Be serious, now.
“Venick.” Dourin appeared. The trek through the mountains had been eerily uneventful. They had seen no sign of the southern army or its conjurors. But now the mountains were behind them and only uncertainly lay ahead. “The path will soon split.”
It was a conversation worn old between them these past three days. Dourin wanted Venick to stay. Dourin wanted Venick to fight. Dourin wanted a human ally in the war that was to come.
And warwascoming. The southerners undoubtedly had elves in each major city from here to Tarrith-Mour. With Evov’s supply of green glass, they would be able to arm those elves. When Farah took the throne, the execution would be swift. The only question now was how strong the northern resistance would be.
Not strong, judging by what Venick could see.
“We need you,” Dourin said.
“I’ve made my opinion clear. And you don’t need me.”
“Yes, we do.” Dourin motioned at him with a hand. “Youare the one who discovered the southerners’ plots.Youhave the mind for excellent military strategy. You and Ellina—” But he broke off.
Venick could point out that he had already told Dourin everything he knew about the southerners. He could point out that hisexcellent military strategyhadn’t won them anything. But it wouldn’t be true for him to say that they couldn’t use him. They could. Still: “I want nothing to do with your war.”
“Ourwar.” Dourin corrected. “Ours. The southerners just secured a critical northern city. A northern city halfway between the Shallow Sea and the mainlands,yourhome. If you were them, where would you strike next?”
“The southerners have no interest in the mainlands.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Sure enough to risk your family’s life? Your own?”
Venick shrugged, but his lies were quickly unraveling. It was true, what Dourin suspected. The southernerswouldcome for the mainlands, eventually. Venick remembered stumbling upon the southern army and cornering a conjuror, his sword held against the elf’s pale neck.We are not coming for the mainlands, the southerner had said.At least—not yet.
Venick thought of his mother. He thought of his hunting knife that had been a gift. How losing that gift felt like losing a piece of her. She was innocent. All the people of Irek were. Humans were people of war, but the southerners had conjurors. They had a massive army. If the southern elves overtook the north and then invaded the west, his mother would die. They all would.
“Help us,” Dourin said.
Venick adjusted the sword on his hip and made no reply.
“What will you do otherwise? When the world is at war, where will you go?”
More silence.
“It is not like you to run.” Dourin narrowed his eyes, then let out a long sigh. “We need each other.”
Venick gazed back towards Evov. Though he couldn’t see the city, he imagined that he did. He imagined that he could see right through to the palace. He saw Farah on the throne. He saw the quick cunning she and her sister shared, the mind for lies, the willingness to do anything to get what they wanted. Venick saw Rishiana’s lifeless body. He saw Raffan.
And Ellina.
Venick thought of his homeland. His dreams of one day returning there, all the sleepless nights he’d lain awake contemplating the price of his redemption, the sacrifice it would take to absolve himself in the eyes of his mother. If Venick ever wanted to return home, there must first be a home for him to returnto.
He could do what he yearned to do, which was to turn his back on the elves and their war, to forget everything he’d heard and seen and felt, to return to the mountains and the clansmen and forget the world, forget his hope of redemption, forget Ellina.
Or he could stay and fight. Could aid the northern elves. Could save his homeland and maybe earn himself a place back in it.
Venick remembered Ellina insisting that she made her own choices. How he believed her choices were an illusion. He thought maybe his were, too. War was coming. He was in it whether he wished it or not.
“Formypeople,” Venick finally replied. “For them, I will join you.”
Dourin touched a hand to his own chest, then reached out and placed that hand on Venick’s shoulder. It was a symbol of elven friendship, and of thanks. Venick hesitated. There was a time when such a gesture would have warmed him. Now, though, he was tired of elves and their laws and lies and language. He was tired of wanting their acceptance. He did not want to fight for a race who regarded him as an enemy.
Dourin had, once. But Dourin wasn’t looking at him with an enemy’s eyes now. Dourin was his friend. Venick thought about that. He wondered when he and Dourin had become friends. He realized he was glad for it.
