Elaborate,” the King responded.
“There isn’t much to elaborate on,” his brother replied. “I was right in the middle of combat with a golem when I glanced to the left as an arrow flew by my head; when I turned back, it was gone, as well as every other golem that had been present.”
“Where do you suppose they have gone?” Rhenier asked.
“My guess is that they have retreated for the time being. Their numbers were diminishing, though I cannot say much. Our troops have suffered their fare share of losses as well.”
Rhenier nodded in thought. Though the golem were gone, their disappearance was definitely not a reassuring sign. If they had teleported, they could be anywhere around the borders of Faerlyte, undetected, ready to attack once more. “We need to strengthen our security. Send word to the surrounding cities. Tell them to at least double their sentries at the gates and to put up new locks.”
Latameir nodded in agreement. “It will be done immediately, but that is not all we have to report.
Rhenier gave then a curious look. “Yes? What else?”
Latameir extracted a small piece of parchment from his pocket. It was wrinkled and stained with a substance that looked eerily like dried blood. “This was found an arrow shaft among the dead.” He handed it to him and Rhenier read the short note, scribbled in spidery handwriting…
Remember the prophecy and heed well the warning that has been given to you…
Rhenier’s thoughts immediately flew back to the day of the golem skirmish. He relived the entire event in his mind, settling on the warning that had been given to him that day. Rhenier finally looked up at his commanders, his brother and dear friend, who were awaiting further orders. “Thank you,” he stated finally. “I’ll see to this and I’ll leave the seeing of the gates in both your capable hands.” His commanders nodded and Rhenier dismissed them so they could go about their business.
Once the door was closed, Rhenier’s thought, deeply concerned with the note. Many questions came to his mind at once. What was the most powerful weapon in all of Havenia, and how had he come to possess it? When were the golem going to attack in full force? He couldn’t be sure. It could be anywhere from the next few days to the next several years. Rhenier sighed. Until then, he would have to recruit and train more warriors, for he would need them to make up for the current losses. Rhenier hated to think of the next task before him. Within the next few days, he would have to visit the widows and families of the fallen soldiers. It would not be a cheerful occasion.
He moved his thoughts back to his current situation. What weapon do the golem want? What brought him most joy? My family, he answered himself, but could they be considered a weapon? They were definitely very dear to him, and so were his beloved friends the Alturrins. Rhenier knew then and there that he would have to do everything within his power to protect them, especially Greirden and Latameir, whom he thought would be the most likely candidates for being the “weapon”.
It would definitely be the wisest decision the golem could make. Without his best commanders, the Faerlyte army would be nothing, and, with a weak army, the kingdom would be completely vulnerable. He knew that Greirden and Latameir wouldn’t be too pleased with his decision, but he would have to be more selective on what missions he sent them out on and where. He sat back in his chair, his arms crossed. Yes, he thought, things will definitely have to change. We can’t be as careless as we were before.
Helena gave an involuntary groan as she practically forced her limbs to move o that she could find a more comfortable spot to lay. She caught Healer Brander’s attention, who had been too enveloped in her study to notice Helena. Healer Brander jumped up from her seat as if she had sat on a rather sharp object and began to gather the medicine she had prepared earlier that day. “Oh, Mrs. Alturrin, I hadn’t noticed you were awake! I pray that you are feeling a bit better?”
Helena didn’t answer. She was feeling even worse than she had the previous days. She inwardly knew that her time was running out and that the only thing that was keeping her alive was Healer Brander’s handiwork. She also knew that she couldn’t live in suck a way, surviving hour by hour, completely dependant on medicines. It would be a waste of effort and time on Healer Brander’s part. There were other soldiers who needed her attention; ones’ whose lives could be saved. It wasn’t fair to her loved ones, either, by raising their hopes. She didn’t want to hurt them anymore than she needed to by meddling with their emotions with false reports that she was doing well and that she would get better.
Helena glanced over at the healer, who was currently pouring her elixir into a glass for her. “Healer Brander,” she said with difficulty. It even hurt her jaw to talk.
“Yes,” Healer Brander replied, giving her patient her full attention.
“Tell me honestly,” Helena said slowly, “how well am I faring? How much time do I have?”
Healer Brander furrowed her brows, “Honestly?” Helena nodded. “Well,” the healer answered, “not very well at all. Without my Elixirs you would have perished several days ago.”
Helena closed her eyes for a moment, in thought. “How much time would I have if I didn’t take the medicine now?”
“An hour at best,” Healer Brander replied, beginning to see where the conversation was leading. “But you couldn’t possibly be-”
“Oh, I am,” Helena replied, her mind made up.
“But…” Healer Brander was almost in shock. “I-I don’t understand.”
Helena gave her a faint smile. “Healer Brander, I’m positive that you and your healers have done everything within your power to keep me well, but I can’t continue to live dose by dose. You and I both know that. Plus you have other patients who need you much more than me. You need to tend to them while they still have time. I don’t want any more casualties in this war than is needed, and I don’t want to be at fault for it.”
There was a long silence. Healer Brander stood stock still, the words gradually sinking in. When she was finally convinced that her hearing had not failed her, she laid the glass back down. “If that is what you wish…” the healer turned to her, “Are you absolutely sure?”
Helena nodded very slightly, trying to move as little as possible. “I’m positive.”
There was a short silence. “Is there anything that I can do for you?” Healer Brander asked.
Helena immediately responded, “Could you call for my husband and daughter?”
“Of course,” Healer Brander complied.
Latameir walked down the long corridor leading to his daughter’s bedroom. His mind was racing. He had just spoken with Healer Brander, and, though he rejoiced in the fact that he would be able to speak with his wife in her last moments, his heart ached. He didn’t want to let her go. She meant too much to him. He respected her noble wishes…however much pain it meant he needed to endure. She deserved at least that much.
He had no idea of how he would explain the situation to his small daughter either. He sighed, trying to keep the hurt and grief from reaching his heart. He would need to be strong for Grace and especially for his wife. Latameir approached the large bedroom door and knocked, not wanting to be too intrusive on Bella and the girls. A few seconds passed by and Bella answered the door. “Hello, Mr. Alturrin,” she said brightly, obviously trying to improve his mood, which she sensed was very negative.
He glanced over her shoulder and into the nursery, where his daughter, Varahnielle, and Greirden’s eldest son, Amrian, were playing with each other on a very elegant rug. Each of them had a Faerlytian Fighter figure at hand and several play horses surrounding them. “I need to see my daughter, please,” he finally answered.
“Oh,” Bella responded, her smile disappearing, clearly aware of what was going on, “of course.” She turned, “Grace, dear, your father wants to see you.”
Grace, upon hearing Bella’s words, brought her attention to who was at the door, and smiled broadly. Latameir’s heart felt even heavier when he saw his daughter’s happy disposition. He didn’t even know where to begin telling her about Helena’s condition. She was far too young to understand the subject of death, even with her parents’ positions in the Faerlytian army. He hadn’t even begun to fathom hoe different their lives were going to be without Helena.
Grace ran to the door and hugged her father around the legs, “Daddy!” she said excitedly. “You’re back! I thought you were at tha’ gates.”
Latameir smiled slightly for the sake of his daughter. “Mommy’s awake and she wants us to go see her,” he said, not knowing exactly what else to say.
Grace’s eyes widened with excitement. “‘Weally?” She took hold of Latameir’s left hand with her two tiny ones and pulled him toward the hallway. “Come on, then!”
Latameir exchanged knowing glances with Bella. Her frown deepened. “Let me know if I can be of any assistance,” she spoke quietly. He gave a small nod and then followed his daughter out into the corridor.
They walked in silence, Grace almost skipping with excitement. Latameir was inwardly deciding whether or not to tell his small child about the condition of his wife, at least not right now. He wanted Grace to be happy during the last moments of Helena’s life, not confused or full of grief. He thought it best not to tell her until it actually happened. He was sure that it would also make her wife feel better to see her smiling face.
Grace turned to her father, snapping him out of his thoughts, “Is Mommy feeling better? Are we goin’ to be able to tawk to her more than last time?”
“I’m not sure,” Latameir replied, finding it extremely hard to lie to her. “I do know that she’s not feeling too well,” he added, “so we’re going to have to stay calm and quiet, alright?”
Grace nodded and put an index finger to her lips. Latameir couldn’t help but smile slightly. They both walked in silence until they reached the Healers’ Halls and entered the infirmary. They turned left and arrived Helena’s room. Grace ran to the door and attempted to open it, but, as usual, she was too short to reach the knob. Latameir knocked and it was immediately answered by Healer Brander. She smiled faintly, though her gray eyes were slightly teary. “Come on in. I’ll leave and let you three have some time alone.”
Helena lay in bed, waiting with a genuine smile for her family. “Mommy!” Grace said, completely forgetting her promise to her father about being quiet. She raced to her bedside.
“Hello, sweetheart,” Helena replied weakly.
“Grace,” Latameir said accusingly, “I thought I told you to keep quiet.”
“Opps,” Grace whispered, putting a hand over her mouth. “Sowwy.”
“It’s alright, Latameir. She’s not hurting anything.”
Latameir sat down by his wife. Grace settled in his lap. He looked at Helena with concern, and she could see tears forming in his eyes. “So, how are you feeling?” he asked, blinking back tears. “Is there anything I can do?”
Helena shook her head, “No, you’ve done everything you possibly could, so have Healer Brander, and Rhenier, and everyone else who has helped. It’s just something that has to happen.” Her voice gave no indication of fear. Latameir couldn’t respond. He simply choked on a sob and turned his face away so neither his wife nor daughter would see.
Grace was puzzled, “What’s ‘wong, Daddy?”
Helena’s brow furrowed. “Latameir, my love, have you not told her what is happening?” He could only shake his head. Helena gave a tired sigh, and closed her eyes, thinking about what to say to her little girl.
“Grace,” she finally said, “come sit next to me.” Grace obeyed and climbed in bed next to her mother. She was careful, though, not to make too much noise or movement. The last thing she wanted to do was hurt her. “Grace, I need to tell you something very important and I need you to listen to me very carefully, alright?” Grace nodded. Helena sighed, “Pretty soon, sweetheart,” she paused, trying to think of the easiest way to say what needed to be said, “I’m going to go away.”
“Okay,” Grace replied simply, “for how ‘wong?” She was used to her parents leaving to perform missions outside of Faerlyte.
“No, dear, you don’t understand. You won’t see me for what will seem like a very long time.”
Grace seemed to be confused once more. “But why?”
“It’s because I’ve been sick,” Helena explained.
“But-but you’re goin’ to get bedder,” Grace replied.
Helena thought carefully before answering her daughter. “Yes, I will…eventually, but like I said I’m going to be gone for quite a while.”
“Where you goin’” Grace inquired.
Helena breathed deeply and slowly. “I’m going to a place that’s far away. A place where everybody is happy and there is never any pain or fear or tears.”
“Can I go wiv’ you?” Grace asked.
“No, dear,” Helena replied. “You need to stay here with Daddy.”
“But…” Grace said slowly, “but, I’m going to miss you.”
“What if I give you something to help remember me by? Will you still miss me then?” Grace nodded her head. “You still will miss me?” Helena asked, frowning. She didn’t want her daughter to hurt over her. She had so much to do and discover in the years to come without worrying her. “Well, maybe it’ll help,” she suggested. Grace shrugged her little shoulders. “Why don’t you close your eyes?” Grace did as she was told and Helena gestured toward the table on the far side of the room. Latameir picked up the necklace, approached his daughter, and latched it around his neck.
You can open your eyes now,” Helena said, smiling weakly.
Grace looked down and when she saw the jewel of deep red, her eyes widened. “Mommy, your City Stone! Don’ you need it?”
“Not anymore. I’m giving it to you.”
“When will you be back from your trip?”
Helena’s eyes were gathering tears, solely because her daughter was in pain. “Well, sweetheart,” she swallowed, “I’m not coming back.”
“What?” Graces voice was panicked. “What do ya’ mean?”
“I’m not coming back, but you and Daddy will be able to see me again someday.”
“How?” Grace asked, tears rolling down her cheeks.
“You’ll just have to trust me, dear. You do trust me don’t you?”
Grace nodded. “When do you have to ‘weave?” she asked through a sob.
“Pretty soon, honey.” Grace began to cry completely. “Shh…” Helena responded, drying her tears, “don’t be so upset.” Grace couldn’t stop the flow of tears.
Latameir picked her up and placed her in his lap. “She’ll be fine,” he said as Grace sobbed into his tunic. Helena frowned. “After all,” he continued. “she’s so much like you.”
“I just don’t want you, or Grace for that matter, to grieve over me,” Helena stated weakly, settling back into her bed, “Because I’ve lived a fulfilling life. I’ve had you, I have had a beautiful daughter, and I’ve served my country the best that I could. I’m dying in the best way any true Faerlytian can.” Helena’s breathing became labored. “And I couldn’t be happier.”
Latameir choked on another sob, “It’s going to be so hard without you.”
“I’ll still be with you, you know that. And I’ll always love you.”
“I love you, too,” he took her hand in his, “more than anything you could ever imagine. My heart will never belong to anyone but you.”
Helena smiled slightly, “No, I won’t hold it against you if you find another love. Grace will need another mother and-”
“No,” Latameir stated, his voice coated with emotion. He blinked back tears, struggling not to completely loose his composure. “All my life I hoped for someone like you, and I know that I’m the luckiest man in the world to have you. You’re beautiful in everything you do, you’re the noblest person I know, and I cherish every moment we have together. Helena, you’re all I’ve known; you’re my everything.” He swallowed and the tears finally released. “There is no way I could find anyone to compare to you.”
Helena smiled through her tears as she squeezed his hand, “You mean the world to me, too. I love you so mush and I always will.” Her words were extremely weak and slow.
Latameir leaned over and kissed her, lovingly, one last time. He held her for a few moments, hoping that if he held her tightly enough, that she might somehow not leave him, but deep in his heart, he knew his wife’s time had come. The room was still and silent when Helena’s grip lessened. I was then that Latameir knew his love had slipped off into that beautiful land that she had so long loved and believed in. She had finally reached a place where not even the golems’ power and wickedness could get to.
Latameir, with a heavy heart, let go of his wife’s hand. He looked down at her. She seemed to be in such a painless, peaceful sleep, and he knew she was. He believed every word she had told Grace. He knew that Helena would be with them both in spirit, and that her untimely death was not a curse or an eternal good-bye. He was certain he would see her again, and until that day he would have to continue to defend Faerlyte to the best of his ability and be everything to Grace as well.
He turned his attention to his daughter, who was still quietly crying in his lap. “Shh, sweetheart. Calm down” He patted her hair affectionately.
Grace coughed and through a stuffy nose and teary eyes, asked, “Why does Mommy wan’ to leave?”
Latameir sighed, “She’s already gone, sweetheart, and she didn’t want to go. It was simply her time. We all must go eventually.”
Grace looked over at the bed and saw her mother’s figure. She became puzzled. “But she’s ‘wight there.”
Latameir shook his head, “No, honey, Mommy’s body might be there…” He paused a moment. “Do you remember when Mommy told you that you had a spirit inside you?” Grace nodded her head slowly, as if struggling to remember. “Well,” Latameir continued, “Mommy’s body might be here, but Mommy’s spirit is somewhere else.”
Though Grace was still confused, she took her father’s word. “Will you go away, too?” she asked worriedly.
Latameir smiled slightly and hugged his daughter, the only person in his life he loved, “Not for a very long time, honey.” He picked Grace up, gave one last look to his wife, and walked out of the room, beginning, though not readily, the rest of his life without Helena.