Venick should be there. He should be carrying that rosewater, speaking those prayers. He should help heft the weight of those bodies. But his mother was among the dead, and he could not. He delegated those tasks to someone else.
He walked on. Venick wished, not for the first time, that he was a boy again. He wished that he could return to the days when he’d been small, and his greatest worry had been how many fish he could catch on his hook, and what kind of pie his mother was baking for dinner. He wanted to be young enough that he could tuck himself into the folds of her apron and tell her that he loved her, because he hadn’t done it enough as a child, and not at all as a man.
But he was thinking again.
???
Venick returned to the city square sometime after midday. Dourin was there. He’d found Venick as the dust had begun to settle, shaken but—like most of the elves—unharmed, and had spent the morning acting as Venick’s right hand.
Dourin returned to his side now. The elf’s forearms and biceps were smeared with ash, though his hands were clean. Venick focused on this. It felt good to focus on something that wasn’t death or destruction. Dourin must have washed his hands. Not in a well or fountain. The water was all polluted. But the ocean, maybe.
“Venick.”
Venick’s eyes came up. A crowd was gathering, elves and humans drawing close. Their faces were wary yet expectant, as if they were waiting for—hell, what? A eulogy? A rousing speech? Venick bristled at the idea.
“Venick,” Dourin said again. Prodding.
“I don’t have anything to say to them,” Venick muttered.
“Yes you do.”
The onlookers waited. Venick thought about everything he’d done to gain redemption. How little any of it mattered now. The council was dead. There was no one left to pass judgment, no one left to turn him away, nothing even left to turn him awayfrom.
“You were right,” came a voice from the crowd. Venick looked around. He couldn’t be sure who’d spoken. “Everything you said about the dark elves, everything you’ve been warning us about. You were right.”
There was a murmur of agreement. Someone else said, “They’ll infiltrate our cities.”
“They want to kill us all.”
“They’ll be back, you mark my words.”
More nods, more mutterings. Venick spotted the healer Erol in the crowd, the white canvas of his robes flecked with ash and blood. Behind him, Venick was surprised to see Harmon. She met his eye and crossed her arms. Waiting, like everyone else, to hear what he had to say.
Venick cleared his throat. “I’m going to the highlands.”
The crowed shuffled, their cloaks ruffling like winter birds. This was not the speech they were expecting.
“I’m going to the highlands,” Venick continued, “to ask the Elder for his support.”
What?came the crowd’s murmurs.
The Elder?
You can’t.
“I’ve seen the Dark Army,” Venick pressed. “I’ve met the queen and fought her conjurors, and I can tell you thatthis,” he swept his hand around, “is the least of what they can do. You’re right. They’ll be back, and when they come, they’ll bring the full force of their power with them. We can’t win this war alone. There’s no hope of it.
“In two days’ time, I’ll ride north to Parith to request an audience with the Elder. I’ll visit our lowlander brothers along the way, recruiting as many men as I can. I ask of you what I will ask of them: join me. Fight this fight. Help me avenge those who died here tonight and protect our home from another purge.”
That word seemed to light something inside the crowd.Purge. This attack was just like it had been all those centuries ago when elves had exterminated every last human conjuror. Always, humans had believed that elves would return to finish what they’d started. It seemed now that fate was upon them.
For a long moment, no one moved. Then Erol stepped forward. He drew his dagger and held it up into the air.By my blade, the motion meant. A symbol of support. “I will join you,” Erol said.
The man behind him did the same. “And I.”
All at once, theshingof swords filled the air as every soldier drew his weapon and held it to the sunlight. After a beat, the elves followed, pulling out their swords, hoisting them up in that human way. It was a sea of steel and green glass shimmering brightly over the blackened streets: a phoenix from ashes.
???
