Page 58 of The Truth

Eltoar stared back at her wordlessly, unsure what to say to a woman chained to a chair.

Parcica looked at Fane once more, then back to Eltoar. “I copied missives for Prince Talmont, my lord. The king received many letters from Loik Hass and the council. I’m telling the truth, I am…” She looked at Fane again. “Tell him I’m telling the truth. I even gave you the cypher.”

“You did.”

“I did. I’m, I’m sorry.” She swallowed hard. “I’m not a brave soul, my lord.”

“I don’t need bravery right now,” Eltoar said, pity washing over him as he looked down at the Parcica. “I need honesty. Did those letters instruct King Mallas to wage war on Vastillion?”

“They did, my lord. There were many. It wasn’t… It wasn’t explicit in the letters, but they met twice, in person. It wasn’t in the king’s chambers, but in an inn near the eastern edge of Antiloch. The prince took me with him to spy, to have me recreate their images, but I heard their words well enough.”

“The man the king met, what did he look like?”

“No taller than I… Shaved head, thick beard, wrinkled skin, built like a slab of granite. He’d seen perhaps forty summers. Brown eyes. His nose was broad, and he was missing a small piece of his left earlobe.”

“That sounds like Loik.”

“The other one⁠—”

“The other one?”

“Yes, my lord. There were two at the second meeting. A jotnar. Long white hair, clean shaven, white eyes. He wore a brown cloak. The king spoke his name. It⁠—”

“Thalumas…” The name left Eltoar’s lips as the breeze would leave an open door. He grew numb at the sound of it. All he could do was stare down at the mage. He did not look upon Parcica, but through her, into his own memories, into his past. All the hours he had spent drinking wine and trading stories with Thalumas, all the years he had known him… Maquil’s death over the skies of Vastillion… The man’s apologies after the audience with the council.

Eltoar turned away from the Exucendi, staring at the rune-lit floor of the chamber. “It was all lies… From the start… all lies…”

“It is not something I wanted to tell you.” Fane’s voice was almost a whisper, as though he was ashamed of the words. “I know what Thalumas means to you. I didn’t want to say anything. I didn’t want you to think I… I’m sorry.”

Eltoar wasn’t in that chamber any more. He was flying, his wings cracking against the sky, the wind smashing over his scales like waves against a cliff. He was rage and fury and wrath. Fire was his soul, and fury was his heart. He poured dragonfire into the air, unleashing the betrayal upon the sky itself. His roar was so raw and wild that even below the earth he thought he could feel the ground shake.

With great reluctance Eltoar pulled his mind from Helios’ allowing their shared rage to boil their blood. “What else should I know? What more lies have been told?”

“How many drops of water make an ocean?”

The sun was already rising when Eltoar found Salara asleep on the leather couch before a hearthfire of embers. She stirred as he entered, but Eltoar grabbed a blanket from a basket behind the couch and draped it across her.

He sat at the couch’s end, and Salara shifted over to rest her head on his lap, still half asleep.

“Where were you?” she muttered. “I waited.”

Eltoar brushed her hair with his fingers. “Shhh… I’m all right. Thank you, Salara, for always staying true.”

She mumbled something unintelligible and shifted her head, placing her palm beneath her cheek.

“Sleep, for today is a new day.” Eltoar stared into the embers, getting lost in the incandescent glow. “And there is much to be done.”

Part Six

4 months before The Fall

Chapter Eighteen

The Rising Moon

The Star Tower – Autumn, Year 2682 After Doom

Fane stood at the tower’s parapet, looking out over the landscape before him. As far as the eye could see, everything was lush and green, with sweeping cityscapes of white stone and rivers that ran blue as the sky itself. Dragons soared over it all, wings steady as they glided on currents of air, even in the distance their scales glimmering in various colours.