Chronicles of Ilandri - Volume 1

Despair (Pt.2)

The queen stood and walked over to Nathaniel. She was so graceful it seemed as if she floated over the floor. Looking deep into his eyes Nathaniel felt a strange warmth, one he had not felt since he was a boy. "You believe him to be untrue Rhaelon?" The queen asked her husband.
"I am not convinced. I do not understand how he came into possession of that foul weapon." The king's voice had softened slightly but his glare was still poisonous. Nathaniel then began his tale from the beginning, on the day his patrol had left Ollorath, through all the events of the fall of the city, settling in Nimwe, and his current quest. King Rhaelon listened intently to the story, though his expression did not change.

Once he had given the king and queen the full details, they remained silent, as if absorbing the story. "If what you say is true," Rhaelon began finally, "This is troubling news to hear Ollorath has fallen into the hands of dark elves. Though I am still struggling to believe you are not some dark elf infiltrator."
"Father!" a voice boomed from the back of the hall. All heads turned to see who it was, though Nathaniel had to wait for the owner of the voice to walk into his view. Boots stomped towards him with a confident gait. A tall elf, very ressemblent of the king, approached. He was wearing a similar armour to the captain Creolin, though the mantiling on his armour was gold. He also wore a silver circlet crown, far more subtle than the king and queen's. "There is an easier way to tell if he speaks the truth," the prince announced, slightly disapproving of his father's temper. "Bring forth a crucible!" He commended.

From somewhere behind Nathaniel, an elf came forward carrying a large copper bowl between his hands. It was set down on the floor in front of him and then the prince approached, drawing a knife from beneath his cape. The prince then cut the rope from Nathaniel's hands, allowing his arms their natural freedom. He had been tied up for so long that his arms were stiff and seized. His shoulder muscles groaned with an acute pain for a brief moment, until he had massaged it away. "I need a drop of blood," the prince asked courteously, handing Nathaniel the knife. This was very trusting and whilst the thought of grabbing him and using the knife to hold him hostage crossed his mind, he knew the success of his mission counted on good relations with the elves. Nathaniel lightly cut across his palm and waited for the blood to rise. As the red line grew dark across his hand, he clenched his fist and squeezed it over the bowl. The drip formed and then splashed into the copper crucible with a faint tick sound. The prince then handed him a bandage to bind the wound and proceeded to cut his own hand.

The prince's drop of blood fell down into the crucible and silence fell across the hall. The prince began to whisper words, though Nathaniel could not make out what he said. After a few seconds there was a hissing sound and white smoke began to billow from the bowl. The king looked visibly stunned, though the prince and the queen both wore a slight smugness on their faces. "Proof father, that this is Rhelia's son, your grandson." Rhaelon said nothing for a moment, still stunned by the revelation. "Release the prisoners," he said eventually, though with a little reluctance. Nathaniel looked to Grolt with surprise and Mutt simply looked happy not to have a spear poking him in the back. "You say you are here to speak to me personally. Well you are here now, so speak," Rhaelon added, dismissively. Nathaniel took a deep breath and carefully considered his words before he spoke. "I was sent by my friend, the wizard Torstein." He began, "To ask for your assistance. The dark elves have conquered the lands north of the river Myga. Torstein says they are damming the river to cross, though he does not know what their purpose is. We need your help to push them back, out of Sethryn, out of Ollorath, back beyond the Garok mountains. I plead with you, for the sake of my people."

Rhaelon stood silent, his eyes closed as he listened to Nathaniel's plea. Everyone in the hall was silent, waiting on the king to speak. "This truly is a grave matter," he said, breaking the silence like a hammer on glass. "The elves of Ormurien paid dearly to help man once before. I must carefully consider before I give you my answer. You are welcome in my court until then, Prince Auron will look after you." He said, glowering at his son. Auron smiled at Nathaniel reassuringly. Nathaniel, Grolt and Mutt had their weapons and possessions returned to them. All but Nathaniel's pendant. "Father, you are forgetting something," Auron called as the elven court dispersed. All eyes turned back onto the prince. "By our laws, your own laws, the pendant belongs to Nathaniel, by rite of inheritance," he said with a sly grin on his face. King Rhaelon scowelled then threw the pendant toward Nathaniel. Quickly he snatched it from the air, replacing it around his neck, feeling instantly relieved to have the metal on his skin once more. Auron then led the three companions away, out of a side door to the hall.