Page 54 of The Truth

“Master!” Salara’s voice rang out, and Eltoar turned to see her jogging through the rain with Fane at her side.

He gave them the faintest of smiles, then turned back to the statue before him. A hundred and fifty feet tall, hewn by hand from the white stone that comprised the entire city.

Wet footsteps sounded at his side, and he glanced at Fane as the man came to a stop and asked, “What are you doing out here?”

“Thinking.”

“I do my best thinking when I’m dry.”

“Master.” Salara moved to stand in front of Eltoar. She had grown into a fine woman. Strong in both body and heart. Simply the sight of her lit a flame within him.

“I am not your master anymore, Salara. You are a Draleid in your fullest now. You are my kin.”

“You will always be my master.” She wiped her saturated black hair from her face. “Let’s go inside. You’ll catch your death.”

Eltoar laughed at that, a laugh so deep he couldn’t quite believe it himself.

“What’s funny?” Fane asked, leaning forward to look into Eltoar’s eyes.

“The thought that I might die from illness or disease because I stood in the rain for too long.” He laughed again. “Would that not be poetry? To have killed so many, to have forged rivers in blood and filled oceans with corpses…” He burst out laughing hysterically. “I die from standing in the rain?”

Fane stared at him a few moments longer, then touched Salara’s shoulder. “Salara, could you go back and set the fire?”

“I’m not leaving him.” Salara looked into Eltoar’s eyes, and the strange laughter that had overcome him vanished.

“I’m sorry, Salara, for not being who you thought I was.”

Salara grasped the sides of Eltoar’s head. “You are everything I thought you were. The fact that you are here, the fact that your heart still grieves for every death is what makes you that person. And so long as you are that person, I will never leave your side, Master.”

Eltoar smiled at her, brushing wet hair from her face. “I could not be prouder of you, Salara. Not if you reached to the skies and grabbed a star in your palm.”

“Salara.” Fane placed a hand on Salara’s shoulder. “Please.”

Salara looked from Eltoar to Fane and back again before giving a reluctant nod. She squeezed Eltoar’s hand. “Du aendret myia viël. Du é anis, akar. Du é anis thwe é niassil.”

You changed my life. You are safe, brother. You are safe, and you are loved.

Eltoar watched Salara as she walked towards Helios. The young elf pressed her forehead against the great dragon’s snout, and a wave of warmth spread form Helios to Eltoar. The dragon pushed into her chest, a rumble in his throat. He still remembered Salara as the little girl who had come to them. That warm, joy-filled child.

When Salara left, Fane stood beside Eltoar.

“What’s happened?”

“Must something happen for me to stand in the rain until I can’t feel my own skin?”

“I hope so.” Fane smiled at him.

“I told Farda something. Something that I should have told him a long time ago. I think it broke him. And I realised that I don’t know who I am anymore.”

Fane let silence take the place of words.

“We knew about Orinhale before it happened. We knew that Aerilon had sent ships, and of their intention.”

“Farda’s nieces…”

Eltoar nodded. “Last night, he found a bar of that soap he was always buying them. He broke down. I couldn’t keep silent any longer. We could have saved them.” He shook his head, staring up into the rain, the drops clouding his eyes. “Just like we could have stopped the siege of Antalar and the entire Lyonin War.” Eltoar looked back at Fane. “What have we become, brother?”

“A reflection of the world.” Fane clasped his hands behind his back, and as the rain fell about him, Eltoar noticed a shift in his friend. “Often, we sit and we talk, do we not?”